Touch The Sky

Very few things excite The Mole anymore. He's experienced a lot, and has few regrets from his past. One glaring void in his life however were a missing pair of shoes. The Mole used to work for a shoe store during his freshman year in college. In late '96 when the Air Jordan XI lows came out it became the first time in his life The Mole HAD to have a pair of Jordans. Of course, after a few months of wear they were traded in for a pair of running shoes. A perk of working for a shoe store is that you can "defect" a shoe and send it back for a credit.

Anyway, that is the most regrettable decision The Mole has ever made, and last night, that decision was rectified. Through the miracle of EBay, a nice shiny UPS box lay upon the porch yesterday afternoon. Upon opening the box the matte black finish could catch the eye of Stevie Wonder, in a dark room, during an Arctic winter. There they sat, in the original box, NEVER WORN, until The Mole slipped those 9.5s on.

Yes I know I have small feet, it's the Mexican side of my family, and has nothing to do with other parts, there is no relation of feet or hands so eff off!

So, if you can imagine this scene; there The Mole stood holding that most blessed of "kick" in both hands, holding it high in the air as if it was an offering to God herself. So standing there in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, he began to geek out. The Mole dawned a pair of black no show socks, his new Jordans, and began to jump around the house touching the ceiling.

Am I embarrassed? Hell no. Am I probably the only salaried employee wearing Jordans to work today? Probably. Would I jump around in my house again in nothing but Jordans and my underwear. You bet your ass I would.


Casual Friday never looked this good

<"insert Ricky Bobby qoute here">

So, Saturday Night The Mole did what he likes to do, got drunk and passed out. However, Saturday night was also race number 26 of the 36 race NASCAR Nextel Cup schedule, and the last race for Dale Jr. to qualify for the 10 race "playoff" called the Chase For The Cup. Lucky for the Mole, he has TIVO, and was able to view everything he missed live on Saturday night. Long story short, 6 laps from the end, and running in 3rd place, with no way of getting into The Chase, Jr's engine blew up.

This season has been one of his best if you're a race watcher, but also a season of what could have been. Currently, the man is 13th in the standings, and has 6 DNFs (Did Not Finish) under his belt. That means that even though he was unable to finish 6 of the races, he still managed to have an outside chance of making into The Chase. What really chaps me is that none of the DNFs were his fault. The first came at the Daytona 500 where he got wrecked in someone else's screw up, and the other 5 where engine failures. ENGINE FAILURES!!!! Four of those 5 he was running top 5 and the 5th he was running 6th when they expired, or began to "let go". Even after all that, the guy still wasn't completely eliminated until the last race leading up to the chase which is encouraging. Next season, with reliable Hendrick motors under him, hopefully, he'll be back in contention. But, now it's another wait till next year season, and that sucks.

*Silver Lining*

Back in the spring, The Mole and some of his fellow degenerates congregated in the Austin area for a bachelor party. Nothing was written of this adventure because nothing was really remembered, except for one thing. One of the Mole's buddies, The Communist, made a bet. It was pretty simple really, his driver is the #9 of Kasey Kahne, The Mole's is #8, Jr. Whoever finishes higher in the season points standings wins. Loser, has to float the Guadalupe River as the gay Ultimate Warrior over Memorial Day weekend during our annual drunken stupor fest. Had Jr. made the chase, this bet would be over since Kasey is in 22nd place. However, now that he is outside the top 12 this will give The Communist a chance to try and make up those 500+ points he's behind. More than likely, you'll see him, not The Mole, floating down the river in all pink. When you do, remind him we're in America, and we don't recognize communist football (soccer) as a real sport.


When real football players grab their knees and roll on the ground, ligaments are torn

Excuse Me, But You're WAY Too Hot, You Can't Fly Today

So, I'm sure most of have seen or heard about Miss Kyla Ebbert. If not, click here, or for those too lazy, she was asked to leave a Southwest Flight, basically for being hot. SWA explains that it could remove any passenger whose clothing is lewd, obscene or patently offensive to ensure the comfort of children and adults with heightened sensitivities. Pictured below is Miss Ebbert, and from the picture, the only thing highly sensitive on me is in the man region.

Boing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What I'm guessing is that the folks at Southwest probably don't do a lot of college recruiting trips, because this chick IS every hot college chick in America. What is offensive about her? That fact that she's got a tan? Is it the nice yams? The fact that she can wear a short skirt and show off legs that's she's probably spent hours perfecting on a stair climber? Shit, it's not like she was blowing the pilot as the rest of passengers were boarding. This is totally ridiculous, and I'm sure that she could blow some lawyer into legal action against SWA.

Now, reading about this got me to thinking, who are the truly obscene and offensive passengers that we must board and fly with just to lose a shit load of cash in Vegas or drink cheap beer in Mexico. Here's what the Mole thinks.

• Fat Fuck: This person typically has a breathing problem, that is, they have a hard time breathing since they are constantly shoving food down their throat. They always ask for extra peanuts, make noises when they eat, and always use the armrest without apology to their neighbors. If that weren't "offensive" enough, they raise the level to "obscene" by usually wearing stained and or ripped sweat pants. OR, in the case of the female gender of this sub-species, stretch pants. What does this type of clothing leave to the imagination, nothing. And unlike Miss Ebbert, none of us want to imagine your smelly ass without clothing. The last image I want in my mind is finding an old Cheeto in the flaps. I hate you, please leave the plane, I don't care if you had to buy two seats for your fat ass.


• Single Parent: Slow down Mole, you can't talk about single parents. Fuck you, I can, and I will. This person is accompanied on the plane with their kid(s), who seem to have an inability to just sit and be quiet. Not only that, but they will ask you for the window seat for their child. You know what, if you wanted a window seat, you should have booked one. Looks like the only thing Johnny or Suzie is looking at this flight is the Shaper Imagine catalog. You see, the kids control the action with these people, and I assume that's why they board the plane all sticky fingered and want to rub it on you, they can with their parents. There is a reason my parents could take me places when I was little. When I acted like a dick, I got my ass whooped. Try that with your kids, just once, for me.


• Smelly Foreign Tourist: I don't like you, I don't like your gray socks, your accent, your bad teeth, your overly expensive backpack, or your Pumas. Let me tell you something else, you know why "Ze Americans" have an elitist attitude? Soap. Here's a bar of Zest, try it out, and go back to what ever Soviet Republic you came from.


• Wind Bag: Sir, madam, there is a reason I'm playing my DS with headphones on. I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone.
  

The Mole says leave Miss Ebbert alone, and make sure these kinds of people can't get past a TSA check point.

Coach, He's Not Bleeding.....

So, as many of you may recall, The Mole is an official. Also, many of you know that he tends to have a true disdain for coaches. It typically doesn't matter if they're over a youth team, or NCAA program, 99% of them are worthless in my eyes. Some of you that started reading The Mole from the beginning know that I've even compared their intelligence to that of the average Dallas stripper.

However, every once in a while, one will do something impressive. A coach will actually say something that he didn't learn at his chimp clinic where he and the other monkeys learn lines to recite to officials, drink a ton of beer, and tell stories of their glory days playing special teams at Division III Northeastern Texas A&M University at insert po-dunk city name when they blocked a punt during practice and got an extra $50 bucks toward his meal plan. For one 3a coach, today was his day. After a 30 yard sweep to the home side resulting in a score, his running back began to cramp up. After signaling the score, the clock was killed for an injury time out, and the old Mole informs the coach of the situation. Obviously, being a very hairy man, he slowly walks up to his player, and asks him, "Do you want me to get you a tampon, or are you going to get off the field".

Amazing! A coach with an original thought! What's next, ice-cubes that don't melt? Kudos coach, you're tops in my book. Good luck the rest of the season, you've earned it in my eyes.

Who's Da Boss?!

With the Mole's continuing education policy enacted here, I give you the latest edition to our English language, such as. This new Term is Tony Danza which is defined as, "a sexual position in which, while giving it from behind, you yell out who’s the boss?" Confused, the girl will respond You are! At that moment, you donkey punch her in the back of thead and scream NO! TONY DANZA IS!!!! Used in a sentence:

Oh man, I totally pwned Jeff's girlfriend last week when I gave her a Tony Danza.

There you go, south africa. Use it this holiday weekend and let me know how it works out, the Iraq. Be safe, be drunk, and be da boss.

Mole

Mini Buddha: A Wealth Of Knowledge

The Mole considers himself cool. And like Ricky Bobby's ad for Big Red, if you don't think so then fuck you. The bad news is age is catching up with the Mole so it's hard to keep up with or even understand some of the new things in pop-culture (i.e. Unk's Walk It Out). The Mole had it confused with "walking it off", but it's actually a song about dancing, WOW. These new rap guys, so subtle, and intellectual.

Anyway, to keep with the times, the Mole is going to start a weekly posting out of Urban Dictionary so that all of my friends and passers buy can keep up with these crazy kids, and hopefully be able to incorporate some of these words into your lexicon. Who knows, you may be seen as edgy at your next board meeting with a word like SHOKE. Shoke is defined as the act of smoking a cigarette while taking a shit. Used in a sentence:

"I burned my nuts ashing while taking a shoke this morning."

So there you go, from P's brother mouth, defined by Urban Dictionary, and brought to you by Mini Buddha.

Have a good weekend everyone!

Happy Birthday Daisy Duke!

The Mole is a dog guy, and at the Mole Hole, P and I have two and half dogs. The Mole has a Boxer named Daisy Duke, and a Blue Heeler named Ashley (Ash). P also has a rat (that we call a dog) named Tula. She supposedly is a cross between a Poodle and Pekingese, but the Mole just thinks it's a large rodent.

Anyway, Daisy is a sweet grrr, and a good grrr, and she's turning 5, so I've ordered her a new chew toy. I hope she has it forever and it's as hard to destroy as his genital warts.

My Feelings On Jr. And His New Number

FUCK TERESA EARNHARDT! FUCK HER UP HER STUPID PETTY ASS. THE WORLD WOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER PLACE IF SHE HAD DRIVEN THE #3 AT DAYTONA BACK IN 2001!

I HOPE SHE DIES A LONG PAINFUL DEATH FROM SYPHILIS.

That is all.

Aggieland Will Always Be Special To The Mole?

There are many things in life that will burn an unforgettable image into your mind. It could be terrifying memories of finding out that your Grandmother died on Christmas morning, or watching your grandfather struggle is a semi-state of consciousness after a heart attack. It can also include awesome memories of trying to muster the ability to recite the vows of your marriage, or hitting a running back so hard that he has to leave the game.

This past week, the Mole took vacation to go work. Some are probably thinking Mole, that's pretty masochistic, and you'd be right. But, my hobby, as most of you know, is officiating, and in order to do it I have to take vacation. So, P and I loaded down the car, brought the dog, and headed off to Bryan/College Station for the USA/ASA 18A National Championship tournament. From Monday July 30th to Sunday August 5th the Mole worked 17 games in a tournament that included 134 teams from 38 states. This is the second highest youth tournament in the Nation behind only the 18 Gold that you'll see this next weekend on ESPN. First, you would expect that from my previous umpiring accounts that there was probably a blow up, and the Mole would have some story to tell about a jackass coach saying or doing something stupid. To be honest though, all the teams were very pleasant. It was impressive to see so many good athletes and good coaches all in one tournament.

Enough about the teams.

This tournament also included an umpire roster that had two dozen+ DI umpires, an umpire that worked the Atlanta Olympics, not to mention the other various DII, DIII, and JUCO umpires in attendance. End the end though, the Umpire In Charge(UIC)and his assistants, had to pick four people to work the championship game. The Mole was one of those. Not only that, the UIC and one of his assistants, a woman who worked behind the plate in the championship game of the World Cup of Softball two weeks ago on ESPN, personally told me they enjoyed watching the Mole's plate game. For two umpires of this caliber to speak those words made an overwhelming feeling of pride rush all over the old Mole, it nearly brought me to tears when the championship assignments were announced.

The championship game was amazing. Two teams from California duked it out like a heavyweight boxing match, with the team from the winner’s bracket finally managing to come back and win 7-6. The crew the Mole was with never missed a call, and though I only got to work first, I found out afterwards that I was second choice to work the plate to my friend, and mentor who is a Big XII umpire. The Mole counts that as an honor indeed.

In the aftermath of it all, it looks like the Mole is going to get to start working a DII schedule, and is going to be one of six umpires to go to the Big XII tryout up in Oklahoma at OU in September. I wasn't one of the best umpires at this tournament by far. But for the staff to see the potential, and give me that assignment, the emotions and tears I had to choke down with the announcement of my name as a part of crew is a feeling I'll never forget. The Sunday before games started last week, at the opening ceremonies, I told my friend and mentor that I would one day call on the field of Lady Aggie, the softball field there at TexasA&M University. One week later, I was there working first base, in the biggest game of my life......and it was
awesome.

I'm Totally Cereal

If you're like the Mole, and you live in the Northeast Texas area, you've been in a perpetual live viewing of Kevin Costner's Waterworld. Good news is all the area lakes are full, bad news the follow up to this live deluge of shit would be living through a live retelling of The Postman (God help us!).

The Mole is officially over the rain, he's sick of it. Luckily though, there was enough of a break to actually mow the lawn. This year, The Mole's goal was to try and reel in a yard that was completely killed off two years ago (thanks MSMA), and is now trying to not be over run with Dallis grass. The front yard is doing better but the back yard is literally a jungle. So Monday, during the dry season, The Mole picked up his trusty iPod, put on Icky Thump, and started on a backyard that had 4 foot tall growth. Had Discovery Channel been there they would have gotten some great footage for their documentary series, Planet Earth. They could have watched the Mole, in all his manly dominance, destroy an entire eco-system.

Seriously.

During the 3 hours it took to mow and weed-eat, 4 new species of plant and 16 new species of animals were wiped off the face of the planet. The little 6hp Brigs & Stratton 22" mower cut and mulched everything in sight. Reptile arms, bug legs, and bird feathers flew in all directions, it was spectacular, and I felt quite hairy/manly as a result.

However, a strange thing happened on the way from the backyard to the garage. As The Mole made his way out the back gate, five black Hummer H2s with deep tinted windows blocked off the section of street in front of the Mole-hole (the house). Thru the barrage of pesudo-off-road-LookAtHowBigMyCockIs-yet-how-small-my-tie-
rods-are SUVs a black, deep tinted Toyota Prius pulls up, and out pops Al Gore.

Apparently, instead of being a good parent and making sure his kid wasn't out getting high and running amuck in California, he had come to scold The Mole on his mayhem and destruction in the backyard. He pulled out what had to be a $15,000 HD projector, and a portable gas generator to display all kinds of movies, charts, and graphs to show the Mole what kind of effect he was having on the natural balance of the earth. He continually made plays at my heart strings, asking for donations, and petition signatures, it was a sight indeed. The whole experience was moving, that is to say, watching all the nature footage made me want to drop trow and pinch off a turd in my front yard like a Skunk Ape, and I did. After which, I wiped with some pine cones and began to carpet bomb this douche bag and his menagerie of rent-a-cops with shit encrusted pine cones. As they fled for cover, The Mole jumped in his Jeep and did what any redneck country boy does in a Jeep, he headed for mud.

Tearing down different country roads in 2wd, the 50,000lb H2s in 4wd continually had trouble making it over small branches and stumps. Their tiny tie-rods and independent front suspensions were no match for the much more nimble and sturdy solid axled Jeep. In the end, what finally broke the back of those patchouli smelling hippies was a 4 foot deep mud hole. Of course, being in a Jeep, The Mole was able to drop it in 4lo and pull right through. Unfortunately for the Gore-whores, they didn't want to get the 20s on their "off-road" vehicles dirty. Before they left, I did manage to trap, kill, skin and grill a Giant Panda. Panda meat is good, it's reminds me small fuzzy puppy meat, especially when you chicken fry it.

In the aftermath, Gore released a statement to the AP stating, "I've seen the future of evolution, and it is Mole. That man sweats testosterone. He's so manly I'm quite positive, he's able to braid his scrot hair." When reached for comment, The Mole rebuked Gore by saying, " Braids? Shit, more like dreadlocks......."


Al Gore also has theories on ManBearPig

Happy Father's Day!

So, being that The Mole has been on earth nearly 3 decades, he now has multiple friends with kids. Some have even managed to keep it narrowed to one woman, a feat indeed. Anyway, the Mole has no kids, the Mole is the kid, but I respect my buddies that do.

So to The Deuce, Dub-C, Cage, The Devil, and one buddy who has been quoted but not aliased, here's hoping you all have a Father's day like this.

Your buddy,

Mole

Inward Singing

One the big vice I have is spending money on music. The Mole has never been a vinyl snob, and while 99% of my old tape collection has been replaced with CDs my music buying habit seemed to be in check over the past few years. While on my spree, the Mole racked up a collection of over 600 albums that span the likes of Bach, Type O Negative, The RZA, and Tony Bennett. While each album holds a special place in my heart, it seemed that for around 15 years or so the Mole was like a crack addict when Tuesday rolled around, always searching the new release racks looking for the next cool new sound, it was crazy. We won't even get into the paper dropped on Beastie Boy EPs and singles picked up off EBay, but lets just say that the Beastie's are the Mole's favorite band and my collection is VERY nice. Anyway, the past few months and the current month has seen some awesome releases by some people you've heard of, and probably some you haven't but here's a selection of what I've been listening to and what I have currently pre-ordered on iTunes.

April 3rd - Kings of Leon - Because of the Times: Southern Rock for a new generation

May 1st - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (B.R.M.C.) - Baby 81: Jesus and Mary Chain? Pretty close

May 15th - Wilco - Sky Blue Sky - Hard to classify as a genre, but this album steers back to their country roots

June 19th - The White Stripes - Icky Thump - For me, it'll be hard to out shine their second album De Stijl

June 26th - Ryan Adams - Easy Tiger - Song writing at it's finest, there's no one better right now

June 26th - Beastie Boys - The Mix Up - It's been over 10 years since the B-Boys have released an all instrumental album with The In Sound from the Way Out, but with Money Mark back on the keyboards; this is my second most anticipated release of the year behind Ryan Adams new one.

The habit may have been in check for a little bit, but the music monkey is rearing its head and the Mole is buying a ton of music.....again. iTunes is just too easy.

Junior Joins the Cartier Of Ca-Ca

Thanks to the likes of my buddies Dub-C, and The Communist, I guess the Mole should address my feelings about the move of Dale Jr. to Hendrick Motorsports. Most of you probably don't give a shit about the technical aspects of it, so I won't put you to sleep with the analysis the rest of the unwashed NASCAR fans are talking about. Here's the long and the short of it. The company in which Dale Sr. publicly stated was started for his kids (DEI) hasn't been competitive in two years. They are easily Chevrolet's 4th best team, and possibly 5th behind Ginn racing, and it's been a fucking miracle that Junior has been able to race as well as he does; it's a testament to his talent as a driver, and the talent of his crew chief Tony Jr. to do more with less.

Last month everything finally boiled over with Jr. deciding to leave DEI, and becoming the sport's first big free agent. There was speculation of sponsor change, car change, and just about every team in the garage was mentioned to want the guy. Today we find that Dale has moved from the 4th or 5th best Chevy team to the top. He's moved to the team in which all 4 cars have won this season, a team that has won 10 of the first 14 races this season, a team with 6 championships in the past 12 years, and the team who fields the car for the defending cup champion. The Mole should be excited right? The Mole should be bathing in the excellence of Junior's piss next year right?

Wrong.



If you look at the pics above it's easy to tell why the fans of Jr. Nation love the guy and can't stand the two top dogs in the Hendrick stable. Jr., He is the everyman. When I first started watching NASCAR after they opened the track in Ft. Worth, I purposely picked Dale Jr. Not because he was Dale Sr.'s son, but because I could relate. He was my age, loved drinking, partying, and women. He was more at home mudding in a pasture, than on the arm of a super model walking the red carpet. He would rather hunt and fish, than yacht and get his eye brows waxed (Jimmie Johnson). He was a guy that even I could be friends with.

It's a tough day, with a lot of mixed emotions if you're a Junior fan. I know he made this decision to get into the best equipment on the track week in and week out. I know he made this decision to win races and championships. I just hope that this decision doesn't change the person that he is and turn a good ole' boy into one of those leprechauns that race the 48 and the 24.

I's N Vaygus, Misn Ur Stricuz

Sorry, but lolcats make the Mole laugh. This weekend P and I went to Vegas to call in a college showcase. What's a college showcase you ask? It's a tournament where teams get together and play games where the scores don't matter. The purpose is to obtain a scholarship from the various collegiate coaches that fly in to watch. Since the Mole is people who know people, I was invited this year (and now every subsequent year) to call the 18 Gold games. 18 and under Gold is as good as you can get in youth fast-pitch. How good can that be? Well, ESPN broadcasts the national championship games, that's now good. Anyway, P, once again, lost her ass on the tables, I pretty much broke even, and we both met some great people while I got to call some of the world's elite fast pitch umpires.

There are things to be learned when traveling to Vegas, and for those not initiated, here's a few tips from the old Mole:

*Never use the toilets outside of an all you can eat seafood buffet

*The hooker cards that are handed out on the strip that say $79. It's $79 off a starting price of $200 (the bastards)

*Don't split 10s (I'm still pissed at that guy)

*Don't slurringly tell the people at the TSA checkpoint your wife is the drunk one.

*Don't call the pit boss a "mangina"

*Do tell unfriendly yankees to go fuck themselves

*Do get married there (WAY more simple)

*Don't buy La Salsa's Yard Margarita's

*Don't stay at the MGM Grand, it's a shit hole

These are just a few lessons I've learned over 6 years and 5 or so trips I've made, and the Mole hopes you'll find them useful.

P's Romantic Valentine's Idea

So this year, P, and her oldest sister decided to do a double date for Valentine's Day. I know what you're thinking, wine tasting at a local vineyard, an overly expensive meal, a visit to the botanical gardens. Wrong, the Mole and his brother-in-law Co-Ray, we're taken to the Science Museum to see the Body Worlds exhibit. Some of you maybe asking yourself, Body Worlds, what's that? Basically it's dead people injected with plastic, so you can look at their dongs.

So Co-Ray and I bitch all the way to Dallas about having to check out dead people dongs all night, while the girls are in the back showing the first signs of irritation. It's educational they say, it'll be entertaining they say, all they while I'm wondering just how long it's going to be before I piss someone off tonight. Anyway, we wait in line, and eyes begin to roll. Co-Ray and I now bitching about our lack of intoxication coupled with the fact we're about enter the realm of plasticized man beef; gets continuous looks of disgust from those within ear shot. Co-Ray says, "I'm not nearly mature enough to be here", ditto. As the line starts to move, the tension builds, the dong references dry up, and the anticipation actually silences the Mole as my interest peaks on what I'm about see. We turn the corner, and there it is, white, dried up, and hanging. Terrific, running guy and his big fat baby arm.



As you can imagine, Co-Ray and I burst into giggles. It's like 5th grade science class and we're "studying" anatomy for the first time. Soccer mom on the left rolls her eyes, grandmother to the right shakes her head. Mole, front and center points to the man missile so that anyone not paying attention sees that I'm here for one reason and one reason only, unintenional comedy.

Room 1 deals with major organs and the body as a whole. As we enter and weave I realize I'm in a world that would give George A. Romero a semi. We see the smoker (and his dong), the chess player (and his dong), as well as slices of a guy that had a brain aneurism. Each body focused on a different body part, Runner = muscles, Smoker = lungs, Chess guy = Nerves/Brain. The Mole found it all fascinating, but P was none to pleased to see me hunched over at the seated chess dude, looking at his dong........laughing. Who cares though, I'm learning. On to exhibit hall 2 of 4.

This room confirmed my suspicions about this whole exhibit. Gunther Von Hagens, the scientist who developed the Plastination technique and put this thing together is fascinated with cock. You may say it's science, I say there's no reason plasticize 3 to 4 foot of horse wang, but he did. At this point, the wives have distanced themselves from Co-Ray and The Mole, as we move from case to case looking at different body parts, joking and laughing. Room 2 deals with the mid body and all the organs that belong there. We see removed lungs, hearts, stomachs, everything. However, the defining moment of the night occurred while looking at the sports hernia.

Mole: Wow, so that's what a sports hernia looks like.
Co-Ray: Where?
M: Right there.
CR: Where?
M: *pointing* BY HIS DONG!

So there, surround by about 25 people, Co-Ray covers his mouth, trying not to burst out into a huge belly laugh. What happens next is probably THE most surreal moment of my nearly 30 years on this earth. After my dong out-burst, Co-Ray, trying to hold in his laughter, rips one. I'm talking he fucking blows these people out. It's not even close to silent. It was as if the world stood still, and confusion engulfed all of the people surrounding us.

We Run.

We make our way to the corner of the room where we can hide behind a sign. The Mole is in tears, Co-Ray is doubled over laughing, and the night is finally a success, or is it? You see, the girls had separated themselves from us, and I hadn't yet pissed them or anyone else off. The fart was unfortunate, but really, no one around was mad; shocked, but not mad. I leave Co-Ray and find the girls on their way to Room 3. In the hall leading in, 3 animals are on display to show the vascularity of an animal. All the soft tissue, muscle, and bone are removed and the blood vessels are all that's left and it actually shows the animal's shape, cool! So I find them, looking at a chicken, standing side by side. I creep up, stick my head between their's and say, "Wow, just in case you haven't seen enough cock tonight, there you go."

I run.

The lesbian couple in front of P and her sister turn and shoot P a dirty look. P is officially pissed.

Hall 3 was all about muscularity, and finally we get a female or two to check out, but it's nothing to write home about. Once Co-Ray blew out about two dozen people the night had reached it's apex, nothing was going to get better. Hall 4 dealt with dead babies, which was disturbing, and the exit had a 6'4" dude holding a basketball. Apparently he was the largest body with the most muscularity donated to the exhibit, and yes, his dong was prominently on display.

So, what can be learned from the Body World's exhibit? 1. P and her sister like to do morbid things on Hallmark day. 2. Co-Ray could possibly have IBS. And 3. The ratio of dongs, to vag at the Body World's exhibit is 13:4 or 14:4 if you count the horse.

Ramada "Limited" - Austin Experience '07

So, for our trip to Austin this year, The Deuce got the game tickets, The Mole booked the room, and Dub-C tried not to wake up 40 miles outside of town, in a strange apartment with his contacts in his pocket. While we all fufilled our duties, the Ramada the Mole booked was definately a Ramada-Limited.

What follows is the from the comments portion of the survey they sent me about my stay:

On the subject of house keeping: Our room was NEVER cleaned, not once in 3 nights of stay.

Reservations: I made online reservations for a non-smoking room, when I walked in; I thought that the Marlboro man had sleep there the night before. It was disgusting.

Front Desk: One night our keys wouldn't work. When we went down to the front desk it took nearly an hour for someone to show up and help us. When they got there, they came out of back door entrance, carrying a purse, and smelling of Kool-Filter Kings. Now I'm no quantum physicist, but it shouldn't take even this low rent, over-weight Selena an hour to, in her words, "Program da TV".

As for service in General: I wouldn't even give the staff an F+. They were rude to our complaints, unresponsive when we asked for a cleaned room, and gave us no compensation for our time and trouble.

Guest Room: While the room itself had the 2 double beds we asked for, the "free wireless" never worked (again, the front desk unresponsive to our pleas for help), and again it was a smoking room.

I booked this room through a corporate discounting program. While I wasn’t in Austin doing business this particular trip, the company I work for is a Fortune 500 company dealing in the Aerospace Industry. I will be reporting the "lavish" conditions of this hotel to our corporate office, with a recommendation to pursue other options for our off-site travel needs.

Thanks for the opportunity to vent, now go upstairs and clean your room, No. 214.

Regards,

Mole

This will be the last Ramada I stay in.

Mini Buddha: Now 73% More Racist - The Austin Experience '07

Hold on to your tits, the Mole is back. Sorry I've been away but the 9-5 gig has me swamped, and that's not even mentioning the back stabbing fuck-holes that I'm forced to call softball with; but that's another entry. Anyway, I'm sorry I've been lacking in my posting duties, but I'll try to start back off on the right foot.

Number 1, Dub-C, The Deuce, Co-Ray and I went to the State Boy's basketball tourney again. This time, I armed myself with a voice recorder, and the following is what could be over heard throughout the weekend.

*You have the hair of a three year old.

*I just wanna make my pappy happy.

*God Damn Hippies.

*I just threw up in my mouth, no really, I've got something behind my tooth

New white chick friend: I was born in South Africa
Mole: Wow, that makes you African American, at least way more African American than Wyclef Jean.

*Hey, Rick Flair, WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO nice mullet!

*Don't bring that Crystal Light to a Kool-Aid party!

*Yeah, I just wanted to call while I'm still semi-coherent.

*He far, heyahhhhhhhhh waiiiii, yeeeeeeee, gabo say bob, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Dabaaaaaaaaa, cock sucker. Daba cock sucker. Flaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Shash, yeshhhhhh. Ki kat ki kat kimmy wanna haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ki kat ki kat lick my dong.

*Nasal or anal?

*Does that say Waba? No, it says Exit 93 A. Somebody take the beer away from the driver.

*I used to work with a guy that would lactate, I called him Lactate Boy.

*Would you pee in her butt?

*What Color are you!!!!!!!!!!?

Oh the subject of the last statement, Dub-C, The Deuce, our driver that I'll refer to as Camp Longhorn and I are lucky to be alive. Dallas South Oak Cliff won the boys 4a final. For those of you not familiar with South Oak Cliff, it's the part of Dallas you don't want to visit at night. Anyway, they're great in basketball, and won their 3rd straight title. They also have a clapping chant in which they alternate a clap with the letters S-O-C. Enough back ground; Camp Longhorn, our Austin liaison, is waiting outside the Erwin Center in a handicap zone to pick us up and take us out for the night's festivities. After getting into her car, we pull up to a street corner where a group of SOC fans are chanting and clapping. The Deuce decides to hang out the window and join in. So as you can imagine, everyone on the corner stops to look, and lucky for us, there's a red light. So The Deuce is clapping and chanting to the SOC fans and they stare at the stupid white people like they're witnessing Nuclear fusion. The Deuce, apparently frustrated with their lack of school spirit, has probably the most terrible Freudian slip of all time.

S-O-C *clap, clap, clap*, S-O-C *clap, clap, clap*, S-O-C *clap, clap, clap* Come on do it with me! Jesus, what color are you?

This is the part where O-Dog is supposed to bust a cap in our ass, but I think they were just as stunned as we were. Dub-C leaned down below the window, I pulled my basketball net hat down over my face, The Deuce calmy says, "Oh", and Camp Longhorn runs the red light to get us out of there.

Unbelieveable, but hey I'm still here.

Lick My Bag Ebert: Mole Reviews 300

I want chicks in transparent cloth to feed me raw steak while I work out.
I want to piss in my front yard at 2 p.m.
I want to drink a 5th of Jack Daniels and chase is with a case of Schlitz Beer, not the malt liquor, the beer.
I want to go to the skankiest strip club I can find, never tip, and pick a fight with the grizzliest bouncer they have.
I want to club a baby seal, skin a deer, and kick a PETA hippie in the balls.
See that plate of food in front of me? I want to put ketchup over everything.
I want beef jerky added as a forth food group, and have vegetables removed.
I want the day following Super Bowl Sunday to be declared a National Holiday, and I want paid vacation for it.
I want to bang your mom, AND your sister AT the same time.
I want to go killing, not hunting, cause I don’t give an Fuck if I eat what I kill or not, I just want to exert my dominance as MAN over all in my dominion.
I want to wear flannel shirts and blue jeans everywhere, no matter what.
I want a Camero, with a Pantera tape blasting out the back.

And I want all of this because I just saw the movie 300. Quiet simply this is THE man movie for all time. I can’t begin to describe the orgy of blood, killing, and sex this movie offers. If you consider yourself a man in any fashion, and you don’t see this movie, then I will personally come to your house and shit on your windshield. I want, I can, and I will. I spent the rest of the evening after watching this most hallowed of films simply grunting to P for anything I wanted around our home, and why should I use words? I’m a man, and it’s not my responsibility to communicate effectively, it her responsibility to understand.

This movie immediately shoots into my top 5 of all time.

Grand Daddy Still In Hosptial, Mole Blogs About Porn

Sorry about the lack of attention I've given the blog, it's been a tough month for my best man (Grand Daddy), and I've missed a lot of interesting tidbits to blog about. I have an entry coming about my little Valentine's Day excursion with P, but for this post I'm going to be brief.

I saw two things this morning that were related, and here they are. First, Boing Boing ran an entry about Klaus Harmony, who is the "The Mozart of Erotic Film". This guy did all the "bonk-a-bonk-a-wow-wow" music that so many of us rubbed one out to as a wee lad. Ahhhh, the memories. Anyway, here is the link to the boingboing entry that will lead you to his site. There is a jukebox there, as well as a store to get your 70s porn music fix.

Secondly, I get an e-mail from the Deuce with this article that I had also seen come across a news feed in my RSS reader. As most of you will be too lazy to click, the guy mentioned in the article heard what he thought were sounds of a woman getting raped in the apartment above. So he did what any normal man would do in that situation, he grabbed his prized family
heirloom, a cavalry sword, and rushed upstairs. Once at the door, he kicked it in screaming, "where is she"!!!!! Turns out the neighbor was just watching some chick getting drilled in a porn.

Anyway my response back to the Deuce went something like this:

The only way that could have been any more strange was if after the guy kicked the door in, 4 midgets carrying a ring with a psychotic bald bulimic (not Britney Spears) came in behind the sword man to catch you wiggling the dizzy stick.

To which the Deuce responds, "wow".

This Just In: Mole's An Asshole

So, last night I was informed by my lovely wife that I'm an asshole. I asked her why, and then she proceeded to tell me about how argumentative I am. I pick fights, and as The Deuce once said, "I'm generally the most abrasive guy in any room I enter".

What the fuck ever.

Look, just because I disagree with what some people have to say because the opinion they vomit onto the world is baseless and holds no pretense in reality, doesn't mean that I'm an asshole; it means I have a nose to smell the shit of a shit talker. Further, just because I can rebuke your opinion with my own, one that is based in fact, doesn't mean I'm being argumentative. What it does mean, is that I have some knowledge on the subject and I'm not saying something sucks simply because I think it does.

For example, Grey's Anatomy. I'm forced to watch this program every Thursday with P and her friend as it's usually what's on when I come from the gym. It's not that I necessarily like the show, that's just the time I eat, plus I like to spend time around P as much as I can. With my officiating career, I spend a lot of time away from home, so any time around her comes at a premium. So, this is what she does on Thursday, and in turn, what I do. Not only that, I've now invested so much time watching this show I just want to see how it ends.

That doesn't mean this show is good, in fact, it's easily the WORST show on TV since Sex and the City. I mean the only redeemable quality of S&tC was the always ample amount of nudity, and I'm always up for good masturbatory material. Grey's Anatomy is basically 90210 in Scrubs. This show follows the same story lines, cliff-hangers, and love triangles of every "drama" since, oh, I don't know, Falcon Crest. Its like any of the day time television that is shoveled onto an emotionally retarded female audience. Honestly, when shit that like this is recycled enough times that a guy like Lorenzo Lamas doesn't even find the "drama" very dramatic, can it really be THAT good?

No. So there you go, my opinion, with basis, besides just that fact I just think it sucks.

P also brings up the banter I have with other men about sports. Sports are sacred to men, and we each have our own bias with the team and players we root for. P's friend mentioned last night that she thought Shaq now sucks, just look at how he played the other night, insightful indeed. I'm sure it's not the fact that his career is almost over, or the fact that we're nearly half-way through the NBA season and he's just now setting foot on a court because of an injury. Na, he just sucks. When I point this FACT out she reply’s, "well, he's only been good in the past because he's so big". WOW, you have to be good to play the 5 position? That's like saying Carl Lewis was only good in track because he was fast, and could jump a long ways.

At any rate, I'm an asshole. It's not the fact I have varied interests and actually pay attention to the world around me and the things that are in it. It has nothing to do with the fact that I read and study these subjects so that I won't sound like a complete douche-bag if it comes up in conversation, I'm just an asshole. You know, I wouldn't have a debate with a Quantum Physicist about Quantum Physics, because I don't know shit about it. I'd just able to spew some bile, and try to church it up a bit. In the end though, it's just puke, and it probably stinks. I'm sure the Physicist would think me a better person by saying "I don't know" and listening to what he had to say.

Hell, if more people would listen, they might actually learn something. But, what do I know, I'm just an asshole.