Big Fish (Grandaddy)

Yesterday my Grandaddy died.

Most of you that know me know that I'm not an overly religious man. As such you won't be beaten to death with a religious ramble about heaven, hell, and what not. What we're here about is Grandaddy. Now at his funeral on Saturday there will be all kinds of talk about J.D., that's Grandaddy. There will be talk of what he was; a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a grandfather. The thing is, this event will not pass without reminding everyone why he is Grandaddy. For him, that name takes on so much more than just being the male in our family who fathered my father. While I gave him the name of Grandaddy, he's been Grandaddy to so many more.

First, mom's family, it's large. 5 sisters, 14 cousins, 11 2nd cousins, and all of us close enough that we see and speak with each other constantly. All of these people, with no other relation to Grandaddy and his wife Granmamma than a marriage, were always welcomed in their home regularly. Each were always treated as my sister and I, and in turn they returned that love and caring as calling J.D., Grandaddy.

Growing up in the country the few kids that lived close could always be found at our farm. Summers were spent playing capture the flag, fishing, or swimming at the pool. No matter how filthy we wound up, not matter what fights we got in, no matter what trouble we got into, Chris, Jerad, T.J., Brooke, and Jeff all referred to him as Grandaddy. He took them all in with open arms, feeding lunch, giving hugs, pulling us around the farm on the "wild weasel" (home made sled) on the chance that it would snow, and putting everyone to work when we were old enough; and actually paying for the hours spent on his farm.

There are a ton of stories that you hear about Grandaddy, and they are never bad ones. It might be using the company car to go and pick up his employees in the parking lot when it was raining, constantly sneaking ice cream bars after one of his heart attacks even though the Dr. put him on a low fat diet, or keeping a few hundred dollars just lying around the house in case the alcoholic that worked for him got picked up on the weekend and needed to be bailed out, Grandaddy was always there. Even the newest edition to our family, my inlaw's daughter who's learning to talk would ask for a "sicle" after only her first time going for a swim at Grandmamma, and Grandaddy's, and getting a popsicle. That giving attitude, unending acceptance and love always shown through him.

Last night when he died, about 2 hours before, I sat down with him. The nurses said he could hear us if we spoke, but he had been unresponsive since 4am that morning, and I'm not sure if could hear me or not. It didn't matter though, we still talked. Through the last year plus of his illness, I never told him bye, and I wasn't about to do it last night. You see, I can't imagine a world without my Grandaddy in it. I told him I wasn't going to say bye, I told him thanks. Thanks for showing how to mend fences, string barbed wire, brand-dehorn-castrate and generally how to work cattle. Thanks for teaching me how to shoot a gun, tie a knot on a fishing hook, and how to drive not only a tractor but a stick-shift. Thanks for getting me the most unusual pet ever, a pygmy goat. Thanks for driving me all over East Texas, showing me the graves of my family so that I'd know the where I came from, and thanks for teaching me about the Indian Wars. Grandaddy was a "story teller" and if you want to know what kind, rent the Tim Burton film Big Fish. It reminded so much of Grandaddy that I bought it for him as a gift a few days after I saw it.

There are a lot of times we disappoint those that love us. We'll see it in the eyes of our parents, siblings, husband/wife, boss, co-workers just about everyone; I never saw that in my Grandaddy. His unconditional love is something that I hope everyone can experience. It never wavered , had no opinion, it just was. Ben Harper's new album Lifeline has a song with a lyric that says, "You can't just say I love you, you have to live I love you", and Grandaddy did just that.

Before the men from the funeral home came in to take his body, Dad stood over the foot his bed, and began to tear up. I've never seen my Dad cry so I turned my back to him and looked away. Then I thought of what Grandaddy would do, give love. I walked to the foot of the bed, put my arm around him, and just gave him a squeeze, in silence. Dad said,"He was a good man", to which I replied, "He's the best". That was also the last thing I thanked him for during my talk. One of the last gifts I gave him was a knife to add to his collection. It was engraved with the message, "To my best man, Grandaddy", I thanked him for standing with me at my wedding.

No goodbyes Grandaddy, though we'll all miss you. Thank you, for your love.

Cup Check

So, today I get a news feed from Boing Boing telling of the people at the Webby Awards and their "12 Most Influential Online Videos of All Time". The list features classics like Star Wars Kid, Lazy Sunday, This Land (from the people at JibJab), and the OK Go video "Here We Go Again".

The thing is, the BB folks ended the post with "Two Girls One Cup did not make the cut" with the disclaimer, "For those who may not be familiar with Two Girls One Cup, do NOT attempt to watch it. You have been warned.

I searched for about 15mins but finally came across it. They are correct, do NOT watch it. I will not link it, it's the most.......I can't even find the words to describe it.

I'm getting to old for the interweb........

I Can't Change Your Mind

What's so funny is nobody's laughing, at this change of heart your having. And what's so funny is I'm filled up with thunder, but I can't seem to get out from under, all these stones, tied to my chest. I can't change your mind.

What's so funny is I'm scared and lonely, and I don't think that I'm the only one as I watch you drive away. And what's so funny is the birds are singing, sun is singing and bells are ringing, and I'm thinking, what happened here. I can't change your mind.

There's a chapel in Minneapolis, and it holds the bones of the dead Saint Ennis. Green grass grows from the ceiling there, it reminds me of the feeling where I first looked into your eyes, and saw the most beautiful birds fly straight into the sun their wings on fire the deed was done. I can't change your mind.

What's so funny is this piece of skin, the one on my arm with your name inked in, what was I thinking. But, what's so funny is the way things go down, like when a star dies it doesn't make a single sound, it's just gone you can't find it when you look into the sky. I can't change your mind. I can't do it.

There's a werewolf out on my front lawn and he's looking pissed off, and he's wet from all the rain. Think I'll go say hi, and offer him a beer.

Honestly, I can't really think about anything right now. I'll be so happy when this year is over and '08 gets here. Life hasn't been bad, but it damn sure hasn't been great and this year, while good in parts, on the whole has been shitty. To many life changing events, to many let downs, and they just simply out weigh the good.

Today I downloaded some new demo songs from one of my favorite artists, a guy named Bob Schneider. The demo above on his Myspace page was just so fucking poignant for me. As big of a funk that I've been in over the past year and half or so, it's nothing compared to the loved ones in my life, and this song hits the nail on the head in so many ways.

Sometimes the hardest things to do in life are to move on and accept things as the are, but we have to. Every day that passes, every hour, every minute, every second, nothing can stay the same; a picture can never be recreated, and sometimes you just can't change a mind. My problem, I'd rather be pissed than move on. My loved ones, they're either clinging to a life that's not there, trying not to give up on a life that is failing, or trying to change a mind that doesn't want to be. We can't go back, it's time to move forward. Sometimes I wonder if we're all strong enough.....

R.A.T.

During lunch today, I thought:

You know, I wish everything was built like a swimsuit. I mean I'm a fan of underwear but, I'm not a fan of taking the time to put them on. Swimsuits make the process so much easier.

Anyway......

Somebody Call The Discovery Channel

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

That's right bitches, there's a reason why Buffalos are on the endangered species list. The white guys with the guns shot 'em all. Fuck you to Tony Romo, for doing everything short of killing my mother and having sex with her dead corpse to ruin my birthday. Hooray $5 dollar pitchers and drunk blogging. Hooray to Nick Folk, I think that's his name; for giving a freshly turned 30 year old something to scream about. I wish 1,000 felatings from Buffalo's finest this evening.

"Yeah, I'd blow a kicka, sho-wa"

Apes Perfer Blondes

In recent news, some Dutch Zoo Keepers are pissed that they can't get their male Orang-utan to mate with the females Orang-utans. It seems this fella is only interested in blonde tattooed human females. The zookeeper states that the male will chase the females, and ignore them, but won't do what he's supposed to do. They seem to think his behavior and amourous approach to his blonde female keepers harkens back to to when he was younger and reared by a blonde keeper who was heavily tattooed.

Mole visited this Great Ape to get some pictures and they are below along with a scribbled statement.

Ape pictured left says "Dude, I'd fuggin' hit dat"

Fuck, Am I Really 30?

Ok, so this weekend P has something in the works because on Monday The Mole is turning 30. 30, shit, guess I'll go to the Dr. on Monday and get the Viagra. You know, the passing of time is a pretty scary thing. Every day lived is another day closer to death, and death sucks. I mean lets face it, if you've read any of the ramblings of the past two years, I'm probably driving the bus to hell so death is really going to suck for me.

So, what will happen this weekend? I'm sure I'll ingest enough alcohol to kill a small horse, be brutally honest with a random fat chick, and piss all over myself. Later that night I'll be left in the car to steam in a coffin of sweat, whiskey, piss, vomit, beer, and Amp Energy Drink. Amp: The Offcial 2008 sponsor of Dale Jr's #88 Chevy Impala.

I guess looking back at the past 3 decades of my life I've had some ups and downs. I've passed out in my driveway dressed as Ali G only to wake up Sunday morning at 9am when people are leaving for church, and I'm an NCAA official. I've floated the Guadalupe River in leopard g-string (they leave funny tan lines), and managed to marry a chick that will love me no matter how much of an insufferable prick I can be.

I guess through all of the ups and downs over the past 30 years, life hasn't been too bad for the Mole. And who knows, over the next 30 years, maybe I can finally convince P to sleep with me so we have a kid; fingers crossed. Oh boy, I can't want to go from "that guy" to "that dad".

So anyway, Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!

In Other News, Mole Is A Jackass

So, on my way home last night, I get a call from an umpire buddy of mine that I also call softball with, WWB. Anyway, WWB asks if I've seen the e-mail from my pee-wee football scheduler. I hadn't yet since I had been out calling a couple of 8th grade games but when I got home this is I was greeted with:

Dan,
Your ref’s this year are doing a fantastic job…these are simple nit-picky things that will help us make the players better players and have nothing to do with the ref’s missing calls or not making the right calls. All of the games, as far as I’ve been made aware, are called evenly and have not swayed any of the games one way or the other. I’m cc’ing all of the commissioners for each of the towns on this email. I ask that they forward this email to all of their coaches. I’ll be doing the same. The purpose is to ensure everyone is aware of the tightening on the calls so that no coach will be caught off-guard by the new policy. Get with your ref’s in our area…here’s a few things that are being passed along to me from our guys that you might mention to them:

1. All the commissioners would like to see the ref’s tighten up on the calls. We’re allowing too much holding, flag guarding, and the offensive lines are jumping and not getting called on it. Also, in the flag division, when a defensive player tackles a player to the ground, it is defensive holding unless the tackle is a result of the player reaching for the flags and is inadvertent. A lot of this is happening, especially the holding, on the back side of the play. We realize that you won’t catch all of those, but we know they are seeing it now and simply aren’t calling it because we wanted to keep the flow of the game moving and keep the boys playing ball and lessen the impact of calls on the game. So, we now want to basically start throwing the flags more to help us teach the boys what is legal and what isn’t.

2. There are a few games that I’ve heard where there is some blocking below the waist. That’s a major no-no in our group. 15 yard penalty and loss of down.

3. Coaches trying to coach after the quarterback has left the huddle…coaches aren’t allowed to coach after that point-in-time. First time is a warning and a 5 yard penalty, second time is removal from the field…not an ejection. That coach must go to the sideline and another coach can take their spot on the field.

4. Time in the huddle. If these kids don’t know the plays by now, then they should get a delay of game penalty. Play clock is 45 (flag), 45 (midget), 40 (colts), and 35 (juniors) seconds.

5. Toss out the mercy rule. We’ll run the clock as a regular clock for every game. Coaches may call timeouts regardless of the score. There is simply no way to really set a rule for what is or isn’t a mercy rule and then how to enact it during a game. However, if the ref leans over and talks to the coach that is down by 18 and asks if he wants us to hurry the clock, then do so…but only at the ‘ok’ by that coach. As we all know, the ref’s control when the clock rolls time and when it doesn’t.

6. No more than 6 players (except for the oldest age group) on the defensive line. All other players must be at least 2 yards off the line of scrimmage.

7. Anytime a player with an “X” on the back of their helmet touches the ball, the ball is dead where they touch it. No exception. Each town’s commissioner is responsible for checking if the proper players are marked with an X based on the official roster.

8. Two coaches on the field during flag games. One coach for the next two divisions. No coaches on the field for the oldest division. I’ve seen where we have 2 coaches on the field during the first tackle football game. Let’s back that down to one coach.

Thanks,
Coach Dumb Fuck
PeeWee Football, President
Local Football & Cheer, Commissioner

From here on out the Mole began crafting an e-mail and below is what was mailed to every official, coach, and commissioner that the initial e-mail was sent to:

Dan,
After getting a copy of this e-mail last night from Mr. Dumb Fuck a fire was lit in me unlike any that I have felt in quite some time. For him to complement us yet go through a laundry list of things that we should “tighten up” is a slap in the face of everything these instructional leagues are there to accomplish. Now, I know that Mr. Dumb Fuck has probably dropped a little coin on a shirt that says coach/commissioner as is indicated in his signature from the afore mentioned e-mail; but even though I’m sure he’s had years of hard work and training, spent thousands of dollars and hours on various schools and clinics as we have to become a “coach”, what he fails to realize is that he has no control.

1.“Tighten up” on the administrative calls. This is complete garbage. The flags are not a teaching tool. Call me cynical, but I thought the whole purpose of practice was to learn to line up, and hold the snap count. These are the most basic foundations of the game of football, and are a direct reflection of poor practice habits. We won’t call it like Friday night, and shouldn’t have to since the “coaches” have an inability to teach this most basic of football concept. In my 10+ years with this and other leagues, I can count on one hand the number of coaches who were able to get these done.

2.If blocking below the waist is a major no-no in this group then why are we just now finding out about it? It’s been what, 5-7 years since this league has been in existence, and not one time has a set of rules been disseminated to the league officials. Again, this hearkens back to the “coaches/commissioners” inability to properly equip anyone to be involved with their games.

3.If these teams were properly prepared prior to game time, no coach would be required. The best course of action here is to remove this rule completely and get some sweat stains on that “coach” shirt. Prepare your teams for the game. Again, if this is such an issue, it needed to be taken care of weeks ago by getting a set of rules to the officials covering your games.

4.Actually there is a way to set a mercy rule, if he actually new the rules of football he would know that there is a mercy rule at specific levels of play. Of course there is also a rule that provides for failure to wear proper equipment. I suggest to all the officials calling this league to “tighten up” on that rule, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about this garbage.

5.I’m going to echo 4 and 2 here.

6.I’m going to echo 6, 4, and 2 here. Look, a pattern, all even numbers.

7.I’m pretty sure I already covered this in 3. Properly prepared teams do not need a coach, and thus will render this rule obsolete.

I know how I’m coming off in this e-mail and it’s purposeful. What I want to remind all of the officials on this mailing is that it is YOU who are charged with administrating the games not this “coach”. It is you who are going to call what you want, when you need to, and this mailing is nothing more than an extension of complaining from the sideline. No matter what this coach has said, and no matter what is written, you are in charge on the field and your call is just that, your call; so it is written, so shall it be done. Whether it is good or bad, it’s still yours and you should never let a coach talk you into a senseless penalty, remember your training.

As for a final thought on this issue of “tighten up”; Dan, if this clown really wants this, then he should compensate us for mileage, provide for 5 officials as well as insurance coverage. There is a reason why Friday’s are called a specific way and our Saturday instructional leagues are called another. Everyone should realize that. Please remove me from all Saturday scheduled games, as well as mailings, form here forward. I will not roll over for these weekend Lombardis, so I feel it is better that I just don’t call.

Regards,

Mole
Jeeper/Dog Peter/Executive Vice President In Charge Of World Cheese Consumption.

So yeah, I'm done.

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.

My First Shameless Plug - Knight Time

So, except for George Light, most of the Mole's buddies reside in my little world under aliases. Why, it could be families, it could be outstanding warrants, or the fact that they're entrepreneurs and MAJOR technology players in a market were people have more money than 50 cent got bullet wounds, and I wouldn't want to hurt them. I'm loyal to my friends.

Break You Self Fool!!!!

Anyway, one of Mole buddies just escaped the clutches of the Indians and their bingo to come back to Texas and take over a radio station. So, the Mole would like to invite everyone around Jacksboro and the surrounding area to check out the morning show on Boss 95.5. Jared Knight (not an alias) has moved from America's version of a third world country to become the morning talent and program director at this newly formed station, and I expect good things from the boy.

Uh-merica

For those of you wondering what it's like to grow up and live in a small town in East Texas, just rent the latest Mike Judge (Office Space, Beavis & Butt-Head, King of the Hill) film Idiocracy. Granted, it's not the greatest movie in the world, but it has a few good laughs and presents a pretty sobering picture of the kind of world we're in for if the Federlines are allowed to keep reproducing at their current exponential rate.

"You see gentlemen, a pimp's love is very different then a square's."

Cover Song, Thou Art A Villain

So, the ol' Mole is at work today just minding my own business, printing reports, and what not. Then, I hear it, for the 902nd bagillionth time. You know, it's bad enough that we have some terrible XM radio pumped through my department day after day, but some of the songs that come across this channel seem to have a daily play quota. Most of this stuff is 80s, 90s, and current decade pop, you know, stuff that's overly produced, processed, and is as easily forgettable as the latest Panic at The Disco type garbage. Primarily it's stuff you can listen to and not mind. That is, unless, you have depth of Paris Hilton, or Tara Reid. Then, I'm sure it'll like totally speak to you and your depressing life as you're in your BMW/H2 that mommy and daddy bought you for your 16th birfday, while fumbling through your purse for your Blackberry just to send a text message to your BFF to remind her of your pedicure appointment.

*Sigh*

For the rest of us, we have lives to live and while it's not what I would personally choose to occupy my ears, it's not all that bad. Listening to music of this type is like taking a crap: In mid loaf, I know it's there; but tomorrow there will be another, and it'll still be crap. Oh it might be dressed up or packaged different, but I know it's still crap. *cough* Pink, Fall Out Boy *cough*

This brings me to a certain choice that is played for what seems to be at least 6 times daily. This song is so rancid, and so horrid that it can't just be dismissed as simple crap. The stank from this is that which is born and brewed is the lowest of the bowls. It's a beer shit, it's loose, it's greasy, it's runny, it's the day after pounding back a case of Budweiser (known as Bud Fat round these parts). You can't stand it when it comes, and you can't wait for it to be over, and that my friends is Tim McGraw's version of "When the Stars Go Blue".

It must have been a monumental day for Tim when he woke up and decided to record this song. I can just imagine the conversation he had with Faith Hill:

TM: Honey, I can't decide what to do today, get hair plugs for my bald ass head, or butcher a great song written but another much more talented country artist, and put it on my greatest hits CD.
FH: Tommy
TM: It's Timmy
FH: Whatever, look, I'm too busy snorting coke and counting money to deal with your problems. Just drop our kids off at the nanny for the weekend and make sure to stop by the Home Depot on the way home and pick up some day laborers. I quit banging bald guys after "Breath".
TM: Do they need to speak English?
FH: No, they just can't be bald, oh yeah, and you have to watch again you no talent hack. WHERE ARE MY PLATINUM RAZORS!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN'T LINE THIS SHIT UP WITH STAINLESS STEAL!!!!!!!!

Seriously. This song, which was written and recorded for Ryan Adam's second album Gold in 2001, is absolutely beautiful. It's just one in a long line of great songs he has written and recorded, lucky for us, Tim McGraw's management must have thought so too. So, he ruined it. For the rednecks, and fake ass cowboys out there in your over starched shirts, and stranglers; or for those of you who have never done a single hard day's work on a farm, and wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a steer and a bull, you're not fooling anyone. The simple fact that you'd buy and listen to this drivel means that you are, in fact, not country. You're as processed as Velveeta, Avril Lavinge, post Death Row Tupac, 'N Sync, The All-American Rejects, and Tim McGraw.

The Mole hates you.

Requiem For The Cowboys

I'm going to make this short because having to think of the last moments of the Cowboy's loss to the Seahawks makes me want to hit kittens with a hammer.

Our Motto: "The only good cat is a dead cat."

That being said, Tony Romo got was he deserved on Saturday night. You see Tony, when you date a vegetarian country singer, you'll forget how to handle the leather, bub.

Drew Bledsoe live blogged the event from the sidelines because we all know a QB of his stature doesn't hold a clip-board. Check his thoughts here.

So A BCS Team Walks Into A Bar

First, apologies to those of you that have been visiting regularly and found nothing. It's not the fact that I'm a lazy, though the mole is most certainly that, it's just that it's been the holidays, I was off work, and there were copious amounts of alcohol to consume, not to mention my Granddad nearly biting it the day before Christmas. Since I already lost a grandparent years ago on Christmas day, I hope all of you can understand the lackluster effort I put into this thing lately, I was a little pre-occupied.

However, it's 2007, Granddaddy is still alive, it's almost NASCAR time again, so on-ward!

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So the bowl season ended with that FANTASTIC BCS Championship Game Brought to by Tostitos - Tostitos: The official corn chip of those that like corn, but don't like to see it in their poop the next day.

Anyway, since we now have a definitive National Champion in Appalachian State, I'd like to run down the teams of the BCS Bowls as chicks you might run into down at your local pub.

Last Resort - These are the average girls. They're really nothing you'd kick out of bed unless they eff'd better on the floor, but lets face it; Wake Forest and Louisville, nobody gives two shits about you until we're half a case deep and the bar is closing in 30mins. Mole says thanks but no thanks.

Athletic - You know these girls; they're on the basketball/softball/volleyball team. They were always the ones you could get to play intramurals, and you never had to pick up Parrot Bay if they came over, Natty Light was always good enough. We love you girls, you're really cool, and we love the fact we never had to brush our teeth when you showed up at noon on Saturday to wake us up for a burger after an all night binge, and the subsequent all day binge to come. You're a little too beefy for us Michigan and Ohio State but we like ya.

Cock Tease - You know ‘em, you hang out with ‘em, you hate the new ones you meet. They spend 3 hours getting ready to go to a smoke filled bar. When you meet them, they make sure to wear something as low cut as humanly possible, jeans that were painted on, and enough perfume to gag a maggot. They rub your thigh all night, whisper in your ear, and when you get them home, they bar you from the bed room, give you a pillow, a blanket, and point you to the couch. No matter how persistent you can be you wind up in the dark, on the couch, and 8 miles from home, with no car. F her, I walked home, I mean, you should just walk home at 5am just to show her the only reason why you were over there in the first place; and F you Notre Dame.

Local Trash - Yeah, we've all been there. They're on a stool every Friday and Saturday, sometimes in the same clothes. God Bless 'em, they're good looking old faithfuls, but they've all been road hard and put away wet. We like ya LSU, and Florida, you’re always there, but I'm afraid I'll get something I can't wash off.

Attention Whore - Always dressed, always loud, wants to be the center of attention at all times. Just go away USC, we're sick of you.

Catch and Release - This is the chick you see from across the room, she looks really good. You’ll catch sight of her walking away and WOW, check that out, you can play quarters off that ass! As you're sitting with you buddies the bartender gives you a beer from the lady on the end. WHAT?! That chick bought me a drink? It's time to close this deal. You walk up, you smile, she smiles, and there's a chipped tooth, plus it's brown to top it off. BOOMER!!!! You can't believe it, but it looks like playing on the west coast got you "dealt wit".

Drinking Man's Redemption - You drank yourself out of the game, you can barely complete a sentence, and yet, you wake up the next morning with two chicks that look like Desperado Salma Hayek, and Jessica Biel. You panic! Damn you Cutty Sark and water (hey it's the holidays, we're broke and drinking cheap scotch), you can't remember anything! But, you look up and find the tri-pod, with a video camera, and the red light still on. Instant Classic, we’ll watch this for years.

God Bless you Boise State