Y'all Ain't Never Got Two Things That Match!!!!!!!!!

"Either y'all got Kool-aid, no sugar. Peanut butter, no jelly. Ham, no burger. Daaamn."

Smokey's got it right. Sometimes you just can't get it together. However, since The Mole needs to make up for His April Fools post (using lol, Christy, roflmao, blatent contradiction from paragraph to paragraph, plus liking a shitty movie over one of the greatest ever put on celluloid) and here it is.

There are few ways the Mole likes on his burger, and cheddar cheese with bacon will make that shit right. Vicent Vega has the right attitude towards pork unlike Jules Winnfield, and God bless this woman for making the most out of some prime slices of pig. The Mole now links to, THE BACON BRA. This is the only side item for a burger the Mole can endorse besides cheesy fries.

Chugga Chugga, Toot Toot

Softball, shit, I'm sick of softball. Every weekend, another tournament, or school, or meeting, or something. Mole needs a weekend off, unless he can have another weekend like the one a couple of weeks ago.

The Mole and two of his umping buddies drove out to middle of no where Texas for a weekend of calling ball. The ball was great and all, but the night before was even better. When we first arrived at our destination, the accommodations were a little less than desirable. We stayed at what had to have been the WORST Howard Johnson of all time. The lights were missing light bulbs, the non smoking room, had ash burns on the chairs, and the mattresses were covered in plastic, just to give you an idea. I had a feeling we were the first people not renting that room by the hour in quite some time. Anyway, after dinner, I got back to the room and was locked out. The Mole hadn't picked up his key and his roommate was no where to be found. Using my keen sense of smell I noticed the oder of cigarette smoke coming from up the hallway which reminded me, when we got out of the elevator, I noticed a piece of notebook paper taped to the wall with the words Cheyenne Club with an arrow pointing to a door written in red Sharpie. Obviously, I figured the boys had noticed this classy joint as well and were probably inside enjoying an after dinner beverage.

Walking into this wall of smoke The Mole wondered what kind of Twilight Zone he had stepped into when the half dozen or so people that didn't know me yelled HEYYYY!!!!!! and waived; startling, but friendly. I made my way over to my two buddies, the one I drove in with, WWB, and one that met us there, Bubba. We stood against a table in the corner and I began to drink in this experience. At one table next to the pool table was a group of 5:

1. Lisa - The bar manager, grey sweat suit, large, smoking reds, black teeth, and race track hair, but friendly
   
2. Lisa's Husband - the 120 to Lisa's 250lb frame. Quiet, Budweiser drinker, wears wranglers.
   
3. Lisa's Big Friend - Large woman, smelled of Rubens and fabreeze, wore stretchy pants
   
4. LBF's Boyfriend - Reminded me of Quasimodo if he lived in West Texas, wore velcro shoes, and played a mean game of 8-ball
   
5. The Kid - The only guy of of the group that looked normal, other than the fact that he was hanging out with this bunch of mouth breathers.
   

The other people in the bar consisted of a guy who reminded of a passed out "Stranger" from The Big Lebowski, and a blond at the other side of the bar, on the hotel computer; that's right folks, the hotel computer was in the bar, a nice touch. Anyway the Mole asked what seemed to be the only appropriate question at the time, "Where the fuck are we?", to which both of them responded, "we don't know". At this time Lisa walks up and asked me if I'd like a drink, so I order a beer and find out it's buy one get one, SCORE! After the first one WWB says I'm getting out of here before my teeth start to rot and fall out, Bubba says, I'm staying until that blond gets up, I want to see if she looks normal. I agree to stay with him and we order another round.

It's about this time that the blond gets up and starts to walk toward us, albeit, with a slight limp. The girl isn't that great looking, probably a 3-4 in normal life, but at the Cheynne Club she's an easy 9. Bubba, goes ape shit over this diamond in the septic tank and as she walks buy he says, "HEY, what's your name?!". She ignores and keeps walking to the bar, and the following exchange happens:

Lisa: Lindsey! Diddn't you hear that guy? He asked what your name was!
Lindsey: Huh?
Lisa: That guy, he just asked what your name was!
Lindsey: Oh, ok.
Lisa: Well Tell him!
Lindsey: I'm Lindsey.
Bubba: I picked that up from your friend.
Lisa: You like her don't you? You think she's hot, huh? You should see her tits. She's my best friend and she has great tits!
Mole: *silence*
Lisa: Lindsey, show them your tits!
Lindsey: No, not tonight.
Bubba: Come on, do it.
Lindsey: OK.

Up comes the shirt, out pops the boobs. Bubba, is now transfixed and asks to move over to bar so that he can talk to her more and we do. He chats her up about how she wound up in the middle of no where, she lights up a camel no filter to tell the story, and the Mole just takes in the ambiance of the situation. In a shitty ass HoJo, in west Texas, in The Cheyenne Club; we've seen a mutant play a mean game of pool, a Cowboy who might be dead never move over at a table by himself, and tits being put on display. How could this story get any better? Just wait, it's a Mole story. After getting the chick's number since he's going to be back in town for two more dates, it's time for the Mole to call it a night and get to sleep. I leave Bubba and his new muse in the bar and get to bed. The next morning as we're eating breakfast and waiting to head out to the ball fields, Bubba is talking to the guys about this chick and how he got her number, blah, blah, blah. Then it happens

Bubba: Mole, I found out why she walked with a limp after you left. She was in a bad car accident.
Mole: Oh, did it kinda mess up her knee or leg or something.
Bubba: No man, she doesn't have legs, either of them!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA, I told her the next time I was i town I was going to make her walk her worse than she already did. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Yep, these are the people I hang out with...regularly. After that statement all I could think about was Major Benson Winifred Payne:

BOOM!

Explosion happened! Blood and guts and spit and ass was everywhere

And Bubba come crawling out the back door, both legs missing...
Lula May’s Baby Boy
And he looked up at me, he said

'Payne, I can't feel my legs...'

and I said 'Bubba, they ain't there'

And I looked down and them little bloody nubs was kicking real fast like this here.
And I said, “Bubba, It’s thirty miles to the nearest town, unless you can flip upside down and walk on your hands, you ain't gonna make it.

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.

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!

---

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

Hey, Woman, You Shut Your Mouth, And Make Babies!

Sometimes the Mole loves his job. Today I go to talk to one of our contracts people and he decided to unload on me about a problem negotiator that our customer employs. I ask if it's the ice queen that I've had a few dealings with, and sure enough, it was. Anyway we spew a bit about how difficult this chick can be and then he brings the high heat.

You know Mole, I don't mind women in the workplace per se, but I hate it when they have to over compensate for being a woman working in a man's world. I mean, just deal with me like I'm just another person, and don’t be a bitch because you have an inferiority complex about being a woman.

RIGHT EFFIN' ON DUDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tell that woman to get in the kitchen and make me some pie! I love this kind of sexism, the overt stuff you get from our "older" generation. The stuff that the "royal we" can't and don't speak about today since we've been pussified with all this politically correct bull-butter. So I figured I'd just run down a list of things that' irritates the Mole to no end about the fairer sex:

1. Driving - I mean really, when your glove box is filled with make-up, your cell phone is surgically attached to your ear, and teams in your professional basketball league could be beaten by the average High school boys team; it furthers the argument that women don't have the mental capacity, hand eye coordination, or reflexes to be issued licenses.


2. Personal Appearance - Face it, when products are on the market like fake color for your hair, fake color for your face, jelly filled sacks for your boobs, fake nails for your hands, and wonder bras to give your boobs a better look; should we, as men, have to take you that seriously?


3. Periods - We don't care about your cramps, just sort it out and leave us alone, the game is on! This is proof positive, if you believe in God, that he prefers men. I mean he created you, right? And in doing so, saw fit to make you bleed a few days out of each month.....HAHAHAHA. And like Mr. Garrison said in South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, "I'm Sorry Wendy, but I don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die."
   

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go talk to my dog, drink some scotch, and wait for the Mrs. to get home. I'll give that little cookie an hour before we do the no pants dance, time to musk up.

YEAH!

I Got Your Fat Head Dangling

Looks like Fathead is offering a new wall covering. For those of you women that don't know what Fathead is, it's basically a BIG vinyl cut out of your favorite sports team, or player that can be hung on the wall. For those of you men that don't know what Fathead is, remove your balls from betwixt your legs and be done with it. They advertise every 30 seconds during every sporting event on TV and men watch sports, period.

Anyway, for everyone’s masturbatory pleasure, Fathead now has life sized wall hangings of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. While it seems that only the back of these cut outs is supposed to be sticky, I'm sure Fathead will now have to come up with an official fathead one of these.

To the Mole's dismay, "Grain-vull's" finest isn't one of the three cheerleaders you can order.

The Shock Absorber

The Mole doesn't have many weaknesses outside of free alcohol, loose women, and large boobs.

Large boobs have been my achilles heel for some time, and now our genius friends from across the pond have developed a new way to exploit my weakness, while holding the "girls" back during a vigorous workout. It's called the "Shock Absorber" sports bra and you can watch a demonstration by clicking here. I suggest every red blooded male with working plumbing check this out. It's almost as good as that first time you saw a Playboy.

As a side note, this company gets bonus points for calling their website the Bounce-O-Meter.

Can life get better?