Milk Was A Bad Choice

So, for those of you that don't know, the Mole is going to be a dad. Yes yes, after nearly 2 years, P agreed to consummate our marriage *pumps fist "YES!"*, and the result is going to lead to a Mole spawn on December 2nd.

The Mole started trading e-mails with a buddy who we'll refer to as Mississippi today. Mississippi and the Mole have a lot in common; We both get stupid drunk, we're both extremely hairy/manly, we're both gluttons for punishment as we both married red heads, and we're both expecting what we think to be our first kids around beginning of December. Anyway, the following is the e-mail traffic from today:

Mole: The Deuce told us about you guys, and I haven't said congrats to you on your little one coming. When are you guys due, and have you found out what it is yet?
Miss: Congrats to you as well. We found out last Tuesday that it is a girl. It is due Dec. 11th. We are up in the air about dna tests…… When is yours due, and have you found out what it is?
Mole: That's awesome man. We're due on December 2nd, and we find out on the 10th what it is. P wants a girl, I want a boy, she wants it to have red hair, and I could care less as long as it doesn't come out blonde, then I'll be pissed. Things are going to change soon man.
Miss: They are already starting to change…..fixin to get real crazy though…..no sleep and no going out……leaving for the weekends are a thing of the past…….I do want to see if the milk tastes like sweet corn juice though…………..
Mole: Wow, I'm speechless, and thirsty.

I'M BATMAN

So, this past weekend everyone went to P's dad's new place to check out the house and have father's day. It's a bit of strange event as we don't see P's dad that often, even though he lives about 40 minutes away. So, as always, Adam tried to be nice the whole time, but the Mole managed to rear his head at one opportune moment.

*Batman commercial on TV, kids and tons of noise in the background*

Co-Ray: Man, I think that Batman movie is going to be good, i can't wait to see it.
Adam: *Oh man, noooooo, don't say it! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!*
Mole: Yeah man, it does look cool, but I hear Heath Ledger dies in the end.
*Total Silence from everyone in the room*
Mole: Seriously, I don't think he's going to be in the next movie.

Slow-pitch Softball: Where Adults, Chimps, And Retards Are Equal

So, last night The Mole had to go do a few slow-pitch softball games. The Mole figured, sure why not. He'll just take the extra money to Vegas next week to blow on some table, plus my assigner was in a pinch and The Mole always helps out his friends. Anyway, through the course of the night, The Mole finds out one thing; there is a reason why he hasn't called a slow-pitch game in 3 years. Calling these games were like watching paint dry while getting your scrot hair pulled out by a 95 year old man with Palsy.

Batting:

SLOW-PITCH SOFTBALL IS TEE-BALL FOR ADULTS!!!!!!!!!! Hitting in slow-pitch softball is probably as easy as banging Lindsay Lohan if you have an eight ball. You see, the ball comes in with a rainbowed arch......slowly. Yet 5 people last night struck out looking, and 6 others struck out swinging, SWINGING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The Mole had never seen anything like it, not to mentioned the blatant stupidity and ignorance for the rules shown by these mongoloid, downs afflicted morons playing. This message is for the blonde with the nice athletic body but the Mr. Ed/Kentucky Derby face. Tie does not go to the runner, ever. Check out this entry from 2006 and keep that Julia Roberts horse mouth shut, we'll all be better off.

Catching/Throwing:

In the Special Olympics slow-pitch is an event the kids can compete in. This is a sport so simple and so easy to play that it is deemed acceptable for those with mental and physical impairments to compete. I'm sure which ever team won it all last year would have beaten the piss out of one adult team from last night. 25 run inning. I'll let that sink in a bit.......................................................................25 run inning. Because these people can't seem to do fundamental things that should have been learned before the age of 10 they allowed a team to post 25 runs in one half inning. The physical ineptitude of these "players" reached such an all time low that The Mole is certain a Special Olympian with a baby arm and and deer paw for a hand could out throw and catch each of them.

Comportment:

There was none, it got the point that the only way The Mole was going to deal with it was make excitement for himself. So, he started blowing calls on purpose. It didn't matter, these people sucked. Why should they expect anything more form the officials on the field? Funny thing was though, no one argued. Every play The Mole purposefully called got wrong just to stir the hornets nest brought nothing but lady bugs and rainbows. It was almost surreal.

Epilogue:

I hate slow-pitch softball. At least with the little girls, they're supposed to be bad. Here it's just sad to watch grown adults waste good money embarrassing themselves. I don't want to call these games, and they should save their money paying us to call the games. It's a waste of my time and their money.

River Trip '08 - Live From The Sportitorium!!!!!!!

So, the annual River Trip that has evolved over the past few years was up to nearly 20 drunks this time. For those uninitiated, The River is the Guadalupe, and we sit in piss-water by way of an inner-tube or "Toob" for hours on end to drink, cuss, smoke, and generally embarrass our wives/girlfriends/humanity. The list this year included the usual cast of characters but this year we actually had one in character. The Communist lost his bet, chronicled here and here. And, well, thanks to a few cases of beer, and a little face paint, The Communist wound up here, enjoy?

Anyway as with most trips the Mole does his best to log all the stupid shit said over the weekend and this is what could be pieced together.

*Dance Party -"Why do you have a backward P on your chest?"

*Co Ray -"The problem is, we're a pitching wedge from where we started and I'm already fucked up."

*Co Ray -"I've got cellulite on my titties like Phil Mickelson."
Mole-"The problem isn't that you have cellulite, the problem is you have titties."

*(While walking in neck deep water after 6 hours of marathon drinking)
The Deuce -"Hey are you single?"
Jess-"Yes."(oddly receptive)
The Deuce -"Cause I'm single, and I'm looking for single people. HEY MOLE!!!!!!!!! This is Jess she's from Austin by way of Houston."
Mole-"Hey Jess, you seem like a nice girl and all since we've just meet and never spoken before in our lives, but I fucking hate the hippies in Austin and the traffic in Houston. Your home towns suck, no offense."

*The Communist -"Looks like some girl with a bleeding vagina was riding my chest."

(Talking to Co-Ray's wife in a Baylor hat)
*Random River Guy-"Hey, you can't drink wearing that hat...........or dance!"

*(Standing on the Bank)
Dub-C-"Dude, don't stand over there."
The Deuce-"In that water?"
Dub-C-"That's not water, Mole just pissed himself standing there."
The Deuce-"What the fuck man?"
Mole-"Yeah, my bad man, didn't mean to do that again."
The Deuce-"Again!?"

*Mexican Guy-Hey man, is that black girl still following me?
Mole - What?
MG - That black girl over there *pointing*
Black Girl - I see you mother fucker!
P - *look o' terror*
Mole - Do you know her?
MG - Na man, and she won't leave me alone
BG - Are you telling them you don't know me? Mother fucker, you're my baby daddy!

He's Going Top Rope!!!!!!

So, just an update from a previous post, the Communist is going to float the Guadelupe River this weekend dressed as the Gay Dingo Warrior. The Mole recieved an e-mail confirmation today that his search for a bananna hammok has ended. He simply sent an e-mail with the following:

Communist: It's done. This is the best I could find it's pink and purple.

"Look, you don't understand. There was shrinkage."

Confession

Being a non-practicing Catholic the Mole hasn't been to confession in quite sometime. He hasn't humbled himself in front of another man by speaking of all the seedy things he's been involved with over the past 10 or so years, and he generally hasn't felt the need to....until recently. So he leaves it you, judge the Mole if you must! But know, he is indeed sorry, and will come clean right here, in this very blog entry. The Mole's been dabbling................innnnnnnnnnnnnnn............Hippie.


God Damn Hippies

Yes, the Mole hates hippies and everything they are. He hates their music, their smell, their forest fire starting in Arizona, their Birkenstocks, and their love of all things regarding hair. Just the thought of walking down an Austin street between the hours of 12AM to 12AM chills the very soul of the Mole thinking of the dreadlocks, incense, and hemp clothing that can be witnessed, it's almost too much.

It's funny. The Mole can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, coaches bested, obstacles overcome. He's accomplished more than most men, and without the use of hippie. What. . . What makes a man? Is it. . . is it, being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn't that what makes a man? And as The Moles writes this, tears are literally welling up, does that surprise you? Well people, strong men also cry. . . strong men also cry.

So the Mole must confess, the past 3 Thursdays, a buddy has been coming over. This buddy has been quoted before in the blog, but never aliased, until now, Dance Party. Dance Party came to light in two different posts, but will always be memorable from the Austin Trip '07 when he coined the phrase, "would you pee in her butt?". It's a general recognition of how hot a girl is; used in a sentence:

Mole: Did you see that chick?! Damn, she's hot!
Dance Party: Would you pee in her butt?!
Mole: Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm........

Anyway, Dance Party has been coming by on Thursday nights and we've been doing some heavy drinking, and playing the guitar. A lot of you would think, two guys, sitting around, drinking, writing songs like "Puttin' Pop Rocks In Yer Hot Box", that's just what guys who have past or are on the cusp of 30 should do. That's nothing strange, right?!

Bongos........

One word, a word that sears your mind......bongos. We've been using bongos, and Dance Party is pretty damn good at it too! But Bongos........it's a slippery slope we tread.

Speaking of tread, the Mole has also put his IRS stimulus check to use. Most of you are thinking, a nice bottle of 6 month old Cutty Sark, right? "The Mole probably spent it in Asian massage parlors", that's what most of you are saying. But, this is what the money was spent on. That's right, hippie shoes, and not just any old sandle, but one for the active hippie. You see, hippies are branching out. They're literally being run out of town, so they need a comfortable pair of shoes to do this kind of running in, and the Mole has a pair.

P is disgusted, she hates the shoes, and thinks The Mole a total dork for wearing them, but he doesn't care!!!!!! If loving toe shoes is wrong, The Mole don't wanna be right!!!!!!!!

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.

Across The Universe - A Movie Review

So, Christy and I watched a movie last night, and I can't believe how fabulous it was. Now with my constant travel and all, I can't usually be around; but at least we got to spend some quality time together. What we watched was a movie I bought her for Valentines day called Across The Universe. It basically tells the story of a guy named Jude, who travels to America to find his father. While there, he falls in love with his buddy's sister named Lucy.

The best thing about this movie is how historically accurate it's portrail of the Vietnam War era was. There were times when I literally felt like a part of this movie, like my heart was connected on some higher, visceral level. It was intense. The fact that they used Beatles songs throughout to movie to carry the script and expand on each of the environments drew me in to this film even further. The most bestest thing about this movie is how they tied the names of the characters to actual Beatles' songs. Jude, was named after the Beatles's song, "Hey Jude", Lucy from "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, and Prudence from the song "Dear Prudence". It was like every turn this movie took, it got more clever and more clever.

There where things about this movie as well though that were questionable/objectionable. For one, the drug use in this movie may have been a little over done. I mean, my dad told me that everyone smoked a little weed back in the 60s and 70s, but he said drugs didn't really get bad until the 80s. I think they may have needed a better fact checker, or you know opened a history book at some pointing during the writing process, idk. Also, the use of female nudity was really over done, and I think I'll leave it at that. Sex wasn't as free then as it is now, and for the producers and directors to pervert such an innocent time in our history was kinda tasteless and classess, but guys, lol, like boobies, roflmao.

I think all in all I'd recommend this movie if for nothing else than the spectacular story. The charater development, and their music driven lives made me laugh, kept me on the edge of my seat, and made me cry a little. It was really really nice, and I thought was up there and better than No Country For Old Men. I mean who liked that movie? The ending was sucked and didn't make any sense.

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.

Guitar Queer-O

You know, I wonder sometimes; why did P decide to say yes that day in Vegas? Was it the the margarita haze at the bar in the Venetian while we waited on our gondola ride? Was it my trendy stylish look that afternoon of tattered Levi's, Mick Fanning Reefs, and a button down white shirt with that one extra button undone to show off my mane of man fur? Or was it her glimpse into the future of what she would see when she came home from the gym on Wednesday?

Wednesday as P came home from working out she walked in on me in the living room, left foot hiked up on the fireplace, in my work clothes, talking shit with absolutely no one else in the room, and a fake guitar propped at a 90 degree angle on my right leg. That's right, I was online, playing Guitar Hero III, and talking noise to what was probably a 12 year old who couldn't hear me, and jerks off to the lingerie section of the Sears catalog.

P: What are you doing?
Mole: Kicking some kid's ass online.
P: Can they hear what you're saying?
Mole: No.
P: Then why are you talking?
Mole: Because this douche-bag picked Through the Fire and Flames by Dragon Force and the little cock sucker can't even play it. Whoever this little cum-stain is made me play through this fucking song and THEY can't even hit a fucking note!
P: *silence*
Mole: What?
P: *silence*
Mole: Fuck this guy.

That's right, I'm now THAT GUY. I'm the guy that gets on the internet to play complete and total strangers in a game that requires me to put on a fake plastic guitar. I'm the guy that talks shit to the TV, and I'm the guy who now also posts his stats from playing online in his blog to the right. And what does any of this mean? Probably......that I'm gay. So, if any of you think you're a better Guitar Queer-O than the old Mole, and you have a Wii. Just send me a message, and I'll kick your ass too while talking shit to the TV.

I'm waiting, and probably in my "draws"......

Running Sucks, And So Does Your Face

So, it's been over a month since I last posted. Santa came and went, New Year's came and went, and the Cowboy's receivers and offensive line forgot how to catch and block. The Mole hasn't posted much because of the funk surrounding his loss in December. In fact I've been in a funk, most of last year. It's hard to be creative, funny, or motivated in general when so much shitty is happening in your life, but one of things I'm going to do more of this year is get back to blogging; giving you, the people, an inside view of how The Mole's twisted little mind works. I want you to hear my spin on topical events, and I want to be able to make as many dick and fart jokes as humanly possible.

Also, I'm back in the gym. And I'm also one of those lemmings that runs using the Nike+ thing on my iPod. Yes I'm one of those people that has an iPod. I have multiple iPods, and use iTunes religiously. I don't care about your arguments of being locked into Apple's DRM, I don't care about not being able to play my tracks purchased from iTunes on other mp3 players, and I don't care that your mp3 player can make voice recordings and tune to radio stations. The reason I have an iPod is because I HATE listening to radio. All they ever play is garbage packaged to you and your 12 year old daughter that also listens to Metallica. And, in the same way I don't by a car so that I can fly, I don't by an mp3 player to record my voice. I have a voice recorder for that.

*focus Mole*

Right, so last month I weighed in at 213, that's too heavy for the old Mole even though I showed up at a New Year's Party in cheerleading shorts (I wear a women's large in soffee), I feel like it's time to regin my body back into what it looked like about 3 years ago, so I'm working out and running again. You can track my progress of 5ks to the right.

Happy New Year!

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