Norv Turner, Chargers Fans, And The University Of Washington Can Eat A Dick

Ok, so we all know that the Mole is an official, and all that, it's not news to anyone who reads his blog. So, he just wants to qualify his remarks with that statement before we move forward.

Ed Hochuli, if you're a football fan, you know who this guy is even if you don't know the name. He's the only white hat on the Pro Level who isn't built like Sebastian Janikowski. Anyway, if you had polled the 32 NFL teams on Saturday and asked them who the best official in their league is, this name would have fallen from their self-righteous mouths time after time. The man's pedigree is impeccable; five conference championships, 2 Super Bowls, as well as numerous regular season games, playoff contests, not to mention his early stints at the high school and college level (Big Sky, Pac-10). The man has the experience, and the ability. This past weekend during a game between the Broncos, and the Chargers, Hochuli made was is the widely considered to be a cardinal sin in football circles, he had an inadvertent whistle. Denver's Quarterback fumbled the ball with his arm rising to go into a throwing motion. Hochuli ruled it an incomplete pass and whistled the play dead just as a San Diego player recovered the loose ball. The end result, after review, was that the ball was indeed a fumble, but since the ball was blown dead prior to the defense's recovery; the ball, by rule, is awarded to the last team in possession; in this case, the offense. Denver went on to score a touch down, and subsequent 2 point conversion for the win.

Personally, I know how this feels, I've done it. Every man who as put on the stripes has done it, and if you haven't you're either too big of a pussy to admit it, or you recently started. Rest assured, your time is coming. Unfortunately for Ed Hochuli, his game was on the national stage, in the biggest league in the land. But, shit happens. It's not the first time I've seen this during an NFL game, or at any other level for that matter, and so what that it did? Charger's fans are in an uproar over what exactly, that they lost the game? The final score was 39-38, that's right 77 points. If a team puts 39 points on the board, you don't deserve to win, number one. And lets not forget the fact that the team doing all the bitching is a franchise, that pins it's hopes around one man, LaDainian Tomlinson. This is a franchise that's the epitome of NFL wanna-be with one Super Bowl appearance in which they were completely dominated by Steve Young and the San Francisco 49ers. They traded away last years Super Bowl winning quarterback and MVP Eli Manning and hired Norv Turner for a head coach (69-87 life time record through 2007). Do they honestly expect Tomlinson to lead them to the promised land after this recent history of team mismanagement? The boy is a Texan and all, but even as good player as him can't snuff out the loosing funk that surrounds this team, their front office, and coaching staff. As far as I'm concerned, the missed call is just par for the course with this bunch of perennial losers. Plus, lets not forget that their "vaunted" defense gave up 486 total yards of offense and 5 touch downs, the last of which came on 4th down and didn't put the Broncos ahead. The succeeding play, a successful two point conversion attempt, was the go ahead score. The Chargers had 60 minutes to stop the Broncos, and didn't. Then, to top it all off, Darren Sproles wastes 4 seconds on a return to the 18 he could have downed in the end-zone for no time, and a free spot on the 20. The Chargers also failed to move within field goal range with 24 seconds and a time out left. The Mole has no sympathy. Those douche bags from Whale's Vagina, can eat a fat dick. They had time, and opportunity, they squandered it, and no one call by an official made the difference. It's called defense, play it.

As for Washington, and the 15 yard unsportsmanlike conduct foul that pushed their extra point attempt back, which was subsequently blocked; big deal. Again, we're talking about a team who hasn't won an outright conference title since 1991. This is also a team that has gone 44-52 this decade, which saw the firing of a coach wrapped up in gambling accusations, not to mention the hiring of Tyrone Willingham who's record of under-achieving, even at the historical power house program of Notre Dame has been well documented. So lets go through the series of events in this game. Washington, down by seven and with less than 10 seconds, scores with two seconds left on the clock. The Quarterback launches the ball in the air in celebration, and the refs assess a 15 yard penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct. The extra point is blocked, and BYU runs the clock out for a 28-27 win. The old saying, "act like you've been there before", applies when you view this play, that's what winners do. Also, for those who say the 15 yards affected the point after try THAT much are out of your goat smellin' minds. After the penalty we're talking a 32 or 33 yard try here, right? To quote Dan Hawkins, the coach of Colorado, "This is Division I football", "It ain't intramurals!". This is a D-1 kicker who can't make an 30 yard kick? I think their recruiting needs to be addressed because again, that one call didn't make the difference, playing a group of winners (BYU is currently a top 25 team) did. Winner's win, and losers loose. Welcome to world of sports Huskies fans, and eat a dick.

What bothers The Mole the most are two things, one for each game. The pro game issue is simple, Nor Turner is a loser of a head coach. He's in over his head, and has been at every stop he hasn't been a coordinator, the numbers don't lie. For him to say that the call was unacceptable and that, he expects more at the top level of play, makes me wonder why he only called out the official. Why not call out defensive players and the coaches? Hell, why not call out himself as well for not preparing his team to play an adequate game of defense? Why should Ed Hochuli have to be perfect when it's obvious that Norv Turner, his coaching staff, and his team wasn't. Losers lay blame, winners just sack up and stop someone, so Norv Turner, eat a dick. For those who think the ref was out of line, and should have used better judgment on the call at the end of the Washington/BYU game, it's simple here too. The book specifically calls out what the kid did. In Rule 9 it plainly states that players can be flagged for unsportsmanlike acts including "throwing the ball high into the air". What the talking heads at ESPN and all over the sports world have failed to mention is who writes the rules. The refs don't, hell there are rules The Mole hates to enforce, but they don't pay us to like them, they pay us to enforce them. The NCAA rules committee, is made up of representatives from the various conferences at all levels of play, and they are the ones that write the book. The coaches write the rules book, the coaches write the rules book, the coaches write the rules book; period. They are the ones who put that stupid fucking rule in there, and we are instructed to make that call, it's what they want. No one blames Colonel Paul Tibbets for dropping Little Boy over Hiroshima during Special Mission 13, it's always America that dropped the bomb. He did what he was told to do, just like that crew did during the Washington BYU game. Blame the rules committee for a stupid rule, but don't blame the refs for doing what they're told to do.

What those of us in the officiating world have come to realize is that we're the only people on the field expected to be perfect. Pampered prima donnas are idolized, yet they continue to drop passes, fumble balls, miss tackles, and get paid millions for it. As officials, we're expected to be perfect, and take an onslaught of abuse if "the royal we" screw you're team. So, tell you what, put on a uniform and try doing what "we" do, at the level "we" do it. Until then, you can all eat a dick.

Respectfully,

Mole

Yew Mite Be Uh Redneck

So, the Mole was flipping through his desk calendar today that he got for Christmas from his grandmother. 365 Days of Redneck jokes probably not written by Jeff Foxworthy. Anyway, seeing that we've been through nearly eight months, coupled with the fact that the Mole lives in Taxes, Taxass, or Tixas, or whatever the preferred pronunciation is; there have been a few that have paralleled the Mole's own life. However, today was a special day. Upon ripping off the page from August 20th, the joke for the 21st read, "Your children's night light is a neon beer sign".

Back in the ole' college days (Jesus, has it nearly been 10 years since I graduated?), the Mole was an active member in a fraternity. He made some really good friends, but also ran across many a broke ass motherfucker that sucked money out of the government for fucking cheese fries and stole my beer.......sorry. Anyway, the Mole was not one. Even though the Mole's parents footed the bill for school and books (thanks ya'll), the Mole was left on his own for car payments, insurance, food, clothing, and entertainment. The Mole worked two jobs all through his college career though and he's probably a better man for it. However, with that extra money came extra disdain for those broke bastards that were constantly bumming beer, and seemed to never think about filling out a job application. How can you fight this injustice Mole? Well sir, he's glad you asked........Schlitz......the beer,not the malt liquor, though the Mole does love him some Edward 40 Hands.

Schlitz beer, "The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous", was the cheap beer of choice in those days. Schlitz was a huge working class beer back in the 60s, so much so that the Mole's dad speaks of drinking it High school chilling his cooler with rock salt to make it COLD. Anyway, the beer kind of went away in the 70s but has been making a small comeback lately as a small run specialty brew through the Pabst brewing company. In college, the Mole could pick up a case for $8 bucks, and not only that, when some sorry bag of dicks would try to steal your beer at a party, NO ONE wanted to drink Schlitz, until like 4am. By that time, I was so drunk, I couldn't care less.

So, the Mole has an affinity for all things Schlitz, and even bought a neon sign off a guy for $25 bucks about 6 years ago. It simply has the Schlitz logo, in red neon and lights up perfectly. It hung in the spare bedroom of the Mole Hole for years until recently when P HAD to have that room as the nursery for a Mole spawn. The joke reminded the Mole of the Deuce and his daughters. When they would come in town and crash back in his Dallas days, and even now that the boy is an inner looper, he still finds time to beat the highway, come to the country, and visit with the girls. The most recent trip with his daughters was in the spring and when it was time for bed they curled up and asked for their night light to be turned on. That's right, since they were both little, they crashed in the Mole's bedroom and slept to the soft lighting of the Schlitz brewing company.

Stay Classy

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!!!!!!