Sunday, January 29, 2012

A Major Award

I received major awards from work this week because I am a kick-ass, indispensable, irreplaceable, and essential employee.

I told you people I was awesome.

Maybe next time you will believe me when I tell you something.

suck and blow

I read somewhere on intardnets this week that work is a lot like playing the harmonica; you have to know when to suck, and when to blow.

Now…while this is funny as fuck, it is also at the same time not true in my case.

I simply put a lot of effort into my work, and I try to do my job in the most efficient way in order to satisfy the greatest number of customers.

I think outside the box to solve problems on my own, and I don't involve management unless I run into a issue I can't fix myself. 

At the same time, I will not risk causing personal injury or property damage in order to complete my assigned duties.

If road conditions are hazardous, my customers get their shit when they get it...and they'll know when they're "getting it" when I pull into their facilities and set the brakes.


It is a balancing act.

I am Safety Sam.

Or something...

If doing so makes my boss happy, that’s cool too.


Apparently my boss is happy, seeing as he has seen his way clear to present me with these two major awards.

Also apparent is that my supervisor is an extremely important and busy guy as evidenced by the fact that the awards are for July and October of 2011, and I am just now receiving them!

Company scuttlebutt says it is rare for a driver to get the monthly award twice in the same year.

The company rumor mill is also grinding out that winners of this coveted monthly award are eligible for “Driver Of The Year” fame, which entails a $10,000 after-tax prize and all-expense paid drunk-fest in Chicago.

…and seeing as I was awarded the monthly honor twice, my name will be dropped in the hat TWICE for the annual award.

I don’t know anything about all of that, though.

With my luck, the company will have decided to discontinue the exorbitant annual driver award prize thing.

Oh well.

It’s not like I was counting on it, but with $10k I could certainly afford to replace all of my guns that I lost in that horrendous para-sailing accident a while back.

Anyhoo…should I be so fortunate as to win the annual prize, I’ll be sure to let you fine folks know about it in my own special way.

In the meantime, I probably had better quit flipping off cops and bad drivers while out on the open road.

It wouldn’t look good for a multiple major award winner to do such things.

That’s what I think.

I dig the vintage depiction of truck drivers in movies and advertisements.  Clean, pressed uniforms.  Cool fedoras or hats like a cop or a soldier in garrison would wear.  Always helpful, smiling, and smartly saluting with a two-fingers Boy Scout salute.  Then they slit your throat!


Today, one is lucky to meet a steering-wheel-holder who speaks the King's English, has bathed in the last week, and isn't wearing sweat pants, a filthy wife-beater, and flip-flops.



Friday, January 27, 2012

Move It Over A Knuckle...Or Something...

Arizona Governor Jan Brewer presents the 2012 Fickle Finger Of Fate Award to President Obama

I'll get me coat...

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Monday, January 23, 2012

Strangers In The Night: An Epic Zoomie Meltdown

  I've had several nosy visitors the last few years.

It all started at just about the time I went public with the dreaded Blood-Soaked Dog Massacre Incident…one of my pivot points.

Since that time, the government comes-a-callin' here two or three times a month...just to check up on little ol' me...a dumb-ass, harmless, know-nothing, no-readership blogger who apparently posts some key words here and there.

Well…looky here, ass-bags.

You got nothing better to do than spy on a blog that says mean and hurtful things about you and your treasonous goings on?

…a miserable little blog containing stories bragging about my teenaged children and their achievements?

…a trivial intardnets presence detailing the trials and tribulations of a worn-out and exasperated truck driver?

Come on and get you some if you feel froggy.


Take your NDAA and shove it.


Without lubricant.

I love my country, but I hate my government and all you fuck-stains for what you have done to it.

My hate is a seething white-hot hate.

…a hate so hot it vaporizes the blood.

…and I ain’t the only one.

Trust me.

You call me a domesticated terrorist because I own guns.

Well…I DID own guns until I lost them all in a heinous water skiing accident…but that’s another story for another time. 

Now I am cowering and defenseless.

You call me a domesticated terrorist because I support Ron Paul.

Well...the Republican nominee debates are a fucking joke. 

Except for Paul, the rest of these assholes don't take this shit seriously, and they act like it is a late night talk show.

Whoever has the sharpest tongue, whoever delivers the cleverest putdown, whoever has the nicest haircut and most fashionable clothes wins.

Ron Paul is mostly ignored, laughed at, or called dangerously nuts for being Constitutionally-grounded, non-interventionist, financially sound, and pro-life.

Paul was booed for advocating the Golden Rule, for God's sake!

Now I ask...who is it that is REALLY dangerous and insane?

You call me a domesticated terrorist because I am a veteran. 

Well…I took AND observed my oath.  I served honorably and without (much) complaint in one of your glorious wars for oil.  It was another one of my pivot points, and I have learned much since then.

You call me a domesticated terrorist because I fly a Gadsden flag.

Well…I am justifiably pissed off at you.  It’s my way of being peacefully defiant.  What do you expect?  What would you rather me do?  Something senselessly violent?  That’s exactly what you want me to do so you can finish putting the hammer down for everyone’s safety.

I’ve said it before.

I am a man of peace. 

I wish to live freely and be left alone, but I won’t stand idly by while me and mine are being vigorously ass-raped.

That’s it.

Don't start nuthin,' won't be nuthin.'

It is not difficult to understand.

You are creating and exacerbating the problem.

Unintended consequences, I believe it is called…


Keep nudging, motherfuckers.

Keep poking your bony finger into our chests.

Keep demanding we respect your authority.

Keep telling us that your agents just want to go home at the end of their shift.

Keep demanding we make your enforcers feel “comfortable.”

Keep demanding that we help make their jobs “easier.”

Keep telling us that they are just doing their job...that it is difficult and frightening and stressful sometimes…and that is why they beat and kill with regularity.

Keep telling us that we are not doing enough to assuage your enforcers’ fears.

Go on.

Keep that shit up.

I despise a bully, and I ain’t afraid to risk it by popping a bully in the mouth.

…and I ain’t the only one.

Trust me

There is a whole fucking mess of us out here who are fucking fed up with your bullshit.

Normally law-abiding, hard-working motherfuckers are cherry picking which of your multitude of edicts we feel like following…and basing these decisions on some silly crap like…oh…I dunno…the fucking CONSTITUTION and the BILL OF RIGHTS!

Try it.

You might like it.

And you might find that your enforcers will discover that their jobs aren’t so frightening after all.

Some of you might be saying, “Zoomie!  You are old and delusional and full of shit.  You talk like Billy Badass with your keyboard, but you will soil your knickers and comply when faced with reality.  Go back to bed, old-timer.  Your ranting is becoming ponderous.”

Who’s to say? 

None of you motherfuckers know me or what I’m capable of.

All I know is that…this one time…in a foreign land…sorta like band camp but with more sand…I fixed a bayonet, locked and loaded, stood tall, and prepared to repel an enemy.

And another time…a little closer to home…I faced a danger head-on and came out on top.

I have long as I get my nap in...and if I don't get my nap in, I get incredibly cranky.

Y'all wouldn't like me when I'm cranky.

Irritable and confident is a dangerous combination of character traits.

That's what I think.

So come on and get you some if you feel froggy.

Come in peace...and with a warrant, and I’ll have tea and buttered scones with frilly doilies for you.

Don’t, and I won’t.

Rattlesnake shake. 



Thursday, January 19, 2012

Slicker Than Whale Snot Out There Today!

A slight dusting of snow, and every stupid bastard on the planet runs outta talent.

The snow was just starting to stick on the road surface.

My drive tires were losing traction intermittently, and I could feel the empty trailer getting ignorant, so I backed out of the throttle.

I don't have a CB installed, so I had no idea there was a problem ahead as I listened, blissfully ignorant, to my treasonous right-wing Sirius talk radio. 

I damn near wiped out avoiding Billy Bigrigger who slammed on his brakes in front of me, but I let loose a string of glorious profanity, gathered her up, got her stopped, and sat on my ass motionless for an hour on the interstate.

I love my job!

Every day is like The Rapture!

Or something...

This is what the crash scene looked like when I finally got rolling again.


A van, an SUV, a "big truck," and a pickup pulling a U-Haul trailer got together on the bridge.

The U-Haul trailer was destroyed, and its contents strewn all over the interstate.

No serious injuries from what I could tell.

Better them than me.


I gotta install that CB.

...and hold the camera horizontally next time!

You never know when I might need to film a VIPER Squad or some other government thugs.

That's what I think.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Tim Tebow

In case you don’t know, I am a Believer.

…an incredibly flawed Believer, but a Believer nonetheless, and I don’t give two shits who knows.

Some of you might be saying, “But…but…but…Zoomie!  You cuss and say ‘god-dammit’ all the time.  You have pervy thoughts.  You pick your nose.  You shoot innocent fuzzy puppies.  From time to time you drink alarming quantities of alcohol.  You rarely go to church.  You are a hypocrite!”

Guilty as charged.

That said…I think Tim Tebow is pretty cool.

The best thing about him is how the godless heathen liberal progressive communists get their skivvies in a bind about him because he wears his faith on his sleeve.

Every time he thanks his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for whatever, you can just hear the groans, eye rolls, and under-thingies getting bunched and knotted in an uncomfortable manner.

I love that shit, and I think Tebow does too.

He knows that when he goes full-bore nitrous-injected Jesus on a fool, it’s as if he’s pissing on a Taliban corpse in front of a hi-def camera which beams directly to the 108” big screen TV in the standing-room-only recreation center in downtown Mecca.


He is saying, "Fuck all y'all."

He wouldn't say such things, but I would, so I'll do it for him.

I like to help a brother out when I can.

In a time when the NFL is mostly populated by thugs, shit-heads, and juicers, I find Tebow extremely refreshing.

Yes.  He and his team got their ass kicked by the evil and despicable Patriots last night.   

Shit happens…

But I doubt very much that we’ll be hearing Christ In Cleats complaining about it or placing blame.

One thing bothers me about Tebow, though.

I think he really needs to reconsider playing like a running back.

Forget the college bullshit and the option play.

He’s in the NFL now, and, for the most part, the NFL is legally sanctioned, exquisitely violent physical assault.

He’s a big boy, but he’s gonna get his fucking head torn off if he keeps running the ball himself.

Pass it or hand that fucker off.

I’d like to watch him play for many years to come.

Yours in Christ,


Three Cats In The Cradle...And The Swimming Pool

With my fucked-up work schedule, I get to see my three kids for about five minutes on any given week.

When I’m sleeping or at work, they are at school.

When they go to bed, I’m just getting up for work.

I’m lucky to bump into them in the hallway and get a “what’s up?” from them during the week.

It sucks, but what’s a guy to do?  Go on the government tit so I can stay home?

The purple-tongued stutterer would like that, but I don’t fucking think so… 

Even with all this bad timing, I still manage to stay involved in my kids' lives.

I was lucky enough during the recent holiday season to be able to attend one of their swim meets.

All three of them are on their high school’s varsity team.

All three of them are multiple varsity letter winners.

All three of them are head and shoulders above where their old man was at their age.

When I was their age, I was on my high school’s swim team also.

I never earned a varsity letter.

I was pathetically slow and uncompetitive during my glorious 2-½ years of participation in the sport because I basically didn’t give a fuck about anything except drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and being a general shit-bag.

I was eventually kicked off the swim team for showing up at a school function one evening with beer on my breath and purposely emphasizing that fact by conversing with one of my assistant coaches.

My late father, a guy who always had my back regardless of the circumstances, confronted the assistant coach at the school the next day.

The incident turned loud and physical, but my status as a former member of the team was not to change.

My old man was a hard-ass…and I will always love him…but as I think back on it now, maybe he should have paid a little more attention to the shit I was getting into.

I’m not blaming him, but maybe he shouldn’t have given me so much freedom to fail on my own and learn from my mistakes.

I guess maybe I was the type of kid who needed a little more one-on-one personal guidance.

Anyhoo…I believe parenting is a learn-as-you-go type thing.  Take from your parents what you think works, leave the rest behind, and add your personal touch to the process.


It’s all water under the bridge now.

My kids laugh at me when I tell them stories of my youthful indiscretion, and they probably sometimes think I’m a fuck-up…but then I remind them that they can’t kick my ass, and things turn back to normal.

They know all about my high school days, and I’ve made it a point to make sure they don’t do the same stupid shit I did.

Mission accomplished, I think.

Some of you might be saying, " are projecting your failed miserable life onto your kids and you forced them to swim because you sucked so bad and you are living a dream-like state through your poor abused children!  You are a Nazi.  I am going to inform the authorities!" 

First of all, I would say "go fuck yourself," then I would tell you to mind your own fucking business and go ahead and send your government goons.  I'll be waiting patiently.

Then I would tell you that these kids were encouraged to participate in extra-curricular activities...and not forced...but that they would finish what they started, put forth maximum effort, and not quit. 

They are all anchors for their team…consistently finishing at or near the top in their events, and setting, or nearly setting, school records in the process.

Watching them perform is amazing.

They are powerful, dedicated, motivated athletes.

They keep their bodies and minds clean and strong.

I couldn’t be more proud of them.


All action photos by Mr. Cross courtesy

Used without permission.
Sue me. 

Fuck Obama.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Just What I Need…One More Thing To Piss Me Off !

Most of you who have been paying attention know that I drive a tractor-trailer for a living.

I will not tell you the company…nor will I tell you exactly where I ply my trade…because I know some of you out there are donut-assaulting government spies or snitches and that you would use that information against me because you think I am a domesticated terrorist and then you would help set up an unconstitutional VIPER Team so that I would step off my porch and act warlike and get shot multiple times by jack booted thugs who would giggle maniacally as they did it.

Anyhoo…I received this little note in my paycheck last week regarding a new Federal law, commercial drivers, and the use of cell phones.


I don’t know why this shit bothers me, but it does.

Maybe it’s because I’m old and curmudgeonly and sensitive and I don’t like government assholes telling me what to do.

Maybe it’s because I hate talking on a fucking cell phone any damn way, and I avoid it at all costs.

Maybe it’s because…although I’m just a dumb-ass truck driver who makes more money than I ever dreamed and has earned the respect and admiration of the general public because I am like a chivalrous knight on the highways…I take pride in my work and I take it very seriously and I don’t need another fucking law to tell me what is and is not a good idea to do behind the wheel of a big rig.

I’ve been doing this shit for twenty years. 

I don’t claim to know everything about my job, and I’m always willing to listen and learn new things.

But…why do I need another new law when there are already a multitude of laws regarding distracted driving?

If I were a mordant skeptic, I would almost think that this was Big Brother getting in my ass once again.

Or that maybe Big Brother cut a sweetheart deal with the expansive and evil BlueToof technology lobby.

Or that maybe it was another way for Government to fleece American trucking companies and their drivers through fines.

Or that maybe our Government hates American truck drivers and the American trucking industry, and that this is another way to regulate them into oblivion in order to make it easier for foreign companies and drivers to slide in and take over at slave wage rates.

But, to think like that would be crazy conspiracy theory shit, wouldn’t it?

All I know is that I had to buy a $60 plastic pygmy dick to jam in my ear so that when my boss calls and wants to know where the fuck I am I can be a good little serf and be compliant.

Maybe my company will reimburse me for being required by Federal law to purchase an anodized electronic cockroach to stuff in my head.

Maybe I will simply toss my cell phone and BlueToof device out the fucking window at 65 mph in some Midwestern state at 2 am while reciting blood-stirring Patrick Henry quotes to myself.

Or maybe not…


Fuck Obama.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Flashback Twenty-One Years...

Here I am after single-handedly capturing an abandoned Iraqi armored vehicle.  No magazine was inserted in that AK47 because I was a reservist, and reservists can't be trusted with mags inserted.  Any dumb-ass knows that.

Twenty-one years ago today, I set foot on foreign soil...Saudi Arabia.

What a fucking shit-hole that place is...

My mission...and I had no choice about accepting it or not...was to "maintain the free flow of oil at market prices."

(And to maintain the free flow of communications so the captain could call his old lady back in the States whenever he wanted some fun sexy phone time...)

How fucking cool is that?

I got to go to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia...a fucking support, protect, and defend my country and its Constitution from its various sundry evil enemies...because the Saudis and Kuwaitis either wouldn't, or couldn't, or didn't feel like it 'cuz they were too busy blasting through the desert in their fucking air-conditioned Bentleys to be bothered.

Such an be sent to a place in order to make sure the oil companies and the bankers and the arms manufacturers get theirs.

SALUTE!  Motherfuckers.


We have learned so much in the last twenty years.

I can't wait until MY kids get to do the same shit.

Yeah.  Right.

Over my dead fucking body.

Some of you might be saying, "But...but...but...Zoomie!  You were so gung-ho about it all back in 1991!" 

I was a young and ignorant dumb-ass back then.

I am old and wise and curmudgeonly now.

Fuckin' A Skippy Trieger...

One or two of you motherfuckers will get that last line. 

Happy 2012!