Get It?

After reading some of the blogs this morning, I am in one of my moods.

Inspired by Western Rifle Shooters Association...

Shit Be Blowin’ Up Around My Neighborhood An’ Shit…

This time of year for me has been historically a festive occasion...and a good excuse for me to drink too much booze.

I will tell you why now and give you three reasons for this:

1- November 10th is my beloved United States Marine Corps birfday.

2- Veterans Day, November 11th.

C- Most importantly, my birfday, November 13th.

This year is extra special because I become 50 years old, which means I get additional unwanted attention from family and friends.

I just recently had to go get a Department Of Transportation physical for a new truck-driving job I will be starting soon.

This physical examination was a sexually charged affair.

As the frumpy female doctor fondled my junk and asked me to turn my head and cough, she gazed lovingly into my peepers with a flashlight and informed me that I have the beginnings of a cataract in my right shootin’ eye.

Upon hearing this, and not being very happy, I climaxed and called her a filthy whore.

She then reminded me that turning 50 soon meant that I needed to find me a petite Asian doctor with small hands to perform the much-ballyhooed colo-rectal screenings all broke-down males must endure when they get old.

We then collapsed into each other’s arms, had a smoke, and agreed neither of us would ever speak of this sordid incident again.

She was nothing like this.  She had nipples.  I'm assuming...

Anyhoo…back to shit blowing up and the reason for the season.

So Saturday I came home from work and it’s a warm day and I’m pissed and disgruntled and angry because my job sucks.

My workweek is done and I have some beer in the fridge and I commence to slam them.

I’m a light-weight, so after 4 16 ounce beers I’m feeling no pain.

I’m on a roll. 

I flip off the former neighbor who returns to the area to do yard work for old folks…and whose son’s dog I shot a couple of years ago.

I talk to some of my other neighbors about the horrific election results.

I clean and check guns for the upcoming apocalypse.

Then I go to bed at 7pm because I’m tired.

My window is open a little bit for some fresh air since it’s nice out.

At about 11pm I am awakened by what sounds like a bomb blast.

BAAAA-WOMPH!

The cheap aluminum casement slider window near my bed rattles, and I sit up and wonder, “Gawddam!  What the fuck was that?  Somebody musta REALLY slammed the front door in a fit of rage!”

It happens around my house…

Not caring a whole helluva lot, I plopped my stupid half-drunk head back down on the pillow and went back to sleep.

The next morning I awaken to find out a home in a vinyl village subdivision about 3 or 4 miles away had blown-the-fuck-up.

Anecdotal evidence suggests natural gas was the source of detonation, and the folks who lived in the house have said the furnace had been acting funky the last few days prior to the explosion.

Yes…I suppose so.

All kinds of wonks with conspiracy theories have suggested the blast was caused by a wrong mistake made while manufacturing meth-amphetamines.

Or a plane crash…

Or maybe it was a terrorist bomb…

The best theory I’ve seen was that it was a Predator drone/Hellfire missile strike gone awry!

Apparently, on the orders of the criminal Obama regime, the CIA-owned drone was on a mission to whack a couple of US Army installations in the Indianapolis area.

The US Air Force got wind of the little scheme, tracked the drone, and launched an A-6 Prowler electronic counter measures plane from Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio.

When the drone launched both of its Hellfires, the Prowler fucked up the missiles’ targeting data.

Then, the missiles went off course and slammed into the sleepy little bedroom community a few miles away from my house…killing two, injuring a dozen others, and laying waste to the area.

This theory seems a little far-fetched…even to me…a guy who, at this point, is more than willing to believe the traitor Obama would do anything to advance his socialist agenda to destroy America.

I dunno.

Happy birfday to me any damn way ‘cuz I’m special.

Special ed.

Is This Wrong? Volume Three.

If so, I am extremely apologetic and I will remove it and endeavor to be more respectful and mindful of the Uniform Code Of Military Justice even though it no longer applies to me.

So there.

Sorta.

Maybe.

Is This Wrong? Volume Two.

If so, I am sorry and I will delete it.

Is This Wrong?

If so, I am sorry and I will delete it.

I just wanted to celebrate the recent legalization of marijuana for recreational use in a couple of western states way out west somewhere.

Party on!

Four More Years

This is gonna be so much fun.

3 Arms Company Promotional Art

(shamelessly stolen)

These two pieces of art are from a new video game called "Assassin's Creed III."  I'm no video-gamer, but this looks cool as fuck!  A ninja motherfucker getting medieval on British troops during the American Revolution!  What's not to like?

Song lyric courtesy Hogjaw.

My attempt at an animated GIF.  A miserable failure...

I have been asked by several questionable and shady characters to create some crappy and cartoonish and edgy images to promote the III Arms Company.

(Those of you who aren't hip to III Arms Company, click here and get with the cool kids and come on in for the big win.)

I have been given permission by the talented creator of the official company logos to use his intellectual property in any way I see fit.

In fact, he said, "Let your freak flag fly!  Freak!"

So, therefore, I get to design some art using curse words and threatening talk, all while I promote an unsavory back-alley (and probably highly illegal) firearms manufacturing facility.

There has even been some talk of putting versions of my potty mouth designs on T-shirts.

I can't say whether that will happen anytime soon or not, but for now you can get clean and family-oriented III Arms Company gear here.

Anyhoo...here are a few horrible ideas I quickly and carelessly threw together in a decidedly haphazard fashion.

As usual, if you want...feel free to spread my crap around the intardnets kinda like a dose of some dreaded disease.

They kinda suck, but at least the official III Arms Company logo looks good.

More later.

Maybe.

Hells bells!  I shoulda put FemaJugend on the damn helmet.  I'm such a fuck-up.

OK.  I'm about done for tonight.  My eyes are bleeding.

I think I'll kick back and watch a senselessly violent movie on Netflix.

Later, dudes and dudettes.

Song lyric from "Powderfinger."  With apologies to Neil Young.

Thought I Was Going To Have To Gas A Fool Yesterday

So there I was, minding my fucking business in my big rig…

A mid-sized Midwestern city, about 0530, on a major State Road, one way, three lanes, heading east…

I am in the middle lane.

Multiple, un-synchronized stoplights, speed limit is 35 mph…

Traffic is light…almost non-existent.

I am going about 38 mph because I am a scofflaw and a rebel…and also because I know from experience that at that speed I am most likely to hit more green lights thus saving time and clutch-leg energy and the possibilities of getting irritated and pissed off.

It is still dark, of course…as I am vampire-like, and I do my best work when the sun is not present.

Anyhoo…a white Hyundai hatchback passes me at high speed on my left, and then he aggressively cuts into my lane.

I note the shitty attitude being displayed by Hyundai-Boi (HB), but I do nothing more than mutter to myself, “What an asshole.”

(I also note that it is Saturday morning, and he is probably just now going home from partying all night, and is probably wasted.)

As I watch HB ahead of me the next mile or so, I note how HB speeds from light to light, getting to the next one just in time for it to turn red…and also just in time for me to smugly pull up to a stop behind him.

At this point, I’m getting near my delivery destination, which is on my left, so I must move over one lane.

There is one more stoplight between HB, my destination, and myself.

HB is over a city-block ahead of me.

I signal and slide on over to the far most left lane before I get to the last light.

HB sees this in his mirrors and swerves over to the far-most left lane just in time for that last stoplight.

At this point, I had closed the gap between us, and I had to make somewhat of an effort to avoid hitting HB.

So there we are at the stoplight.

The light turns green.

HB just sits there.

I give HB about 3 seconds to wake-the-fuck up, and then I’m grappling for the air-horn lanyard.

I give him a good blast.

He sits.

My Sergeant Rock combat antenna is beginning to activate.

I start to maneuver around him on the right, and HB begins to slowly move through the intersection…turning left without a signal.

As HB does this, he opens his door and hangs his left arm outside the car…while still moving…as if he is about to exit his car and whip my ass!

I thought to myself how humorous it would be if he fell out and was run over by his own vehicle.

I’m also thinking this asshole is going to try to get stoopid with me by circling around the block and starting some shit he’ll have wished he had never started.

I go around him and reach my destination, noting that I don’t see HB in my mirrors.

I shut the truck down and turn off all the lights as I’m making my delivery to be less conspicuous and because I am a pussy who is afraid of confrontation.

My head is on a swivel, and my cell phone is in my pocket in case HB shows up and becomes belligerent and I have to call Five-0 because I am unarmed seeing that my handgun license is not valid in the state I am in and carrying dirty would be wrong and also because I am bucking 50 years old and that's too old for a fist-fight or any other kind of silly donny-brook.

Anyhoo…I complete the delivery and don’t see HB.

I pull out of the parking lot and onto a side road that leads to the major State Road I was on earlier.

I am at a stoplight that is notoriously long…long enough that one can smoke an entire cigarette before the light turns green.

I am watching passing traffic and my mirrors for any signs of HB.

I have told myself that I don’t put anything past HB at this point, and that I could see HB pulling to a stop right in front of me to block my path.

Now…I have considered this scenario before, and I long ago came to the conclusion that Zoomie ain’t going down like Reginald Denny.


 
No fucking way.

If I must, I will make HB and his Korean shit-box my bitch.

I will turn them both into speed bumps with my rig.

I’ll deal with the consequences later.

The light is still red for me, and through the intersection comes a white Hyundai hatchback with a white dude driving it!

He kinda gives me the stink-eye…and I’m not 100% sure it is HB…but my adrenaline is pumping away like a recently restocked Staten Island gas station.

My light eventually turns green and I go about my business…watching for HB but never seeing him again.

These next two weeks I’ll have to remember to watch out for HB in this medium sized Midwestern city.

After those two weeks, I’ll never be in that city again.

Hopefully.

Buck the Fuckeye nation.

Wolverines!