4th of July.  Celebrate our American Independence, our freedoms…our love of country…

Right.

Everyone knows that July 4th is just for blowing stuff up anymore.  And drinking beer.  And throwing some meats and other delectable treats on the grill whilst a bunch of guys stand around and stare at it.

And drinking beer.

We live in a part of the country where fireworks are legal.  You can still go to one of the 854 stands put up by the various churches and boy scouts and crippled civil war veterans societies and girl scouts and the drug addled weirdos of jackson county and buy some stuff to blow up.  Our across the street neighbors take full advantage of this.  And then some.

Every year Blue Springs puts on a fireworks show at the high school, which is about 1/2 of a mile away.  We generally have a big blowout or go to a friends house just down the road and watch the show.  Then we always go back to our house and watch the real show that our across the street neighbors put on.

These are nice people, don’t get me wrong, but still….

They spent thousands of dollars last year on fireworks and put on a show that rivaled the bombing of Hiroshama, only with margianlly less death.  Fireworks the size of small European cars where detonated in the middle of the street leaving craters the size of donkeys and burn marks that made the street look like the space shuttle Atlantis had to make an emergency landing.  Which for all I know, they may have arranged for that to happen.  I don’t know.  I went and hid in my basement with some tinfoil on my head.

I’m sure the same will be this year, we’re having the party and some of our friends like to blow stuff up as well.  So wish us luck and I hope that we can keep all of our appendages.

And drink some beer.

Come on sing with me…”where at least I know I’m free…”

I totally love me some Lee Greenwood in the morning.  Don’t you?

While we’re talking, you and I, did you hear about the Freedom Patrol in Addison, Tx maintaining our freedoms and safety from crazed terrorists intent on doing us harm?  Well, god bless ‘em.  I don’t live in Texas anymore, but if I did, I’d feel totally safe and I’d totally put some sort of America Rocks! sticker on my car.

Seems that a member of a well known terrorist organization was recently caught red handed spying on our top secret aviation doings at a local Dallas airport.  Somehow he stealthily eluded the crack squadron of Isreali trained security guards to take pictures of aircraft to transmit somehow back to his superiors in whatever far away Abumastan or Duma Duma that he no doubt hails from.

Not really.

Seems that there was an old WWII B24 Bomber giving Father’s Day rides at an airport in the Dallas suburb of Addison.  The photographer there was taking pictures of the plane and crew and had stopped to wait for the plane to take off.  While he was waiting he had apparently stepped on the protected tarmac area of the runway (where he had permission to be) and was accosted by an Addison Police Officer.  The officer handcuffed him and called homeland security.  Homeland security apparently finally cleared him but will be receiving a report on the incidient.

The pilots were pretty much cool and laughed at me and were even willing to escort me to take more shots. One old-timer gruffed under his breath, “It’s the U.S.A., not U.S.S.R. — I didn’t fight to protect this shit.” One even offered me his seat on a ride.

So the Neocons or whomever like to say that the brave men and women in Iraq and Afghanistan are fighting to preserve our freedoms and our way of life, and they are brave and I have the utmost respect and admiration for each and every one of them, but isn’t shit like this just flaunting what they’re doing?  Aren’t the police who do this making all of the sacrifices that our men and women have made seem somehow tarnished?  It’s a shame.

Wow…I know I feel safer. Don’t you?

Go USA!

Link to full story here

Hell…of the century! Yeah, maybe not on second thought but still….

Happy Father’s Day To All You Dads!  Enjoy a coldie and make the kids fetch it for you.

As you gather the animals and barrels of wheat, barley and eels (we assume you’re British, don’t ask why) we’d just like to have a quick word with you.

Thanks. Um..first…hey listen, nice boat. Really like what you’ve done with the wood and stuff. And the paint job..Bitchin! Totally Bitchin.

Yeah, but hey Noah, um…yeah…the rain. About the rain. Um…listen Noah, hey we’re all for your god and you getting together and doing whatever it is you nutty cats do. Seriously, turn them sheaves into sausage and smote the foreheads of the money changers or whatever you kooky cats do. More power to you. But…the rain…seriously friend…enough.

What say you let us dry out for a few days, kind of gather our wits back about us, clean our basements and every where else that’s leaked and puddled and then you can start the rain again. Cool? It’s not to say that we don’t appreciate the rain. Hey, nice job there ol’ buddy. Just tone it down a bit, k?

Hey thanks again Noah and really, really nice job on the boat. Really nice.

Your pal,

KJ

From a craigslist ad…”Opening restaurant (wood fired pizza/sports bar) and all staff must be “voluptuous”. Seeking sizes 12-18 large C to DD. Think of this as a type of “theme” restaurant. No nudity (of course but need to state) just want to help attract customers. Remember the Seinfeld episode in their diner where all the waitresses had large breasts? Email full body shot or just cleavage and a little about your server skills (ie where you have worked etc.). Salary+tips and a lot of fun!”

I don’t know about you but I’m getting hungry for some pizza.

Original ad

So, did I miss the memo about everyone joining the Army? If so I guess I’d apologize but if not, then….what’s with the fucking haircuts? I’m not sure how it is where you live but here in flyover country it seems that every other man has a military style shaved head. Add the goatee in for added value and you have pretty much the defintion of sartorial splendor in Blue Springs, Missouri and most of the rest of the country.

Obviously I’m not one to comment or speak on anything regarding style as evidenced by the unruly mop on top of my head and the fur covering I’ve taken to sporting on my face, but still….

I’m not sure when it started but it seems like it was a few years ago. The boys driving around in their hopped up loud ass pickup trucks with the huge tires and lift kits (and most of them haven’t seen mud, much less driven around in it) started growing the goatees because I”m sure some country singer started it to show what a rebel he was. And since everyone of these boys driving their pickups had to show what a rebel he was, well…you get the idea.

I’m not going to join the goatee revolution. I guess that makes me a hippie commie pinko liberal fag. But then again, is anyone surprised at that?

I got nothin…but enjoy this video from Jon Stewart.  Stick with it to where he rips fox news a new one.  Everytime I see something from Fox I’m astounded.  Do these morons really believe the shiat they say?  Do the people that watch Fox really believe this garbage?  Wow.

This is a long, but fun filled post…enjoy!

Sooooo…last Monday I go to work like any normal Monday.  Full of vim and vigor ready to take on the day and karate fight it to at least a draw and beat the crap out of it and make it my subservient wench if possible.  The usual Monday, right? Right.

At about 10 a.m. things take a turn for the interesting at the very least.  I’m sitting there staring at the monitors when my side starts hurting.  Okay…no biggie…ate some bad alligator or something.  It happens.  Then I rememered that I, in fact, hadn’t eaten alligator that morning.  Or the previous day.  Interesting me thinks…

Remember when you were a younger person and really just starting to learn to drink and you’d go out on a crazy, crazy bender with the chicks next door and that pseudo biker guy down the street who you thought qualified as your “dangerous” friend but was really just some doof with a Honda?  And remember the next day how you would throw up for hours and hours and hours?  To the point where you were still going through the act of throwing up but nothing was coming out?  Just air and maybe a bit of stomach lining or your balls?  Yeah?  Well…that’s what was going on with me last Monday morning.

Interesting thinks I, perhaps I should adjourn from the work place and visit the doctor to address this issue.  Off I go the doctor, after a brief stop at home for an instant nap.  Which, party guy that I am, is really out of the ordinary for me in the middle of the day.  Or the night for that matter.  I’m not well acquainted with sleep at any time.  I wake up after my brief 20 minute slumber, toddle off to the “dr.” (I say “dr.” as I don’t really see a doctor, I get the physicians assistant.) And this lady, who is an integral part of treating some issues that I have now, greets me as if she’s never met me, introduces herself and scans my ever growing folder.  “Oh..I see we’ve met…”  Wow.  I’m filled with a really, really good feeling.  Okay maybe not.  She asks what’s wrong.  I tell her some phantom vomiting, generally not feeling well, etc.  “Well you’ve got a cold.  Here’s some drugs. Thanks for stopping by Ken.” (I’ve begged this lady to never, never, never call me Ken.  I’m not Ken.  Nor am I Kenny.)

Cut to later that evening. Laying on the couch watching something, phantom puking, etc.  Finally about 11:30 something new! Hey, now not only am I trying to move most if not all of my innards out of my body and onto the floor bit by bit, it seems that perhaps we’re having a wee bit of a heart attack.  I love a multiple option death throe.  You can’t say I’m a one option kind of guy.

“Um…dear…beg pardon sweetie…”, I says to my darling bride.  “Perhaps we should adjourn to St. Mary’s.  You know, just to see what’s going on, maybe browse through the National Geographic in the waiting room and if we can, you know…see if I’m having a heart attack.  No biggie, but let’s toddle of shan’t we?”

Off we go to the hospital, careening willy nilly around corners, cutting through parking lots, honking at old ladies, kind of like Starsky and Hutch going to get a breakfast burrito.  (Perhaps I take a bit of literary license but you get the idea…) I go to emergency, tell them that I”m having a wee bit of a heart attack and after some very non furious typing and questioning and trips to refill the three gallon jug of Dr. Pepper with extra sugar, the lady at the desk finally points me to another fellow sitting a few feet away.  “Go there.”  Thank you Florence Nightingale.  So we go talk to the large fellow with some machines and a jelly donut.  He asks a few questions in between sugary bites of fried goodness, wipes the jelly from his brow and points us to a roomette. Go there.

I go to this roomette, lay on the table, get various and sundry items strapped to me, jabbed into me and placed/taped/screwed on me etc.  A battalion of nurses perform a dance kind of like the pygmies of an South Pacific Cargo Cult around a newly washed up Samsonite, and THE NURSE comes in.
“HOW ARE YOU?  ARE YOU FEELING OKAY?”
I type in caps because without audio I can’t fully explain the volume that this lady was screaming at me.  So, smartass that I am, I respond in kind.
“I’M OBVIOUSLY NOT VERY WELL THEN.  AM I? IT IS THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND WE’RE ALL IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM!”

Yeah, I’m a dick.
Sometimes.

She didn’t take to kindly to my response I think but that was okay because I smoothed things over by throwing up on her.

I laid there in the roomette for an hour or so and it was pretty much decided that I was faking it.  An actual doctor came in and said, well, there’s nothing wrong with you, go home.  As he said go home he put his hand on my belly.  I removed his hand.  Quickly and with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.  “Oooo…what’s this then?”  He pokes me in the side again.  I remove his hand again, this time with less love.  “Well, perhaps we have a weee bit of an issue after all.”

After much consultation, some incredibly loud vomiting, sweating and cussing, it was decided that my gall bladder was, in fact, a bit problematic and perhaps should be removed.  “Yeah, we’re gonna go ahead and take that out.  I’d say in the next few minutes wouldn’t be soon enough.  Nothing to worry about you know.  But um…who’s your next of kin?”

Thank god for modern drugs.  After some serious sedation I was able to pass out for awhile.  Not exactly a fit slumber but better than nothing.

I get a fancy room to myself which was good because let’s just say that there was two days of pretty much everything above while we waited for the surgery. Nothing exciting to report here.

Day of surgery.  Trumpets sound, geese fly in strange patterns heralding something, and babies are nervous.  I get my belly shaved, nicely turn away person after person who wishes to pray over me and lay hands on me and then get the serious drugs and get wheeled to the operating room.

“Hey look it’s the machine that goes PING!”

See?  Even as I”m just about to get cut open I’m still trying to crack wise.  I’m amazing like that.  Or maybe not.

I have no idea how the surgery went as I was asleep and probably naked.  I’m sure they had a good time laughing at me.  I would’ve decorated my balls better had I more time.  I do recall after the surgery fighting them in the recovery room.  Not sure why but I was and apparently they had to get the Blue Springs Offensive Line to come in and hold me down for a bit.  I’m okay with that but I think some excessive roughness flags should’ve been thrown.

After a brief recovery in which I roamed about with my ass hanging out of the gown because, hey I just really didn’t care, I got to come home and lay on the couch as opposed to the hospital bed.

I don’t feel 100% yet, so that karate fighting tournament that I was hoping to win this week is probably out and I think my career as a ballerina is over, but there’s always full contact cookery.

And how was your week?