"Right as rain" actually comes from a saying back in the 1500's. Here's how it all started. You know how many fads and styles work on a 20 year cycle such as the bell bottoms, trucker hats, and aviator sun glasses. So do sayings. Although, I should warn you, the start of this saying was a little more PG13 than what we are used to hearing now a days. Now, you know me, I'm not racist in the least, but, let's say 20 years ago, when rap became commercialized, it was cool for middle class, suburban kids to dress like street savoy thugs. So too did this happen back in the 1500's. You see, Columbus sailed the ocean blue back in 1492 and ended up in what was then considered, the West Indies.

Once helanded on this series of tropical islands, he was immediately threatened by the natives. Some of the language used at this very time was a little riske, but I will use direct quotes from back then. Columbus thrusted forth his flag into the tropical soils and claimed "This land is mine, you candy-ass bitches." The natives immediately became alarmed and "swashbuckled a new mudhole in dat ass." They then sat down smoked a fat peace pipe and cracked a few 40s of organic sour mash, you know, the good stuff, topshelf and all. Columbus, or as the natives refered to him "C-Crunk dawg" said he was sent from a far away land and was looking for a new hood to move his people to.

Being all doped up on chronic ivy and sour mash, the natives invited "C-Crunk dawg" to bring his posse over to join what would then be called the "Tropicana Illmatic Crunkified Congregation." Columbus hopped in his Pinta, let the ass drop, and cruised on back to Spain. When he showed up he was a changed man. His derby was on sideways, he had one stocking up and one down, he was toting a wierd looking cigarette in his over his ear, was slugging a 40 ounce bottle of what appeared to be "Old Indie", and he was flashing these "odd hand gestures", accompanied by a distorted "West Indies."

When he returned to the queen of Spain and ssked how his trip went, he was reported to have said "Yo, that place is straight up dope. I'm gonna bring my peeps back wit me because white is lame." The queen, rather aghast, at his statement never forgot what the newly dubbed C-Crunk dawg had said and from that day forward the saying for "sure as shit" was "white is lame." Now because times have changed, we looked for a saying a little more Politically correct, that turned out to be "right as rain." Though the saying fizzled out for a while, the kids are saying this once again and we all rejoice.

PS. If this isn't a cry for help, maybe you'll notice the hole in the window at my work from a brick and carved in it will be the letters S O S. Please save me. Just tell them I have diarhea. Later- BRN

Sent to: Ryan I know that every now and again the day just doesn't go as planned. You get down on yourself, you hate the world, and that gnawing pain in your nuts just won't go away (topical cream may help, but only in the mean-time). I submit that when we're really "down in the dumps" there are few things that will really cheer us up. There are motivational speakers, the clergy, and that homeless guy on the corner of Franklin and Edward trying to sell nickels for a dollar, but even they don't always cut it. Here is the perfect, and sometimes only cure. Good old Uncle Ross. See the attachment for further instruction and remember: "you can squat on a pitbull, but it aint gonna get you rhubarb pie."

Brandon

In not so related news, I found out today that sitting on one's balls is not a good idea, nor do I endorse it. If you are going to torture your duffle bag, may I suggest having a loved one slam them in a desk drawer, dangling them over an open fire (shave first, burning hair smells), or perhaps have a committee of midgets run head first into them while screaming the lyrics to "Lost in Love" by everyone's favorite Air Supply. I find that, though it may hurt, you're showing your testicles tough love and in turn ensuring their loyalty and commitment to your penis. After all, if their's no loyalty, they might as well just pack up shop and leave for a homeless man named Roscoe Turwilliger who lives in an old refridgerator box strategically placed in the back alley behind a Bojangle's chicken and waffles franchise. I hope this gives you something to think about today. I'll talk to you soon.

-Fair the well
Brandon

Kenny G: Soprano sax has never gotten a slap to the face like this before. I feel sorry for anyone who plays it, you are now and have been the laughing stock of the whole Salvation Army donation and marching band. Even the overwieght, bald tuba player with the Mickey Rourke shaped fungus on his neck gets more ass than you. All because of one man's love for the same 3 notes and, once again, long curly hair. Maybe I would have thought he'd be cool when he did a duet with Peabo Bryson, however he was tooting on his damn horn like a cambodian prostitute trying to lick the remaining morsels off of her dinner plate.

Celine Dion: Who really likes Celine Dion? I mean, I think the only thing the folks of Quebec should be separating from is Celine Dion. A national disgrace. Her and her lousy chicken chest of Titanic melodies and 38 brothers and sisters. I can't even carry on a coherent conversation with myself when the thought of this broom stick pops into my head. She's horrible and her Husband/Grandfather/Benjamin Franklin knows it.

I thought I was clever at first, but the Celine Dion thing put me over the edge. Now I'm depressed and angry and the thought of a chicken is making me ill.

Brandon:
Ryan,
That's really funny that you called just as I was getting ready to reply. Unfortunately, it's not as funny as the time I ate my weight in Godfather's Pizza and then saved those old folks from the burning retirement home. It's also not as funny as the time I tried zippering up my pants while walking and getting my hoo hoo dilly caught in a sticky situation. It's also not as funny as the time I was in the garage (about 10 yrs. old) and had to take a massive dump and when I ran to get into the house my knee gave out and I fell to the ground and I didn't have to take a dump anymore. You no, come to think of it, it really wasn't that funny. I'll see you tonight at 6:30.
-BRN

RYAN: I got this email from Brandon in regards to an email I sent to the guys about a bunch of things and dates coming up. One such date was Jim's Birthday... Here's Brandon's weirdo response!!! Jim's B-Day is on the 25th...

BRANDON:
Hello all,
Sounds good. I have a conflict with one of the dates. It's not so much that I can't attend it, it's a matter of principle and my right to not observe it. That date would be March 25th. I come from a home of virtue and wholesome values and I refuse to partake in any event and or holiday that stands as the antithesis to that. With that said I also reserve the right to deny Jim having a birthday and therefor I shall celebrate none of it. Subsequently and coincidentally the same day, March 25th, is a day that I will be celebrating the pagan holiday of flogging your neighbors tree and or shrubbery. All are invited to join and switches will be available on a first come first serve basis. The holiday is a 24 hour event where in one is expected to flog your neighbor's trees and shrubberies as a sign of devotion to the photosynthesis gods. Lunch will be provided and all have their choice of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off. A HI-C drink box will also be provided. A signed permission slip is required with a doctor's note for any who are hyperallergenically vulnerable, on account of pollen, mites, sap, and certain types of non-indiginous barks. In summation I will refuse to celebrate any holiday that coincides with this pivotal pagan ritual and I look forward to spending a fun yet spirit filled day with all who are refrain from ignorance. Thank you and God's speed...I mean rock's speed.

-Brandon

1)work: Man was not meant to be cooped up in an office, factory or brothel for 8-10 hours out of the day. I am not a masochist so I find nothing enjoyable about torturing one's self with numbers, corporate philosophies, and false attepmts to prevent "the big guy" from getting mad at you. Fuck TPS reports and those who walk around sucking ass to get ahead.

2) snow: There is no purpose to snow. I probably wouldn't mind it so much if it only fell on grass and people didn't drive like pussies. It's fuckin' snow, not a nuclear holocaust. Old people who drive like they're in a parade should only be able to ride in wagons. Little red fuckin' wagons. This way they won't have to sit on a phone book to see over the dashboard and they'll actually have a reason for driving like they're squeezing a dump out at the same time.

3) Night clubs: if I wanted to stand in a overcrowded hall and shake off tempo to the pounding in my brain, I'd commit a murder in Texas. Sniff, sniff, something smells like bacon. And to go along with the prison theme, I might as well get a reach around from life mate Bubba, than get raped in the ass when buying a beer at said night club. People in these places look like the cast of welcome back Cotter meets Alfred Fonzerelli on speed. The constant "hey" and the wing man played by horshack sqeeking his way to get another Shirley Temple. Anymore of this nightclub talk and I will have an aneurism.

4) Interruptions: Eureka! I have had a brilliant idea, oh wait, I have been interrupted and have therefor forgotten what I wanted to say, my first name and where I am. This is perhaps my biggest pet peave and coming from a family that extends well beyond the horizon, it's understood that at some point in the next 1/2 hour, I will be interrupted 10-20 times. What do I normally do, stand and wait for the person to finish like they should have in the first place! I think I will amend my ways when being interrupted and throw a tantrum and mumble incoherrently, that should get attention you think?

5) The dentists: I have no qualms with dental hygeine, infact, unlike the Brits, I encourage it. It seems I pay money to sit in an uncomfortable chair and have a guy pry at my teeth and tell me I am a failure. If I wanted a self esteem slamming I would walk up and down a crowded beach wearing nothing but a rubberband. That's the stuff that makes Helen Keller shriek in horror. It has grown apparent to me that I have more cavities than teeth in my mouth. I firmly believe that dentistry is a commission job where by dentists get paid by how many people they make cry and how many teeth they drill into. This being the case, they seem to do more useless drilling than that Saved by the Bell episode where they drill at Bayside. That poor duck.

6) Birds: I hate birds. They are simply, rats with wings and if I could be the preverbial pied piper, I'd like to lead them into a fiery grave. It's no wonder they call some of them fowl. The parallel lies in phonetics, so think about it for a while, there you go big guy. The sole reason for their existance is to give me headaches and heart attacks. Their seemingly benevolent existance has, in my mind, been shrowded by their uncanny ability to deficate on your car right after you wash it and run into your front window as if they would break on throught to the other side in some Jim Morrison like way. This is why I have high blood pressure. If I have anything to do with it, their days of using me as their Hiroshima have long since passed. Maybe it was an event that took place a few years ago or maybe it's Hitchcock but either way they're evil and I won't tolerate them.

7) Stupid people: It's one thing to be a little sow on things from time to time. By this I mean being naive, this happens to the best of us. It's those that are too dense to learn from their mistakes that make me angry. Those who neglect to move forward in life are the same people we see on such ghastly programs as Jerry Springer. The people who almost bask in the fact that "they just aint that dog gone smart." I am not claiming to be the smartest person in the world but when bringing forth an argument, it's always good to know what you're talking about and do your homework on it. These are the people who believe that " takin' away my guns is wrong because the bible says so." My only response to this is "you're absolutely right, that's why Moses dun died on the wood for us." and in summation, "usetacould" has just been added to the dictionary in the epistles section.

8) Soap operahs. Maybe it's a guy thing or maybe they just suck but I hate soap operahs or whatever the hell they are called. It's the same shit everytime you watch it. "Bill's sleeping with Ned again and now I have to raise three kids on my own." Yeh well if you weren't too busy getting the fat sucked out of your ass and shot into your already freakishly large lips you'd know that. The best is that many people who watch this crap get caught up in it and then talk about it as if they were there and form seemingly real opinions on fictitious characters. You know the deal "Maude slept with Roscoe in the office and now Clem's going to cry because he got a zit on his ass." Quite standard really.

The way we were when we were a more tender age and things seemed and for the most part were more simple. Days when a baseball bat and rope were all you needed to entertain yourself. A more calm time when work was building battleships out of scrap lumber and 10,000 roofing nails for the action figure of your choice. Days when squirrels were the enemy and it was up to us to pelt each and everyone of them with a rock and or best friend's shoe.

A side note to this, but you hardly ever see pairs of shoes dangling from telephone lines anymore, truely a shame.

Days when lighting your neighbors cat on fire was perfectly acceptable and then the retreat to the garage to defend against a rather angry pet owner.

It's amazing how the approach of one's drive-way was a border to which no others would dare cross without the aid of a cap gun. And we defended that drive-way as if it were the Maginot line and the neighbors were Nazis. Unfortunately, we all know who won that battle and the preverbial white flag was the all too familiar dinner call, in which case no border was ever worth defending when it was rivaled by fish sticks with Mac and cheese.

Days when flirting consisted of rock throwing and gum in the hair. With a crash and a bang our only response to "what the hell are you doing?" was "Nothing" and my personal favorite "stuff", because we all know that taping your sister to the swingset is a truely benevolent act. One that teaches the art of holding a piss and arts and crafts at the same time. Mischievous, naw, rather multitasking.

As time grew on we traded in our cap guns and big league chew for video games and girls. Where at one time we threw rocks, now we were snapping bra straps, an off broadway approach to understanding the female anatomy but never the less we were anxious to learn. A combination of the story and the fact that we touch someone else fed our egos, and stories we told. The kind of esteem booster that brings validity to a rather awkward moment. The story was something we waited all day to tell friends much like a cross eyed, gimp, war vet with a bad case of the rickets, it brought us credibility and a feeling of accomplishment.

As we matured, we traded in our bra strap snapping expertise for a driver's license and a stolen bottle of Wild Turkey from the family liquor cabinet. Many weekends we would spend "sleeping over at Mike's house" and stumbling home because the "dog made me sick." We had everything figured out and we longed to share our knowledge of the ladies with our less than fortunate friends.

As our testicles descended so did our bank accounts and thus we found ourselves wiping ass at the local retirement home, for a few dollars and yet more knowledge of our female counterparts. Though they could have used a good ironing all the parts were the same and our insatiable hunger for knowledge led us to examinations and careful preponderance.

A few years later we have reached our mid twenties and all of our practice and close observations of the opposite sex have paid off. No longer do we need to throw rocks, or snap bras, or raid the liquor cabinet, we have what every women wants, A souped up Honda civic with hydrolics and a "performance" muffler louder than Roseanne Barr's diesel powered vibrator. The kind of obnoxious noise that sounds like a Babylon 5 convention stuck in a wood chipper, all squeeky and nasal like. But we are the "cat's meow" and we have come to save every last female from the onslaught of dorks. We have carefully groomed our receding hair line and have put on our best wife beater undershirt to strut our shit like a three legged cat on a hot plate. It matters not that the hair that once graced our slanted dome has migrated south to our ass crack and our steroid induced forearms dangle leaving our knuckles to drag like gorillas in the mist. We have spent years of preparation for this and we will not be denied.

We sure have come a long way..., or have we. Oddly enough it seems as though Darwin has taken a giant shit on us. It seems as though at one time we would shuffle around the forest, beating our chest at every female that would look and with one swift move, mount her as if she was the last thing on earth. Where as now with our technology and our civilized mentality we... shuffle around mounting anything that moves. Damn it, never mind this has all been a waiste of time.

The last day of the year and what do I have to be thankful for? 2003 brought many things my way and then again left me with many things to wish for in the year to come. The most predominant of these things was boredom. Not that i would ever shun various other aspects of my life, but one in particular. The most evil of 4 letter words. WORK. To think I waisted a year of my life for mediocrity. In hind site mediocrity would have been a breath of fresh air only to be desribed as a Rennaisance if you will. Boredom has left me to do things that I normally would see as a desparate attempt to stop from having a conniption. And conniptions I have had. Boredom, in the wider sense, leaves people to do such ghastly deeds as throw rocks at senior citizens, Fornicate with people you have no desire to even see while clothed, and of course make lifesize statues of loved ones out of feces. Boredom, to me is something the busy crave and the lamp post scratchers lament. Well that's enough about me, let's take a broader look at this year. I have dubiously entitled this portion, Brandon's year in Review. These are just some of the things that I have noticed throughout the year and in no way, shape or form is this an unabridged list.

1) The Martha Stewart Stock scandal. This by no means was shocking in the least. Let me put it in plain English, She's the Fuckin' devil. Anyone who has the time to make bird feeders out of Tooth floss, a dildo, and spare car parts is either the devil or MacGyver. I see no benevolent inventions for the greater good and besides just trying to parallel these two, is a gross injustice to Richard Dean Anderson. I will refrain from going into great detail about the actual scandal in that what I understand about it, isn't enough to state a clear thesis. Either way she should be put in a cage with Barbara Streisand and a rabid coyote, That is the only way I can put Martha Stewart and "better Living" in the same sentence.

2) The war in Iraq. I will refrain from attacking any position on this topic in that no matter what your feelings are, we are in Iraq and we are there to remove Saddam Hussein and his political affiliates from office. People can belly ache all they want and philosophize about what is right and wrong. Well incase you haven't noticed it isn't exactly up to the tree huggers and sheep humpers. For God's sake if it were, we'd all be eating granola with a side order of hog balls.

3) The capture of Saddam Hussein. Leave it to one of the richest men in the world to be hiding in a rat hole in the middle of the desert. In this case I will agree that him having been captured is fuckin' cool and my hat goes off to those who aided in the task. Oh yah, that's right, it aint so bad after all. What I think would have been funny is if they caught him on the shitter or maybe drawing out military schemes with a Barbie doll and Go- bots. Might I add that the Transformers were far superior to the Go-bot. Fuckin' Mattel. Or better yet playing hopscotch with the village kids. Oh No, Uncle Sadam will see you later, no time for the skipping game.

4) Abercrombie and Fitch are caught in a legal battle with disgruntled parents. It's truely amazing how an outfitter utilized by the likes of one of this country's most predominant figures, Theodore Roosevelt, has turned into a clothing line for Frat boys and spoiled college coeds. The epicenter of the problem lies in the fact that the clothing line manufactured notorious undergarments for the purchasers well under the age of majority. It seems as though in my day, the only thing hanging out of the back of one's pants was either a slingshot or Scooby Doo underwear. It is truely a shame that Little Sally can be caught watching Romper Room with a see through thong hanging out the back of her Osh Gosh's. What's next, thong diapers. For the baby who cares not for diaper lines on her posterior end.

5) A sad note was hit throughout 2003 when actor/singer Bob Hope passed away. A remarkable man who spent his years entertaining G.I.s abroad. Who can forget the timeless treasure "Thanks for the Memory" or "The road to... comedies with Dorothy Lamour and one of my personal favorites Bing Crosby. Actually I have no idea what I am talking about, but I'll still maintain that Bing Crosby, aside from Frank Sinatra, is the biggest pimp of all time. Good ol' ski nose, or Leslie Townes Hope for those who may be on the in. For God's sake he was 100 years old, He saw everything that happened in the 20th century. He was around when dirt was invented and when Adam found out he wasn't gay, dumped Steve and met Eve.

6) In 2003, the Bills made another desparate attempt to regain any shred of dignity they had once had. Notice how I said attempt. Their attempt was like that of a fat kid passing on a twinkie. Some shit just isn't meant to be! They started off great, and much like my love life they gave up after the first few tries. That's called accepting things for what they are. But who knows what next year may bring, they've gotten rid of Greg Williams and maybe they'll listen to me for once and bring back Marve Levy. GO BILLS!!!

7) Lastly, and not to bring anyone down, I got rid of the silver bullet. That's right, my 1989 Chevy cavelier. Despite the fact that the brakes had gone, the shocks had given up, my muffler sounded like an asmatic at a Grateful Dead concert, it shook upon reaching 55 miles per hour, and was being taken over by spiders, I just had to let it go. Like anything in life, I had paid it off and then it decides to take a dump. The silver bullet and I had some swell memories together though. Baseball games, transporting equipment to shows, being broken into twice. Which brings me to another point. The first time it was broken into, they stole my cd player, live and learn, right. The second time, they stole my lunch. This made me more angry than the cd player. It's one thing to steal something that you can turn around and sell, it's another thing to steal someone's P&J sammy and fruit cup. I swear to God as my witness, if I ever find out who did it, I will fuckin' mess that dude up so bad, his own mother won't even be able to recognize him. Anyhow, there are some things they just can't take away from you and that's memories and an intense hatred for an automoblie.

From my angle, 2003 had its ups and downs as I am sure 2004 will. It is taking some time to reflect upon the events that have made me who I am to truely know how to progress into the years to come. Like anything else, one won't always receive the proper reach around in life but oh well, there are somethings you just can't change. Take it easy and have a happy new year. And if anyone knows who stole my damned lunch, let me know so that i can proerly dispose of them. Thank You and never play leapfrog with a unicorn.

Ryan, out of absolute boredom i have compiled a question to be answered either by yourself or by someone who holds eternal knowledge. Take for example the common riddle: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Assuming that the verment could chuck an ample amount of wood to supply a polulation of 10,000 men, women and children, would he be able to chuck enough wood for his own personal useage. I believe that the answer lies in the woodchucks ability to harness the strength withing his and or hers incisory glands. Assuming that each man, woman, and child needs one medium sized tree chucked daily, the woodchuck would need to produce 416.66666666 chucked trees hourly to maintain needed production. This equals out to be 6.944444443 trees a minute just for the 10,000 people. Further more can a rodent of this size take on the full responsibility of chucking almost seven trees a minute. I submit that it can be done once it is recognized that the woodchuck must be up 6am and work nonstop until 5:59 am the following morning. If you can find a rodent that can adjust to this lifestyle than the riddle in question is indeed valid. If not then the person who put together such riddles is a felonious scoundrel and him or herself who should be fed to the porposes of the arctic.

Today I look to appeal the misconstrued claims that a mere breakfast cereal has one's daily fortification of much needed vitamins and minerals. My feelings, based on extensive research is that this is simply ludicrous, visceral even. The notion that a sugar coated, marshmallow toting snack carries enough sustanance to remain a sufficient part of a balanced diet is preposterous. Simply stated, a breakfast food's ability to make one cookoo for cocopuffs resulting in one following their nose for some fictitious, frothy, fruit loopious euphoria is only setting our consumers up for failure. It has been for too long that parents have been sending their children off to school or solitary confinement with the erroneous feelings of being either GGGGreat and or magically delicious. Because of one's lack of either common knowledge or common sense little Timmy has suckered his parents into buying a frivelously constructed, nineteen ounce carton of satan's sugar chunks for the sole purpose of attaining a false sense of acceptance by being the first one on his street with Toucan Sam's secret decoder ring. In regards to this poorly constructed piece of plastice pizzle, they didn't even tell you what one was supposed to decode. I believe that this is the epicenter of the beginning of the fall of man kind. Fictitious studies, that I just made up show that the American Dental Association has attributed premature tooth decay as well as inguinal herniaes to the over use of sugar coated devil nuggets, commonly known as breakfast cereals (you can't make this stuff up, why would you? It would be a waste of time). I believe that it is an insult to the intelligence of our nations two to four year olds. Despite their inability to produce income (for the exception of Kathy Lee Gifford)and still confined to the onerous title of preoperational youth, I believe that it is imparative to start our toddlers off with a well balanced diet of grapenuts and prunes. With a shake for lunch and a sensible dinner (hell it worked for Tommy Lasorda). It has been shown that the majority of learning is done by age five. By force feeding our children some mass produced rubbish, our parents have shown a bestial attempt at caring for the nations youth while their true intentions are to have the kid work in a sweatshop in Cambodia while mommy and daddy kick back body shots off some ragged prostitute from Guadalajara. I leave you with this wealth of information and advise you to do the right thing.

Today i look to examine the accute effects of today's television generation on society. It seems as though in lieu of the television, this country has lost touch with its true past. When at one point it was common to see John Q. Public retreat to his home after a long day on the range and settle in to his usual plate of unprocessed slop, has now been replaced by the sinister onslaught of Swanson's T.V. cuisine. I hold that there is nothing wrong with the traditional meal and infact where people inhale their meal to make a tractor beam to the television was once shown as people careful disecting their meal, whether cooked or still alive and then spending the evening widdling small wooden squirrels out of grandpappy's false teeth. I believe that it is the television that has hindered many of America's past-times such as playing with a hoop and a stick, tarring and feathering limy Brits, and perhaps our purest past-time, flatulance. Decent society as we once have known has been rudely interupted by Carson Daily and countless reruns of "Welcome Back Cotter." Though i must admit, John Travolta in yet another pair balogna skins is mighty appeasing to the eyes, my morals must defer this pleasure to some burnt out hippy who believes that Jerry is still alive, not wofting away the haze to recognize that the Dead were nothing more than a sub-par cover band whose guitarist's only claim to fame was that he minced one of his fingers while carelessly splitting wood (another great past-time). I believe that our finest moment, as a country, can be depicted by Laura Ingles Wilder lasciviously prancing down a hill while being chased by her retard of a sister too awkward to stop from drooling and falling down the damn hill. A more simple time when entertainment consisted of flinging a smoldering horseshoe at your neighbor's "private area" just to see if he or she had what it took to build the barn. Television has left our country's families with nothing more than the nine to five job, 2.5 children, a white picket fence, and a damn pimento loaf sandwich ripe enough to knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. I believe that it is the television that has given man chronic bed soars upon his ass leaving him impotent on account he can't top his wife off quick enough to make it back for the season finale of Different Strokes. I will leave you with this: television can be summed up in one analogy. "You can squat on a pitbull, but it aint gonna get you Rhubarb pie." So, for the children's sake, lose the remote and take up widdling. Maybe you can make a space shuttle, a Mickey Rourke action figure (not doll...action figure!), or a Joe Jackson signiture ass paddle.

Twas once that I pondered
O'er there and O'er yonder
for the thoughts I once squandered
and the bills I once laundered
It twas daylight
I viewed sunlight
while I faught the good fight
with worm like ferocity and tenacity like a termite
for the vittles were lean
as a once ruptured spleen
that was ill troddened with gangrene
So fuck off, if you know what I mean

Animals, Invented around 16,000 B.C. they were, and what a year it was. Cubs win the penant, Moses, looking to perfect the red sea thing, farted in the bath tub and began to claim that he had special powers that enabled him to move water, and of course the birth of Strom Thurman. It seems like just yesterday, right? Who ever came up with idea of having nocturnal and diurnal animals is truely a genious. Think about it: You're a howler monkey who feeds during the day. There you are nibbling on your fill of papaya when all of the sudden you get knocked in the side of the face by a bewildered fruit bat just trying to get a nut. Another example would be the elusive water moccasin making its way down to the pond to wrangle up some grub. Upon his arrival he is greeted with a foot on the head by some gallavanting mentally decelerated lion going to play splish splash in the drink drink. The founder and inventer of these animals as well as the rest of the kingdom and or phylum made it so that some animals would feed at night and other during the day. Think of the problems this saved. From now on the ever so galliant dung beetle need not worry about some vulture coming and stealing his precious ball of yak feces because it is commonly know than vultures feast during the day(except when Uncle Jessy Catsopolis is around) and dung beetles shovel shit at night. It has become a science of eating shifts, for those who come from a large family. It is perfection like this that can only be found in nature, not some university, or some strip club where the dancer tells you she'll give you a free dance with the purchase of two, and then tells you to close your eyes while she "tickles you prostate" and when you open them you're left alone with nothing but an empty wallet, a glass of flat beer, a pitched tent and some bouncer dude telling you that you could be a perfect act in this movie he's got going on only to find out it involves sheep and a pair of yellow utility boots. (Deep breath, and out with the bad!) I leave you with utter amazement to wonder such flabbergasted thoughts. Remember there's an animal inside all of us, just make sure it's not when you drop the soap!

Did you know that there is an animal from the great white north called the arctic snow Lemur. Yes, it's an actual animal much resembling the lemur from South America only the dorsal fur of this animal is non existant. Most lemurs move by hopping, skipping and or jumping. Because of the conditions in the arctic region it is difficult fo animals to hop, skip, or jump due to the level of the snow. This is where the dorsal side of the animal comes in handy. Think of it this way. When humans sled in the snow, it helps that the sleigh, tobogan, or sled is without friction on the bottom. Because of the lemur's frictionless surface, it can easily slide along its belly when being chased by a predator. Lemurs, in other parts of the world, live in the canopy. The canopy, where it resides, is much like a sprawling metropolis for mammalia and animals alike. Because the arctic region is without many trees, the lemur lives in tunnels made of gravel, snow and whatever vegetation it can find. The vegetation acts as a compost heap giving off much needed heat. The structure of this tunnel resembles that of an ant farm, with large dens and tunnels that radiate from the "aorta" or main living quarters. The mating habits of the arctic snow lemur are usually prevalent during the fall months with a gestation period being six months. The "litter" usually consists of anywhere from 3 to 5 offspring. Where human's experience sexual growth at the age of 12-14 years, the arctic snow lemur begins its sexual growth at 6 months and reaches sexual maturity at the age of 2 years. While mating the lemur will secrete a musk that attracts the opposite sex much resembling a perfume that a human may wear to attract members of the opposite sex. The actual mounting may last anywhere from 2-25 minutes. It is easy to spot a lemur who has been mating in that the female will have bite marks on the back from the aggressive mating habits of the male lemur. All in all, the arctic snow lemur is much like the South American version, in regards to body structure. This concludes today's wildlife lesson.

P.s.: God you all are gullible. There's no such thing! I mean how could it work. An animal can't live in subfreezing temperatures and only have half a body covered with fur. Sliding on the snow? That's preposterous. Furthermore how is this made up animal supposed to eat. It can't fish or kill a polar bear. The most it could do is feed on the dingleberries off the polar bears ass and those don't have the nutrients and minerals to sustaine a mammal in freezing conditions! And the mating habits, Ohh, hee, hee, the mating habits! what do you think there's actualy an animal out there that has the same sexual interests as Marve Albert. You gotta be kidding me. The thing that kills me is that you even bought the whole tunnel/aorta bit. You actually thought that some stupid hopping monkey's gonna be able to dig a whole through frozen solid earth. You guys crack me up. Hey next time I talk to you, I'll have a barn for sale filled with gold and a Leprachaun inside screaming, their magically delicious. Hey anyhow, try not to fall of the ground on your way to the potty, you morons! Hee, HEE, HEE... HOO, HOO ,HOO. awh that's funny. BYE

The Holiday Season.

With so much to look forward to in the upcoming months, it is difficult to begin to explain why i am getting excited. Let's see. The only true reason that I get excited is to get presents. That's right, I am still trapped in the body of a five year old. A grossly overweight five year old, but that's besides the point. What it is to come running down the stairs in one's feeted P.J.s with the trap door in the back and to find that you have gifts set up around the tree. I believe that the thrill lies not so much in the actual gift, but the anticipation of what one will get. Forgetting that not all of the gifts are for me, I am known to throw tantrums when I open a box and it contains a three pack of women's underwear. That's right, for those who are drooling, I have no wierd fettish, I've opened a gift that is for someone else. Although the silk thong, was for me. As I've ripped through all of the presents, even those that aren't mine, I am content in that i've made everyone cry and that Christmas is all about me. The pushing and the shoving, uhm glavin in the shopping mall... that was me. The oversize child that sat on Santa's lap and removed his beard just to see if it was really him, leading small children to cry... That was me. The one who kissed your mother under the misletoe, leaving your father angry and then leading to a divorce three days before christmas...That was me. The one who spiked the eggnog with paint thinner leaving your grandmother to believe that she was Rudolph the red nose reindeer and then falling off the roof... that was me. The one who wrote a nasty note from Santa back to you saying your demands for a gang bang barby were going to send you strait to hell... that was me. I also stuffed the christmas turkey with ten pounds of rat feces... but all of this is besides the point. Why you ask? Because all I have to do is to throw a dime in the Salvation army's collection bin at the supermarket and i am damn near a saint. It seems as though Christmas is a little more than gifts and cards and turkey and in summation I would like to say that it is also about the gravy. Damnit! Have a happy and safe holiday and remember elves are people too, which is why I've changed the name of them to Santa's vertically challenged bitches. Feliz Navidad!!!!