A HAIKU FOR YOU


I made a boom-boom.
What's worse--there was no T.P.
My hand is dirty.

Groff told me that since I'm always talking about him, I should at least do him the favor of posting his photo. That way, "all the chicks in Internet Land will see [him] and want to bang." Without further adieu, I present Groff:

If you ask me, Kurt Russel doesn't get the respect he deserves. Last night I got naked and watched Tango And Cash, and man oh man, what a great flick! Seriously, it's jam-packed with action, humor, suspense, and there's even a boob shot! And how about that intense scene when Kurt and Sly are in prison, about to get beat up by sixteen million convicts (that they put away) and then that big English dude pops in brandishing a straight razor? I was all like, "Oh no! Kurt's a goner for sure!" But then he threw his hair back and yelled, "Alright you wanna kill me? Kill me! But if I'm gonna die, I want it to be by an American, not this slimy immigrant!"
Right there I went from the depths of Death Valley to the top of Mt. Everest; I jumped on my bed and let out an emphatic "BOOYAH!"
No movie before has ever had such a strong patriotic message displayed so openly, so clear, that hearing those words brought tears to my eyes. I took a deep breath and I tasted freedom. Then I let out another "BOOYAH!"
Let's not forget Teri Hatcher though. That scene where she walks down the runway at the strip club, followed by an industrial size fan is SMOKIN'. Is there anything hotter than a chick wearing a shiny silver get-up dancing and getting her hair blown around? I didn't think so, but then she stole some shmuck's drumsticks from the crowd and proceeded to play the most mindblowing drum solo ever. I mean, I've been to a few kick-ass concerts in my day (Burnt By The Sun, Candiria, Mastodon, Andrew W.K.) but this was amazing; it was like I could feel the beat of her heart flowing through her chest, to her arms, into her hands, until finally it exploded on the drum pad in a burst of jubilance that sang, "I am Teri Hatcher. I love life." You'd think after a scene like that the director would've decided to slow the pace a bit and let the viewer compose him/herself, but not the genius who made Tango And Cash. Just then Kurt busts in and she leads him to (OF ALL PLACES!) the dressing room. And you know what happens there? Chicks walk around TOPLESS. (Can you say booyah?)
Beads of sweat ran down my forehead and soaked my palms; if I had been wearing a shirt I would've had to run my pointer finger along the inside of the collar, just to release all the steam building up. Thankfully I was naked. However, the boobs left as quickly as they came and I couldn't help but feel a little dissapointed.
But what about the climax? Much like the rest of Tango and Cash it's nothing short of amazing. There's an SUV equipped with a cannon, lots of explosions, fist fights, guns, and Kurt Russel.
If you haven't seen this gem of a film yet I highly suggest you do. Chances are you'll only find it on VHS, so you should probably write your congressman and ask them to have it put on DVD. That and Berry Gordy's The Last Dragon.
SHO-NUFF!

Revenge. That's what I'm all about. You could say I'm like Paul Lazzaro from Slaughterhouse-Five which, coincidentally, was what I was reading when some snot nosed kid swiped the book out of my hand and called me a "pukefaced geek." My blood temperature soared to a steamy two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit as I supressed the urge to Vulcan Neck Pinch that little prick into oblivion. Luckily for me I realized an immediate retaliation such as that would result in me being unemployed and a bunch of illiterate parents breathing down my neck. Lord knows we don't want that.
No. I was going to have to wait this one out. I picked my book up off the floor and went down to the breakroom to finish my lunch hour, and also to figure out how I would make that prick pay; little did I know that it would take a few cold ones and some television before it could come to me. As I sat on my couch watching old cartoons I remembered how successful my planting of beer and cigarettes in that one jerk's locker went, so I decided to stick with that type of action.
Like my father used to say, "If it's broke, why fix it?"
I began scoping out where this kid's locker was and, so I don't have to keep typing kid or jerk or prick or punk, we'll just say his name was Assface Jones. Anyway, I found where Assface's locker was in no time, but I needed to be super stealth about this. I also decided that I should wait before striking, like some sort of Custodial Cobra coiled in the corner, hiding under the cloak of darkness. Yeah, somethin bitchin' like that. I wanted Assface to completely forget about our little encounter. A few weeks later I made my move.
It was rather simple really; I have keys to the building, so I can come and go as I please and after 11 PM no one's there. It was around midnight that I showed up with my knapsack and black clothing ready to pay Assface back for calling me a pukefaced geek and throwing my Kurt Vonnegut book. An hour and a half later I was home sipping ice cold beer and laughing victoriously.
The next day I made sure to arrive early and find some kid to bribe into making a mess by Assface's locker. I wanted to see the fruits of my labor firsthand. Sure enough, some kid named "Stupid Dork" accepted my offer of $15 and a carton of smokes to spill some paint near Assface right before first period. As soon as Cletus announced there was a mess that needed cleaning, I volunteered and all but ran to the site hoping against all hope I hadn't missed the wonderful show. I didn't and boy was it sweet.
There I was mopping and there was Assface walking toward his locker with this look on his face that screamed, "DERRRRRR!!" I almost shrieked out in pure delight for what was about to happen. He fiddled with his padlock, click, unlocked it, slid it off the metal hole it went through, opened the locker, and that's when it happened.
BAM!!!

There was quite a commotion afterward as teachers and students alike rushed to help Assface to the nurse's office and then to stare blankly into his locker.
I quickly cleaned the paint and ran to a custodial closet to hide and laugh. Could my plan have gone any better? Probably not. This was way better than the cigarettes and beer gag.
And besides, who would ever guess that it was me who rigged a spring loaded boxing glove into a 7th grader's locker? No one. That's who.

June is upon us; know what that means? The 56th Annual Mosquito Harvest will soon be here!!! Every year my town holds a festival in honor of those bloodsucking insects, with contests/games like: Watermelon Punching, Rock Throwing, Apple Squeezing, Spin The Elderly, Quarter Mile Toddler Races, Cantaloupe Punching, Child Bearing, (Winner has the most children in the least amount of time) Naked Tetherball, Sandbag Punching, and Horseshoes.
"What does this have to do with harvesting mosquitoes?" you ask. Well the town founder, Julio Herglerrsburgh, was cantankerously drunk one evening when his wife threw him out of the house. Without a clue or a destination, Julio found himself at the city dump, where a golden apparition showed itself atop a barrel pile. No one knows exactly what was said during this meeting but immediately after, Julio found a shovel, a field, and a dream. Three weeks later, that field was filled with half-buried barrels of water, ready to house fledgling mosquitoes. Every anniversary of that fateful night Julio and the townspeople would all drink two quarts of whiskey, go out to the field, and kick the barrels thereby waking mosquitoes from their wintertime slumber. This continued until Julio Herglerrsburgh mysteriously died of Malaria.
From that point on, June has been dedicated to the work of Mr. Herglerrsburgh and his drunken dream, at first only celebrated by a silent vigil in the Mosquito Field. Eventually it was viewed as a joyous occasion and, with the advent of carnival rides, the silent vigil expanded from one night to a whole week of festivities. In fact there once was a ferris wheel at the top of Tall Hill people rode during the celebration, but it fell into disrepair and a bolt came loose, causing the wheel to roll downhill into the lake. Everyone involved died but no one was hurt since they were all so drunk.
There are still some rides that folks frequent but for the most part, The Mosquito Harvest has become a social gathering for the townspeople, hence all the different games and contests. What's more is the Mosquito Bite Contest which consists of standing shirtless in The Field while hordes of bugs bite you. Those who complain about, or scratch at, a bite are disqualified; because of this, Big Jeb's been bragging that he hasn't "itched a Skeeter bite in almost two decades." Hopefully that changes this year. Finally, the last night of the harvest is spent drinking until midnight, at which point breathalyzers are administered. Anyone who blows under a .20 is forced to keep drinking while those who meet that level, or exceed it, are rushed off to go streaking. Everyone runs down main street while children watch and cheer. After that families round up their members, go home, sleep, and return to normalcy.
And that, my friends, is the Mosquito Harvest. If this sounds like something you'd be into I implore you to join us June 9th-16th in Herglerrsburgh for the Harvest!