Stumblemouth's Last Stand

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Sears-Mart

Cause K-mart and Sears just weren't sucky enough by themselves.

Friday, November 12, 2004

Bad Attitude

“He had a bad attitude,” she said.

“Is that what led to this?”

She looked down at the body.

“No, it was love that done this.”

“Love?”

“After all I sacrificed for him, he was going to abandon his mamma for that two-bit whore.”

“I see,” said the officer closing the handcuffs around her wrists.

"Damn that goat is looking good."

I work in a very strange office.

Well, it's kind of normal (boring) now because two guys, R and C, have moved on to pursue their fame and fortune (or at least a job with an infintisimal chance of promotion and/or pay increase) at other companies. But man, while they were here we had some kind of fun. Not productive, actually do-our-jobs-to-the-best-of-our-ability-and-still-have-time-to-cut-up fun, but fun nonetheless. It was more of the how-much-can-we-slack-off-and-do-the-minimum-to-not-lose-our-job kind of fun fun. I loves me some dashes.

At some point I started keeping a log of all the weird and fall-off-your-chair-laughing funny shit that I heard around the office. Ah, good times, good times.

So without further ado, bdo or even cdo, here goes:

“It's called progress—under the guise of chaos and confusion.”

“Want mommy to draw a bath for you when you get home?” (this was said by R to C)

“You teeter on the edge of brilliance and yet you never quite fall off.”

R:” C received a homosexual Christmas card.”
C: “No, no it was a Christmas card with homosexual birds on it.”

“Get your Christmas ball out of my face.”

“Under those clothes she is soooo naked.”

“Riddle me this rooster boy.”

“Real Whiskey? Real office sharin' whiskey?”

“White tube socks are the new black dress socks.”

C: "That's soft as a lamb's ass"
R: "How would you know?"

“It looks all right because I totally puffed up his gloryboy.”

“They can smell the sin all over you.”

“C used to get caught up in his own wonderfulness…but then he heard it would make you go blind.”

C: “Is it too vulgar? Will it offend some people?”
(pause) Me: “Since when did that become an issue?”

“No, no I never claimed that I would be able to rise above my mediocrity.”

C: “I was shit on last night.”
R: “Was that awkward for your wife?”
editor’s note: I could explain this, but it’s so much funnier out of context.

Jews for Jesus? Next week: Baptists for Satan.

“Buddha school? Is that anything like bootie school?”

“You can come see me but your pants are staying home.”

“We'd get nominated in the Please Go Away Category.”

“The gimp called, he wants his boots back. And his mouth ball.”

“Do you think Time magazine has this discussion on whether or not to include the word poopiepants. “

“Nothing like a heaping helping of mock and ridicule to get your day off to a good start.”

R: “We don't have a damn clue with what we're doing with this project.”
C: “Great, that fits in perfectly with our overall game-plan.”

'I have a fivehead."
" What?"
"It's too big for a forehead, I've got a fivehead."

Our Boss: “I told them I was a high powered fashion mogul.
Me: “I hope you weren't wearing that shirt when you told them that.”

C: “Always leave them wanting more.”
R: “You've been doing that for years, right Stumblemouth?”

“Chief Ass Monkey—that's my Indian name.”

“You, of course, are more familiar with the Must Be Present To Lose rule.”

“He's 190 lbs. of twisted steel and sex appeal.”
“Well, except for the twisted steel and sex appeal part, yeah that's him.”

“Or in your case, the not-so-Full Monty.”

Boss: “You think Chuck will be upset?”
R: “He'll take it hard.”
Me: “That's the rumor anyway.”

“At what point do you go ‘Damn that goat is looking good’”

Yeah, this used to be a pretty fun place to work.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

2 Reason I Love Her

She burps waaay louder than me.

In public.

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Because Mr. Reynolds Is Frickin’ Brilliant, That’s Why

Oh, sure, you think printing another writer’s work here is a weasel-ly way for me to get out of posting my own deep, insightful post--that I’m just punking out on my self-inflicted bloggerly commitments. How perceptive.

But really the reason I’m posting this is because Mr. Reynolds is frickin’ brilliant, that’s why.

I’ve come in personal contact with very few legitimately brilliant, genius-level folks. That I could stand.

Not only is Mr. Reynolds frickin’ brilliant, he’s a wonderful, humble, classy person. And he’ll challenge your thoughts on just about anything. In a good way. In a coming from the world at a totally different slant kind of way. In a let’s get to the meat, the heart, the TRUTH of it kind of way. And how many people do you know like that?

And he’ll knock your balls off as a singer. (If you have no balls, insert the word of your choice in the previous sentence. Or get some balls. Cause he’ll knock them off for you)

Here is one example of Mr. Reynolds frickin’ brilliance:

Delilah

Hair like golden rings of fire,
arms like Eden’s snake unfurled
eyes like diamonds in the dark
her heart a brooding underworld

She’s got a disposition marked by friction
her thoughts are searing braids aflame
her beast walks by her like a child
come to her wild
and leaves her tame

She’ll take you like a massacre
and leave you like a pileup
she’s Lucifer’s Delilah

Lips like bloody valentines
tongue like a scarlet ribbon streaming
and her legs an ark, a covenant
her face a Venus dreaming

Her test is given easily
oh, but no one ever passed it
and her feast is taken in due course
first there’s the battle, then there’s the war

And she’ll call you with a battle cry
pick you from a lineup
she’s Lucifer’s Delilah

I’ve come to learn, I’ve come to trace
a line around desire
I’ve come to life a cup and drink
impound, imbibe, acquire
I’ve come to spend a lifetime
and drowning all the while
I’ve come to spend a little time
with Lucifer’s Delilah

Lips like bloody valentines
tongue like a scarlet ribbon streaming
and her legs an ark, a covenant
her face a Venus dreaming

Makes you kind of sad doesn’t it? That you didn’t come up with the lines “She’ll take you like a massacre/leave you like a pile up.”

This is great writing and the brilliant Mr. Reynolds in all his frickin’ness and brillance-ness, has put some brilliant frickin’ music it to it and delivered a frickin’ brilliant song.

You can hear a sample of it here. Sorry, but it’s just a clip not the full song. Mr. Reynolds would think it brilliant of you to purchase the album and enjoy the song in its entirety. He really frickin’ would.

That’s it. For today.

So, like James McGreevey

I’m out.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

1 Reason I Love Her

She made up the word Cockcicle last winter to describe the driving impaired assmunch in front of us.

Monday, November 08, 2004

Unfinished Bidness

I put the half in half-ass. Oh, and the ass, too. Or I have for a long time.

I’m a perpetual unfinisher, a habitual leaver of things undone.

College? Yes. I’ve been to four different universities, two of them several times.

Degree? Nope.

Sure, I can rack up a 110-120 hours of college credit, but getting all those hours in the same degree program would be so boooring.

I’ve had a home remodeling project going for over three years now and the only reason I’m going to get that finished is because I have to. The bank that gave me the construction loan last year said so. So did my new bride.

Have I started my first novel? A dozen times.

Finished my first novel? Not even chapter one.

Recent reality has slapped me in the face and made me examine my life. Who I am, how I operate in the world, what it is I want out of life, what I’m going to do about changing old, unhealthy habits, etc.

So, I’ve been pondering why I leave so many thing unfinished.

Really the only

Friday, November 05, 2004

This Italian Mustard Tastes Salty

I recently married K, the most wonderfulest woman in the world (you will no doubt hear much more about her wonderfulness in future posts). She is kind to animals, old people, and children; has a wicked, silly sense of humor; is incredibly patient with her new still-stumbling-toward-healthy-adulthood-at-37 hubby (again, future posts will no doubt cover this topic in detail); and she’s hot. Sheryl Crow hot. Only younger. And hotter.

K has learned some important things about her husband since we’ve been together. Like I’m chicken-shit when it comes to trying new food.

I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy who just may be allergic to anything green, leafy or good for the body. On the plus side, I’m addicted to Pepsi which everyone knows is the elixir of the gods. Four liters of carbonated sugary goodness a day keeps the doctor away.

We recently had our honeymoon in Italy. Did you know that pasta was big in Italy? And bread? And wine? So, I was in good shape on the food front. Or so I thought.

We went here on part of our trip. A lovely little stretch called Cinque Terre on the Mediterrian Sea with five quaint fishing villages in a row. This was also where we had the best food of our entire trip. I had a pesto lasagna that was one of the best things I’ve tasted. Ever. We had a pesto pizza for lunch that was so good we went back and had it again that night. For desert. After we had eaten a full meal at another seaside café. Did I mention that Cinque Terre is known for its pesto?

The first night we got to Cinque Terre there was an Italian rock band playing in the little square of the village where we were staying. They were throwing in some American cover songs that were ALMOST right. Example: the Doobie Brothers classic “Long Train Running” has a chorus that goes “Without love where would you be now?” The Italian boys version? “Without love where you be right now?”

We be in Italy laughing our ass off drunk on two bottles of yummy local wine that’s cheaper than bottled water. But we got the love. Where you be right now, Gino?

Did you know that funny Italian rock bands, two bottles of wine and dancing in the square of a little village on the Mediterrian Coast till midnight will make you hungry? It will definitely make your new, hot, knows-how-to-shake-everything-right-Oh-my-Lord-I-love-this-woman, wife hungry. And it will make her sneaky.

All the cafés close fairly early (for Americans used to getting whatever we want, whenever we want it), so it took a little time to find a place to eat. We decided to just split something and I left the ordering to K because she knows what I will/won’t eat.

K comes back with a ham and something sandwich that even to my wine addled brain looks suspicious. Like there is something on it THAT I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS. And therefor I will not eat it.

K is digging this ham and something delight. It’s going pretty fast, it’s late, there are not too many food options in tiny little Italian coastal villages at 1 a.m. and I’m hungry. “What’s that on the ham, honey?”

“It’s Italian mustard.”

Italian mustard? I like mustard. A ham and mustard sandwich. I can handle that.

“So, you just going to hog that ham sandwich?” (K says I’m the corniest man in the world and she may be right)

I take a bite. “Italian mustard tastes really salty.”

“Yeah, it does.”

So we finish it and go on to bed. The next three days are a little bit of heaven on earth. We spend our days hiking, siting by the sea, exploring each little village. Nights are spent eating in outdoor cafés by the sea and drinking wine. Lots of wine. I don't want this part of our trip to wine down (see I told you I was corny).

At the train station as we’re leaving to head to Florence, we decide to grab a little snack. They love the ham and bread options in Italy and we were in a hurry so we ended up getting that.

“Hey babe, don’t get any of that Italian mustard, that stuff is way too salty.”

Suddenly there’s this loud, frightening sound and I’m looking around to see if there was a train wreck or something. But no, it’s just K laughing her ass off.

“What?”

“I forgot about that till just now,” she says.

“Forgot about what?”

“That Italian mustard. It was olive paste. I knew you’d never take a bite if you knew what it was.”

Good thing I love you, my wonderful, conniving, make-me-try-things-I-never-in-a-million-years-would-have-otherwise partner in wine.

stum·ble mouth
(n.)

1. Person suffering a disconnection between the brain, the heart and the mouth resulting in an inability to communicate thoughts and feelings with clarity.

2. Blog by a smart-ass Southern-fried common tater.

Name: Stumblemouth

Location: Nashville, TN

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