It’s been announced that back in the day Joseph Stalin attempted to have John Wayne knocked off. It seems that the “Duke” was such a picture of good ole American right who always took great glee in tellin the commies that they were a bunch of pink wearin pussies that Stalin actually sent death squads to put the “Duke” in Boot Hill. This shit lasted until Nikita (isn’t that a chick’s name?) Khrushchev came into power and squelched that shit. Unlike Joe, Nikki was a huge fan of the “Duke”. Did you muthafucker’s know that John Wayne’s nickname “Duke” came from a dog he had as a kid? Yeah, as a kid he always had this mutt that followed him everywhere that went by the name of Duke, so as a result people in his town started referring to him as the “Duke”. One of America’s greatest film hero’s named after a dog, go figure.
And Ben (no really, I’m not gay) Affleck is about to piss off every lesbian in the fuckin world. I hear that in the movie Gigli, staring him and Jennifer (stop staring at my ass) Lopez. He actually does what every mullet wearin, tight see thru shirt with the nipples showing, gold chain sportin, big truck driving, bar freak brags about doing. He gets his groove so smooth that he convinces Lopez’s character to switch teams and take one for the Gipper. Yeah, in case you missed that, he actually convinces a hard-core lesbian to forgo with the eating of cootchies to go with the lovin of the cock. And he did it all thru his sheer manliness. You know from talkin to many many lesbians, I’ve found out that it ain’t that they hate the cock, it’s just that don’t wanna put up with the asshole behind it. Really, I’m killin myself here

The Pope in all his holiness has decided to launch a global campaign against same sex marriages. He says that same sex unions are immoral. Huh? I guess this take center stage over the issue of his dedicated priest’s stickin their cocks into the asses of little kids. Pious fuckers.

My stinkin upstairs neighbors were playing the fuckin raver music all night and I couldn’t sleep for shit. It was one of those deals where I couldn’t find their phone number and didn’t feel like getting dressed to go bitch em out. I did have a session that lasted for five minutes where I seriously thought about grabbin my shotgun and going to their door buckassed nekked. But I thought about the image that that’d send to the cops, plus think of all the little children. So I relented and hunkered down in bed and at last went to sleep. But because of all that I’m in a bit of a foul mood today. I used to thrive living on four or five hours of sleep a night, but the past few years I’ve really come to love my sleep. Ball droppage and getting old, some kind of bitch huh? But since I’m in a foul mood how bouts we sweat the small stuff for a while?
Oh, before I goes off on a tear, I was at the Hurricane yesterday talking to Mito when Lumpy pulled up on the sidewalk and hopped off his bike and came in to knock back a few. Now this was a pretty picture, here’s Lumpy, big guy, tattooed from head to toe, sportin the latest in oy boy fashion wear, hopping off a bright red moped wearing a Kaiser helmet. Then later our buddy Brock pulls up on his moped lookin like a thinner version. So I’m buyin a round of shots to make the boy’s feel manlier when I see this huge rack across the street. We all rush the windows and there’s this stinkin hot brunette walkin wearin a halter top that’s holding up the best lookin set I’ve seen in a long while. I’m lookin, then its like, “hey, I know that chick”, it turned out to be the stressed out Italian stripper ex-roommate, who’s been callin me almost every night for the past week. I had to go sit back down cause I wasn’t quite ready to talk to her in person yet. It just kind’a knocked me back cause I haven’t seen her in a few years and all I can say is damn, I used to shack up with that body for years and I’m still alive. We’ll hook up back up sooner then later, and then I’m gonna knock one over the wall if you know what I’m sayin? Uh huh.
Which brings me to this, do you know the Man’s tryin to push thru a new rape law in some states? It’s the just say no law, and it means that if you and some chick are poppin the brush and she says “you ain’t fuckin me right, get your stinkin ass up off me”. And you figure it’s crazy talk and keep on keeping on, she can have you hit with rape charges. Because even if the sex is consensual between the both of you but halfway thru the deed, she decides enough’s enough, and you don’t unass quick enough to her satisfaction she can get you charged with a very serious crime. I see some very bad shit coming out’a this one.
And last night I’m watching a car commercial where the main theme is about come see us, we’ll treat you like family. As if! What family are they talkin about huh? A family where the evening’s entertainment is sandbaggin gramps? I’ve had it up to here hearing people talk about treating each other like family. Come to our restaurant, we’ll treat you like family. The airline that treats you like family. We care about you because you’re family. Family fuck this! Always beware of stranger’s that smile in your face whilst slippin the knife into your back. Plus I so fuckin hate overly friendly sales people, “hi, can I help you, have a lovely day why don’t you”? Now don’t get me wrong, I dig courteous and helpful people, it’s just the ones that suffer from the Quiktrip syndrome. You know, when you walk into a convenience store at O’dark-thirty in the fuckin morning and some whizzer behind the counter greets you with a chirpy hello. And to make it worse the happy Nazi bastards insist on chatting as you stumble thru the store. “Sure is a fine morning, hey, how about those Royals? Need a roll with that java?” Fuckin Christ in heaven, why can’t they just shut the fuck up and stand there? But maybe it just me being an antisocial bastard…….ah fuck it. Peace

I had a thought today; I came to the conclusion that it was time for me to change the format of my blog site. Maybe bend with the wind and start writing about things that people want to hear. How about I write about the great American way, or, as has been suggested, write about politics. I could delve into the nations current events or expound my views on certain social upheavals. I could write about the war and it’s impact on me as an individual, or I could talk about the quote-unquote “secret government” I “allegedly” work for. I’m sure that’ll attract some attention. I could write about 9/11 and how every major corporation in the world’s using it as an excuse to offload excess baggage. I could write about the plight of the Black man and that no one owes him anything. I could say something like ‘stop using your race as an excuse and get on with living; we’re not even buying our own rhetoric anymore”. I could write about the homeless, the handicapped, the unloved, the people’s of the world that haven’t a voice to be heard. I could wax poetic and write a haiku about my pal Michelle. “My god! Ass!” But you know what? I’ve hit on all these subjects before and I’ll probably address em again at some point. But who wants to write about heady shit? Especially when it’s on my dime? Not me? So I guess I won’t change my format. And I’ll stop sneering at other blogger’s cause it’s all about makin happy. Right? I write about what makes me happy and all those other’s can write about what makes them happy. Hmmm, self-enlightenment, who knew? Peace

Ok, I gots a lot of things hurting my head so lets get this muthafucker started and fuck me runnin for being such an anti-social forgetful bum this weekend, blame it on the deep depression I’ve been going thru the past few months. Even Cassie got hold of me the other day and asked how things were doing with me, I told her shit’s crappy but I couldn’t really put a finger on what the cause was. Her next question was I sittin in the dark again, and I had to tell her yeah. Before Cassie and Michelle showed up, I had a bad habit of sittin in the dark with no lights on, the only light was the glow of the TV, then after they showed up the lights came back on. Yeah yeah, I know, find me a shrink and see if they have any better luck. But I passed on seeing the mud wrestling Friday night. The local girls rugby team was wrestling in the mud at a nearby club as a fund raiser for their team, and Friday night a bunch of people from the Cane went down to see what was what. I had to get up early for a meeting so I passed on all the action. I talked to Yancy Saturday night and she told me it turned into a pretty sweet deal, cause if the girls knew each other real well they put on a show. Goddammit! Girls grabbing ass in the mud, and I missed it. Then Saturday night the Burly Que Burlesque girls were doing a show at a local art gallery and I purposely passed on that one. The last time I went to one of their shows I was louder then a muthafucker, all screaming and shit. And I don’t think some of the more stick-stuck-up-the-ass patrons dug my sense of commitment. Goddammit, it was chicks in pasty’s doing old school burlesque and shit, not an art showing. But this time since it was at a real art gallery I decided to pass. Saturday Morning Michelle and I went to our initial meeting with N.A.C.A as part of our plan for home ownership. It seems pretty cool, click on the link for more details and shit. I almost walked out cause they were really hitting on the religious tip for a while, but I’ll drink their Kool-Aid if it gets us into a house. We were gonna get a home together but since I imagine she’ll be getting married or some such shit in the next few years, that might not work out. So if I get a house she’ll move in or something to that effect. It’s hard having a female as a best friend cause you know that when the right cat comes along she’s gone and shit’ll return to what it once was. Oh well, cross that bridge when it comes time. I’ll be back later; I’m not done yet. Oh, and if anybody knows of any job openings in the Kansas City area, either office or whatever, I ‘m keeping my eye open for a friend of mine. So mail me or hit me at Death’s Door. Thanks

On the road again, Bob Hope.

I just read in the news that with the release of the new Charlie Angles movie the old eighties band Loverboy is lookin to get famous again. Yeah, and I wonder what color their sky is? But anyway I gots a great Loverboy story from back in the day, it’s kind’a mangled but you’ll get the gist of it. It was back in eighty or eighty-one and I was bouncing at Blayney’s in Westport. Here’s a little known stoner fact for the kids, back in the sixty’s when hippies ran roughshod thru the streets of Westport, the space that Blayney’s occupies used to be a chinchilla farm. True story, swear to god, ask any old hippie, go on, I dares ya. But back in the eighties Blayney’s used to be the spot in Westport for the young and hip to hang out, and many a touring band fell down those steps to party and such. Steve Steven’s and the Billy Idol band, James Dio, who was shorter then a muthafucker but had this bigassed Samoan bodyguard that was a total prick, Huey Lewis and the News, Pat Benatar, who was a total spinner, just to name a few. So one night it was a cat by the name of Kevin Mahogany, who’s now a famous jazz singer, Jeff Black, who tours out of Nashville now, and myself on door duty when the band Loverboy came stumbling down the steps.
Oh, for those of you not from the area, Blayney’s is a basement club, in case the down the stairs thing had you confused. Loverboy ended up hanging out all night and being the talkie bastards that they were, me and Kevin became friends with a few of em, especially Matt the drummer. As a matter of fact they dug us so much that they offered me and Kevin a spot on the tour bus as bodyguards and shit. All we had to do was show up at the hotel with our bags ready to go, but that’s another story. Now back in the eighty’s Westport was a lot wilder then it is now, and they had their own gun toting Security Company to keep the peace. Now the owner of the security company bred his own guard dogs so every one that worked for him either had a Doberman or German Shepard. I think the cat feed em babies or some such shit, cause these were the biggest muthafuckin dogs I’d ever seen, all teeth, feet and ass, you could’a thrown a saddle over em.
So to make a long story short, when the bar closed I ended up on the sidewalk with Matt Frenette and other members of Loverboy just in time to witness the famous Westport Friday night cleanup. This shit was rude; when the clock hit three am the Westport security company would form a skirmish line at Westport and Broadway. Then they’d start that gunmen’s walk down the middle of Westport Road, but instead of six-shooter’s they had these giant salivating dogs. And this was what we called the Westport version of crowd control, cause when the dogs showed up it was time to get off the street and go home. But this night was especially special cause for some odd ass reason the crowd decided to start this big assed riot between what used to be the Harris House (now McCoy’s) and Blayney’s. Muthafucker’s were all about beatin each other down and shit until the security cats let the dogs off their leashes. Then muthafucker’s were running so fast they had cartoon streaks behind em. Coming from the quiet street’s of Vancouver, Canada, Matt from Loverboy having never seen shit like this freaked his ass off. You had people screaming and fighting, huge dogs the size of Shetlands running everywhere biting whole asses off people and here’s Matt the famous drummer from Loverboy trying screaming and trying to climb up on my shoulder’s. Yeah, it was quite the scene. Dogs eatin asses and rockstar’s freakin. Peace

Somebody asked me to spill the beans on how I wreaked my father’s bike, which I gave a short mention too the other day. (is it to or too? I always forget) So anyway I go to holler at the old man one day and he pulls me into the garage to show me his new purchase. A used Honda Magnum 750, (excuse me if I seem distracted, that goddamn Stripperalla is on TNN, you know the network for men. And I’m just struck with the dumbass over what I’m watching) I didn’t even know my father rode but it’s no secret that us Beck men have many skills. He’s grinning from ear to ear and telling me all about the bike when I went to that place that all men tend to go too. You know, that place where the suns always shining and beautiful women walk around in their underwear, and men know how to do everything. Yup, I asked him to let me take it for a spin around the block. Now this stopped the old man in mid-sentence and he looked me from head to toe as he asked me if I knew how to ride. Sure, I said, but it’s a bit smaller then what I’m used too. (now between you and me, the only bikes I’ve ever ridden were bicycles and mini bikes, but I wasn’t about to tell him that) With that he handed me the helmet and on the bike I hopped. Now I’d seen enough cats on bikes to know where the shifter was and how to put it into gear, so down the street I went. I think I actually found three of the five gears as I turned the corner and rode out of sight. Now a normal man would’a said this was enough and enough bullshit was enough and park the muthafucker. But not me, I was a bike riding badass! Yeah! So I turned it around and sped that bad boy up. I was makin the turn onto my father’s street when this huge tree appeared in front of me. And for some reason I went blank, I forget how to steer, where the brakes were, all I could do was watch the tree get closer and closer until I hit that cocksucker and tried to climb halfway up it. (jesus! My crazy Italian ex roommate just called me crying all over my phone about her man problems. Fuck, Ms.Defcon 4, drama drama drama) So I hit the big assed tree harder then a muthafucker and just tore the shit out’a the old man’s new bike. I ended up walkin/draggin it back up to the house where he was sitting on the front porch. Now with my old man’s string not always being wrapped as tight as we’d like it, I fully expected to get the crap knocked out’a me. (do you know the ex roommate wanted to come over at one in the morning? Love to see her big titties and shit cause the girls built like a wet-dream, but goddamn, a man needs his sleep and shit) But all the old man did was stand up and stare at his busted up bike. He must’a stared at it for a least ten minutes or longer whilst all that time I just stood there waiting for the pain. Finally he turned to me and asked was I ok, was I hurt or anything? I reassured him that I was fine and nothing broke. That’s when he stepped to me and in a real low barely audible voice told me to get his bike fixed. He didn’t care if I had to get a second job, fix his bike, steal, fix his bike, sell drugs, fix his bike, or sell my ass, fix his bike. He wanted his bike fixed by me cause he wasn’t turning it into his insurance. Then the real lesson came on, he told me that I didn’t respect his bike and that’s why I fucked it up, and before this was over I would learn to respect his bike and his shit or else. When my old man said shit like that it was time to start sweating. Then he told me to get the fuck out and get busy, and fix his bike. That night I’m at home sitting in the dark when my sister called me to ask what the fuck did I do to my father. I said where was he and she told me he’s been sitting in the garage for the last few hours staring at his bike. That’s when I told her what had happened, then she called me a dumbass and to fix his bike. Do you know it cost me almost three thousand dollars to repair his bike? And that it took the old man at least two years to where he could joke about it. So, do you think he took it hard? Huh?

I’d love to tell you muthafucker’s where I got this, but I just can’t fuckin remember. Check it out anyhow, if you’re a man, it’ll make you think, and if you’re a woman it’ll let you know how much your man wishes you were there?
Yeah, I think I said that right.

Yesterday at the Hurricane I'm hanging out during the Boardroom sitting on the couch next to Michelle watching Mr. Wilson work the room. The German industrial rock band Hanzel & Gretyl had just stepped outside to their tour bus after setting up all their gear onstage. It wasn’t blazin ass hot outside for a change and Mito had the windows and front door open, so I could hear the sounds of the street from where I sat. The Hurricane differs from most local bars as it has a bunch of large storefront type windows facing the street, and one of my enjoyable pastimes is sitting on the couch and watching the world go up and down Broadway. It’s especially very cool in the winter when it’s all snowed up and shit.

So there I am sitting there looking out the windows whilst keeping an ear cocked to what Michelle’s talking about. I hear all this commotion out on the sidewalk and it’s these two loser types messing with the band, or rather putting on a show of dumbassness trying to impress the band. Both these cats I recognized from back in the day, and they’ve been doing the same Bevis and Butthead shit since the mid eighties. Now here it is damn near twenty years later and it’s the same shit, same clothes, same hair, it’s like they decided at the age of twenty that they were never gonna change or grow older. Just keep living in their mom’s basement and smoking dope and never living a life. But anyway they were making all kinds of noise, which mostly hit my ears as babble until I heard clear as breaking glass the word nigger.

To my far left on the other end of the couch sat Brian and Quincy, one’s a manager and the other a doorman, who both happen to be black. Brian looked at me for confirmation and I nodded the affirmative as I got up to walk to the door, as I stepped outside Brian and Quincy were right behind me. One of the Bevis and Butthead guys said, “oh shit” or something to that effect cause I’d just told Brian and Quincy that I had this, and was walking in their direction. I walked up on the cat that was doing all the talking and asked him what was wrong with him. As I did his partner flung himself to the ground and started squirming like he was gonna have a fuckin fit. I turned my attention back to the one standing, who happened to be named Jack. I told him not to ever say the word nigger like he just did and especially where I could hear it.

That’s when his bottom lip started trembling and he told me that’s what he was, a nigger, so it was ok. Have I told you that these two cocksuckers happen to be white? You know, I wasn’t mad at Jack; I just wanted him to stop sayin that word in front of the bar. But when he told me that, I felt really sad, cause here standing in front of me and squirming on the ground were two truly stupid, no self esteem havin, hormonally challenged, lost in time, sad muthafucker’s. I just looked at em and said, ”Jack, there are no nigger’s and you aren’t either, don’t ever let me catch you sayin it again”. And with that I turned my back and went back inside.

Well it seems that I’ve done some damage to the rotator cuff in my left shoulder from my fall down the Hurricane Stairs. Not much I can do about it, just have to wait till it heals. Sometimes it’s a good thing I’m built like the way I am, I guess it could’a been much worse. I’ll just add that to the list of fucked up body parts. Like the right eye that was cut out in a bar fight back in the eighties, the bad heart from the nineties, the knife wound from the eighties, is the any more? Oh yeah, the bad knees from my amateur weightlifting days in the seventies, and all the other various cuts, holes, and contusions I’ve subjected myself too over the years. I try to take it easy, but shit will happen. In the next year I want to accomplish a couple of things, buy a house and get a motorcycle. I know what y’all must be thinking, “the house I can see, but a motorcycle, have you lost your fuckin mind”? Maybe, but it’s what I want. And not just any motorcycle, but a big ole Harley, oh yeah, I want a Fatboy with the works. And I don’t want to hear anyone’s shit about this being a midlife crises thing, like I’ve always said, I don’t buy into the hype. My plan, or what I want to do is to find myself a used police Harley and rebuild it, that way not only will I have a bad-ass ride, but I’ll learn as I rebuild. Plus, it’s not like rebuilding a car and shit, I know cats that’ve pulled their bikes into the back bedroom and worked on em. But I guess it wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn the proper way to ride one, or at least learn how to shift one of the muthafucker’s. The last and first time I rode one was my father’s brand new Honda Magnum, and I ended up driving that one stright into a tree. The old man’s probably still pissed over that one. Hmmm, I guess I better add learning how to steer to that list too. Peace

Yeah right, quote of the week; “the Pornhusker girls have decided to bring the burlesque back into their show”. Steve Tulipana of the Pornhusker’s talking to me before the show Saturday night at the Hurricane. I told em yeah right, until they get a few shots in em, then its all about showing off their disappearing finger tricks. Yeah, you figured right, Saturday night was rock night at the Hurricane and in pain or not, I had to be there. It turned into a really fun night, the first band out’a the chute was Dissension, and forgive me if I spelled the name wrong. You had to dig these guys, cause for a band that was called in at the last minute to replace a band that didn’t show they came to work. They played what struck me as old school metal, just straight ahead thrashing with the singer trying his best to rip his vocal cords out. Plus they had the whole metal look going on; I’m talkin all the leather and spikes a cat could strap on without getting hit on by other men. Plus they all were wearing the face paint and all that good shit. As a matter of fact they stuck around till the end of the night and never took that shit off.
Ain’t nothing more metal than watching some cat wearing heavy leather and Kiss face paint in the middle of the stinkin hot summer standing at the bar ordering a round and hitting on the chicks, or how fucked up, which ever the case may be. The next band up was Vibralux, now these muthafucker’s hit the stage lookin like the old New York Dolls, all in drag and shit. They rocked out pretty good except that the lead singer turned out to be this talkie muthafucker who wanted to yak between every song. But like the first band they were fun to watch, which to me is the bottom line. People tend to forget that rock and heavy metal music’s supposed to be fun and tongue-in-cheek, you know, like fuckin. C’mon, you know what I’m sayin, the only people that look and fuck like porn stars are porn stars.
Oooh, and that smoothly segues into the last band of the night, The Pornhuskers. For those of you that don’t know, the Pornhuskers have been around for some ten years. The band was put together by Steve Tulipana of Season To Risk fame, like he needed another outlet for his more devious musical tendencies? The Pornhuskers play straight ahead punk, and yes, this is another band that dresses up to play, though last night they kept it a tad on the tame side. Steve kept it simple with a cowboy hat and white face paint; he’d confessed to me earlier that he had outgrown the sliver giant phallic underwear he used to sport. Trust me; you had to see it to fully appreciate what I mean. And whilst one of the guitar player’s wore his usual catholic priest garb, our boy Billy stretched out a bit though, he played the drums wearing nothing but striped Fruit of the Looms and a fetching pair of pink fishnet stockings. Pretty.
Now as for the Pornhusker girls, who entertain all by dancing on stage during songs, took the cake. At first they came out wearing cheerleader outfits, but by the fourth song that shit came off and lo and behold, they were wearin nothing but duct tape underneath. They had strips of duct tape covering the nipples, but the hardcore effect kicked in when you looked down south. Somewhere in what must’a been a Yeager fueled frenzy, someone came up with the idea to wrap a shitload of duct tape around their asses and cooter’s. And I’m not talking just a few strategically placed strips either, they were wearin full on duct tape action panties. And me being the considerate man that I am, I really hope that they had the foresight to put on panties before they started wrapping that shit around their asses and muffies. Cause if not, that was gonna be a painful whiskey induced scene when it came time to take that shit off. And if not I hope to god they at least shaved. Peace

The thing on the left side says it all about how I felt today. It's all Dawn's fault. Goddammit!

Well, I'm definitely having the odd weekend, Friday after work I did my usual thing and headed to the Hurricane to scrub off the work week. Hey, do you know whilst at work some cat came up to me and asked me if I was still hanging out at the Hurricane? I told em yes, then check this out. The muthafucker told me that it was a goddammed shame and sad that a cat my age was still hanging out in bars like the Hurricane. All I could do was walk away cause it was one of those moments where I could’a really showed my ass and told em to go fuck off. I’m single, with no kids, unlike his ass, who by the way is four years younger with a wife, two mortgages, and three kids. I really have a problem with people trying to tell me how to live my life and every time you see the muthafucker’s they’re always bitching about theirs. But like I was sayin I went down to the Hurricane to ease out and the early band was playing inside cause it was so stinkin hot outside. I’m knockin back my usual starter pot of coffee and blowing Mito’s ear off when I decided to go downstairs to use the employee’s john. A little bit bigger and smells a lot better then the bar john if you know what I’m sayin. So there I am walkin down the stairs and I'm halfway down when I tripped over my own big assed feet. I completely left the ground and became airborne and hit the basement floor harder then a son-of-a-bitch. I ended up flat on my back and all I wanted to do was lie there till the pain went away, until I realized my fuckin pants were down around my ankles and shit? Which brings me to the point; how fuckin hard did I hit to completely rip the pants off? That’s fallin off a building kind of shit. And the last thing I wanted was to be found lying on the floor of the shittin Hurricane basement with my fuckin pants crumpled around my ankles. Just goddamn embarrassing if you feel me, so I staggered to my feet, pulled my pants up and tried to evaluate the damage. I tried to roll as I fell but ended up landing all twisted up on my left shoulder. So it was feeling all fucked up along with my lower back which felt like it was trying to separate and form its own country. I ended back up stairs and told Mito what just happened and you just gotta love her. She handed me a hug, some pain killer’s and a shot. What the fuck I thought, why not? So that was my Friday, actually the best thing that happened that night was meeting a really nice girl, isn’t it amazing how a fine lookin women can make a cat forget all the pain he’s in? Yeah, until the next morning when I had to wake up, the sight of me crawling on all fours to the bathroom could’a made a Catholic priest blush. But I had to pull my shit together cause Michelle and I were going to Cassie’s wedding, which became an ordeal in its self. You know, for a cat that’s been all over the country working for the Man, I can’t tell directions for shit. Yup, I got lost’er then a blind man in a movie theater. Michelle was sitting on the passenger side and I thought for sure a couple of times she was gonna start punchin me out. But finally we found the place but the wedding was allready over. Went in anyway and gave Cassie a hug and kiss and because I was still in such pain we only stayed for five minutes. Plus I still have a thing about meeting my female friend’s relatives; it’s like the last thing I wanna see is the look on grandma’s face when she finds out that her little girl lived with me, and don’t even get me started on the parent’s when they meet me. Fuck, if I had a daughter I wouldn’t want her knowing a guy like me. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m the best guy in the world for someone’s daughter to know, but it takes a while to get over the visual. Damn, it’s past four in the fuckin morning, I better get my-in-pain ass to bed, Peace

I’m listening to the band Staind on the radio; does this gloomy muthafucker ever have anything upbeat to say? Anyway I was digging around on the “Altered Perceptions“ weblog and I came across the news article on CNN about this cat in prison doing fifty to life that wants a sex change and is going to court for it. He claims he was born a female in a man’s body and that by denying his wishes for a sex change, he’s being denied his constitutional rights. Now here’s the sad shit the way I see it. It’s fucked up that the courts are even validating this shit, and the lawyer that’s taking on the case needs his ass handed to em for being a greedy suit wearin cocksucker. And if he does get the job done, it’ll be our tax dollar’s payin for the shit. But again that’s just my opinion. Plus years ago I saw a porno starring this cat that had the “whole” job done, new tits and all, plus having his yard and tackle blocked off. And in my professional opinion, it looked like shit. And you know what Emrill always says, “you can always add more later, but once it’s off, it's off”??
The other night I watched this special on that crazy assed Mike Tyson. Poor Mike, he’s so misunderstood. The intelligence of a pee stain, the body of a Hercules, and the voice of Shirley Temple. Can you imagine the scene when he was first interviewed years ago? Mike steps up to the podium as a roomful of reporter’s shout questions at em. Iron Mike all buffed out and sweaty, fresh from his workout stares out at the sea of faces. He clenches his huge hands as he ponders what he wants to say to the world. He opens his mouth and says; “I’ll kill any fighter in my way, it’s completely ludicrous that someone thinks they can beat me”. Every man and women in the room has fallen silent, they are in stark awe of the man standing before them. Nobody’s talkin, everybody’s quiet cause they’re all sharing the same thought. Suddenly from the back of the room someone shouts; “hey, he sounds just like a girl”! Then all you hear is the sound of a door opening and footsteps beating a fast retreat down the hall. That had to be some fucked up shit. Peace

I learned a new term today, “slingblade”. Lets use it in a sentence ok? I once fucked a slingblade by accident, and now all the kids on the short bus are wantin the hook up. Nice huh? Well, that’s it, that’s the best I can come up with today. It’s a fuckin Friday and I’m tapped out, nothing new in my life and nothing interesting has fallen my way. Ooh, I shaved today, but you don’t wanna hear about that, cause that’ll mean that I’ll be in danger of sounding like all the other webblogs out there. I’m finding that a lot of the blogger’s that write come off really boring, and the few that I don’t find boring I’ll usually put a link to em on my site. But these same boring sites are also kickin my ass in traffic, which don’t mean shit except it a good indicator of who’s reading your stuff, and how can I influence the stinkin masses if they don’t read my shit? And I’ll be the first one to admit that “Death’s Door, The Spanish Announcer’s Table” isn’t for everyone. My own mother doesn’t dig it, and to tell you the truth she’s not supposed too. I embrace the use of foul language, and god knows my subject matter ain’t politically correct by anybody’s definition. But fuck it; if I wanted to be “pc” then I’d be as boring as the rest of the em wouldn’t I? Goddammit, now you’ve gone and got me started on some shit now. I have to be “pc” at the job everyday, and do you know how much that chaps my ass? And because I work for the fuckin Man, I even have to watch myself out in public. So if I can’t cut loose on my website and amongst my close friends what the fuck huh? And I know that I’ve bitched about this before but if I can’t curse and bitch and moan on the web like god intended me too, that what fuckin good the fuck am I? But if you wanna know the fuckin truth here it is. If you are offended by bad language, or me using god’s name in a manner that you think is unbecoming, or reading offensive subject matter, then by all means, get the fuck off my site. If my shit fucks with your head, I want you off. But if you wanna hear about the world around us relayed to you by someone with a bent, twisted, odd take on things, who at times can see thru all the chaff and cut thru the bullshit, and if you want to maybe came away with a different insight on shit, and god forbid a laugh or two, then by all means read me on a regular basis. I won’t solve the riddles of the world, I won’t play along to the same beat, and I sure as hell won’t try to be boring. But I promise you this, if it’s in my head straining to come out, it will, and it will be interesting. Peace

This is from a good friend of mine? I'm speechless.

Greg was once a bouncer who lived in a violent world. He was a guy who would gladly get into a fight.
But now he has become a gentle person, i.e., someone who does not look for fights, but would rather diffuse tensions and avoid conflict. He has become a different kind of person. Kind and thoughtful, he even channels his insights into words. In short, Greg has become a “metrosexual.”
It has been discovered that the human Y chromosome carried only by men, is recombining with itself to produce a new urban male.
Women are in genetic ascendancy. They have more financial and biological independence. They don’t need men to earn a living, to reproduce, or to refinance.
It’s a different story for men. Y chromosome is on a decline. Men are becoming more passive and turning into “metrosexuals.” They no longer have the absolute power in the workplace. They are no longer required to father children. They are becoming more passive to attract the dominant female.
Greg is a fundamentally changed person. And I suspect, when he gets his hands on me, I’ll be fundamentally changed as well.

I took this off of MTV.Com after hearing about it from someone else. What the fuck is Metallica’s deal? Didn’t Harley Davidson try this some years ago? As in trying to copywrite a certain sound? So is it just me are have they turned into the biggest bunch of pompous cocksucker pricks around?

. MONTREAL — Metallica are taking legal action against independent Canadian rock band Unfaith over what they feel is unsanctioned usage of two chords the band has been using since 1982 : E and F.

"People are going to get on our case again for this, but try to see it from our point of view just once," stated Metallica's Lars Ulrich. "We're not saying we own those two chords, individually - that would be ridiculous. We're just saying that in that specific order, people have grown to associate E, F with our music."

Metallica filed a trademark infringement suit against the indie group at the US district court for central California on Monday. According to the drummer, the continued use of the two chords causes "confusion, deception and mistake in the minds of the public".
Ulrich states that he's not trying to prevent Unfaith from using the two chords, only that he feels Metallica should be credited for them whenever used, and is calling for 50% of all revenue generated from any song using them.

"It's nothing personal against them," he added. "We intend to enforce our rights with any band intending to use Metallica-branded chords in the future."

This marks the first time anything of this kind has ever been tried in court, and it will be interesting to see how things develop.

I love tattoo's, I even have a few myself, but after looking at this I don't know if it's cool or just fucked up. Kids this young can't even dress themselves, much less decide if they want the Care Bears tattooed on em for life. I was told later that this is a prank site, I kind'a thought this was too fucked up to be legit. C'mon, tattooing baby's? Get the fuck out'a here!

Here’s the deal, Mito had to go to the ER yesterday cause she injured her retina, now she’s pirate girl for a few days. Angela lost both the twins she was bearing, nothing she did; just a shit happens kind of thing. My sister has to go thru major surgery. And after getting to work this morning I swung by the cafeteria for some milk to go with my bowl of Honey Bunches with Oats with strawberries. I got to my desk and fixed myself a big ole heaping bowl. With salivating lips I opened the milk and poured it into the bowl, and then goddammit, the fucking milk came out in stinkin chunks. So all day long I was in a deep funk, I even raised my voice with Michelle during one of our daily e-mail conversations, cause I found myself writing in all caps. So after work I went by the Cane to get an update on Mito and to talk to Angela. After hearing her bad news I decided, “fuck it” a change needs to happen. All the bad shit seems to happen to all the best people, people who do nothing but hand out love and hope to their friends. And all the evil muthafucker’s seem to get ahead, and the fuckin list is endless. Bush, the Enron muthafuckers, rapists, con men, druggies, and dealers, fat moneyed rappers and stoned out rockers. So it hit me, maybe I need to turn evil, and not only evil, but e-vil, like in mad scientist fucked up haired e-vil. It’s like I said to Angela, let’s stop with all the good shit and start getting ahead by doing a few nefarious deeds and shit. Let’s plot to take over the world or at the least our block, and raise a collective middle finger and tell the fuckin world and the Man where to step off. Let’s start dropping dimes and pimping old ladies and punkin out the lame assed sheep of the world that get in our way. I’m sick and fuckin pissed that us who constantly insist on doing the righteous thing and leading the good fight always seem to get fucked over by those that don’t. All Angela wanted was to start a family, all Mito wanted to do was her job; and my sister didn’t do shit to nobody, all she wants is to finish her fuckin porch and hang with my mother. And all I wanted was a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with strawberries to start my shittin day. What’s the goddamn crime in that? It’s just not fair, and when shit stops becoming fair, then it’s time to get some. But the problem is this, once you live your life fighting the good fight and doing the right thing, it’s harder than a bitch to drop a dime on your own ass and turn evil. It’s like it’s in me to do the evil, but how could I stand myself once I did it? I can’t hurt anyone, and to tell the truth, I’ve been fighting my dark side for years. I know I could be good at it, hell; I even tried it for a day until I found out it bored me, but something so tempting can’t be good, it never is. I’ve never hurt anyone on purpose, no matter how the stories are told, I was just protecting those I thought couldn’t. And even if I did, it pained me for days afterwards. So it’s like I told Angela, I can think of all this evil shit to do and how to do it, but I never will. Cause once the good fight is engaged, the good fight it’ll always be. How sad I’ve become. Lucky for us huh? Peace

After reading this site, I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve ever done, cause fuckin Muffy the dog just ain't the right thing to do.

Over the weekend my aged mother and her sister went to Los Vegas. They’re walkin around and with the heat and all they became tired, so they went into this building to catch a breather. Someone walks up to the both of em and asks are they’re together, my mother says yes, and then the person asks if they have an appointment. My mother say’s no and the person says that’s ok, someone will be with you shortly. My mother looks around and asks what kind of place is this and they’re told it’s a wedding chapel. And being the big spender that she is my mother wins forty bucks at the slots. She had a great time, to be an old black woman loose in Vegas, some kind of deal huh?
Michelle and I are at the Laundromat Sunday when this Hispanic cat walks in with his little four-year-old son in tow. The father heads to the back of the laundry but the kid’s stopped dead in his tracks at the front door. It takes me a while but soon I realize he’s fixated on me. He’s just standing there staring at me too scared to move. So I stand up and turn my back to em and as soon as I do I hear this patter of little feet racing by, I ask Michelle if he made his move and she told me he did. It bums me when I scare little kids like that. Michelle told me she woke up the other morning wanting a kid, but then she figured out it was just an urge for a coke instead.
I’ve started this new thing that consists of having a bowl of cereal every morning as soon as I get to work. The only reason I bring this up is that after being on this earth for forty-four years I’ve discovered what has to be the best tasting cereal ever. “Honey Bunches Of Oats with real Strawberries”. I fuckin love this shit and so good for you too.
I see where some cat in Oregon was camping out and this bear came by and snatched his ass out’a his sleeping bag. One more reason why I won’t go camping in the stinking woods. But I am thinking about renting a pontoon boat and hitting a lake sometime this summer. I should be safe from the horrid bears out in the middle of the water. Saw Brittany Spears on MTV’s roast for Carson Daly last night. Who dresses this bitch is what I wanna know. Brittany’s a nice lookin chick and all that but I’ve seen five dollar crack whores dress in better taste. And Jennifer Love-Hewitt was on the show also, another nice lookin chick but she has this bobble head thing going on. You know how a poodle looks when it gets wet, all big head and shit? Jennifer has that same thing going on. Oh oh, they’re lookin at me, better look busier. Peace

The, “why I don’t do shit like this” quote of the week; “The bull’s horn went through the man’s rectum and perforated his bladder after he ran in front of the animals hurtling through the northern Spanish town on the last day of the week-long party. His condition was serious and required surgery”. AP news
Huh? In other words the muthafucker was running like a scalped assed monkey during the annual running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain, when one of the big hairy bastards caught up to em and shoved his horn up the muthafucker’s o-hole. Can you imagine the thought train that must’a been running through this cat’s head?
“MUST-RUN-FASTER! …….THE HELL?…MOMMY”?
I’m just sayin having a nine hundred pound bull shove its horn up your ass gots to top my list of shit I never want done to me. And did you know that ESPN2 broadcasts the running of the bulls? All six days of it? How fucked up is that? I was watchin one year when this female animal rights activist got in the middle of shit to protest the treatment of the bulls. I swear that when the bull hit her it looked like it was sixty-nining her.

There’s few things I’m afraid of, drowning, letting my friends down, ghosts, zombies, normal shit like that. But the other day my fear of horror movies caused me to tell a friend to go and fuck off. It’s no great secret that I won’t watch horror movies, I don’t really hide that from anyone, and as a matter of fact that’s one of the first things people getting to know me learn. And I’ll tell you why, I’ve always had a very active imagination, and having an active imagination can get your ass into all sorts of bullshit. Take for example; I’m sleeping and I hear someone scream my name as loud as they can. Sounds harmless right? But it takes on a different aspect when you realize I’m in the house alone. Huh? See? So the first thing I says is did I dream the voice or is there something up in here with me, and does it know I’m nekked? So there I am pulling the sheet up over me cause I’m imagining something’s in there with me. And on a second note, do ghosts give a rat’s ass if you’re nekked or not? Anyway, now my imagination’s all freaking out and shit cause it won’t let go of the fact that I’m not alone. Which brings me to the issue at hand, yeah, the fuckin issue of watching horror movies. I got bored late one night and was sitting in front of the TV channel flippin. This movie came on, now me being the ignorant muthafucker that I am I didn’t have a clue what the movie was all about. Hell, I thought it was on a science fiction tip if you wanna know the truth cause of the way it started out. So I start watching it but then partway thru it out came the stinkin, brain eating zombies. And just between you me, and who gives a fuck? Zombies scare the living crap out’a me. I can’t stands em. And I know what you muthafucker’s are sayin, “hey ya dumb fucker, why didn’t you just change the fuckin channel?” well it ain’t easy like that, once I see the zombies, I’m powerless to change the channel. It’s like I take this huge breath and I’m holding it during the whole stinkin movie and I can’t move. And here’s the worst thing, once the zombies are all done with the pillage, and the carnage, and the killin, and the brain eating, and all the nefarious shit that zombie muthafucker’s do, then I go to bed. That’s when I start dreaming about the undead muthafucker’s. Even when I’m awake I imagine zombies peaking out from underneath shit waiting to get me. It’s a horrible thing I tell ya, and it could be any horror movie, they all have the same affect in that I dream about em. But zombies are the worst; it got so bad that everywhere I looked I kept seein em. But seriously, it can be zombies, werewolves, mutants with the runny pus drippin off their faces, giant spiders, certain serial killers with a affinity for chainsaws. The evil slugs, blobs, mummies, Frankenstein, faceless killers in the shadows, big snakes, horny Appalachian rednecks in bibs. You all get my drift right? I see the horror movie, I dream about the horror movie. Thus I don’t watch the fuckin things, simple enough? Peace

So this morning instead of going into the office, I headed to the west bottoms to the warehouse that FEMA keeps. I was driving thru the bottoms, and as some of you that live around here can attest too, it ain’t what you call the trendiest area to be hanging out in. So like there I am sitting at this red light waiting on traffic to move cause shit was being slowed down by this hooker working the red light. Now I’m not a discerning man, but as I looked at this hooker all I could think was who or what would want to fuck this chick or much less pay for it? Now I’m a firm believer that every woman has the ability to be attractive, the ability to use her femininity in her favor, the ability to attract the opposite sex. But as I looked at this chick all that came to my mind was “why”? And let me be truthful, there’s been times when all I needed was a body, if she was sitting at room temperature that was all the better. Dare say I’ve been with a few women that’ll make a normal man think twice? But that’s not what’s important now. I wouldn’t (and I can’t believe I’m gonna say this) touch this chick with your tongue. Remember the cafeteria lady that served you lunch when you were a kid? Short, with a frame like a mule, and had the obligatory hairy mole on her upper lip? Well, take that chick and stick her ass into some spandex shorts and a halter top stuffed full of grandma titties, got that mental picture? Now picture that picture walkin up to your car at seven-thirty in the fuckin AM asking your ass if you want a date. My dick retracted so quick it was turtleling out’a my asshole. Word.
My god, if for nothing else the huge camel toe staring at me would’a been enough, but as I pulled “quickly” away I just knew that somebody was gonna slip her a ten spot and do the deed. And to make it worse? You muthafucker’s gots to know that the stinkin river was only a few hundred feet away and that they were gonna fuck on the stinkin river bank? I’m just sayin is all. Peace

There’s this cat that works in the same office building I do, he’s employed by the building’s main tenet, which is some sort of giant insurance broker. He also rides the same bus I do but that’s not important. I’ve been watching him for a while now because his behaveiour is just for the lack of a better word, fucked up. I used to think he was mentally impaired from birth but now I’ve come to think that he’s one of these cats’s that ends up for whatever reason getting stuck in low gear. You know, the cat that did all the drugs at the party, the cat that was always jumping off shit, we all know the guy I’m talkin about. Used to be a wild and crazy fucker until he made one trip to the ER too many. “Yes Mrs. Smith, he’ll eventually make a full recovery, but I’m afraid with all the drugs he took and the ass kicking that followed, your son’s in for a long recovery. Goodbye fun boy, hello you snow cone eating retard”. You’ve all seen the guy, wears the pants pulled so high he has to unzip to scratch his belly button. When you look at the cat you just know that the sky in his worlds a different color. And if you’re me, you always make sure you know where he is in relation to yourself. Just in case the voices in his head tell em it’s time to sweep up the trash, if you know what I’m sayin. Well Saturday as I was pushing thru all the little crumb snatcher’s picketing the theater; there he was standing just inside the door. He sees me and goes, “HI, YOU WORK IN MY BUILDING………………..WHAT MOVIE YOU GOING TO SEE…………………………………………WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE KIDS OUTSIDE?……………………….I LIKE KIDS……………………..BUT THE ACTION OF A FEW ARE OUTWEIGHED BY THE NEEDS OF THE MANY”! The only word I could get out was Terminator, as he said OK, and followed me up the escalator. I thought I’d lost em whilst getting popcorn but sure enough as I set down in my seat he showed up a few down from me. I don’t know what it is but I attract cats, dogs, small kids, women with records, and the mentally infirm. Peace.

I guess I’ll title this “What I did for the Fourth Of July”. Wait, ok, I didn’t do shit. Thursday I ended up at the Cane after work drinking with a bunch of Lesbians. It was cool, for some reason when you get a bunch of lesbians together you don’t hear a lot of dumb blond talk, and for me being the manly man that I am, we all interacted quite well. Plus there’s something about talkin to lesbians that keeps a man grounded. With the Fourth being a Friday I slept until Michelle woke me up which turned out to be one o’clock in the afternoon. I haven’t slept that late in years, kind’a scared the shit out’a me. Saturday I slept past noon again! I ended up going to see the new Terminator movie, it was ok I guess. I thought this one kind’a shied away from the heavy violence of the past one’s, and the terminator chick was cute in a fuzzy bunny kind of way. I thought the cat that played John Conner was kind of a pussie, too much of that deer in the headlight thing going on. Funny thing, the place where I went to see the movie just started a policy that if your ass is under sixteen you can’t come in unless you’re with a parent and if you’re under the age of six, you just can’t come in at all. So outside the theater was all these little kids walkin in a circle carrying signs protesting the new policy. Well fuck em, and blame the parents. Kids and the stinkin teenager’s are the reason I never go see a fuckin movie in primetime, little obnoxious bastards are always running around getting underfoot and it just ain’t cool. The fucking parents don’t try to rein em in and if I smacked one of the little crumb snatcher’s I’m the fuckin bad guy, so I’m glad the new policies in effect. Sunday I slept till almost noon. And you might wonder why I’m showing so much to-do about my sleeping habits? Well, it like this, I haven’t slept past six am for years, hit the sack early, I’m up at six, hit the sack late; I’m up at six. So you can see my slight concern especially when you consider the fact that come Monday morning I just didn’t wake up! My stinkin ass didn’t wake up till almost two in the fuckin afternoon. I slept thru my inner clock, the alarm clock, and the job callin me. What the fuck is wrong with me? Today I was so freaked out that when I woke at four am to take a pee I just stayed awake so as to make I’d make it to work. Such a deal huh? Peace

Oooh, I've added a guestbook to the site, it's on the left side next to my e-mail tag. sign in, it's better then cake!

Where have all the so-called responsibility gone? Whatever happened to looking at the blame, not searching for issues to put the blame on? Take that trooper that got himself killed when his patrol car was rear-ended and it burst into flames. The muthafucker’s in charge want to blame the automobile maker for the car catching on fire. They want to do studies and shit to find out why it caught on fire. Hmmm, lets see, the trooper’s car was rear ended by a truck doing over seventy miles an hour. Hmmm, HEY! MAYBE THE MUTHAFUCKER CAUGHT FIRE CAUSE A BIG FUCKIN TRUCK HIT THE MUTHAFUCKER IN THE FUCKIN REAR AT SEVENTY FUCKIN MILES A FUCKIN HOUR! YA THINK! Come the fuck on, what wouldn’t catch on fire from getting smashed in the ass end at high speed by another vehicle?
Then you had the bad scene in Chicago where the porch collapsed and over a dozen kids got themselves killed. The city wants to sue the porch builder and building owner because back in 1998 they didn’t have all the proper paperwork when they had the porches rebuilt. So, to the city’s thinking that must be the reason the porch fell. Hmmm, lets see, there were over fifty kids rockin out having a party on the third floor porch. Might have even been a few cold kegs on the porch as well. Hmmm, HEY! MAYBE THE SHITTIN PORCH FUCKIN FELL BECAUSE THERE WERE TOO MANY FUCKIN PEOPLE ON THE MUTHAFUCKER AND SHIT! JUST MAYBE HAVING FIFTY FOLKS ON THE PORCH ROCKIN OUT MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT MUCH, AND THE SHITTIN THING JUST COULDN’T HANDLE THE WEIGHT! Lets do the math shall we, fifty people averaging out at a buck fifty comes out to,…………..carry the one……., oh damn near eight thousand pounds. That seems a lot of weight to be moving around on a wooden porch three flights up. All I’m sayin is why invent blame or research for blame instead of seeing the blame for what it fuckin is. Peace

Tha fuck! Strom Thurmond had a black daughter with one of his maids back in the day? Talk about a skeleton walking out’a the closet.

Since the Fourth of July's coming up and shit, I thought I'd redrop my famous fried chicken recipe on your stinkin asses. Great for that picnic in the park or to take to the drive-in.

Greg Beck's per-fuckin-fect fried chicken.

What you'll be needing.
1. Large pot, not a fry pan or a fancy pants sauté pan but a large to medium sized metal pot.
2. Large bottle of canola oil.
3. Dead chicken, I use wings or skinless breasts and cut em into strips. You use what you want.
4. Six eggs
5. Bunch of fuckin flour.
6. Salt
7. Pepper
8. Garlic, I use either powdered or minced
9. Onion powder
10. Old Bay Seasoning
11. Red pepper, powdered or crushed
12. One popcorn kernel

What to do with all this shit.
1. Put pot on stove and pour oil in till pots halfway filled. But don't turn on the heat yet.
2. Wash chicken in cold water, then rewash your fuckin hands. Always be with the hand washing!
3. Salt and pepper the chicken, then sprinkle with Old Bay Seasoning.
4. Take a large bowl and crack all six eggs into it. Then add small amount of garlic and Old Bay plus a bit of onion powder. Get one of those whippy things and whip the egg mix till all the shit blends together.
5. Add chicken and make sure it's all covered by egg mix then put in fridge.
6. Now go have a smoke or surf the net for a half hour or so.
7. Now you can turn on the stove. Medium high heat should do. You don't want it too hot no matter what that punkass Emrill says.
8. If you gots a gas stove you want the flame where it's just starting to spread under the middle of the pot. For electric stove you want high heat. Gas gets hotter you know.
9. Find a large paper sack and pour a shitload of flour into it. Add salt and pepper and also garlic to taste. Add onion powder and more Old Bay. Shake all this shit together. The mix is right when it smells good.
10. Throw popcorn kernel into pot of oil. As soon as it pops the oil's hot enough.
11. Take the bowl of egg washed chicken out of the fridge and put chicken into sack and shake like a muthafucker. Chicken should come out of bag fully coated.
12. Carefully lay chicken into hot oil, do not pack together but loosely. You cook this shit in batches.
13. Now here's the most important part!! Once chicken goes in do not fuckin touch it! If you've done what I've said the chicken should be completely covered by the oil. Now go sit your ass down somewhere. Hear the noise of the chicken frying? When the frying noise stops and the chicken floats, that means the chicken's done.
14. Carefully remove chicken from pot and lay on screen or paper towels. As soon as you do that sprinkle with salt.
Repeat cooking process till all chicken's cooked.
15. Add frozen fry's to the still hot oil. Cook to taste.
You will end up with crisp tasty that's not greasy or oily. And get this, it tastes better after a night in the fridge!
Enjoy!

Did anybody watch American Chopper last night where Big Paulie was building the
“Old School” bike with young Cody? And after the bike was built and Cody test rode it, Big Paulie gave him the key’s to it and told Cody it was his, and they hugged and Big Paulie had tears in his eye’s? That shit was so fuckin cool! I knew when Big Paulie told the engine builder’s that he only wanted the engine to max out at forty or fifty horsepower cause Cody would be riding it, that he was gonna give it to the kid if he did a good job building it. Yeah yeah yeah, and after getting all gushy and shit on young Cody, Big Paulie went back into the main shop and broke his foot off in Paul Jr’s ass and told em to build the bikes. Great fuckin show.