I'm throwing the Bullshit Flag

Earlier this week, news broke that A&E was suspending Phil from Duck Dynasty. This has led to an avalanche of Facebook and web pages that demand his return. If one was to sit alone in their parent’s basement and read all of the information that is put forth on these pages, and the comments that users submit in response, that person would be exposed to so much idiocy in such a short period of time, their face would melt like the guy at the end of Indian Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.

First Amendment!!! First Amendment!!! This is “Merica, where is poor Phil’s freedom of speech???

 

Unless I missed it on Fox news this morning, they did not ship Phil off to Gitmo. He wasn’t dragged into the streets by the Government and shot for voicing his opinion. The “consequences” of his speech are based on the laws of capitalism, not the laws of the US Constitution. A billionaire being “suspended” from a “reality show” is not suppression of Free Speech.

A North Korean citizen being shipped off to Area 22 for speaking out against the Government is suppression of free speech. Being imprisoned for 27 years for speaking out against apartheid is suppression of free speech. Being “suspended” during the off season of a cable TV show is slightly different.

My second and third points are intertwined. A hillbilly, who lives in Monroe Louisiana, who is a Christian preacher, and makes duck calls for a living was asked his opinion on homosexuality. Does anyone think his answer was really a shock to the executives at A&E?

Kali and I lived just north of Monroe LA for two years. Even the GLADD rep from Monroe has the same stance on homosexuality. If A&E hadn’t “suspended” him, would you have even know what he said? Or if by chance you did, would you have thought anything more than “well… that figures”

He didn’t spread hate. He didn’t say anything shocking. He said that he followed the teachings of the Bible. He said the same thing the Pope says, and the same thing that your Grandmother probably says. Could anyone have really gotten too upset about an individual respectfully voicing his personal belief? It would seem awfully hypocritical of one group that is fighting for their right to live their life as they choose to be upset about another group doing the same wouldn’t it?

So why the reaction from A&E?

I’m calling bullshit on this…

I think this whole thing has been orchestrated by the creators of Duck Dynasty and A&E, and I think the millions of people who have been “outraged” are being fooled.

You have to admit the show is falling off. They are clearly scripting all of it at this point. Miss Kay has had so much plastic surgery on her face she looks like a action figure that has been melted with a magnifying glass. The show is almost unwatchable. In fact shouted “I’m out” about halfway through this past season.

What was the real affect by A&E’s actions? The show is off right now, so production of it won’t be hurt. This is nothing but a huge promotional effort by A&E, playing on everyone’s sense of “family values” around Christmas time. I’m making a prediction that they miraculously reinstated Phil on the 22^nd or 23^rd of December. And say some shit about how they made a mistake and support his Christian values.

Traditions are fun....

There is a national website, where anyone, can anonymously post anything you want. It is nationwide, but specific to your local area. It may be the straw that breaks the internet’s back. It is by far the worst example of human interaction ever known.  

Most people, specifically in the area where I grew up, are not very smart, nor are the very imaginative. So the site is basically used to accuse local townspeople of cheating on their spouses, smoking crack, and installing their TP in a manner inconsistent with the acceptable normal orientation.

Because I really have nothing better to do, and because I just love to mock others, I have taken to starting message board conversations, and seeing what the local tribes people think about the scenarios that I put forth.

My first attempt at getting people to attack me went not at all as expected. I wrote in bashing a local convenience store because the lady behind the counter scolded me for tasting the cheese curd without buying it. I explained that I wanted to make sure that “it aint nasty” before I bought it.

I did not take into account the local demographic, and most people replied, that in fact the clerk was out of line, and that others have had similar experiences… Kinda takes the fun out of it when your outrageous made up scenario is commonplace.

Therefor I will continue to make up stories with escalating idiocy until I can no longer get even a single reader to take me seriously.

I may have set the bar a little high coming out of the gate, but this is my second attempt;

"Yet another Halloween has come and gone.

For most of you, except the wind and rain of the Sandy, it may have seemed like any other. Young ghouls and goblins, running this way and that.

But for our sleepy little street, in our sleepy little town, we decided to do something a little different. Something a little special.

Instead of giving out the traditional fun sized candy bars, or lolly-pops (my wife calls them lollies… Hahaha.. she is such silly goose) we decided to pass out pro-choice pamphlets to those children that were rude and didn’t greet us at the door with a smile and a cheery “trick or treat?”.

And, for those little darlings that were raised to be respectful and courteous, we handed out bumper stickers that said “life begins at conception”…

Unfortunately,  due to the sad state of parenting in our area, we had an ample supply of the bumper stickers left over at the end of the night.

We spoke with each of the parents, and are hoping that this is a tradition that we can continue for years to come. With the parents that have raised well behaved children, displaying their pro-life bumper stickers like a badge of honor, and looking down upon those who did not garner one.

Just a fun little thing that we are doing, feel free to try it in your community. Pay it forward as I like to say…."

A Walnut is Better than Nothing at All...

Once when I was a young child (you will notice that I did not say small), I dressed up as an Ewok for Halloween. The old lady that lived up the road thought that I was a walnut… I cried.

That was the first Halloween that I remember. And every year since then I have dressed up as something (never a walnut).

Typically my costume is impractical for parties and things of that nature. I am a large fellow, who runs a little hot. When I dress in 40 to 50 pounds of fake fur (fur is murder) it isn’t long before I look like Patrick Ewing shooting a foul shot. Its torturous, but I love it.

The last few years the wifey and I have done couples costumes. Pimp and Ho, Frankenstein and Mrs. Frank, King Kong and Betty White (or whoever that chick was). This year, not only did we not get to dress up, we did not even get to see each other. I am stuck in the Flower City, helping to contribute to the irrational fears of the freaks on “Doomsday Preppers), so no Halloween for me. And because she loves me so much, the wife bowed out as well.

There were so many good couple costumes this year. Opie and a Lead Pipe…   Trevon Martin and Zimmerman.. Sandusky’s ass before and after prison… the ideas were endless.

And we get to do nothing… I might cry again this year

I guess I will just sit at home and wait for the Prepps candy bar kid to come by and get a snickers from me, and see if he relishes the irony.  I bet it will not be lost on the little scamp. 

for basketball pool

With great moustache, comes great responsibility.

Dale was franticly cutting pepperoni and an assortment of NY’s finest sharp cheddars as I strolled into the kitchen.

I tried to act coy, though I was not sure how to accomplish that…. Coy is an adjective that is rarely used to describe me. So I went with what I know, and acted like Peter Griffin when he is trying to be sexy.

“Hey Bud, whatcha doin”?

Dale – “I’m late… Wicked late actually” (Dale is going camping with his family, his best gal, and from what I hear around 14 or 15 dogs, it should make for an exciting weekend. Charlie freaks out sometimes when he is in the house and feels constrained, I’m sure he will take to sleeping in a tent like a fish to water)

Me – “Yeah??? You are late huh?? That’s too bad…. Can I help??? (Mind you all the while I am hanging off him like a drunk trying to pick up a chick at about 1:45)

Dale – “No I’m all set”

Me – “You sure… come on, what can I do”

Dale finally takes time to look up from his Julie Child act and see’s this staring back at him.

Then right back to chopping… “Just gotta finish this up, thanks though…”

MY GOD……

I continue to try to get his attention like a child showing off for a parent that is too busy to look up from their morning paper or tumbler of scotch…. Dale… look at me… look what I can do….

He looked back a few times, never once saying anything about why I was acting like I wanted to get a quick bang in before he took off, or that I had this on my face.

Finally I couldn’t take it

Me -“Seriously??”

Dale – “What”

Me – Questioning cocked head look suggesting “do you really not know what we are talking about ?”

Dale - ….. nothing

Me – “Do you like my new moustache?

Dale – “Oh Jesus!”

Me… “Wow…”

Kali seemed to like it, but I think that it was just because it assists with the fantasy that I am someone else, which goes a long way to keeping her happy. Jerm also noticed immediately, but that may have been because he was wearing this…

You see, the plant had a fully sanctioned beard gowning contest during the outage. You had to be clean shaven on day one, everyone put in $5, and the winner I think gets to give his money to charity. I don’t know what kind of charity would accept money that was raised in this way, especially because I think the flyer for the contest had a picture of not only “the most interesting man in the world” but also Osama Bin Laden on it. I was not officially in this contest, as I was worried that it may affect my eligibility to grow a beard in the NCAA. So I waited in the wings, and let others have their fun, all the while, growing a fantastic bushy masterpiece that put all others to shame.

Then one day last week, we all got the news that Macho Man had past, which lead to watching videos of him, which lead to everyone talking in the Macho Man voice the majority of the time… in meetings, on the phone, paging people over the PA system

“Dan Murphy, call 5433… OOOOHHHHHH YEEEEAAAAHHHHHH!”


And one thing turned into another until out of this popped the idea… Moustache Friday.

A lot of people talked about it, and talked about what kind of stache they would grow, with the same looks on their faces that people our age got when we were kids and looked at toy catalogs at Christmas time. Like anything was a possibility. Like there was no one there to tell you that your moustache was too bushy, or your handlebars too long.

Yet when it came down to it, only Ginger, Myself, and one other fellow actually had the nerve to actually come to work with a stache’.

Jon... dont let him baby sit your kids

A stache is an odd thing. I was remarking to Jerm before I left today, how odd it was that there was an outside chance that I would get reprimanded for my fantastic fantastic fu-man-chu. “How” he asked. I questioned whether it could be considered a distraction to others. Granted it is hard to distract a group of people talking in wrestler voices and publicly fouling the air to the point that entire cubical banks need to be evacuated, but the thought was still in my head.

How odd it is that two people could have the same attribute, yet on one person it seems perfectly normal, and on another it could be seen as a joke, or as mocking of the mustached community and get them dragged behind the stache comb shop and beaten mercilessly by a pack of Tom Selleck looking fellows. I have been pondering this all afternoon the way religious folk ponder the afterlife, and how twickers ponder how the DVD player works before they take it apart.

I have gotten several strange looks since I got to work. Jon (“other fellow” pictures above) said that he stopped to get a sub, and the dudes seemed to respect him more, and the chicks seemed to think that he was dangerous, but not in a “sexy bad boy” way, but in a “Silence of the Lambs “Buffalo Bill” kinda way. A moustache brings out a lot of different emotions, to say the least. But oddly enough, the people that seem to actually take offense to this;

are the guys who have not only a stache themselves, but have the SAME Hulk Hogan-ish foo that I do. Maybe they think that I am mocking them. Maybe I didn’t pay in my membership dues before joining the BMF club…

Not that I really care. Their tired old foo’s haven’t helped anyone in a long time. Mine on the other hand is a shining beacon of peace.

Just a few short hours ago, two gentlemen got into a rather heated discussion during a meeting. After 30 days of working 12+ hours on night shift with the same guys night after night, a simple disagreement has the possibility of escalating into a full blown thunder dome type event if not properly diffused. The difference of opinion turned into some loud voices, which turned into a couple of very angry and frustrated faces. At which point someone broke with awkward tense silence with “Will everyone please just calm down and look at Dan’s face…”

And disaster was averted, if but for one more night.

He Screamed "Caulk"!!!

I had a joke book when I was a child. I think that I got it at the “Book Fair” that would come to our school each year. That travelling group of literary carnies sure did make for a good week. Everyone loved the book fair. This is where all the kids stocked up on all of their “Garfield Treasures” and “Guinness Book of Records” needs. Along with posters of all of the fancy sports cars that we would never own as adults. Wouldn’t it have been great if they would have had posters of Civics and minivans? “OOhhhhh mom…. I need $5 to get a poster of the raddest Caravan that I have ever seen…. Good times. Take a look, it’s in a book… A Reading Rainbow!


So the possible “Book Fair” joke book had a joke in it that read, and I quote “How do you know if there is an elephant sleeping under your bed”… Stay tuned for the shocking answer, after these words…

My new joke is “how do you know if you have a hole in your air mattress?” answer – You wake put by your nose being slowly crushed by the weight of your gigantic head pushing it into the hard wood floor. Maybe that is a little too inside to gain any ground in the joke book world, but it you have a huge head like me, go ahead and use it.

I have no real aspirations that I will ever get out of the current plant that I work at, but my contract is never extended for more than a month or so at a time. So I am basically a lifetime temporary resident of Rochester. I do actually like it that way, for some reason it makes me feel closer to home when I don’t have a lot of long term type things in the town where I work – furniture, tooth brushes, ect.

This is an actual photo of my apartment from Boston where I lived for about a year. The only two things that I owned in this picture were the TV and the book, and I threw out the book.

I moved out in about 6 minutes

So this leads me to sleep on an air mattress. This was the source of very un-restful sleep for the past week or so. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because I was stressed that I was going to wake up on the equivalent of a dry slip and slide after about an hour.

When someone asks “do you like your bed hard or soft”, no one ever responds with “I like it as hard as I can get it right when I get in it, then I like it to get progressively softer for about 15 mins, and then get really REALLY hard until it wakes me up". That would be a hard setting to put on a sleep number…

My bed had a blowout. I am not sure what caused it, as I have lost a few pounds as of late, so I don’t think that my girth was the cause. Maybe it was not designed to be inflated and slept upon night after night for over a year. Whatever the cause, I had a hole about a ¼ of an inch long (giggidy).

Being the modern day MacGyver, and in dire need for a place to sleep after being up all night, I ran to the garage, and got the tube repair kit off my bike. Worked like a charm! I slept like a baby that was very proud at his resourcefulness.

The next night… not so much… I woke up in the morning (well my morning, about 1:30 pm) with my elbows and ass bone pressed against the floor.

That night at work I “borrowed” about a half a roll of Nuke grade duct tape. You know the douchey saying about fixing anything with duct tape… Whoever said that has not slept on a flat air mattress with me.

I taped over the patched hole, and then I laid me down to sleep. After less than a minute, I knew that I was leaking (so to speak). I pulled my sheet off, and found that there was another similar hole about 2’ away from the first one. I tried the duct tape but it did not work at all without the patch underneath, and I was out of patches.

When fixing something in duct tape, the rule is, if the issue isn’t solved, add more duct tape. I had the original patch area with about a 6” square of tape, and the new patch area with about 8” square of tape, then 10” then 14”…. Then I filled the bed up and laid in it, trying to think of my next course of action.

Mind you it was one of the first warm days of the year, it was about 8 in the morning after getting up the previous day at 2:00pm and working a 12hour shift overnight. So my disposition was somewhere south of cheery. The bed deflating beneath me was like the Jeopardy music playing. It seemed like I needed to come up with a solution before I hit the floor. Then it hit me… Caulk!

It’s not unusual to hear me happily yell CAULK! from my bedroom, but it was odd that I immediately ran out of the room afterword.

Looking back, this not my best idea. At the time, I was thinking that the chalk would fill the voids in the tape, and form a seal 10 times tighter than anything that Billy Maze ever sold.

So I pulled back one corner of the tape square, and squeezed an ample about of caulk underneath it (giggidy)… That didn’t work. So Itried to smooth it out with my finger, and like I do with all messy construction supplies, I immediately had it all over my clothes, hair, teeth… This is when I realized that I had made a huge error in judgment. It was kinda like that episode of Friends where Ross tries to use lotion and powder to get his leather paints back on.

(Now just a back story to give the rest of this one some reference. Charlie the dog has a habit of running at you as fast as he can when he first sees you. It is a combination of excitement, retard strength, and very poor depth perception. But when he first sees you, you need to make sure that you don’t have your feet planted, or he will blow your knee out with a Lawrence Taylor type chop block)

So there I am, on my hands and knees on my deflated air mattress, hot, extremely tired and frustrated, covered head to toe in caulking, and angry at myself for the chain of events in my life that have lead me to this exact moment in time.

I hear Shaun yell “Charlie!” just as my door is pushed open. I turn my head to have Chuck, while running as fast as a large hound dog can get running in 15’, drive his dog nose into my eye socket (while my eye was open) with all of his weight behind it.

There was a flurry of sensations. The wicked odd feeling of his cool slobbery nose touching my bare eyeball, coupled with blinding white agony, coupled with fear that my eyeball may have ruptured, coupled with palpable rage and the question of how long it would take Dale to notice of Charlie just wasn’t there when he woke up.

While he was there, I used his ears like shop towels and cleaned the chalking off my hands. Then pulled the duct tape off the bed and stuck it to the back of his neck, and then worked the hole in the mattress into a large opening, shoved Chuck inside, slung it over my shoulder like a sack of taters, and carried the whole works out to the curb. Came back in, crawled in bed with Dale, and tried to sleep it off…

Answer: You your nose is touching the ceiling.

Face it, you are never going to be president.

During break tonight (as I would never waste time during scheduled working hours), I took a look at the stats for the ole site.




Which by the way, I am going to start referring to as OOAFM. Not as in saying the letters out like NCAA, but as a word. “OOAFM”



“Hey, did you read that account of the events in Libya last night on OOAFM? It was spot on. Spot on I say!”



Earlier tonight I Googled “how to increase your blog traffic”. I would have entered it into yahoo answers, but in the 3 days that I have known that this site existed, I have become disliked by the community as a whole. Not that it really affects me that a group of people who get serious medical advice from complete strangers don’t care for my specific type of witty banter, but I am afraid that I would not get reliable advice back from them.”



The advice that I received from the Goog’s was very helpful.



- Find a topic that you are passionate about (I’m pretty passionate about OOAFM. As passionate as the next guy I guess)

- Stay on topic.. don’t jump around (ut oh)

- Don’t ramble (wait what? isn’t that the point? I don’t have anything earthshattering to say, rambling and hoping that something profound poops out is really all I got)

- Be positive (I now hate this advice site, and started looking for a place to leave comments)

- Don’t be discouraged if you don’t have that many followers. Some sites have 1million viewers, some only have a few 1000. (a few thousand???)



On average, 275 people read this rubbish regularly. (There was a sign in the bat cave that said “Do not throw rubbish down the toilet”, so tonight’s activity is to say “rubbish” whenever possible.)



I was pretty happy with 275. I only have like 180 Facebook friends I think, and in real life, there are only like maybe five or six people that can stand me for prolonged periods of time.



So I thought my number was a pretty good. Especially since when I post something new, even if it is rubbish, you all read it within about 4 hours.



So I’m going to lay it right out on the table. If I have any hope of becoming a multimillionaire from my quips on everyday living, I need you all to stop reading this alone in the dark, where no one can see you. When I haven’t written anything in a while, people will ask me why I stopped writing stuff, but they ask me like someone would ask a stranger to borrow preparation-H. “ummm. Hey…. Shhh… um.. when.. when are you going to post something on your blog again.. shhhhhh”.



I don’t know if it is because it is gay to read a blog? Or if maybe you are afraid that someday you will be sitting on the witness stand under cross examination and the attorney will try to discredit your testimony based on your patronage of OOAFM.



“Mr. Smith… do you know what this is?”






-“Yes”






“Can you describe what this is”






-“Uh…. Yes, it is a screenshot of the home page of OOAFM”






“And is that your name underneath the list of followers?”






-“Yes”






“No further questions you honor”



Or could it be that you think that someday during the vetting process when you are running for President, that it will come up, and your party will distance themselves from you and you will be forced to become a lobbyist for the maple syrup industry?



Whatever it may be that keeps you from officially following me, or commenting , or even clicking the little thing that says that you thought this was funny (or stupid for that matter) Im ok with that I guess, but can I humbly ask you that you just forward one of your favorite posts to one of your friends that has a slightly off sense of humor like you and I?



There is a fancy new button deal at the end of each post that will let you send it on ‘er way. If even half of those people think I that this is worth a peep on their iphones whilst taking a deuce, well it won’t be long before I can quit the normal 18:00-06:00 grind and sit back and judge others full time.



And let’s be honest, that’s what we all want for me isn’t it?



Share OOAFM with the world you piece of rubbish.