100% of the profit from this shirt goes directly to Rissa Watkins, wife, mother, & writer, to support her fight against Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Design courtesy of Kelly Spies. Copyright 2010 - theBarefoot
100% of the profit from this shirt goes directly to Rissa Watkins, wife, mother, & writer, to support her fight against Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Design courtesy of Kelly Spies. Copyright 2010 - theBarefoot
Hey! It’s almost Halloween so let’s dredge up the dead. Here’s something I wrote that turned out to be a decent performer. The funny thing is I wrote it as an indirect response to a call that Associated Content was doing. The stream of constant gift lists was grating on my last nerve that year so I wrote this as satire about the drones churning them out. It stands on its own as something fun to read. Top Ten Gift Ideas for Zombies. You know they are coming back…for the holidays. You don’t want to donate your brain, so buy them this! » Read the rest. It’s the best. »
Do you believe? Do you want to believe? I believe I will have a nap. All things paranormal, supernatural, or extrasensory escape me. If you are frightened unto bed wetting this All Soul’s Eve, why not hire someone who can do something about your embarrassing fears? Who ya gonna call? Certainly not Ghostbusters. Call the Anti-Psychic. That’s me. I come highly recommended by former mattress soakers across the land. Here are some testimonials.
“theBarefoot made the monster under my bed go live in my sister’s room. Then he took a nap in mommy’s bed with mommy” ~ Little Timmy, age 7, Lick Skillet, AL
“I tried every New Age trick in the book, but nothing worked. Thank the goddess theBarefoot could pencil me into his busy schedule. My home is now specter free and the only reminder I have is that huge, warm indentation in my couch.” ~ Rainbow, age 28, Spray, OR
“My ghost are gone and my pantry is empty. Now if I could only get theBarefoot’s odor out of my house.” ~ Mark, age 52, Danville, VA
“I’ve had to hang up my hockey mask. Why bother with theBarefoot around?” ~ Jason, Age 30, Camp Crystal Lake, CA
Since embarking on my new career, I’ve helped hundreds rid their homes and lives of goblins, ghosts, ghouls, and groceries. So what are you waiting for? I’m the Anti-Psychic for Hire. Are you haunted by ghosts? Does unexplainable fear run your life? Are supernatural powers out to get you? Hire the Anti-Psychic today and reclaim your life if not your sofa. » Read the rest. It’s the best. »
P.S. For y’all Associated Content writers, I’ve updated both the PV Converter (2.5) and the Word Stripper (1.4). Don’t say I didn’t get you anything for Halloween. If you stop by the homestead this Halloween, I’ve got lots of candy for you neighborhood hoodlums. Thanks to some last minute shopping at the Dollar Store, I have tons of 3 Moosekaters, N&N’s, and Snaker’s Bars. Happy Halloween!
So I’ve sworn off alcohol. Yeah, that’s right, an Irish guy who doesn’t drink. Wanna fight about it? I thought I’d sworn off interviews, too, but Eric Pudalov threw some pretty insightful questions at me. I couldn’t resist giving it my best shot.
Though I know you’re not really interested, here is a link to Eric’s insightful interview where I bear my soul. You can even read an excerpt from my up-coming autobiography. We discuss diverse subjects from elevators to philosophy, CDs to shampoo, indie bands and rappers.
Maybe it’s not the most urgent piece on your reading list, but it’s worth 5 minutes of your time. So if you’re standing around waiting for your popcorn to pop, why not give it a read?
In my original article, I stated “Even after screwing up Columbus had a job for life.” This is not an accurate statement. Columbus was set for life monetarily, but his job was yanked out from under him in 1500. Columbus was put on trial for his brutal treatment of the natives in Hispaniola. He did some time, paid a fine and retired to Spain a wealthy man.
The gold he had wasn’t enough though. Columbus sued for 10% of the Spanish income from the Americas. He lost. After his death, his family sued again and lost again. This proves my supposition that even screwed up slackers can still be cruel, greedy bastards. Any way, slack off and enjoy the best bogus holiday of the year. In light of the recent banking and mortgage disasters, what better way to celebrate than commemorating a moron who died thinking he sailed to Asia.
One of my favorite humor writers has broken a long, dry spell on Associated Content. It’s not that he hasn’t been busy writing elsewhere, but his AC contributions have been fallow since January 2007 when he published the very funny, Hot Careers for 2007!.
I’ve really missed Allen’s humor and was overjoyed to see these. I urge you to give them a read. Your body and mind will be better for the laughter. Then check out some of Allen’s older stuff especially Expelled from Match.com!.
One good thing about being in the hospital for four days is you get a profile of your vital signs. Every four hours, someone is taking your temperature, blood pressure, oxygenation level, and, in my case, blood-sugar level. Man, are my fingers sore.
After a three-day fast with nothing but dripping dextrose-saline solution in my veins, I was pleased to discover my blood-sugar levels remained in the (pardon the pun) sweet spot of the acceptable range. When I was finally given some solid food on Sunday, the results varied a bit more, but always remained on track.
As a result of my little brush with death, I can say with certainty that what my doctor has been thinking about my spiral into diabetes can be attributed as a secondary symptom of the real problem. Now that the primary issue is dealt with, I can discontinue one more prescription. I’ll continue to test myself, but so far, so good.
Next time…more about AC’s continuing struggle to screw their site into the ground.
I’m stuck in this blasted hospital for at least one more day while they double check enzyme levels. At least they have some Wi-Fi and my daughter was kind enough to drop off my laptop.
I was really sick of that stupid IV. Waltzing Matilda to the bathroom. Waltzing Matilda to the window. Waltzing Matilda to bed. Argh! The stupid line gets caught on everything. The first thing I asked the doctor today was, “Write an order to have this thing removed!” He put me on solid food and out came the IV.
Now when you haven’t eaten for 3 days, any food will do, even hospital food. But I think the doc lost his mind here. I should have gotten some tea and jello to start, not that chicken-like slab, mashed potatoes, and green beans. And where do they get off giving “bread pudding” with raisins to someone who might be diabetic? Dumbasses.
I first ask the doctor if I could just go home today. He said he really wanted to see how I did on real food first. Then he had the nerve to say, “Do you not have insurance?” WTF? Admitting screwed up, has me down for “no insurance” and this guy wants to keep me one more day? You’d think they’d be rolling me out in a wheel chair at midnight with my hand propped up in the “hail a cap” motion.
Did I mention I hate hospitals? You know I almost died to put myself in here. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Never again. Force of will…what ever it takes. Never again will I be such a dumbass. Hey, we all get one, may two if we’re lucky. I will miss the Demerol though.
It has been said the second most frightening words in the English language are, “Hi. I’m from the government.” When this is followed by, “…and I’m here to help you,” you should run. Run as fast as you can with that load in your pants. In that vain, the IRS has decided it knows best how you should spend their…er…your money.
The IRS wants to make sure those “economic stimulus” checks do their intended job of being dumped back into the economy. To prevent high-risk citizens from just paying off their credit cards instead of buying washing machine, the IRS has started sending goods instead of money. Who is “high-risk” will be determined solely by the IRS.
I heard this story on the drive home from work on Market Place. I admit, I’m a NPR junkie. It’s great programming and just a little naughty. I don’t donate to NPR, but still sneak a listen as often as possible. Just a little danger to spice up my life. It’s like ordering the Club Sandwich. I’m not a member of the club, but the waiter never asks for ID and I put one over on him every time.
Here is a direct link to the audio version of the story. Much more interesting if you have the bandwidth. Be sure to listen all the way to the end for information on how you can help stop this silliness.
Huntsville police arrived at a robbery scene early Friday to arrest a suspect but ended up arresting the victim and a witness, too. >> Read Full Story >>
Around 6:40AM on March 15, 2008, 43-year-old Walter McLin flagged down a patrol car and told the cops he had been robbed at gun point. After speaking to a witness, the police arrested 31-year-old Stepheon White at a near-by motel and charged him with first-degree robbery.
Upon further questioning, McLin was charged second-degree theft for the $900 forged check in his possession. Police then became suspicious of the witness’ identity and charged him with filing a false statement because he lied about his name. It turned out the witness had good reason to lie because he had multiple, outstanding warrants.
All three men are currently enjoying the hospitality of the Madison County metro jail.
This story only supports the old adage, “There is no honor among thieves.” It also highlights the fact that if you are going to be a criminal, try not to hang out with other criminals. One thief may be stupid, but the power of stupidity rises exponentially with each additional criminal brain.
Mississippi House Bill 282, currently before the state legislature, would prevent restaurants with more than five seats from serving obese people as determined by the state’s health department. Repeat offenders would be subject to fines or closure. Even the bills sponsor, W.T. Mayhall, Jr. says he knows the bill has less of a chance at survival than a bucket of KFC at a Weight Watchers meeting. He just wants the large, good people of Mississippi to consider their health and thinks this will get the conversation started. After all, Mississippi was just granted the title “fattest state in the nation,” with 62% of its population defined as obese.
My first thought when hearing this story was, “Why would restaurants want to keep out the fatties? They’re your best customers. This is like banning athletes from gyms.” Then there’s the whole problem of determining who is huge enough to face discrimination. Will Mississippi restaurants have to narrow their doors? Will they install the human-size version of the airport carry-on luggage measuring box? I imagine it will have a sign over it which reads, “If your ass is bigger than this, you are not welcome.” I wonder if signs like, “No shirt. No shoes. No Fatties.” are already being printed in the Magnolia state.
As bizarre as all that sounds, the really funny thing I learned while investigating this story is there is a real organization called The Coalition of Fat Rights Activists (COFRA). A group actually proud of their flab…er…glandular problem, who feel fat people face enough discrimination, they need an activist group. I’m no spring chicken, but I’ll stick with, “I could stand to lose a few pounds,” before I swing over the fence to “Fat is beautiful. RascalTM scooters for everyone!”
Here in Alabama, we have an expression for when people make fun of our state, “Thank God there’s Mississippi.” Having Mississippi as our neighbor really lowers the bar and takes all the pressure off.
Every time it rains, which thank gawd hasn’t been recently, the snails come out. I assume they live in the bushes that lead to my front door. The least little rain sends them into a sexual frenzy. They pour out on to my walkway creating a mine field of crunchy lust.
I love all living creatures, except my mother-in-law, and it pains my to accidentally crush one of these little critters, but if you could see what they are doing. It’s just a bisexual lust fest on my porch. They stumble around, seeking another of their kind and spend the afternoon entwined in hot, bisexual snail sex. It’s a shame when they’re interrupted by my boot.
I can imagine that having your house and body simultaneously crushed while in the throws of passion would be traumatic for anyone. It pains me. I don’t do it on purpose. I tried to tip-toe through the orgy of slime love, but invariably one gets it. Then it’s like a mine field. One goes off, I jump left. Another blows, I jump right. Kapow! Crunch!
Obliteration of love. My bad. Sorry about the stomping on your love thing. You little pesky appetizer.
