Helmet

Hi -

I woke up this morning with an excessive need to pee, but the single digit temperatures outside combined with the 16 or 17 blankets I was under made it a journey that was all but impossible. And my bed pan was missing. So as I lay there and watched the morning news delivered by Diane Sawyer, who I have an odd crush on, I tuned in when they were talking about Rod Blagojevich. I have been following this news intently, and now it is starting to annoy like a pebble rolling around deep within your Zodiacs that you can't get out and feel with every step and dance move. The Governor and his hair need to step down. But his helmet....well, his helmet is very impressive. I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to gawk at it in person last summer at a Cubs game with my brother and his girlfriend...and let me say, it is nothing short of a perfectly sculpted mass of gel and loose change. I was quite taken aback. It kind of reminds me of the "Big Boy" hamburger mascot. Plus, it sits perfectly atop his oddly shaped peanut head...and the fact that his eyes sit a bit too close together is but a bonus for admirers. Having said that, I am tired of reading about it and hearing about it. I think I'd rather watch a marathon of On Golden Pond, Freddie Got Fingered and  Cool As Ice while keeping that EXCRUCIATING song "Arms of the Angels" by one of the Lillith Fair ladies on repeat. Hell, give me paper cuts for good measure. That song makes me want to drink Drain-O. Also, can we all join forces to inform journalists that the whole ".......Gate" and "....palooza" has run its course? Think about it, every time a scandal comes out it is dubbed something unbelievably creative like "Palin-gate" or "Blagojapalooza". Time to stir the pot, folks. 

So, in light of the recent Rod news, I found this article in the Chicago Tribune this morning and wanted to share...good for a laugh. I've been to this watering hole more than once...and plan on returning soon to see the new artwork. Perhaps at lunch.

In other news, I still don't like pooping in public places.

Enjoy! 

Tyler

www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment/arts/chi-talk-ale-artdec19,0,5136319.story

An Open Letter

Dear World,

After what has seemed like an eternity of seeing some pathetic done named "Spencer" and a manufactured specimen named "Heidi" plastered all over the checkout aisles and newsstands and in my favorite porn knockoffs, I finally had enough and googled them today. So, these are people from The Hills? Wow. 

I have never watched The Hills. I don't know what it is about...but now I am aware that it is a reality show. Got it. I would see that Heidi on magazines and just figured she was some kind of a pop star or someone that youngsters drool to and get happy pants over in High School Musical. I was wrong. I didn't care enough to guess who the Spencer guy was, but I did and still do believe he appreciates HUMMERS. And tanning.

This just begs the following question: what the hell is the matter with people? People watch this? And not only do people watch it, evidently a lot of people watch this. I don't get it...it genuinely confuses me. However, velcro often puzzles me so that isn't saying much. Having said that, and after now knowing what this Hills show is about and that these two humans somehow escaped the tool shed and made their way into the psyche of people everywhere, I feel like my other blog blog - yes, blog blog - about professional wrestling should be taken down along with an apology from the dumb writer, me. When I watched a clip from The Hills, I actually felt like someone was pinning me down and pouring muck and filth all over my steroid filled body building shell. I seriously had the feeling that I deserved a good ass kicking, just for even giving it 2 minutes of my not-very-valuable time.

Am I the only one who feels this way? 

We are getting dumber, lazier and more patheticer.

Off I go...into the snow...Brandon Lee died filming The Crow...the tomboy chick on Facts of Life was Jo.

Love always,

Tyler Britain Kirk I

PS: IT'S CASSEROLE SEASON!!!!

Last Days In Office

OPEN on the interior of the Oval Office. Snow falls gently outside the window and Fraggle Rock plays on the plasma TV. It is the final weeks of the Bush Administration. George Bush is sprawled out on the Presidential seal, playing with his new train set. Barney, the White House dog, is in the corner chewing on a pile of official documents. Condi Rice sits on the sofa and Dick Cheney sits at the President's desk. A bottle of Cognac sits in front of him. A cigar burns in the ashtray.

Condi: Mr. President? Sir. Can you tell me where you put that box of Silver Stars? Sir?

W: (distracted) Huh? Hold on, hold on. Watch this.

He places an action figure on the train track and runs it over with the train.

W: Hell yea! See, that's what I'm takin' bout! 

Condi: Very nice sir. Can you tell where they are? You have to hand them out tomorrow after your speech at the Boston College commencement. 

W: Your mom goes to college!

Chaney: Good one.

Condi: Please, sir.

W: Condi. Oh Condi, Condi, Condi. Do you listen to Blondie? That'd be awesome, then I could say Condi loves Blondie! Hell yea! What was the question?

Condi: The Silver Stars sir. 

W: Like throwing stars? Did you ever see American Ninja?

Condi: I'll find them myself. 

W: Thadda Condi. (whsipers) Hey....watch this.

He motions over to Cheney, who is looking out the window at the snow and counting a wad of cash. W removes a pack of Black Cats from his fanny pack, lights them and throws them at Cheney.

SFX: BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!

Cheney jumps up.

W: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Look at you, you pussy!!!! Ahhhhh, that's aswesome! (his tone turns to a mocking voice) Oh.....did you have a heart attack? Poor little Dickey.

Cheney: That's pretty funny. 

Cheney slams the Cognac.

Condi: Sir. (points to the phone) This red light has been blinking for 3 years. Your voice mailbox is full. Will you please check it? 

W: What for?

Condi: Important issues...you're still the President, sir.

W: Not my problem.

Condi: Sir, if I may, you still have several items on your desk to be signed.

W: YO mama!

Cheney is now passed out. Barney is chewing on his shoe.

Condi: I think the people deserve better, sir.

W: Listen. You hear that????? Listen. You hear it? It is saying, 'that ain't my problem....ain't my problem no mo!'

Condi: Very well, sir.

W: You want to arm wrestle?

Condi: No sir. I need to  go..

W: Very well. (slaps her on the ass) If anyone calls, I'm not here. Where is that Chinese finger cuff game?

Cheney: Lets go throw snowballs.

W: Grab the sled!

THE END

Cheney: 

Gifts That Suck

Happy Holidays folks! 

Nobody likes the feeling that comes when you open a present that completely sucks and everyone is looking at you. So, here are nine tactics designed to soften the blow and divert attention when you you open a present that you hate this holiday season.

1) Drop your pants and show everyone the rash.

2) Single out one specific thing on the crappy gift and just talk. Example: "Look at those pleats. Wow. I mean, just look at those pleats. Crisp, clean lines. And three per leg. Wow. Wow. Those really are nice pleats. Look everyone, pleats."

3) Immediately relapse from 8-years off the meth and return to compulsive hair-pulling.

4) Distract attention from the current shitty present by taking the other gift you got that sucks, proceed to light it on fire and throw it at the curtains.

5) Bring up the time you caught mom and dad humping in the wood-paneled station wagon on the Disney World trip.

6) Pout about your lazy eye.

7) Go to your happy place in your mind: Pancho's Mexican Buffet...raise the flag for more flautas, muster a smile and utter the phrase, "I need a braided belt. Thank you." - Then head for the kitchen and mainline Jack Daniels.

8) Select an appropriate bodily function and lose complete control of it.

9) Kick the dog.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND MERRY CUTTING!

Tyler

Wrestling

Dear World -

I hope you are all doing well. Things are good here...it's been a busy month or so since the last blog thing, but this unbelievable hectic pace that I have been keeping has afforded me few luxuries to play on my blog blog. That is a lie. Lots of down time with one hand in a bag of Doritos and the other in my pants.

Now, there is something that has been on my mind that apparently nobody wants to talk about, but I believe can no longer be ignored: Professional Wrestling. Please bare with me and give me a maximum of 3 minutes of your time. Two minutes worth of reading, which may be a stretch considering the literacy rate of the type of folk this blog blog is aimed at, and 1 more minute to let your blood boil to a respectable level. In addition, please shut down the meth lab while reading. And please no cutting at this time.

Professional wrestling. What is going on people? I happened to stumble upon a WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) commercial yesterday touting some kind of a Pay-Per-View match coming up this month. I can't remember the exact title, but it definitely had the words "extreme" and "hell" somewhere in the title. Essentially the commercial featured a nice chap who goes by the name of  "Triple H" standing in the middle of a smoke-filled room wearing some kind of leather gladiator outfit, shirtless and showing off his natural physique, violently spewing some sort of colored mist into the air and doing an inappropriate amount of flexing. He appeared really angry as well...perhaps a side effect of the protein shake. 

I just don't get it. Not only do I not understand what is so appealing about a bunch of sweaty, swelled-up ticks pretending to fight...kind of like the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets pretending to be in an army, more on that another time...but that people actually pay good money to watch it on Pay-Per-View. Am I missing something? Trust me, it's quite possible that I am. I'm not as in tune with things as I once was, and am still waiting for the 4th season of The Anna Nicole Show to come back, not sure what is taking so long. Negotiations, I presume. At any rate, I just don't get it. Are we getting more stupider? Was there something to Mike Judge's masterpiece "Idiocracy"? I'm not kidding. It is happening folks...look no further than this one word: WRESTLING. I have heard wresting referred to as the modern day opera. That statement is even more stupider than wrestling itself.

I'm sorry if I offended anyone. In other news, it's casserole season!

Choose to have a great day!!!! 

Ty

Ghosts

Hello all of my faithful readers . . . which essentially is my immediate family minus my mother, one brother and my drunk illiterate uncle. Is he even an uncle? All he is doing is eating all of our steak and ruining everyone's lives. I stole that. Well, being that the orb that rests atop my spinal stem is a landfill of marginally useless information, I think I will continue on the TV theme that I wasted decent folks time with a few days ago.

GHOST SHOWS: I am now officially irritated with "Ghost Shows". They are all over the TV dial: Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, Paranormal State, Ghost Travels...and in college I drove a pile of shit primer grey 1987 Jeep Cherokee which was dubbled "THE GREY GHOST" .... flush with a falling interior ceiling that was held in place with nails, bubble gum and fingernails. At any rate, I am really tired of the ghost shows. At first I was frustrated with the show itself for teasing me week in and week out with previews and trailers depicting folks getting the plop scared out of them. I was mad that they were dangling that carrot in front of my like I used to do to my gimp with the Golden Grahams. You never see a damn thing...it is the same thing every time....a noise....a shadow...a a drafty room. Boo. Ahhh.

"Did you feel that???? Oh WOW!", says the portly lump of a man with a hoop earring and some kind of A/C Delco Battery retro-fitted to detect ghosts. "OOOOHHHHHHHH, it got cold in here. I feel a dark presence. We are not alone. Ahhhhhhhhh!"

CUT TO COMMERCIAL.

Fuck off. I'm tired of never seeing a damn thing. All they do is gather a bunch of data, hook it up to some kind of computer with 9 screens and then analyze the "ghost" of what is really a gravy stain on the monitor from said portly earring man and his 20 piece nugget meal. I wonder if the ghosts know exactly how much money they could provide for their still living family if they just went into negotiations. 400k for 2 seasons worth of spooky encounters and perhaps a skull smashing or two. What the hell else are the spirits doing? Take of advantage of your dead lifeless aura. 

I give credit to the editors, they do a good job of baiting the hook. I don't know why I continue to tune in, I know fully well what is going to happen. Perhaps I'll boycott and cheat on the ghost shows with Dog The Bounty Hunter or do laundry.

I am the fool. And if I were a ghost, I'd be a ghoul.

And with that pathetic last line, I go.

Suck it, ghosts.

Tyler

Jury Duty

Hello, world. It's been a while. Welcome to the new blog...the old space was getting way too crowded . . . quarters so tight I could write, spell check and trim my toenails all at once. As I get more better at computer things, I will update this site with fancy pictures and graphics and things. Well, I suppose it depends on if the internet is still a fad when I get better at computer decorations. At any rate, sit still and shut your mouth. There are plenty of fun places to go on the cyber space to see things . . . just plug your computer into the hole where the phone goes and turn off your call waiting. Be patient. They say patience is a virtue . . . I say I never liked that saying. That is like saying patience is a throw pillow . . . no, its a lighting fixture.

I've had this weird thing going on lately: I fall asleep around 1030 and saw solid logs for about an 5 hours or so, then the mill shuts down and Tyler the Sawyer wakes up bright-eyed and bushy haired around 3-4 am. Not much to do at this time...lots and lots and lots of infomercials. I try to read but the barnacles that have formed in the corners of my eyes make it difficult. Sometimes I'll have a bowl of cereal, but the last time I tried that I was still in some kind of a coma or something and poured Diet Coke on my Corn Flakes instead of milk. It was weird, what with the carbonated bubbles and my withdrawal symptoms from the Opium. Not very interesting. 

Moving along, I was flipping through the channels and there was nothing on until I noticed something called "Celebrity Jury" or something like that. Now, other than Cheater's and the Train Wreck known as Celebrity Rehab, I am not a big reality TV show guy fan. But for some reason I just wanted to check this out. Well, I lie. There were 3 solid reasons for me to check it out: 1) it has the word "celebrity" in it, which automatically has one ingredient for a chuckle. 2) it was on the WB, or the IW, or whatever that 3rd world channel is that thrives on reruns of Fresh Prince and Hanging with Mr. someone. 3) its on a 3am. 

So, its the normal "court" show of some down and out hag who is trying to get her 91 Mercury Capri and her Play Station back from her dead beat boyfriend who lives with his mom and has a nose ring. All nonsense. Very trashy with a hint of slime. The kind of show that makes you want to pierce your eye with a rusty coat hanger. However, the astounding part was 2/3 of the celebrity jury. One was the lady who played Carla on Cheer's, Rhea Pearlman. The other was Shirley Maclaine. The other was one of the spares from Queer Eye. Now, as it makes perfect sense that the Queer Eye guy is on this show, dude, Rhea Pearlman and Shirley Maclaine???? Maclaine is a legend and Pearlman is forever institutionalized in Cheer's lore. Whatthefuck? Are things that bad in Hollywood that they are taking gigs on a wheels-off "jury" reality show playing in the CW at 3am? WOW. I don't get. I could see participants being Kato Kaelin, one of the Corey's or Anna Nicole if she wasn't dead and everything, but it just blew me back . . . all the way back into the kitchen for another cold slice of day-old pizza.

On other news, my peepee is the color of Skywalker's Lightsabre...its almost nuclear. I think that means my vitamins are either way up or way down. I hope its good or I might die.

GO WORLD!

Tyler