I spit in the wind & pulled the mask off the old Lone Ranger:
Thought for the Day:
The thing about boxing is, you can give up. You drop your arms and you lay down and it's over. Sure, you've lost the fight, but at least you're not getting beaten up anymore. Life, though... You drop your arms and you lay down and the son of a bitch just keeps pummling you. -- Greg Knauss
(Why don’t the Crack Whores on my street look like that? If they did I wouldn’t turn the hounds on them has often as I do. See, proof that I am a compassionate man, more so if they were pretty in whore kind of way and gave out freebees.)
Dry as the Desert:
Today starts day 12 of no drinking, fucking hell… Well, I guess Lent isn’t supposed to be easy. The last 2 days were the hardest, around 3:30 I start counting down till they unlock the doors to my favorite bar.
I am bored, out of my f’ing skull. However, I don’t wake-up feeling like shit, I have money left over at the end of the week, and I don’t scare my neighbors by setting off shaped charges in the middle of the night. Other side effects have been that I have not engaged in any passionate debates on the varying degrees of the current ruling junta’s war criminality, and/or subsequent fist fights.
God bless the Bishop for the dispensation and letting us mackerel snappers indulge on St. Paddy’s Day, it’s given me something to live for. However, I am at a loss for the holy act to perform; I don’t think my normal act of wearing mouse traps on my nipples is going to cut it this year. I am entertaining suggestions, make it a good one that will get me into heaven, or at least cut my time down in purgatory.
So, to all you who thought I wouldn’t make it this far, piss-off.
Proof that Al-Qa’ida has successfully infiltrated US leadership:
Osama still a free man (the fuck-stick is the where’s Waldo of Global Terrorism).
Selling the rights of US ports.
Oil money.
Fundamentalists running things (just substitute Jesus for Allah and adjust for the accent and they are saying the same thing)
Loss of individual rights (re-authorization of the Patriot Act)
Pat Roberson calling the shots on foreign policy.
Swarms of locust and toads across the mid-west.
Hurricanes (oh, sorry, these last two are from a “Proof “W” is the Anti-Christ”)
Your Mail Order Brides for the Week:
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=Elenka5
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=purplerain632
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=pahvala
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=LadylikeEmerald
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=Ariadna-A
Your Drinks of the Week:
(Re-runs since I took the pledge and am working my program, taking one day at a time and all that happy horse shit.)
“The Left-Coast Julep”
1 Tbspn Sugar
3 Lime Sections
5 Leaves of Mint
1 oz. Sour Apple Pucker
1.5 oz. Bacardi Limon Rum
1 oz. Pineapple Juice
Club Soda
Ice Muddle (mash) the lime, sugar and mint leaves together. Add the Sour Apple Pucker, Limon Rum, & Pineapple Juice and shake with ice. Pour into a tall glass (highball or Collins) top off with the club soda.
The Back Ward Punch
1 jigger Cheap Rye Whiskey
1 jigger Spiced Rum
1/4 jigger Grenadine
Juice of 1/2 Lemon
Shake with ice. Pour into glass. Fill with Soda. Garnish with Fruit.
The Tropic of Cancer (Two thumbs up from JQP)
1/6 Rye
1/6 Sugar Syrup
1/6 Ouzo
1/6 Light Rum
1/6 Pernod
2 dash each Angostura and Orange Bitters
Shake with ice. Garnish with an olive and a cherry
Todays’ Bill:
SONNET 62
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Quote of the Day:
It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier. -- Robert A. Heinlein, Notebooks of Lazarus
I remain; much like the little man who folk dances on your bladder when you slumber,
JQP esq.
The thing about boxing is, you can give up. You drop your arms and you lay down and it's over. Sure, you've lost the fight, but at least you're not getting beaten up anymore. Life, though... You drop your arms and you lay down and the son of a bitch just keeps pummling you. -- Greg Knauss
(Why don’t the Crack Whores on my street look like that? If they did I wouldn’t turn the hounds on them has often as I do. See, proof that I am a compassionate man, more so if they were pretty in whore kind of way and gave out freebees.)
Dry as the Desert:
Today starts day 12 of no drinking, fucking hell… Well, I guess Lent isn’t supposed to be easy. The last 2 days were the hardest, around 3:30 I start counting down till they unlock the doors to my favorite bar.
I am bored, out of my f’ing skull. However, I don’t wake-up feeling like shit, I have money left over at the end of the week, and I don’t scare my neighbors by setting off shaped charges in the middle of the night. Other side effects have been that I have not engaged in any passionate debates on the varying degrees of the current ruling junta’s war criminality, and/or subsequent fist fights.
God bless the Bishop for the dispensation and letting us mackerel snappers indulge on St. Paddy’s Day, it’s given me something to live for. However, I am at a loss for the holy act to perform; I don’t think my normal act of wearing mouse traps on my nipples is going to cut it this year. I am entertaining suggestions, make it a good one that will get me into heaven, or at least cut my time down in purgatory.
So, to all you who thought I wouldn’t make it this far, piss-off.
Proof that Al-Qa’ida has successfully infiltrated US leadership:
Osama still a free man (the fuck-stick is the where’s Waldo of Global Terrorism).
Selling the rights of US ports.
Oil money.
Fundamentalists running things (just substitute Jesus for Allah and adjust for the accent and they are saying the same thing)
Loss of individual rights (re-authorization of the Patriot Act)
Pat Roberson calling the shots on foreign policy.
Swarms of locust and toads across the mid-west.
Hurricanes (oh, sorry, these last two are from a “Proof “W” is the Anti-Christ”)
Your Mail Order Brides for the Week:
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=Elenka5
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=purplerain632
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=pahvala
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=LadylikeEmerald
http://www.eastwestmatch.com/search.cfm?from=email&nick=Ariadna-A
Your Drinks of the Week:
(Re-runs since I took the pledge and am working my program, taking one day at a time and all that happy horse shit.)
“The Left-Coast Julep”
1 Tbspn Sugar
3 Lime Sections
5 Leaves of Mint
1 oz. Sour Apple Pucker
1.5 oz. Bacardi Limon Rum
1 oz. Pineapple Juice
Club Soda
Ice Muddle (mash) the lime, sugar and mint leaves together. Add the Sour Apple Pucker, Limon Rum, & Pineapple Juice and shake with ice. Pour into a tall glass (highball or Collins) top off with the club soda.
The Back Ward Punch
1 jigger Cheap Rye Whiskey
1 jigger Spiced Rum
1/4 jigger Grenadine
Juice of 1/2 Lemon
Shake with ice. Pour into glass. Fill with Soda. Garnish with Fruit.
The Tropic of Cancer (Two thumbs up from JQP)
1/6 Rye
1/6 Sugar Syrup
1/6 Ouzo
1/6 Light Rum
1/6 Pernod
2 dash each Angostura and Orange Bitters
Shake with ice. Garnish with an olive and a cherry
Todays’ Bill:
SONNET 62
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Quote of the Day:
It may be better to be a live jackal than a dead lion, but it is better still to be a live lion. And usually easier. -- Robert A. Heinlein, Notebooks of Lazarus
I remain; much like the little man who folk dances on your bladder when you slumber,
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 2:20 AM
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