Archive for the ‘creepy behavior’ Category

Dear Mr. President-Elect

December 9, 2008

It has come to my attention through various new media sources that you may be searching for a new speechwriter.

Let me tell ya, I’m all about that Hope shit. Faith, Charity and the rest of those chicks are cool, too.

Enclosed is a photo and resume detailing my qualifications.Check out these Yes We Cans!


These Boobs Were Made For Walkin’

June 6, 2007

Sometimes it takes more courage to walk away from a fight than it does to stay in it. I think Kenny Rogers taught us all that. Or he taught us to know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. I forget which. Maybe both.

Brittney Gilbert gambled on a career as a professional blogger. She cashed in her chips today. More’s the pity. Or she got tired of fighting the Lilliputian dumbasses that are legion on the web. Pick your Kenny Rogers metaphor.

Yes, the Nashville bloggers are a cliquish group. Brittney was their Prom Queen. As much as I didn’t like the high school aspect of this thing, I can’t deny being a part of it. There are the popular kids and there are those who aren’t. Brittney was the arbiter of who was ‘in’ and who was ‘out’.

We competed for her attention. Many, if not all, of the posts on this blog were edited with one thought in mind, “I wonder if Brittney will link to this?” A link from Brittney was a form of validation. If this ugly shit had not gone down today, I planned on throwing some pictures of the baby in order to get a gratuitous link.

Her job was not an enviable one. On the couple of NiT weekend shifts I pulled, my goal was to post as much as she did during the week. Lot’s of luck with that fucking task, my friend. It is to her credit that she didn’t turn in her papers due to burnout earlier.

She and I had some disagreements over trivial matters like politics, philosophy, race, gender, culture and whether to have the veal. But, it never got personal. She also could be a pretty good sport, especially when vulgar and inappropriate comments were made about her rack.

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Now, Brittney isn’t really going anywhere. She will still be at her place. But, she will be missed nonetheless. Nashville is Talking might continue, provided the powers that be at WKRN don’t use this as an opportunity to pull the plug. Whatever the outcome, it will not be the same. Expect NiT to be a shell of its former self, kind of like the increasingly irrelevant Pith in the Wind.

She made a brave choice to start this job. She’s equally brave to walk away.

I got yer Jesus General right here

Private Gilbert is silly and ignorant, but she’s got guts. And guts is enough.

Just Speculatin’ on a Hypothesis

May 19, 2007

The other night, I laid Sarcastro, Jr. down in his crib after last call.   He likes to wake up just in time to get in a bottle of formula before the bar closes.  This causes the sleepy bartender to be extra grumpy.

So, it was about two in the blessed a.m. when I put my head on the pillow and started to drift off.  You know that sleep purgatory where you are awake enough to hear yourself snoring?  That’s where I was.  All of a sudden….


The whole house shook like a bomb went off.  I flew out of the bed.  The Mrs. opened one eye and asked what the hell was going on.

This being Antioch, it could be anything.

I looked out the front and back of the house.  Nothing.

Being that I was already annoyed that the Little Formula Mooch already woke me up, I wasn’t interested in investigating it further.  My shit was fine.  I’m going back to bed.

Then the sirens started.  For maybe the next thirty minutes.  By now, The Mrs. is wide awake.  I am half-way back to Little Nemo’s Slumberland when she starts nudging me about the siren activity.

“Dammit, woman, this is Antioch.  Of course there are sirens.”

Come to find out, a house that is about a par-5 (with a slight dog-leg left) from us blowed up real good.

The official story is that the guy smelled gas, woke up the family and they jumped out the second story window, like John McClane off the Nakatomi Tower, as the house exploded.

What if that story isn’t true?

I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.   I don’t want to add to the misery of people who have lost everything.  I’m just adding a fictional and wholly imaginary bit of speculation to this story.

What if the guy, upset after an argument with his girlfriend, filled the house with gas in a failed suicide attempt?  He chickens out at the last minute and goes upstairs to get them out of the house.  He flips on the bedroom light switch.  A spark created by the electricity hitting the switch causes the whole house to go up.

He comes up with a plausible story to explain how he knew to get them out of the house.  He wasn’t feeling well and slept on the sofa.  He awoke to the smell of gas and heroically got everyone but the family cat out in the nick of time.

The gas company is at a loss to explain what happened as they can’t find a leak.  The community bands together to help these people out in a huge outpouring of charity and giving.  The manipulative tear-mongers at Extreme Makeover: Home Edition come out to build them a new Super House.

All the while, the guy knows the truth.  He isn’t a hero.  It eats away at him.  He begins to worry that people will find out his shameful secret.

How far would someone go to cover that kind of lie?

Lucky Boy

January 3, 2007

I am not a religious man.  But sometimes the world works in a way that makes one believe in the divine.

Sean McCartin was a child actor.  He played "Lucky Boy" in Animal House.  Sean’s only scene is during the homecoming parade.  When a girl dressed as a Playboy Bunny comes flying through his window as he is "perusing" an issue of Playboy, he looks up and says, "Thank you, God!"

Today, I got to feel like Lucky Boy.  Thank you, God

Obey The Hypno-Dog!

December 16, 2006


The Hypno-Dog commands you to go run up your credit cards in order to purchase Christmas presents! The retail sector of the economy will collapse if you do not comply! Our nation will crumble if the Gods of Commerce are not appeased! Thousands of less-than helpful retail employees, like those bastards at Target yesterday, will lose their jobs!

Perhaps The Hypno-Dog could interest you in a gently used Whirlpool Duet Washer and Dryer set?

The Hypno-Dog would also like it if you could run by Pet Smart and get her some treats.

Thus commandeth The Hypno-Dog!

The Forecast is Mostly Creepy

May 4, 2006

You certainly don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.  That’s what the internet is for.  Not so coincidentally, the internet is also used for predatory pederasts.  Some of whom are TV weathermen.

Here’s a partial list

First up, there’s Bill Kemal in South Florida.  Bill got five years.  Bill is getting all the man-boy action he wants now. 

Longtime Atlanta residents will remember the sordid tale of Russ Minshew.  In the late-eighties there was some unpleasantness when some boys claimed that Russ tried to proposition them.  The Interweb has almost no information about him and his ignomious fate except, "Whatever happened to the pervy Atlanta weatherman?"

There is Mark Mathis in Charlotte, NC.  He hasn’t been arrested on any thing THAT WE KNOW OF but if you watch this video of him, it’s only a matter of time for ol’ Mark. 

It wouldn’t take much imagination to wonder about David Lynch.  Who for some reason does the weather.  On his website.  Perhaps I’m wrong.  There is no way the guy behind Twin Peaks, Blue Velvet and Wild at Heart could be creepy?  Could there? 

Sam Champion of WABC in New York however, is a fine, upstanding, church-going citizen

Then we have today’s winner, Ron Meroney got nabbed by the TBI in Memphis.  Evidently he was hiding from the law by co-anchoring on the morning news in Memphis.   Technically, I guess he isn’t a weather man, but close enough.  His creepy story reminds me of an old Paul Simon song.

The Mississippi Delta was shining
Like a National guitar

I am following the river
Down the highway
Through the cradle of the civil war
I’m going to Graceland
In Memphis Tennessee
I’m going to Graceland
Poorboys and Pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old

We All Scream For Ice Cream

April 22, 2006

Now that spring has sprung, the ice cream vendors are out in force, prowling your neighborhood and luring your children with their chocolatey wares.   Far be it for me to impugn the noble motives of these peddlers of sweet, tasty goodness.  But, shouldn’t it send up a red flag when they troll around in these ice cream trucks blaring Beethoven’ s Fur Elise like a siren’s song?  It can’t just be me who is creeped out by that.  There is something sinister about that song.   It reminds me of Peter Lorre murdering children while whistling Grieg’s In The Hall of The Mountain King.

Not every pedophile can afford an ice cream truck.  Some have to resort to using My Space

Parents, do yourselves a favor and start buying your ice cream at the store.  Make popsicles out of Kool-Aid.   If you want to keep your kids out of the back of one of these rape-wagons, you should bolt the doors and shut the windows whenever you hear the eerily ramshackle ice cream truck coming down the street.  The edgy loner behind the wheel may not just be an unemployed carny, he may be the last person your child ever sees!

Remember, it’s for the children! 

If I Wasn’t Going To Hell Already….

October 26, 2005

When put on the spot yesterday, I could only come up with two tasteless comments about the passing of civil rights pioneer Rosa Parks

"Wouldn’t it have been ironic if she got hit by a bus?"

"Do you think she’ll mind riding in the back of the hearse?"

Thank you, tip your waitress, I’ll be here all week, stick around for the ten o’clock show. 

You know what Stuart, I like you.

May 18, 2005









You know that Johnny Werzner kid-the kid who delivers papers in the neighborhood?
He’s a fine kid.
Some of the neighbors say he smokes crack,
but I don’t believe it.
Anyway, for his 10th birthday, all he wanted was a burrow owl.
Kept bugging his old man,
"Dad, get me a burrow owl.  I’ll never ask for anything else as long as I live."
So the guy breaks down and buys him a burrow owl.
Anyway at 10:30 the other night
I go out into my yard and there’s the Werzner kid looking up in the tree.
I said, "What are you looking for?"
He said, "I’m looking for my burrow owl."
I say, "Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick! Everybody knows that a burrow owl lives in a hole in the ground!
Why the hell do you think they call it a burrow owl, anyway?!"
Now Stuart, do you think a kid like that is gonna know what the queers are doing to the soil?

Stuart feeding the owls one last time before
shoveling them into the fireplace.

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

April 28, 2005

Will you promise not to tell…

Have you ever wanted to put your deepest, darkest secret on a postcard and have it posted on the internet?  No?  Me neither. 
These folks are a artistic bunch.  I have to wonder how many of
them put as much effort into coming up with a secret as they did
creating an unusual postcard.
Or are the two related somehow?  I wouldn’t be surprised to find
out the the most artistically creative types are also the ones who have
the weirdest shit going on in their lives.  It makes sense in that
“I have no documentable proof, but I know it must be true” way.