R.I.P. Wayne Static

As some of you may know, the metal world took a hit a couple of weeks ago when Wayne Static passed away in his sleep at his home in the California desert.  Wayne wasn't quite 49 years old and everyone has been shocked by his passing, especially knowing that heavy metal front men have a reputation for taking excellent care of themselves.  Although autopsy results are still pending, it has been widely speculated that Wayne died of an overdose of being entirely too awesome.

He was the founder and lead singer of the band Static-X.  Although arguably lesser known, I'd put them in the same league as some of their cohorts like Sevendust, Korn, Slipknot, Mudvayne, and Sixpence None the Richer.  I still have fond memories of their debut album, Wisconsin Death Trip, which eventually went platinum and often served as background music in my dorm-because the soothing tones of industrial metal have the kind of calming effect conducive to efficient studying habits.  I had the pleasure of seeing them live multiple times and I can tell you that they put on a hell of a show in a time when it still meant something to be spit on by your favorite lead singer.  Now Wayne is gone and I'm at the age where it is way too creepy for me to go in a mosh pit with a bunch of teenagers, at least I'll have my memories of the old days.

As an homage to Wayne, I decided to style my hair in the iconic fashion that he had when Static-X first became popular-a straight up hairdo like Marge Simpson just got electrocuted along with a ridiculously long braided goatee.  Of course the hair on my head wasn't long enough; so I had my undercarriage styled instead.  That is why this post is a couple of weeks late.  I had to gather up enough pubes so that I could daisy-chain them together to make a scrotum braid that Wayne would have been proud of.  For the the rest of November I'll be referring to my genitals as "Pighammer" in reference to Wayne's only solo album.  Take that "Movember."

Here's a bit of random trivia for you.  Before Static-X, Wayne played in a band called Deep Blue Dream with Billy Corgan of Smashing Pumpkins fame.  I tried finding some of their old tunes but I wasn't able to.  I bet it would be a hell of a sound-like something that would simultaneously make you want to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills and punch a baby at the same time.

Here's one more.  Wayne was married to Tera Wray in 2008.  She is a former adult film star known
for her work in the alternative porn scene.  Her Wikipedia page says, I shit you not, that, "...she probably became the first person to perform a hardcore sex act on film while their partner received a tattoo."  This is surprising to me not only because this is apparently a thing, but also because this sentence insinuates by saying that she is the first, that there have been others since.  That's pretty metal.

Well call me a nostalgic romantic but I'd like to think that wherever Wayne is right now, he's looking down on Tera and bangin' groupie angels while getting a tattoo.

Think Before You Send: Part II

I've used Craigslist a few times in the past but I try to only use it sparingly when I'm getting rid of shit that is too big or heavy to shove into my trash bin.  I found out quickly that you can get rid of anything on Craigslist if you post it for free.  So far, I've gotten rid of a chest freezer that didn't work, some old rotten windows, half of a yard of dirty lava rock, and a bag of used syringes - that last one was just to see if  someone would take them.  Its always a treat to see what kind of toothless hill people come out of the woodwork for free shit.  In fact, if you're looking for a website that will increase your chances of being raped and stabbed in a parking lot, Craigslist is for you.  There have been few non-Walmart related times that I've been more certain that our civilization is destined to collapse in a pestilent pit of food stamp fueled obesity, laziness, greed, and Honey Boo Boo-esque trash as the story I'm about to tell you.

 You see, the wife and I were moving up in the world and we had just purchased a new bed frame.  That meant that we were fixing to get rid of our old one.  Here is the original post:

Now I thought that was pretty simple and straight forward, that is until this email chain happened:

Notice that my original post doesn't say anything about selling a bed.  This is like trying to buy a belt and asking why the belt doesn't come with a pair of pants.  Those people that know me, including the local police department, know that I've got a bit of a short temper.  So when I get asked stupid questions like the one that Vonte asked, sometimes I respond by being a smart ass.  Which is exactly what I did here.

And for some reason, Vonte never responded back.

(Last names of those involved have been removed to protect the incompetent.)

The Wrong Side of the Law

A little while back I was traveling to a camping trip in central Wisconsin.  If you haven't been to one of Wisconsin's state parks, you should check one out.  They have some surprisingly pristine wilderness areas; they are relatively cheap, generally not too busy, and Deliverance-style rapes have decreased substantially in recent years. 

Anyway, I was driving a couple of miles or so from my house when I got rear-ended.  I checked my mirror and saw that I had been hit by one of Madison's finest in a squad car.  Now you may not be familiar with my upbringing in the mean streets of a small metropolis in Northwestern Wisconsin, but let me tell you, when I saw those blueberries and cherries, those days in the street came rushing back to me.  The memory of being unjustly treated like a criminal just because of the color of my skin and the way that I dressed seemed as fresh in my mind as the last crime I committed.

As soon as I saw the Five-O I thought to myself, "Oh shit the man just tried to run me off the road and in five minutes I'm gonna be nipples deep in cops, drug sniffing dogs, and SWAT!"  So I toss my spliff out the window, swallow my remaining shrooms, and tuck my gat under the seat out of view.  About that time the transvestite, midget, hooker in the passenger seat starts freaking out.  I cut her restraints loose and tell her to pull down her goddamn cutoff jean shorts lower because I could see her penis.  Then she starts going on and on about how Ernesto, her pimp, is going to be super pissed if he has to bail her out of jail again.  Then I'm all like, "Bitch just be cool!  We'll just use the Eddie Murphy defense!"  Now the 8 ball I just scored with my last money I'm not going to toss out the window, so I have the tranny use a half-empty whiskey bottle to start shoving cocaine in my ass like some deranged Whack-a-mole game.  Then before the officer could make it to the window, I washed down a couple of tabs of acid from a forty and changed the radio from a 2Pac CD to NPR.

As I'm contemplating making a run for it OJ-in-a-Bronco-style, I realize that I forgot to refill my tank on my hoopty the last time I used my nitrous.  Plus I really didn't want to be stuck on the lamb with with the tranny and I didn't have a shovel and lye with me.  So I figured I'd face the music.  My only hope was that I'd end up with a Cool Hand Luke type situation where, while in prison, I end up winning the begrudging yet heartfelt respect of my prison mates and we end up singing chain gang tunes together (yes, I am aware how the movie ends).  This as apposed to, insert any other prison movie here, with beatings and sodomy.

Meanwhile, officer Knievel limp drags his way up to the window and starts apologizing.  Boy were the tranny and I relieved.  It turns out he was just distracted typing some perp stuff into his computer and he smacked my ride like Chris Brown on Rhianna.  He really wasn't trying to ram me off the road.  He even got the worst of it.  Check out the crime scene photos below (mine is the one that is not a squad car).

Notice the flat tire and and the totally f-ed up bumper, head light, hood, and fender on the squad car.  And I got a sweet new rear bumper and quarter panel.  That's your tax dollars at work folks!

It even turns out that the officer was pretty cool.  He didn't even ask why a non-hipster player like myself was transporting a case of Pabst.  Just goes to show that good things happen to good people.  Maybe some day, you too can be lucky enough to be hit by a city employee.

Whiskey Tasting 2012

I know that last time I promised to share with you some pics of cop car derby but there are more pressing issues.  The results of the latest whiskey tasting!  (If you didn't see that post then never mind because I just accidentally deleted it.)

Our second whiskey tasting included some good whiskey, some bad ones, and even a couple that required a tie breaker for first place.  Most listings have their proof and price per liter followed by shit that I made up and their rating out of 10 points.  Before I get a bunch of crap about spelling, keep in mind that some distilleries spell whiskey with an “e” and some don’t.

Yahara Bay Lightning – White Whiskey.  110 proof.  $26.65/L.

Yahara Bay Distillers is a distillery right here in Madison presumably named after the Yahara River which feeds and drains the famous city lakes.  The naming is kind of odd since the distillery is about a mile from the nearest body of water and the Madison shit treatment plant is actually closer than the Yahara River is.  Anyway, whiskey is traditionally aged in oak barrels.  According to the book Craft Whiskey Distilling, this is where “the whiskey acquires its color, complexity, and richness of flavor.”  Yahara Bay Lightning is a perfect example of why you should barrel age whiskey.  Lightning is unaged, essentially moonshine and it was unanimously the worst of everything we tasted.

Average score:  1.5

Feckin –  Blended Irish Whiskey.  80 proof.  $19.99/L.

The Feckin website says that Feckin whiskey is distilled by the Cooley Distillery which is the only independent Irish-owned whiskey distillery in Ireland.  So much for that; according to a press release by Beam Inc. out of Deerfield, Illinois, it purchased the Cooley Distillery in January of this year.  Take that you potato eatin’ bastards! 

Average score:  3.7

Willett – Straight Rye Whiskey.  110 proof.  $53.32/L.

This whiskey is an enigma wrapped in bull shit.  The bottle is labeled as coming from The Willett Distillery, but with a little bit of research, I found out that there is no such company as The Willett Distillery.  The Willett brand is actually owned by Kentucky Bourbon Distillers which uses fake company names on its product labels.  Also, Kentucky Bourbon Distillers is technically not a distillery; all they do is bottle whiskey.  On top of all of that, Willett is distilled in Indiana, not Kentucky. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know if this is really whiskey.

Average score:  4.5

High West Double Rye – Straight Rye Whiskey.  92 proof.  $38.99/L.

This was my favorite whiskey until I went and put it up against everything else in the tasting.  I still think it should be one of the most popular things in Utah since that religion that was read out of a hat but alas, it ended up low in the ratings.

Average score:  5.0

Bruichladdich – Single Malt Scotch Whisky.  92 proof.  $66.12/L.

Bruichladdich Distillery was built in 1881 in the Western Isles of Scotland.  Today the distillery is largely the same, most of the original machinery is still in use, and no computers are used in production.  So this is what you’d get if the Amish made whisky?  Something that tastes like dirt?

Average score:  5.5

Glenmorangie – Single Malt Scotch Whisky.  86 proof.  $39.99/L.

Two Scotches ranked one after the other with the same score, interesting considering how different they are.  Bruichladdich as I mentioned, tastes a bit like dirt.  This is because many Scotch whiskies have peat flavor.  Because peat is an abundant energy source in Scotland, it is often used to dry the malt used for the whisky mash.  The smokiness of the malt carries through to the whisky.  You end up with something that tastes like rubbing alcohol that has been strained through a sock that your mom wore while running through a swamp while she was on fire.  Glenmorangie is not quite that peaty.

Average score:  5.5

Jameson – Blended Irish Whiskey.  80 proof.  $27.42/L.

John Jameson was a Scottish lawyer who married some Haig and then used her family connections to enter the distilling business and become the richest guy in Ireland.  No really, her name was Margaret Haig.  The Local, a pub in Minneapolis, has the distinction of selling more Jameson than any other bar in the world.  That makes me wonder what the Irish know that we don’t.  Why isn’t there a bar in Ireland that sells more Jameson?  Maybe there’s a bar in Ireland that sells more Summit beer than anywhere else in the world?

Average score:  5.8

Crown Royal - Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.  $25.71/L.

Call me old fashioned but I think it’s strange for a company like Crown Royal to advertise in motor sports, like when they sponsored Matt Kenseth for turning left a bunch of times.  I think it’s strange because supposedly drinking and driving don’t mix.  It’s like McDonald’s sponsoring Weight Watchers.  It’s like Purina sponsoring horse racing.  It’s like Palestine sponsoring your Bar Mitzvah.  It’s like a coat hanger company sponsoring a fertility clinic.

Average score:  6.5

Bulleit Bourbon – Straight Bourbon Whiskey.  90 proof.  $30.65/L

Fans of the HBO show Deadwood might recognize this bottle.  Apparently they thought that it represented the appearance of an old-fashioned frontier whiskey.  Augustus Bulleit started schlepping this stuff in the 1840s but the original recipe was almost lost to the ages when he mysteriously disappeared in 1860 while transporting barrels of his whiskey outside of New Orleans .  Oddly enough, the same thing almost happened to me while I was stowing whiskey in my belly in New Orleans.

Average score:  6.5

Rich and Rare – Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.

For the cheapest whisky in the tasting, this guy ended up scoring pretty high on the list.  And no, it wasn’t because we had already had 15 other shots of whiskey by that point.  Or maybe it was…the website Proof66.com lists the rating just above “Not Recommended.”  Add that to the list of mediocre crap coming out of Canada like Jim Carrey, Keanu Reeves, and Pamela Anderson.  Hey I’m not knocking Canadians as a whole; who among us wouldn’t go for an Alex Trebek/Peter North mustache ride/sausage fest?

Average score:  6.8

Jim Beam Rye – Straight Rye Whiskey.  80 proof.  $21.99/L.

Jim Beam is famous for their bourbons so why try their rye in this tasting?  Because I had a big 1.75 liter bottle on my shelf.  Besides, this is actually the top selling rye whiskey in America.  Rye isn’t just for making shitty tasting bread and feeding poor people in Russia anymore.

Average score:  7.0

Yahara Bay – American Whiskey.  80 proof.  $43.99/L.

Remember that white whiskey on the top of the post that scored just over common household bleach?  Well this is what you get if you throw it in a charred oak barrel for a few years.  You go from pissing blood and shitting rubbing alcohol to ranking in the top four.  Not bad for the first (legal) whiskey made in Wisconsin since prohibition.  By the way, if you’re ever in the area, you can stop by the distillery to take a tour and see their small art gallery.  They feature artwork by old school actors Tony Curtis. Anthony Quinn, and Red Skelton.  It is some of the most awful painting that I’ve ever seen.  I’m talking your kid’s refrigerator art bad.  The one below is only $25,000.

Average score:  7.3

Maker’s Mark – Straight Bourbon Whisky.  90 proof.  $27.25/L.

Supposedly Bill Samuels developed seven different recipes for his new bourbon.  Since he didn’t have time to distill and age each one, he instead made a loaf of bread from each recipe and used the one that was best tasting for his mash bill.  Too bad one of those loaves wasn’t banana bread.  Can you imagine how amazing banana whiskey would be?  I’d give my left nut (the bad one) for a shot of that.  Here’s some more trivia:  Maker’s Mark is one of the only distillers in America that spells whisky without the “e” and they have a trademark on the wax seal of their bottles.  This is the same wax seal that makes you feel like a prissy douche bag for drinking it.

Average score:  7.5

The Knot – Irish Whisky Liqueur.  100 proof.

The Knot bottle is distinguished by its iconic Celtic knot.  Historians suspect that the early Celts may have used the designs as a form of symbolism.  Recent studies of the design have suggested that it roughly translates to “It’ll get you drunk, bitches!”  Another interesting fact about this whisky is that it might not technically be a whisky.  Indeed, the word “whisky” isn’t anywhere on the bottle.  Some might argue that this is technically a liqueur, albeit one that is stronger than most whiskies.

Average score:  8.2

Canadian Club – Blended Canadian Whisky.  80 proof.  $11.99/L.

Coming in at number one for the second tasting in a row (even with the same score) is Hiram Walker’s famous whisky.  Hiram, despite having a lame name, was a hard-core dude and he pretty much ended up building an entire town with the success of his distillery.  Hiram oversaw the development and general day-to-day operations of the town.  He even once closed the church because the preacher decided to preach the evils of alcohol.  Then he ripped off all of his clothes and sacrificed a goat in front of the church.  He made a whisky bong out of the entrails of the goat and downed an entire bottle of CC in front of frightened on lookers.  Then he took the first born child from each family in town and sold them into child slavery or put them to work running his stills.  As a final show of power, he fought a moose to the death in a bare-knuckle boxing match that lasted three days.  At the end of the match he sodomized the moose just for spite and then downed another bottle of whisky.  After that no one ever heard from the preacher and no one every fucked with Hiram again.

Average score:  9.0

Rumors of My Death Are Greatly Exaggerated

This post was accidentally deleted because computers frighten and confuse me.  You should consider yourself lucky if you were able to read it.
-Mac

Think Before You Send: Part I

Some might say that I have a drinking problem, such as the State of Wisconsin, my first three wives, the Children's Museum, and that guy that I hit with my truck last night. But let me tell you, I damn near shit-a-brick when I found out that I could fill up my hip flask with a turkey baster! It was like an epiphany-as though I had just discovered masturbation with foodstuffs. No longer do I have to try to pour a Manhattan out of a shaker through a tiny funnel into a hole no wider than a common shrew's penis is long (fifth of an inch). And possibly the best part, there's a hint of gravy in whatever you put in the flask.








But as always, I digress. That has nothing to do with what I wanted to talk about in today's post. I was just excited to pass on the news that turkey basters aren't just for Thanksgiving and getting lesbians pregnant anymore. No, instead I wanted to talk about something horrible plaguing our nation, neigh, the world. People that send ridiculous forwards. Now I'm not talking about cool things like OMG Cat, Courage Wolf, or Two Girls One Cup. I'm talking about flat-out lies.Case in point, here is the text that I got in a forward last week, typos intact:

This is what life was like before man sinned...and this is what HEAVEN holds one day soon! The Bible says that the " Lion shall lay down with the Lamb' (The Bible don't lie)

The Law Of The Wild says kill only when you are hungry
Photographer Michel Denis-Huot, who captured these amazin pictures on safari in Kenya 's Masai Mara in Ocotober last yea said he was astounded by what he saw:

"...These three brothers (cheetahs) have been living together sin they left their mother at about 18 monts old, "he said. "On the morning we saw them, they seemed not to be hungry, walking quickly but stopping sometimes to play together. At one point they met a group of impala who ran away, but one youngster w not quick enough and the brothers caught it easily."

These extraordinary scenes followed.

and then they just walked away without hurting him... Life is short... What is our stay really about here on earth...?

There you have it. Nature showing us the error of our ways. We all can get along! Makes me feel warm and tingly. What is our stay really about here on Earth? Apparently its about wasting peoples' time and spreading ignorance.

My first issue, the first line about the Bible and heaven. Really? Is this, "what life was like before man sinned...and...what HEAVEN holds one day soon!" What does that even mean? That is kind of depressing to think that perfectly scientifically explainable animal behavior is what heaven holds for us. Besides, cute animal pictures can't be used to support a religion any more than dead babies can be used to refute it.

The second issue I have is that this forward isn't very believable. That should be your litmus test if you're going to send an email to a bunch of people. Check it out on Snopes.com if you have to; don't just pass on crap without checking it out.

I say it's not believable because cats are dicks. I have two of them and if they aren't crapping in their shit boxes, they're sleeping, trying to steal food, or trying to kill each other. If you knew a person like that, you'd call them a dick or at least a hobo. The two of them would shiv each other for a single piece of dry cat food. They've never had bacon but I'm pretty sure if they did and they had prehensile digits, somehow they would find a way to kill my wife and I in our sleep and put a plan in action that would not stop short of destroying the world until they get more bacon. Which is why I find it hard to believe that three wild cheetahs would chase down an impala and then just let it go.

So I did some research. In all of five minutes of intensive Googling, I found the website of Christine and Michel Denis-Huot, the French photographers who took the pictures. Turns out the true story has a much less Saturday-morning-cartoon ending. Those cats mauled the shit out of that impala like O.J. on Nicole. If you want the grisly picture of Bambi getting gang-raped, you can see it here.

Remember, if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate. Mac don't lie.

More to come...

Old People Episode III: Revenge of the Codgers

I don't know what it is about me and stadiums but I always seem to end up sitting in front of the biggest douche bag in the whole place. A few weeks ago I was at a Badger football game and the crusty britched old codger behind me kept shoving her foot in my ass. Maybe she was spastic or maybe she was really getting into the ass play; she even had a twitch to her foot like a vibrator.

She could have been playing grandma cougar and thought she was doing me a favor - but I'm not really into getting my back door prodded. I've never really been into feet either for that matter. One time at a party in college, a girl tried to give me a foot job mid-conversation while we were sitting on my front porch. It just ended up being awkward, like being groped by a blind person wearing boxing gloves. And what does a guy do to return the favor? How about I prod at your boobs with my elbows? Would that be analogous to you jamming your feet into my crotch?Anyway, one of my roommates ended up walking out onto the porch and did a classic double-take. It was like he had just accidentally seen his favorite child hood dog licking peanut butter off of the nether regions of his creepy uncle. After that he just kind of awkwardly backed his way back through the door. He never mentioned it to me and also never sat in any of the chairs on the front porch again. Luckily that also put a stop to the foot job and I was able to walk away confused and feeling slightly dirty.

Back to the Badger game. I wanted to break the ankle of this geriatric, boney, old Golden Girl like it was her hip at a limbo contest. Problem was, I couldn't tell if she was being extremely rude or if she was just senile and you do not want to get into an argument with someone that is a little 'tardy if you know what I'm saying. Now I know what you're thinking, I could have been the bigger man and just turned around and asked her to remove her metatarsals from my colon but what if she was trying to be a bitch? Then I would have had a totally awkward rest of the game with her behind me.

So that's it, anticlimactic story. I never talked to She-Wilford Brimley and found out what her deal was. Was she looking to have a stroke inducing three-way with my friend and I? Was she just plain off of her meds or bat-shit crazy? (By the way you get 25 extra Mac's Rants points if you can comment back with the etymology of bat-shit crazy.) Or maybe she was just a plain old mean person that thought I looked like the gay salesman that used to back-door her late husband. There's also the chance that she read my other two posts which chronicle my hatred for old people.

Maybe some game I'll get those seats again. You win this time gristly she-demon, but mark my words, I'll be watching for you.

The Scariest Movie Ever

I know my last post was about a movie but I just had to put this down on paper, I just watched the most scary movie I have ever seen in my life. Any of the classics like Nightmare on Elmstreet, Friday the 13th, Hellraiser, even the newer ones like Hostel and all fourteen Saw movies don't hold a candle to this. They are like the Care Bears go to Candy Land riding a kitten compared to Where the Wild Things Are.

It starts out with this hyper little fucker named Max who apparently gets fed pixie sticks and crack for breakfast every morning. In the first five minutes of the movie, he rapes the family dog, trashes his sister's room like a hair band in a hotel, bites his own mother, and then runs away from home. Right now I'm thinking that things are going to get interesting; maybe one of his disturbed but good-natured neighbors will find him and go Black Snake Moan on his ass. After all, this kid obviously needs some Adderall and a good beating.

Instead, the little prick ends up jacking a skiff and he suddenly becomes an eight-year-old Jacques Cousteau in a dinghy. Eventually his luck runs out and he ends up capsizing and washing up on shore like John Denver.
Somehow he ends up on the Island of Misfit 'Tards with a dysfunctional family of huge Muppets. I'll mention here that I never read the book on which this movie is based, so I'm not sure what the tone of that was. But the remainder of the movie is what I would expect a bad acid trip would be.

I mean look at these freaks - they're like friggen homicidal rejects from The Island of Doctor Moreau. These creatures are not something that you would want your kid to play with. One of them, Carol, seems to be all roided up and is domestically abusing all of the other furries. I shit you not, he's even hiding the bodies of the previous visitors to the island.

The others include a manic-depressive goat, a bird-like creature who literally ends up getting one of his arms ripped off by James Gandolfini, some bull-dike bitch who keeps threatening to eat Max, and K.W. who is the roaming cock-tease of the island.

Carol would probably be much cooler if K.W. would stick around more and at least give him a handy, but instead Max shows up and introduces all kinds of sexual tension. Yeah, this movie goes there. Not only does this movie look like it was directed by some dude who had dead animals and severed limbs hanging above his crib as a kid, it also has an eight-year-old "inside" of one of the creatures. Thats right, beastiality and child porn all in a movie that's rated PG.

I won't ruin the ending for you suffice to say it really pissed me off. It made me long for the simpler times when you could beat the living hell out of kids without them being able to escape by using their imagination.

Male Menstruation

I was hoping to end my long hiatus from the blog with something profound and scientific. Just the other day I was having a discussion with the wife about how interesting it would be if there was male menstruation. Just think about men expelling all of their unused sexual cells once a month. To put it more bluntly, the jizz would ooze forth uncontrollably. Anyway, you'll be happy to know that I forgot the rest of what I thought was so funny about that idea; so instead I'll be giving my review of Edward Scissorhands.

Normally I won't watch movies that don't include gratuitous violence or nudity but Edward Scissorhands was on between Hannah Montana and Full House. I'd heard it was a good show and I had always wondered how Edward managed to piss without lopping his dong off. The movie starts out with a woman who is selling Avon door-to-door in a town that can't seem to decide whether its in the 60's or 80's. The neighborhood is full of sex-starved, harpy, house wives with huge hair and just happens to also have dozens of bushes that could be sculpted into various topiary if someone should happen to show up that has cutlery for appendages. This Avon woman trespasses into the typical creepy house of the town and finds Edward.

Despite being pasty white and outfitted better than Ron Popeil with Ginsu knives, the dude dresses in a gimp suit. He's got the social skills of the kid that eats paste in middle school too. Its hard to believe that this goth albino grows up to be the Captain Jack Sparrow.

Avon lady takes Edward home and at this point I comment to the wife not to get any ideas about bringing home some deformed freak show while I'm at work. Turns out that Edward is pretty handy with "hands" if you don't count finger painting, nose picking, and masturbating. He ends up pruning the aforementioned bushes, grooming the neighborhood dogs, and giving the harpies Brazillian waxes. All the while he's carving up pot roast and accidentally stabbing people without ever running his digits through a dish washer - disgusting.

Edward ends up falling for Avon lady's daughter (Winona Ryder before her brief stint in petty theft) but shes already got a douche bag boyfriend (Anthony Michael Hall who has roided up since the Breakfast Club). By the way, douche bag boyfriend has a friend with a van straight out of a Ratt video-hot pink leopard seats, flames coming out of the hood, and he's not even Asian! I only bring up Ratt to point out that they had a former singer named Jizzy Pearl; I swear to God, look it up.

Anyway, the town turns on Edward, Winona falls in love with him, and he ends up skewering the douche bag. Edward and Winona end up having rough sex in the back of the Ratt van (what other kind of sex can you have with knives for hands) and the movie ends.

The answer to the big question that you've been waiting for: how does Edward keep from cleaving the twig from the berries when he's shaking hands with the president? It turns out that he's a friggen robot and doesn't need to pee! We find out through the movie that Edward was made by a genius inventor that apparently died before he could put proper normal person hands on Edward. That's right, the inventor made a pasty-faced, gimp, robot that could cater to his needs. The entire movie is about a sex toy!

Chicken Parts

I’ve done my share of stupid things for money or even just on a dare. Growing up, my brother and I would dare each other at the kitchen table to see who could fit more food in their mouth. I remember the bet was always for a quarter, but the real prize was the pride of being able to fit the most peas, or jello, or pot roast in your mouth. If you lost the bet you always had the satisfaction of slapping the other in the stomach and seeing food fly across the room from not only the mouth but also the nose. Sadly, one family Thanksgiving dinner, Mom put a stop to all of the chicanery. In the midst of one of our bets, my brother had just crammed most of the meat from a drumstick into his mouth along with half the contents of the nearest gravy boat. I had just forced in my second bun over the top of a quarter pound of stuffing. Then tragedy struck. Grandpa finished telling a story about his old army days which involved three of his buddies, a case of surplus army motor oil, a pineapple, and apparently the most flexible woman on Guam. At the climax of the story, the contents of my brother and I flowed forth like geysers. Relatives across from us looked like a cross between a Picasso painting and a Bukake porn star. Worse yet, we had to call the bet a draw and the competition needed to go underground indefinitely. We are no longer allowed to sit by each other at family gatherings.

Of course age hasn’t made me any smarter; rather I’ve taken on dares that are probably more threatening to my health. This bet in particular was to see who could eat fifty chicken wings at our local Quaker Steak and Lube. There were around six of us and we ended up eating the equivalent of over one hundred birds if you figure that each bird sacrificed at least two appendages.

Our server, a one hundred pound albino that could have used a few wings himself, brought heap after heap of greasy, slightly warm chicken. I stuck to my plan of drinking a minimum amount of fluid, saving that space for more bird pieces. In no time I had downed thirty pieces. That was about the time that they started to taste like slimy gritty pieces of mud sliding around my mouth. People started dropping out between 35 and 40 pieces, others trudged forward with sweat beading on their foreheads and pressure building in the bowels. One person fell off of his chair and started sobbing uncontrollably. Another shat himself while trying to make it to the bathroom. The albino smiled menacingly and spoke of the man who had eaten over a hundred wings. We decided that the albino was full of shit, probably needed to be beaten in the parking lot, and should really eat a cheeseburger or something.

The goal neared and only two of us remained. My stomach felt stretched and hot. The chicken no longer looked appetizing at all. While it was probably just a trick of the mind, it appeared that the pieces were increasingly odd parts of the chicken that had been deep fried and then tossed in more grease. I pictured an old Navajo Indian speaking to the youngsters in the tribe, “We use every part of the chicken,” he would say. “Well, except for this one. This goes to Quaker Steak for deep frying.”

Alas, I managed to down the fiftieth piece, my cohort managed fifty one. My night was far from over, however. I managed to excuse myself from the table without crying or shitting myself. The pressure in my midsection had built up and felt like some creature trying to escape me like in an Alien movie. It was difficult to slide into the driver’s seat of my truck because it meant putting pressure on the pile of undigested bird in my gut. The earlier uncomfortableness was now replaced with pain that only mildly diminished in the fully reclined position. I wondered what I would say to the police when pulled over as I drove with my seat reclined all of the way and barely able to see over the wheel. By the time I made it home, my stomach felt like it held two rabid wolverines fighting over a baby. I stumbled my way to the bed and found the pressure even worse when lying down. I contemplated forcing myself to vomit but thought that would be cheating my achievement of having downed fifty wings. Through the course of the night I found that the pain somewhat subsided when on my hands and knees. I managed to assure my wife that I was not waiting for some sort of twisted sexual tryst when she found me on all fours in bed. I finally fell asleep at around two or three in the morning when the chicken had apparently been distributed throughout my colon. It was still a restless night accompanied by the lingering pain in my abdomen and punctuated by psychedelic dreams featuring our albino waiter and Colonel Sanders.

The next day held a number of ‘hot’ bowel movements that I will spare you the details of, suffice to say that they were ‘emotional’. I promised myself that I wouldn’t take part in any more competitions to see how much I could eat. Instead, tomorrow I’ll be seeing if I can handle the hottest wings that Madison has to offer. Apparently I’ll need to sign a waiver…

USA vs. Scotland II

It appears that I may need to add a little snippet to my last post. I don't know how it happened, but I forgot to mention one of the coolest things about Scotland-their kick ass road signs. They must have an entire division of their government devoted to making signs that make people laugh their ass off.

Case in point: this is a sign that we saw near the small fishing village of Mallaig. Not being natives we could only assume that this sign means "Beware of Pedophiles." However, without any additional reference point to the two figures in the sign, perhaps we are jumping to conclusions. Maybe the sign means "Beware of freakishly large children holding hands with their normal size parents." Given the choice between the two, I'd say that the first is probably accurate. Every place has to be proud of something. Wisconsin has its dairy industry and serial killers; I guess Mallaig is proud of it's child mollesters.

Some sonuvabitch keeps letting his goddamn dog shit in my lawn. For a while there it seemed like every time I got up in the middle of the night to take a piss in my yard, I was finding a new pile of dog biscuits. Maybe I need one of these signs for my property. It says "NO FOULING" and if you lived in Scotland, maybe you'd know what the hell "fouling" is. But luckily, they also provided the picture for illiterate folks and tourists. How cool is a public sign with a dog shitting on it? Its even a Scottie dog! Notice the line isn't through the dog itself, because Scots are cool with the dogs, the line is through the big ol' pile of Polish brownies behind his turd cutter. The sign is also informative; next time you're on Jeopardy and you get asked what Scotland act 2003 Section 1 is you can answer proud to know that its the dog fouling law.

This is a sign telling you to protect your junk. There is obviously some twisted bastard running around kicking everyone in the jewels, even women in dresses and dudes in wheel chairs.

These signs make Scotland seem like a pretty shitty place, what with the pedophiles, dog poop, and crotch kickers and all. It gets worse, apparently they have signs there that warn of geriatric pick pockets. I guess you're just walking along with your cane and bam! You get your ass grabbed by an old woman. Shameless.

So getting back to the competition, has Scotland managed to tie up the score? Nay, the scoring committee has deemed the kick ass signs as half a point.

USA holds the lead 3 to 2.5. USA! USA! USA!

USA vs. Scotland

The economy is in the crapper and the rest of the world hates us so why the hell are people risking their lives to illegally live here? For that matter, the rest of the world that hates us seems to want to be just like us. WTF?

What makes us so different than other countries? The wife and I just got back from a trip to Scotland so I thought that I would do a highly scientific study comparing the two countries. So here goes:

Shitters: In the pre 1950s, the American toilet used more than seven gallons of water per flush. By 1980, it was 3.5 gallons and now new toilets use 1.6 gallons or less by law. Yet after all of this porcelain regulation, its not often that I have any difficulty dropping off the kids at the pool and taking care of it with one flush. Sure every once in a while there's a few "dookie mavericks" that like to stick around but generally the job gets done. Now the Scottish loo on the other hand, is like crapping into a funnel. At first its just like making a deposit at your normal bank but then getting rid of it is like trying to push a cat through a straw. I could see such wimpy toilets in France, but Scotland? Scotland is the home of haggis and one of the highest morbidity rates in the world, how can they get rid of their dung with such worthless toilets? We may never know.
Advantage: USA

Paper Towels and Air Dryers: Thats two topics in a row involving the bathroom, must be some sort of fecal fixation. Just about every public bathroom that I used in Scotland had air dryers as apposed to paper towels. Putting aside the argument as to which saves more energy, air dryers are a GD pain in the ass. I don't care who you are, you likely have better things to do than stand for two minutes drying your hands in the breeze. Not to mention, how many germs are spread by people that see an air dryer and say "fuck that" and don't wash their hands at all? In the US there are still a few places you can grab a paper towel and scour off the crotch coutees from your hands.
Advantage: USA

Coffee: Now mind you, I am certainly not a coffee connoisseur, and the only reason I drink it is because I got hooked on it in college. Call it my only vice along with alcohol, amphetamines, hookers, and pornography. I'm the guy that drinks the last of the really old pot thats been sitting for four hours just to make a new one for those that have been holding out. But I know shitty coffee when I taste it. I went out west (Wyoming, Washington, Idaho, Oregon) and the coffee was awesome but other than that, the states seem to be hit or miss with their coffee. Sometimes it seems like the coffee has been strained through three feminine pads and tastes like mildy dirty water. Scotland, now their coffee is more like pureed coffee beens with a spritz of water. Heaven for someone who likes their coffee to burn a hole through their stomach.
Advantage: Scotland.

Scenery: The US has some pretty kick ass scenery, some of which I probably haven't even seen yet, but holy Christ on a cracker you gotta see Scotland. Its like an orgasm for the eyes. Granted Scotland is less than half the size of Wisconsin but mile for square mile Scotland is amazing. You can drive from the medievil cities in the lowlands, to what looks like a rain forest in the midlands, to the picturesque hills and rivers of the highlands, to the cliffs and waterfalls of the coast all in one day. Not to mention, there's friggen sheep everywhere! How cool is that?
Advantage: Scotland

Food: Now the British Isles are generally not known for their cuisine, and for good reason. It pretty much sucks. There are horror stories about haggis which is kind of like a sheep sausage including oatmeal, heart, liver, and lungs stuffed into a sheep's stomach. However, I can tell you that haggis is friggen delicious. Its like a sweet meatloaf. Everything else in Scotland was nothing to write home about. Even their bacon is different than ours, more like a really salty cut of ham. And you do not fuck with bacon!
Advantage: USA

So there it is, the highly scientific study has come to a close. USA! USA! USA! While Scotland is amazing and the US has its own messed up quirks; you just can't be unAmerican.

Damn Dirty Hippies: Part I

Most hippies mean well I guess. They're generally concerned with the environment and I suppose just want to smoke a little pot and protest things now and again. I enjoy the environment, I don't have a problem with people that smoke pot (I think it should be legal along with prostitution), and protest is a healthy thing for a democratic society. I have friends that could be considered border-line hippies and I live in the most liberal city in Wisconsin. That doesn't sound like the start to a rant at all...

The problem is that some hippies are stupid and stupidity is contagious. They will argue about things that they tend not to really know the facts about, waste huge amounts of energy doing things that won't change anything, and godammit they stink. Woodstock was supposed to be such a great event? You know what, I bet it smelled fucking awful in that field.

Case in point: Recently, three members of the Earth Liberation Front (ELF) were indicted on charges of damage to government property in Rhinelander, Wisconsin. Did they let a bunch of lab animals free that were being mistreated? vandalize an oil refinery? blow up a Humvee dealership? No, they cut down some trees and spray painted some US Forest Service vehicles. First off, one of ELF's goals is to "promote environmental sustainability." They cut down 500 trees!

What the hell is wrong with you people? How do you get caught cutting down trees and tagging a few trucks in friggen Rhinelander anyway? Its a town of 8000 for Chrisakes! You just sit at the police station until the cop goes home for the night and then you go out and break the law. You morons managed to screw up an act of eco-terrorism that is equivalent to something that any kid in high school could plot and get away with.

Oh yeah, here's how they got caught, they spray painted and etched references to ELF into the vehicles that they tagged! Note to ELF, maybe in the next membership manual, you could mention the whole not incriminating one's self when committing a crime. You might as well ejaculate into a sample bag and leave it at the crime scene for the CSI folk.

Lastly, and I saved the best for last, the reason that ELF was targeting this research station was because they believed that the Forest Service was conducting bioengineering experiments on the trees. Turns out that they were using traditional breeding techniques like taking a seed and planting it. It doesn't get much more natural than that. Care to guess what they were researching? They were looking into producing trees that grew faster and healthier to improve their efficiency as an energy source. So they were trying to find ways to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels? Those bastards! That sounds like just the kind of thing that ELF would want to put a stop to.

More to come...

Old People: Still Not Smarter Than Me

Its been a while since the last post as some of you have pointed out. And yes I have received the emails and phone calls and while the heavy breathing phone calls at night are flattering, they have been affecting my sleep schedule. Here's the newest installment.

This is somewhat of a follow up to my "Old People and Snow" posting from a few months ago. As I was reading my monthly Tablets & Capsules magazine (April 2008 page 10 for those of you who want to check your copy) I came across an article on old people. The article stated that the FDA has received at least 73 complaints of adverse reactions related to the use of denture cleanser tablets. Some of these reactions are due to "...When consumers chew, swallow, or gargle with denture cleansers, which are meant to clean dentures in a container..." They're gargling with friggen bleach people. The article went on to say that the FDA is suggesting that manufacturers add labeling that makes it clear that the tablets are not meant to clean dentures in the mouth.

What the shit? This is part of a bigger problem which isn't necessarily limited to old people. Should we really be protecting stupid people this much? Should we really be putting warning labels on denture cleansers? What about hair dryers that say "Do not use in shower" or wood chippers that say "Do not use hands to remove clogs." I for one think that a little bit of death due to gross incompetence is just what our species needs these days. I know that creationists would disagree with me (but I'll come out and say it, they are nuttier than my crap after a WalMart sale on chunky Skippy) I am all about survival of the fittest or at least go ahead and let the stupid people wean themselves off.

If we remove the moral obligation to preserve life and simply look at things logically, doesn't the responsibility to preserve the species take priority over the life of the small percentage of the population that without labels, would slam scalding hot coffee, take baths with power tools, and pour solution in their eyes to clean their contacts? Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that we should go out and start killing people with low IQ's. Of course not, that would take entirely too long. I'm just saying if they should find themselves looking down the barrel of a gun to see if its loaded, who are we to step in and say "Hey, stupid person! Put down the gun or you could kill yourself and never be able to have half-a-dozen stupid children for me to support with my taxes!"

Drunken Thoughts

From the whiskey tasting post you might surmise that I am somewhat of a drinker. This past weekend a few friends and I decided that after watching a roller derby we should head out to State Street and beat down our livers as if they were red-headed step children. Before going any further I have to clarify two things: One, this was my first roller derby and I am not ashamed to say that I am hooked. Its like a chick fight on wheels, its as American as Jerry Springer and trailer parks. I highly recommend that you take in a derby, information on the Madison league can be found here: http://www.madrollindolls.com/. Two, if you're not familiar with Madison, State Street is like Madison's answer to Europe's Ireland. There are a dozen or two bars within walking distance of each other with pizza, gyro, and sub shops sprinkled in between so that one can have some substance when one vomits.

Anyway, I've always thought that there were two good ways to get thinking done. The number one way is to take a healthy dump. Now I'm not talking about some rabbit turd smattering of dooky that sounds like marbles falling into water. I'm talking about a healthy cargo drop where you might even finish a few pages of a good book between the time brown Elvis's head makes his first appearance and then finally exits the building. If your legs don't fall asleep while you're sitting on the toilet, it does not count as a good thinking shit. Many is the time that great ideas came to me on a toilet, such as the initial drafts of the Child Leash Law and bacon scented candles.

The second good way to think is to drink. The world will never be more clear to you than when you are drunk. Unfortunately, the more clear things are to you, the more the people around you have no idea what the hell you are talking about. One should not seek enlightenment so much that one ends up in the Valhalla of the thinking man, which some call detox. I am no stranger to the "liquid thinking serum" and bare the scars of my endeavors. Who among you readers has not woken up naked in an alley missing one or several key organs? So this experience has taught me that I should write my thoughts down when I'm drunk, which I did this weekend. Below are a few of the conversation items that we had. I removed most references to "penis" although it did take up a majority of my drunken notes. Apparently I think that "penis" is very hilarious or profound when I've been drinking.

Is it poor taste when a homeless person asks you, "Do you have a dollar?" to reply "Yes, thank you for your concern."

Do you think Jesus had a sense of humor? Like when he rose from the dead, do you think he would have walked around screaming for brains and then when people were cowering at his feet he would say "Just kidding-not a zombie, I'm the son of God."

There is a sandwich shop down town called "Silver Mine Subs." My friend pondered the question, could you get your money back if you complain that their subs don't taste like a miner?

If you get stopped while riding your bike after you've been drinking, would the cop think it was funny if you said, "Thank god you're here officer. I can not find the end of the bike-a-thon!"

And the final profound thought, or really an observation, of the night was about bathroom attendants. Those are the people that hang out in bathrooms and hand you towels and sell you toiletries and gum and what not. I wouldn't say that I am someone who gets out much so the first time I heard about one of these guys I wanted to check him out. It turns out the line for the bathroom was really long so I figured, hey, this guy must be selling some pretty amazing gum. Anyway, by the time I got into the bathroom I was kind of inebriated because I had finished a bucket of Long Island Ice Tea while standing in line. I guess I kind of pissed the guy off because I kept waving my hands in front of his face trying to get a new towel to come out. He should just be happy I didn't keep hitting him in the face trying to get him to blow on my hands harder.

The Whiskey Tasting

My wife and I recently hosted a whiskey tasting. Fortunately for us, we have a lot of floor space. After over a dozen shots of hard liquor none of us judges felt like doing a whole lot of moving around. Anyway here are the results with a brief description of each whiskey. Scoring is based on a ten point scale with ten being the highest.

Jameson - Blended, triple distilled, Irish whiskey. 80 proof. $31.32/L.
Jameson Irish Whiskey is somewhat of a misnomer; the company was founded by a Scotsman in the mid 1700's. Jameson is distilled in the city of Cork, not to be confused with the nearby city of Bunghole Cover. Although this top shelf blend was the second most expensive whiskey tested, it got the lowest rating. Average score: 3.2.

Windsor Canadian - Blended Canadian Whisky. 80 proof. $11.49/L.
Ah yes Windsor. For some reason I got it into my head when I was in college that Windsor was the cheapest whiskey I could get, so I drank it for like two years. Then I found out that Windsor is like a middle shelf whiskey and my eyes were opened to the world of Old Crow. My liver has never been the same since. I could get like two 1.75's for the price of one liter of Windsor. I think the misconception in price may have been due to the crooked roommate that would buy me liquor at a 200% mark up, so I guess that the more expensive booze I got the more he made. Sometimes when I didn't have enough money he would make me do things... Average score: 3.3.

Jim Beam - Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey. 80 proof.
The number one selling alcohol product in the world. That must mean it’s good...or not. Jim Beam's mash meets the requirements for being called "bourbon" in that it is over 51% corn. This must be why I shit after drinking Jim Beam like after I eat corn on the cob. Average score: 3.4.

Bushmills - Blended, triple distilled, Irish whiskey. 80 proof. $28.65/L.
Bushmills is the oldest licensed whiskey distillery in the world. Every bottle is still capped by the gums of the elder Bushmill women. During prohibition, Bushmill's director, Wilson Boyd, predicted that the outlaw of alcohol would not last and had stores of whiskey ready for export. While that chance taken paid off, the stock piling of over 4000 cases of canned meat turned out to be a bust. Boyd said that it was stored in preparation for the inevitable genocidal invasion of Great Britain by the Dutch. Average score: 4.2.

Old Crow - Kentucky bourbon whiskey. 80 proof. $9.14/L.
This could be that alley juice that I warned you about. Old Crow is known for being the first whiskey produced by the sour mash process, which is the way that all bourbons are made today. It was named after Dr. James Crow, the Scottish chemist that invented the sour mash process. As we all know, "If it’s not Scottish, its crap!" Average score: 4.6.

Canadian Hunter - Blended Canadian Sipping Whisky. 80 proof. $7.99/L.
How can you not love a whiskey with the name "Canadian Hunter?" It just makes me want to get sloppy, pee myself drunk and go fight wild animals with my bare hands. I've been drinking this stuff since I was breast feeding. Actually it was while I was breast feeding, mom had a problem. Average score: 5.6.

Crown Royal - Blended Canadian Whisky. 80 proof. $33.32/L.
Long known as the choice whisky of pretentious frat boys who have their parent's money to buy booze with. (Likely preferred because of the cute little bottle cozy.) All the while everyone else is plowing snow, or cutting grass, or sexing chickens for $10 a week just so they can buy a goddamn bottle of Windsor. I'm not bitter. Average score: 5.6.

Corby's - Blended American whiskey. 80 proof. $6.17/L.
Corby's is a subsidiary of Pernod Ricard, a global company that is like the number two producer of spirits in the world. They've gotten more dudes drunk than all the horny, fat bar chicks combined. So one has to wonder with other products like Malibu, Kahlua, and even Jameson, why the hell would they put out a bottom shelf whiskey like Corby's? I have a theory, I think that the brew master has a retarded step son that had to be part of the business for insurance or stock holder reasons, something like that. It was his idea to take the tailings from the other processes and put out Corby's. Come on, Corby's - Corky, they even named it after him! See the connection? Average score: 6.0.

Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 Brand - Tennessee, sour mash, whiskey. 80 proof. $26.65/L.
Jack Daniel’s came under intense criticizm in 2004 when they reduced their alcohol content from 86 to 80 proof (which is the max in some parts of the US). Makes me wonder if all of those people getting shit-faced could taste the 3% difference in alcohol. The distillery has fallen back in with the popular crowd again however. They now have expanded their product line to include hard lemonades and ice teas, Nascar memorabilia, barbecue sauce, and feminine hygiene products. Average score: 6.4.

The Glenlivet - Single malt Scotch Whisky.
Not just any Glenlivet, The Glenlivet. They say that George Smith new that Glenlivet was the perfect location in which to make whisky, thats why the distillery was built there in 1824. If that Scotsman is anything like me and my Scottish relatives, it was probably just the last place the sonofabitch passed out. Average score: 6.4.

Old Thompson - Blended American whiskey. 80 proof.
I can only assume that this whiskey was named after the senile woodsman who distilled the first bottles of this spirit. "Yeah, that Old Thompson is a crazy bastard and he comes down from the woods to fuck my cattle now and again. But that loopy fucker can make whiskey!" Average score: 6.4.

Canadian Club - Blended Canadian Whisky. 80 proof. $15.39/L.
The highest score goes to Canadian Club. Al Capone smuggled thousands of gallons of this stuff from Canada to Detroit during prohibiition. If its good enough for a guinea, bootlegging, gangster, who died from syphilis, its good enough for me. My roommate says that to order this in Japan, you have to ask for "Canadian Crub." Average score: 9.0.

The E-Mail That Started it All

I mentioned in my first rant that I started this blog after suggestions from people that had read one of my email rants. I had a request to post that email. Since it takes little more than copying and pasting, ergo no new material from me, I thought what the hell.

Its one of those great little forwards that we always get. They wish you luck and happiness but always want you to do something like continue the chain, donate money, or free the prince of Botswana from his exile for cash and prizes. More often than not, they also contain little animations like smiley faces that make me want to shoot my computer.

Here is the original forward I received, slightly edited to remove all the GD dancing leprechauns.

IT WORKS

Hope the Leprechaun dances his jig for you!I had to forward this, my mom swears it works. The day after she sent it, they got an offer on their land on the Swannee river, they have'nt even seen that land since 1987. It came out of the blue. So you know that I'm going to try it.
Love Kim

Not sure if this had anything to do with it but it was shortly after I sent this out - I got a call to say our bond was approved - against all odds.

I don't know if it works but i won a new fridge full of various cool drinks from Beyer And Beyer last week.

I do not know if it works, but I won a microwave yesterday Seems like it Hey !!

Good luck to everyone! And may all your dreams come true!!
--- This may sound nuts, but my husband got this the other day and sent it off. About 10 minutes later a really good financial windfall happened for his son Sean who he had sent it too as well. One of the people he sent it to was responsible for the windfall.

AN IRISH FRIENDSHIP WISH
Good Luck!!
I hope it works...
OK, this is what you have to do…
Send this to all of your friends!
But – you HAVE to send this within 1 hour from when you open it!
Now………….Make A wish!!!!!!!!

I hope you made your wish! Now then, if you send to:
1 person --- your wish will be granted in 1 year
3 people --- 6 months
5 people --- 3 months
6 people --- 1 month
7 people --- 2 weeks
8 people --- 1 week
9 people --- 5 days
10 people --- 3 days
12 ! people - -- 2 days
15 people --- 1 day
20 people --- 3 hours

If you delete this after you read it . you will have 1 year of bad luck! But .. if you send it 2 of your friends you will automatically have 3 years of good luck!!! :-)

Here is my response:

Holy Crap it worked! I sent this email on to some of my friends at the free clinic and some of the orphans that I volunteer my time with and it worked! It was like a friggen Coors Light commercial, you know like how everyone is sitting around and the big Silver Bullet train shoots through and everyone gets hammered. Except rather than a Silver Bullet train, I was sitting at my cubicle and a rusty El Camino broke through the wall! And rather than bikini models there were three dwarves dressed in green that reeked of Jameson Whiskey. Instead of throwing cans of Coors, two of them relieved themselves in my trash can while the third vomited on my key board. Talk about an Irish jig! Yesiree the good luck is coming my way.

God have mercy on anyone who deleted that forward. I heard that my brother's cousin's friend's husband's ear nose and throat specialist deleted one just like this and he was immediately mauled by a 600 pound black bear right in his office. I won't tell you what happened to his wife and children suffice to say that it involved a fire hose, a box of cheetos, and a snorkel.

It works!