Monday, April 30, 2012

What Do You Go To College For?

Here's an honest answer:


Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 14


The Time Mookie Took A Beer To His Last College Final

When I started my senior year of college, if I had not been a “senior” I probably would have dropped out.  I swear to God.  I was so sick of school by that point I couldn’t see straight.  As is the case with most college students - I wasn’t sure my “major” was what I wanted to do “when I grew up.” However, since I was so far along in the process at this point and spent too much of my (and my parents) money to throw in the towel - I begrudgingly pressed on for two more semesters.

To my credit, I went to almost all of my classes, and somehow I passed them all.  There was that “D-“ I got in “Introduction to Weather” though, and that really hurt me.  Don’t ask me to identify clouds because I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Cirrus, Cumulonimbus, or Stratus cloud.  I can tell you if it looks like rain, but that’s about it.  I’m a big help. 

I could have used a heavy dose of Adderall for that class because I could not stay interested.  But in my defense the guy was boring as shit, and had the personality of a sandwich bag.  ANYWAY.

After a long painful year, I finally reached my last week of my college and was ready for Finals. Upon review of the “finals calendar” I saw that my “Social Problems” course was the LAST final of my undergraduate degree.  The only real problem was that it was at 8:00AM.   I was pulling a solid C+ in the class at the time and wasn’t too worried about the final exam, so I knew I HAD to do what I always joked I would do: 
Take a beer to my last college final.

It seemed appropriate given the amount of beer I’d consumed in the previous two years.  Plus the irony of my public drinking and a class called “Social Problems” was too much to resist.  And I just didn’t care.  

So the alarm went off about 7:40, and I got up and took care of my personal morning essentials.  Then I got dressed, went to my mini-fridge and retrieved 2 cans of ice-cold Busch Light, grabbed my 20 oz insulated mug I had obtained from the Hardee’s restaurant in the Student Union, and filled it up.  I drank the remaining 4 oz before I walked out the door in celebratory triumph, and departed for my test across campus.

Upon my arrival at the last final, I found a seat in the middle of the room and set my camouflaged beer right on my desk.  I sat and took blissful celebratory sips from it until the professor arrived and we got down to business.  The test began and as I worked I would pause every 5 questions or so, and enjoy a pleasurable taste of my victory beer.  Man it was good.

I buzzed through the test pretty easily, and finished my beer as I turned in my final.  Mission complete.

Prologue:  Upon my return to the dormitory, I celebrated with a  fellow “senior” over our college completion.  Then I did what any college student does at the end of a semester:  I gathered up all my books I didn’t want any more, took them to the student book store and sold them back for a quarter of the price in which I purchased them.  

Then I bought more beer.


Friday, April 27, 2012

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Ahhh Kelly....

I sleep well at night knowing Zack ended up with Kelly Kapowski, and not that dirtbag Slater.  Slater would have knocked her up 15 times and left her.  Kelly Kapowski was an angel.  I trust her and Zack are banging right now somewhere.

I Miss Michael Scott

I'm still an avid watcher of "The Office," but it is just not the same since Michael left.  Comments like these are missed.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

I'd Bet You Forty Bucks Its Your Mom

I'm glad I'm not the only person who has fallen victim to the temptations of the flesh, and french fries.
God help us.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Is It Racist?

This supposedly came from a textbook in South Korea.  I think the context would be important here, but stereotypes scream off the page in this one.

Ron Swanson Loves His Meat

This one makes me laugh hard.  Ron is epic.



Monday, April 23, 2012

Historic Cleavage

If you are looking at the ammo shell casing the girl is holding, I question your priorities.

Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 13

The Time Mookie Learned How To Make Chemical Bombs

(Disclaimer:  The following activities are not condoned by anyone, and should not be copied, re-created, or tried.  Breathtaking and Inappropriate, Mookie5150, Matthew J. Anderson, and Tiffani-Amber Thiessen are not responsible for any injuries or damage caused by someone reading and copying the following activities.  These activities were conducted by professionals.  Do not try this at home.)

As I have said before, my hometown was pretty boring growing up.  Sadly, the activities we did get into sometimes could be considered borderline-illegal or criminal mischief.  It wasn't like we set out to be delinquents when we did things, but sometimes ...it happened.  As I like to say, "We don't choose these things.  They choose us."

One weekend, my friend "Rick" (*) had a friend/cousin come visit for the weekend.  His name was "Neil."  Now Neil seemed OK but I think he was bored with our small town and wanted to liven things up a bit.  So he goes:

"You guys ever make "Works Bombs?"

Needless to say, he had me at "bombs."  Rick and I were avid fans of fire and explosive fireworks, but we had not yet graduated to homemade explosives.  Neil decided we needed an education in the matter and we were of course ready and willing participants.

It is G.D scary how easy it is to make these things.  It requires the THREE following ingredients:
1). A drain cleaner called "The Works." (I'm told other drain cleaners may also work, but once we learned to use The Works, we stuck with what we knew.)
2). Aluminum foil.
and
3).  A plastic bottle with a screw top lid.  A 2-liter soda bottle works best.

We procured the said ingredients and a bunch of us met up at a local pizza place.  Our friend "Devin" worked at said eatery and pretty much ran it for his uncle who owned it. Due to this, we often hung out there and planned our weekend mischief.  So we ended up in the back room of the pizza place and Neil begins showing us how to build this thing.  Several pieces of aluminum tinfoil are put into the bottle, and then an approximate amount of The Works is poured into the bottle.  Then (quickly) you screw the lid on the bottle as tight as you can.

We stepped out the back door into the alley and placed the bottle up the alley a bit, and then retreated to the doorway.  Please note that this isn't a wide open alley - It is a service alley between all the businesses in the downtown area.  It is essentially a concrete hallway.  As we stood and waited a few minutes waiting to see what is going to happen,  Neil assured us that there was no fire in the explosion.  It was purely a chemical reaction between the aluminum and the acid in the drain cleaner.  This reaction created a great amount of heat, chlorine gas and huge pressure - all of which would then cause the bottle to explode.  Finally we started see smoke or something going on in the bottle.  Then the bottle started expanding at a rapid rate, and suddenly became twice as tall and big as it was a second ago.  All of a sudden"  BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!

Hot acidic drain cleaner sprays everywhere, green plastic Mountain Dew bottle pieces fly, and a chlorine gas smoke ball dissipates into the air.  The fact it was in the alley made it 10X louder than it probably was. We all flew back into the pizza place laughing and screaming our enjoyment at what we had just seen. Needless to say it was awesome, and we needed to do this again.

We met up later that evening along a gravel road in the country, and prepared to set off another one of these gadgets.  Neil seemed to enjoy being the "center of attention" that he was, and began to  tell stories about he had once taped an M-80 to a can of WD-40.  He claimed that they taped the can to a road sign, lit it and ran away.  The result was a fireball beyond belief and a destroyed road sign.  While I'm sure it would be cool, I found the story to be a bit extreme and Neil was obviously telling stories to satisfy his crowd of onlookers.  It got a bit douchey.

Anyway...back to the bomb.  Neil mixed up the goods, set it a good distance from all of our cars as we stood and waited for the explosion.  "What is that noise behind us?" I wonder.  Oh...here comes a car!  Great. The last thing we need is to get caught setting off bombs.  We all hopped into our cars and peeled out while the not-yet exploded bottle was still sitting there.  Based on our previous experience, we determined the bottle probably blew up before the car got there, but we were never sure.  We never saw or heard of any complaint about it - so that was good.  It didn't stop us from setting off more though.

Neil went on his way after that weekend, and I never saw him again.  Rick and I continued to set these things off, and we oddly did it fairly often in the driveway of his parents house in the country.  In fact, Rick's Dad was so mildly amused by our "chemistry demonstrations" going on outside that he would occasionally watch in excitement along with us.  I find it damn funny now that Rick's parents never questioned us or showed any concern about us making explosive devices.  Neither did my parents for that matter.  Good times.

If we did that now and got caught, they'd slap a terrorism charge on us.  Thanks a lot bin Laden.

(*) - Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Hey What's Up Bitches???

According to my sources, this is a legit picture.  Obama's expression says it all.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Monday Morning Stories With Mookie - Episode 12

The Time Mookie Saw Guns N’ Roses In Concert

With Guns N’ Roses being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this past weekend (April 14th), I thought I would share a story about the time I saw them in concert. The evening of course produced some pretty funny stuff.

When we found out Guns N’ Roses were coming to the area, me and a group of friends were pretty excited about it. It was during the “Use Your Illusion” tour that supported their “Use Your Illusion I” and “Use Your Illusion II” albums. The boys and I were huge fans of these albums (and GN’R in general), so there was no question whether or not we were going. Add to the mix the fact “The Brian May Band” featuring Queen guitarist Brian May was opening, so we were jacked. The attendees for the show were “Russ” (*), “Mike” (*), “Junior” (*), Junior’s lady friend “Erin” (*), and myself.

Junior and the lady were going to drive down by themselves, so that left Russ, Mike and I to find our way to Carver-Hawkeye Arena in Iowa City. Mike said he could drive, and would pick us up at Russ’ place at 6:30PM. Booyah - We had a designated driver. This meant Russ and I could have a pre-show beverage (or 4) before Mike picked us up. Through our various sources, we secured some beer and a fine bottle of Jack Daniel’s for the festivities and met up early to get the party started.

We had some pizza, a few beers, and awaited our friend Mike. 6:25…6:30…6:35…6:40…6:45…No Mike. This was in the days before everyone had cell phones, so we had no clue where the f’er was. So we are WAY pissed that he isn’t here and are certainly going to be late for the show. Our only consolation was to keep drinking, which we did.

Finally around 7, Mike comes speeding up the street. We grab the bottle of Jack, and head out the door cursing the hell out of Mike. He is as apologetic as he can be, and says he will drive fast so we aren’t too late. We blow town and Mike makes good on the promise of driving fast. We get out on the highway in his sporty Z24 Chevy Cavalier, and promptly has us booking. How booking? We topped out at 124-126 MPH. I say topped out because the engine had a regulator on it and the motor would start cutting out if you tried to go much faster. This was easily the fastest I have gone in a car. We hit the interstate to Iowa City in record time, and somehow avoiding any law enforcement entanglements along the way.

We enter Coralville (city next to Iowa City), and traffic backs up pretty bad. Stop and go. Stop and go. Stop and go. This becomes a huge problem because guess who has to pee like a son of a bitch? Russ and Mookie. We were ready to get out of the car in traffic and whiz on the Coralville Strip in front of everyone. It was horrible. Finally we made it to the University of Iowa and found proper parking near Kinnick Stadium. Russ and I bail out of the car and empty our bladders right there between the cars. Oh it hurt.

As we start our short walk towards the arena, we can hear that the concert has already started and hoped that some other group was on the bill before Brian May. No such luck. We saw him do his hit song “Driven By You” and that was about it. But hey, we at least we get to say we saw Brian May.

Our seats (which were not tremendously great) were several rows up and way back from the stage. They had video screens, so that would help. Junior and his lady finally arrived so we were all present and accounted for GN’R.

If you are familiar with anything about a GN’R show, you can probably guess what happened next. We sat there and waited. And waited. And Waited. Oh. And WE WAITED some more. God forbid f’n Axl goes on stage when he is supposed to. The crowd did its best to keep itself entertained. Some nice girls up in front of the stage had no problem showing the crowd their juggs on the video screen, so that helped pass the time.

There was of course the announcement to the house that “the band” (namely Axl) will not tolerate things thrown at them on stage. If this happens, the show will be over. I was betting the show would be over within 3 songs.

A good hour or so had passed by now and the crowd was getting pissed.  People were up milling around and talking with people they knew in the arena.  While I am sitting there watching the crowd, Junior goes:

“Hey look at that chick over there. She’s got wings.”

Me being the tard I am, and totally not understanding or seeing what he is talking about, I say:

“Wow. Those must be some tight pants.”

For some reason I thought they were talking about the wings on maxi pads. This was back when I guess they started advertising wings on pads, and obviously it had sunk into my subconscious.  I finally saw what and who they were talking about. Some chick had butterfly wings on her back.

Obviously, not the same thing.
FINALLY after over 2 GD hours, the lights went down and they announced Guns and F**king Roses. They came out and ROCKED. Axl Rose, Slash, Dizzy Reed, Gilby Clarke, Duff McKagan, and Matt Sorum put on a show. Sweet Child O’ Mine, Mr. Brownstone, Live and Let Die (that was awesome), My Michelle, Don’t Cry, November Rain, Patience, Its So Easy, and of course Paradise City were all played to fan delight.

Then all of a sudden…the show was over. Just like that. It was almost like the show shouldn’t have ended the way it did, but it did. No big encore, or taking a bow or anything.
Chalk it up to Axl being a bitch I guess.

So then in our confused state, filed out of the arena, got in our cars and drove home. 

All in all, I guess it was a quality evening…. except for Axl being a “Grade A” bitch.  But we had booze, fast cars, topless women, rock and roll, and quality pals along for the ride.  All must haves for a good show.

Oh, and that girl with the wings should have had on tighter pants.

(*) - Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Another Great Titanic Joke

The Youthful Clintons

I am a huge fan of Bill Clinton's reputation as a skirt chaser.  It makes me laugh picturing this semi-attractive/semi-goofy looking guy with a seductive southern drawl talking some gal into taking her shirt off.  With that Bill Clinton smile too.  Plus I enjoyed the placement of the volleyball in this pic. 

However - Check out the bod on Hillary Rodham.  I bet she was Bill's Secretary of State that night.  By "State" I mean what's behind that volleyball.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

One Last Easter Picture

I found this one yesterday and had to use it.  It's by far my favorite.


Tuesday, April 10, 2012

More Titanic humor

In carrying on our honoring of the 100 Year Anniversary of the Titanic sinking, I found this gem.  If you are a Johnny Knoxville fan, you will enjoy it.

Is It Racist??

YES!  It's time for America's favorite game:  Is it Racist?  You decide.
It is more of a stereotype than racism.  But then again, stereotypes are supposedly racist.

Ron Swanson Loves A Free Breakfast Buffett

Monday, April 09, 2012

Joke of the Day!!

With the 100th Anniversary of the R.M.S Titanic sinking coming up on April 15th, I thought it was appropriate for that setting to serve as the joke of the day.

"What do you get when you cross the Atlantic Ocean with the Titanic?"

About half way.

Monday Morning Stories with Mookie - Episode 11

The Time Mookie Had His First Run-In With "Dollar Don"

As a preface to this story (and the future episodes containing the title character), I must tell you about my boring ass hometown and give you a little insight to the individuals that will be discussed in this story.  My hometown is considered a "small town" with a population right around 5,500. It is the largest town in the county, and is probably "above-standard" as small Midwest towns go.

"Back in the day," it had the usual small town quota of churches, bars, gas stations, and convenience/grocery stores. It also has a few local family restaurants, as well as a Hardee's, Pizza Hut, and a Subway. Other than that, there is very little do in town. The nearest real activities were in bigger towns about 30 miles away, and poor high school kids often didn't feel like driving there.  So, to pass the time we basically hung out in parking lots and cruised "the loop" with friends. The "loop" was basically 3 main streets that the kids would travel. It went from the SW corner of town by the high school, into the edge of downtown, and then out past the Hardee's to the NW corner of town at the Pizza Hut. The entire loop was about 5 miles round trip. It was on these very streets where my story takes place.

My story begins when I was a young lad in eighth grade. I would often listen to stories my "Uncle Larry" (*) would tell about how he and his friends would go out on weekends. These stories involved chasing women, partying on random gravel roads, and any other mischief small-town high school students could get into. My favorite stories were those involving a man named "Don." Don was a man who lived in town with his wife "Claudette" and their 2 kids. They lived in a little dive of a house right next to the railroad tracks. You could say they lived on "the wrong side of the tracks." Don, his family, and his "posse" of friends unfortunatley became a magnet of harassment, and the "ground zero" of entertainment with the perpetually bored local high school kids. I would sit on the floor and laugh until I had tears coming out of my eyes due to the stories Larry would tell. They would range from exciting to the asinine. I could not wait till I was old enough to experience what went on during these random bursts of entertainment. In looking back, poor Don got the shit harassed out of him, and I'm pretty sure he loathed every school-kid that knew his name. Even though he still rues the day it all started, there is no doubt in my mind this guy is "local legend" because of it.

Don was your average lower-income guy in town. He scraped out a living for his family, and probably worked sorta hard.  After work, he spent his evenings and weekends driving around town with his family, and would often join up with friends at a local Coastal Mart gas station. Nobody is sure what they did there, but they hung out there a lot. They usually had their two young children in the van with them, and oddly kept them out very late. It was at that very gas station the legend began. The legend began like this: Don had a hole in his gas tank and he either couldn't find it or couldn't afford to fix it. When at Coastal Mart he was rumored to fill up with $1.00 worth of gas at a time. He did this so it wouldn't be full enough to leak out of the hole, but yet have enough to cruise around town for a while. (The actual basis of the story is unfounded, and it is unknown if there is even any truth to it at all).

Somehow the story started, and the word got out about this funny activity. When something like this gets out to bored-off-their-ass high school kids, you know they can't (and won't) leave it alone.  Plus when you take into consideration that a lot of the upperclassmen in my high school were not nice people, you know things are going to get started.

Thanks to the kids in town, poor Don became affectionately known as:  "Dollar Don."

Uncle Larry would tell detailed stories about how they would torment Dollar Don. The high school kids would drive by the gas station and yell "Hey Dollar!" and things of that nature. The C-Mart gas station also happened to be across the highway from the Hardee's restaurant parking lot. From that location, the taunting would also ensue and always got Don fired up. Verbal vulgarities, obscene gestures, and an occasional thrown projectile or two were not uncommon between the C-Mart and Hardee's parking lots.

The best part of all this is that Dollar Don was not alone in all of this. He had a group of friends that were dubbed LThe Dollar Don Posse." This posse included the biggest group of zeros ever accumulated on the planet. Their leader was of course "Dollar Don."  He drove a burgundy "rape" van with his lovely wife "Claudette." She came to be known as "Claude-Head" due to her not-so-good looks. Often riding around in the van with the Dollar Family were two other fellows referred to as "Slim-Jim" and "Cracker Jack." Slim-Jim was some guy named Jim who happened to be blind. Cracker Jack was a full-fledged Albino. He had the whitest hair you've ever seen, pinkish white skin, and dark glasses to shield his sensitive eyes. Cracker Jack and Slim-Jim often helped each other around due to their disabilities. The two other main characters in the Dollar Don Posse were a guy named "Beefy," and a guy named "Grape Ape." Beefy was this huge fat guy that drove around in an old red Monte Carlo. Grape-Ape was a big ugly guy. He apparently was named after the cartoon character of the same name, due to their matching looks and intelligence. He drove a supped-up junker car and often provided the "muscle" in the posse. Dollar also had a brother or two that occasionally joined in the struggle of good versus evil, but usually made little impact.

All of the vehicles in the Dollar Don Posse carried CB radios. It was via these radios they could communicate to each other if they were getting harassed, or needed to meet up at the Coastal Mart. Once it was found out by the high school kids the Dollar Posse had CB radios, those that could afford CB radios got them. Those that could not afford the CB radios rode with those that had them. It didn't take long to figure out what channel the Dollar Posse communicated on and all hell broke loose. The high school kids would taunt, curse, and degrade the Dollar Don Posse over the CB relentlessly. Exchanges would ensue; usually carrying veiled threats about kicking their ass, and things like that. The end result was usually Dollar and his buddies tracking down those people making the CB threats, and then chasing them all over town. Once he chased you, he knew who you were. He had everyone's license plate number written down in the van. If you crossed Dollar your plates were documented. Somehow, Dollar had a sensor in his van so he could tell if a vehicle was transmitting via CB. He used this to chase down those who violated the airwaves against him. From time to time, the posse would surround a car or a group of people and a fight would ensue. The cops would show up and cart off one of the Dollar Posse, usually Grape Ape, because the kids were minors and it looked like adults beating up on kids.

This was my early introduction to the man known as Dollar Don. As I grew older and ventured into high school, the stories continued. The upperclassmen handed down the stories and the information necessary to continue the "entertainment" of chasing Dollar Don.

Little did I know my first personal experience with the local legend was not far off.

One particular winter day, hours before the freshman basketball team was to board a bus for an away game, the scenario presented itself. While sitting in the gymnasium, my teammate "Kurt" (*) was talking with our mutual friend and classmate "Jerry." (*)  They were laughing and joking about something, so I checked in to see what was up. They said they were going to go "f*ck around with Dollar Don," you know - for something to do. I jumped at the chance and asked if I could go. They of course said sure, so we headed out.

While walking out to Jerry's car, he went into detail about how he and Kurt had screwed with Dollar before, and that Dollar had quite a distaste for Jerry.  Kurt let me know there was no love lost for Dollar on their end either and wished him dead. I knew right then I was not only going to experience Dollar Don harassment, I was going to see it full-on head-to-head and over-the-top. Immediately I felt the adrenaline kick in and mentally prepared myself for the unexpected.

We hopped in Jerry's car, an early 80's Olds Cutlass, and took off for Dollar's house. I sat in the backseat while Jerry drove and Kurt rode shotgun. Dollar lived on kind of a weird street. There was a frontage road that ran along side the railroad tracks to Dollar's house. At his house you could then turn right, and go down another street back out to a main street. About a 1/2 block away from Dollar's house, there was an alley that ran from the frontage road, out to the main street. It was determined that we would use this alley for most of the "confrontation" as it was close, but not close enough that Dollar could cause any immediate harm to us. Much to my excitement, Jerry decided to start the "attack" from right out in front of Dollar's house.

Jerry drove his car right up in front of Dollar's house, rolled down the windows, and layed on the horn. "F*ck you Dollar!!!" Jerry and Kurt yelled out of the window. After about 20 seconds of our honking and swearing, a portly looking fellow flew out the front door, and stood in a threatening manner on the steps. There he was: Dollar Don. The man I'd heard about for all these years was standing less than 50 feet from our car. Man, he was not a pretty sight. Messed and semi-greasy brown hair, dark rimmed glasses, a black t-shirt that covered his portly stomach, and old blue jeans. This guy had "loser" written all over him.

He yelled back at us but Jerry's incessant honking and swearing back at him drowns Dollar out. We tore off down the street and around the corner. The initial confrontation had provided results as we got Dollar's undivided attention. It was time to start our harassment from the alley. We drove up the alley to the frontage road, and see that Dollar is still standing on the front steps, arms crossed in a defiant pose. Again, the horn honking starts and "Screw you Dollar!" exclamations come from Jerry and Kurt. I am in the back seat totally laughing my ass off, as I have never seen anything like this. Dollar continues to stand on the steps with his arms crossed, and trying to look intimidating. Again, we go around the block and turn back up the alley. When we hit the top of the alley Jerry begins laying on the horn again. Dollar is still standing there in his defiant pose yelling back at us, but is still drowned out by the horn. It is something about us being punks, and a fair amount of swearing in his own right. Kurt is yelling out the window and giving Dollar the finger. Again, Jerry pulls out of the alley and proceeds around the block. We again turn up the alley, but know that Dollar's patience has to be wearing thin. Gingerly we pull to the end of the alley and see Dollar still standing there, not looking real happy about our eventual re-appearance. Jerry yells "F*ck you Dollar!" again, and apparently this time it is all that Dollar can take.

Dollar makes a mad dash for the rape van, and peels out to come after us. "Oh boy, here we go." says Jerry, who has already peeled out of the alley. Dollar is on our tail immediately. We start turning down side streets left and right trying to lose him but he is right on our ass. We turn onto a main residential street and Jerry floors it. In less than a block we are doing about 60 MPH and the van is still right on our ass. We begin nearing an intersection where we have to stop.

Jerry hits the brakes at the stop sign briefly to see if there is cross traffic, and turns left. Anticipating our left turn, Dollar pulls into the left lane of traffic and enters the intersection locking his brakes. He slides to a stop hoping to block our path, but Jerry evasively swerves out and around Dollar just missing him by a foot. Jerry then rockets down the street leaving an angry Dollar sitting in the middle of the intersection.

Not feeling satisfied with the harassment that has been done, Jerry turns the car around, and heads back over to Dollar's house for a little more action. As we near the railroad tracks, a junker car comes racing over the tracks.  Jerry let's out a surprised "Oh shit!" The junker car locks it's brakes, and cranks the wheel sliding like the cop cars do on TV during chase scenes. We cross over the hill the tracks are on, and I turn around to look out the back window. I see the car that just pulled the speed U-turn, literally jumping over the tracks in hot pursuit of us. Kurt is laughing wickedly, and stating, "That is Grape Ape!" Apparently Dollar got on the CB, and called up the posse to join in the chase. Jerry again takes various side streets, and we lose Grape Ape in the residential neighborhoods.

We looked at our watches and decided it was about time to get back to the school as the bus would be soon leaving. It was obvious Jerry wanted to continue the "activities," but knew we had to go. He dropped Kurt and I off at the school and we caught the bus for our away game. On the way to the game our teammates listened to our story, and loved every minute of it.

I also knew that further "Dollar Activities" were probably not far off in the future for my friends and me either.  I was right.

Further "nuggets" of the The Dollar Don Saga will be unveiled in future episodes down the road.

(*)  - Names changed to protect the guilty/innocent.

Sunday, April 08, 2012

Happy Easter!

The "Easter Bunny" stopped by the Breathtaking and Inappropriate office and took a few pics with some of the staff this week.  Here is Ken and Lonnie smiling proud. 

Sidenote: Lonnie tripped on his hose as he got up.  It was pretty funny.  Also..Ken is having a procedure done next week to remove the growth in his groin.  Keep him in your Easter prayers.

Wednesday, April 04, 2012

Tuesday, April 03, 2012

Monday, April 02, 2012

Monday Morning Stories with Mookie - Episode 10

The Time Mookie and Rick Started Doing The Greatest Joke Ever


Back in high school, I was a member of the varsity baseball team. I say “member” because I didn’t play a whole lot. I was an OK fielder but I COULD NOT hit a curve ball to save my life (still can’t). Therefore, my inadequate batter’s box abilities had me “riding the bench” a lot.  My only occasional reprieve from the bench was as a “courtesy runner.” After one of our players hit the ball and reached base, the coach would call “time” and I would take the person’s place on base. This was usually for our catchers or pitchers who normally weren’t fast guys. I was fast. Thanks to my speed, I could beat any catcher's throw and stole a shit-load of bases.  My left knee had a perpetual puss-covered scab all summer thanks to sliding into 2nd base on a daily basis. My team made the state tournament one year and I got to steal a base there too. That was pretty much one of the few highlights from my lame high school sports career.

Anyway.

Thankfully I was not the only one on the team that was blessed with “partial talent.” Some of my teammates could hit the shit out of the ball but lacked the speed needed to run the base paths. Some had a quality glove in the field but couldn’t hit or run worth a damn. Then there were a few that were just there because they “went out for baseball.” We didn’t have tryouts so if you went out - you were on the team.

The only real action we would see on a given day was batting practice before the game. Since we were – you know – “on the team,” the coaches had to throw batting practice to everyone before every game.  Of course the instruction and quality of “batting practice” was quite lopsided as the bench warmers would get 10 pitches to a starting player’s 20-25. On occasion, one of us “partially talented” people brought their “A” game into the batting cage and pounded line drives back at the coach. This usually garnered some patronizing “WHOOO!!! Get him outta there!! He’s hot!” If this happened within the 1st few pitches, you could guarantee you were getting less than 10 pitches. A). The coach didn’t want to get hit. And B). It didn’t make a difference because we weren’t going to play anyway.

We played double headers almost every weekday during that summer. That equates into hours of sitting on a bus going town to town, and HOURS of riding the bench. Looking back at that time, I can’t believe we had the self-esteem we did. We rarely played and when we did, it made no difference.  To distract us from feeling like total losers we were often creative with the time we had – you know - not playing baseball.


A surefire dugout gag when the team is losing - "Rally Caps."
It always provide a team with good comic relief and inspires
everyone on the team to get fired up.
What do you get when you have a bunch of high school kids being creative with the time on their hands? You get a lot of shenanigans of course.

My friend “Rick(*)” and I were dedicated bench warmers, and we did our part to support the team. For the most part I think we were a good comic relief for the players that actually got to play. We could be counted on for encouraging chatter from the dugout, and helping keep the team score book (a lost art if you ask me.) We were also quite the pranksters.

One day Rick and I came up with a gag from unknown origins, and we unleashed it on a teammate with outstanding success. It turned into the best “A-Hole Joke” we ever did. Through trial and error we decided I should play the alleged victim of the joke, because I was less likely to lose it and start laughing. Rick got to play the “A-Hole,” which worked out great because he could laugh and – you know – be an A-Hole.

Rick would start the act by talking to a prospective target about something mundane, and then he would go

“Hey. You should go ask Mookie about his Dad’s wedding ring.”

The guy would be all confused and go “Why?” To which Rick would say:

“Just go DO IT! It is HILARIOUS.”

The guy would come up to me and go “Hey, I’m supposed to ask you about your Dad’s wedding ring.”

I would look that person angrily in the face, and feign like I was looking to kick Rick’s ass. Once I “saw” Rick, I would then yell “DAMMIT RICK! It’s not funny!” The target of the prank would have this look of shock and horror because they had NO idea what can of crazy they just opened up. I would then act all dejected, and apologize to the target for being pissy. They would naturally ask “Dude, what happened?”

I’d act like the story was hard to tell, and then I would go:

"Well. My Dad was in an accident at work, and he got his left ring finger cut off. When that happened it also ruined his wedding ring.”

I’d then look at the target with a pained look and then look down. The guy would be all “Man I’m sorry! Wow.” Then he’d return to Rick and just berate him for being an insensitive callous jackass, to which Rick would laugh and laugh and laugh.

Depending on the person, we would either let the cat out of the bag right away or wait a few minutes if we felt the person could handle it.

When we did tell them, they always thought it was funny. I don’t know why either, because in reality it is a perversely sick joke. Which – again - is what you get when you get a bunch of losers trying to fill the time not playing baseball.  (Perhaps they were relieved to find out my Dad was just fine and no such accident had happened.)

The really sad part is that we have continued to execute this joke since our baseball days. One time, we even did it over e-mail to an unsuspecting guy who had e-mails going back and forth to Rick and myself separately. It worked like a charm. We have also been known to do it at random without telling the other person it was going to happen. We’d be at an event, and Rick would tell a mutual friend of ours at the event to “Ask Mookie about his Dad’s wedding ring when you see him. It’s hilarious.” So the guy would find me and say “Rick told me to ask you about your Dad’s wedding ring.” Not knowing it was coming; I could still play the part, and sell it like nothing else. The guy would then go back to Rick and call him a dick.

Then the joke would be revealed in its a-hole glory.


Yeah I know. We should probably grow up. Someday. Maybe.

(*) Names changed to protect the guilty and the innocent.