An Open Letter to Jesus and the Easter Bunny

Dear Fellas,

I just want to thank the both of you for Easter. This year was a blast. It was the first time Bekki and I got to host a formal dinner. Well, the only guests were her mother and father so I'm not sure how formal that all was. The food was exquisite. The old ball and chain whipped up a pork tenderloin flavored with garlic and Cabernet sauvignon. It was almost as good as knowing the Easter Bunny's real.

In keeping with Easter Bunny tradition, we also had a side of spinach. So, you're welcome Easter Bunny. And Jesus, I wanted to do something for you as well, but it turns out Bekki got all of her recipes from Weight Watchers so it was kinda hard to fake the whole 'guilt thing'.

It's been so long since we've talked. Lemme think, what's new. . . what's new. . . Oh! They elected some black guy as president! Can you believe that? Next thing you know we'll be banking with Asians and praying to Jews. Oops, sorry that just kinda slipped. He'll do fine, though. The black guy. Not you, Jesus. Of course you're doing fine. No one doubts that. But I do have some news you'll probably find disturbing. Um, how to put this delicately. Well, you've heard about Vermont, right? . . .

The Sick Nurse

My wife is hot. She is also sick. As her mother put it, sick enough to snot out a few oysters. If that's the case then I'm pissed, because I've been cleaning up tissues for the past few days now and have yet to find a pearl. Perhaps she was referring to Mountain Oysters.

On a positive note, feeling under the weather will only speed up her weight loss. It's hard to eat when you're slowly dying. She's lost over 15 pounds now. I am so in love with this woman. I almost feel like I owe it to her to eat healthy and live better. The key word there being 'almost'. Hey, I quit cigarettes, but I'll be damned if I quit binge drinking.

If you divert your eyes from my wife's shapely bottom and look slightly to the right, you will see three red plants. Two of those plants are red daisies that I recently purchased. The third is a small red cactus who I named Marie* after my red-headed wife. Apparently, though, cacti do not fare well exposed to the cold North Carolina climate for prolonged periods of time. I say this because Marie is now dead. The weather man said that we have a 70% chance of snow tonight. Perhaps I better move the real Marie indoors as well. That or cover her with a blanket or a tarp.

*For all of you 'fact-checkers' out there, my wife's name is Rebecca Marie.

Things I Bought

I wanted to post something today, but I wasn't sure what to write. So instead I'll just list a few of my recent purchases. First, I bought Kellog's Fruit Harvest Cereal. It is delicious. It has real strawberries and blueberries in it. I'm slowly making the transition from junk food to a healthy, organic diet. I know Kellog's isn't the same as eating a bowl of oats harvested from a farm on the outskirts of town, but it's still the first cereal I've ever enjoyed without the words Cocoa or Crunch on the box.



Did you know that Best Buy isn't selling CDs anymore? I went in for something and all they had was one rack left of the stuff they couldn't get rid of. So I browsed the pile of scraps and came across 1998's Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Blackstar. So add that to the list of things I bought. The production is low-budget and really vibes with the organic message and mood of the album. "You're not strong, only aggressive because the power ain't directed. That's why we are subjected to the will of the oppressive" (Thieves in the Night).


My third purchase was not only organic, but local as well. This lady owns a dog boutique on Main St. She makes all of these quirky dog treats. I bought one shaped like a cannoli. My dogs just wanted to suck the white filling out. Ooh, I also bought a newspaper and read it in the park downtown. I felt like such a grown-up until some kid went flying by on a bike and yelled "Ahh!!" at me. Then I just felt like a doofus (sp?).

Killing the Mailman with Calm-Assertive Energy

(Ernie, Red and Dixie)

I get a knock on the door today. So I push thru the barking dogs and step onto the front porch. The screen door shuts behind me as I ask in my most put-on baritone, "Can I help you?" The man in question is a good foot shorter than me, but still has the nerve to say, "I'm from the Post Office. Your mother called yesterday about the mailbox. . ."

My mother? Bitch, you don't know me! I quickly corrected him. "My wife?" "Yes, sorry. She said there was a problem with the height of your mailbox?" "No, that's not what she said. The mailman thinks there is a problem with the height of our mailbox. We think the problem lies in the fact that he has vandalised it". "Well, I don't see any issue with the height. I'll have to talk with him". "Well, you can talk with him, I can talk with him or the police can talk to him. Either way I don't wanna have to worry about the mailman breaking my stuff".

I was feeling a bit frustrated after the encounter. And with Bekki at work today there was no one to yell at. So even though it's been raining all day (all week), I decided to take the pack on a walk. I just finished the Cesar Millan book Be the Pack Leader as well as almost finishing off the entire first season of the Dog Whisperer with Bekki (thank you, Netflix) so I figure I could try and put some of those lessons to practice. The smell of the rain and the trees was invigorating. It just reemphasizes my belief that it's easier to find god in the woods than in the church. If you don't believe me then, hey, just ask my dogs.

Bare-Knuckled Bekki vs. the United States Postal System

I wonder how many times you can actually thump somebody in the temple until the pressure is so great that their head explodes. Bekki called the Post Office today. Some Irish prick who delivers our mail must have a real hard-on for us. Every time he comes by he's got some prank to pull. First it was scattering our mail all over our front lawn. It took me a while to get it, but I see the humor in it now. Then today he places the mail in the slot and rips off the face of the box and leaves THAT lying in the yard. I would have called the Post Office myself, but Bekki's PMS-ing so I figure I'd let her direct all of her pent up rage towards someone other than myself.

The Post Master says he's gonna send somebody out to asses the damage. I keep thinking of the Arlo Guthrie song Alice's Restaurant Massacre where a federal indictment is made out of a simple littering charge. I wonder if we'll have to give DNA samples. While we're at it we can kill two birds with one stone and find out if there's a gene that relates to intolerance of stupidity and petty vandalism. If it exists, I'm sure Bekki's a carrier.

Our minimum credit card payment is $50. We paid $400 this month. But apparently the fiber-optic scanner that reads checks sent in to the Credit Union mistook our 4 for a 9. I'm not that great at math but I believe that leaves a $500 overcharge on our account. Since the card is in Bekki's name, she again was forced to take off the gloves in a verbal beat down between us and the Credit Union. They pussed out, though, and told us to call our bank. Who, in turn, told us to call the credit card company directly. So now we have three agencies sending us complaint forms which will take 7 to 10 business days. By that time we will have entered another pay period, missed our mortgage payment, been foreclosed upon, forced to live on the streets and eat out of the dumpsters behind Ruby Tuesdays. We will have run out of money to pay for antidepressants and will probably realize what dismal existences we live and take our own lives in what will be classified as a murder-suicide (Bekki hates knives). So now the question is whether or not our bank will reimburse us for the funeral costs as our life insurance plans exclude suicide. Which reminds me, I've got to call the bank.

On second thought, I'll just get Bekki to call.

Morning Breath All Day Long

I've been obsessed with fresh breath recently. That doesn't even feel right to say. You should always be concerned with fresh breath I suppose. But with me this is mostly a new phenomenon. That's not to say that before this epiphany, this tidal wave of self-discovery that my breath was foul. But I did smell someone else's breath recently and was shocked. I can't remember who, so for the sake of a good story I'll say it was Ernie.

Ernie likes to eat things like vomit, feces and garbage. He's a dog and his breath is extremely foul, but recently it has started to smell like rancid roast beef. I suppose I should get his teeth cleaned. Ernie was a birthday present for my wife. He was her 25th birthday present to be exact. Not her last in a series of twenty five presents, but a present for her 25th year of life. I got him from the pound. I don't believe in breeders. They're nothing but practitioners of eugenics with less education. And if they are backyard breeders then they usually have no education. "How many people live at your residence?" "Just two. My wife and I". "Ok, she'll have to come down and meet the dog before you adopt him". "But it's a surprise. For her birthday". "I'm sorry, but she'll have to come down before we can release him". So I stopped by Lisa's house. She wasn't busy so I asked her if she could pretend to be Bekki for an hour. She found a ring in her jewelry box and squeezed it onto her ring finger.

Bekki was lying in bed when I walked through the door carrying Ernie. "What type of dog is he?", she asked. I told her he was a Fox Terrier. That's what the nice folks at the pound had told me. Come to find out Ernie is a Rat Terrier. The name is not nearly as impressive, but Teddy Roosevelt had a pack of 'em so I let it go. I carry a box of Altoids with me now for my breath. I don't know if they help. I give Ernie mint flavored dog treats and they sure as hell don't.

Hooray for Snow!

It snowed! And the real estate agent said it hardly ever snowed in this town. This makes it a little harder to buy into that global warming hype you always hear about. Oh, sorry for looking horrible. I just woke up.

Bradley Cooper is Water and I am a Semi-Permeable Membrane

Valentine's Day is for lovers. He's Just Not That Into You is for lonely women who eat Ben and Jerry's ice cream while reading Cosmo. I wish someone would have told me that before I took Bekki to see it on our Valentine's Day date. Having to sit through awkward sex scenes with the voluptuous Scarlett Johansson while your wife mumbles "what a whore" was the least of my frustrations. The character that Johansson sleeps with is a married man! So now I've gotta be like "Yeah, that fuckin' home wrecker! She tried to do the same thing to me last week and I was like, Bitch, please! I'm married. I think you better go fuck Bradley Cooper instead!"

The film is also produced by and co-stars Drew Barrymore. Rather foolishly, I once informed my wife that I found Ms. Barrymore moderately attractive. Thankfully she appeared quite old and wrinkly looking. This helped me to look a tad less piggish. But just as I feel I'm dodging the hot seat, Jennifer Connelly discovers that her husband is smoking behind her back even AFTER her father died of lung cancer. That's me! I've been caught TWICE smoking behind my wife's back. Once was when we were teenagers, but still! So I'm looking out the corner of my eye at Bekki and wondering if she's engaged in some sort of chick-flick transference by subconsciously redirecting Cooper's follies onto me.

Luckily Ben Affleck shows up with Jennifer Aniston on his arm. They've been dating for seven years and are madly in love. She's a little upset that he hasn't asked her to marry him, yet, but I think they'll be ok. And then, what, wait, Aniston gives Affleck an ultimatum? Marry me or this relationship is over? Ben Affleck leaves Jennifer Aniston?!? What is wrong with you, Ben? You're making me look bad over here. And all I wanted to do was take my wife to see a nice romantic movie for Valentine's Day. Justin Long? Yeah, he's not much better. He ends up becoming the nice committed guy that Ginnifer Goodwin desperately craves, but he acts like a complete tool in the process. The film's synopsis? Don't ever trust your husband around Scarlett Johansson.

Penis Envy (Part II)

But when they did finally focus, I've got this huge fleshy "prosthetic" staring me in the face. Now that's not a position I'm too comfortable with normally, but considering the circumstances this was rather amusing. The 10 inch flesh colored prosthetic had a suction cup placed behind the "base" and was stuck to Alabama's bumper. He laughed and said Huckleberry. Apparently it's an ongoing gag between the two. One leaves said prosthetic for the other to find in some unusual place. Then the other tries to top that. I questioned whether it was hers and got the expected runaround.

We both agreed that said prosthetic placed on the back bumper was funny, but inappropriate. Hood ornaments belong on the front of the car. Not the rear bumper. So after correcting her error we concluded that Rolls Royce ought to ditch their winged mascot (The Spirit of Ecstasy).

We had a good laugh. We paused. And then we laughed a little bit more just to cover up the awkwardness of it all. I told him if he got pulled over by the Fuzz to play stupid. Well, he did and, of course, he played stupid right up to the hilt. In a small sleepy town the police have nothing better to do. Nothing better to do than question unusual auto body work. They never seem to question those mud flaps with the naked ladies on 'em. I wonder if there is some lingering homophobia around these parts. That or they've never heard of penis envy.

-FIN-

Penis Envy (Part I)

I got a coworker named Alabama. I call him that to protect his anonymity and, well, because he's from Alabama. Nice guy. Real thick southern accent. He's got a story for everything. If you've seen it, he's seen it bigger and better. If you've done it, he's done it twice and never returned its phone calls.

Huckleberry's a nice gal. She's got a real high-pitched voice and always wears colorful socks. She's kinda an oddball, but has a thing for rednecks. So inevitably her and Alabama hook up. After a few weeks of giggling and sending text messages she invites his homeless hillbilly ass to stay at her place. I like this. He's a swell guy. She's a swell girl. So, this thing that's happened, I like it.

We leave work at the same time last night, Alabama and I. I'm walking him to his car, because I'm parked right beside him. I don't normally walk dudes to their cars. In fact, I'm not sure why I said I "walked him to his car" at all. What I should have said was "we were both traveling towards similar destinations when our paths crossed for a prolonged period of time". A littler wordier, but it makes more sense.

So I finally get to my car and he finally gets to his car. We do this at about the same time. They were parked right beside each other. Alabama starts laughing. I don't know what the hell he's laughing at. So he points it out to me. "Look. You don't see that? On the bumper?" I had to get a little bit closer so my eyes could focus.

Retro-Active

This post was inspired by Mr. Peter Varvel over at Plastic Bubble World. Thank you for the inspiration, Peter.

1. When I was 1 I slept in a wooden crib that my grandfather built for me.
2. When I was 2 my parents had sex for the second time and my sister was born.
3. I was being bathed once when I was 3 and managed to pee FROM the bathtub INTO the toilet that was across the room.
4. I slept in a wooded bed that I built for myself when I was 4.
5. When I was 5 my grandmother took a whole roll of film of just me eating vanilla yogurt. (She developed them in our basement/dark room)
6. When I was 6 my parents, believing married couples should have intercourse more than twice, decided to divorce and go their seperate ways.
7. I read alot of Shel Silverstein when I was 7 and was inspired to create the "Bridge to Nowhere" book series. Sadly, no publisher would take it up and I was forced to sell it to Sarah Palin.
8. At 8 years old I probably picked my nose alot.
9. When I was 9 I discovered my penis. We've been friends ever since.
10. I decided to turn 10 because I was sick of single digits.
11. When I was 11 I discovered cigarettes and pornography. (Thanks to my mother and father, respectively)
12. When I was 12 I discovered marijuana was easier to come by than alcohol.
13. By the time I was 13 I was peddling H to middle schoolers. Once they got hooked and strung out, I'd convince them to start hooking.
14. When I was 14 I kissed a girl for the first time.
15. During my freshman year of highschool, I took a creative writing class. I met my future wife in this class (I was 15).
16. I got my driver's license and started working when I was 16.
17. When I was 17, it was a very good year.
18. Graduated when I was 18.
19. I started working on a crabbing boat when I was 19.
20. After a successful day at work, Bekki made the joke that I had "got crabs". I immediately quit the crab boat.
21. I married my highschool sweetheart at 21.
22. When I was 22 my grandfather passed away.
23. Bekki and I moved up to North Carolina when I was 23.
24. When I was 24 I started writing again and discovered the wonderful world of blogging.
25. Who knows what 25 will bring. Children? Possibly.

Update

Red, the american pit bull terrier (mix?), is adjusting to life in our house (kennel) with ease. She seems extremely smart. Bekki taught her sit and lay down on command in about ten minutes. That's pretty smart for an energetic little puppy. I've been thinking about starting her real training soon. I've already got the tread mill and the raw meat to feed her. I figure if I slap her around a little bit she might lose her trust in humans and turn vicious. We leave the tv on for the dogs when we go to work (I know, right?). Bekki has been leaving it on MSNBC who are apparently having a "Lock Down: Life Behind Bars" marathon. What better way for Red to get vicious than by forcing her to watch 8 hours of brutal killers and child rapists?

My first live radio show will be Monday December 29th from 12am-4am EST (So I suppose it's technically Tuesday morning, not Monday night). If anyone is interested you can listen to the station from your PC by going to their website WNCW.org and clicking on the Listen Live button in the top left hand corner of the page. I'm listening to the station right now and it sounds crystal clear. So if anyone is curious to hear my infamous lisp/stutter, tune in Monday night (especially you guys on the West coast. With the time delay, you've got no excuse!).

Be good, Bitches!

White Hot Sexy Beast

I suppose this caption should be about the new car in the photo, but all I can think to say is how beautiful my wife looks. She seems so peaceful and serene here and not nearly as turbulent as she is in real life. Even the dog is confused.

Update

Did you hear about that guy that got the anti-pit bull legislation passed? Yeah, he got mauled to death by a pit bull. In other news, I got a dog. Or should I say a dog got me. I was driving home from work Sunday night and I almost make mashed potatoes out of this stray dog. So I pull over to see if everything's alright and it basically jumps into my car. So now we've got 3 dogs and 3 cats. Bekki says that we're officially insane, now. I think I'm inclined to believe her.

The dog is less than 4 months because she's got all her baby teeth still. She also hasn't been fixed because I can't see any scar on her belly AND because Ernie, my male Rat Terrier, won't stop trying to knock boots with her. Bekki thinks she's a pit bull mix. The vet said she's a red bone coon hound mix. I don't know what the hell she is. I'll have pictures soon, though, so you the viewer can decide.

I now have one full hour of live radio under my belt (I had to remove the balled up socks to make room). So when my first "show" happens, I'll let all of my adoring fans out in cyberspace know. The station, WNCW, has a way for you to listen live from their website. Don't worry, I'll keep you posted.

Update

If this blog seems a tad sluggish recently, I apologize. My attention has been temporarily distracted by life. Bekki and I drove to Charlotte, NC Friday night for their monthly Poetry Slam. It was the first time I've ever been on stage in front of people (350+), so the fact that I tanked is shadowed by the fact that at least I didn't soil myself or run off stage screaming. Next time I'll actually practice.

We ran into Austin at Wal-Mart yesterday. I swear to God that his mother must've banned him from talking with us. She's done it before with the other neighbors. I've already got my cappuccino truffles, though, so I don't really care who won't talk to me. Oh, 410 pages into The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt. Never mind that it's 3 months later and my wife has devoured 3 800-pagers in the process.

I've also been tied up with training down at WNCW to host their volunteer ARC Overnight program. It's a different format from what they play during the day with mostly artsy underground music. That should be fun. All that and working 50 hours a week has preoccupied me. I apologize for my cyber-absence. I promise to write more when I'm unemployed.

Ye Olde Update

Well, I've been ranting and raving for a while about how Bekki and I ordered some chocolates from the neighbor-boy, Austin. I wrongly assumed that his momma had stolen the $9 to buy cigarettes or Willie had eaten the chocolates after coming home stoned. The other night Austin and his momma came over with the chocolates. They were cappuccino truffles. Pure Heaven.

I suppose the moral is 'Judge not lest ye be judged'. Back in Charleston we had an Atlanta Bread Company and a Yankee Candle Shop right next door to each other in this quaint little shopping area. I could never remember the name of either store so I inevitably ended up referring to both stores as Ye Old Yankee Bread Shop. I think the 'Ye' came from Ye Old Fashioned Ice Cream which was across town. I'm not quite sure.

Soy Breast Milk

For those of you who read this somewhat regularly, you may be aware that my vehicle died on me a few weeks back. Well, the long search for a new car is over. After getting a great deal from Johnny Car-salesman, I am now the proud owner of TWO Kia Rios.



There are a lot of choices these days when it comes to buying a car. There are also a lot of factors that weigh into the equation such as gas prices, green technology for the environment and the economy affecting loans and interest rates. I chose color. What screams America louder than a white sedan? George Wallace? Perhaps. But what confuses me is why "environmentalists" keep pushing these hybrid cars when they are obviously not fully committed to the cause. What may the cause be? Al Gore and the Liberati may lead you to believe that they're fighting for the well-being of the planet and all of its creatures. I get the feeling it's a bit more sinister than that.

Gasoline is an American tradition. Why are liberals so intent on destroying these cornerstones of American values? Perhaps they are all secret Muslims hell-bent on eradicating freedom. Maybe their mothers stopped breast-feeding them too early. Or just maybe they hate the sweet smelling aroma of petroleum and garbage that perfumes the modern-day watering holes we call gas stations. It may smell like shit to you, but to a plumber shit smells like profit.

Why do the Liberati push hybrids so much, anyways? Because electric cars are too expensive and the average Joe Sixpack can't possibly afford one? No, it's because they want to slowly lure you away from petroleum. The liberal automotive elite understand that Americans love gasoline. So they've teamed up with the liberal scientific elite to create a car that satisfies both the environmentalist and the real American. To me that just sounds like pandering. Don't test the waters, liberal (insert noun here) elite, just jump right in and feel that cold rush of regret wash over you. Go ahead and build that two door coupe that runs on rainbows and organic milk. When you do, though, that milk better be soy. If it's not, that's just insensitive to cows and the lactose intolerant.

Dia de los Muertos Part III

Just to quickly recap, I've put the highlights in bullet form:

-Renee is a woman who works for me
-Renee is crazy
-Renee believes a ghost is haunting her house
-Michael is Italian (sort of)
-Renee believes the Italians killed Jesus Christ
-Jesus Christ is responsible for countless wars and billions of lost lives
-Lives are something only appreciated in theory by Republicans (ie Abortion of the Unborn vs Abortion of the Born thru War and the Death Penalty)
-Renee is crazy (wait, did I say that already?)

In case you're wondering, she did end up calling that Roman Catholic priest. Apparently he kept referring to her as "baby". This led her to believe that it was an impostor on the other end of the line. Maybe she dialed the wrong number? Maybe she imagined the whole thing during a schizophrenic episode? Those would be logical answers. The only answer Renee could muster up was that it was the spirit communicating with her through an unrelated human medium.

To briefly sum up these events:

-Renee is crazy
-Renee's sister hung herself
-Renee's sister hung herself exactly three years ago to the day
-The anniversary of her sister's suicide has now passed
-Renee is not crazy any longer
-Well. . . I guess 'less crazy' would be a better way to describe Renee.
-Happy Halloween!

Dia de los Muertos Part II

-OR-

Il Diavolo Siciliano

"My brother would kill me if he found out I got a priest comin' over to bless my house". "Why?" I asked, "He doesn't believe in ghosts?" "No. He just doesn't have anything to do with those Roman Catholics".

Despite her brother, Moses, having killed someone, I knew that he considered himself a very religious man. "Hating Catholics isn't very Christian-like, you know".

"Oh, he doesn't hate Catholics. Just the ROMAN Catholics. They're the ones that killed Jesus. Not the Jews. The Romans".

I was perplexed as how to approach this argument but gave it my best shot. "You do understand that the Roman Catholic Church is just a denomination of Christianity, right? The Romans don't actually exist as a people any longer". "Oh, yes they do!" "You mean the Italians?" "That's right!"

I paused. "Renee, you do realize that I'm Italian, don't you?" I wanted to scream Can't you see it on my face!?! The olive skin! The Mediterranean hook-nose! The dark, coarse hair! The god-like beauty! She looked at me puzzled. "No you're not". I looked down at my ID badge, "Michael Anthony DeAn- err, I mean- Valentino! If my name had legs it would walk to Brooklyn and open its own pizza place".

I couldn't convince Renee that ghosts weren't real, but I think I did manage to convince her that I was indeed Italian. She left work that day swearing to get in contact with the priest despite what her brother on the hill thought. It doesn't bother me that Renee hates Italians, but I helped slay Jesus? No, Mel Gibson did that.

Dia de los Muertos Part I

"I got a ghost in my house! I swear to God I do!" That was the impassioned ranting of a co-worker named Renee. Citing her past tendencies to create her own realities and truths, I temporarily ignored her. But it didn't stop.

"My daughter hears it, too! Everyone that comes over to my house hears it! It sounds like Big Foot's walkin upstairs!" I found it a little incredulous that she referenced a mythical man/beast to help plead her case, but continued to follow her logic for the sheer delight of it. "I had all my neighbors come over and search the upstairs and none of 'em could find nothin! Then when they'd come back downstairs you could hear it. It was like Big Foot, I tell you. Big Foot".

I then proceeded to explain to her how our Biometric Time Clock is actually what the Bible references as the 'Mark of the Beast' and randomly hummed the refrain from John Carpenter's Halloween. This frightened her to the point of painting giant crosses in the windows of her home. I found all of it amusing. Her landlord, however, might not share my sense of humor.