For years, I have kept a backlog of stories and anecdotes in the steel reinforced folds of the back of my brain. It is the place where my beliefs and certain truths hang out along with the fog of bad memories that can’t or shouldn’t be forgotten. Many of these sayings were put there by my father. Whenever I come upon and instance that cannot be undone or a tough problem that needs solved, I reach back there and pull one out to explain the situation away or to get me working on the task. Sayings like, “You can’t get all the oil out of an oil can,” and “Make potato salad chunky so that people can pick out what they don’t like.”
One of these certain truths is “It’s the last bolt that always sticks.” It is a saying that is part Murphy’s Law and part Bad Luck that has cursed my family for years. Or at least it did until a few weeks ago.
The summer break before my junior year of college had me living at home, roofing during the weekdays and going out just about every night. On this particular Saturday morning, I woke up from four hours of sleep with a bit of a hangover. Dad was calling for me to get dressed and ready to go. Sitting mostly up in bed, I remembered that Dad’s 1987 Reliant wagon had broken down on the 270 outer belt in Columbus and we needed to go up and fix it. I was needed as monkey boy and to drive the second car back.
As we drove up to Columbus, Dad explained that the alternator had been going out and it finally gave up on his way home from work on Friday afternoon. After he called mom to pick him up, he called the Columbus City Police to tell them he’d be back up the next morning to get the station wagon. They said they would not tow it.
To get to the station wagon, we had to drive past it on the opposite side of the road and loop back around at an exit. We parked and got the tools out. I stood around and half listened as Dad spoke of car engines in Korea and how back in World War 2 “the Japanese were awful bastards” and “they were smaller and would shoot you in the knees.” It was then that the family curse snuck up on us again. There were four bolts that held the alternator in place. And just like the last bolt or last screw or the last nut from times before, the last bolt was stuck. Dad applied force and more force. He Liquid Wrenched and tapped. He bruised the back of his hands and split his knuckles open. He pleaded and cursed. He went so far as to have me try to remove it. The last bolt was stuck. So we stood on the side of the road, taking turns at giving it one more try with dad lamenting, “Why does it always have to be the last bolt?”
And then, with a crack , Dad freed the stubborn last bolt.
And in that split second, the world was good and everything was going to be all right.
We took the part to a dealership and Dad asked how much a replacement would be. He laughed at the lady though the window, “You’ve got to be kidding?” The dealership cost was four times what it cost at the parts store in Lancaster. Dad was outraged! Dad was also not in a place to bargain. He paid for it and we left. In the car he said that he would install the new alternator, go back to Lancaster and buy a cheaper replacement and then return the expensive one back to the dealership. Clever!
As we drove past the broken down car for the second time that day, we couldn’t help but notice that this time the car’s front end was elevated and attached to a City of Columbus tow truck. Dad tried to roll down the window and yell, “No! No! No!” but at 65 mph it was impossible. We zoomed up and over the exit with dad’s incredulous mutterings filling the car with rage. By the time we reached the spot, all of the tow truck and most the station wagon were gone. We had left the nuts, bolts and tools sitting on top of the engine and some escaped through the bottom of the engine with the help of gravity when the tow truck pulled away. The parts lie there on the side of the road like a police outline of a dead body. The others were probably leaving a trail, like bread crumbs, around 270 and to the impound lot.
Dad was so enraged that he could not speak or yell. I didn’t say anything for fear of giving his anger purchase. Without a word he drove to a phone booth and called the police. They said there was nothing they could do, pick your car up from the impound lot and have a nice day.
We drove to the impound lot and paid for the car’s release and several fees. Dad mentioned that we needed to put a part in the car and the lady said that no work was allowed to be done on the lot and that we would have to pay to have the car towed off the lot and to the side of the road. Dad said, “Oh… no thanks. We’ll just drive it off and repair it.” As we walked out, I said that couldn’t drive it without repairing it. Dad flatly smiled, “We’ll see about that.”
Dad marched alone into the lot with a wrench and the new alternator, his pockets clunking with the escaped nuts and bolts.
And somehow, in less than eight minutes, he drove the mostly functional station wagon around to the parking lot. By some means, using the remaining parts and tools that had remained in cracks and crevices of the engine, he got the alternator partially installed, slapped on the belt and tightened it enough to get to the lot.
He spent a few minutes tightening the existing bolts and re-adjusting the belt. “That will be enough to get us home. Follow me.” And then we drove off separately together.
Fast forward (or go back in time) to three weeks ago. In a conversation with my sister concerning the welfare of my father and the deteriorating state of the home we grew up in, I had a revelation. The fourth bolt is NOT the one that always sticks. Sure it’s got a 1 in 4 chance of being the stickiest, but it’s usually not. What happens is that when I come upon something that creates a road block, I save it for last and do the easy things first. It might be subconscious, but in this case, if the first bolt sticks, I’d move on to the second. When I get back around to the first bolt, it is no longer the sticky first, but The Last Bolt.
And the curse was lifted.
There will still be sticky bolts in my future, but I cannot allow myself to think that it’s The Last Bolt or there by fate. When I come upon something difficult, I need to face it head on instead of moving on to the easier tasks.
These writings are not a backlash upon my father or his faults. He has taught us valuable lessons and shared with us endless stories (not all of them involving war and death) that have crafted me into the person I am today. But he has faults and it is time that I started to recognize these. By recognizing them, I can see them in myself and correct them before my children become engrained with them. From this story alone, there are several instances:
If you know a car part is going bad, don’t wait until it breaks before you fix it. The same goes for teeth and internal organs.
Get all the necessary parts together before you start a project. If you don’t know what parts, ask.
Be patient and follow directions. (That can of Liquid Wrench said to wait twenty minutes to allow it to work. Just about the same amount of time we hopelessly worked on the bolt.)
Cockamamie schemes cost time and money (Dad never returned to the dealership to return the high priced alternator.)
So before you leave these writings with a heavy heart, let me remind you that Dad never gave up. As much as it is a fault, he wanted to take care of his problems himself. When he was told he couldn’t work on the car at the impound lot, he bucked the system and fixed it. Proud and stubborn are strengths as much as they are flaws.
I still keep a backlog of sayings. My new one is, “Do your difficult homework first,” which I will impress upon my son and daughter through word and by deed. It sits right in front of “Last Bolt” which has since been un-fogged and reclassified as a good memory.
REAL College Essentials
Screw the laptop and mini-fridge. Here are the real essentials that every college student should own.
Shampoo Bottle Pee Detector
This device is embedded in your shampoo and/or conditioner cap and beeps to let you know when someone has peed in your shampoo bottle. It happens more than you think and your shiny locks aren’t always because of rinsing and repeating.
Condom Wrapper Gum
These innocent pieces of gum come in packaging that look like condom wrappers. If you are not getting any, you can leave them laying around and act like you are. If you parents are visiting and find real condom wrappers, you can say they are gum. If you are banging a chick and smell wintergreen, you might want to pull out before you "blow your bubble."
Marijuana/Daisy Hybrid Plants
This plant looks like daisies, but smokes like marijuana. Grow weed without getting caught. Give your boyfriend/girlfriend a gift that keeps on giving. Comes with Baby’s Breath rolling papers.
Stall Saver
A necessity for the dorms. Fake boots and pant legs that sit in the bathroom stall so you can save a spot for yourself for the cafeteria food induced ass explosion. Those other schmucks will see the boots under the stall and wait for the "person" to finish as they listen to the pre-recorded grunts and groans that emanate from the hidden mp3 player. After lunch, just walk by those suckers waiting in line and pass the time with the rolled up playboy in the boot.
"Walk-of-Shame" Survival Kit
Kit includes: change of clothes, sunglasses, aspirin, map of campus, list of pillow talk conversation starters and fake phone number. (See Sorority Girl Initiation Kit for pregnancy tests.)
Practice Sheep Genitalia
Great for hopeful Fraternity rushees. Don’t look foolish when confronted with a sheep for the first time during rush week. Use these ultra realistic sheep parts to work on your grip and trust technique.
Cumstain Sheets
These sheets make dorm sleeping tranquil. 300 thread count, Egyptian sheets are pre-printed with cumstains to ward off agile roommates looking to hook up in every nook and cranny of the dorm room.
Sorority Girl Initiation Kit
Comes with "Freshman 15" weight scale that automatically deducts fifteen pounds, 'Idiot's Guide to Bulimia' handbook with extra long tongue depressor and twelve pack pregnancy tests.
Shampoo Bottle Pee Detector
This device is embedded in your shampoo and/or conditioner cap and beeps to let you know when someone has peed in your shampoo bottle. It happens more than you think and your shiny locks aren’t always because of rinsing and repeating.
Condom Wrapper Gum
These innocent pieces of gum come in packaging that look like condom wrappers. If you are not getting any, you can leave them laying around and act like you are. If you parents are visiting and find real condom wrappers, you can say they are gum. If you are banging a chick and smell wintergreen, you might want to pull out before you "blow your bubble."
Marijuana/Daisy Hybrid Plants
This plant looks like daisies, but smokes like marijuana. Grow weed without getting caught. Give your boyfriend/girlfriend a gift that keeps on giving. Comes with Baby’s Breath rolling papers.
Stall Saver
A necessity for the dorms. Fake boots and pant legs that sit in the bathroom stall so you can save a spot for yourself for the cafeteria food induced ass explosion. Those other schmucks will see the boots under the stall and wait for the "person" to finish as they listen to the pre-recorded grunts and groans that emanate from the hidden mp3 player. After lunch, just walk by those suckers waiting in line and pass the time with the rolled up playboy in the boot.
"Walk-of-Shame" Survival Kit
Kit includes: change of clothes, sunglasses, aspirin, map of campus, list of pillow talk conversation starters and fake phone number. (See Sorority Girl Initiation Kit for pregnancy tests.)
Practice Sheep Genitalia
Great for hopeful Fraternity rushees. Don’t look foolish when confronted with a sheep for the first time during rush week. Use these ultra realistic sheep parts to work on your grip and trust technique.
Cumstain Sheets
These sheets make dorm sleeping tranquil. 300 thread count, Egyptian sheets are pre-printed with cumstains to ward off agile roommates looking to hook up in every nook and cranny of the dorm room.
Sorority Girl Initiation Kit
Comes with "Freshman 15" weight scale that automatically deducts fifteen pounds, 'Idiot's Guide to Bulimia' handbook with extra long tongue depressor and twelve pack pregnancy tests.
Crap that Shouldn’t Be Happening at a Wedding Reception
I was going to call this Top Ten Wedding Reception Pet Peeves, but I can’t stand people that have pet peeves. Instead, here is a list of ten items that you should take note of and try to avoid when planning a wedding reception. I apologize for making fun of you if you have already had your wedding reception and did one of these items.
Long Time Between the Service and Reception
I understand that you really wanted your service at Church X and that you couldn't have your reception anywhere but Place Y and that Photographer Z could only do the group shots after the wedding and to coordinate all those desires you have a three hour gap between the wedding and the reception. I know that you’ll be busy in that time, but I have absolutely nothing to do except to sit in a bar and drink. Now all of a sudden you got a reception full of people that have been angrily drinking for three hours. I know you think the wedding is for you, but it’s really about your guests. For your next marriage (cause there’s no way that anyone who planned that bullshit will ever keep a spouse) have both the wedding and the reception at the bingo hall. (Of course, there were two months between my wedding and the reception. Guilty as charged.)
Get “The Business” Done
Once you realized that the wedding and reception should be back to back, you also need to understand that I only came because you are a second cousin and I have some things which may or may not be better than this to do. In your planning, make sure you cram all that traditional crap all together in the first 30 minutes of the reception so that I can leave and not look like a big jerk. I expect the Best Man / Chick of Honor speech to run right into the cake cutting and as you are wiping the cake off your face you should be having your first dance/dance with dad and then throw the bouquet. Then everyone can drink uninterrupted or leave as they see fit. Don’t be a prima donna and stretch out all the fluff and have everything perfectly staged and managed. Get in, get it done, get out.
Not Enough Bartenders
I am a big fan of open bar, but I understand that your friends are alcoholics and that a cash bar helps to slow them down. What I can’t stand is when a wedding of 200 has one bar with two bartenders. If I am stuck in line with an empty glass, that means that I’ll also be stuck talking with one of your spouse’s relatives. You don’t want me to talk to your spouse’s relatives because I might let the mountain goat story slide out and I don’t think the statute of limitations is up on that one, pal. A reception should have a minimum of two bartenders with one bartender for every 50 people. And while I think a cash bar is fine for wine and liquor, pony up the cash for a keg or two so that your poor friends that could only afford to get you a box of Tide can have something to drink.
The DJ
Don’t trust your buddy with an iPod and two speakers to DJ your wedding. Hire a real DJ. But during your interview, make sure you tell them that 4/5th of their payment will be held back until after the event and possibly forfeited if they break any of the following rules:
#1 No Macarena
#2 Only ONE line dance
#3 Stick to the genres of music that will be provided to you before the event. Don’t stray.
#4 NO FUCKING CONGA LINE
#5 The DJ is allowed to give their phone number out to one pre-approved guest.
#6 No props.
#7 If I see a disco ball or a single multicolor rotating light, you will be beaten with a rental folding chair. Either come with a 35K lighting show or don’t bring anything.
#8 You get one drink when the wedding is ¾ done. You can drink any of the leftovers when the reception is over.
#9 Do you really need an assistant? You are hitting NEXT on an iPod for fucks sake.
#10 And most of all… don’t give color commentary on anything that any one is doing. You are to speak only when announcing events as they happen. Don’t tell us what song you are going to play next. Don’t tell us how lovely the bride looks. Don’t mention that Aunt Eleanor is really shaking it with that new hip. Just keep hitting play and you’ll get your check.
Release the Tables
If you are too cheap to have servers bring the dry chicken and salty asparagus to your guests, you might decide to have a buffet. That’s fine because your guests aren’t really worth the extra $7,500. But if you do have a buffet, don’t leave it up to your guests to decide when they should stand up to go stand in line. Release the tables by number or have a couple of family members do it for you. Just don’t pretend like your starving guests can regulate the line. Someone is going to ditch Aunt Elenaor and she has been pretty feisty since she got that hip replaced. I once attended a wedding where the father of the bride walked into a room with over 250+ people in it and said, “The buffet line is open,” and left. 250+ people looked at each other for six seconds and then stood up in unison to head towards the food. Miss Sally and I walked the fuck out.
Invite Guests at the Last Minute
Don’t invite last minute guests that you meet through the wedding process. It’s bad enough you have to invite the padre and the photographer. At a wedding recently, one of the guests asked about two of the scantily clad guests who were spending a lot of time grinding on relatives and each other. The reply was that the two girls were the strippers from the bachelor party and the groom took such a liking to them that he invited them to the wedding. TRUE STORY.
Cake Smash
Don’t smash the cake in each other’s faces. And if you do, plan it out ahead of time so you both do it to each other in some fun way that will make it to YouTube so that you can generate some ad revenue and pay for the third and fourth bartender.
Dancing
This one has to do more with a combination of the DJ and the guests, but I clearly blame the guests for this one. Receptions must be successful. Even if the bride and groom do everything as instructed above, the reception can fail if you, the guest, don’t dance. Don’t make the bride pull you off your chair and on to the dance floor. Suck it up for one night and dance. If you see the floor is empty, tell your pals to get off their asses and at least sway out on the dance floor. This is the one opportunity for the DJ to use his “Line Dance” card. Make sure he doesn’t blow it in the first ten minutes of the reception. Come on… just dance. You saw Footloose, Willard… you know how to dance.
The “Kill You” Speech
I didn’t think this one was real, but I have witnessed it at three (yes, three) weddings. At some point during the Best Man speech, someone, either a family member or close female friend, will profess their family/friend love of the bride and then say something along the lines of, “…and if you ever hurt her, I (we) will hunt you down and kill you.” Are you fucking kidding me? You might be saying it in jest, but it makes you sound A) creepy and B) creepy. Just tell them how happy you are for them and sit down. And really, if you feel the need to say this, look at your own meaningless, empty life and try to figure out why you feel the need to say such things. There is still hope for you. Maybe.
Complainers
You are familiar with this list and understand that some people make mistakes in the planning of their receptions. Now keep it to yourself, asshole. There is a time and a place to complain about a reception and that is the day after. Don’t bitch about the DJ or the bartenders or how long shit is taking during the reception. You are a guest and you should act like one. Get off you ass and dance. Stand in the bar line and chat it up with Uncle Chris. Laugh at the DJs commentary about how the Bride and Groom will be (insert sexual innuendo here) later. No one is perfect. Especially the guy who had his reception in a bingo hall, with no DJ except for a crappy CD player, had volunteer bartenders, and will never ever ever be allowed to help plan with his wedding reception again. Even though now I’ve got to throw a second one to make up for the first.
Long Time Between the Service and Reception
I understand that you really wanted your service at Church X and that you couldn't have your reception anywhere but Place Y and that Photographer Z could only do the group shots after the wedding and to coordinate all those desires you have a three hour gap between the wedding and the reception. I know that you’ll be busy in that time, but I have absolutely nothing to do except to sit in a bar and drink. Now all of a sudden you got a reception full of people that have been angrily drinking for three hours. I know you think the wedding is for you, but it’s really about your guests. For your next marriage (cause there’s no way that anyone who planned that bullshit will ever keep a spouse) have both the wedding and the reception at the bingo hall. (Of course, there were two months between my wedding and the reception. Guilty as charged.)
Get “The Business” Done
Once you realized that the wedding and reception should be back to back, you also need to understand that I only came because you are a second cousin and I have some things which may or may not be better than this to do. In your planning, make sure you cram all that traditional crap all together in the first 30 minutes of the reception so that I can leave and not look like a big jerk. I expect the Best Man / Chick of Honor speech to run right into the cake cutting and as you are wiping the cake off your face you should be having your first dance/dance with dad and then throw the bouquet. Then everyone can drink uninterrupted or leave as they see fit. Don’t be a prima donna and stretch out all the fluff and have everything perfectly staged and managed. Get in, get it done, get out.
Not Enough Bartenders
I am a big fan of open bar, but I understand that your friends are alcoholics and that a cash bar helps to slow them down. What I can’t stand is when a wedding of 200 has one bar with two bartenders. If I am stuck in line with an empty glass, that means that I’ll also be stuck talking with one of your spouse’s relatives. You don’t want me to talk to your spouse’s relatives because I might let the mountain goat story slide out and I don’t think the statute of limitations is up on that one, pal. A reception should have a minimum of two bartenders with one bartender for every 50 people. And while I think a cash bar is fine for wine and liquor, pony up the cash for a keg or two so that your poor friends that could only afford to get you a box of Tide can have something to drink.
The DJ
Don’t trust your buddy with an iPod and two speakers to DJ your wedding. Hire a real DJ. But during your interview, make sure you tell them that 4/5th of their payment will be held back until after the event and possibly forfeited if they break any of the following rules:
#1 No Macarena
#2 Only ONE line dance
#3 Stick to the genres of music that will be provided to you before the event. Don’t stray.
#4 NO FUCKING CONGA LINE
#5 The DJ is allowed to give their phone number out to one pre-approved guest.
#6 No props.
#7 If I see a disco ball or a single multicolor rotating light, you will be beaten with a rental folding chair. Either come with a 35K lighting show or don’t bring anything.
#8 You get one drink when the wedding is ¾ done. You can drink any of the leftovers when the reception is over.
#9 Do you really need an assistant? You are hitting NEXT on an iPod for fucks sake.
#10 And most of all… don’t give color commentary on anything that any one is doing. You are to speak only when announcing events as they happen. Don’t tell us what song you are going to play next. Don’t tell us how lovely the bride looks. Don’t mention that Aunt Eleanor is really shaking it with that new hip. Just keep hitting play and you’ll get your check.
Release the Tables
If you are too cheap to have servers bring the dry chicken and salty asparagus to your guests, you might decide to have a buffet. That’s fine because your guests aren’t really worth the extra $7,500. But if you do have a buffet, don’t leave it up to your guests to decide when they should stand up to go stand in line. Release the tables by number or have a couple of family members do it for you. Just don’t pretend like your starving guests can regulate the line. Someone is going to ditch Aunt Elenaor and she has been pretty feisty since she got that hip replaced. I once attended a wedding where the father of the bride walked into a room with over 250+ people in it and said, “The buffet line is open,” and left. 250+ people looked at each other for six seconds and then stood up in unison to head towards the food. Miss Sally and I walked the fuck out.
Invite Guests at the Last Minute
Don’t invite last minute guests that you meet through the wedding process. It’s bad enough you have to invite the padre and the photographer. At a wedding recently, one of the guests asked about two of the scantily clad guests who were spending a lot of time grinding on relatives and each other. The reply was that the two girls were the strippers from the bachelor party and the groom took such a liking to them that he invited them to the wedding. TRUE STORY.
Cake Smash
Don’t smash the cake in each other’s faces. And if you do, plan it out ahead of time so you both do it to each other in some fun way that will make it to YouTube so that you can generate some ad revenue and pay for the third and fourth bartender.
Dancing
This one has to do more with a combination of the DJ and the guests, but I clearly blame the guests for this one. Receptions must be successful. Even if the bride and groom do everything as instructed above, the reception can fail if you, the guest, don’t dance. Don’t make the bride pull you off your chair and on to the dance floor. Suck it up for one night and dance. If you see the floor is empty, tell your pals to get off their asses and at least sway out on the dance floor. This is the one opportunity for the DJ to use his “Line Dance” card. Make sure he doesn’t blow it in the first ten minutes of the reception. Come on… just dance. You saw Footloose, Willard… you know how to dance.
The “Kill You” Speech
I didn’t think this one was real, but I have witnessed it at three (yes, three) weddings. At some point during the Best Man speech, someone, either a family member or close female friend, will profess their family/friend love of the bride and then say something along the lines of, “…and if you ever hurt her, I (we) will hunt you down and kill you.” Are you fucking kidding me? You might be saying it in jest, but it makes you sound A) creepy and B) creepy. Just tell them how happy you are for them and sit down. And really, if you feel the need to say this, look at your own meaningless, empty life and try to figure out why you feel the need to say such things. There is still hope for you. Maybe.
Complainers
You are familiar with this list and understand that some people make mistakes in the planning of their receptions. Now keep it to yourself, asshole. There is a time and a place to complain about a reception and that is the day after. Don’t bitch about the DJ or the bartenders or how long shit is taking during the reception. You are a guest and you should act like one. Get off you ass and dance. Stand in the bar line and chat it up with Uncle Chris. Laugh at the DJs commentary about how the Bride and Groom will be (insert sexual innuendo here) later. No one is perfect. Especially the guy who had his reception in a bingo hall, with no DJ except for a crappy CD player, had volunteer bartenders, and will never ever ever be allowed to help plan with his wedding reception again. Even though now I’ve got to throw a second one to make up for the first.
Greg and Dad
I didn't notice until we got to the game that Miss Sally had picked out the Homestar Runner t-shirt for Greg. With me in my Midnight Mountain Club t-shirt, we make a good pair.
WTF: Dude at Panera with desktop computer
Either that dude couldn't wait to get home for the unboxing or he was Jonesin' for some wi-fi.
Photo courtesy of @tgoodnight
Photo courtesy of @tgoodnight
Phertatradon
The Phertatradon is the most feared dinosaur in the world. If you take its photo, it will charge and more than likely kill the photographer.
Fear the Phertatradon.
Fear the Phertatradon.
Local Man Discouraged his Ron Paul 2008 Sign Still Hasn’t Been Stolen
Westerville OH (HJ) – It has been almost two years to the day since John Laughlin of Westerville, Ohio defensively stuck his Ron Paul for President ’08 sign in his front yard. Since that time he has waited, sometimes inside and, more frequently, outside in the bushes next to his home, for the sign to be vandalized or stolen. For two years, no one has touched the sign.
Mr. Laughlin planned on having the first altercation with anti-Paulites within the first two weeks of putting the sign in his front yard. “At first I set up a web cam and some motion detectors. When I didn’t get a peep out of them, I assumed that the electronics were malfunctioning. Now I sit and wait between my two prized Juniper bushes.” Mr. Laughlin has moved the sign closer to the sidewalk and made sure the sign isn’t pushed too far into the dirt to aid any would-be-thieves in running off with the sign.
With the November elections around the corner, a heated battle for Governor of Ohio between Ted Strickland and challenger John Kasich has begun. Already campaign signs are being vandalized and stolen and Laughlin doesn’t like it. “Ralph down the street had his Strickland sign knocked over seven minutes after he stuck it in the dirt. Yeardley had two of his Kasich signs thrown in the street. These vandals don’t have a clue about real politics.”
Time is ticking for Mr. Laughlin, “I’ve got less than two years to get this sign stolen. After that, I’ve gotta put up a new sign for the next election.” While Mr. Laughlin doesn’t like the idea of having to buy a Ron Paul 2012 sign, he hasn’t completely given up home yet, “I’m actually considering stealing my own sign and then filing a report.”
Mr. Laughlin planned on having the first altercation with anti-Paulites within the first two weeks of putting the sign in his front yard. “At first I set up a web cam and some motion detectors. When I didn’t get a peep out of them, I assumed that the electronics were malfunctioning. Now I sit and wait between my two prized Juniper bushes.” Mr. Laughlin has moved the sign closer to the sidewalk and made sure the sign isn’t pushed too far into the dirt to aid any would-be-thieves in running off with the sign.With the November elections around the corner, a heated battle for Governor of Ohio between Ted Strickland and challenger John Kasich has begun. Already campaign signs are being vandalized and stolen and Laughlin doesn’t like it. “Ralph down the street had his Strickland sign knocked over seven minutes after he stuck it in the dirt. Yeardley had two of his Kasich signs thrown in the street. These vandals don’t have a clue about real politics.”
Time is ticking for Mr. Laughlin, “I’ve got less than two years to get this sign stolen. After that, I’ve gotta put up a new sign for the next election.” While Mr. Laughlin doesn’t like the idea of having to buy a Ron Paul 2012 sign, he hasn’t completely given up home yet, “I’m actually considering stealing my own sign and then filing a report.”
Transcript of the Patton Oswalt "Black Angus" stand-up
Patton Oswalt - Black Angus
I am getting a st… I'm gonin’.. when I fly back to LA tomorrow I am going to the Buggy Whip restaurant and getting a giant fucking steak. You heard me! I enjoy steak too much because I hate hippies so much. You know what I mean. I enjoy it more than I think I actually enjoy it. Every time you eat a steak, like a hippy’s hacky sack goes down the gutter, you know, “Oh man, oh dude, what the fuck man.” Every time you eat a steak a hippy’s hacky sack goes into the sewer. Always remember that.
And I like the… I mean I’ll go to Lawrys and Ruth’s Chris, the really high end steak houses. But I’ll go to the shitball steak house, I don’t care. Outback. Blank Angus. I’m there, it’s steak. Not so much Black Angus, thought. Cause do you remember how friendly the ads for Black Angus use to be? They like, Come on in! Have a steak. How about a baked potato? You’re like, how bout yeah! I’ll see you tomorrow night. Table for two, 7:15.
Now the ads for Black Angus, have you noticed how it’s turned into this gauntlet of angry food? It’s almost like they’re like challenging you?
“At Black Angus, we’ll start you off with our appetizer platter, featuring five jumbo deep fried gulf shrimp, served on a disk of salted butter, with 15 of our potato bacon bombs and a big bowl of pork cracklins with our cheese and butter dippin’ sauce. “
Your like, um we’re all gonna split that…
“Awe, you’ll each get your own!”
“Then well take you to our mile long soup and salad bar featuring bacon and cheese cream soup and our five head of ice burg lettuce He-Man salad, served in a punch bowl with 18 pounds of ranch dressing, pork stuff deep fried croutons and, what the hell, a couple of corn dogs.”
Uh, hey man, I tell you what, I’ll just get like a mixed green salad.
“Hey, I’ll suck a cock on the Golden Gate Bridge before I bring you a mixed green buddy.”
I.. what? I?
“Then we’ll wheel out our bottomless trough of friend dough.”
Wait a minute, am I getting a steak?
“Oh you’ll get a fucking steak. Cause then we’ll bring out our 55 ounce Lost Mesa, He-Man steak slab, served with a deep fried pumpkin, stuffed with buttered scallops and 53 of our potato bacon bombs.”
Oh dude, I don’t think…
“And then bend over Abigail May cause here comes the gravy pipe.”
What?
“Black Angus, door are locked from the outside, faggot!”
But, no. What, when did I?
“At Black Angus, your name is Peaches.”
I am getting a st… I'm gonin’.. when I fly back to LA tomorrow I am going to the Buggy Whip restaurant and getting a giant fucking steak. You heard me! I enjoy steak too much because I hate hippies so much. You know what I mean. I enjoy it more than I think I actually enjoy it. Every time you eat a steak, like a hippy’s hacky sack goes down the gutter, you know, “Oh man, oh dude, what the fuck man.” Every time you eat a steak a hippy’s hacky sack goes into the sewer. Always remember that.
And I like the… I mean I’ll go to Lawrys and Ruth’s Chris, the really high end steak houses. But I’ll go to the shitball steak house, I don’t care. Outback. Blank Angus. I’m there, it’s steak. Not so much Black Angus, thought. Cause do you remember how friendly the ads for Black Angus use to be? They like, Come on in! Have a steak. How about a baked potato? You’re like, how bout yeah! I’ll see you tomorrow night. Table for two, 7:15.
Now the ads for Black Angus, have you noticed how it’s turned into this gauntlet of angry food? It’s almost like they’re like challenging you?
“At Black Angus, we’ll start you off with our appetizer platter, featuring five jumbo deep fried gulf shrimp, served on a disk of salted butter, with 15 of our potato bacon bombs and a big bowl of pork cracklins with our cheese and butter dippin’ sauce. “
Your like, um we’re all gonna split that…
“Awe, you’ll each get your own!”
“Then well take you to our mile long soup and salad bar featuring bacon and cheese cream soup and our five head of ice burg lettuce He-Man salad, served in a punch bowl with 18 pounds of ranch dressing, pork stuff deep fried croutons and, what the hell, a couple of corn dogs.”
Uh, hey man, I tell you what, I’ll just get like a mixed green salad.
“Hey, I’ll suck a cock on the Golden Gate Bridge before I bring you a mixed green buddy.”
I.. what? I?
“Then we’ll wheel out our bottomless trough of friend dough.”
Wait a minute, am I getting a steak?
“Oh you’ll get a fucking steak. Cause then we’ll bring out our 55 ounce Lost Mesa, He-Man steak slab, served with a deep fried pumpkin, stuffed with buttered scallops and 53 of our potato bacon bombs.”
Oh dude, I don’t think…
“And then bend over Abigail May cause here comes the gravy pipe.”
What?
“Black Angus, door are locked from the outside, faggot!”
But, no. What, when did I?
“At Black Angus, your name is Peaches.”
Lollapalooza iTunes Card
The official program of the 2010 Lollapalooza came with an iTunes card glued in the back. Upon inspection, it read that the card was good for 40 free songs. 40 FREE SONGS! And they were handing out the programs like candy!
The process in my head, which I call math, started to ask for additional processing resources, so I stopped in my tracks and started to figure out how many of these cards I would need to break even on my ticket price.
Greg saw me come to a complete stop and noticed the tell tale signs that I was thinking. He knew what was going on in my head.
"The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."
"Oh, that sucks."
So I stuffed the card in my wallet for when I got home.
Later that day, we saw a dude going through a recycling bin, pulling out programs and looking for the iTunes card in the back. We didn't say anything to him, but I assume that he figured it out on his own once he got home.
On our last day of Lollapalooza, Kit and I were standing at the Blogger stage when three very good looking, blind girls approached us. We thought it odd that the blind girls didn't have guide dogs or walking sticks. It took us a moment to figure out that the three very good looking girls were actually NOT blind and were asking us where the Adidas Stage was. Kit said he thought it was at the other end of the park and pulled out his Program to confirm it. Their destination was at the other end of the park and I would have thought their next move would have been to run from us post-haste. But instead they began chatting with us. One of the girls pointed at Kit's program and said, "Did you know that there is a iTunes card in there that gives you 40 dollars worth of free songs?"
I, in my 40 year old know-it-all-voice, said, "The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."
"Oh, that sucks."
And with that, the imaginary, shimmering bubble that surround us burst and they said thanks and walked off.
I downloaded the 40 songs and it turned out there were 45. They should edited the graphic on the card to read, "4 songs you will like and a shitload of others that suck balls and make you wonder why you dug through the recycling for hours to collect these fucking things."
The process in my head, which I call math, started to ask for additional processing resources, so I stopped in my tracks and started to figure out how many of these cards I would need to break even on my ticket price.
Greg saw me come to a complete stop and noticed the tell tale signs that I was thinking. He knew what was going on in my head.
"The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."
"Oh, that sucks."
So I stuffed the card in my wallet for when I got home.
Later that day, we saw a dude going through a recycling bin, pulling out programs and looking for the iTunes card in the back. We didn't say anything to him, but I assume that he figured it out on his own once he got home.
On our last day of Lollapalooza, Kit and I were standing at the Blogger stage when three very good looking, blind girls approached us. We thought it odd that the blind girls didn't have guide dogs or walking sticks. It took us a moment to figure out that the three very good looking girls were actually NOT blind and were asking us where the Adidas Stage was. Kit said he thought it was at the other end of the park and pulled out his Program to confirm it. Their destination was at the other end of the park and I would have thought their next move would have been to run from us post-haste. But instead they began chatting with us. One of the girls pointed at Kit's program and said, "Did you know that there is a iTunes card in there that gives you 40 dollars worth of free songs?"
I, in my 40 year old know-it-all-voice, said, "The card is good for only 40 specific songs. You can't use it to buy anything else."
"Oh, that sucks."
And with that, the imaginary, shimmering bubble that surround us burst and they said thanks and walked off.
I downloaded the 40 songs and it turned out there were 45. They should edited the graphic on the card to read, "4 songs you will like and a shitload of others that suck balls and make you wonder why you dug through the recycling for hours to collect these fucking things."
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