March 6, 2012

The Blueberry Pig Meal

My wife is a good cook.  She won't admit it, in fact, she'll down right deny it.  I try to convince her, but no matter what I say, she still doesn't think she is a good cook.
This hot dame is not Shannon.

I am a simple man, not like Forrest Gump (I would never again dare to slander such a holy figure as Saint Gump.  I have learned my lesson Gump-lovers.)  By simple I mean, I am just a meat and potatoes kinda guy.  You don't need to use rare herbs to get me to like a dish.  I can enjoy the exotic dishes, but given the choice between a Fleming's steak or a Casu Marzu with Kopi Luwak coffee, I will take the steak any day.

Now, Shannon doesn't try to fancy our meals up too much.  For one, she simply doesn't have the time.  Plus, in our family if she dresses it up too nice - we won't appreciate it.  My son and I attack the food, like it is trying to get away.  I swear, that sometimes, he literally wrestles the food.  She also has many hurdles to overcome, as well.  Our daughter, who just turned five, is a strict vegetarian.  Our son, doesn't like anything, until he tries it.  Me, I'll try some foreign exchange meal - but I would usually just prefer gnawing on some pizza.

Now, giving my wife more props, she is also trying to keep us healthy.  I approve, however, the word on the street is that pizza isn't a "healthy" food.  Sure, she has found that happy medium. Pizza once in awhile, but most of the time she cooks.

Now, my wife grew up without a mother.  She was raised by her father and I must say, he did a pretty darn good job too.  We don't see eye to eye on a lot of issues, but when it comes to Shannon, we both think she is pretty neat.  He worked a lot of hours and he was no gourmet chef in the kitchen.  So, when she got older she had to teach herself how to cook.  So, while she was learning to cook - her father and I became sort of her guinea pigs.

She found a recipe for pork chops.  She knew that I have an affection for blueberries and found a recipe that combined the pork chop with the blueberry.  Now, I am not a big pork chop eater.  In fact, the last time that I can remember having a pork chop, I was dating her.  (I have been married for over 12 years now.)  So, pork chops and me - we ain't tight.  I love other pig products.  (Sorry my veggie friends.)
I love bacon.
I love ham.
I love bacon, again.

But, she made a dish that was out of this world.  Not good, out of this world.  More like, trippy...

Her father and I sat and waited for the meal; hungry.  Because that is another thing we have always had in common - food.  Shannon's shy little voice came from her kitchen.  "Um, maybe we should just order out," she said.
"Nonsense," her father and I responded.  "Bring us our meals."
I don't think this is exactly how the story was a long time ago, and I tend to over exaggerate.
"I don't think you'll want to eat it."
"We'll eat anything," we bragged.
"Dagnabbit, woman.  We IS hungry!"
These sexy beasts are not Shannon's dad and me.

That is when we saw them.  The pork chops still sitting in their dish.  They were purple, just like pork chops are suppose to be.  Purple?  Purple Pork Chops.  The blueberries had turned the pork chops the shade of the Joker's coat.  (His coat was case, you didn't pick up on that.)
And I am not positive, but I think she was serving us Barney.
He did go missing sometime around then.
Well, needless to say, we tried those purple pork chops.  They were also a little rubbery too.  It kinda felt like chewing on a dog's toy.  They were awful.  Just down right horrible.  But, we always laugh about her purple pork chops.

Pretty positive that Shannon put these in there.  
Now, when she cooks, 98% of the time it is awesome.  She does a killer job, and I love having a wife that cooks.  It is rare thing nowadays.  So, I am thankful and blessed.  However, there still are those 2% where I have to go to Philly's Phatties and get a cheesesteak.

Eater of the Purple Pork Chop,


February 27, 2012

Bad Job Academy

I am a big fan of movies.  I love a great film.  I am also one of those wanna-be critic chuckleheads.  I can't just sit there and enjoy the movie for entertainment.  I dissect it like a high school science class.
I love art direction, camera angles, lighting, and all that boring stuff.
Yeah, I probably follow the directors more than the movies themselves.
Who wrote the movie?  Well, seriously I'm asking.
How much CGI did they use?  I don't care.
What's the dialogue?
I'll admit I'm a nerd, not like Potsie Weber, no more like Roger Ebert, but without the money, fame and speech impediment.

It's Oscar time...
and every year the Academy Awards usually get it wrong.  Every year they make more bad choices than Eddie Murphy...Sure, they get one right once in awhile, but Murphy picked Shrek too.

Let's look at some of our past Oscar winners for Best Picture:

Dances with Wolves
This would make a much better movie.

Wow!  That movie was long...I fell asleep just thinking about it.   That movie was so long that I stumbled out of the theater like Rip Van Winkle, disoriented...
"What year is it?"
"Where is my family?"
"The best actor in that was the 13th Buffalo."
If he had actually danced with wolves, maybe I would agree that it should have won.  Now, of course no other movies in 1990 were worth the Oscar over that Kevin Costner wolf dancing film.

Oh yeah, Goodfellas.  What is wrong with the Academy?  Did they not see both movies?  Henry Hill should have put Costner in a trunk.  And how did Marty Scorsese not win the best director?  Scorsese should have put Costner in a trunk.  (I know the joke didn't work the first time either.)
Bad job Academy.

How Green Was My Valley
I guessing the third one to the left.

I've never seen it, but I have seen the Maltese Falcon...and movies don't get any better than that...oh wait, what?  Citizen Kane was in the same year?  Newspaper mogul, who the film is based on, William Randolph Hearst made sure that Kane didn't win, so are you telling me some shady business was going on behind the scenes at the Academy?  What is going on?
Bad job Academy.

I'll just pick one more.

Forrest Gump
Mama said, "life is like an overrated movie."

But, wait this a movie everyone loves.  It has to be the #1 most overrated movie ever!  Okay, I forgot bad.  So, did I like Forrest Gump?  I didn't, but in case you forgot...I'm not normal.  I'm not like that town in Illinois. (Hopefully, you get that joke.  It is weak, but you should expect nothing less.)  It's like this joke:

Another weak joke.  I am in one of those moods.  

How did Forrest Gump beat both Pulp Fiction and Shawshank Redemption.  Forrest Gump took out two of my top twenty movies of all time and it doesn't even make my top 250.  It had a couple of good catch phrases and I do love shrimp, but seriously?  That is a terrible job Academy.

Sorry this isn't one of my funnier posts, but it's better than reading other blogs, unless they are really good blogs...than you should read them.  I wish I had more jokes for you, but how about next time?  Is that okay?  Thanks for understanding...just being critical.

All that to say some of my favorite movies aren't the greatest movies.  Yes, I love some of the critical acclaimed Godfather movies, Citizen Kane, Wizard of Oz, but there are others that I am not fond of at all...On the Waterfront or Singin' In the Rain.  And I have favorites that like Dirty Work, Batman, Zombieland, and The Royal Tenebaums.
So after reading all this, just ignore it and go out and enjoy whatever movie you like.  I hear White Chicks is on cable.

I give this post two thumbs down.
- Critic Bill

February 20, 2012

Wife Minus Kids

I received quite a bit of good feedback for the romantic post (In the Mood).  Thank you.  So, here is a quick story of Shannon and I sans kids.

We were looking fine.  We had just attended a marriage counseling course down in Rome, Georgia, called Winshape.  No matter what your relationship is with your spouse, I highly recommend.  It is well worth the trip.  You will gain so much and become a closer, tighter unit.

We now had one more night in Georgia, and we decided to dress up and go out on the town in Atlanta.  I was looking handsome in something handsome (that's not really important).  Shannon was decked out to the nines.  (I don't know what that means, but it sounds classy.)  And she was classy.  Make-up done perfectly.  Hair, the way she likes it, because when you have kids a mother has very little time for herself.  Kids try to make every parent look like a homeless person.
Must go bald!

Shannon was wearing a beautiful outfit with high heels.  Remember that.  She was also carrying a small purse.  Small is the key word in the last sentence, again, when you are a mother of  little children, small purses become obsolete.   She was free of the kids and in no way needed to carry around our lives on her shoulder.  How are you going to carry tissues, ear muffs, crayons, flare guns, socks, make-up, combs, brushes, hair clips, and more with a small purse?  You can't.
Things for a trip to the park.

But that night, the purse contained just the essentials, just keys, make-up, brush, lipsticks, and some money.

Trying to be a sexy mom is have no time for yourself and you become a slave to the needs of those little vultures.  I love our kids.  Shannon loves our kids.  But, sometimes parents need a time-out...and that brings us back to this short story, which is getting longer by the second.

We picked the Hard Rock Cafe, because that is totally my style.

There was a small wait in the foyer, but while we waited there were huge pictures of Hendrix and Lennon, along with their guitars.  The music was rocking and the floors were wooden.  Wooden floors, another important key.  Those floors looked newly waxed.
This is a picture of high heels on wood.

Did you see where this is going, Stevie Wonder?

I was looking up at some rock and roll artifact, when I heard the thud of a body hitting the floor and having to duck from being struck from the small purse flying over my head.  A loud gasp echoed through the Hard Rock. There the purse was in front of me...Shannon's.  So, now I knew who the thud belonged too.

I peered out of the side of my eye and there was my beauty, laying face first on the floor of the Hard Rock.  She had attempted to slide, like Pete Rose, for some reason.  She was "safe!"
Actual picture of Shannon.

I did what any loving husband would do...I I pretend not to know her?  Or be oblivious, I am good at that.  But, in the end, I helped her.  She was still beautiful, but her cheeks didn't need any blush.  She was okay, just embarrassed, and rightly so...she had just wiped out in front of a crowded restaurant.  But, I still love her.

I know this makes me sound like a real creep...but, it's all in fun.  Right?

So, I always try to teach a lesson.  So, today's lesson, children: Do not go out to dinner with Shannon, if she is wearing high heels.

Bill, the one who didn't fall that time.

February 14, 2012

In the Mood

If you really love some one tell them.  And ...
Don't forget to be romantic.  Keeping the romance alive is tough, especially as you get older.
I know, I know, you are still young at heart.  No matter what those crow's feet are telling you.  Let's be honest, your face is always changing.  You are getting older.  We all see it, so let's just admit it.  Okay, ladies and gents?

In life, you start out looking  like a porcelain doll.  Smooth and silky, ah those baby years... you know, you were cute once.  Those years go by quickly.  Then you turn seven, and it's like you walked through Chernobyl.  Your teeth start falling out in rapid succession.  It's scary, there are children running around  looking like Jack-O-Lanterns.  Those years are a little rough, but what comes next is a nightmare...The Pizza Hut years.
Yearbook photo - 1993

Even they couldn't have made a greasier bubbly mess than the face of a teenager.  Teenage faces have more blackheads then a Spike Lee joint.  Let's call it like we see it, teenagers are disgusting creatures.  The male teenagers' voice can become a pentatonic scale in one sentence.  And the female teenager will wake up four hours earlier to try to cover the loads of blemishes with make-up and fix their hair, (trying to remember that their face is not a coloring book and hairspray isn't a sealant  -a little dab will do you.)  following it up by trying to cover up those raccoon tired eyes, because of waking up four hours early to start the beautification project.

But, those years pass too and you HAVE to move quick, because you really only have a good four or so years before the wrinkles begin, because old age is like the Big Bad Wolf and there is a lot of huffing and puffing at your front door.  Let me tell ya, old age ain't kind.  I don't know what is worse, looking like a pepperoni pizza pie or a human Shar Pei.  
Minutes after my thirtieth birthday party.

The teenage years had a new body hair battle, but bad news...the hair wins in the end.  You can't stop it.  You can try to shave it, pluck it, wax it (Alone in the Bathroom), but it won't quit.  We can't beat it, so do we join it? Trying to grow a mustache to hide those two inch long nose hairs isn't fooling anyone, grandpa.  You want to look your best, guys, for that special someone, well I have more bad news.
The hair on the top of your head...gone.  But, like some crazy magic trick, it's gonna reappear...abracadabra, hey ladies meet...Ear hair.
Oh yeah, that's sexy.
Getting old sucks.  It just does.  Sure, that little old couple look so cute, but you gotta admit - it's pretty gross.  Right?  It's going to be hard to have those romantic feelings when I'm older.
I mean, nothing gets your partner going more than a bottle of Metamucil and brand new Depends.
Add your own joke about Depends.  It's easy enough.

So, after all that in you are still in the mood?
Still trying to build that romance?  It ain't easy...especially when you have kids.  Between work and kids, it's hard just staying awake through an episode of Survivor, let alone trying to be romantic.
Sure you find him cute.
Sure you find her sexy.
But, exhaustion isn't an aphrodisiac.

So, what do you do?  There are plenty of ways to try to spice up the romance.  Don't ask me, I don't have a clue.
Sure, you have to try things.  You must have a routine.  Maybe, guys, those old baggy pajama pants and your favorite t-shirt with the sweat stained armpits isn't a turn on.
Dress Foxy - Not Wolfy

And don't think you are getting out of it that easy women...
because no make-up, hair in a bun, same pajama pants and one of our old t-shirts (because, it is just more comfortable) ain't doing any good either.  Okay, I lied.  (Truthfully, it doesn't really matter what you could be wearing a hefty bag and dressed like that bird lady from Home Alone 2.)
Hey Baby, whatcha doing later?

But let's get back to the real romance killers, yes, the kids really put a giant damper on the whole romance thing.  No more spontaneity...that is history.  The only thing that becomes spontaneous is the fact that during your alone time you might have to comfort a bad dream or worse yet, the true killer, having a sick child.  Nothing is worse than seeing a sick child (right after you really thought you were getting somewhere.)

Romance is important.  It really is.  Your partner is the most important person, (and if you are single...well, I have other posts that will relate better to you.  This isn't one of them.  So, instead, go out and find the perfect mate.  They are easy enough to find, just make sure you get some good binoculars and that they have a large tree in their front lawn.  I'm kidding, don't be a creeper, because finding the perfect mate behind bars is even harder...and if you think finding time for romance is tough with kids, imagine a cellmate.)

Everyone is different and everyone has different things that help add a boost to their romance, but there are some old wive's tales that just don't work.
Add a little music for some extra romance.
Music does not add anything to the mood.  Oh, sure, you want to argue with me.  Well, if I agreed with you, then we would both be wrong.  Music in theory, should work, but it doesn't.

Four major problems with Mood Music

1. You know the song
Singing along while trying to be sexy, you might as well just put on those Depends.  You might think you are sounding like Eddie Vedder, but you really sound like a cat with it's tail caught under the rocking chair.
"Yeah but, Bill, I put on Let's Get it On, by Marvin Gaye.  That's sexy."
Is it?  Because if you listen carefully enough it sounds like the opening to The Price Is Right.  So, now you have Rod Roddy in your head saying,
 "Billy Merkh, come on down."

Okay, that's dead.  Rod Roddy has never helped cure any romances.  "But, what about a little Barry White?"
Yeah, that's what you need.  Some big black dude in the corner, talking racy to your woman.  No, thank you.  I feel inadequace enough.  I don't need...
"You are lookin' fine, baby."

2. You don't know the song.
Not sure I've ever heard this song.  Oh, this is a cool song, yeah she is looking sweet...okay, where are we going?  Is that a drum solo?  That's odd.  Oh, wait is this song about NATO?  I think I am being lectured about child labor in Hondorus.  No, honey, you still look amazing.  Wait, I am pretty sure, he's talking about Kim Jong Il.
"You looking fine, baby."

3. You will never think of that song the same again.
"And it's one, two, three strikes you're out at the old ball game..." he he he that is filthy.  You still have the giggles eating Cracker-Jacks too.  But, that still isn't as bad as trying to explain why you always snicker at the theme to the A-Team.

4.  You will remember the other times you heard that song. 
You look so beautiful, sweetheart, oh remember when we heard this song...where were we?    Oh yeah, church, boy, this is awkward.

So, I guess music is out of it.

But, if you learned anything, which I'm sure you haven't, remember one thing...
Finding that special someone is one of the greatest gifts that you will ever know.  Treat them great.  Treat them right.  Treat them like they are one of the greatest gifts, because they are.  It doesn't matter what is on the outside, they are a special treasure.  Let them know it.  You will have some rough times, but don't let that discourage you.  There has to be a reason you fell in love them to begin with.  What was that reason?
Their smile?
Their eyes?
Their humor?
Their kindness?
Their brains?
Why did you fall in love?  Cherish them.  And if you think that your romance is gone...find it.  Take the time to let them know that you love them.  You will be happy you did.


February 10, 2012


Are you a bad orderer?

You know what I mean, when you go to a restaurant and want something - you place your order with someone, are you bad at it?
On a scale from 1-10 what kind of orderer are you?
Let's give a scale - 10 - being Megan Fox and 1 - being Kathy Griffin
10 - Ordering Scale

1 - On any scale

How I imagine Megan Fox ordering at a restaurant:

Megan: I'll have a well done burger with no cheese, a side of fries and a Diet Coke.

It left no questions.  Because at this establishment, burgers come with lettuce, tomatoes, and onions.  The Bun is a sourdough bun and the ketchup is already on the table.

Kathy Griffin ordering:

Kathy: We're ready.  I want um...let me see...what do you like?  Are the burgers any good?  I'll have a wait...I had a burger last week and it got stuck in my you have meatloaf?  I didn't see it on the menu...maybe pancakes...What is everyone else having?  Okay, I'll have the hamburger with what kind of cheese do you have?  Okay, I'll take the wait let's make it make it american.  I want fries.  Can I have them well done.  Don't burn them.  Just a little blackened.  But, crunchy....and no salt.  and to drink...what kind of soda do you have?  Oh...I'll take a Diet Coke.

Is that you?  Are you a Kathy Griffin?  Reading it, sounds ridiculous, but I have gone out to dinner with people like that...and I know you have too.  And if you haven't, guess what?  The person everyone dreads to eat with because they are such a bad orderer is
Should have shaved my hairy knuckles

Here are some helpful hints that I can give to you to make you a better orderer:  (take these with you and maybe you'll even get more friends or dates)

1. Order only what you want: (unless there is one item you have some crazy serious allergy if you eat it.  But don't share too much about your allergy.  "I can't have rhubarb or my butt looks like a Japanese flag.")
Rhubarb butt

Example of what NOT to do:
"I'll have a ham and cheese sandwich with mustard, no mayo, lettuce, no tomato, no provolone, with pepperjack, a pickle, no chips, on rye bread, not wheat or white, not toasted, for here not to go."

2. Order what the restaurant serves:  If you go to a steakhouse - order steak.  Seafood place - seafood.  Salad Works - salad.  Quizno - garbage.

Example of what NOT to do:
"Everything seems so meaty, do you have anything besides steak?  Something more tofuy."
Remember it's not the waiter's fault, you chose to eat there.

3. While ordering don't be a tool.
"Hey, Sugarbridges, give me everything on the menu.  Ha ha ha.  I'm kiddin'.  You gots some of 'em baked pasta things.  Ziti.  Like a zit.  Har har."
You know you want the baked pasta, order it.
Looks pretty tasty.
4. While ordering, don't ask what everyone else at the table is having.
"I like spinach.  Are you having spinach?  Really?  What are you having?  Oh, the Grand Slam breakfast.  That sounds good.  What are you having?  I like sausage and eggs.  And you?  I like bacon and french toast.  Okay, okay.  I'm ready.  I'll have the Turkey club."

5. While ordering, don't try to pick up the waitress. (literally or figuratively)
"I'll just have a B.L.T. and a Cherry Coke...and what time do you get off tonight?  You know I'm pretty killer.  In fact, I'm the biggest killer since O.J. Simpson."
Hey Ladies...what you doing?
6. While ordering, stay off the phone.
"I'll have the...hold on a second man...I'll have a root beer float...hold on, man, I'm ordering...and some fries, and...yeah, oh you want some fries too, but I can't get over there tonight.  I'm not freezing them, dude.  They don't taste good...let me the fries taste good if I freeze them?"

7. Don't ask the waiter or waitress what they like.
"What do you like better, the pork loin or licking the stop sign out front?"
How do you know that if they like it you'll like it too?  Some people are into some weird crap, you can't trust them.  And what kind of answer are you expecting?  "Are the hush puppies any good here?"  "No, in fact, if you want a good hush puppy, I recommend across the street.  We have a Redbox outside."

8. Don't be so picky.  Yes, you are paying for it, but there will be other meals.  This won't be your last meal. (Unless, you are reading this from a Texas prison, because then your chances of it being your last are about 60-40.)
"I'll have the caramelized pears seared at three thousand degrees, by a chef from the Galapagos Islands, who only wears red socks when he cooks and has a tattoo of Tattoo from Fantasy Island on his left inner thigh and make sure it is on a blue plate and served with a chilled spoon."

9. Finally - Don't sound like an idiot while ordering.  Make sure to use the right linguistics.  If the word needs to be plural - use it.  BUT, DO NOT make the word plural if it is not a plural word.
"I'll have the Macaronis and Cheeses.  And give me some Shrimps salad.  All I have is eighty-five cent."

So, take these with you and may they help you, brother.  Dine out and enjoy.

Thanks for joining us.
Please Come Again Soon.
Tips are appreciated.

Your Waiter,

February 6, 2012

Solo Cathedral

A little while ago I rambled on about searching for a church.  (Murk Merkh Searches For A Church) Hopefully you read it.  If you haven't, it doesn't really matter it was just a nice segue into another church post.  That is really how you spell it.  I thought it was spelled "segway", but that is the way cool people get around.
"They're all looking at me.  Just act natural.  Look straight and stay cool,  Lester.  That's it, I'm cool."
I know, I know here is where Bill gets all preachy.
No, in fact, this story isn't even about me.  This is a story about a friend of mine, who was also in the hunt for a new church.  This is a TRUE story and although I will try to do it justice I am sure that with what little ability I have I will slaughter it beyond recognition - kind of like what Daryl Hannah's surgeon did.
"If I were the King of the Forressssttt,"

Since, I will not use his real name in the story I will call him: Albin.
Albin is a single guy, not too much going for him.  I mean, sure, he is nice and has a contagious laugh, but as a whole, just a simple man.  He just goes to work and follows it up with sitting on the couch and watching sports on television.  I'm sure he eats too, he is a little hefty...I'm sorry, that's unrelated.

Well, Albin is also a church-going kinda guy.  He has never been heavily involved in any one church, but helps out when needed and doesn't mind getting his hands dirty either.  (I'm mean, like cleaning, not like dumping a body.)  But, his pastor left his church and there was a big falling out of sorts and now Albin was in a limbo of sorts.  He was in search of a church.  No easy feat.  I can attest to that.
He was looking everywhere, when he ran into an old high school friend.  Now, I wasn't there, but this is how I was told it went down:
"Albin, great to see you."
"You too.  It's been a long time."
"Sure has.  Blah, blah, blah.  details unrelated.  So, where are you going to church, Albin?"
"Actually, I'm kinda between churches right now, I'm looking around for one now."
"Did you know that I am a pastor now, and I am starting my own church.  Why don't you come on Sunday and visit.  We meet at the elementary school."
"What time?"
"Eleven o'clock."
Albin thought for a few seconds and said, "Eleven o'clock sounds good.  I will be there."
"Don't be late," said his former buddy, now a pastor.  It had been years since he had seen this fellow and why not try it out?  So, he did.
He pulled up at just before eleven.  Out in the parking lot he was greeted by his "friend".
"Come on in," said the pastor.  "It's just down the hallway."
They went into a room with about thirty chairs and nobody else was there.  It was still before eleven.  Then the pastor said, "Albin, but do you mind I am going to go over my notes, just find a seat anywhere."  The pastor sat up front.
Albin sat in the third row.  He brought his Bible and skimmed through it, waiting for the other members to arrive.  Betcha know where this is going.
Nobody came.  Eleven o'clock came and the pastor walked to the small wooden pulpit.
"Please rise," he said.  "We will now sing our first hymn.  Turn to page 52, To God Be the Glory."
Albin looked around.  It was just the two of them.  Maybe others will join.
They sang To God Be the Glory and followed it with two more hymns.  Then he had them sit...following it up with announcements.
What follows announcements?
That's right...
"We will now pass the offering plate."
What would you do?
Because, it's official.  This dude is crazy.
Not the Pastor - Just Crazy

Albin considered this and figured the entertainment value was worth: Two dollars.
It was cheaper than some other forms of amusement.
$36.95 - For the weight.

The whole time, acting as though it was a full house.  Albin told me he started looking for cameras to see if he was being punk'd.
But, Aston Kutchner never came.
The sermon was preached and a final prayer was given and the congregation was dismissed.  Then, the pastor walked over to Albin and said, "Hopefully you can join us again."
Albin never went back, in fact, I believe he went running to his car.

Now, if it was me, I don't know what I would have done...and I don't know if I could have held it together.  It would have been too awkward for me.  Just the two of us...especially the singing part.  I didn't like being alone in the room with the Big Mouth Billy Bass.
"Take me to the river, Billy."
Hopefully this blog hasn't sent you running to your car.  Keep coming back...and feel free to LIKE us.  (C'mon, everybody's doing it.)  OUR FACEBOOK FAN PAGE - please go and Like us...I'm begging you.  PLEASE.  PLEASE.  It will make you popular.  I promise.
Have you had any good church searching stories...I would love to hear them...unless they are boring, because if they are boring, my time is very valuable.  I could be watching TV or writing this slop.  But, if it is a good story, SHARE it with us.

Reverend Bill
(not actually a reverend)

February 1, 2012

Jungle Fervor

It's Black History Month and here at the blog we are celebrating!
To recognize some great black people who might not normally get their due.  But, don't worry honkies, you'll get your turn soon.  Don't go getting your confederate flag panties in a bunch, just skip this post and listen to Ma and Pa play Dueling Banjos while you pick the straw out of your three teeth.

*May I take a quick sidebar?  Of course, I can, it's my blog.  This is for the few chuckleheads who still wave the confederate flag...I hate to break it to you, but you lost.  In fact, it was lost around 100 years before you were born.  Why are you still clinging to the losing side?  I'm not wearing my "Russia 1980 Hockey Team" sweater, my "Green Goblin Forever" hoodie, my "Michael Duakis '88" windbreaker, my Team Drago" hat, my "Cobra Commander" pants or "You Could Be Outside Instead blog 2013 tee-shirt."  What they all have in common is they are losers...and so are you.
"Psst..I've heard this Roman Empire might make a come back.  Let's be the first ones back on the bandwagon."

We want to make everyone happy. (Except the Klan, we don't really care what they think.  We enjoy Boyz  in the Hood, much more than the boys in the hoods.  Hey, that's the best I've got.  I've got a couple more, like pointed hoods make it easier to fit the dunce cap, but that's a stretch, with jokes like those the enemy wins.)
The Klan on a stroll
Black History Month has always been met with great debate, but we are not here to talk about racism or the pros and cons of Black History Month.  We are here for a few cheap giggles and because we are bored and we have nothing better to do for the next six minutes.

Now, I am not trying to be controversial or radical or whatever you want to label me, we just want to have fun. So, I thought, what better way to kick off February than to kick it off with a little soul.

We could have named all of the same black people we always talk about during Black History Month...
George Washington Carver    Rosa Parks   Booker T. Washington
George Washington Carver

But, this is a humor site, right?  Well, at least we try to be funny.  Although, we are about as funny as gynecomastia.  Okay, that is pretty funny, but we still try our best.  Hey, you get what you pay for, so stop complaining.

When I thought about what I was planning on writing for this post (yes I do think about this before I start writing) I thought maybe I would write about some great black comedians.  But, every other black history funny blog is already doing that.
Dave Chappelle   Richard Pryor    Chris Rock    Redd Foxx   Flip Wilson  Eddie Murphy
Bill Cosby   Garrett Morris   Dick Gregory   Donald Glover   Childish Gambino
Fred Sanford

But, today I would love to talk to you about a truly great American...and yes, he's black, because if he wasn't black it would make odd Black History selection.  This man is an inventor and he has made it his goal to put a weapon in every child's hands.  We would like to honor, the creator of the Super Soaker: Lonnie G. Johnson.
An Awesome Dude

Lonnie Johnson was born in 1949 in Mobile, Alabama.  Down south, ya'll.  His father was a World War II veteran, and a handyman who loved inventing.  Lonnie's dad and he created a pressurized chinaberry shooter out of bamboo shoots when he was a child.

But, Lonnie kept on inventing.  He was thirteen years old and took a lawnmower engine and scrap pieces from a junkyard and built his own go-cart.  He was racing down the highway in his pimped out lawnmower go-cart when the police pulled him over.  Good thing it wasn't the LAPD.  (I've heard some things.)

Have you ever blown up your mother's kitchen?  Lonnie did, while trying to make rocket fuel, which he got the recipe from a library book.  (* A library is a place that has books.  Books are things that are writings on paper - not a computer screen.  I know, it sounds to weird to me too.)
Anyway, He was able to use that fuel to build a mini rocket ship.  He later in life used some of these ideas when he worked as a system engineer for the Galileo and Cassini missions to Jupiter and Saturn.

Now, let's get to the important things like spraying neighborhood kids and cats with water.  Sure, using the hose is always fun, but I need it portable.  Oh yeah, the Super Soaker.  Thanks, Lonnie.
He took PVC, a Coke Bottle, and plexiglass and armed his six year old daughter with the first ever Super Soaker.  She destroyed the other kids with their weak little water guns.

And years later, and a revenue of $400 million, Lonnie can relax and kick his feet up, but he hasn't.  He still continues to invent and owns over 62 patents.  This dude is a genius.  So, no matter what race you are, you gotta respect a this guy.  Lonnie G. Johnson.

Now, go out and listen to Hendrix or James Brown and remember we are all the same on the inside.  So, if you are still a racist after reading my blog, have somebody explain this post to you, because your family tree might be a straight line, but no matter what color you are, we still love you.

~A William Merkh Joint~

January 26, 2012

Let's Go Sledding!

I like living in New Jersey.  I know, I am in a minority, but I do have quite a lot of great reasons.  Well, not any really great reasons, but I guess a few good reasons.  Okay, okay, it's not even really that good, I guess it's just alright.  NJ is just alright.

But, one thing we have that a lot of the other states don't have, well I guess a lot of them have it too...
Anyway, we have all four seasons.  (That opening was terrible, I am surprised you are still with me.  This is a post about the the four seasons, well to be truthful it is just about one season: the one we are currently in now, winter.  You know I should start this whole thing off again, and maybe it will be better.)

I like winter.

I mean, I hate having to heat my house, bundling up to go outside, scrapping the ice off my car, and warming up the car before driving it.  I hate shorter days, going to work in the dark and coming home when it's dark.  I hate seeing all the bare trees and empty gardens.  No BBQ's or eating outside, especially ice-cream.  You don't see Mr. Softee, do you?

(I failed again...another pitiful opening.  I tried, I promise.  Let's give this another go.  Shall we?)

I like sledding.

(Bingo - Nailed it.)
I didn't say I like snow, I said that I like sledding.  Not skiing or snowboarding.  I like sledding (and I include tubing too.)
Snow can be fun to look at from a distance. The beautiful snow on the mountain tops, or snow covered tree tops, but when the snow is all up in my grill that is when I detest it.  I'm an adult.  Adults hate snow.  We still have to go to work.  We still have to shovel our driveways and walks.  I want to enjoy it, I just can't.  Snow just adds more work.
I love the finished product of a snowman, but when the kids beg to make a snowman I try to smile through my groans.
"Let's make a snowman!" they all shout.
"Fine," through gritted teeth, I say.  We all march around the yard looking for the "clean" snow, because nobody wants a stained, homeless looking Frosty, although after he is finished he will just wear my clothes, where he will be made fun of for being out of style.
"Ha ha, look at Vanilla Ice."
So, we try to make the bottom ball of snow first, the biggest one.  Two minutes in, and I have a decent size ball growing, and they have since lost interest.  "You keep making the snowman, we're making snow angels!"
"Are you kidding me?"  I peg the snowball at them.  It explodes into a billion pieces and I have to start it all over again.  Because, "Dad, we really want a snowman?  Did you see fill in the brat's name has a giant snowman in his front yard?"
"I bet he helped his dad."
So, as the kids run around, destroy all the good snow, I roam around like a nomad trying to find snow to pack our friend Frosty with.  The three big snowballs are complete and ready for assembly.  Trying to place the middle ball on (because I couldn't be out done by some kid down the street) I throw out my back, but it is now successfully on the snowman.  Now, the head gets heaved on top.  It is lumpy and abnormal, like a contestant on The Biggest Loser.  
Now it's time it make it into a man.  We get rocks for eyes and a carrot nose, Twizzler mouth, a couple sticks for arms, and a shirt that I was planning on wearing to church the next Sunday, but got over-ruled due to being "out-dated.".  Plus, he is now wearing one of my hats that I should "no longer use", because when I wear it, "it just looks embarrassing."  I liked that hat, feathers and all.

So, the snowman is done, and I have shoveled us out and it is time to do a little sledding - Oh yeah!

Sledding is not the same as when we were kids, I know I sound old, but it's true.  This is how it is was when I was a kid.  We didn't have any man-made snow hills.  We didn't have the place where everyone meets to sled.  We would use any hill we could find.
It all started by getting dressed to go outside in this blizzard.  We would bundle up with three pairs of blue jeans, because we never had snow pants, and after the first ride, both butt cheeks were chapped.  The wool gloves just helped to keep our fingers wet, so that it would actually help induce frostbite.  The boots had just the right sized gap at the tops that when flying down the hill on a sled it was as if someone was shoveling the snow directly onto my feet, because jumping into the lake could not have made the six pairs of tube socks any more wet.
But, it was fun!
We would sled anywhere!
Hills with streets at the bottom.
"Watch out for the cars!"
Hills with trees.
"When you go down this hill, there will be three pine trees on your left, try to avoid them...and all the thorns on the right."
Hills with fences.
"I think it may have some barb wire hanging down, so be careful.  Plus, that rusted sign says, "Warning - Electric shock."
Hills with lakes at the bottom.
"You have to tuck and roll at the bottom.  Whatever you do, don't stay on the sled!"
Plus, we liked to live dangerously.  In fact, it was encouraged.
"Don't be a sissy, Billy, try standing on the sled, and grab that branch half way down, but don't fall into the stream on your left and traffic is starting to pick up on your right.  GO!"
"But, Mom, I'm scared."
"Hey, you wanted to go sledding."
I did want to go sledding, but I also wanted to see my thirteenth birthday too.
And to make it more dangerous we had metal blades on the bottom of our sleds.
"Come on, kids, watch out for the three foot long razors, and be careful you don't want to decaptate yourself like Cousin Artie."
The hills in winter caused more amputees than the Vietnam and Korean war combined, causing children everywhere to hobble and limp for the rest of their lives.
"War? Car accident?  Polio?  Oh, sledding.  That's awful." 
But, it was fun and still is.
I love taking my kids sledding.
However, I am not so sure they love sledding with me.
I have flipped my daughter while trying to jump a make shift ramp, using a wooden pallet and trashcan.  I have jumped onto my son's sled, and  by accident, completely whitewashed him the entire way down.  But, kids get over it.

The only thing I HATE about sledding is: the other people sledding.
First, wait till we are finished our ride.  The hill is going to be there in thirty seconds.  Wait!
Second, when walking back up the hill, stay to the sides.  Why would you think it is a smart idea to walk directly up the middle of the hill, where everybody else has just smoothed it down.  I would ban all people who have the nerve to do it.  Idiots.
Lastly, really I had no other real complaints, I'm just not a people person.  So, them just being there, annoys me.

So, after a long day of sledding, with frozen keysters, chapped lips, chaffed thighs, chilled toes, and numb extremities, along with the snot caked faces we arrive home to ring out the piles and piles and layers and layers of wet clothes and enjoy some hot coco by our electric fireplace.
I love winter.

Chilly Willy

Remember we need you to LIKE us.  It is how we grow.

January 23, 2012

My meeting with Marlon Brando

"Hi, Mr. Manzo, would you mind coming up and saying 'hello' to my wife's boss, he's a really big fan."

Let's rewind, since you have no idea what I am talking about.  (Maybe I should have started from the beginning, but that was what we call 'the hook', it gets you, the reader, to want to keep reading to find what it is all about...however, it wasn't a very good one, so you probably aren't even reading this part.)

But, it makes one ask a few questions:
Who is Mr. Manzo?
Who is Shannon's boss?
Why is Shannon's boss a big fan of Mr. Manzo?
Why are you still reading this blog when there are dishes to be done, dinner to be made, laundry, or removing that uncomfortable zit you weren't sure if anyone noticed, but we all did.

The answers:
Mr. Manzo is Albert Manzo, and is married to Caroline Manzo, who just happens to be one of "the Real Housewives of New Jersey."
Albert Manzo showing off his famous choke hold on Caroline.

Shannon's boss is Jay.  He is the owner of the salon she works at.  Let's take a few seconds to discuss Jay, shall we?  First, a really smart business man, he owns two salons and does a great job with both.  Second, don't screw with him.  If you go to work, be prepared to work.  Do you know how much drama this man has to deal with? (I mean two salons and dealing with the wall to wall of estrogen, now that takes a strong man.  Trust me, I had a peek into his world.)  Lastly, When Jay is done work and ready to have a good time he's gonna try his hardest to make sure you do too.
Not Shannon's Actual Boss - Just I googled the word Boss and thought this picture was funny.

Cue story : Shannon's Work Holiday Parties

or as we like to say where I am from...
one hundred dollars, (I guess we never really had another name for it, we weren't very original.)

Sounds good, doesn't it? One hundred dollars.  And it's easy enough to get it too.  All you have to do is introduce Jay to one of the cast on the Real Housewives...and he's gonna make it easy for you too.  First, he'll rent a limo to take you to The Brownstone. (Think ritzy, glamorous, elegant...I know what your thinking those are also all words that describe Bill, but we are still talking about the Brownstone.) But, here is the easy part to making the one hundred dollars: One of cast members owns the Brownstone.  The kazoo sounds: da da da da...Mr. Manzo. (We are a cheap blog and can't afford a trumpet.)

We had to look spectacular,  (See* You Can Put Lipstick on a Pig) Jay, the stylists, and I arrived at the Brownstone...All of them looking foxy stepping out of the limo as they entered.  Shannon was looking mighty  beautiful, and I was looking like a Caucasian James Brown.
Not Bill
The room inside was magnificent.  There were large, round tables surrounding a colossal dance floor in the middle.  The room was filled with stylists from all over New Jersey...and me.  I didn't own a salon, I didn't work in a salon, I didn't even go to salons (Shannon cuts my hair in front of the TV at home.)  The room was dimly lit by the glow of the stylist's cellphones.  Facebook was on overload from all the uploading coming out of the room that night.
There were so many women there, an abundance of high heels, up-dos, and tight dresses saturated the area.  Hundreds of ravishing women, ready to have a good time.  (and ten or so men...and I'd bet a hundred dollars, most of them didn't notice there were any women there.) Now, I have no real statistics, but did you know that 99% of stylists are women? You did.  Good.  Now, I know you already know that all stylists have "that look".
Oh yeah, she is a hair stylist.
So just being there, I felt like I stood out more than Kirstie Alley in a room full of anorexics.
"That look" they have, I don't have that.  No, not me, my look is more the "bloated look" usually reserved for corpses found drowned in a lake.  And quite a few people got confused and thought a celebrity had graced their event, but were disappointed when they realized that I was the "Puffy" they were all talking about.
So, I didn't fit in with the stylists, but I did fit in with some of the other people there that night.
The owners?  No, of course not, apparently you have never read me before, because that was a terrible guess.
No, the staff.  Come on, that was easy.  You know, the guys serving the dinner then clearing off the plates and disappearing into the back.  Those guys.  So, while the chicks decided to go out and dance, I slipped away to find someone from the cast of the show.  Now, I had never seen the show before (and actually, still haven't) but that wasn't about to hinder me from finding them and  I would have stayed and danced, but two things were stopping me.
1.) I wanted $100.
2.) My dancing reminds people of a electrocution gone horribly wrong, somewhere between seizure and convulsion.  Dancing was off the list.
"Someone call 911, that inflated man looks like he is going to croak!"

"So, I hear someone from the Real Housewives owns this place," I said to one of my new busboy friends.
"Yup," he he replied and kept walking away.  I could tell he wanted us to continue this conversation while strolling around, so I followed him.
"Is she here?" I asked trying to keep up with my buddy, the busboy.
"Is who here?" he asked, now putting silverware into a tub.
"The lady from the Real Housewives."
"Caroline Manzo?"
Sure.  That sounds good.  "Yes, Caroline Manzo," I said.
He so kindly told me to see another staff member.  "Ask him," he said, pointing to someone across the room.
"Is Caroline Manzo here?" I asked the new fellow.
"She never comes here," he answered.  "Her husband does."
"And he is on the show?" It was a question that I tried to make sound like a statement, but still raising me voice at the end, just enough so he would have to answer.
"Yes," he replied.
"Is he here?"
"He might be."
Things were looking promising.  I could just think of all the things I could do with ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS.
One night at the movies.
Get dessert at Cold Stone Creamery.
Maybe even fill up the gas tank...that's right...I could almost see the attendant's face when I told him to "Fill it regular."  Are you sure, Mr. Uses Change In the Seats?  Fill it up?  Did you strike it rich? 
"Yes, Habeeb.  Let's see what this old Malibu can take." I would say.

Mr. Manzo was there.  In his office.  In Meetings.
I began to talk to more and more of the Brownstone's staff.  Finally, I hit pay dirt.  Mr. Manzo's personal assistant began to hear my story.  His eyes widened when I told him all about the cold cash I was about to make.  He must have thought that I was pretty cool, because he told me that "Mr. Manzo, has a few minutes in forty-five minutes.  You can come to the office and meet with him then."

I thought I could almost smell the money (although looking back it might just have been my cheap cologne.)
I told Shannon and forty-five minutes later...

Inside the office of Mr. Albert Manzo:
It was like walking inside to meet The Godfather, only I didn't know who this guy was, and of course I knew who Marlon Brando was.  This would have been such a better story if it was about meeting Marlon Brando.  Plus, it would have easier to write - because of course, you would have known who he was and I wouldn't have to do all that explaining.  Plus, Brando oozes coolness.  He did so many great movies and was fantastic in all of them.  I am such a big fan.
You know what?  I am changing this.  Let's pretend that instead of Albert Manzo (yawn) I introduced Jay to Marlon "The Godfather" Brando (wild applause).

So, here I am in the office of Mr. Brando:

"Hi, Mr. Brando, would you mind coming up and saying 'hello' to my wife's boss, he's a really big fan."
Adding, "I can make one hundred dollars."
That guy from Apocalypse Now was so cool, he said, "Sure, I would love to say 'hello.'"
And that is just what he did...
and Jay was so excited to see the guy from On The Waterfront, he gave me a crisp, clean one hundred dollar bill.

So, if you don't think that you will ever get to meet a legend, an icon, a star...think about the time...I met Mr. Manzo...I meant Marlon Brando.  It can happen to you.
Actual photograph, no Photoshop here.
Rolling in the dough,
"One Hundred Dollar" Bill

Thanks for reading.
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January 21, 2012

You Can Put Lipstick on a Pig...

Dressing me up is a lot like declawing an alley cat.  It is gonna be a struggle and you might get a few bite marks, but when it is all over it is worth it.

I am a slob.  I am messy.  I am most comfortable in beat-up sneaks, torn jeans, and a shirt more holey than the Pope.  (Yes, I know it is spelled 'holy' when referring to something religious - but I was going for the easy joke...and yes, that joke was weak, but if you have read any of my other blog posts you would know I live off of weak jokes.  I wouldn't be able to write a blog about anything without weak jokes.  So, just laugh it off, and move on.  You're better than that.  Don't get so hung up on such a small thing, that really has absolutely nothing to do with this post.)

Where was I?  Mister Messy Bill.  I think I would be most comfortable if I stole and wore the clothes off of a hobo.  I hate shaving, and wouldn't mind the look the Uni-bomber made famous.

I hate getting my haircut, although my wife is a stylist.  I am a bum.  I can't make it any plainer than that.

I am not one of those hoarders, that keep a collection of their favorite piles of rat feces.  I love to be clean, just not well groomed.  I hate the feeling of being dirty, but I guess I don't mind the look.  I love smelling my armpits after the shower and smelling Lilac Melon Vanilla or whatever body wash happens to be in there.  So, don't get the wrong idea...I am clean.  I just like the idea of looking like a vagabond hippie, without the stank.

But, I do clean up nicely.  Sometimes, I am sporting the 80's look, but that is simply a lack of money to buy the latest hottest trends.  I like my "real" look, however, but it's hard buying clothes every few months, when the styles change.  Every time, I buy something new, by the time I get it to the car, it is no longer in fashion.  So, trying to pick an outfit out of my closet and not looking like Zack Morris is tough for me.

  I don't own a suit and I can't tie a tie.  Eventually, I am going to have to grow up and put on a pair of big boy clothes.  I am a second grader trapped inside a man's body (although, I am sure some would argue that last part.)  I use to borrow my black socks from Shannon, because my socks all included the words 'white tube' in the description.  My white undershirts look like they are Desert Storm camouflage (and probably bought the same year we started that war.)  So, I guess you get the picture or you have a real difficult time with reading comprehension, I am disheveled, unkempt man.

Shannon, however, is not...and doesn't like me to be that way.  *See 'Alone in the Bathroom'. Although, if honesty prevails there are those moments when I look at myself in the mirror, and in my best Fernando Lamos voice say, "You look mahvelous."  Because, when I rock the tux - I look like a scrawny sexy James Bond without the cool gadgets.

So, if you invite us to a wedding, bar mitzvah, christening, baptism, BBQ, graduation, funeral or just a gathering of any sort, I promise to look half presentable.  That is the best I can do.
Bill's big night on the town.

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January 18, 2012

Cleveland Rocks?

Years ago and fresh out of high school, two single guys decided to go on an adventure.  Fighting monsters and villains.  Battling the harsh elements.  Destroying anything that came in their way.  It was a road trip, almost too grand to be written.  It was epic.  And here is that story.

Jim and I went to Cleveland, Ohio. (and Kentucky)

Yeah, okay...I know what you're thinking and you're right...Cleveland sucks.  There I said it, so you wouldn't have to.  You see, it wasn't so much of an adventure as it was a nightmare.  So, if you have ever had a bad vacation or road trip or bad day, maybe you can relate.

We started out, just two troublemakers looking to do a little rabble-rousing, so we thought what better place to cause a little ruckus than good ol' Ohio.  Because, Cleveland is one of the greatest cities in the world?  (yes, there is suppose to be a question mark at the end of that last sentence)  Let's take a look at all the wonderful things Cleveland has to offer.

Exhibit 1 - The Indians.  A major league baseball team.  The last time they won the world series Truman was battling Dewey for the presidential election.  1948, kids.  The only time in recent history, Charlie Sheen was "acting" crazy as the Wild Thing in the movie Major League. (A great movie, might I add)

Exhibit 2 - The Browns.  The National Football team.  Cleveland is so bad they left.

Exhibit 3 - The Browns.  Yeah, they came back.  But, they are awful.  Players and coaches can't wait to get out, as quick as they can.  Ask Bill Belichick if he likes New England better than Cleveland and see what he says.

Exhibit 4 - Drew Carey.  I miss Bob Barker.  Thanks for taking the only thing I looked forward to while being sick away from me, Drew.  The Price is no longer Right.

Exhibit 5 - Lebron James.  (See Exhibit 2.)

Exhibit 6 - Even The Cleveland Show isn't any good.

And finally...Exhibit 7...and why we decided to go.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Because when you think of Rock and Roll, what city comes to mind?  If you said, Cleveland then you know absolutely nothing about music.  Even when the bands do their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction concert, they go to New York City.  No one wants to be in Cleveland.  No one.

But, we did.  We got into the ultimate babe magnet, a 1990 dark blue Ford Escort, and hit the road, traveling from New Jersey.  Traveling to Rock and Roll Mecca, the Hall of Fame.  We would see things that icons wrote and used to make some of the greatest music ever recorded.

It was 1995 and I felt like the President at the time in a room full of chubby interns.  (that is a real old joke, but when else am I going to be able to make Bill Clinton jokes?  Give me a break.)  We were two cool guys and what do cool guys do?  Arrive late at night in Cleveland and don't bother to make reservations for hotel rooms.  So...Drove around Blah Blah Blah boring details  No rooms  Blah Blah Blah  more driving  Blah Blah Blah.  There were no rooms to be found in the Cleveland area!  None!  So, we slept outside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in that Ford Escort.

Let me tell you, you have not lived till you have spent the night in a Ford Escort.  It is a little like sleeping in shopping cart, only without the handlebar.  I however, slept like a newborn - waking up every couple of hours - there was some crying - and I couldn't roll over because of the radical bucket seat.

I awoke the next morning, the sun directly in my face.  The other seat was empty.  Jim was gone.  I looked everywhere.  He was nowhere to be found.  I found a couple quarters in my tight jeans and was planning on finding the nearest payphone to page him on his beeper.  (That is right, this story is that old)  And then there was Jim, coffee in hand, and finishing up a danish.
"Hey, they got a great continental breakfast," he said.
"Isn't that for people staying there?"  I asked.
"They didn't check."
I wanted danish.
I like danish.
My belly was hungry and danish would stop that.
But, I knew I would be the one to get caught.  My life would be over.  I would end up in some Cleveland prison.  I would bang a cup along the bars, singing some Johnny Cash tune, while trying to fend off the likes of  Bogs Diamond  and  Heywood .  There would be no "Red" to help me...and there would be no danish.  I couldn't bring myself to do go in a get a danish.

We walked around Cleveland for a little while, looking for a place to eat before our journey into the Hall of Fame.  But, Cleveland turns out is a ghost town.  It was like walking through Zombieland, without  all  the fun of the zombies.  No place was open and the city was dead.  I had almost given up hope, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, a jolly fat man eating sloppily out of a wrapper.
There it was - yippee ki yay.  Roy Rogers!  No, not the one with Trigger or Dale Evans.  No, the one that served something that kinda tasted like food.  I rushed in there and greedily ate that slop.  It was heavenly awful.  You understand, the greatest worst meal I had ever eaten.  Now, I was ready to be rocked!
Bring on the Hall of Fame!

I guess I should have known, because I know how rock and roll is, but let me explain the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame belonged in Cleveland.  They opened up the roof and dump all the stuff in.  There was crap everywhere.  Nothing made any sense.  It was more disappointing than reading a blog about a road trip to Cleveland.  I couldn't find anything I wanted to see.  It was worthless.  I felt betrayed.  These Rock and Roll hoodlums had pulled a bait and switch.
"Come see Rock and Roll history."
"Sucka, we already fooled you into coming to Cleveland, now enjoy this mockery of a Hall."

We left with our heads hung low and all our hopes and dreams of our Rock and Roll fantasy had been flushed. My time in Cleveland felt endless, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, days felt like an aeon.  I could not wait to get back to my home.

Now, to help you understand how awful Cleveland really is, here is a list of seven things that you would think would be awesome, but really just plain suck.

Seven Things
1.) Cleveland and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  
         (Were you not paying attention?)

2.) Taking candy from a stranger.

3.) Eating a McRib

4.) Going on the Tilt-A-Whirl as an adult

5.) White guys shaving their heads

6.)  Waxing your chest

There are still more stories about my time in Cleveland, but they will have to wait for another day.  My doctor says that too much stress isn't good for me at one time.  So, until next time avoid Cleveland at all costs. 
Consider this your warning.

The Always Wandering,


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