Man, what a weekend. Went fishing on Saturday per the promise to myself. Caught a nine-pound largemouth.

I know it looks like it is in the five inch range, but that is because I have an allergic reaction to game fish that causes my hands to swell to seventeen times their normal size, so it’s all out of scale.

Someone left me a note asking why I fish if I don’t like to eat them. Good question. For one, if you look at the above picture, you can see that I would obviously starve to death if I had to rely on my fishing skills for food. I also like going out and hanging out in places that look like this-

That’s right. That little piece of heaven is right here in Georgia. The third reason I fish is because it is just something that guys do. Like working on cars, changing channels, and masturbating. It is just part of our make-up, and you ladies wouldn’t like us if we were just like you. Plus we’d all suffocate because no one would ever change the filter on the air conditioner.*

Speaking of strange man-woman interaction, I had the MTV turned on this weekend while I was working on one of my toys, and there was this show where some music singer pop star had married another of the same, and they were documenting their life together. Very few things have ever made me want to vomit more, but I just couldn’t change the channel. Both of them are beautiful and richer than God, but their combined I.Q. seemed to be somewhere between a baked potato and a dead hamster. He was constantly having to help her with tasks like understanding words, and she whined and complained non-stop. Were I in his position, I would have to temporarily rescind my “beating women only on weekends” rule.*

*I neither beat (nor endorse the beating of) women, nor do I think they are incapable of changing air filters. Both comments were meant to be funny. If you found them objectionable, stop thinking and go check your air filter.

Of course, he was dumb enough to marry her on the merits of breast size and hair color alone, so he probably deserves it. I could recount some of the moronic exchanges they had, but I’m pretty sure that just thinking about it is making me dumber.

The weather was beautiful all weekend. Sunny, mid-seventies, and low humidity. On Sunday I decided to get a few side jobs finished so I could have food next month. One of the jobs is drawing a picture of this dog. Seriously.

Cute the way he smiled for the camera, huh? Actually it is a welcome change form most of my artwork to do something a little unorthodoxed.

Since it was so nice out, I let Booger go out on the back porch and hang out in the ficus tree that lives there. He was one happy chameleo calyptratus, let me tell you. The dumpster is just on the other side of the parking lot, so he got all the flies he could eat. This is probably the last thing most insects saw who wandered to my back porch that day…

Then he’d get all puffed up and try to look cool. I thought this was a pretty good picture, as lizard portraits go.

I then decided to install a recently repaired motor on one of my favorite toys, and, of course made myself bleed again.

Interesting fact: if you drill through something, even if the drill bit is very small, it will probably eventually come out the other side, where your finger should not be. Also, deep puncture wounds made by drill bits tend to carry a lot of foreign matter with them, making for quite a painful injury and an infection that I’m sure is coming soon.

Finally, the highlight of the weekend was the fitful night of sleep I got last night. The Ladyfriend got two mice as pets, and while I am more of a “things that eat mice” kind of guy, they are pretty interesting to watch scurry around and chew on stuff. They also hump A LOT. That’s pretty funny too, because they go at it really fast and make funny noises. The Ladyfriend and I like to give them little high mouse voices and add the voice over. I think that kind of behavior might be illegal. If Alvin and the chipmunks had a disco album, that would be the soundtrack for humping mice. The downside of the mice is this wheel they like to run on at night. I don’t know if wild mice run 20 miles a day, but these two seem to be training for a marathon. I need to figure out how to hook an odometer up to that thing and see how far they go in a day. You wouldn’t think that mice really had anywhere to go. The wheel rubs on part of the cage because of how it is mounted, and needs to be fixed. I offered the solution of taking it out of the cage at night, but Ladyfriend wasn’t down with that. She also didn’t like the idea of putting the cage in the freezer at night so we couldn’t hear them, so I’m going to have to actually think about how to fix this. I’m sure I can come up with something.

So that was part of my fitful night of sleep. The other thing that made it suck was that I had some seriously weird dreams. In the first one, I had bought a huge pickup truck from a friend of mine and accidentally ran over the front of one of those NOPI cars with the huge coffee can mufflers and scratched it all up. I know this shouldn’t bother me, but it did. I stopped and got out half expecting to see some teenage kid with the beginnings of a molester moustache get out and threaten to “cut me”. Instead this girl got out who had the most massive nose I had ever seen. I mean hanging down past the chin, male elephant seal type nose. I guess I had developed Tourettes syndrome or something, because all of my thoughts of her hideous nose were being involuntarily spoken by me, and she got all mad and started crying, so I had to hug her and her gross nose was hanging down my back and wiggled every time she sniffed. It was just gross. I think I gave her a blank check and drove away.

Then in my next dream (or it may have been the same one, who knows), I was doing my daily testicular cancer self-check, and I found something that was definitely not supposed to be there. It was a knot the size of a pea, and it alarmed the crap out of me. I was all worried until somehow it came out through the skin of my satchel and turned out to be a small piece of chocolate. An odd sense of unnerving relief swept over me.

So I had a dream that I had chocolate in my scrote.

If that doesn’t qualify me for a government-funded study, nothing will.

Trackback URI |