Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Stranger danger!!

Bad cop!  No donut!
Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do....  Todays Tard of the Week award goes to the Port St Lucie Police Department.

Port St Lucie cops arrested a mom for letting her 7 year old play at the neighborhood playground without a security detail.   I hope this mom has the funds and time to stick it to the man.  The list of bullshit reasons to call this child endangerment is completely retarded.

"Oh my, there might be bad people lurking in the shadows".  WTF people.  Seriously.  Why even let the kids go outside at this point.  Your special little snowflake needs to be protected at all costs.

My parents would be buried under the jail if I were a kid now.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Reader Roundup 7-24-2014

Big thanks to Ron, Jason, and Harold for these.  Ready?  Here we go.

First, we have this guy.   This fine upstanding citizen gets caught blowing another dude by his wife.  Instead of talking it out, he goes all Florida on her, knocking her off the jet ski they were riding and leaves her stranded on a sand bar.  In the middle of a large body of water.  She eventually died a few days later in the hospital.  Police are now looking for the knob polishee for questioning.

Next up, we have this octogenarian that went all apeshit in traffic and shot another car for cutting him off.  Folks, if you learn nothing else from me, remember this:  Don't F with old guys.  They will ruin your day.  They don't give a shit, they're going to die soon anyway.

I bet the next time Michael Glitniak tries to pay a hooker with food stamps, he'll check to make sure she's WIC approved first.

Last, we have these guys.  They obviously really really wanted a burger.  They wanted burgers so bad, they broke into the burger joint and stole a shitload of them.   Oh yeah, in true Florida fashion, they were naked.

Hurricanes, Tornados and Sharks (oh my)

I'm so proud of my home state right now.  Florida topped the list of scariest states.  Not because of clowns or spiders but because of hurricanes, tornados and sharks.  America's Wang ranked first in each of those categories.

So, if you're out and about today, hug a shark.  They are a big help in keeping us weird.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Fly the really friendly skies

John Manwaring of Maitland was arrested in Boston during a layover for going out to score a fix.

Oh yeah, and he's a JetBlue pilot.

I don't know about you, but I have serious reservations about an airline pilot who is also a heroin enthusiast.  I'd be worried he'd nod off during a flight and we'd turn into a crater, but that's just me.


Thursday, July 17, 2014

No ID required

Beer......
I feel bad or the kids of today.  Underage drinking these days seems to be something that can get the kid, their family and every convenience store clerk in a 20 mile radius locked up for 16 consecutive life sentences.  Back in the late 80s/early 90s, it wasn't that way.  As long as you weren't a complete amateur about it, you could get away with it.  

One of the ways to get away with it back then was to go to really shitty bars.  There were a few we went to whose policy seemed to be that if you had the balls to walk in and order a beer in this place, you're old enough to be there.  This is a story about one such place.  

There was a bar in Jacksonville Beach that Jonathan (yes, the same guy from this story) and I would go to pretty frequently.  It was a little locals only dive.  It was a complete dump, but they had cheap pitchers and good live music, mostly blues and southern rock.  The clientele was always interesting as well.    

We got there one Saturday night and it was a little crowded, no big deal.  One thing caught my eye as we walked in.  There is a guy sitting over in a corner table, so hammered that he's having a heated conversation with a potted tree.  I don't know about you, but I have never been so smashed that I got into an argument with a ficus.  This guy is debating the meaning of life or something with the shrubbery.  


The band is rocking, playing a lot of Skynyrd of course. There are a couple of open tables.  Jonathan grabs a table and I head to the bar to get a pitcher.  I get to the table, pour myself a beer and settle in to listen to the music and relax.  Halfway through the pitcher, somebody falls over onto me.  It's tree-boy.  I put a hand on his back and stand him back up.  No harm, no foul.  Didn't even spill my beer.  What I didn't notice is that when I stood him back up, it was right back into the face of the guy that punched him, knocking him into me in the first place.  So dude clocks tree-boy again, this time knocking him over another table, sending a pitcher and mugs flying.  

This is not good.
At this point, the whole place erupts into a brawl.  When I say brawl, I want you to picture an old western movie.  That's what it looked like.  Everybody trying to punch somebody, tables getting turned over, chairs flying and the band never missed a beat.   

Jonathan and I want no part of this.  We're drinking in a bar underage and accidentally started a huge bar fight.  Not good.  We need an exit strategy.  Jonathan bolts for the door and gets out.  I can't get around the table and through the door before it gets blocked.  Shit, now what?  Not really wanting to fight my way out, I take the only option left.  

I jump up on the stage with the band.  

It's about this time that I realize I didn't completely think this through.  Jonathan thinks it's hilarious as he's pointing and laughing at me through the windows.  

Where do I go now?  I'm further away from the door than I was.  I can't just stand here looking like a deer in the headlights while the rest of the place is reenacting the pie fight scene from Blazing Saddles without the pies.  

Stuck on stage with no way out, I did what any good North Florida boy would have done.  

I grabbed a mic...  "...be a simple kind of maaaaaaaaannnn......."

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

I feel so much safer.

Papers please.
What happens when the world's most inept government agency hires fast food workers to run it's operations?

This.

I have no words.

I can tell you from experience that the TSA in Orlando is staffed with lower than average forms of life, even for the TSA.

We were coming home from Disney World sometime around 2007.  We were coming home, running late and trying to get to our flight.  My seven year old son was the last of us to come through.  He had put a half used sample size of toothpaste in his backpack.  Well, the TSA screener who left a lucrative job at Burger King to decide who gets on a plane and who gets beat with rubber hoses in an 8x8 concrete room under the airport decided she was going to detain my son for his contraband Colgate.

This did not sit well with me.

My lovely wife saw my face and proceeded to get herself and my daughter the hell out of dodge.  She didn't want to get locked up just for being part of the family.  They headed for the gate, quickstyle.

I nicely told her that we can just throw the toothpaste away and be on our way.  That wasn't good enough.  She then put her hands on my son.

Oh hells no.  Wrong answer, this isn't happening.  I'm pretty sure this was the first time my kids heard me drop the F bomb.  I dropped it, I dropped it loud and I dropped it good.  I explained to her that in no uncertain terms was she to touch my kid again or we're going to have a problem.  She is welcome to keep the toothpaste, but we are getting on the plane.   She still didn't want the toothpaste so I threw a fastball right past her into the trash can in her little screening station.  She grabbed my wrist.   I asked her to show me her ID.  She refused.  I knew she would because she made a big effort to hide it when I first walked over to see what the problem was.  She kept it hidden during the whole encounter.  I told her this interaction was done and walked away.

Thankfully, she didn't call security and have me locked up.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Wouldn't that make them documented?


Seriously folks.  Illegals or as it it PC to say Undocumented aliens are undocumented for a reason.  They don't want to be documented.  If they are documented, it makes it easier to find and deport them.  This is one of the dumbest things I have heard today, and I was amusing myself reading a site about chemtrails this morning.

I bet our good buddy Rick Scott finds a way to pander to them.  

Road Yoga

She looks so happy.
It must be the yoga. 
Sounds like fun, right.  Michele Cernak thought so too.  She got super high on some combination of heroin, crack, Vicodin and Xanax.   Then she proceeded to park her truck in the median, strip naked and start doing yoga right there.  I guess it seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Folks, I've spent some time in Ocala which is where this happened.  Aside from the occasional case of horse buggery, there really isn't a whole lot going on there.

Still, I can't imagine ever being this bored.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Three morons in a tiny boat

Years ago, around the time Bill Clinton was having his presidential knob polished by a chubby intern, the company my dad worked for got a special deal from the Jacksonville Suns.  For a flat fee, you got box seats and all the hotdogs and beer you wanted at an afternoon game.  Several of us took advantage of the offer and saw the beer/hotdog thing as a personal challenge.  We tried valiantly to eat every hotdog and drink every beer in the stadium that day, but it was a game of numbers.  They were too many and we were too few.

Todd, Paul and I were unceremoniously dumped out of a car onto my front yard around 8 pm.

So what are we going to do now?

I know, let's go fishing!

One problem popped up immediately.  We were out of beer and none of us is in any condition to drive.  No problem, I got this covered.  I walked next door and got the 15 year old neighbor kid who had his learners permit to drive us up to Publix in my truck for more beer.

Upon returning home with beer, ice and bait, we proceeded to load up my little jon boat, trolling motor, battery and gear into the back of the truck.  We get the neighbor kid to drive us down to the creek.  He walked home (it's only a few minutes away on foot) and left us there to put the boat in.

We quickly found out that a 10 foot jon boat is not nearly large enough for 3 grown men who had been drinking all afternoon.  We were floating just a few inches above the water line with all the weight in the boat.  Fishing is out of the question.  Instead of going home, we decide to take a scenic nighttime tour of Julington Creek.  When I say scenic, all we could see was darkness except for our flashlights and lantern, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

We're watching you Todd.  
Did I mention that Todd is from Kentucky and not completely down with the idea of gators?  Well, this is great fun for me as I start shining the light around so he can see all their beady little eyes glowing back at us.  Always there, always watching.

So we keep puttering along under power from the trolling motor.  For the uninitiated, an electric trolling motor is a small motor that sounds like George Jetson's car used to maneuver a boat around slowly.   Power is measured in lbs of thrust.  This particular model was an ancient 14 lb thrust model that only 2 of the 3 speeds worked.  For comparison, 14lbs of thrust equates to about 0.000001 horsepower.  You can walk faster than this thing.  A lot faster.  I think the smallest they make now is about 30 lbs of thrust.  Don't laugh, it was free.

One of the rocket scientists in the boat says "Hey, lets go up to Clarks!"  Clarks is a fish camp/seafood joint about 3 miles up the creek from where we put in.  It's the point where the creek goes from being really narrow to full river.

Sure, why not.  It's super dark, we're drinking and in a tiny boat.  What's the worst that could happen?

A few hours, several beers and hundreds of gators later, we're standing on the dock at Clarks, proud to join the ranks of explorers like Magellan, Lewis and Clark and James T. Kirk.

From the looks of it, we missed last call.  Dammit.  I bet Magellan didn't miss last call when he made it to the Philippines.

Oh well, it's after 2 am.  Time to go home.  We climb back aboard the boat and start the long and treacherous journey home.  About 300 yards from the dock, the unthinkable happens.  The battery dies.  No more juice.

"Uh, well shit.  This sucks."

"Now what?"

"I guess we're paddling."

I wouldn't really call it a paddle, more like an extra large spatula.  Oh yeah, there's only one of them.  Three miles doesn't sound like much until you try to propel an overloaded boat full of drunks with a kitchen utensil.

The rest of the trip we took turns paddling and drinking.

Suddenly, the peace and tranquility is broken by a scream so horrifying that it immediately flips that switch in the primitive part of our brains from inactive to fight or flight.  Every hair on my body stood on end.  It took a second to realize that it was Todd screaming.  He sounded a lot like Chris Tucker in the Fifth Element.  Todd thought something was about to eat him.  What really happened was that a mullet got spooked by the boat and when it jumped in the pitch dark, it jumped towards the boat and hit Todd in the leg and then started flopping around by his feet.  I'm pretty sure Todd not only dropped a few stink nuggets in his drawers, he also lost at least 3 or 4 years off the end of his life.
Jumping out of the water and into your nightmares

We got back to the put in spot right about sunrise.  All in all it was a good night.  We saw wildlife, we drank beer, we laughed,  one of us cried, we even caught a fish without trying.


Wednesday, July 9, 2014

This is why I'm a dog person

Mr Dinkles is not happy.  
It's a story as old as time.  Woman steps on cats tail, cat tries to murder the whole family.

Teresa and James Gregory of Deland will probably turn into dog people soon too.  Their cat, Kush decided to go all batshit crazy on them and tried to kill them in their home recently.  I know what you're thinking, anyone that names a cat "Kush" probably has other issues too, but I digress.  Kush allegedly went so nuts, they had to call 911 on the cat.  Personally, I'd have just kicked the cat or grabbed him by the scruff and tossed his ass outside, but that's just me.

What is this world coming to?  What kind of panty waist calls 911 because Mr Dinkles is going crazy in the house.  I don't get it.  I worked at a vet's office when I was a teen.  These bites and scratches would have been just another day at work.


Monday, July 7, 2014

Polar bear plunge, Florida style


So, how does one organize a polar bear plunge for charity in a State where the water never freezes?  

Simple, you get one of those oversized kiddie pools from Wal-mart and 1500 lbs of ice.  These heroic cops are raising money in Clearwater to help a woman with cancer.  It's nice to see them take a break from kicking down the wrong door looking for contraband to do something that benefits the community.  

Thursday, July 3, 2014

In hindsight, that was probably a bad idea

My friends and I, like all red blooded American boys LOVED fire and fireworks.  We even made our own on occasion.

We used to do a lot of night fishing in a little branch off of Julington Creek growing up.  There was a cleared lot with a bulkhead just a few minutes walk from the house.  I fished in that spot from the time I was in elementary school until I moved out of state in my late 20s.  We would sit down there and make a campfire because the smoke helped keep bugs away and fire provided entertainment while waiting on a fish to bite.  It started off with melting stuff.  That fire pit probably has a six inch thick blob of melted aluminum, lead and glass at the bottom of it to this day.

Friends would come by and see if anything was biting or just to hang out and shoot the shit for a while.  It started becoming routine for somebody to drop a firecracker in the fire and laugh themselves stupid when somebody almost shit their pants from the surprise or started doing the funky chicken dance from embers flying around all over the place.  One friend liked to toss something in the fire and yell "BULLET!" and run like hell just to watch everybody scatter.  This was before we found out that a bullet won't shoot out of a fire and kill you, but that's a story for another time.

One night when I was about 14, my buddy Jonathan and I were fishing.  It wasn't a particularly fruitful expedition and we were about to pack it up.  I stood up to do the traditional pee out the campfire routine when he stopped me.

This is going to be cool as shit!
"Hang on a second, this is gonna be cool as shit."

"What'd ya bring?" I asked, assuming that it was going to be the usual homemade fireworks or something.

"Check it out."

He then pulls the biggest aerosol can of WD-40 I have ever seen out of his bag.  This thing was huge.  Like Sam's Club bucket of mayo huge.

This is going to be awesome.  See, we had blown up cans of hair spray before.  It makes a decent sized pop, usually putting out the fire, no muss, no fuss.  Kind of like a dry ice bomb, but with the added excitement of shrapnel.

So we decide that the plan is to drop the can in the fire and hide behind a big oak tree to watch.  After the pop, we'll haul ass before anybody came to investigate the noise.  What's the worst that can happen, right?

He drops the can and we run.  We're giggling like morons waiting for the thing to pop.  The seconds tick by in slow motion.  What happened next, well, lets just say it was no can of hair spray.

BOOM!!!   The can blew up.  It shook the ground and sent a giant fireball 40 feet into the air.  Seriously, you could see this event from space.
It looked just like this.  

We look at each other "COOL!!"

Our revelry was short lived when it started raining hellfire down all around us.

We spent the next several minutes running around in a panic trying to stomp out the 4000 little fires that started in a 40 foot radius around the fire.  We got them out and luckily made a clean getaway.

That was the first and last time we blew up a can of WD-40.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

It had to be a joke, right?

Sports fan or not, anyone who hasn't been living under a rock for the past couple of years has heard of Aaron Hernandez.  In case you don't know, he was an NFL player that murdered a few people.   He was a thug when we played at UF as well, but as it goes all over the NCAA and NFL, if you're a good player, you can get away with a lot *cough* (Ray Lewis) *cough*.

Aaron isn't a Floridian, but he did play football at UF and that's why we're talking about it now.  The Gators put out a calendar every year.  Guess who Mr July is.  Just take a wild assed guess.  

Yep, you guessed it.  Hernandez is Mr July.  

UF's excuse?  "These things are approved months or years in advance."   Wow.  They couldn't be bothered to get a new July page to the printers since June of 2013.  

Um..... yeah.

Everyone knows it's 2014, right?  Now that we've established that we are living in modern times, do people really fall for this sideshow nonsense?

Well, it is Florida.

Some yahoo in Seminole Heights caught a glimpse of the wily and elusive two-headed gator.  You read that right kids, a two-headed gator.  They even got a picture.  Now, I'm no expert, but that picture looks pretty suspect to me.  I know two headed animals exist, but for a gator to live long enough in the wild to reach the size in the picture, well, lets just say I have my doubts.

Honestly, I hope I'm wrong.  I'd love to add this reptile to the list of weird things from my beloved home state.