Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Celebrate by terrifying wildlife!

Florida has a weird relationship with fireworks.  Technically, any fireworks that fly and/or explode are illegal.

"That can't be" you say.  It's true my dear friends.

"Then why are there stands and even superstores that sell all kinds of awesome stuff that goes bang?" you ask.

That's where we get all Florida up in this bitch.  See, there's a loophole in the law.  In most places, if you have nuisance animals you may put out traps or a scarecrow or maybe even call an exterminator.  Not in Florida.  In Florida, you shell the bastards with artillery.  Flying and exploding fireworks are legal as long as you're using them to scare off nuisance animals or illuminating a railway.

Sources say that the loophole was put in place about 60 years ago, however, to my knowledge, widespread exploitation didn't start until the mid-1990's.  I can remember as a youth in the 80's having my firecrackers and bottle rockets confiscated by the po-po on more than one occasion.

Lets rewind to the mid 1990's and your truly notices a fireworks store on the side of the road.  Of course I stop in and start talking with the proprietor who reminds me of the one armed guy from The Simpsons (cigarette and all) but sounded like Joe Dirt.

This is when I learn about this glorious nuisance wildlife loophole.  Seriously, all you had to do to purchase these things was fill out a little form with name, address and sign saying you are going to use the fireworks to scare off nuisance wildlife.   The best part: they didn't check ID.  Of course, once I found out that no ID was required, all of my fireworks were bought by my good friends Heywood Jablomey and Dick Burns.

I was so giddy, I dropped about $100 on crap flappers, spleen splitters, honkey lighters and whistling kitty chasers.

So I make it home with the loot and start looking for nuisance wildlife and by this I mean my neighbor.  I started shelling him from my yard.  It was like the bombing of Dresden.

Those were the opening shots of a war that lasted years.  It got to the point that we had to sneak out of the house under cover of darkness just to get the mail or take out the trash if the other guy was home because the artillery is coming out.  When we weren't firing them at each other, we were blowing up fire ant beds.  When we ran out of fire ants in our yards, we blew up the ants in our other neighbors yards.

Hell hath no fury like a swarm of fire ants that was just launched into the air by an explosive device.  You learn to get out of the area quick style.

Sometime around 1999, my co-worker Jesse and I were working in Miami for a few weeks.  On the way down in our work van we decided to stop at a little tourist stand to grab a Coke.  You know the place.  Right off the interstate, sells bags of oranges and gator heads.  Like a Stuckey's, but Florida style.  Anyway, guess what they had...   FIREWORKS!  So Jesse and I buy a bunch of firecrackers and bottle rockets.  We are rolling down I95 dropping firecrackers out the window and giggling like morons.  Jesse was driving and I got the bright idea to fire a bottle rocket out the window.  

So I light the rocket and it goes off, but my aim must have been off because instead of going out the window it hit the frame and bounced right back into the van and proceeded to ricochet all over the place.  It finally ended up in the driver side foot well and blew up.  All of this is happening at 70 mph on the interstate.  We were laughing so hard at our stupidity and the sheer amount of smoke in the van that we had to pull over on the side of the road for a little bit.

Our ears were ringing and Jesse's pants were a little scorched but thankfully, thats the worst that happened during that stupid stunt.  It wasn't the first time I launched a rocket from a moving vehicle, but I don't think I'll do it again.

At least not on the interstate.

Criminal grossness may be an understatement

"I don't know where I am"
Say hello to Marisol.  She's a shoplifter.

"Big deal" you say, shoplifting is nothing special, who gives a shit?

Well kids, Marisol is something special.  I shit you not.  Very special.  You know how some survival experts say to play dead if confronted by a bear?  Well, Marisol has a very special defense against department store security guards.

When the guard confronted her about the items that she allegedly shoplifted, her fight or flight response kicked in.

Marisol shit her pants.


After shitting said pants, Marisol reached deep down into the back of her pants, grabbed a handful of brown matter and smeared it on the guards face.


I would have completely lost my shit!

I'd like to publicly thank Tex for sending me this shit.  All you freaks go out and buy some Gerbing Heated Gear to keep your shit warm.  If you don't like it, Tex will run a vintage motorcycle race of your choice race in a sundress.   I suggest Vintage Days at Mid-Ohio for the best exposure.... and shit.  

Friday, December 19, 2014

That'll Teach Meemaw!

Meet Rachel Anne Hayes, kids.  Rachel bitch slapped her 72 year old grandmother in the face, repeatedly, for not accepting her friend request on FaceBook.   I don't know about you, but sometimes, I wish my grandmother couldn't see some of my FaceBook antics.

That's right, the old bag had it coming.

"Tampa TV station WFLA reports that alcohol was was a factor listed in Hayes’ arrest affidavit."

Well no shit.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

The Ghetto Carwash

Heres another story about the Infamous Dan and the fun we used to have working together.   Dan and I never got tired of tormenting folks.  After the Citrus County Whorehouse episode, we had to find another way to entertain ourselves.  We couldn't help it.

One of these, younger readers.
Our office was in what my grandfather affectionately referred to as "The HCA".  High Crime Area.  It was pretty bad.   The neighborhood behind the office had regular car-b-cues and it was nothing to watch crack dealers doing their thing.  No big deal, our office was secure enough.

There was a car wash across the street from the office.  Lots of unsavory characters hung out around the pay phone at that car wash.   Remember kids, this was still the days of pagers.  Most folks didn't have a cell phone.

We formed a plan.   I brought in binoculars and Dan risked his life to get the number for that pay phone.   The plan was simple.  We had a spotter and a caller.  We took turns calling the hookers and crackheads at the car wash.   We would also get the occasional random passerby to answer.  

We were friends with a few guys in an office on the same floor as us.  One day they decided it would be a good idea to walk to lunch.  Dan and I  call this super surly hooker that we had previously harassed at the pay phone and tell her that we were walking over and wanted an appointment.  It was perfect because one of the guys walking did have a cell phone and was using it.  

Due to our prior harassment, she was naturally skeptical.

"Look across the street.  See the (insert description of what he was wearing that day) guy...   That's me.  My name is Brian (it really was).  Me and the guys want to party."  
RuPaul is actually prettier.

Picture Rupaul with a giant blonde beehive wig on.  That's what this hooker looked like and she was mean as hell.

We hung up, sat back and waited.  She walked out to the sidewalk to meet Brian and co.  The look of bewilderment on his face was beautiful, but not nearly as great as the looks of "so how does this person know you?" from his coworkers.  

Words were exchanged, wild head and hand gestures were plentiful.  In the end, Brian got away physically unscathed but who knows what psychological damage he still carries with him to this day.  

He is probably less damaged than the crackheads.

We would call the crack enthusiasts on the pay phone and in our best Top 40 DJ voice tell them we are watching from a van and if they start dancing for the cars going by, the guy with the best moves would win $100.   It's a game of numbers.   Most of the time, they babbled incoherently, but once in a while, magic happened...

Yeah, we're going to hell.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

I want to sit on this jury

Honestly, she scares me a little.
Yesterday, Heidi Creamer (no, it's not a stage name) was arrested or domestic battery for beating the shit out of her twin sister, Holly.

Why did she beat the shit out of her twin you ask?

Well, according to reports, the twins got into a brawl over a boyfriend and a vibrator.  Yes kids, you read that right.  A boyfriend and a vibrator.  Take a look at that picture kids.  She will mess you up.

I bet that vibrator runs off a 30cc 2-stroke chainsaw motor and comes with a crash helmet.

Here's how my warped little deficient brain pictures it:  Theres some sort of weird twin shit going on here and they share everything, including boyfriends and erotic massage equipment.  Suddenly it was Heidi's turn with the boyfriend and/or buzzing accompaniment and Holly didn't like it.  Twin cat fight ensues, the strongest and meanest of the twins wins and gets hauled off to the hoosegow.

That's the ticket!