Get 2 Choppin

There is nothing more irritating than a slow turner. You know what I am talking about. It is these moron douche bags that slow down to three miles an hour to creep into a parking lot as you are stuck behind them trying to make the next light. I understand you just got your new purple VW bug with the flower holder in the front but don’t fret your pretty little head off the car ain’t going to flip over if you go more than 5 mph around a sharp bend. Those cars are tested on the autobahn and seem to do just fine. I don’t know if you have ever seen any of the Herbie the Love Bug movies but that type of car actually does really well on two wheels so I think you are alright actually accelerating through a turn every once in a great while. 

Another thing that grinds my gears is the driver that gives you the stink eye when he drives up next to you because you are going the speed limit and they are in a frigging hurry to get to their destination. The obvious and sane response would be to let the driver go on his merry way or you can completely mess with the ignoramus. This technique involves speeding up to the car by whatever means possible even if you have to go out of your way, then passing them and pulling along side of the vehicle in front of said asshole and slowing down so as to mimic the speed of the vehicle blocking their route. When he is behind you then tap repeatedly on your brakes in a jerking motion to keep the asshole driver on his toes. If they happen to pull along side of you at a light you give them the hands up and shoulder shrug move while mouthing the words, “What the fuck is your problem?”

The solution to these “road rage” drivers is simple. A harmoncia. I always keep a harmonica in my car for when the occasional harmonica solo is rocking on the radio or cd player and with a quick reach into the glove box I can harmonic along while driving; I find this quite soothing. If you want to be safe you can get what was the precursor to the bluetooth, the harmonica attachment for around the neck. You see this device used alot with the guitar/harmonica combo musician but it also works great in the car to allow hand free harmonica use. The super driving musical combo to strive toward would of course be the ukelele/harmonica mix but that takes years of driving practice and I suggest you start out with smaller engined vehicles like lawnmowers and go-karts.

I love watching sports as much as any red-blooded testosterone filled male does but the one fucking thing that drives me nuts about sports is the slapdick parents out there. Where the fuck do these fucking ignoramuses get off thinking that their little johnny is going to be the next Michael Jordan when he is a 5′10″ white kid that can’t jump and has bad acne so you know he would never get a Hanes commerical and then there is little sweet innocent susie who is going to be the next great dancer whoever the fuck that is but really she is probably going to end up in some sleaze ass strip club doing lines of coke off the cocks of dudes with feathers in their hats and alligator shoes if you are picking up my drift.

First of all do you little girl a favor and put her in tennis, or soccer, or even fucking softball because the worst case scenario they turn out to be a lesbian, not that stripping is a bad thing. Second don’t go all nuts o’ when your kid isn’t getting playing time because in all actuality the reality is that they suck and your fucking fogged up rose-colored glasses are fooling you into thinking they are fucking superstars. Third, don’t go and think you can ever coach the kid better than there current coach. If you are that fucking good, then why the fuck does your kid kick your ass in the backyard or laugh at you when you give him advice and why the fuck isn’t your fucking name on some program that has seven state championships and national recognition.

It fucking tickles my funny bone because half of the parents are living through their kid vicariously because they were fucking band geeks or got cut in high school and the other half are Mr. and Mrs. Jock O’ Gonzo and push their kid like he is a fucking robot that they can mold into Roberto Clemente. Until one day the kid wakes up and hates his fucking shit-brained parents so much that they do drugs, join a band, and grow their hair long in rebellion or become whores. Sure as hell didn’t see that one fucking coming did you jackasses?

I remember a time that if I questionned my coach it wasn’t “okay son here don’t cry daddy and mommy will fix everything. We will go behind coaches back and undermine his authority so he gets fired and maybe the next coach who we will have a say in hiring will play you” the real conversation went like this, “Son, you need to fucking step it up and quit being a baby. If I ever here you questionning the coach again I will whip your lily livered ass from here to Mount Etna where I will make you do windsprints in fucking lava til you stop bitching.” and I didn’t live anywhere near Mount Etna.

So I assume these same parents weren’t babied growing up so why in the hell are they the biggest fucking saps on earth when it comes to their own kids? I mean when you are standing next to your wife as she shoots a little ball of creation out of her legs do you automatically become the biggest whiniest bitches that ever existed or is it something in the fucking water because that gives me another reason to not have kids and just drink beer.

I ain’t saying every coach is a great coach but you fucking parents need to suck down two valium each and sit in the fucking stands and shut the fuck up. Your kid ain’t that good and if he was there would be fucking recruiters and coaches knocking down his or her fucking door. So grab your fucking bleacher cushion seat, sneak in a beer or two and fucking enjoy the game.

Folks we have exciting news for you here at get2choppin.com. The Chop Shoppe has just placed their first order for the above t-shirts. It is a limited edition print with only 24 shirts being made if you would like to pre-order your shirt email me at get2choppin@yahoo.com

The shirts are 50/50 poly cotton blend and they are running 15 dollars plus shipping and handling. Checks and money orders will be accepted. The sizes range from S-M-L-XL. So get your pre-order in now. First come first serve as they say on the tennis court. When you show up at a party wearing one of these babies you will be the envy of all your friends and plus all the non-choppin people that you don’t know at the party. The shirts will be arriving March 10th, 2008 so don’t delay it’s choppin t-shirt season all the way. 

My name is Dirk Dwyer but people call me Dirt Diver because I will go to any lengths to dig up a clue, to recover the missing piece of the puzzle and to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks but stayed on the right side of the law, for the most part.  I’ve seen a lot of things but nothing like this, I remember it as clear as day. My office. The ceiling fan circulated the stale air while night had settled in like a grifter at a vacant house. The smell of death was in the air.

“Dirky, you know that smell was the burritos and beer you drank. You know how it upsets your stomach.” The voice was nasally, like the worst head cold you’ve ever had but ten times worse. It made Charlie Brown’s teacher sound normal. It was my mothers.

“Quit it, Ma! I am trying to tell a story for Christ’s sake.”

Her voice could peel paint off a brand new cherry red Coup de Ville like it was acid. She yelled back, “Dirk Dwight Dwyer, you will not be using that kind of language while you are under this roof, you hear me?”

I had no choice in the matter. I had fallen upon hard times; I was riding on a rough stretch of the highway of life. I was a fat kid skating on thin ice. My luck had run out on me like a cheating husband and his two-bit whore girlfriend. I yelled into the kitchen from the screened in front porch, “Alright Ma, just give me a break, would ya?”

“Okay sweetie, do you and your friend want some milk and cookies?”

It irritated me sometimes how she treated me like a kid but I knew she had a case of the rusty bucket, the bye bye birdies, and her bouquet of forget me nots was starting to wilt fast. She was playing fifty-two pick up with only forty cards. The docs called it Alzheimer’s, but I knew it was just her synapses were misfiring like a stolen gun in a bad guy’s hand. I replied as calm as I could, “We’re just fine Ma, if I need ya, I’ll give ya a hollar.”

So where was I. Oh yeah. My office. The smell of death was in the air. I opened up my desk and pulled out two glasses not for anyone else but just so I didn’t have to wait for that next drink. I meant to drink hard and fast until I cared about nobody or I reached the bottom of the bottle. Fortunately I have three things that keep me from being six feet closer to the center of the earth. I have a hard head, a soft heart, and a high tolerance.  Before that sweet nectar of cheap whiskey hit my lips, I heard a knock at the door. I took a hard gulp and waited for that second knock. I saw her silhouette turn away and I thought if you could make love to a shadow I would have thrown away the world for that outline. She turned back and knocked again. I leaned back in my chair and calmly said, “The doors open honey, the doors always open.”

She walked in with a slight limp that somehow she made graceful. I would find out later she lost a leg in the war when I tried to run my hand up her slender leg and came away with a handful of splinters but that’s later. She had a set of cans that were like two ripe melons fresh for the picking. Her eyes were the kind if you stared to long you could forget all sorts of troubles, but troubles were coming that was for sure.

The question I have is, do you really know which one of your friends has your best interest at heart? I know that we all have our best friends but what about those fringe buddies that just hang around because they know that you are really cool and it ups their status to be near you. What do they bring to the table? I have come up with a game that can weed out these hanger ons. It is called friend Keno.

Friend Keno is simple yet quite complex. You can weed out as many as ten friends in this game but I suggest you start with four (if you only have one friend then that is pretty sad, or you could set up the weed out zing and just make that one friend the only entry against an imaginary friend that just happens to text you).

Now I don’t know if you have ever been to a bar and played Keno but it involves selecting from 1-10 numbers between 1-80. You can bet a dollar minimum and you can play a kicker bet that can multiply your winnings. You can also increase your bet by betting up to as much as ten dollars per draw. Again I suggest you keep it simple and just bet one dollar per draw.

The game starts by you getting four friend to give you each one number between 1-80. The first round consists of ten draws and the number that comes up the most is the round 1 winner. The person with the second highest total will face off against the winner, if there is a tie for 2nd those two friends will each pick two numbers for another ten draws. The combined total of the two numbers that comes up the most wins and moves on to the finals. Where the same premise exists. Two numbers each and ten draws.

A couple stipulations exist. If all four numbers hit the last number in the sequence is worth two points, otherwise every time a number comes up it is worth one point. The highest point total moves on in each round. If there is a tie after any round their is an additional playing of 10 draws to determine a winner (if for instance 3 of the 4 tie for second, you retain the old numbers including the number 1 seed and play 10 draws with the 3 tied for 2nd being the only points that get counted). If there is a tie after that another 5 draws is played but it is sudden death and the first number that comes up for either contestant will move them on to the next round or crown them champion. 

In the final round if the two top seeds are tied after the stipulated 10 draws then it goes directly into the 5 draw sudden death. After the winner is crowned you have just effectively weeded out three “friends” and if it is “Russian Roulette Friend Keno” you can then erase them from your phone. This can also be used as “One Ticket Left Friend Keno“, where after giving out tickets to your close friends and you have one ticket left, you can put the remaining friends in this game and you will be able to easily determine a winner without any bias involved.

The greatest part of this game is that for around 20-40 dollars you can eliminate three loser friends that just don’t get the big picture and you can possibly make money in the process so that you can treat you real friends to a shot at the bar.