Get 2 Choppin

I have a sneaky feeling no one reads this shit anymore. It is kinda depressing writing 375 plus brilliant posts and having seven people read them. Oh well, I have this awful feeling that because of certain impending financial obligations this website will no longer exist, so the only thing I can think to do is go out with a bang.

Recently I visited the Fremont Summer Solsistice Parade. This quaint eclectic suburb of Seattle hosts a yearly parade and festival honoring the transition of Spring to Summer. The parade participants do this by getting naked and painting themselves and then riding on bikes because that is what the ancient followers of the half-man, half-goat deity Pan use to do to honor the burgeoning renewal of life that occurs during the longer summer days.

All I can say about this parade is that I saw more side-boob in two hours than I have in my entire life. It was a like a steamy cup of side-boob soup. It was an all you can eat side-boob salad bar. It was one great big whirling maelstrom of a side-boob storm. I drank from the C-cup and reached my side-boob saturation point and that was just the half of it. The wackiness continued…

The above picture is of 1 of 75 super huggers that roamed the parade route giving out hugs like candy on halloween. It was oh so sweet. Following this display of friendliness was the hula-hoopers, the yumbrellas (that is my own name but I consider it more apropos than whatever name they could’ve come up with), the pretty parasols (who I thought should’ve been the pair-a-souls and thus should have tied themselves three legged style to another person) and various drummers and guitar strummers.

In the spirit of the eccentric, I came up with two ideas for parade entries next year. The Guys with Ties Float, consisting of naked dudes that just wear ties, ranging from the skinny ties of the 80’s to bow ties to gag ties that hang down to your ankles. The other idea was for an entry called The Danza Dancers which would have a float that had a band playing Elton John’s song Tiny Dancer and a bunch of Tony Danza look-a-likes dancing in the streets.

I know a cool doggie named Dan the Man

He loves to stick his head out the window of my van

He lives his life the Clawson way

He has a laid back, floppy-eared style that no else can play

All I know is that he is better than me

Cause he is the boogie woogie beagle of g2c

He is the top dog in C-town

You can’t lock him up, cause he’ll break out the pound

Don’t think about puttin’ on the leash

Cause he’s stronger than a mule, Ka-peesh

All I know is that he is better than me

Cause he is the boogie woogie beagle of g2c

He’s a smart little puppy and stays off the streets

That’s why he gets the Dairy-O and their doggie treats.

If you say dog catcher he stays in his place

But ask for kisses and he’s licking your face

He chases after tennis balls and catches big floppy Frisbees

Cause he is the boogie woogie beagle of g2c

At the end of the night he’s at the foot of the bed

In the morning he fetches the paper to be read

If you clap your hands and stomp your feet

He’ll do a little dance that’s mighty neat

Scratch his belly and he starts itching like he found a flea

Cause he is the boogie woogie beagle of g2c.

And all I know is that he is better than me

Cause he is the boogie woogie beagle of g2c

He’s the boogie woogie beagle of g2c.

I sailed the ocean blue,

I sailed the ocean blue,

My name’s John E. Bravo,

And that’s what I do.

I’m zipped up from belt to chin

If we get in a fight you’re not going to win

It matters neither time nor place

My fists will be flying all over your bloody face

Like a bowling ball to a pin

So what if I hit .500 it’s still better than Mr. Consistent, Tony Gywnn.

My gangs on the side and they’re ready to fight

They’re all liquored up; it’s been a good night

Wham Dickham keeps getting the eye

I don’t think it’s true, I think it’s a lie

But we stand our ground, knowing somebody’s always at our left or right.

Don’t worry about pretty boy Wham getting a scratch; he’s more bark than bite.

Johnny Sings the Blues has eyes for crazy Denise

In his warped imagination he thinks he’s getting a piece

She’s on a weekend pass from the asylum

She should be classified in the cuckoo bird phylum

Like I said, the perfect girl to bring home to mama Reese (ur, not).

I can’t see how Johnny Blues even thought she might be deese!

K.C. the Sunshine man doesn’t mind the gold band anymore

Just cause there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score

He “accidentally” spilled a beer

Since you didn’t get in her panties that’s a waste you queer

You made up for it with the sleeves of wizard; I laughed until I was sore.

And come on, you know you’re paying for the tab before you even walk in the door

Well that about sums it up

Oh yeah, Chef Sears showed to tip his cup

He was dressed in all white

We were damsels in distress and he was our knight

He suggested we go to Red Hots

Because he was hungry, and sick of handling his own pans and pots.

John E. Bravo’s quarter pound ground round had no shot

Wham threw up in the parking lot

K.C. ordered the chicken fingers pita

Johnny Blues was outta there like a horny cheetah

It was a night to remember or maybe not

That’s the end of the story and that’s all I got.

It ceases to amaze me how f’ing messed up people are in this world. Today for instance I was driving to my first day of classes for the winter semester at Detroit Mercy when this Volvo Cross Country station wagon comes flying out of nowhere at about 60 miles an hour in the oncoming merging right lane to cut every off at the last second. I wasn’t really that shocked until I came to the next light and was right behind her only to see her turn around and give a little coochie-coo to her infant in the child car seat.

Are you seriously fucking kidding me? This lady is definitely up for mom of the year.  Oh wait that’s only if this Kid Caring Kamikazee doesn’t kill her whole stinking family trying to make it to daycare before the good toys are all doled out. Not to mention the fact that she drives a foreign automobile, I mean she probably got it because the safety rating was off the charts but of course when you drive like a Vietnamese monk on fire that safety factor gets thrown out the window just like your little baby will because in your rush you probably forgot to buckle their seat belt.

I wouldn’t have been shocked if this lady didn’t rig some boob bong up so she could kill two birds with one stone and drive and breast feed her baby at the same time. It kinda makes sense, I guess the logic would be that if you hit enough of the newly formed winter pot holes you will shake that teat emptier than the used underwear bin at a homeless shelter.

I know people drive like assholes and I will confess I tend to be judgmental of everyone’s driving habits but mine and typically give each and every one of those jerks an earful and a single finger salute. In this case though I feel there is not enough words in my cuss filled vocabulary to describe how I really feel about this Mom Maniac except for this: Damn girl, you one Krazy Kunt of a kid carpooler and oh yeah slow the fuck down.

I have to say that M.A.S.H. 4077 is the greatest serious-sitcom to ever be created. It can take you from laughing to crying faster than Trapper John can remove a piece of shrapnel from a North Korean’s lower intestine. Whether it is the hilarity that ensues in the swamp during cocktail hour with the booze from their handmade still or the witty back and forth banter with a hint of underlying sexual tension between Hot Lips Hoolihan and Hawkeye Pierce, you are bound to find something enjoyable about your time spent at this kooky Korean War campground. I have to say that you are either with me or against me on this one boys. If you are against me well all I can say is I hope your face gets ripped off in a highly unlikely grenade clogged snow blower accident.

I have to say that eating watermelon is eerily close to eating gash and could be useful as a teaching or practice tool. In both circumstances, if done properly and with an adequate amount of zestful exuberance your face will be wet and sticky. Plus don’t forget to really finish the job off you are probably going to having to do a little spooning. I have to say that you are either with me or against me on this one boys. If you are against me I must warn you that I might just have to cut you into little pieces and change your name to stew because you are one step closer to becoming dinner for the polar bears at the zoo.

I have to say that Kirsten Dunst is moving up on the list of cool chick actresses. In my opinion she has overtaken Kate Hudson. Kirsten is obviously a way better kisser, I mean who can forget her smooch in the first Spider-Man flick and her wacky yet flirtatious role as Claire in Elizabethtown was one for the ages even though the movie was a bit contrite and forced. I mean she created an entire cross-country road trip with a bonus soundtrack for Orlando Bloom. Does it get any cooler than that? Plus she has boobies, which if you haven’t noticed Kate Hudson does not. I think Kate peaked in Almost Famous. I have to say you are either with me or against me on this one boys. If you are against me don’t be surprised if you get caught in a flying pain storm of razor sharp ninja stars made out of the unsought DVD’s of Fool’s Gold and How To Lose a Man in Ten Days, which only have any value at all because of Matthew McConaughy’s abs.

I have to say that Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Santa Clause is coming to town” is the greatest Christmas song of all time. The gritty garden state soul of the Boss shines through on this one, while Clarence Carter’s sax attack and the little drummer boy, Max Weinberg, help to make the E-street band the reindeers that are pulling Old St. Bruce’s sleigh all around the world spreading their Christmas joy. When that deep bass voice says, “you better be good for goodness sake” I know I straighten up and fly right. I have to say that you are either with me or against me on this one boys. If you are against me I hope you get a condom stocking stuffed full of “black” coal hand delivered by an ex-con that doesn’t go by the nickname “Tiny Tim” if you know what I mean.