99 Cans


How many can you fit on the wall before you can start counting?

Answer….99.

The problem with that equation is while you are trying to stack the cans to be able to begin counting them down from 99 to zero, you typically have to count them as you are placing them up to avoid not having enough….or having too many.

Thanks to a brewing company in Austin, Texas that problem will be had…never more.

I give you the 99 pack of beer.

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No more time wasted with those wimpy 6-30 packs of child’s play beer combinations and having to count BEFORE you start to sing the epic countdown.

Just empty the pack and start the annoyance of drinking AND singing the epic greatness of counting down to an empty wall that is replaced by a sea of empty cans lying at your feet.

It all starts and ends with “The Peacemaker” the beer that is encouraged to be drank, “Anytime”.

For video proof of the peacemaker pack press “here“.

Everything in Texas is bigger.

It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s better.

Keep it classy, Austin.

AAAAND…..

Begin…

99 cans of beer on the wall, 99 cans of beer. Take one down, pass it around,

98 cans of beer on the wall.

Dairy Of A Madman


Doing things the homemade way is always quite a challenge.

My lovely wife is not able to eat any of the things that “normal” people…like myself…are able to consume in mass quantities without adverse side effects.

The avoidable items in our house include but are not limited to-

-gluten
-corn
-soy
-sugar
-white rice
-peanuts
-chocolate

When she is out of town, I go out an order gluten by the pound, topped with corn, peanuts, rice dipped in chocolate and covered in soy sauce.

When she is not…..we make everything homemade without the afore mentioned ingredients.

Our latest venture into the homemade venturistic stuff n things food type making dealio included attempting to make our own….

Yogurt.

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Because….

You can never have enough yogurt in your system.

Am I right? Who’s with me on this one?

It’s even fun to just say….

Yogurt….YOgurt….yoGURT.

Anyway…

We diligently searched for what seemed like days to find a recipe we liked.

But…

We came upon the same conundrum with each recipe.

Here is a sample recipe which pretty much described every recipe for homemade yogurt-

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You see what they did there?

To make homemade yogurt…..you need to add store bought yogurt.

IF I HAVE TO ADD YOGURT TO MAKE HOMEMADE YOGURT WHY WOULD I MAKE IT INSTEAD OF JUST BUYING IT?

Which brings up the obvious question….

How is yogurt REALLY made if it has to be added to itself to be made?

Was it ever really made in the first place?

Or

Is it just another unsolvable dairy mystery?

Maybe….just maybe….

Those are the questions that have been put on hold….

“Until the cows come home.”

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A Tale Of Two Siblings


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The days of rock n roll all night and partying all day are officially over.

School is back in session.

I, for one, couldn’t be happier.

No longer will I come home from work to find kids in pajamas….or not up at all.

Cereal will be reserved for the morning…except for me…I do what I want.

They will be in bed by 10pm and up and gone before 8am.

No more teen movies or video game marathons.

The first day was today.

My stepson is a senior.

My stepdaughter a sophomore.

I had to leave by 7:35 in order to make it to work on time.

My stepdaughter got up at 6:45.

My stepson…7:28.

She came out dressed in her new clothes, looking fresh and ready to go.

He came out in the jeans he had worn for the last 3 days, a t shirt and ball cap.

She had her backpack, which had notebooks, binder, pens, pencils and a daily planner, already filled out with upcoming events.

He had his headphones plugged into his phone…..no pen, paper or anything remotely school related.

As we left and drove toward the school I couldn’t help but wonder how one could be so prepared while the other was so….not.

They grew up in the same house, with the same rules and same emphasis put on their studies.

My thought was interrupted by an outburst from my stepdaughter right as we pulled into the school parking lot.

“I forgot my drill team stuff.”

My reply,

“You mean…the stuff that you have used for two a day practices every day for the last 2 weeks to prepare you for this weeks performance and today’s practice?”

“Yes.”

Uggh.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Another school year has begun.

Quote from “A Tale Of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens

The Hitching Post


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It has been a week since I have last hitched a post to this space.

During the minutes, hours and days that have passed…a lot has happened.

Let’s look back at the week that was-

1- I returned to AA after an absence of over a year. It began with a weekend long anniversary conference at a group up the road from where I live. I hooked back up with my sponsor and am in the process of working a 4th step…..I get gone for a year, maintain my sobriety and start my integration back into the program with figuring out what made me get gone. Lucky me.

2-My stepson crashed his truck into dumpsters that somehow managed to jump out in front of him as he traveled at a safe and elderly speed of about 25 miles an hour…..he made the situation better by leaving the scene at a much higher rate of speed….with people watching him. After informing my wife, she called the police….because….that’s what was supposed to be done…duh. No police report was filed, no charges were brought. The others involved just wanted the fence fixed that was damaged.

3-We fixed the fence.

4-My stepson did not crash his truck. He was not even in the truck. His friend, who doesn’t even possess a license, was driving. My stepson took the fall to prevent his buddy from getting into trouble.

5-The trouble caused by saving trouble for another brought on more trouble. He will have to fix the truck with his own funds. He will have to now get insurance for himself on the truck he will be paying to get fixed. Independence has taken on new meaning for him.

6-I returned to work after an absence of over a month due to injury. It’s August. I live in Texas. It’s hot. I’M MELTING!!

7-My wife and I had a sit down with my stepson and his 19 year old girlfriend about drama, safe sex, lying, gossip, and all kinds of other crap I could done without talking about…..but it was my brilliant idea so I had to do it without being an ass.

8-There is no 8. Seven days in a week, 7 items hitched to the post.

I’m getting horse.

The Growing Pains


The suck-o-fi-cation of the realization that being a stepfather, has brought forth the stupification that even though he is not a product of my spermification, the process of his maturization has smacked me upside the head with the identification that we are one…and…the…same.

For the last few days, we have been going at it over curfew, sex, money, telling the truth…you know…all the great things parents love to talk to their kids about.

He wants all the independence but none of the responsibility that just happens to go along with it.

That’s a strangely familiar memory to me….

Our battle of wills, which, bizarredly, resembles me arguing with a younger version of myself, ended with a mutual understanding.

And me putting in my final 2 cents.

“Now that we understand one another, I just have one more thing to say….don’t EVER forget that even though I am a pain in the ass….. I love you…and nothing will ever change that.”

No matter how you go about it….parenting is worth all the growing pains that come along with it.

The Muse


Often the Muse will not respond to direct and logical requests. She must be lured in with the playful and gentle.” -Jill Badonsky

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“I‘m not in control of my muse. My muse does all the work.” -Ray Bradbury

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The muse is born in pain, thrives on it and loves to inflict it.” -Warren Criswell

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Never forget that the nurturing and preservation of your own muse is job one. Lose it and you may be losing a great deal.” -Robert Genn

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The man who arrives at the doors of artistic creation with none of the madness of the Muses would be convinced that technical ability alone was enough to make an artist… what that man creates by means of reason will pale before the art of inspired beings.” -Plato

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Images by good2begone.

The Stunner


Almost 1 month ago, I was extremely careless at work and had an accident that came very close to being my last accident. Today I revisited the surgeon who repaired the damage. The final staples were removed and I have been released to return to work, effective next Monday.

I was fairly stunned by the news.

I have heard, more than once, that someone must be watching over me. It’s time to seriously reevaluate my status on faith. The search will continue as I have been given the chance to continue living. I’m sure that many things will change with me,

But,

The sobriety date remains the same, 10-13-06.

I cannot put into words the gratitude and thankfulness I have for the support I have received and the many well wishes and get well soon messages I have received during my time of recovery.

But I have found someone that can….

Thanks again, this community is one I never want to give up.

The Splat Stick


There’s a fly on the wall.

I am currently tracking his movements.

It zig zags across my vision.

A brief landing on the oak table catches my attention…..

Is the creature….MOCKING me?

He seems to be staring at me with his multiple eyes and rubbing his front legs together, like a mad scientist would do when he completes the formula that will brainwash the world.

“I see your mock, annoying tiny beast….and I raise my weapon that will stop your plan before it comes to fruition!”

I say, as I return his mindless gaze with a sinister look and raise up a twisted wire sword equipped with a plastic mesh flimsy spatula that I have dubbed my splat stick.

BWAAHAAA

“Hey wait….where did it go?”

I slowly walk around the kitchen, darting my eyes from ceiling to countertop and back up to ceiling in 3 second intervals.

He will cross my vision….I must be prepared.

I hear a vehicle come to a short stop outside. I look through the gap in the blinds to see the mailman leaving today’s trash in the box. I think about retrieving it, but realize that is EXACTLY what the fly wants me to do.

“Nice try Mr. Fly……nice try. I will not be tricked into letting your reinforcements into our little game of cat and mouse…err…I mean fly and human. It will just me and you….Mano e Mano..”

As I finish my statement, a familiar buzz zips by my right ear and back to the wall where the game began 7 hours ago.

“Ahh…the pattern resets…my calculations were correct!”

I walk out into the family room and grab my manila folders which contain all the the information I have gathered through Internet math sites, flight patterns of insects, and the personal data I created using my own formulas and place them on the table in a pattern only I can recognize.

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I recheck my data with the data collected from the chat rooms of the other fly hunting enthusiasts and decipher where the fly will land next.

4th tile from the end of cabinet that holds the microwave…..

If all our data is correct….then his minutes are numbered.

I pretend to ignore it and have my weapon at the ready and keyed on the 4th tile.

The tile takes on a glow resembling a helicopter landing pad at a hospital.

I stare…..

And I wait….

And wait….

I watch as a slow glide comes into my vision. The fly drops directly onto the fourth tile and in complete amazement to me….has his back to me.

The sinister smile returns to my face as I raise my splat stick and swing it over my head with the force of a wrecking ball onto the fourth tile.

SPLAT

“I told you that you were no match for me and my splat stick…..BWAHAahaa….aa…”

Bzzzz

I stop and look around frantically.

Bzzzz

There….

There on the trash can…is that….another one?

I look at my splat stick with the remnants of my last kill still fresh in the mesh, then, glance at the hours and hours of paperwork and calculations it took to battle and conquer the wits of one small creature and say to no one in particular-

“This is ridiculous, I need a different hobby….”

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