We finally arrived back in town yesterday, late in the afternoon after spending a truly fun-filled hour in the Newark Airport baggage area waiting for the Jet Blue peeps to unclog the luggage carousel to spit out the cloggage that naturally included our baggage.
We then sweated away another twenty minutes in the back of a minibus with an air conditioner that didnâ€™t work and windows that would not open (the Original Bill, a genuine claustrophobic, was one teeny neuron away from going berserko). Of course, it was ninety degrees (hotter than it was in Florida), and it was a NEWARK ninety-degrees, which is hotter than ninety degrees anywhere, with possible exception of Washington D.C. This drama was all unfolding at a time when everyoneâ€™s livers and digestive systems were working overtime trying to deal with the repeated ethanol assaults of the previous seven days.
Not surprisingly, when I finally got back to the House by the Parkway, I was schwitzed, hung over, Jet Blue pissed and downright exhausted. I didnâ€™t even turn on Mr. Computer. Instead, I fired up the air conditioner, settled my dragging ass into Mr. Recliner (it missed me) to watch the episode of the Sopranos Iâ€™d missed.
After watching Phil Leotardo tell Tony to piss off and seeing Tony go to the Laughing Academy to visit A.J., I promptly fell asleep, like a dead person, until the wee hours of the morning. Now I have been known to stop off at the computer between leaving Mr. Recliner and actually going to bed, but seeing as how the computer was off, I didnâ€™t want to wait for its steam-driven startup routine. (Did I mention that I will soon be buying new shit? No shit. Honest Injun.)
Today, I had lots of things to do, including helping my friend and bodyguard Ken, get
the Usual Suspectsâ€™ Summer Playground his back yard and pool set up for our summer drinkfests meditation and reflection retreats. As such, I still had not fired up the blog. I thought I would use the downtime to formulate a few â€œWhat I did on my vacationâ€ thoughts for use in a post to be written later. I actually was looking forward to writing later in the day.
Sooooooo, after a bunch of sweaty type work and a nice shower, I finally get around to turning on Mr. Computer â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦â€¦.
W T F???
I was treated to pictures of gators munching on gnus, a gator sporting hair that looks strangely like mine, a video of Barbra *spit* Streisand
singing bullshit emoting a song about farookinâ€™ CLOWNS. This was only one click away from a freakazoid clown with gumball machine tits and a codpiece sporting a little trap door hiding the magic surprise. Good God!
I was then, in an act of disgraceful calumny, chided and berated about my lack of techno-skills and my steam-driven computer. This, just when I am ready to buy new shit. No shit. I really am. Honest Injun.
Oh, and then there was that picture of Rosie Oâ€™Donnell taken before she had her morning shit, shower and shave. My farookinâ€™ eyes bled. They freakinâ€™ BLED, I tell ya. Eeeeeek!
The most recent turd that was tossed into the House by the Parkway consisted of a series of pictures of alligators dressed up as CLOWNS, and, for good measure, there is a picture of a huge alligator magically strutting its ugly pre-historic ass down the center lane of the New Jersey Turnpike (near Exit 11, where it meets the Parkway, as every Jersey Road Devil knows). Way over the top, that.
Who is to blame for these repeated assaults on my mental well-being and the fouling of my little cybernest?
It turns out that most of the vile material was posted by none other than this Brooklyn Smartass. But wait! I know she doesnâ€™t have keys to the joint (Hell, we have a bigass river between us and New York City (of which Brooklyn is only one of five boroughs), and we like it that way, so how did she manage to gain across-the-Hudson access to what heretofore had been a very civilized site?
It pains me to say it, but in an act of infamy rivaled only by the Attack on Pearl Harbor, my â€œbuddyâ€ Craig, gave Missy Wiseass a set of keys. And, to think that I once referred to this Benedict Arnold as the Nicest Guy in the Blogosphere! Feh! Double Feh!
The aforementioned RATS did not work alone. Oh, no. They were aided and abetted by Dave and Randy, two evil-doers from Montana, a woman who poses as a very proper Lately-of-New England Lady (Don’t be fooled by the sweet “invisilines” smile) and Bill from Tampa, a reader and who is someone I never thought would delight in loosening my bowels. Et tu, Bill?
Yo! Pay attention, Shithooks! I know a couple a guys with names like Vito and Vinnie who just might have to pay youse guys a visit. Speaking of phobias, if youse guys never had BADDA-BINGaphobia, you might consider working on a serious case of it. Iâ€™m just sayinâ€™.
I asked myself, â€Yo, Jimbo, why would these people stoop so low as to make you shit yourself after having had just one lousy week away from the â€˜sphere?â€
As for the Brooklyn Joooette Fink, I figure itâ€™s a serious case of Jersey Envy. When Brooklyn knuckleheads move to Jersey (thankfully, very few) they buy a house on a 25â€™ by 50â€™ lot, and they think they’re in farookinâ€™ farm country â€“ Nebraska, or some shit. Next thing ya know they are putting bars on the windows and planting a shitload of tomatoes. Stronzi!!
With respect to Teresa and Bill, they may have just fallen into bad company. Still, I cannot help but think that they each have a sadistic streak, which, until now, had been hidden from public view â€“ sort of Jeffrey Dahmeresque — scary shit.
This entire episode, I must say, has been a major hepatic setback for me, as I have had to seek the succor of the emergency vodka supply in the freezer just to deal with the Angst this has caused. Bastards!
Once my still-jet lagged, tired, cranky bastard ass is again perpendicular to the center of the earth, all you shithooks will pay! In spades! You can take that shit to the bank!
On a serious note, I thank all those who had a hand in keeping this place alive and funnier than I ever could have and for handing me lots of laughs. One of these days, Iâ€™ll eventually get around to telling you about what I did on my vacation.