Yes, folks. It is indeed that time of the year again – a time when the Usual Suspects descend on the Alligator Sunshine State for a week of rest, spiritual reflection and rejuvenation copious alcohol consumption, lots of poolside sitting, swimming standing around in the water and bullshitting, and having a shitload of laughs.

Ten of us Garden State Vulgarians will be winging our way to Fort Myers Beach tomorrow morning. Once we land and secure our land transport vehicles, we will make an initial stop here for a bit of lunch and a tune-up cocktail or two. From there, it’s another whirlwind stop at the supermarket to purchase necessary supplies for the week (including beer, lots of beer). Just one more stop before we hit our Headquarters, and that is the little liquor store, where the guy jumps for joy every year when we show up to launch a major assault on his inventory.

Once the land transports are unloaded and our stuff is tossed into our respective units, the six-day party begins.

The marathon party notwithstanding, on most mornings I still take a short break from the revelry to do the morning walk. Last year, several of the Usual Suspects reported having seen a “small” alligator in a little bullshit pond across the street from where we stay, within striking distance of where I was walking in the mornings. The locals confirmed the sightings and noted that, at some point, Mr. Alligator would likely have to be removed. I frankly don’t give a shit if they say the disgusting beast has been removed (there can always be more!), this coming week I plan on putting plenty of distance between my ass and that little bullshit pond.

While I’m away doing my part to make the local liquor store guy happy, those of you who have keys to the place are welcome to drop by and have at it. In any event, I plan to return to the keyboard some time next weekend.

Play nice, everyone.

Many people organize their lives by constantly preparing and updating “To Do” Lists. It seems that Hillary is no exception, as our PRS Operatives came to learn when they happened upon Ms. Clinton’s. Here it is:

THINGS TO DO TODAY

1. Make appointment with speech coach in advance of upcoming trip to North Dakota. I’ve got to learn talk like that pregnant cop in the movie.

2. Send e-mail to Teddy Kennedy telling him I can’t make it tonight, and besides the “Cowgirl and Wild Stallion” Game is getting a little old.

3. Send e-mail to Nancy P. telling her I can make it tonight, but she should be sure to arrange to have Sven and Olaf there. Tell her I’m brining my Bat Girl costume.

4. Call Bill to remind him that I still think he’s an asshole and that he better not screw this up for me.

5. Have staff member plant a story talk to friends at CNN about rumors that B. Obama is interested in some Mandingo action with Ann Coulter.

6. Send Katie Couric flowers with a note telling her she’s swell.

7. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. I will not shriek today. “Shirekers cannot be President.” Thanks, Dr. Phil.

8. Have staff hire new hairdresser. Five in as many weeks! Flitty bastards.

9. Fire somebody, just to stay sharp.

10. Pick up K-Y for Nancy’s later.

I’ll bet Shoe thought I’d forgotten her gift to me. Well, I haven’t. It’s just that I’ve spent all this time since being in Kerrville at the blogmeet marveling at the sheer beauty of a unit such as this. Imagine the fun and unbridled joy of pressing on the elephant’s trunk and having a cigarette pop out of its ass. Pure smoking pleasure, I tell ya.

Admit it. You’re all jealous.

Well, admit it, Gott-dammit!

Mr. Surly immediately appreciated the beauty of this item and said that he knows someone (I know the guy too) who would take up smoking if he were to possess such a unit. I had no idea that Mr. Surly had such a keen, artistic eye.

I will always be very grateful to the alluring Ms. Shoe for presenting me with this valuable piece.

Calm down now and don’t even think about trying to buy mine. Your ownership of one of these is just a click away.

Smoke ’em up.

This is what CBS bought for fifteen million dollars per year for five years.

In the latest week’s ratings, “CBS Evening News” had its worst performance since the Nielsen company installed its “people meter” ratings system 20 years ago.

Yeah, but Jimbo, would you rather have Katie Couric or Dan Rather anchor CBS News?

Yo, that’s sort of like asking me which of my stindeens I’d prefer to place into a vice for some serious squeezage.

Happy Mother’s Day

R.I.P., Margaret.

Maybe this dispute was over who had a smaller carbon footprint. Then again, perhaps it involved a quarrel between Ted Kennedy and a saloon owner over an unpaid bar tab.

In a comment to this post, Amy noted that she had recently taken a trip to our wonderful state. I can see that she experienced the real item, as she wrote:

The traffic in Jersey sucks. Just so you know. It just plain sucks. Maniac drivers are everywhere, and since we were at the beach, and it was an awesome day, congestion was the word of the day, traffic wise.

Welcome to Da Jersey Shore, Amy, and it ain’t even summer yet.

By a lucky coincidence, my Garden State buddy Gerry sent me the following little piece about Rules for Driving in Jersey, about which I offer two observations: Number three is a bit of an exaggeration, but the rest of them are quite accurate, particularly the stuff about perhaps being shot. You see, in Jersey only the cops and the bad guys have guns, and the bad guys are well aware of that.

So, wit dat, here’s Da Rules:

1. You must first learn to pronounce the city name, it is NEW-erk, not New-ARK.

2. The morning rush hour is from 5:00 a.m. to noon. The evening rush hour is from noon to 7:00 p.m. Friday’s rush hour starts on Thursday morning.

3. The minimum acceptable speed on the turnpike is 85 mph. On the parkway it’s 105 or 110. Anything less is considered “Wussy.”

4. Forget the traffic rules you learned elsewhere. Jersey has its own version of traffic rules. For example, cars/trucks with the loudest muffler go first at a four-way stop; the trucks with the biggest tires go second. However, in Monmouth County, SUV-driving, cell phone-talking moms ALWAYS have the right of way.

5. If you actually stop at a yellow light, you will be rear ended, cussed out, and possibly shot.

6. Never honk at anyone. Ever. Seriously. It’s another offense that can get you shot.

7. Road construction is permanent and continuous in all of Jersey. Detour barrels are moved around for your entertainment pleasure during the middle of the night to make the next day’s driving a bit more exciting.

8. Watch carefully for road hazards such as drunks, skunks, dogs, cats, barrels, cones, celebs, rubber-neckers, shredded tires, cell-phoners, deer and other road kill.

9. Mapquest does not work here — none of the roads are where they say they are or go where they say they do, and all the Turnpike EZ Pass Lanes are moved each night, once again, to make your ride more exciting.

10. If someone actually has their turn signal on, wave them to the shoulder immediately to let them know that the signal must have been “accidentally activated.”

11. If you are in the left lane and only driving 70 in a 55-65mph zone, you are considered a road hazard and will be “flipped off” accordingly. If you return the flip, you may be shot.

12. Do not try to estimate travel time — just leave Monday afternoon for Tuesday appointments, by noon, Thursday for Friday and right after church on Sunday for anything on Monday morning.

So, if any of youse will be in Jersey during a weekend this summer, good chance I’ll see you on the Parkway, because that’s where most folks spend a good part of the summer.

Yo! Happy Farookin’ Motoring!

PRS Operatives have managed to obtain a copy of Senator Charles “Chuck” Schumer’s schedule for this coming Sunday, which is quite typical. Here ‘tis:

9:00 a.m. Press Conference: The ridiculous price of a decent knish: The failure of the Bush Administration

11:00 a.m. Press Conference: The economics of new soles and heels versus new shoes: The failure of the Bush Administration

1:00 p.m. Press Conference: Horses – they’re not food, so what’s the point? The failure of the Bush Administration

2:00 p.m. Press Conference: Extension cords – Where are they when you need one? The failure of the Bush Administration

4:00 p.m. Press Conference: Still no cure for the common cold. The failure of the Bush Administration

5:30 p.m. Adult Video Store: Amen

I had resigned myself to not having anything to write about. Besides, the after-work-weather was primo, so I decided to make myself a cocktail to drink on the deck of the House by the Parkway. My cocktail of choice tonight was a screwdriver. That’s when it occurred to me that I make truly outstanding screwdrivers, and I should share my wisdom with the world.

I know, you’re thinking, Yo, Jimbo. Gimme a break. It’s vodka and orange juice. What’s the big deal?

Of course that is not unlike saying that the Mona Lisa is just some paint on a hunk of canvas.

Pay attention, because I am going to tell you how to make a good screwdriver, and how to turn a good screwdriver into an excellent screwdriver not known by many.

Ready?

Da Glass: You should use a nice glass, and it should have some size to it – not one of those little bullshit glasses that you get in the run-of-the-mine saloons. I use a 12 oz. Sasaki, perfectly cylindrical glass tumbler. I also have used the clear part of a cocktail shaker for mondo, seriously-thirsty drinks.

Da Ice. One never uses milky ice cubes. They look like shit and invariably taste like a refrigerator. Your refrigerator’s fancy-schmancy ice-maker might be handy, but use the stuff it makes for something other than mixed drinks. One should always keep a bag of commercially made clear ice in the freezer.

Da Ice in Da Glass: Put lots of clear ice in the glass. The ice should reach the top of the glass.

Da Vodka: Use decent vodka. It need not be the designer stuff at thirty bucks a bottle, but it should be vodka, of the caliber of Ketel One, Stoly or Finlandia (I’m not an Absolut fan – It tastes like it has vermouth in it). I know, you’re thinking, Yo, Jimbo, vodka is pretty much tasteless and, besides, you’re mixing it with orange juice. Why not use cheap vodka? The answer is simple. Life is just too gott-damned short to drink cheap booze. ‘Nuf said.

Da Pour: Pour a jigger (maybe a bit more – I free pour, but I have a good eye) over the ice. You’ll know you’re on the right track if you can hear the ice crackle as you pour the booze over the cubes. (If you keep your vodka in the freezer as I do, you probably won’t hear the crackle.)

Da Secret: I’ll bet you thought the next step would be to pour the orange juice over the ice and vodka. Wrong! This is the step that makes the difference between a good screwdriver and an excellent screwdriver. Take a quarter of a fresh lime and squeeze it over the ice and vodka, then drop the lime into the glass.

Da Juice: Do not use juice made from concentrate. Feh. Spring for some good orange juice that is not made from concentrate. Pulp is optional. Now, pour the juice over the ice, vodka and lime. Give it a quick stir and enjoy.

You’re welcome.

Those of us who live in Jersey often ask ourselves this question.

After all, we have:

Temperatures that range from tropical to Arctic,

Constant traffic jams, unless you wish to travel between 3 and 4 in the morning,

State budgets that increase by leaps and bounds, even while the current tax base (i.e. the so-called “rich”) and the future tax base (young, upwardly mobile families) are fleeing the state as if it were 1939 Germany,

A state government that is every bit as corrupt as some third-rate banana republics,

Governors who are laughed at across the nation,

A state government that is downright hostile to business development,

Crippling income, sales, and property taxes, and

Sheeple who insist on perpetuating the mess by electing the same lemons every year.

And now, just when you thought that living here couldn’t be any more daunting, we have a terrorist cell whose members are prepared to die in Fort Dix while in the process of killing as many American soldiers as possible.

But wait, Jimbo. We have 126 miles of beautiful beaches, which is a good thing, no?

Ooops! Never mind. It seems that at least one of our best beaches is closed because, so far, a thousand pounds of unexploded tank and anti-aircraft shells have been found in the sand. Make those sand castles at your own risk, peeps.

The answer: We live here because, by nature, we are idiots thrill seekers.

‘Scuse me; I need a refill.