This morning I was taking my walk, and I was relatively deep in thought, contemplating things I might write about as well as other goofy stuff. I pretty much had the sidewalk on one of the main streets in town to myself. However, I noticed that one person was approaching me from the opposite direction. He was a Charles Manson-looking guy with a scraggly black beard and wild looking black hair. He also looked fairly grubby.

I moved over to the far right of the sidewalk to ensure that each of us would have sufficient room to pass, and I returned to my daydreaming. As this guy was passing me, at the point when his head was about two feet from my left ear, he shouted, in a voice just like Satan’s voice in the Exorcist, “BASKET YER VETO!!!!. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Now two steps behind me, he shouted again, “BASKET YER VETO!!!! MMWAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

I damned near shit.

I figure he must have been one of the “Undecideds.”

Dax Montana is on a roll. Today he shows us how to fabricate (complete with instructional photos) a ZellMillernator V2.0. The ZellMillernator is a weapon that is easy to conceal, and it’s a lifesaver when you find yourself in a situation where you absolutely need a short-range splat. In addition, in the hands of a person with a cough and a fever, the ZellMillernator is a weapon of the biological kind.

I would like to thank Acidman for the Acid Bath I received after he sent his readers over here to read the “At Home with John and Teresa” series. Given that he is obviously a beer aficionado, I will happily buy him a beer or ten at the Blogtoberfest next week.

After about ten beers, I usually like to do Everly Brothers tunes. Maybe he does too.

Dax thinks it’s time. I’m thinking presidential pardon.

John: “BAARRRRRRFFFFFFFF…glurp …ugh..…BARRRRRFFFFF… Jesus Christ…BAROOOOFFFFFFFF……”

Teresa: “Well, Dork Face, don’t you look presidential down on your knees, covered with puke, spending the last hour hugging the toilet bowl and barfing up everything but your toenails?”

John: “Please, Muffin. Give me a break. I think I drank too much last night.”

Teresa: “No shit, Dickhead. Last night you were giving me that ‘Pickle Lady’ and ‘war hero’ horseshit and demanding that I ‘whip some leg’ on you.”

John: “Oh, Christ, no”

Teresa: “You want some leg whipped on you? Well, how about THIS? ……THUMP…..(kicks John in the ass, forcing his head to smack the rim of the toilet bowl)

John: “OWWWW!!! Why did you do that, Muffin? Can’t you see how sick I am? I think it was the third drink that did it.”

Teresa: “You got this screwed up on three goddamned drinks? Jesus, you can’t even DRINK like a man. You’re sickening.” …… THUMP……(another kick in the ass)

John: OWWWW!!! Please stop it, Muffin. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Teresa: “You’re damned right it won’t happen again, if you know what’s good for your sorry Boston bullshitter ass. I want you to get on your feet, get those puke-covered clothes off, have Pierre burn them, and take a shower. You stink.”

John: “Yes, dear.”

Teresa: “And when you’re done, go to your goddamned room and stay there until I say you can come out. Also, as punishment for your acting like such an asshole last night, I tossed your Joan Baez discs.”

John: “Please, no, Muffin. Not Joan Baez! I listen to her for inspiration.”

Teresa: “Inspiration? You want inspiration? I’ll give you inspiration. You open your whiney yap once more and I’ll slam that goddamned shitcan lid on your head and flush! Now, do as you were told!”

John:

I wonder what effect a John Kerry presidency might have on enlistment and re-enlistment rates in the armed forces. I’m inclined to think that it would not be good.

I wonder if I should cancel my hospitalization insurance if John Kerry is elected so that I can get for free the same coverage Ted Kennedy and Hillary Clinton get.

I wonder what new medicines will not be developed by pharmaceutical companies if prescription drugs can be bought cheaply from Canada, knowing that if Canadian-type price controls had been in effect in the United States between 1981 and 2002, there would be between 330 and 365 fewer new medicines on the market today.

I wonder how long it will take Teresa to give John his Walking Papers if he loses this election.

I wonder whether Ted Kennedy is half as loathsome as he appears to me to be.

I wonder how many Americans the terrorists have to kill on American soil before the war becomes depoliticized.

Don’t mind me. I’m just wondering.

I am certain that this is a Jersey Cat.

Thanks to Kristen for the pic and for more than a few laughs.

Shamelessly lifted from Geoff of Dog Snot Diaries, a fellow Yankee with the stones to show up in Helen, GA in ten days.

John: “Yo! Pickle Lady, whatsh happenin’?”

Teresa: “What the hell did you just say?”

John: “Lighten up, Sweetcheeks. — hiccup — Come over her and whip some of that fine leg on your war hero.”

Teresa: “Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. You’re friggin’ drunk!”

John: “No, I’m not.”

Teresa: “Don’t try to bullshit me. You’re shitfaced.”

John: “OK, well maybe jusht a li’l bit.”

Teresa: “And just who the hell gave you permission to enter my liquor cabinet?”

John: “Aw, come on, Muffin. Gimme a break. I was just shelebrating kickin’ that cowboy’s ass in the debate.”

Teresa: “Kickin’ his ass you say? From what I read, all it means is that you could get your sorry ass elected as president of the goddamned debating club, and that’s it, you dumbshit.”

John: “You know what? — hiccup – Jamesh Carville ish right. You don’t know shit.”

Teresa: “You had better hope you didn’t say what I think I just heard, Sonny Boy.”

John: “What? You didn’t hear me? S’matter? You got shit in your ears? Hahahahahaha. Carville says he’s gonna keep you and your big mouth locked away for the resht of the friggin’ campaign. Hahahhahahaha.”

Teresa: “You listen to me, you feckless shitsack. You open your goddamned mouth once more and the undertaker will be pulling that bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII out of your dead ass. And, you can tell that lizard-looking waste of space, Carville, that I will nail his nuts to my mantelpiece, if he ever tries to muzzle me. Now, go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”

John:

The pool has been covered, the lighted flamingo has been taken down along with innumerable other decorative doodads that give The Deck the feel of a seedy Key Wes outdoor saloon. Even the tables, chairs and strategically placed coolers have been put away. The final item of the end-of-summer business was accomplished yesterday when we removed and folded the canopy that covers The Deck, providing party space even in rainy weather. Alas, another summer is over.

That can only mean one thing. It’s time to switch to indoor drinking and bullshitting. The Usual Suspects will, therefore, reconvene at the American Legion Post Lounge, which will re-open today and remain open every Sunday afternoon through Memorial Day. Having the dubious distinction of being the Bar Chairman, I completed and mailed out the bartending roster (we take turns tending bar), restocked the booze, and loaded the cooler. We are ready.

Returning to Sundays at the Post will be like putting on a comfortable pair of shoes. Functional autonomy will kick in, and the folks will gravitate to their usual places at the bar. There will undoubtedly be a football game on one of the televisions and something else on the other TV (often another football game). Depending on the decision of the bartender (who rules the roost on his day), there may well be music, requiring that the TVs be muted. There will, of course, be bitching about the music, the volume of the music, the choice of the music (Original Bill is a sure bet on this score), the game, the choice of game, and the quality of play of the game (“the Giants suck this year, the Jets suck this year”). It’s like a replay of a favorite tune.

The summer will be rehashed, and Army/Navy/Air Force/Marine stories will be dusted off, and some new ones will be told. There will be old jokes, new jokes, merciless ball breaking, and even some serious discussions.

We’re all good friends, and that’s really what makes the place special.