The recent Tennessee Gathering of reprobates bloggers (and a few non-bloggers) was quite an event. A detailed description could fill a small book and, besides, a good deal of what happens at a blogmeet must stay at a blogmeet. If you’ve ever been to one, ya know whereof I speak. Anyway, here are some highlights:

The Cast of Characters

Eric (the Host): Eric was, as usual, the consummate host. Somehow he managed to make a group of Vulgarians from all over the country feel right at home. In addition to that, he fired up a wonderful meal of “REE-yubs”, which greatly pleased the carnivores. At one point, he did manage to draw his sword, but no one, including Eric, was injured in the process. Many thanks to him for a great time.

Mrs. SWG (the Tolerator): What can I say? Mrs. SWG, with uncommon grace, put up, yet again with the noise and chaos that surrounds these events and the debris that results. Thank you, Mrs. SWG.

Denny, the Grouchy Old Cripple from Atlanta: Denny (who was not in the least grouchy) showed up with his infectious laugh and his axe, so that we could do our “Elderly Brothers” act. A blogmeet just ain’t a blogmeet without Denny.

Elisson and SWMBO: Elisson and his lovely bride, SWMBO, arrived in red car that looked not unlike a brick with wheels. Elisson, as usual, sported his trademark white lid and dazzled the multitudes with his lightening-fast wit and uncanny ability to conjure up lyrics on short notice. Although I had met Elisson before, this was the first time I met SWMBO, about whom Elisson writes often and lovingly. I can see why. She is a very nice lady. However, on one occasion, she swooped in out of the sun with a hilarious bit of scatological humor that was a solid 10.

Yabu: Holy crap! I figure Yabu must have a thyroid the size of a grapefruit. He is “All Ahead Full – All the Time”. I knew this would be an interesting meet when Yabu said, “I brought a rocket.” You can’t make this shit up.

Dax Montana: Dax roared in with a trunk full of firewood, camping gear and one sweet guitar. In what is becoming a tradition, he took a spot at the “bar” where he concocted his trademark “Red-headed Sluts”. I have learned from prior blogmeets that Red-headed Sluts are something that should only be ceremoniously tasted if one has designs on remaining vertical for the duration.

T1G from Drunken Wisdom: I always enjoy T1G’s company. I expect that he can be as tough as he looks, and I figure that’s why he doesn’t have to act like a tough guy. He’s one of those soft-spoken guys who, when he speaks, is always worth listening to. He also brought his axe along, but didn’t play it nearly enough.

Zonker: I have never attended a blogmeet outside New Jersey where Zonker was not on the case and one of the main players. A special thanks to him for gifting me with a primo bottle of bourbon. It is difficult to conjure up a more thoughtful guy. Oh, and he cracks me up too.

Velociman: As usual, looking as if he had just climbed out of the cockpit of a 747 and donned his civvies, V-Man appeared on the scene drinking what he wanted us all to believe was a bottle of water. The illusion of righteous legitimacy might have worked, but then Zonker showed everyone the infamous “Monkey Video”.

Johnny Oh, the Closet Extremist: Johnny has a solid gold sense of humor, which he managed to display even while crawling over Eric’s roof to retrieve “da Rocket”. It was good to see him again.

RedNeck: Yep, ‘Neck was on the case, and he always manages to crack my Yankee ass up. One particularly endearing (albeit amazing) thing about ‘Neck is that he actually appears to like to listen to Denny and me play our shit, even when it turns into a train wreck.

RSM: This marks the second time I have met RSM, and, again, I didn’t get as much chance to shoot the breeze as I would have liked. He’s really nice guy, who obviously spends a fair amount of time in the gym and who, on one occasion, clearly demonstrated his command presence by getting the attention of the gathering for an announcement and thereby preventing Eric from stabbing himself with his sword. Which was a good thing, because, by that time, I fear that Eric’s blood might have been flammable.

Big Stupid Tommy: I met him for the first time. He is a big guy, and his name is Tommy, but he ain’t stupid, as his blog amply demonstrates. Hell of a nice guy. I wish he could have hung around a bit more.

Boudicca and Mordicca: Two hysterically funny, knockdown good looking, brainy and witty sisters, who are an absolute pleasure to be with. There is absolutely nothing not to like about this twofer.

Sissy: This is the second time I had the pleasure of seeing Sissy. Cool babe, and I believe she also likes to listen to Denny and me carry on musically, for which she scores bonus points.

Teresa of Technicalities: Teresa persevered through a travel nightmare to make it to Tennessee (and found us at a local eatery!), for which I am most grateful, because it finally gave me a chance to meet this lovely lady. Teresa announced that she remained at the ready to serve as a designated driver for any Vulgarian in need of one. She is a class act.

Caltechgirl of Not Exactly Rocket Science: I believe that Caltechgirl wins the prize for having traveled the farthest (from Cali-farookin’-fornia!) to party with this gang of reprobates. I’m glad she did, as she is first-class peeps.

Recondo 32 and Georgia: I get a major kick out of Recondo and Georgia. Recondo is Pure South (He considers Tennessee to be far north), and Georgia is an absolute pisser. Knowing Georgia for five minutes is like knowing her for a lifetime. Fortunately, I now know her and Recondo a good deal longer than five minutes. They presented me with the gift of a “firearm” that, even in Jersey, would not require a permit. It shoots rubber bands and now sits proudly on the bookcase to my left.

And, Last but Absolutely not Least, Ken, my friend and bodyguard:: Ken was with me a couple years ago in Helen and decided to make the Tennessee trip. We logged 1,737 miles in his bigass Buick Rendezvous, and he drove all the way. One would have to look long and hard to find a better friend than Ken.

Some Highlights

Rocketry. Yes, Virginia, Yabu did bring a rocket, and, yes, we fired it. Actually, Elisson did just about all the technical pre-launch stuff. Ken actually threw the switch. I stood around thinking, “You just cannot make this shit up.” Elisson captured the moment of launch with his high-tech camera, while my 27-exposure disposable Fuji camera and my lightening-fast reflexes captured (I think – the film is still in the camera) a picture of the launch pad after the rocket shot skyward.

Chocolate Vodka. Yes, I introduced the Vulgarians to the wonders of Three Olives Chocolate Vodka. Despite my warnings, I think a couple folks may not have not fully appreciated that the stuff can be a chocolate sledgehammer.

Campfire. I was reminded that there are not many things nicer than sitting around a campfire and shooting the shit under the stars. Some of the more adventuresome slept outside in a tent. Some of the Ueberadventuresome didn’t bother with a tent and just hopped in their sleeping bags under the stars. Of course, they all froze their stindeens off, particularly the Ueberadventuresome.

Darkness. Man, it is farookin’ DARK in Tennessee. We don’t “do” dark where I live. At one point when I was going on about how dark it is at night, Georgia said, “Welcome to America, Jimbo.” I believe she is right.

Biscuits and Gravy. I think we could use these up North.

Taylor Ham. Ken and I introduced the Non-Garden Staters to New Jersey’s favorite mystery meat. I think they liked it.

The Dumbest Thing I Packed. A novel. What the hell was I thinking?

———–

I have a few more observations to make, but this post is already way too long.

Suffice it to say that it was one gorilla-stompin’ good time, and I’d do it again in a New York Jersey Minute.

A couple hours ago, I arrived home from a trip to Eric’s abode, where I spent some amazing time with a bunch of amazing peeps. If you count the extra couple hundred miles that resulted from our doing the scenic route home, we did seven states and 1,737 miles. Hell, I’m tired, and Ken, my good friend and bodyguard, drove every single one of those miles.

I’ll have a bit more to say about the trip, but, as I said, I’m kinda whipped right about now and, besides, seeing as how today is my boitday (Yes, Virginia, he’s farookin’ old), I’ll probably just have a nice dinner, a couple cocktails, and chill.

Oh, I do have to mention one thing before I click on “Publish”.

Maybe it’s divine providence, but I got my 250,000th visit today, and, if that were not special enough for us work-a-day bloggers, my 250,000th hit came from Boudicca, one of the aforesaid Amazing Peeps.

That is some seriously good juju, that is.

I’ll be away from the keys for the rest of the week. See ya on Monday or Tuesday.

Play nice.

Always out in front, PRS has scored a copy of Hillary’s reply to Nancy Pelosi’s letter. Here it is:

October 12, 2006

Dear Nancy a/k/a Pearl,

Sister, I was sooooooo happy to receive your letter. It arrived at my office in the afternoon, but I decided not to open it until I got home. I knew I would need a happy moment, because today, like most days, I have had to deal with that asshole, Chuck Schumer, who takes that “Senior Senator from New York” bullshit very seriously. Girl, I swear to God that he would speak into a shitlog if someone held it in front of his smarmy mouth. I keep telling him that I am the democrat party and that he should just STFU, but the jackoff just doesn’t get it. But, he’ll “get it” in spades, once I get the Big Gig – if you know what I’m saying. LOL

So, anyway, when I finally did get back to my place, I popped an Old Milwaukee and fired up some primo herb that Whoopi had dropped off and, once I felt the buzz, I opened your letter. Damn, you’re good!

Pearly, just thinking about you being my vice president has positively dampened my dainties. You and I being the top dogs would be an absolute HOOT. And, yes, don’t worry yourself for a second. The day I am sworn as the Big Kahuna is the day that Bill gets the Bum’s Rush. As far as I’m concerned, he can go live with M…., Mon…, Monic … Oh, never mind! You know what I mean. LOL.

I’ve already begun to think about our “White House Team” that will replace the fascist, constitution-shredding boob who currently lives in what is really our house.

Right off the bat, I’m going to appoint Barbara Walters as the White House Chief of Staff. Can you imagine anything funnier than hearing her say, “Madam Pwesident” and “Madam Vice-Pwesident” every day? ROTFLMAO!

How about Barbra Streisand for the Ambassador to the United Nations to replace that walrusy-looking Mr. Grumpy Pants? Goo-goo-ga-choo! She’s way smarter than he is, and when the going gets rough in the Security Council, she can sing “People” and follow it up with “Happy Days are Here Again”. She’ll kill ‘em. Besides, she’s really hot. Did you see the pic of her in that see-through dress? Made my knees knock, that did. LOL.

Pearly, this is some kickass weed. I got a box of Krispy Kremes with your name on it sitting on the kitchen table. Wish you were here.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the White House Team …

How about Rosie O’Donnell as Secretary of Defense? She’s also super smart, and she knows all about guns and shit. When we bring home the troops, we can put them to work wearing their silly little uniforms picking up trash on the interstates. Rosie knows all about the environment too. It’s a win-win.

Head of Homeland Security? Easy one. Helen Thomas. She’s a giant intellect and tough as nails. I love when she smacks Mr. Stooooopid around in those press conferences. The tiarists will know better than to screw around with her – believe you me.

Head of FEMA? Ray Nagin, for sure. That boy knows how to make shit happen. Besides, that is some serious eye candy. Is he a freakin’ hottie, or what? Talk about dampening my dainties! LOL.

Pearly, sorry I gotta cut this short. One of the pages is due here any minute for some “mentoring” (LOL!). Girlfriend, this kid is built like Schwarzenegger used to be. His name is Bob, but I call him “Pookie”.

Smoochies back at ya,

Hilly

One day, Bill Clinton decided to stop by a local dentist, Dr. Sam Jones, for a checkup and cleaning. PRS operatives were nearby.

Dr. Jones: Good morning, sir. I understand that you’re here for a checkup and cleaning.

Clinton: That’s right.

Dr. Jones: OK, let’s get started. (Dr. Jones begins his examination) Hmmmm, have you been brushing regularly, sir?

Clinton: What kind of a question is that? Do you ask republicans that question?

Dr. Jones: I don’t understand. It seems like a perfectly reasonable question for a dentist to ask a patient. I ask many, if not most, of my patients that same question.

Clinton: Well, I think you’re out of line! Who put you up to this? It was that bastard Rove, wasn’t it?

Dr. Jones: No, sir. It’s just that I noticed that there is a stain on some of your teeth.

Clinton: A stain? STAIN? Now I know that someone put you up to this! Bastards! I’m sick and tired of this stuff from right-wing nuts determined to ruin my legacy!

Dr. Jones: I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why you’re so upset?

Clinton: Don’t give me that crap. You’re asking me about a stain. I know a hit-job when I see one. I won’t tolerate it.

Dr. Jones: Excuse me, sir, but you have a stain on your teeth, and I was just trying to determine the source of the stain so that I can properly remove it.

Clinton: Listen to me, mister. So far, I don’t like your attitude, but go ahead.

Dr. Jones: Fine. Have you been smoking cigars?

Clinton: CIGARS?! Oh, you are a wise ass. This is a right-wing setup for damned sure. You’ve got that little smirk on your face and you think you’re so clever.

Dr. Jones: Sir, I do not have a smirk on my face, and I would like you to stop pointing your finger in my face.

Clinton: I can point my finger anywhere I want to. Do you know who I am?

Dr. Jones: Yes, indeed I do.

Clinton: OK, I’m glad to hear that. Now, proceed!

Dr. Jones: Beat it.

Clinton: What did you say?

Dr. Jones: You heard me. Get the hell out of my office.

Clinton: Are you out of your mind? I am former President of the United States!

Dr. Jones: Well, then I suggest that you take your sorry ass to a military base for your dental work. Those poor bastards have to put up with your shit. I don’t!

In the hallway outside the office, Clinton’s Secret Service Detail is high-five’ing and doubling over with laughter.

THE END (I love a happy ending.)

I just read the post that is currently featured on Rob’s Site. It was written in February of this year, and it won him the Crapblogger Award (I was there in Austin when he won it). For those of you who knew Rob and heard his voice and heard him tell a story, take a look at the post, and as you are reading it, listen for Rob’s voice. No, really. Don’t just read; LISTEN.

Can you hear him tell that story? I sure as hell can, and I suspect that will never change.

It was a great week with the Band and Friends of the Band. This marked the third biennial (i.e. every two years – I had to look it up) reunion of the Band that raised a bit of hell back in the mid to late sixties.

This year our “Headquarters” was in the Garden State, where the guitar player and I still reside. The venue was graciously provided by the unflappable Rich and Irene, longtime Friends of the Band. Their home served as party central, the meeting place for breakfasts and several other “feeds”. Most importantly, they allowed us to fill a major portion of their recreation room with drums, amps, keyboards, microphones, speakers and miles of wire.

The Music.
Predictably, out first session contained a number of musical train wrecks, each of which was followed by pointing fingers and howls of laughter. During later sessions, things began to gel, and in several instances, we even sounded pretty OK. I alternated between playing guitar and drums, which was fun.

On our last night playing, our host and hostess were visited by their son, daughter-in-law and their little ten-month old daughter. Wanting to please our newest “audience” member, we played the theme from “Sesame Street,” “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”, “Do Re Mi” and a few others, including Frosty the Snowman (You can see that we’re not exactly flush with kid’s tunes – Besides, we’ll have snow in a month or so). The little girl, propped herself up at a coffee table, stared at us wide-eyed all the time, smiled constantly, jumped up and down and squealed with delight. Made us feel like the Beatles, she did.

In short, we played everything from corny tunes to some good things requiring all of us to wear our harmony hats. It was wonderful.

Fun/Goofy Stuff.
It wasn’t all music all the time. We spend lots of time doing other things, each of which turned out to be a veritable pisser.

New York City
One day we headed into New York City to see Jersey Boys. I had seen it once before, but I even liked it better the second time. There was something particularly fitting about five Jersey guys who played in a Jersey band in the sixties going to see Jersey Boys together. After the show, we went to Carmine’s in the Theater District, where the food is served “family style”, and we were served enough excellent Italian food to feed a Roman Legion.

Fishing Competition.
Yeah, fishing. Go figure.

We spent one morning at a beautiful pond to see who could catch the biggest/most fish. This turned out to be quite a riot. It started when I realized that we had to stop to buy worms (ewwwwww), and I noticed that the worm store was right next to a Dunkin’ Donuts store.

“Yo, gimme three jelly donuts, three glazed, three crème-filleds and two dozen night crawlers”.

We were told that there were some serious bass lurking around in that pond, and I have no doubt that this guy or this guy would have hooked them, but our group collectively caught four teeny-weeny sunnies, proving beyond doubt that none of us can fish worth a damn. We did, however, have lots and lots of laughs.

Bowling Competition.
Yeah, bowling. Go figure.

Why bowling, you ask? Patty, the keyboard player’s spouse (a native Hawaiian) used to like to bowl on Maui, but the last bowling alley in Maui closed due to lack of interest. So, we chose up teams, from the gang of twelve of us (none of has bowled in multiple decades) and descended upon a local bowling alley.

After we all got our rental shoes from the rather confused looking bowling alley guy and each picked out a reasonably suitable alley ball, we were all set to start the fierce competition. Problem was that none of us knew how to work the computerized scoring system (Last time I bowled, we kept score with pencils and paper).

Once the bowling alley guy explained to us how to work the widget that automatically keeps score (I think he might have considered us a group of lunatics or morons), the competition began. It’s a good thing that the bowling alley was not crowded, because we were quite raucously competitive (and the daily drinking had not yet started).

Everyone pretty much stunk, but that didn’t lessen the fierceness of the competition, for we were playing for “prizes” and the Perpetual Purple Pig (a purple piggy bank), a trophy that would be held by the winning team until 2008, when the teams would again compete – sort of like the Stanley Cup, only purple – and a pig.

I was on the winning team, and Patty, our Team Captain, was presented the trophy for safekeeping until 2008.

Poker Tournament.
Yeah, poker. Go figure.

One day, we staged a Texas Hold ‘Em Poker tournament, using play money. It didn’t matter that we used play money, because this too would be played for “prizes” (e.g. boxes of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts and chocolate-covered Kona coffee beans) and, of course, bragging rights. After the first couple was dusted, a demand was made that they be given money by each of the other players so they could continue to play. I remarked. Farookin’ Marxist Poker!! Hilarity ensued.

Turns out that, even despite the mandatory money re-distribution, Mrs. Parkway kicked everyone’s ass. I may set her up with a gig in Atlantic City.

The Ending and Plans for 2008.
Like all good things, the Reunion had finally come to an end, and it was again time for sentimental and lump-in-the-throat good byes. It’s wonderful to re-unite, but the parting is always hard. The good news is that this year’s reunion provided us with yet more things to laugh about when we get together again in 2008.

Oh yes, the 2008 Reunion will be held in Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii. YES!!!!!

I will be away from the computer this week, as I will be spending it playing with the guys in the band from the sixties, who have returned to Jersey from places such as Maui and Colorado. Four years ago, we did this in Colorado, and two years ago, it was Maui. So, we will spend a week doing Jersey/New York stuff and spending lots of time making music.

At the past reunions, getting a drum set onto a plane would have been a problem, so I played guitar on those occasions. But, now the Ludwigs are set up in an undisclosed location in Jersey, and they are ready to go. This will be the first time in 38 years the band has played together as originally configured.

I’m psyched.

Everyone play nice while I’m gone.

PRS has managed to get its hands on a copy of a letter written by Congresswoman Nancy Peolosi (D. Calif.) to the Junior Senator from New York, Hillary Clinton (D. NY). Here it is:

September 30, 2006

Dear Hilly,

Just freakin’ WOW is all I can say. Now that that Florida guy got caught talking dirty to kids (Bless his heart), we are that much closer to taking the House of Representatives in November, and you KNOW what that means. Yours Trooly-ooly will be the Speaker of the House!! “Madam Speaker!!!!” OMFG, the thought of it makes me all squirmelly in my nether regions. Know what I mean? Sure you do. LOL.

Once I’m in as Madam Speaker, you can nominate me to run as your Vice President. Is that a freakin’ AWESOME idea, or what? We could have an absolute hoot running all over the country calling republicans liars, cheats, fascists, crooks and monkey-people. Can you imagine anything being more fun? I can’t! LOL.

Then, once we’re elected in ’08, the first thing you can do after the inauguration is to give What’s His Name his Walking Papers and change the locks on the White House. This is YOUR TIME, Baby. Who needs him?

Sister, we could put some life back in that White House. Imagine the cool parties! Streisand, Baldwin, Sarandon, Robbins, Cruise, Spielburg, Whoopi, Chevy, Rosie, and that dreamy and oh-so-tall (You know what I’m sayin’) David Gregory. That will be freakin’ AWESOME!

I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry about those tiarists that those stupid republicans keep insisting are trying to blow us up. I think we can put an end to the so-called problem if you and I write a nice letter to the Top Tiarist Guy, explaining that we are the good guys. We can make it clear that we never believed that they were interested in establishing a twenty-first century Colgate and subjecting us all to Sharona Law, and that, now that we got the bad guys out of our government, they can leave us alone.

I was also thinking that we could enclose pictures of our tits in the letter.

So, what do you think, Girlfriend?

Smoochies,

Nancy a/k/a “Pearl”

The Vietnam Era is a fantastic website on which you can hear hundreds of songs from the Vietnam Era. The site is the work of a Marine Sergeant, who is a Vietnam Vet.

Read the “Welcome” then scroll down to the amazing playlists. You won’t be disappointed.

Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet.