Over the weekend, several of the Usual Suspect gathered on The Deck to engage in meaningful discussion shoot the shit and have tea adult beverages and scones take-out Italian food. Usual Suspect Jeff, of assembling-my-new-grill fame, showed up and presented me with a gift.

“I brought this for Jimbo,” he said as he placed a bottle in front of me that looked exactly like the one shown to the left.

I was momentarily puzzled. Why would my pal give me a bottle of Poland Spring water? It’s very good water, but surely he knows that I have a couple cases of the stuff at home. I’m pretty sure that he does too.

I believe I said, “Thanks, but I don’t get it.”

He suggested that I open the bottle and give it whiff.

I did.

Holy Mason-Dixon Line! I’d know that bouquet anywhere!

As sure as you’re born, it was genuine, crystal-clear, corn squeezin’s “homemade wine”. Jeff explained that it came, via a friend, directly from North Carolina, where it was probably aged a full day.

Never having sampled this magic Dixie Elixir, the Usual Suspects at the table (all Jersey born and bred) each wanted a taste. (They get an A+ for having a spirit of adventure). I poured a small bit into a glass and passed it around.

The good news for me is that, to a one, they hated it. “Jesus Christ!!” “Holy shit!!” and “How can you drink this stuff?” were but a few of the comments, I heard, which were all interspersed with fits of coughing and choking.

Consequently, I brought damned near the entire bottle home and placed it in Mr. Freezer and, from which, I have enjoyed a post-work taste or two every night since. I tell you, my fellow Yankees, it is about the best post-hard day “calmer downer” there is.

And that’s just one of the many things I like about the South.

I don’t think so. Maybe such a record would be “Crammy” Material. Actually, though, I think Denny and I could sell at least two of these.

We’d each buy one.

You too can “make your own record” here.

Via The Presurfer.

You’ve Got Questions? I’ve got Answers.
Because I’m Very Smart, and You’re … Very Not.

Dear Senator Clinton:

Who is your favorite Beatle?

Sincerely,
Joan McDill

Dear Joan,

They were some kickass shrooms.

Dear Senator Clinton:

Are you a Bob Dylan fan? I figure you must be, because you’re like totally smart and all.

Sincerely,
Rachel Feingold.

Dear Rachel,

Bill had scored a couple backstage passes and we got to hang out with Bob and his crew, where we smoked some of the finest herb on the planet, let me tell you. It was groovy as hell. After smoking all that weed, Bill ate three pizzas, and I ate one of Bob’s dreamy groupies. It was a hoot! LOL!

Dear Senator Clinton:

I am a huge fan of yours, and I plan on voting for you in 2008. I will be starting law school in September, and I have often read that you are one of best women lawyers in the country, and I hope someday to be a most excellent lawyer too. I would appreciate it if you would send me a list of law review articles you have written and the landmark cases you have worked on so I can jumpstart my legal studies.

Very truly yours,
Mary Shannon

Dear Mary,

Let me get back to you on that.

Previous Editions of “Ask Hillary”:

Vol. 1
Vol. 2
Vol. 3
Vol. 4
Vol. 5

Here is a photo of the miscreant I wrote about yesterday. It was taken during his arraignment.

Charming, isn’t he?

During his fifteen minute arraignment, he taunted the victims’ families in a Newark courtroom yesterday, winking at them, licking his lips, mouthing threats and shouting a profane insult that sent the distraught relatives storming into the hall.

…

Twice, he flashed a middle finger at them. Then, after pleading not guilty, Cuebas, 23, turned and shouted, “F– your family.

Here is a list of crimes that this Waste of Oxygen is currently being charged with.

As if they were not enough, this Fine Fellow claims that he also committed other crimes such as “…shootings in New York City, robberies in Orange [NJ] and the shooting of a 34-year-old man in New Brunswick [NJ] on July 30, 2005.” He’s been right when he boasted of the crimes for which is he is being charged. Sadly, I suspect he’s right about these crimes too.

Since it is extremely unlikely that he will ever be treated to a lethal injection, it looks like New Jersey’s taxpayers will be providing him with room, board (along with exercise facilities, medical care, books, educational opportunities, and free lawyers) for a long time.

And the beat goes on.

Not only do we have never-ending traffic jams, high taxes, and a chronic bad attitude, but we also have some pretty loathsome characters who call this state home. Here are but a couple.

The Happy, Bragging Killer
His name is Noah Cuebas, and he is a convicted drug dealer who was released from prison in October 2004 on probation to live in a residential drug treatment program. While out on probation (and being sought for not reporting to his probation officer), he was picked up as a suspect in a carjacking. (He had originally been picked up the day after the crime, but fled from authorities.) The victims of the carjacking were a man and woman. The carjacker robbed the man, kicked him out of the car and drove the 22-year-old woman to a church parking lot in Newark, where he shot her in the head, leaving her in a coma.

When questioned by the Essex County Prosecutor’s Office, he freely admitted to the carjacking, demanded that his confession be videotaped, and boasted about other crimes he had committed while on probation. He wanted to be sure to get proper credit for all the crimes he committed during that time. He seemed particularly thrilled that the FBI had been brought into the case.

Here’s a sample of what this fine fellow was up to (in addition to the carjacking) while walking freely among us:

He fatally shot a 20-year old man in the back of the head and then proceeded to use the victim’s cell phone to call relatives of the dead man and threaten them. In one of the calls to the victim’s brother, he bragged about how the victim had begged for his life, and then he proceeded to give the brother directions (real-time) to the victim’s body. The brother of the victim stated:

As I got to the end of the alleyway, I turned and saw my brother’s boots. And this guy was saying in the phone, “You see him? You see him?” [the brother of the victim] said. He left messages saying he killed my brother because he owed him money and that he was going to kill me and my other brothers, too.

In March 2005, he sneaked into a man’s house and shot him in the face. Somehow, the man survived.

The following month, he forced a 14-year old runaway into a basement where he sexually assaulted her and then shot her in the head.

I cannot see any reason why a rabid animal such as this should not be put down. Unfortunately, it is not likely to happen, even though New Jersey still has a death penalty statute.

Read the whole thing.

Yet Another Crooked Pol.
Sure, another crooked politician in Jersey is hardly news, but when John “Fazz” Zambrano, 44, a Long Branch Councilman, pleaded guilty to extortion before a federal judge, he was one of “nearly two dozen public officials in Monmouth County who have been accused or convicted of corruption in the past two years”. One of the others who previously pled guilty to taking bribes was Zambrano’s brother. They each took money from an FBI undercover operative posing as a demolition contractor.

It is worth noting that certain Monmouth County towns are embroiled in eminent domain proceedings involving the condemning the property of residents in order to convey the land to private developers. No opportunities for corruption there, right?

Sometimes I could just puke.

Check this one out. Makes me want to join in on the chorus.

Via Sistaweb

Jay at Accidental Verbosity is hosting a very special edition of the Carnival of the Vanities. Not only is it the 200th edition of the Carnival, but a portion of it is specifically dedicated to submissions about the Late, Great Rob “Acidman” Smith of Gut Rumbles.

There is some great reading there this week. Go take a look.

Dear Mr. Dogshit:

At the outset, and in the interest of fairness, I would like to thank you for not walking your dog in front of my house and letting your dog shit all over my sidewalk. I’m sure that my neighbors on either side of my property thank you as well.

Having said that, I believe that you, sir, are an inconsiderate swine.

Oh, don’t pretend to be shocked. Over the past several years, I have seen you early in the morning taking your dog for a “walk” and permitting him/her to shit liberally on your own sidewalk, where you just leave these piles of doggie dung as a little surprise for the poor bastards who happen to walk past your house. I gather that your Dogshit Removal Plan is to have the aforesaid poor bastards remove the disgusting masses bit by bit on the bottom of their shoes. Perhaps you just choose to wait for rain. In either case, you need your ass kicked.

A while back, before I became aware of your curious “Dogshit Removal Plan”, I happened to step in one of the many caca mines all over the sidewalk, which you seem think are just fine. I have since become aware of your “Screw-Everybody-It’s-My-Sidewalk” attitude and, as such, when I come to your stretch of sidewalk during my morning walk, I am ever so vigilant so as not to step on one of the many piles of sidewalk shit that seem to bother you not one goddamned bit.

Let me point out to you, Mr. Dogshit, that the sidewalks are there subject to the town’s easement, for the purpose of permitting pedestrians to walk in front of your property, presumably free from having to do a daunting dance to avoid stepping in any number of shit piles. Let me also remind you that, pursuant to a local ordinance, you have a duty to clean up the dogshit generated by your dog on the sidewalk, irrespective of where the sidewalk happens to be.

I am rather fortunate, because I have come to learn of your thoughtless behavior, but pity the hapless pedestrian who does not expect to walk into a minefield of dogshit. I offer a particularly generous helping of pity for the person who must walk on “your” sidewalk at night. The odds of such a person stepping into one of your fecal treats approaches unity.

Mind you I don’t blame your dog, for it is you, Mr. Dogshit, who trained him/her to shit all over the sidewalk.

Don’t bother trying to deny any of this, Mr. Dogshit, because Ol’ Jimbo the techno-tard, now has one of those spiffy cell phones with a camera in it. I have learned how to use it, and I wear that Star Trek-like device in the mornings when I do my walk.

The good news for you, you inconsiderate turd, is that the walkway to the Municipal Court remains dogshit free.

You absolutely cannot make this shit up.

I really don’t know a damned thing about meteorology. Weather reports are, for me, the ultimate soporific. Cold fronts, warm fronts, falling barometric pressure, rising barometric pressure, and isobars make my hair hurt. By contrast, weather itself gets my attention.

So here we are in Jersey with temperatures in the nineties (and higher) over the last three days, and all of a sudden I hear “bang, crack, bang, crack, crack, crack” as if someone were shooting buckshot at the house. I look out on the deck, which just five minutes earlier was a blistering inferno the surface would burn your bare feet, and it is covered with little chunks of ICE, each about the size of half a marble. Farookin’ hail!

WTF??

I think I know more about computers than I know about weather.