If I was too fucking lazy to write a simple entry that makes me giggle (way too easy), do you honestly� in a million fucking years� with a penis made of gold� think that I could create a survey that didn�t have at least a subtle flavor of Suck, with a full-bodied Suck aftertaste?

Thanks for taking it anyway, you know who you are. Um, shit. I guess everyone knows who you are. There�s a list right there on the survey. The bestest part is that the only people that think I blow retarded Water Buffalo (and told me) don�t have profiles or even diaries. I�m pretty sure they just signed up to fill out my survey. That kind of touches me� on my left asscheek. That�s the nasty one.

I�m done with that shit anyway. I just realized that nobody thinks that shit is as funny as I do, and I was really only trying to elicit naked pictures. Of GIRLS, fucko. I can�t be trusted to do anything that takes that much extended thought and has others in mind. I�m a selfish fuck in my diaryland world, and I�m really, very okay with that.

Sad as well, is that I�ve got nothing to offer for an entry except a weekend recap.

Saturday

Either I�m a total pig, or a fucking rockstar, as it took me 2.5 hours to mow, clean house, and dig then nastiest foulness I�ve encountered in my tenure as a homeowner out of my rain gutters. Gutters need cleaning - One of the things I never would�ve known until people either offered advice or complained openly about. Granted, while working odd jobs my first summer in Denver, I cleaned a fuckload of nasty gutters, but I was getting PAID. Doing housework/yardwork for free is for Sucks. I�m going to start charging. I would charge the Girl, but I know she just wouldn�t pay, do it herself, or she�d just stop caring about things like the spiderwebs under the hot water heater. I�m going to start charging the neighbors.

�Sorry Chatty McJibberjabber, but if you�d prefer the decomposed-leaf-muck from my gutters not end up in your sweet Craftsman toolbox, then cough up 9 bucks an hour while I�m working. That or you have to stop telling me the same goddam dog-and-the-fucking-hambone-you-gave-her-at-Thanksgiving-one-year story.�

Knowing the latter will never happen, I�m banking on him coming up with the cash. He likes his retarded story about the hambone as much as his beautiful toolbox. Fuckhead.

Sunday

Lounged with Girl and gotarded dogs in sleepy dreamlike stupor until it was technically afternoon. Got up to attack the links with The Girl, The Mom, and my shitty 15-year old clubs.

Let me preface any talk about the Mom with the fact that she�s the single most awesomest human on the planet. If I believed in angels, I�d believe� wait� well, she swears to much to be an angel, but I think she could still pull it off.

She�s always been a jock (college softball, running marathons, etc.) so when she expressed an interest in golfing a few years ago, I got her some clubs to get started and then a few lessons.

What I know about Golf took years to learn. You can�t just use muscle to get it done. The Mom�s the one that taught me, when playing sports, how to put the hammer down and Golf ain�t like that. Doesn�t mean I�m any good, but I definitely thought that my knowledge of this would slow the Mom�s progress enough that I could still whip her ass.

Wrong.

3 years and about 26 lessons later, and I�ve beaten her once� by a stroke. She�s beaten me 6 straight times. Never by more than 2 strokes, but still� It�s my MOM. She�s almost 60. Fuck, I�m a pussy.

We played the easiest 9 holes this side of the fucking Pecos and I still golfed in severe Suck fashion. It may be time to rethink a shot or the concentration level on a shot if you can throw your club, overhand, farther than the ball went. I didn�t even get a run at it, or do it Olympic Hammer-Toss style like I normally do, I just reared up and ninja-ed that fucking 4-iron straight at the fucking ball. I missed, but you should�ve seen how cool it looked when it stuck in the turf. I AM golf-club ninja.

The Course Marshall apparently didn�t think that was as cool as I did. We didn�t get thrown out (this time), but he came by and �flashed the badge.� It�s too bad that a �badge flashing� didn�t prevent me from fucking up on the next 5, count �em 5 shots, and repeating the club-throwing-ninja-style trick (I�ll work on my whole �respect for authority� issue when he works on the whole �not being a gay-ass Golf Course Marshall� issue). It only stuck once more, but The Mom and The Girl got many kicks out of this while quietly discussing my incredibly clever profanity (�Fuckin� sazzim cocksucking shazbats�, etc.). Yosemite Sam�s got nothing on me when I�m putting up a 12 on a Par 4. Sazzim.

After golf, we had a 4th party to go to, but I couldn�t get over how cool it was that The Mom and The Fiance were getting along so well.

So we went to the clubhouse and got drunk.

Bless The Girl too, because, while she didn�t remember everything she told The Mom (several pitchers later), she said she didn�t feel like she regretted any of it. I�m a truly blessed man.

But still a pussy (man, one fucking stroke�).

Later, after sweaty-in-any-room-we-want-cuz-we-got-no-kids sex, we went to CoWorkerBuddy�s house up in Golden for the colored-explosive festivities. They�d been drinking and laying in the sun for about 10 straight hours and apparently weren�t ready for any more visitors when I called.

CoWorkerBuddy: Dude, everybody just left, and CoWorkerRoomateGirl is starting to clean up and shit. I think we�re going to bed.

Me (Still slightly drunk and feeling empowered having just had sex): Tough shit. We�re already on the way. We�re hungry, kind of drunk, and I know how to get there. If you�re already in bed when we get there, I�m drinking your beer, eating your food, and then climbing in with you.

CoWorkerBuddy: You can�t do that, I got a guard dog.

Me: Dude, that fricking, napping cuddlebug is the only 80-pound blonde pussy I�ve ever seen. He�ll be happy that I�m there, and so will you, now, Prepare For Our Arrival�

CoWorkerBuddy: (hand over mouth piece to CoWorkerRoomateGirl) We still got any food?� they�re already on the way� alright. (back to me) That�s cool, we�ll stay up.

Me: That�s mighty sweet of you sugarpants, now open your front door, I�m hungry.

We kept them up for another 4 hours after eating what was left of their food and drinking a bunch more beer. Me and The Girl are classy like that.

We did get to climb on the roof and see some popping shit, and I got to cuddle his big pussy. I love his dog, but if I could stand up with my dog in my lap, hand her to someone else, and have her barely blink or stop snoring, I�da been robbed fucking blind by now. He�s got good, sturdy locks, I guess. And a pet Ninja hidden somewhere.

Monday

The Mom is full-on into the whole future-mother-in-law shit after the golf outing, so she�s excited that we�re all going fly-fishing. Me and The Mom have been fishing together since I was still in her belly, so I figure one of us will have to hold The Girl�s hand all damn day while she picks knots out of her leader and catches nothing but herself and the surrounding trees, and the other gets to go galavanting off up the untamed river, sending torrents of fear throughout the trout populace.

Wrong again.

My fragile male ego took a severe fucking pounding this weekend when I first got beaten at golf by The Mom (again�), then The Girl catches fish and I do not.

Granted, I showed her the hole and where to cast, but she was squealing and laughing while the beast viciously shook it�s 5-inch body in hopes of thrashing her leg to death, while I was currently working on the same knot for 10 straight minutes watching her do this.

Yeah, I�m happy for her and all that. Must�ve been my excellent instruction.

Naw, fuck that, I should be catching fucking fish while she endures the frustration of searching for something Zen-like in the whole goddamed ordeal while wanting to bash her rod and reel to bits at the same time.

No squealing� cursing.

No happy� pissed.

No fishing� smashing.

THAT�s what learning to fly-fish is all about, goddammit.

That�s okay, I only had a 3-hour drive at 10 mph to think about it. We chose to go into the mountains the same day that 43,000 other fucking people did� on the same 2 fucking lanes of highway as them too.

The Mom and The Girl are still at the point where they think my cartoonish swearing is funny, so at least they were entertained.

Wait�ll I finally beat them at something though.

Let�s see how funny they�ll think the on-my-back-ass-slapping-legs-pumping-in-the-air-Do-You-Like-That-Bitch taunting is.

I think it�s fucking hilarious even if it has almost never been used.