Only a handful of people are going to understand this but it deals with what I posted at the end of the last entry, and then deleted.

Nothing really happened. Basically, I had a dream, and then I woke up.

Nothing really happened.

/End Ambiguous Talk

---

First and foremost, I apparently had the "notify" feature of my notes turned off, and had no idea people were writing me that way. Sorry, but I'm a bit of an idiot.

Since I'm inherently lazy, I thought I'd shout out to these folks all at once:

Plopp, buddy, I just checked in the mirror, and my gut really isn't that big. Keep posting shit about me and Pork getting' down to techno while we're alone, and no chick will ever send me naked pictures again. Fucker.

Jenna, I'm thinking about you while you're in Kentucky. And I very much appreciate that I have a big cock, even if you've never seen it. *wink*

Jen, just because you and the Girl were born on the exact same date, doesn't mean that I'm a freak for listing you as a favorite. But, since you both know Vinnie at the Harley joint, I may have to rethink this. You know you can email her anytime, right? I bet she'd love to hear from you.

Pixie, don't blame the size of your ass on me. Oh, and thanks.

Hooter, you're still being purposely vague on the whole INW-thing, now tell me where you really are so I can start masturbating into your conditioner while you're at work. I know we live close, and I've got the time.

Lass, thanks to you I now use the term, "sleeps," for "nights." 30 was awesome, and 31 will be even better because I'm going to skydive naked then.

Laura, you got some shit going on but, if I win the Powerball, I'm buying you a pony. Seriously, I dreamt about the numbers one night, and the Girl made me write 'em down. I'm a millionaire already, it's just a matter of when�

Pete, thanks buddy, sorry I have such ample amounts of suckitude lately. I promise that I'll write about the elections and shit soon. Wait� oh, yeah� no I won't.

Betchy, thanks for your notes, you're very sweet. Now send naked pictures, so that I may truly decide upon your "sweetness."

Dooki, to say that I marvel at the way you weave shitting into everything would be an understatement. I'll simply tell you that I defecate you with all my lower GI-tract, flatulations.

Westy, I'll get to your request soon, because you don't seem like the type to mind the overuse of the word, "penis."

Milk, I'm in love with your diary. Move to Colorado and let my dogs eat your� I mean� PLAY, with your cat, and I'll give you chocolate. Lots of it.

Bethie, now that I'm single, you can play with my "puck" anytime. Seriously, it's in the garage, next to my "stick." The "goal" is already set up. Ha.

Klutzy, I'm proud that I was your 5000th man, but naked pictures are the only way to my heart.

/End Totally Unrelated Linking and Replying.

---

Things in the world of Hole aren't that bad. Suffice to say that I'm better than I should be and I make no apologies for that (except to you honey, I know you still read this, despite the fact that I asked you not to), and I've apparently dropped 10 pounds this week on, what I like to call, "The Don't Eat, But Get Drunk Every Night" diet. It's great, especially if you love alcohol but don't feel like eating, ever.

The prospect of living alone, and taking on our enormous mortgage on my own, doesn't bother me, as I'm writing like a fiend lately, and will soon have a book that I can print out and read on the shitter, as no one will ever publish/print/market it. It's a helluva story though and, with proper permissions, I'll get it out and see what happens.

Things have been heavy lately, so I thought that I'd write in here a story that still makes me giggle.

---

I was in my 3rd year at A&M and living with the type of Texan-rednecks that personify everything wrong with that fucking state. The Girl's brother, Shithead, had decided to come and visit me. This meant, jump ship (he was in the Navy at the time) and not tell anyone, I found out later, but that didn't make his visit any less of a good time.

All 3 of my redneck roommates were gone for the weekend, so we were stuck on what we should do. Turns out the recipe for boredom in the Navy is multiple bottles of Tanguray Gin, Orange Juice, and Newport cigarettes. I learned later that this may or may not make me want to put low-profile tires on my gold-trimmed Jetta while blasting rap music but, at the time, it was perfectly natural, and we were drunk as monkeys by 4 PM.

We lived in a cul-de-sac, just south of the University, and our neighbors to the North knocked on the door to invite us to a party. Despite the fact that they were the exact same-type rednecks as the roommates, we were all about it.

Dominoes and a TV on hardly make for a good party in my book, and Shithead must have felt the same way because, after about an hour and a half, he was nowhere to be found. I'd spent that time talking to Redneck Neighbor's sister, HotBlonde, who was down from Southwest Texas State, and who was, for all intents and purposes, completely uninterested in anything I had to say other than the idea that I was from a state that had snow.

"Montana, huh? It snows a lot there, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. More than it does in Texas."

"How's it feel being a Yankee in Texas?"

"Um, you know that we were really just French Trappers and Indians at the time of that whole war-thing, right?"

"Whu? Listen, buddy, anybody from North of Amarillah is a Yankee, got it?"

"You bet. Now, sing me the state song, and you can be just like every other fucking person I've ever fucking met here."

At first, she was not amused, and I honestly didn't care. I mean, even if she was blonde and hot, what the hell would she want to do with my Yankee ass?

At this point, everyone at the party became quite agitated. Apparently, the absence of Shithead wasn't nearly as noticeable as the absence of Shithead AND the keg.

"Hey Montana-boy, where's your fuckin' friend?"

"Gee, I dunno, I guess I didn't know it was my turn to watch him."

*Extremely Angry Look*

"Well, he took our fucking keg, and run off."

*Drunken Smirk*

"Yeah, sorry about that. He does that."

You see, Shithead has always had an unhealthy affection for alcohol. Ever since we were in High School, when we were at a party and he started getting bored, he would take all the alcohol and run off. I don't mean, he would grab a few beers out of the cooler, or that he would dump the contents of a milk jug and fill it back up from the keg. I mean that he would take the ENTIRE FUCKING COOLER and drop it from a second story balcony if he had the chance (my father's wedding to my step-mother, a whole different story), or that he would drag off the ENTIRE FUCKING KEG to a remote local (several other stories), and sit and happily drink himself into oblivion alone. He's just like that. I know this and still love him.

The rednecks formed a Posse, and were determined to hunt down Shithead and kill him.

I had no problem with this, as I knew that he does this kind of shit, couldn't have gotten far, and I would use the Judd-Charm to keep him from getting killed. It'd worked countless times in High School, why couldn't it work now?

They ended up finding the keg, about a block away, by following the drag marks across all of our neighbors yards, but Shithead was nowhere to be found.

As happy as I was that the beer was back, guilt-by-association, plus the fact that I'd had an entire bottle of Tanguray as well as my weight in beer, led me to the conclusion that I should make my exit. The angry glares from rednecks much bigger than me, presumably for having brought such a fuckhead to their party, hastened my need to leave.

I was pouring a beer for my 45-foot journey home, when Shithead popped back in.

The rednecks were not happy and had appointed a duly-designated ass-whupper to express their displeasure.

A 200-pound, ripped, angry Hispanic guy named Tony, shoved Shithead roughly away from his line for the keg.

"What the fuck you think you're doin', man?"

Shithead stared at him incredulously and said, quite condescendingly, "I'm getting' a beer, dude."

Tony didn't take this well.

"Don't call me fucking, 'dude'"

*Shove*

Shithead gave him a look of bewilderment, walked around him, and started pouring a beer.

*Two-handed Shove*

"Get the fuck away from the keg, motherfucker!"

"Dude, what's your fucking proble�"

*Rougher Two-handed Shove*

"Dude, you made me drop my beer."

Tony wound up and punched Shithead, square in the jaw.

Shithead leaned back from the blow, continued to give Tony a disbelieving look, and said, "Dude, what is your fucking proble�"

While watching Shithead recoil from the blow, Tony was winding up for punch number two that had, I'm pretty sure, everything he had in it.

"Don't call me fucking 'dude'!!!!"

*POW*

Shithead took the shot, leaned waaaaaaay back, leaned forward again, gave Tony an irritated look, and said, "MAN, I don't know what your fucking problem is."

The redneck party goers were only half as astonished as Tony was, as he just reared back, clear to Houston, and blasted this guy in the face, yet Shithead acted as if he'd just been popped on the nose by his mother for having his elbows on the table.

"G-g-g-get the fuck outta here!" Tony stammered.

Shithead shrugged, calmly picked up his cup, poured himself a beer, and left.

Yep, now was when I should be leaving. I made no excuses, I didn't fake like I was going to take a piss, or tell anyone where I was going, I just went through the back hallway, through the sliding glass doors of the master bedroom (bless those identical duplexes), over the fence, and into my backyard.

The excitement from all of this didn't mix well with the mass quantities of alcohol roiling in my belly. As I had the master bedroom, and therefore my own bathroom, I comfortably went in there and puked my guts out, never wondering, nor caring where Shithead was, nor what he was doing.

I figured the entire evening was pretty much a wash, so I peeled myself off of the bathroom floor, and lay down on my bed, feeling quite comfortable that no one could get in and beat my ass because of my idiot friend.

I awoke to strange noises in the kitchen and living room. I had forgotten that the redneck neighbors had a spare key to our house, in case of emergencies. This evidently constituted an "emergency" as they were going through every room of our modest duplex, looking for Shithead.

"Enh, if they find him and kill him, I'll deal with it in the morning," I thought. I just didn't have it in me to defend him, nor did I feel that he could be defended for his actions. He is an asshole that steals beer, and I accepted that, I just hoped that they didn't kill him in my house.

The rednecks eventually left, and decided to enjoy the fact that they had their beer back, and I passed back out.

I awoke to someone stroking my chest. Thinking it was Shithead, fucking with me, I started to say something like, "dude, knock it the fuck�"

It wasn't Shithead, it was Hot-blonde-neighbor-sister-from-SWTS, laying in my bed with me.

Ever the gentleman, and not knowing why-in-the-fuck she was in bed with me, I informed her that I had just finished expelling my stomach contents and would really like to be unconscious now.

She responded by removing her hand from my chest� and placing it on my fellas. This, understandably, perked me right up.

I decided that since she knew I had just thrown up and didn't seem to care, it was okay to kiss her.

I drew her close to me�

And my bedroom lights flooded the room.

"What the fuck are you doing?!?"

It was HotBlonde's friend, that had accompanied her for the weekend and had, to this point, never asserted her presence.

HotBlonde didn't seem embarrassed by the situation, but simply asked her friend, "nothing, what's up?"

Her friend was visibly flustered, not just by the disappearance of her friend, but by� something else.

"Somebody's been in the car! Somebody's been through our stuff! Someone has�"

At this point, her focus shifted to the pile of clothes on my floor. Clothes that I hadn't paid any attention to earlier, but now thought odd, considering that I never wore thong underwear or bras.

"waitaminute, THESE ARE MINE!!!"

HotBlonde's friend was screaming hysterically as she started throwing my clothes around the room and, upon clutching a piece of women's undergarment, shaking them emphatically at me, "THESE ARE MINE! THESE ARE MINE!"

HotBlonde gave me a questioning look, still with her hand on my guys, and I gave her a look that said, "I not only have no idea why her clothes are on my floor, but could you get rid of her and go back to givin' me some lovin'?"

HotBlonde was apparently comfortable where she was at, and was attempting to console her friend while still laying upon me, until her friend's face contorted into absolute fury, and she lunged herself at me.

"You MOTHERFUCKER!"

HotBlonde caught her before she ripped the flesh from my face, and forcibly removed her from the house. Sadly, I was more bothered by the fact that HotBlonde wasn't rubbing my stuff anymore, moreso than the fact that it didn't quite make any sense why her friend would find her underwear on the floor of my bedroom.

In the morning, Shithead was nowhere to be found, yet I learned that the undergarments that were in my house did indeed belong to the visiting girls, and the keg had indeed returned to the neighbor's party much lighter than it had left.

I could make no apologies, as I had brought the offending fucker over, and I was still pissed at him myself. The fact that I was pissed at him for preventing me from having sex with the pissed-off neighbor's hot sister, wasn't something that I could share with Pissed-off Neighbor, so I simply said, "Yeah, I'm lookin' for that fucker too, y'all," in hopes that I wouldn't be summarily castrated for my part in the nights events. I even threw the "y'all" part in to be a complete sycophant, in hopes that HotBlonde would still want to come over.

Sadly, she had already departed back to Southwest Texas State, and Shithead would come wandering back in the next day, reeking of Gin and Menthol Cigarettes.

As he rubbed his sore jaw, he denied, up and down, that he was the one who rooted through the trunk of HotBlonde's car, yet could offer no viable explanation for how her underwear ended up in my house.

Years later, he admitted that he had done it (NO SHIT?) but that he did it for me, as he really thought I'd enjoy some reminder of the female parts I hadn't seen in so long.

Yeah, thanks buddy.

Good times.