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Say hello to The JuddHole and goodbye to D-Land in seconds.

Yer damn skippy I stole this muffuckin' script from NoGoodDaddy, how you think I GET code? Write it myself? BWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAA...

In a crowded bar, how can you tell if there are any Texans?
Answer: They'll tell you.


2004-06-01 - 6:17 p.m.

Texas sucks.

Not all of it. There are parts that I genuinely enjoyed in my 4 years there. But, for the most part, it�s hot, sticky, flat, and, if it has any water, the shit is brown and doesn�t move.

I guess Texas isn�t that bad. It�s so fucking big that there are some really cool places to go. In fact, Texas wouldn�t suck anywhere near as bad as it does except for one thing:

It�s full of Texans.

There�s not a ton of criteria for being a Texan. You basically have to have an undeniable love for anything even remotely related to the state of Texas, to believe that anything Texas-related is the biggest and bestest ever, and have zero compunctions with telling this to everyone in the fucking world.

Oh, and you have to be fat and talk funny.

Talking funny is the easy part. First, lower your IQ about 40 points, then add a syllable to every word. �Boy� becomes �Boy-yuh�, �Judd� becomes �Juh-uhdd� and so forth. My college hockey coach used to say that the two best words in the Texas language were �Buff-ay�. Boy-yuh, those fuckers can eat. Everything they eat is presented as a Buff-ay, because entrees just aren�t big enough.

If you�re a Texan and you�re not fat, then you have to have someone in your immediate family that makes up for it. I�m pretty sure there�s a state allocation of fat on a per family basis. If you�re the skinny one, then your sister has to be fucking huge.

My cousin graduated last weekend. She�s one of the low-fats, so, naturally, her mother, grandmother, aunt, and remaining cousins are all grotesquely obese.

I flew down in hopes of making an attempt at reconnecting to my biological family. It�s nice to be so far removed from them because I get to pull the same shit as with my �adopted� families. I get to skip the drama and politics and just show up for beer and barbecue. I even had a talk with my father and for the first time EVER he admitted his shortcomings as a parent and we conversed like two adults would, instead of the way JudgementalOverbearingPrick used to talk to PetulantRebelliousChild.

I won�t lie, it was a damn good time. There are some things I miss about Texasland, like killer barbecue and Shiner Bock beer.

I miss fishing with my Uncle �B�. This guy was a projected 3rd round pick offensive lineman out of Purdue in the 80�s and blew his knee his senior year. His bouncy-cheerleader-Texan girlfriend dropped him like a hot rock and his NFL hopes were trashed, so he went to grad school, met my aunt (one of the fat ones, but an awesome lady and loads of fun), had some fat kids, and became a HS math teacher. And he loves to fish. Doesn�t matter if it�s in the dirty soup Texans call water, or if it�s here in Colorado with our cold, clear streams, we smoke us some cigars, drink cold beer and fish at our white-trashiest best.

The fishing was great except we were on his boat. I�m pretty ground-bound. I don�t know shit about boats, so anytime he needed something done, I just tried to get out of the way and feel useless.

I had a classic cartoon moment when we were drifting in a little inlet off of Lake Belton and were going ass-end into a cliff-face. I saw the trolling line (small pole with small minnow who shakes what-his-mama-gave-him in hopes of enticing a larger fish) was caught in a hole in the cliff wall, and the closer we got, the more the pole looked like it was going to snap and carve my left eyeball out. I thought I could handle this, as I didn�t figure I needed any boatology lessons to push the boat away from the cliff. I was wrong, I desperately need �How Not to be a Fucking Dumbass on a Boat 101� and apparently the accompanying lab.

I found out that it doesn�t take a very big push, especially from a big kid like me, to make a 14 foot fishing boat move rapidly across still waters. I found this out while I still had my hands on the cliff face and my feet, and the boat, were quickly going the opposite direction.

It�s times like these in my life, that I get an idea in my head that I can do something that can really only happen in a cartoon or a Jackie Chan movie. I�m not Jackie Chan, but I always feel like I COULD be. I knew I couldn�t balance back onto the boat, so I thought that I could just find some good hand-holds, grip the cliff face, swing my feet off of the boat and cling to the wall Spidey-style. Then I�d wait, being very Ninja-like, for my uncle to back the boat up and pick me up.

That�s when the cartoon moment kicked in. Gracefully as a pregnant Yak, I slipped off the edge of the boat and swung into the cliff wall.

�OOOF!� I grunt.

Then I find out that the handholds I found are actually sharp edges of shale from bird�s nests and my hands are bleeding.

�Whuunh�� I let go and slide down the cliff-face like a loogie on a windshield.

Least the water�s warm.

Then Uncle Fucker is laughing too goddam hard to hit the trolling motor and come back and get me. So I have to swim with my sandals in my fucking hand (turns out they float when they come off your feet) and the trolling rod as well as my fly rod in my other hand.

Then he�s laughing too fucking hard to help me into the goddam boat. I could climb up the huge outboard motor until a certain point, then everything I touched was slick with oil and I�d go right back into the fucking water.

That sombitch must of lost 5 pounds laughing at my ass.

We did catch a bunch of fish though and I hardly cared when they would stick their spiney-fin-death-pokers into the gashes on my hands, because it was such a good time. That, and I was completely shithoused.

When we got back to the house, my little fat cousin was exceptionally sweet as she dumped antiseptic soap directly into the open wounds on my hands and chest and cleaned me up.

I don�t know how Jackie Chan does that shit.

I think I need to practice.

Bump, Set� SPIKE� then help her up and apologize.

This Memorial Day was probably one of the only times in my life I did what everyone else was doing on a National holiday. Usually, I�m working, fishing, or too drunk to pretend I can be normal and therefore miss out on all the fun.

Yesterday, me and the Girl went to Washington Park with a big bunch of friends. We set up a volleyball net, busted out a frickin� hackysack, drank assloads of beer and went nuts on every other holiday clich� we could think of. We had a �Big Sandwich� as there was no grill available, we drank shit beer, as there are no bottles allowed, and we skated around the park holding hands and looking svelte. Okay, we didn�t do that last one.

I found out that even though I�ve only played once in Junior High P.E. class, I am a volleyball GOD. Turns out you don�t really need any skill, talent, or smarts (amen to that shit). All you need is hustle.

That�s awesome, because that�s really all that I�ve got.

I dove, I dug and I ran after every damn ball near me. Course, I ran over the girls a few times, but they learned to get out of the way after awhile.

Sometimes, I worry if I really am that big of an asshole, running over girls to make a play in backyard volleyball and all.

But, you should�ve SEEN the play.

Maybe I AM Jackie Chan.

Oh, I�m a mess today, but I was a fucking champ yesterday.

Our Roller-Hockey-Championship-of-the-Universe game is tonight too. Now I�ve got to figure out a way to get my back to straighten, how to get my arms over my head, and how to walk with larger than 8-inch steps sometime in the next 3 hours.

I think we may be fucked.

Wish me luck.



Last 5 Entries

- - 2009-09-12
Vic Fire - 2009-02-10
A Very Special Someone - 2009-01-27
Politics and Chest Hair - 2008-11-11
Anzac Day - 2008-04-30


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