But I’m Portuguese

To use the common parlance, Bert and Earnie were beat the fuck up. They were sitting at Brews and Cues, a known Raider Nation sports bar/pool hall, with Donald and several other of their Raider Nation friends and family. One side of the joint was a converted bowling alley with the former lane space paved over and occupied by dozens of pool tables full of hustlers, and the other part of the large building was a big-screen festooned sports bar with booths on the walls and tables on the open floor full of Black and Silver taking…


Imagine you’re all ‘roided out and pumped up to do battle, and when it comes down to it, your actual ideological nemesis (the libtard) is some nice, old hippy lady at the local gay owned coffee house who really wants you to have single payer health care, better/less expensive education, increased infrastructure for a better society, and unions to ensure you get paid well enough to own a home and retire, and all she asks is that nut jobs can’t buy machine guns at Walmart at will, equal civil rights for all people, some common sense controls over the cops…


I’m growing to hate Jill Scott and Nationwide Insurance. I have the cheap version of the streaming services, so I have to get hit with commercials every 10 minutes, and it seems that every time I have to listen to what is the biggest disjointed ad copy of a song written by her corporate slave masters. That song is just a jazzy series of random feel good scenarios that are so far flung and afield I would expect something like it from a homeless panhandler in front of the 7/11 and not a multiple Grammy winner with multiple platinum albums…


Me: (Pointing at the woman in the car) She’s a screamer, and we’re here to fuck. And by screamer I mean “SWAT team, hostage negotiator screamer.”

Motel 6 Dude: First floor, end of the hall and no guests for four rooms down until 6 PM.

Me: (Taking the key and walking away) Thanks. The shit you have to say to sneak the dogs in and get some peace and quiet at these shit-holes.

Mom (On the still open phone line): Back in the day I was a screamer.

Me: NO, NO, NO! Ewwww! Fucking TMI. …


I may be reading this wrong, as I’m only catching bits of it as I pass by to take the dogs out to pee, make coffee, and breakfast, but the plot to this Hallmark Channel movie my mom is watching seems to be “What will the rich white school’s basketball team do when the closing of a nearby steel mill takes away all of their talented black students, and the coach is left with a bunch of lame ass white boys to keep their numbers up?” I almost want to stay out in the den and see how they deal…


While taking a dump today, I thought about someone I haven’t thought about in years, Andrew “Dice” Clay. You can’t understand the 1980s unless you understand “The Dice Man.” Described as “Fonzie with Tourette’s,” at the height of his career, this comedian packed venues like Madison Square Garden for multiple day runs, something only high-end professional wrestling and cult/religious ceremonies were normally capable of doing. As a symbol for his time, Dice is the Alpha and the Omega. He represents the 1950s esthetic many conservative men harkened back to but blown out into ridiculous extremes, so everybody could be in…


Dream One: Dad somehow kept buying items from “How It’s Made,” some of them quite large and industrial: a full order of 20 foot iron sewer pipes sitting in our long driveway, a pill dispenser built for a full service pharmacy, a jet turbofan engine for a Harrier Jump Jet to be used for an emergency generator when ConEd goes tits up during the summer, etc. His arguments for all of them made sense to his demented mind, and I couldn’t stop him from making the orders. I was arguing with him about not ordering the truck bed liners as…


Me: (holding a piece of mail): What’s the (NAME REDACTED) Company?

Mom: (playfully scratching the dogs): Oh, it was a stupid little fund they used to take from my paycheck and put away.

Me: You mean a 401K?

Mom: No. We already cashed that out once the market came back up after the banking shenanigans. That payed off all of our debts except the house note; plus, we got the car. So, it’s some other thing the county did. It isn’t much, I don’t think.

Me: How much is not much?

Mom: They took 40 bucks each pay period and…


Poker tournaments are so weird. First off, it’s one of three sports/games that allow drinking and have cocktail waitresses, with poker being the only one to allow drinking during tournament play. Even the golfers and bowlers have to sober up to play the pro sports. With poker, you have millionaires that look like homeless psychopaths who just robbed some rich guy of his expensive watch, phone and shoes. And these are the pros I’m talking about. Plus, poker is the only sport/game I know of where amateurs are allowed to play. Any random yin-yang can’t just step out of the…


Me: I watched “Robocop” again for the first time in decades. Started talking about movies that are deeper than they seem with some friends and had to watch it again.

Mom: Yes. That was one. Paul Verhoeven was known for doing that.

Me: And he would put actors in these shoot ’em up movies that normally wouldn’t do them.

Mom: Yes, he had that bad guy in “Robocop.” He’s a great actor. He was in that poet movie with Robin Williams, “The John Wilkes Booth Society” I think?

Me: Yeah, no, but there are people being shot in the head in both, so that’s close enough.

Patrick Killpatrick Strong

Unpleasantly plump.

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