A lot of folks wonder why I am such a cranky old sonovabitch. They rarely use THOSE words to describe me, but phrases like "Douchbag" and "Joyless Fuckstick" aren't as down-homey and folksey as I prefer to be today, so I am sticking to my guns and owning up to being "cranky" as a compromise.

I'm cranky because I always know what's a-comin'. And I know, from my track record on this planet, that every time I get swallowed up and enveloped by an incredible sense of happiness and contentment, the universe will end up donkey-punching me right before the ultimate climax and I will end up just as pissed off and emotionally bankrupt as I started at.

This week is a prime example of how good stuff that makes me happy will eventually not matter because of the universes' cosmic way of correcting itself and reminding me that life is fucking unfair.

Last weekend I got a new car, which I bragged about and showed off in my previous blog entry. Go me. It's a super-sweet 2008 Honda Civic and I am loopy about the damn thing. Yesterday I was halfway to work when I noticed that the "passenger's side airbag off" sign was lit on my dashboard. Since I couldn't think of anything I might have done to disengage it, I immediately muttered a few choice words about how shitty my luck was and how I was going to have to take the damn thing back to the dealer only 3 DAYS after I bought it.

BUT: A quick glance at the owner's manual informed me of something that is downright awesometacular.

See, when I get in my car in the morning, I put my backback (Yes, I still use a backpack because I am lugging around a MacBook Pro and a digital camera with me every day and they don't make a briefcase that fits SLR cameras AND laptops in one without looking, ironically, like a BACKPACK) in the passenger's seat. And get this: It turns out that when you put between 40-100 pounds of stuff in my passenger's seat, THE FUCKING CAR IS SMART ENOUGH TO DISENGAGE YOUR PASSENGER'S SIDE AIRBAG SO YOU WON'T BREAK YOUR BABY'S NECK IN AN ACCIDENT.

I love this damn car!

ANOTHER awesome thing in The Life O' Ryan:

My Canon 50mm F1.8 lens came in the mail yesterday afternoon! Now I will be able to take photos INDOORS without A DAMN FLASH.

Shut up, it's exciting as hell for me.

YET ANOTHER awesome thing... a thing that SHOULD make me vibrate with glee and elation and happiness to be alive:

My FREE copy of Adobe CS3 Web Premium came to me today. It's a 'thank you' from a friend who I did a bit of work for a few months back. There is something delightful about having the CEO of a company send you a free copy of his $1700 industry-standard software suite. It's better than stealing it, which is what I had been doing up 'till now in order to edit my websites and graphics.

So HELL... life should be GREAT, right?

Sure thing.

Oh, but my Mother calls me yesterday afternoon. She broke her leg and sprained the other one... "Crossing the street". I quoted that part because I think the woman is lying. I think she owes someone money.

Regardless, I want to send The Universe a BIG shout-out for reminding me that even when things are going GREAT for me, there will always be a price to pay if I start actually feeling GOOD about anything.

Friday My Lovely Wife™ and I found ourselves over at the local Honda dealership.

She bought a Civic 3 or 4 years ago, based mostly on Consumer Reports' recommendation. I have been jealous of it for quite a while, as I have been driving an Exorcist-puke-green Nissan Sentra since '03 and I hate it. 'Solange' was clunky, she creaked, and her belts and joints were starting to slip.

We do most of our traveling in my car, because I am a control freak and I prefer to drive (also because My Lovely Wife™ drives like she's living in an incarnation of Grand Theft Auto... and yes, I have seen her actually kill a hooker who just restored her heart meter to 100%... IN REAL LIFE) we end up putting the bulk of our mileage onto whatever I am currently in charge of.

So when our booger-green/gold Nissan was flirting with 100,000 miles, I started to get antsy about getting a new car. A NEW car. I'm 33 years old and I have been driving used ones since I was 16. NEW. No miles on it. A car where the first seat-cushion fart will be MINE.

There's something that you should know about My Lovely Wife™, when it comes to making a major purchase; she's very difficult to convince. She will go without buying microwave popcorn if it is more than $3 a box. Any mention of spending a few hundred on a TV set or a new lens for my camera sends her into overdrive.

BUT- she IS an accountant. And one thing that an accountant can never resist is a low interest rate.

Seriously. Draw a pentagram onto your floor with a stick of chalk. Drop a slide-rule on the north point and write "4.7% APR for 30 Months" in the center of it. My wife will appear in your home with a burning ledger in her left hand and a roll of adding machine tape in her right.

She had NO intention of letting us get a new car this weekend. But we test drove 3 or 4 of them anyway, just to get a feel.

When the Honda dealership offered her 2.9% Financing for a 2008 Civic or Accord, her eyes popped out of her skull and her hair stood on end.

For normal people, I am just trying to explain that we got a hell of a deal.

I picked the 08' Civic EX. Its' not as 'showy' (read: vain) as the Accord. But it's packed with features and it's the sexiest gray/silver/charcoal color ever made. Our guy 'gave' us the sun roof visor, door guards, splash guards and trunk liner for free, and I spent an hour scraping the double pinstripe off the sides of it, because pin stripes are dumb.

It's a fucking awesome car.

I call it Ezra. Because I name my stuff.

Ryan's happy.

Ha!

Someone at work is hilarious.

I don't know if this is an old thing and if I have just never seen it before, but I was grabbing coffee in my break room a few minutes ago and I was staring blankly at the 'you have to post this in your work area break room' board. You know the 'how to help a choking guy out' poster?

Someone (brilliantly) put this on it:



Like I said, I dunno if this is an old internet meme that I missed or if it's just someone's subtle attempt at humor.

If so, whomever it is in my office who is fucking funny enough to put that on the poster and not draw attention to it: I salute you!

Two things for you, my dear loyal fans, before I step out of my executive cubicle (they are 6 feet tall here! Classy!) and sully forth to End the Week.

Firstly, a note about Spam.

My spam filter catches quite a bit of the dreck that comes through my in-box. Every once and a while a solicitation from an exiled third-world prince or a notification regarding Mexican Viagra slips through.

Today's caught my eye right before I hit the DELETE button:

SHARON STONE CAUGHT NUDE ON BEACH! EXCLUSIVE PICS! MUST SEE!

...

...

... really? You are trying to entice me to go see something naughty and horny on the internet by advertising pictures of Sharon Stone?

Sharon Stone?!

A fifty year-old crazy lady who looks like the Vice Principal of your high school?

...

...

FAIL!

On to my SECOND bit of newsworthy fun:

Shelley sent me this and I chuckled in a geeky way for quite a while.

See if you can spot the kid who's parents don't love him:



FAIL!

Gimme a break... I'm, like, 12...

Four years ago Alison and I got into the car and took off to Florida. We go to the beach just about every year and sit on the beach and eat too much and live like typical upper-middle-class white Americans.

We stopped in Santa Rosa beach and got married. We planned it, but tried not to make a big deal out of it or build it up inside. But we did anyway.

Neither of us have much religion, or use for it. Luckily, Alison isn't one of the uncountable masses of women in the world who think that Their Wedding Day needs to be a 5-star affair involving bands, white horses, shiny party favors, doves, dollar-dances, bride-and-dad pictures, 13-story cakes, and guest books.

We stood in a courthouse and got married without hundreds of dollars of makeup and hair. I had a red Hawaiian shirt and jeans on. She wore a pretty red blouse that made her look like a hippie chick, which she is. And we got married without our folks knowing about it. The witness was a clerk with hockey hair and jean shorts. Our J.O.P. was in an orange crop-top and she had a little bit of a lisp.

Aside from the rings we smuggled to the event, the whole thing cost us $110.

It was awesome.

I complain and make fun of My Lovely Wife™ all the time when I blog. I do it because I am grateful to have a Lovely Wife™ like her. I had little-to-no interest in getting married after I left college and left a relationship that was particularly difficult for me to get over and past. I think Alison knew that, considering we were together for about 6 years before the trip to the courthouse. But I really need to say it: I dig the hell out of Alison, and she's really the only lady in the world who I would WANT to be married to.

That's about as sentimental or mushy as I am capable of getting. It's very difficult for me to gush over someone. I'm not the kind of person who thinks that 'love' is some sort of overwhelming force that controls our actions or that heals any sort of problems that two people might have without it.

But it certainly makes it easier to be happy when it's there.

This whole entry would probably be a lot more touching if I didn't mention that I am listening to a Samantha Fox song on my iTunes as I type this.

Let's file this under: Thing My Lovely Wife™ Does That I Simply Don't Get.

Sunday we went to the zoo. Here's a picture, now I feel justified:



Afterwards we went to get a bit to eat at O'Charley's. We have one about a mile from our home in lovely suburbia, and frankly, the steaks at O'Charley's are 3 times better than Outback. There, I said it.

Part of our 'It's Sunday, South Beach Diet Be Damned' ritual consists of ordering drinks. I went with a cold beer, and My Lovely Wife™ decided to order off 'The Binder'.

'The Binder', for those who reject all that your-local-neighborhood-bar-and-grill-chain has to offer, is a tiny-sized 3-ring binder that always includes specialty drinks, appetizers, and desserts that are in-season and over-priced. Every corporate 'good-time-place' has 'em. My Lovely Wife™ adores them.

She went with the Strawberry Mojito.

Another delightful characteristic of the woman I married is that she will not be impressed with her specialty drink of choice.

Now let me put it in perspective: Alison KNOWS what she likes to drink. She likes light beer, martinis (when I make them) and anything with pomegranate, chocolate, or a combination of the two in it make her happy.

As an added bonus, she's got the frame and mannerisms of Olive Oyle, so she only ever needs one before she becomes swooshey and easily pliable.

Half-a-dinner later, our waiter brings me my second beer (a beer that I ordered 10 minutes ago, but we cut him some slack since they needed to go to the freezer to restock the Killian's). And he let's my wife know that her second Mojito is on it's way as well.

My wife lets him know, correctly, that she didn't order a second one, and that when he asked if we wanted 'another round' I was the only one who said yes.

No problem, we are assured, and our young Nashville Recording Artist Of The Future goes to the bar and lets the 'tender know he can cancel that drink.

Too late, it turns out. Our waiter dude returns to our table and lets us know the following:

'I'm sorry, our bartender already made that drink, so..."

And I am waiting for him to finish with "...so I gotta charge you for it anyway."

But that doesn't happen since O'Charley's is a cool place, and instead he says "...so I will still bring it to you, no charge if you like!"

SCORE! Right?

My Lovely Wife™ says "Oh, no thanks."

(pause)

(pause)

(pause)

I don't know. Maybe it just means we are getting old. I'd like to THINK that's what it is.

I just can't fathom why a person would turn down a free drink. Especially a free $7 from The Binder.

My Lovely Wife™'s argument against it? "I didn't like it that much".

The way I see it, anything a drink lacks in character is usually made up for when it's cost is reduced to zero.

In short, Olive Oyle didn't get as swooshy as she shoulda last night.

She's adorable.

Ahem (taps microphone, draws breath)...

elitist

noun
Someone who believes in rule by an elite group.

Let's go a bit further...

e·lit·ism or é·lit·ism

noun

The belief that certain persons or members of certain classes or groups deserve favored treatment by virtue of their perceived superiority, as in intellect, social status, or financial resources.
-The sense of entitlement enjoyed by such a group or class.
-Control, rule, or domination by such a group or class.

I wanted everyone to know what the words meant, since they are throwing it around the same way we threw around 'Communist' in the 50's and 'Freedom' in 2001-2002.

If you have had more than a single beer with me at any given time, you probably have gotten at least HALf of my fumbling attempt to explain my 'Cult of The Ignorant' theory.

That's my well-shared belief that we encourage each other for being stupid, that we celebrate ignorance, and that we even go as far as to reward the criminally moronic as being icons that we wish not only to emulate, but that we look up to in order to feel like we belong.

The list of examples is, sadly, a mile long. Highlights include the following:

Jackass
Rock Of Love
Viva La Bam
Paris Hilton
Lindsey Lohan
Owen Wilson
Ben Stiller
Jessica Simpson
Brooke Hogan
Amy Winehouse
Heidi Montague
Britney Spears
Matthew Mchau... Mac... fuck, the guy who always takes his shirt off.

This isn't a list of people, movies and shows that I have a particular problem with. It is a list of people who are considered on a constant basis by the media to be celebrity-worthy. And each has, in the last 6 months, done at least one or two incurably stupid things that the media has jumped on. And so have we, as consumers.

This entire campaign against Obama, this angle that he is 'elitist', smacks more strongly of hoedown politics than anything I have ever witnessed. It's straight out of a schoolyard playground or a scene from Idiocracy: "What are ya tryin' ta be? Some kinds ed-e-cated faggit? Smartypants Mcgoo?! We don't take kindly ta people comin' in hare n' puttin' on aires!!"

WE LIVE IN A FUCKING REPUBLIC, PEOPLE!

In a Republic, we elect officials who are brought in to make decisions FOR us, based on our needs and goals.

Has the last 8 years worth of brainwashing us into thinking that a sweet-faced "good 'ol boy" is the best our country can elect as a leader?

Are we THAT afraid of bringing in a person who might have our best interests in mind as a country?

I'm really fucking annoyed at this crap. If the worst you can do is imply that a candidate is a better man than most other Americans... (shakes head in anger).

I don't endorse any candidate. I am still on the fence about a lot of stuff concerning this upcoming election. I hope you are, too. It's too soon to align yourself with a particular candidate. there are too many things to consider.

But what I HOPE you will start doing, if you haven't already, is that I hope you will start looking at 'news and information' regarding each candidate as it surfaces, and I hope you will start thinking to yourself: "Did the rival campaign/party put this out there? Is this the BEST they can do to smear their opponent?"

Jon Stewart said it best the other night:

"Not only do I want an elite president, I want someone who's embarrassingly superior to me."

So do I.

I am sick of catering to idiots and masses of people who are proud to be ignorant and downright stupid.

Chuck is a Silver Maple that started out when I thumbed a helicopter seed into the ground. It was at the first apartment that My Lovely Wife™ (at the time she was still My Lovely Girlfriend™) had in Nashville. Two years later we moved into a condo and I brought the 17-Inch-Tall ’Chuck’ with us, and I planted him behind our condo near our fence.

Well, eventually we moved from the condo to our current home. When we left, I was a little bit distressed because I was so proud of the fact that Chuck started out as a seedling and he was easily 6 or 7 feet tall by then. I mentioned my concern to a good friend of mine named Craig Smith, who understood completely and who selflessly came to my condo one Saturday Afternoon and dug up Chuck’s root ball. He kept it at his home for several months while they built our house, and afterwards he sacrificed ANOTHER Saturday hauling Chuck out of his yard and into mine.

That was 3 years ago, and Chuck is about 10 or 12 feet tall now. This week he woke back up and is starting to get busy again.

I’m very, very fond of Chuck.

Apparently those of you who are good enough to subscribe to my semi-daily ramblings received an odd notice a few days ago.

According to two or three observers, the blog I posted on 4/4 showed up in your subscriptions list about TEN TIMES.

Sorry about that. I only posted a single blog. Let’s blame MySpace together. As a family.

My nose won’t stop running. Springtime is here. Time for Claritin to do that magic voodoo that it do.

Speaking of bodily fluids; I had my first physical examination in ten years yesterday, in order to get cleared for the adoption. I’m fine, and my doctor endorses the South Beach lifestyle, and told me I probably don’t drink as much as I think I do because my liver is fine. Then we did body shots off the nurse’s belly. But they were flu shots, so it wasn’t as naughty as you think.

The BADDISH news is that I am a 33 year-old guy and my cholesterol is at 222. It is SUPPOSED to be under 200. That means I am going to have to cancel the ’All You Can Eat Crisco And Cake Frosting Chicken Wing Fest’ this year. Those of you who bought tickets online should be getting an automatic refund. I’m sorry to let you down, fans. I will feel the loss as well.

I’ve also got slightly elevated blood pressure. I expected it to be worse than it was, considering how high-strung I am. When I told that to the nurse she said "Maybe you could put your pants back on and stop masturbating." I hate nurses.

SO... any advice out there for lowering one’s cholesterol would be appreciated. I am already staying away from trans fats and I don’t eat much food that isn’t freshly prepared lately, so that’s what I am doing so far.

Here’s what you need to know about today’s entry:

1. I’m still trying to maintain my South Beach lifestyle by eating a consistent breakfast. In my case: a hard-boiled egg and a can of V-8 every morning at 10.

2. My Lovely Wife™ is a hippie-chick. Not one of the annoying Late 1960’s Love Child types, but the sexy and exciting 1963 post-Beat Generation mod types who doesn’t care about macramé and bell bottoms but loves being nice to Mother Earth.

3. I am vowing to take a photo a day for a month, just to give myself something to work for.

Okay. Now we can blog.



This was breakfast. My Lovely Wife™ insists on buying farm-fresh, cage-free, vegetarian-fed eggs (all of which I am all-for).

I rarely get one with spots, though. I sort of feel like I am eating a tiny dinosaur egg.

Taking a picture of it was the least I could do, considering this guy’s mum laid it with the best intentions of procreation and here I am about to put it in mah belleh.

NOM NOM NOM.

I don’t know if I have ever talked about this before, but my hatred of local news has no bounds.

Not MY local news, per se. I have lived in about 20 cities in my short and miserable life. They all have had one thing in common, and that’s a VD epidemic by the time I split town and move on.

Well, they really have TWO things in common, because every town I have ever lived in has also come complete with a ’local on-the-spot news team.’ WE ARE THERE FOR YOU.

The team always includes the following:

1 Conservative-but-pretty female anchor with short hair and a comforting smile. The kind of smile that reminds you of the woman who takes your insurance ID and hands you a clipboard when you are at the dentist’s.

1 Conservative-yet-attractive-in-a-non-gay-and-non-threatening way male anchor. He is usually named Dennis. Or Andrew. Or Matthew. You can picture your dad playing golf with him. He is the guy who stands with his hands in his pockets near the cluster of husbands at the cookout and smiles, but is always looking across the yard at something else.

1 Black male and female to fill in and meet a bit of criteria. Put ’em wherever you need em. If you are in a fairly white community, give ’em Sports.

Wanna stick with a white sportscaster? I’ll give you two: You get the young, fresh-outta-college frat guy who likes to pause while the tape is playing back the hot point and say things like ’Snap there you go for two points Warriors!’. Your other choice is the old guy who obviously still smokes Chesterfields and who’s face is puffier than a baseball mitt. If you pick the old guy we will give you the kid on weekends for free. Hell, I’ll even throw in the black guy. Take em. Now get off my lawn.

Local news is the biggest waste of time and energy on Television. I say this with full knowledge that there is a television show on VH1 called Rock Of Love with Brett Michaels.

I live in a city with FOUR prime local network affiliates: ABC, CBS, NBC and FOX. That amounts to FOUR news teams who are combing the streets, looking for juicy stories like The Woman With Sewage In Her Yard and The Guy Who Made Shea Stadium Out Of Toothpicks. If you are dowton on a Friday night, you will see two of the four networks; news vans out and about, just dying to come up with a story or an angle.

And don’t get me started on the fucking weather guy.

Complete. Waste. Of. Time. All of it. In this day and age when we have CNN repeating their stories every 4 hours, and The Weather Channel giving us accurate forecasts "On The 8’s"... the whole system is useless.

What every city needs is ONE news team. They can work with the local paper. We can broadcast local stuff like house fires and Old Ladies With 200 Cats on CNN once a day. YOU ARE DONE.

"Hey Ryan!" You say, indignantly, "What about important things like tornadoes and riots and bank robberies and The Chinese Buffet On Nolansville Road With Roaches In It?"

Exactly, answers I.

I fucking hate the local news. That’s all.

To celebrate: here is a FINE link (courtesy of Shelley) of a compilation of all those terrible things that happen to local asshat ’news reporters’ when they try to make their mark on the media map.

Click HERE to see idiots and fuckwads get beat up, scratched, knocked over, dumped on, and almost blown to bits. I swear to god I laugh my fucking ass off every time I see that guy wind up with a lizard on his coat.

It’s been a while since I hit you kids with an exciting blog, so I figured I would burn up this precious at-work time to give you a little update on my life.

I’m fine.

Well that about sums it up, now doesn’t it?

In the mean time, here’s a chance for you to learn a little something about life...

I have become obsessed recently with health. Namely- my own. I have lost almost 17 pounds in the last month or so by sticking HARD to stage 1 of my diet and cheating like hell during stage 2. I’ve knocked out eating candy and greasy stuff almost entirely, and the last time I had an actual non-diet/non-’Zero’ product was five weeks ago.

And of course, it goes without saying I have had to abandon the meth. The sweet... sweet meth.

Anyhoo... what I have become specifically enamored with is the whole Antioxidant thing.

Did you know that YOU can avoid cancer and not become old and creepy if you just eat a shit ton of this stuff:

Berries. Namely: Strawberries and Blueberries. If your blueberry has a tiny red spot on it then it will be bitter. This rule goes for any red spots you find on any part of your body that you might call your blueberry.

Broccoli. Yeah, yeah, yeah, George Bush Sr. didn’t like it. Let’s move on. It’s delicious, and if you steam it semi-whole then you can eat it with your fingers and pretend you are a giant devouring a tree. At least until your wife sees you dicking around with your food. Then it’s a case of HELLO, MISTER RIGHTY! ’HEY HONEY?’ KA-POW! Now you can go back to playing Pete’s Dragon. RAAAAAAAR!

Garlic. I had no IDEA that garlic was as good for you as it turns out to be. Garlic is LOADED with Antioxidant properties. Once you get past the ’gah! that stinks!’ aspect of it, it becomes a tasty treat to enjoy sauteed, roasted, ground up in sauces, and speinkled in ’salt’ form over your favorite bowl of popcorn. I’m telling you, garlic sounds terrible and stinks on the first pass, but after you open yourself up to it and really start getting into what garlic has to offer, it’s marvelous stuff. What I think I am trying to say is that garlic is the Bob Dylan of food.

Here’s an added bonus! All those weepy, sad-faced, too-much-black-makeup, clove-smoking, Jesus-And-Mary-Chain-listening goth douchebags who fancy themselves as vampires will stay away from you and your food if you cook with a lot of garlic. It’s that whole ’ooh, vampires hate garlic and so I do too’ thing. It’s a win-win for you, because now you don’t have to deal with those ass hats.

Tomaters - By LAW I have to spell ’em and pronounce ’em that way. I also have to use the word ’em instead of them when I explain how to pronounce them. Er... ’em. Eat more. They are delish.

Red Wine. Neil Diamond has said more about this Godlike fluid than I ever could. Why you aren’t drinking a big old goblet of Red Wine right NOW is a mystery to me. If Little John can do it, so can you. Tell your boss Ryan says it’s okay. It’s good for your heart. Screw your liver.


Spinach. Do you know why you hate spinach? You hate spinach because your mom served it to you out of a can or a frozen brick. She probably scooped it out of the metal saucepan with that grotesque 1950’s-style slotted strainer that looked like a spatula that got the shit knocked out of it during a rumble in the silverware drawer. Who WOULDN’T be turned off at the idea of a slimy, greasy wad of green-black goo swimming in boiled water, dangling off the edge of your plate? Nobody blames YOU, honey. Your parents were just lazy.

I’ve always loved spinach. Mainly because I was that annoying little kid who would eat things that looked gross just to get attention and make the other people at the table say ’ew!’

Carrots. I wasn’t allowed to touch carrots for 2 weeks because Phase One of the South Beach Diet said they were full of sugar. Total bummer, because a day without carrots is like a lesbian video without a strap-on. Eat more carrots. Watch more porn. If that is at all humanly possible. You might need to quit your job.

Soybeans. I’m not a fan of tofu. Something about the texture makes me think I am eating flavorless Jello. Even when you grill it or try to dress it up like a piece of fried chicken, my tongue knows the difference. That’s why I endorse the consumption of edamame. Edamame is a soybean steamed in its’ shell and rolled in salt. It’s what you eat as an appetizer when you go out for sushi. You can also buy it shelled in bags in your local grocer’s freezer. If I was a LOL Cat I would end my endorsement of this stuff by saying NOM NOM NOM.

NOM NOM NOM!

Here we have the ACTUAL reason for me to compile a list of my favorite Antioxidants. You paid your dues, and read this far, so I will reward you by revealing my latest obsession, and my most favorite Antioxidant to date.

Green Tea.

Oh my LORD yes. Green Tea is mind-spankingly delicious. I just finished my third mug of it.

And subsequently, I have just realized that I have been sitting here for 30 minutes with three mugs of green tea inside me. Which means I have just now come to discover that I have but one choice in my immediate future... I can sit here and eke out a few more paragraphs of self-serving ha-ha’s for you that recount my newfound love of The Healthiest Beverage You Can Enjoy In Your Life, or I can go take a monster piss.

I REALLY gotta pee, you lucky bastards.

Here is the greatest news story I have ever read in my entire life, and it just happens to have taken place less than 5 miles from my home:

(Thanks to Josh, who brought it to my attention)

Police: Man Had Sex With Picnic Table
Anonymous Tip Led Police To Arrest

BELLEVUE -- A Bellevue man was arrested for public indecency for reportedly having sex with a picnic table in his backyard on several occasions near a school.

Art Price Jr., 40, of the 100 block of Brinker Street, was arrested March 20 by the Bellevue Police Department after a confidential source saw Price in the middle of a sexual act using a metal table and reported him to the police.

Price faces four charges of public indecency, which is a fifth-degree felony, because the incidents took place near school grounds. His bond was set at $20,000, and he is currently out on a signature bond by Judge Kenneth Fox.
If convicted, he could receive up to a maximum sentence of four years in prison and a $10,000 fine, according to the Bellevue Municipal Court.

The witness turned over three DVDs that show footage of Price engaging in these sexual acts on four different dates -- Jan. 29, Feb. 2, March 13 and March 14.

According to the police reports, all the videos show Price naked and performing a sexual act in the open doorway of his home while walking out to his backyard deck. He then set the metal table on its side and began another sexual act using the table.

According to the report, Price would clean the deck after each sex act.

Bellevue Detective Capt. Mark Brooks said the video was very clear and showed that Price didn’t attempt to conceal what he was doing.

"My first thought was how?" Brooks said.

The incidents took place across the street from Ridge Elementary School.

Brooks said the sex acts occurred in the late morning and early afternoon hours in a wide-open back yard that had no fence.

"My feeling was that he was looking straight at the playground when he had sex with the table," Brooks said. "It worries you when its that close to a school. I would hate to see something happen (to the kids)."

After an interview with Price at the police station, Brooks said Price admitted that he was having sex with the table and realized what he has been doing was wrong.

"He was so ashamed," Brooks said. "He realized that he had a problem."

During the interview, Price implied that the events have been taking place for quite sometime, Brooks said. He also said that since the acts took place in an open area, he would run inside the home for a passing car and return and finish the act when he thought it was clear.

Price is married and has three children who attend schools in the Bellevue area, Brooks said.

Bellevue City Schools Superintendent Stephen Schumm said no kids ever reported witnessing the acts.

"I was just shocked and amazed at a very unfortunate situation," Schumm said. "I’m concerned about the family and giving them support."

Schumm said the district is ready to help with counseling and do anything to help the kids.

Things I say while in line at SubWay, and what the SubWay Employee hears:

WHAT I SAY: I’d like a foot-long turkey on wheat, no cheese.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: I’d like a foot-long turkey on white, with lots of cheese. Extra, even.

WHAT I SAY: Spicy mustard and lite mayo, please
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: THREE QUARTS of regular yellow mustard and a wad of regular mayonnaise that you can just go ahead and squirt into a ball of ooze in the far right corner of the bun.

WHAT I SAY: Lettuce, tomatoes, banana peppers, onions.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: three tomatoes and ninety seven pounds of raw, red onions, please.

WHAT I SAY: I don’t want it heated.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: Put it in that oven thingy and forget about it while you serve the WASP with huge fake tits behind me.

Fuck you, SubWay. Fuck you, Jared. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.