One of the greatest Dead Milkmen songs and videos ever made.

If anyone knows Rob Alderman' mom, you may understand the risk involved here. She's the only woman I've probably only said the "F-word" in front of only once. I still remember the moment and the sentence:

"How many fucking air fresheners does that cabbie need?"

She casually turned to me, as we rode in the back of her station wagon and said, "There's your one time." ... and it remained the only time I'd ever uttered that word in front of her.  And to think it took me to age 23 to use it in front of her. 

That was the same summer I was stationed at Ft. Meade in Maryland, just outside of Washington D.C.. I had received an excited phone call from Rob earlier that week saying they'd be in town visiting family. I believe it was not to distant of a time from the death of his father and I'd really wanted to see him since I was unable to get time away to attend his funeral.  We were going through the Old Town portion of Bethesda, MD. A beautiful area right along the bay. There's a seafood restaurant right on the banks whose name I can't recall, but whose crab and oysters were outstanding.

We found our way into a record shop cradled within an old building which had stood since the time of George Washington. I was casually browsing beneath a Trent Reznor autographed (and smashed) keyboard when I found this staring back at me:

"Hey, Rob? Remember the song 'Punk Rock Girl' by The Dead Milmen? Don't they mention this guy?"

"Yeah."

Well, anything the Dead Milkmen endorsed at the time was LAW, so I obediently purchased the album.

(I wish the kid would have finished the flash video - not bad =) )

We returned to the car a few moments later and brought out the portable CD Player and shared a set of tiny earphones and listend to several snicker-inducing songs.

Then this gem wormed into our brains and remained hidden there until now.  For those of you who brave it, God Speed. It still remains one of the filthiest (and funniest) songs I've ever heard ... and that's saying a lot.  The toughest part was attempting not to burst out in howls of laughter (or audible "OMG's") as the track wore on. Because "Mrs. A" would have wondered what was so funny, and insisted to hear it herself. Then I would have never been able to speak to Rob again as I was made to walk the 20 or so miles back to the base, having been immediately tossed from a speeding station wagon.

Ahhhh. Those were the Good Ol' Days!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
(make with the clickin' at your own risk)

The pregnancy test featured two blue lines today.

w00t!

And so another one is added to the clan.

Old Pustenlik had been hiding away for quite some time lately.

Then I purchased the last two Call of Duty releases for the Xbox360.

I have little tolerance for stupidity during my gaming experience.

Last night another random kid logged on and started dropping F-bombs randomly and managed to raise the ire of yours truly. Now, awake and seething, and walking out, balls flapping, from the deep recesses of my brain in which he'd been hiding he has resurfaced, Old Pustelnik ripped into him.

Now when I attack people, I keep it clean. I don't throw around the curse words ... Old P has become a bit sophisticated in his anti-social behaviors. What set it off was when the kid pretended to be older and said,

Brat: "Oh yeah! I'm in The Marines! Where do you live? I'll come over there and kick your ass."

Old P: "Yeah? Where are you stationed? What division?"

(silence)

Old P: "Hey Marine! You sound a little young. I was in the service for a bit, where are you, what division?"

Brat: "I'm not a kid, I just have a disease in my throat that makes my voice sound weird."

Old P: "I hope its cancer. Liar."

Brat: "That's a pretty f---ed up thing to say."

Old P: "Where are you stationed? What division? This is probably all the actual combat you'll ever see is on this game."

Brat: "Okay - I'm not in the Marines - I'm pulling your leg. I'm sorry."

Old P: "I have a lot of good friends who served in Iraq and lost some people close to them over there, and you're throwing lies around like that and expecting sympathy? Sorry 'boutcha."

Brat: "But ... hey ... can you tell me about the service, I'm thinking of joining next year,"

Old P: "I hope you really do get cancer."

EPILOGUE: The kid logged off with his tail between his legs, but shoots me a friend request. I accpeted it and talked to him yesterday, so he's been straightened out and educated a bit about what kind of lies a person can get away with and joining the service.

He's going to go Air Force.

Don't be ninjerin' anythin' that don't need ninjerin' ...

God Bless Diamond Dave and the Ninjaette for having me laughing hard enough ta' shart.

Dear Cubs,

You bastards.

I now present Mr. Steve Goodman ... who sums it up perfectly

happy boy

Presenting ... The Eradicator.