mind expanding nonsense

Archive for November, 2012

I’ve Stopped Blogging

“Say its not so Hansi.”  Well sorta.  Ya see I haven’t been cranking out a lot of new drawings lately.  Too stressed about the kitchen re-model The wife and I started at the end of September.  It’s almost done, and that’s a relief, but I’ve also been toying with the idea of stopping blogging for a while.  I’ve been publishing a lot of old drawings and posts from my archives, and find myself running out of material.  Funny thing is, although the drawing has dried up, the bullshiting has remained  fairly constant.

Here’s where it gets a little strange.  I just posted (November 17th) a post on my Blithering Idiot blog about not blogging anymore.  An introspective rant about being in a rut in general and wanting to get out of it (or try a new rut on for size) by doing other stuff besides blogging.   But, not wanting to give up blogging altogether, came to the conclusion that I could have my cake and eat it too (the best way it’s served), by not blogging on my Blithering Idiot blog, and blog about not blogging on my Hansi”s Hallucinations blog.  I know, it took maximum clarity of mind to solve that problem, but as the Bible says, “Ask and thou shall receive.”

I’ve been so taken with this whole idea of Not blogging, that I’ve actually cranked out two posts today (11-17-12); one on each of my two blogs.  Don’t ask me how I did it.  I guess when the spirit moves ya, you better start shaking.  Here’s another one I shook outta the archives.

Blogging About Blogging

Here’s another drawing that has absolutely nothing to do with the subject matter at hand.  Not even by a stretch of your metaphorical imagination can you ‘link’ the above to what’s below.  Almost sounds theological, but if you’ve been following this blog for any time, you probably already know it’s gonna be scatological in nature.  Kinda like stepping in a huge cow-pie out there in the back forty.

Anyway.  When I first started blogging two years ago, I followed “retirement lifestyle” blogs and folks that were into blogging for profit and how to make a killing to doin’ it.  The key to successful blogging was to go around and make as many comments on other blogs, in the hopes of getting a shit-load of comments made on your blog, after which magically you’ll have such a large following that people would advertise or sell stuff on your blog and the money would start rollin’ in.

Sadly, none of those guys I was following back then are still blogging.  All I could figure is that they either burned-out.  Or….made a pile of money blogging and are now enjoying their own new retirement lifestyle.

Problem with that “daisy-chain” fantasy was, all your followers were only interested in getting followers for themselves and had no intent whatsoever to buy anything!  And retirement lifestyle?  Get a life!  None of the goal oriented ‘styles’ peddled held any attraction for me.  My ‘lifestyle” in retirement was just fine:  Get up early and go to the Gym (the actual name of my gym and brilliant that something would be called by what it is; that’s why I’m now calling our bathroom the “shit house”, or “the place where one stands and dribbles pee pee on the floor and catches hell from the wife room””); Come home and lay around the house all day getting stoned listening to 60’s music and drawing weird shit; Take a noon-time nap so one can be refreshed to watch three hours of political shows in the afternoon and get totally paranoid; Eat dinner and later falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV.  Refreshed and ready for another full day of the same stuff.

Well…to date I haven’t made a dime blogging, and seriously doubt that anybody in their right mind would want me to design a “life-style” for them.  There also doesn’t appear to be a big market for bull-shit on a local level.  In politics there sure is, and some folks pay big bucks just to hear their favorite kind.  I know!  I gotta start writing conspiracy theories!   Maybe about how they’re making machines that can talk to you, but don’t let ya get a word in edge-wise.

The Hershey Highway


I was rolling around in the gutter the other day, and came across this gem in my Archives.  Classic Hansi stuff featuring suggestive drawings, dirty poetry, loads (get it) of scatological humor and even a grossly inappropriate video.  Don’t get much better than that.  So I decided, what the heck, I’m recycling this sucker:

Well, it’s that time again. Time for the old digital rectal exam, to see if the old prostate is: a) still there? b) not enlarging, c) giving the doctor a sadistic sense of joy, or d) all of the above.

It really blows my mind that a lot of guys (probably over 50) blog about this. It would be like the ladies chronicling how there boobs are squashed annually during a mammogram. But when ya run out of ideas, one has to draw upon life experiences to come up with something new. A speaking of drawing, I hope you like the illustration. Drawing-wise, it was a bit of a challenge coming up with that one. I had a vision in my mind (where most visions occur), and wanted to put it on paper. The challenge for me was to avoid the out-right obscene, but leave no doubt as to what was on my mind, while  portraying  it in a psychedelic manner. Pretty trippy huh?

So, and let it be known that, The Hershey Highway is not My Way, (I see it solely as a One Way street.  No fudge packing for me); butt it sure is an opportunity to write about some really juvenile shit under the guise of healthy living for seniors, ‘mens health’, or some such crap.

I love the term “Take it in the shorts”, and will let you savor that one for a while.

Time’s up!   The annual prostate exam sorta typifies what we are being forced to endure by our governments. We know something stinks and is uncomfortable, but dutifully line up, follow orders, Drop Trow, and going along with the program,  bend over. “It’s only for our own good”…. So we take it in the shorts.

I don’t know about you, and I’m getting a little short on ‘taking it’ all the time, but it seems to me that there’s a plan (won’t call it conspiracy) to screw the middle class here in the U$. Family supporting jobs are disappearing, union rights vanishing, services cut, and social safety-nets dismantled  The Republicans, thinking they have a mandate, now want to go after Medicare and even Social Security, but not for current recipients [us seniors wouldn’t vote for them if they took Our benefits away], only for everyone else down the line. Another great metaphor.

Tis the time of year to take it in the shorts

So Bend over and be good sports.

Ladies don’t laugh at this little ditty

Your turn will come when they mammogram your titty.

And should you frown upon this reflection

May the gods curse you with a yeast infection.

So everyone, don’t laugh or even gloat

Can’t you see ,we’re all in the same boat.

Well, that was a pretty scattered rant; but not one filled with scat. So I thought it best to brighten up your day, while still dealing with all things anal, with this little “Training Film”. It’s very informative…Enjoy.  But caution,  some might find this a touch offensive.  Now ya really got to see it 🙂

Alternative Advice

OK….I’m into something new. Instead of early morning cable TV infomercials, it’s now advice columns. And this is a piece on Alternative Advice Columns. Now, whether that means it’s an alternative to advice columns, or just some alternative advice; I’ll let you weather that one out. Here’s a little gem, worthy of comment by one who spent 30 years as a Probation Officer, tellin’ people what to do, and cramming advice down their throats.  And, it was an actual letter:

Dear Fannie: I have been best friends with “Claire” since junior high school. She is nothing short of a knockout, with a sweet personality to match. We have always been very close, and I treasure our friendship.

The problem is, when we are out together, men are interested in Claire but feel she is unapproachable because she is so beautiful. Instead, they talk to me up to try to get their foot in the door with her. Quite frankly, I am fed up with men only talking to me because they know I am friends with Claire. Then, when she isn’t interested in them, I have to let them down. It’s exhausting!

I am successful, educated, smart and funny, and, I’m not bad looking either, but men are only interested in my hot friend. This has been been going on since high school, and I’m 35, for heaven’s sake. How do I break this cycle? Or, at least, tactfully tell these men that I am no the key to Claire’s heart?


Well, here’s my alternative reply to this sad individual, and it’s not a bunch of happy horse-shit about self-esteem, which was the columnist’s answer.

Dear Invisible,

Girl…Didn’t your mama tell ya that a man ain’t nothing but a dog on two legs? Stop whining, and suck it up. No wonder your not seeing any of that “foot” in your “door” action. There’s nothing faster acting, than a whining woman to reverse a man’s blood flow downstairs. On what bathroom wall did you read that You were the center of the universe???

First of all, stop being such a dumb-shit. If you’re gonna go bar hoppin’ with the girls, make sure you hang around with ugly women. That’s what “Claire” does, and look at all the action she gets. Standing next to a dog will make ya look good in any man’s eye.

If that doesn’t work, and you insist on maintaining a relationship with Claire, talk her into doing a ‘threesome’. Most men will go for that (as long as the other ‘some’ isn’t a guy), Mercy Sex is better than no sex at all. If that don’t work, then it’s time to start hitting below the belt. When some horny guy starts talking to you about Claire’s beauty, say something like, “Yes, Claire does certainly look good; especially now that her Herpes is in remission”. Or, “You know, it’s a miracle how Claire’s canker sores and vaginal warts cleared up all on their own; without the need for antibiotics…just disappeared.”

Invisible, don’t envy Claire. Hey she’s 35 and still not married. And if she is, well then she’s just a cheatin’ little tramp. A loser any way ya look at it. It’s your turn to be the heart-breaker, and not just for Claire.


Quality Time

Now that’s a term ya don’t hear too much any more. It’s kind of a throw-back from the 80’s. That would be the time when all us Baby Boomers gave up our Hippie ways (stopped smoking Pot) and became Yuppies: totally selling out to uber-materialism and wealth accumulation (started growing Pot commercially). For all our evil deeds, the gods rewarded us with two horrific stock market declines, and are busily taking away our pension funding.

Another by-word I can’t stand is “A Purpose Filled Life”.  Used by certain evangelical groups, this phrase implies that if you don’t have the same reason to be alive as they do, your life ain’t worth a shit.  Unless of course you’re in the womb, then ya have all the rights as a full fledged adult.  But once you’re born (for the first time) well then it’s open season on your ass.

This is what triggered old Hansi into this whole head-trip about Quality Time….versus, of course, time of questionable, or little value, which suffers from shoddy workmanship. [A good example of this would be Me Writing this blog (quality time), and You Reading it ( a total waste of time)].  So, Q T is an 80’s term denoting time when you are fully present and actively involved, not tuned out dreaming up some new idiotic blog post. It usually involved time spent with your children.  Because we all wanted to give them the best of everything, even time, so they’d have that advantage over the rest of the kids when entering pre-school, or [barf] Montessori.

Well. I used this term also. But being true to my inner Hansi nature, I used it as a by-word for marital bliss time. Come on…You probably did too! This time appreciated in its Quality, because there were only certain times when you could enjoy it. Like during that brief window of opportunity, between when the kids  fell asleep, and before You fell asleep on the couch. You had to act fast, and slip it in, squeeze it in (you know what I mean) when you could, or wait till the next Friday night. [Good thing my kids don’t read my blog, they’d  probably put themselves up for adoption after finding this shit out].

Well, like Disco, the term Quality Time is gone now. Fading into obscurity along with ‘YUPPIE’, ‘DINK’ (double income no kids) and all things New Age. I hope I have provided you with a little Quality Time (don’t let your mind turn to filth), and that this post has brought back a lot of fond memories of when you  used to have sex.

You now know what quality time means to me. What does it mean to you?

Dear Hansi

I got a letter in the mail the other day from someone who wanted advice about their 13 year old son. I guess they knew I was a Probation Officer and had a lot of experience with adolescents and relationship problems. They were correct on both counts, for not only did I supervise juveniles, and even work in a juvenile detention facility (jail for kids); but I had a domestic violence caseload as well. Right up my alley don’t cha think?  But I was reluctant to answer. I’m retired now, and the only hallucinations I want to share are my own, NOT, yours. But I’ll share this one anyway.

Dear Hansi,

Our 13 year old son Billy has been acting strangely of late. He no longer plays with the other neighborhood boys, but stays in his room all day listening to weird music and reading dirty magazines. One day I opened his door, and his room smelled like a forest fire. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and he didn’t make any sense whatsoever.. We found a small baggie of some green, leafy material; which Billy insisted was an herbal seasoning a friend gave him to spice up his food: he sometimes suffers the extremes of eating nothing at all, to eating us out of house and home.

Worse yet Hansi, Billy has his hands down his pants at all hours of the day. When we confront him, Billy says he’s just re-arranging his underwear. Why that causes him to get so out of breath is beyond me. We’ve even gotten reports from school that Billy has been found hastily re-arranging his underwear in both the Boys bathroom and Gym locker room.

Is there a cause for concern here? What shall we do??

Signed…Confused in California.

Here’s what I replied:

Dear Confused in California,

Being a parent is no easy task these days. But I really think you don’t have too much to worry about; Billy sounds like an All American Boy to me. That burning smell in his room was probably just incense. He is no doubt exploring eastern religions, and that dazed and confused look on his face was just the result of being suddenly wakened from some deep state of meditation. I think you’d be less worried if you took some of that spice his friend gave him, and sprinkled it on your salad some evening.

Regarding his “underwear re-arranging”, why he’s just playing with his Weewee. And if God has granted him the gift of having one, well, it’s his duty (not to mention responsibility) to figure out how it works; life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. And before you go rushing off to pre-register him as a sex offender, I think some simple behavior modification techniques would help with his problems at school. Billy just isn’t aware of social boundaries, that’s all. My advice is to duct-tape a cardboard sign to his waist which reads “Don’t play with your Weewee”. That way he’ll be reminded of what’s appropriate, and what’s not. Even his peers at school will gladly join in by reminding Billy not to play with his Weewee.

Hope that was of help. I think you have nothing to worry about. I’ll address Billy’s torturing of animals and setting fires in another post.


Well…If you have any problems you want old Hansi to help you with, just leave an anonymous comment and I’ll get to work on it. Be sure to leave your name and address, so I know where to send my reply.

Some Advice

I love advice columns, and have written parodies about all the dumb-shits who write in seeking a solution to the particular problem or dilemma.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to be insensitive to those who are suffering. No Sir, I’m all for the end of suffering, and take my special end of suffering medication daily.  It’s just that the advice that is given, is often times just so lame or generic, that I see little value in it.

Having said all that, lets get to the important part; I wanna talk about drawing.  And these two “Dear Hansi” drawings  feature prominently.  I’m finding that I’m gravitating between a few different styles.  These two are more “illustrations” that I’ve done to fit specific post topics.  My other stuff is a lot more freer and spaced-out in nature, and when featured in a post may only has a remotely metaphoric relationship to what I’m writing about.  [Conversely, therein lies lays the literary challenge; to be able to come up with some thing that sorta compliments the drawing; like this post]. I find it a trip to gravitate between the two, cause I like having the ability to draw a particular vision that flashes into my head, like these two hand studies.

If you can add ridicule to your drawings (seasoned with a helping of sarcasm), as many of the great political cartoonists do, well that’s the height of drawing…if ya ask me.  Now, some might think that it’s not nice to sarcastically  ridicule people.  And I totally agree, unless of course,  they deserve it.  Then its open season on their asses.  They’re asking for it by the dumb shit they say and do.

Here’s the only advice I’ll give ya:  Take all advice with a grain of salt!  Oh yea…and look for some recycled advice posts coming soon.


At Last!   I’m finally able to sit down with a pen, some paper, and time to play with space; or more correctly, space-out playing with drawing.  Like I said in the above drawing: The best part of drawing is drawing into your drawing.  Sounds a little stupid (but was profound when I thought of it).  What that means to me is being able to step over to the right side of my brain ( the side where creativity, imagination and intuition is dominant), and leave the left side ( which is analytical, precise, logical and organized) behind.

In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t usually draw from life or nature, stuff one can actually see.  Rather, I just start scribbling and images start to appear.  None of it has any basis in reality.  [My god!  that sounds like an American political party that just got its ass whooped in the recent elections].  It’s all in my head, except when it illegally immigrates to paper, in hopes for a better life, then it takes on a life of its own and becomes a voting block to be reckoned with.

This is starting to sound a little scary.  But it really isn’t.  That’s cause everything is just fine over on the Right, reality notwithstanding [ A cool word I learned while wasting thirty years of my life as a probation officer].  Oops.  I’m writing now, not drawing, and that means I’ve slipped over to that logical left side of my brain.   Couldn’t help it.  Old Lefty was callin’ out my name, “Hansi, get your ass back over here.  You were having too much fun on the right”.  Busted!  That’s what happens when ya write stuff, versus drawing  stuff; your mind gets deported.

Maybe what I should do is just post a drawing with no commentary, and let you figure it out for yourself.  But there’s danger in that  You might like the Right side of your brain so much, ya may never wanna go back to the Left.  Unless of course you prefer the Left (blue side) over the Right (red side), and feel the need to make a comment like, “That was a bunch of bullshit.” or “Hansi, you stupid socialist, you’ve over medicated yourself one too many times”.

Circus Baby

Logan is my four year old grandson. What’s really cool is, he’s making the transition from scribbling to figurative drawing, and developing those fine motor skills.  Plus, he’s also learned how to write (print) his name, and knows a lot of the letters in the alphabet.   The kid’s a frickin’ genius.

The above drawing is his, but I can’t for the life of me tell ya what it is.  Half of the stuff he says I can’t understand [sure hope he doesn’t turn out to be a Blithering Idiot like his grandpa].  When he asked me how to spell Circus Baby, all I could make out was “turd-cuss baby”.  Needless to say that immediately sent old grandpa on a head-trip dreaming up a blog post, cause turds and cussing are right up my alley, and the mainstay of my hallucinations.

Nothing like working on a theme, and doing a blog post with the grandson.  Here’s my version of a circus baby.

More Fun With Spam

I don’t know about you, but I get a shit-load of Spam daily on this here WordPress blog.  It used to be, that I’d get 30 to 40 spam comments, wanting me to checkout “Lolitas” and “Teen Models”.  I couldn’t  believe it, being spammed by pedophile sites, which if you go to, ya leave a digital footprint that could end up getting your ass busted and winding up going to prison, where pedophiles are  the lowest rung on the criminal totem pole, and  preyed upon mercilessly. [Funny how karma works: the sodomiz-er becoming the sodomiz-ee.]

Well, magically that ain’t happening anymore, but I still  get spam.  Not in my “About” folder (which tells the world who I am and where all that ‘kiddie porn’ was goin’),  but into a prior post lampooning spam, entitled Fun With Spam.  Frickin’ idiots; another case of karma comin’ around and biting ya in the ass.

Some folks go through elaborate steps to avoid getting spam comments.  Boxes you have to click, confirming you are not spam.  Or, better yet, a series of random, script-like letters you have to decipher and re-type, just to make a stupid-ass generic comment such as I often times do like:  “Great post, well done, enjoyed it a lot.  Do you like young boys?”  To the right are some of my favorite passwords I’d like to see used >>>

Well, I’ve decided, if ya cant’ fight em, join em, and am now letting selected pieces of spam to be published on my blog.  Not to worry though, they’ll be highly edited, and you won’t be able to link to them.  Sorry. about that, and  for kiddie porn fans, you’ll just  have to Google 288 (a) California Penal Code

Here’s one of my favorites:

balkonreont said:

April 7, 2011 at 7:05 am

вакансии ремонт квартир Улучшение и отделка помещений, комнат или дач – это насущная на сегодняшний день проблема большинства людей, решившихся, наконец, привести в порядок свое жилище. Мало того, что улучшение – это занятие трудоемкое и напряженное, еще и найти заслуживающую доверия компанию, занимающуюся ремонтом комнат или домов сейчас практически нельзя. Дело в том, что все меньше и меньше в России есть компаний, делающих свою работу качественно, эффективно и недорого. ремонт квартиры ключ
Однако наша компания является приятным исключением из этого неприятного правила. Мы вот уже много лет занимается ремонтом помещений, комнат, дач и еще ни разу нам не поступало от наших клиентов ни неприятных отзывов, ни каких-либо жалоб. ремонт однокомнатной квартиры под ключ Большой опыт наших специалистов, а также высокий профессионализм всех без исключения наших сотрудников, поможет сделать хорошо, качественно и – главное – доступно как косметический, так и капитальный ремонт. новая квартира ремонт Современное оборудование, новые технологии планировки и дизайна, а также индивидуальный подход к каждому клиенту и гибкая система скидок сделали нашу фирму самой успешной на сегодня организацией, оказывающей услуги реставрации и отделке офисов, комнат или дач. ремонт квартир в долгопрудном
ремонт квартир ремонт квартиры

Hansi said:

April 7, 2011 at 11:13 am

Hey it’s Cousin Balky. Glad ya liked the post, but frankly, your comment was all Greek to me, and I don’t think I’ll be Russian over to visit your site.

Lastly there’s the ‘flattery will get you everywhere’ type of spam, that boosts your ego so much, ya can’t help but just approve it.  Check out this bullshit and consider whose blog they’re posting it on.

bedside proteinpulverizer
branchconga0.dmusic.net/journal/1677370 xxx

fantastic post, very informative. I wonder why the opposite experts of this sector don’t realize this. You must continue your writing. I’m confident, you’ve a great readers’ base already!

We’re Not Doomed

Pheeeew.  Am I ever glad the election is over, and am I ever more gladder that Obama won decisively.  I was worried there for a while, and even had another version of this post; “We’re Doomed ” ready to go if Romney won.  But thankfully I didn’t have to use the “We’re Doomed” post, and even more thankfullyer, I am clear-headed enough to post the correct post.  Don’t wanna give anybody the wrong impression about me.

Drawing With Branden

What has been really cool while doing some uber-grandparenting, taking care of our two grandsons, is drawing with them.  The Wife (a former children’s art-teacher) lets the boys have reams of cheap copy paper, pencils galore and, if they’re really careful, colors.

I was going through some of these ‘masterpieces’ and decided to touch a few of Branden’s  up a bit.  He did the wavy lines; I did the rest.

I even let Branden use some of my “special drawing pencils” *, and was able to explain how they’re numbered by hardness and what kind of line ya get with each one.  He enjoyed that, but is still likes your standard #2 pencil for his cartoonie/stylized form of drawing.  Hey!  So do I.  Here’s one we did together.  Don’t get much better than that.

*  Actually they’re not special at all, but cheap bottom of the line 4H, 2H, H and HB pencils.  But what do children know?  You can fool them all the time, by calling something “special”  and make em want it even more, by rationing it’s usage.  Withholding creates craving, and then they are hooked.  Kinda like the 47% of people who are in the radical right’s back pocket.

Fun at Work

OK. I’m still working in retirement for my former employer, fighting crime for the Probation Department. I call the place the House of Pain, after the H G Wells novel “The Island of Doctor Moreau.”  But in stead of fighting crime, I’m fighting boredom. Because I’m doing the same damn thing over and over and over again. As B B King sang, “The thrill has gone.” I think it was day three of being back, when thirty years of doing this (same old) shit triggered Automatic Pilot to kick in.

Now, my blogging has started to suffer – Work sucks the creative juices right out of ya. And, sitting in a cubical four hours a day, grinding out bullshit doesn’t really lend itself to red-hot war stories. But ol’ Hansi, with a feeble, yet devious mind, came up with this brilliant idea. How do I make Work Fun? Or better yet, how can I have fun while giving the illusion that I’m doing work??

I work in a bureaucracy wherein appearance takes precedence over substance. [That sounds like someone I know who’s running for president]. So…how can I spend four hours having fun, basically doing nothing, while getting paid for it? Hey Tea Party taxpayers, don’t get pissed, just think of this as one of them “reality shows” where people are being paid just to be their own stupid, asinine selves.

So, how do I  start my day? Well spending 45 minutes dreaming up this bullshit and writing it down is a good start. “Hansi. How do you get away with that?” Well, like a good magician, work is all about slight of hand and mis-direction of peoples’ attention. I’ve got a pile of “rap sheets” laid out in front of me filling my desk, with other “to do” piles nearby. It looks like I’m working at a feverish pace, but actually I’m cranking out the rough draft of this post. Ooops…My supervisor just walked by; better take a work break.

Five minutes later: Phew….glad that’s over. My desk is now fully camouflaged with papers and files all over the place. Total chaos, and in Probation-land chaos = really busy. Here a pile, there a pile, everywhere a pile pile. Old Hansi’s bent over [but not like in the bent over where ya gotta grab your ankles], and working his arthritic fingers to the bone. That reminds me. My fingers are getting a little stiff; better go to the bathroom and run some hot water over em. Especially my thumb, which has been up my kiester most of the morning.

Ah…that’s so much better. Time for some computer work. One of the perks at work is that I get to listen to my blues music on earphones and tune everything else out. Right now I’m listening to a tune called “Voodoo Love”. I know. Sounds luscious, and how appropriate. Cause it’s mug-shot fantasy time.

Everybody on probation has a seven digit “person number”; yes you are a number and not a name.  And in a person’s (sorry, a number’s) “Person Summary”, there are yet even more numbers: Sheriff’s booking #; rap sheet #; DMV # etc.  And… a Mug Shot, which is the picture they take of you, celebrating your entrance into jail. And since I’m sitting on a massive drunk driver caseload, I get to see folks at their absolutely shit-faced, inebriated best….cool

So what better way to waste time than to spend it fantasy-land, making up stories about the people (numbers) that just got busted.

Poor Sara B. Looks like a deer caught in the headlights. From closing down the bar to County Jail, something went wrong on her way home to the trailer-park. Wonder if running that red light, pulling up over the curb and barfing on the cop when he asked to see her drivers license had anything to do with her plight. She’s cute, but I’d hate to be inside her head the next morning.

Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison. 50 something, unshaven, hair a mess, wearing a stained t-shirt. Sure it’s OK to have a couple of beers after a day of yard work. But when ya hop on your deluxe mower and drive it to the Liquor store for another 12 pack,  leaving a path of destruction (and lawn clippings) in your wake, you’re gonna draw attention to yourself. And please….wipe that shit eating grin off your face.

Sometimes just sitting in front of the computer spaced out, having a 60’s flashback is fun too.  “Excuse me while I kiss the sky”

Well, today has been the best day of work I’ve had to date. I even managed to cut down my production by half.  Wonder if I can get it down to 30% work, 70% play? Something to shoot for… A goal…And, you know it’s good to have goals.

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