Fun at the Gym

The first thing I do in the morning, before firing up my computer, before checking my email for all them comments I’m getting, and before I click on the “Publish ” button and send another Hallucination out into cyber-space, is get a cup of coffee and do fifteen minutes of stretching on my living room floor.  Then it’s off to the Gym on my bicycle where I “pump iron” (do weight training ) for 30 to 40 minutes.  What a great way to start the day, all pumped up, with them few remaining drops of testosterone circulating through my system.  A true natural high.

Well, as great as all that macho bullshit is, what’s even more fun, is fucking with my good old ultra conservative , right wing Tea Party buddy Mike.  Instead of starting the morning with some yoga-like stretching and a meditative bicycle ride to the Gym, he hops in his car, turns on Hate Radio, and gets his morning blast of uber right-wing talking points.  And boy oh boy is he ever ready to unload all that crap on some poor hapless liberal who may be working out next to him.

Well, being a hapless, but not so poor, liberal (plus socialist to boot), and on top of that, a phun-loving guy who like who likes to phuck with those in need of a good phucking; I jumped on an opportunity to push his Tea Party button the other morning.

He was on the stationary bicycle (a great metaphor for those on the right who although peddling their asses off, are going nowhere), and on some sarcastic rant about how ‘great’ (turning to shit) things are in California.  When I replied from the other room, “They sure are, gay marriage is now legal again!”  [The Supreme Court having just shot down the Defense Of Marriage Act as unconstitutional].  Well sure as shit, and like Wernher Von Braun shooting off a V-2 missile, that set his ass on fire and into orbit.  When he said something about next you’ll be able to marry your dog, I shot back with, “Yeah, but only one; more would be polygamy” [a cheap shot at Mitt Romney and his Mormonism].  That sure ignited stage two of his rant, whereupon I said, ” I think people ought to be able to phuck anything they want”, proceeded to do my last set of curls and left with a smile on my face.

That was a great work-out. I think old Mike is still somewhere in orbit around Orange County.

Hansi on Hiatus

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I find myself in a rut, doing the same old thing over and over and over again, but am too compulsed to quit or try something new.  It gets depressing at times, and Depression is a real bummer. Well…I was a tad bummed out for a while and even thought about stopping blogging; taking a break, re-charge my batteries, all that good stuff.  But that was BHD (before Hot Dog Man – not to be confused with BFD which is Big F***ing Deal).

What’s really cool about WordPress is being able to save stuff as a rough draft and publish it latter.  That’s what I did with this blog post (actually written May 8th).  I had quit blogging, wrote about it, saved it as a rough draft,  and am now publishing it.  So here’s a couple of things I did in late April, before Hot Dog Man.  Nothing like a new rut, to get ya out of an old one.  Pretty wild, doncha think?

Phucking With Phone Solicitors

It’s War!  And I’m doing battle with a daily barrage of phone solicitations from telemarketers tryin’ to sell me a bunch of crap I do not want, nor have any interest in whatsoever.  Plus, it’s not just me, all my friends who have land-lines, aren’t answering their phones anymore, and are letting them go over to their answering machines [an interesting concept, a machine that could give you answers, but are in reality, just a device to record bullshit], as a means of screening all the solicitations they’re also getting.

I registered with the Do Not Call registry, but that could take up to thirty days to kick in.  I told one telemarketer to take me off their list, and she had the nerve to argue with me and try to persuade me that I was acting rashly.  The nerve!  It’s turning into survival mode here at the Hansi household.

I’m fightin’ back though.  Just the other day, I got a call for some guy asking, “Is Hansi there?”  Actually, he didn’t ask for “Hansi”, he used my real first name and badly pronounced my last name.  If he did ask for Hansi, I would have known it was one of you guys, and not some stranger that I’ve never met before.

Anyway, he asked for Hansi, and I asked back, “Who is this?”  He said is name was Larry something or another, and went on to say that he was with a construction company I never heard of, and so and so on, when I said, “Hi Larry”.

He greeted me back, and went on with his spiel about remodeling and so on, when I once again said (sounding like a complete simpleton), “Hi Larry”.  Well that threw him off a bit, but being the pro he was, and probably having said the same thing at least a hundred times already that day, continued on without breaking stride.

After about fifteen more seconds, when he asked me a question, I once again (sounding like I just fell off the turnip truck) said, “Hi Larry”.  I could now tell that he was getting a little frustrated, but deter him, it did not!  It was after the fourth time, when I said in a manor indicating that I was just born yesterday,  “Hi Larry”, that he said, “I’m getting tired of talking to a moron, I’m hanging up.”  Whereupon I replied: “So am I…Bye Larry”.

Well there’s nothing like put short-term memory loss to good use, while having a little fun at someone else’s expensive.  I think next time I get one of them telemarketing calls, I’m gonna try some heavy breathing into the phone, and maybe some moaning and groaning, and who knows?  Even a climatic scream of ecstasy if I’m in the mood.

Working

I know a lot of you who read this blog, and even some of you who just look at the pictures, are retired or semi-retired.  I’m retired, and have been so for the last nine years.  Retirement is great!  And I sure hope it’s great for you too.  But here’s the thing (a strange thing): I’m still working.  And stranger yet, I’m working for my former employer, doing the same thing I did when I was making a “career” outta it.

Financially, it’s really a good thing.  I’m making more money per hour than I was before retirement.  And earning the same as the rest of the poor schmucks eating dung in the Probation Department full time.  Oh Yeah…I was a probation officer for 28 years.  Pretty trippy.  It blew my mind too.  I still can’t believe it.

Anyway, working for your former employer, on a part-time, extra-help basis, while not only good financially, allows me to use former work skills [In my case, fucking with people and jumping in their shit], plus, keeps ya sharp, and gets my ancient ass outta the house. I’d probably be laying around in La La-land all day drivin’ The Wife crazy.  So it relieves a lot of suffering, and someone jumping in my shit.

But not so for the folks I gotta deal with at work.  I don’t wanna go into big detail about what I do, and all the mindless bureaucratic bullshit that goes into helping another P O monitor a barely manageable 2000 person first-time drunk driver caseload, but if I process some paper work or prepare a court document, you can rest assured that some poor turd will be suffering soon.  Being on the inside of a “Big Government” machine that is able to impose it’s will upon people and make them do stuff they really don’t want to, never ceases to blow my mind.   I didn’t ‘live and breath’ all that law enforcement crap when I was a PO; was more of a social worker type, and wanted my clients to succeed.  There’s no joy  inflicting added grief onto people whose lives are already a mess.

So why do I do it?  For the Money!  It’s easy. A no-brainer.  Only a mild inconvenience on my free time.  I’m only selling my time ( I prefer think of it as “renting” it). Not working for my former employer would kinda be like NOT stealing candy from a baby.  That’s one view.

Any of you dealing with similar issues?  If you are, let me know.  This working in retirement is not all fun and games.  On the two days I do go into work, I gotta shower, shave and put on a shirt that has buttons.  That’s asking a lot, money notwithstanding.

Mixing Styles

It was bound to happen.  I can’t go on with this Hot Dog Man stuff forever.  Although it’s sure coming easy right now.  All I gotta do is draw a simple sausage-like shape, unzip my imagination, add eyes and extremities, and Pesto! Out pops Hod Dog Man.

As cool as that is, my other drawing style (for lack of better words) is languishing in all this weenie-madness.  So I thought that maybe I should mix the two styles.  Hey…there’s ‘mixed drinks’, ‘mixed emotions’, and ‘mixed marriages’.  So mixing things is rarely bad, but being mixed-up is a common affliction that afflicts 47% of the population.  Mixed stuff can also be little toxic, like drinking white wine after red (or is it the other way around?), or  casing a beer with a shot of whiskey. [I personally try to take the “toxic” out of my intoxications].  So here’s a mixture of styles from someone who’s a little mixed up.

Phone Calls

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been getting a shit-load, and I’m talkin’ cargo container size (size does matter, or at least that’s what the bulk of my emails assure me) of  telephone solicitations lately.  Now a days, the majority of the calls we get, is someone wanting to sell us something.  And they always call at dinner time.

Hell’s Bells.  I don’t wanna buy anything.  In fact, I wanna save money, or at least conserve it.  That’s why I thought I’d save a dollar a month on my phone bill, by no longer having an unlisted number.  Boy did I fuck-up with that one.  I had to have an unlisted number for thirty years when I was fighting crime at the Probation Department…  Didn’t want my name and number and address listed, in case  one of my probation clients decided that he was the one who was gonna make a home call this time.  So this is the first time Hansi, or as my clients called me, “Mr Hansi” (dumb shits) is in the phone book.

Well, sure as shit, I’m getting barraged with a ton of callers who sound like  former clients gone straight, and have now pursued a career in Tele-marketing.  Sure seems like Karma is coming around and biting me in the ass..

Hot Stuff

I don’t know about you, but when it comes to stuff, I like mine hot!  Be it dripping with passion, an extreme style statement, or just a groovy idea, Stuff is always better when hot, and never lukewarm.

And if your preference for stuff is hot, then it goes without saying (although I’m sayin’ it right now) – you never want stuff cold.  That would be like showing up for dinner late, and instead of finding it nice and warm, it turned cold [which is okay if you’re eating something like sushi].

So here’s some hot stuff from me to you.  Not so hot that it’s boiling and could scald ya, but warm to the touch.  Just a shade over body temperature.  Unless of course you’re having a hot flash.

I’ve had flashes before, and even wished some of em were hot.  But not so hot that I wanted you to get your sweaty hands off of me, throw back the bed covers and start fanning myself for all I’m worth.

Dog Daze

I just got this card in the mail today, guaranteeing me that I can get a lot more for a lot less.  If, I do one simple thing.  I thought that was cool; I’m still a less is more kinda guy.  But there’s gotta be a gimmick in there somewhere, cause that ain’t the way things work.  Usually it’s Pay More, Get Less.

But still, wouldn’t it be nice to have a card, that upon presentation, gave you the privilege of paying less for something, while getting more of it?  I could sure use one.  I’d take it everywhere I go.  Even to the three dollar movies, where my Buddie and I go to see all the shit the wives can’t stand.  And even if it’s a piece of crap (like many of em are), hey, it only cost three bucks!

They’d have to give me at least a 10% discount, so it would only cost $2.70, and as for the movie, it would have to be the full un-cut version, with 3-D glasses thrown in, a box of popcorn and something to wash it down with, and oh yeah…some Bon-bons.  Maybe that’s a lot to ask, but I sometimes get the munchies watching  a movie.  Maybe it’s all the refreshments me and my Bud had outside in the parking lot before we went in; or maybe it’s just all that Tom Cruise action working up an appetite.

Love Is In The Air

You may not have noticed, but if ya have a garden, go outside very often, or just look out your window ever, everything is in bloom and flowering all over the place.  I have a bunch of potted succulents, and they’re sending out flowers, my cactus plants too.  Cactus blooms are really trippy, because cactus plants are a little standoffish what with their spines and all.  [You can look but you better not touch.]  But when they wanna have sex, they shoot out the most spectacular vividly colored flowers.  All so a bee or something, will be attacked to it ( “Here I am Big Boy”), mess with its pistils and tickle their stamen, and pass it on to the next guy over their by the rocks. [ Being somewhat immobile, cactus plants need to do a three-some in-order to propagate. ]

Maybe that’s why humans rule the earth instead of plants.  Although, there’s sure a lot more plants than humans on earth, we’re a lot more smarter, and have weapons of mass plant destruction, like Roundup.  But they’re fighting back because all they got on their minds (unlike us humans) is sex and reproducing.  They’re certainly not wasting their time laying around and watching stupid reality shows all day.  [ I talk to my plants sometimes.  You know, words of encouragement, kind thoughts etc., and they seem to respond, especially when I’m pouring a gallon of Miracle-Gro on em.  But ever wonder what a plant would do if ya put a TV set out in the garden, and let them watch some bullshit like Kim Kardashian or cup-cake contests all day?]

While we’re on the subject of plant sex, there’s a really big American company that’s fucking with the plants we eat.  They are Genetically Modifying corn, soybeans, sugar beets and more to be genetically resistant to Roundup herbicide (coincidentally made by the same company) while containing a bacillus thuringiensis (BT) gene which kills insects via their digestive tracts.  Pretty cool, a plant you can spray weed killer on while it kills pests.  Thing is…do ya wanna eat it?  I’m thinkin’:  Hell No!  Problem is, a lot of our foods come from corn, soybeans and sugar beets, so it’s everywhere, not to mention feed to the animals we eat.  And it’s making people sick.   Who woulda thunk that could happen?  I still can’t believe that cigarette smoking was bad for ya.

Oh well, when it comes to GMO’s (genetically modified organisms), I’ve got some mixed feelings.  I guess it comes down to this: I don’t mind if my plants have sex, but I do mind if someone fucks with my plants.

Branden’s Hallucinations

Okay….I’m giving this Hot Dog Man mania a well deserved rest.  Doesn’t mean I’m giving adolescent bathroom humor a rest (God forbid!).  Also doesn’t mean that I’ve come up with something new to draw and carry on about.  Actually, I think that I’ve hit the pinnacle of artistic success with Hot Dog Man (if ya call cranking out rather crude, inane bullshit success.  But then again, Corporate America has had astonishing success cranking out crap for our consumption that breaks down, soon becomes obsolete, is hazardous to our health and can become addictive).

So I decided to post a drawing by someone who’s really into bathroom humor.  If it has to do with farting, urinating on someone or something, making suggestive noises or picking boogers, he’s into it.  The real deal.  An actual kid: my grandson Branden.  Nothing better than sticking  something up your nose.  And I can dig it.  Mining for boogers is every 10 year old’s favorite sport..  I’ve been there, I’ve done that (but now focus mainly on dingle-berries).  But I did caution my grandson with some wise grandfatherly advice.  I told him, ” It’s okay to pick boogers, but ya never want to eat them…They don’t taste very good”.

Oh yeah, can’t leave out my four year old grandson, and his drawing of a tiger.  Although he’s almost five, and has already graduated from Pre-School.  Even had a little ceremony where he walked down thee isle in a cap and gown.  How cute.  Last time I was in a cap and gown was college 1969.  He got his diploma at age four.  I was twenty two, and had to endure 16 more years of school to get mine.  Sure wished I could of cashed  it all in at age four and never gone back to school. I would have missed recess (the best part), but that’s about all.  You know, I can’t think of one thing I learned in school that I use today.  Well, there is the reading and writing, sure liked the art classes, and that first row of radishes I planted in a 7th grade agriculture class did eventually turn me into an avid organic gardener.   Boy, would old Mr Dawson be amazed at some of the plants I’m growing now!

But the rest of it was a big waste of time, no to mention the intrusion into my free-time.  Go figure.  When you were a kid, all ya wanted to do is play with your buddies, lay around and watch TV, eat, and do as little work as possible.  Bummer is, I had to work my ass off for 40 years, tow the line and follow the rules, just so I could finally retire, which when it’s going good, consists of hanging around with your buddies, laying around watching TV, eating whatever ya want, and doing as little work as possible.

Pretty strange, doncha think?

Too Much Cartooning

Okay, I gotta give all this cartoon madness a break.  But the thing of it is: All I seem to wanna draw is Hot Dog Man.  And when I close my eyes in search of a vision, all I see is Hot Dog Man running around doing a bunch of dumb shit which I feel compelled to draw.

Maybe what I like about cartooning is, it forces ya do draw in a distinctive style.  And challenges you to draw the same character in different poses and situations, while making him look the same so he is recognizable in each scene. [You’ll notice that I didn’t bite off too big a challenge by choosing a simple hot dog/wiener figure, which is basically a tube-like shape and easy to draw, unless of course, I screw-up and make my wiener look more like a banana – which could be confusing, but is really no big deal, cause Banana Man does all the same shit as Hot Dog Man, except south of the border].

I don’t think I’m gonna put clothes on H D again.  He looks too much like a wild and crazy Bavarian playboy.

A Community Service

Doing a little volunteer work at a local charity can be a rewarding experience in retirement.  I volunteered at Food Share when I first retired, and considered it a little pay-back from me to my local community.  I’ve since gone back to work part-time cause as rewarding as volunteer work is, it doesn’t pay as much as a job.

Well Hot Dog Man also feels compelled to do a little community service (not the kind the Judge orders ya to preform or go to jail), because he has a big heart, and doesn’t want to see any of his fellow “Seniors” suffer.  That’s because retirement is supposed to be the best part of life; something you looked forward to and waited for many long years, eating shit working for some ass-holes you couldn’t stand.

Being a happy-go-lucky kinda guy, a Senior Hot-Line was a natural for ol’ H D.  His opinions on a variety of subjects, while not necessarily reflecting mine, are interesting to say the least.  Here’s some “weenie wisdom” on a few subjects all seniors will be interested in:

A.  Depression:  There’s no loss of things to get depressed about, and most of those things involve loss.  Loss of spouse, loss of bodily functions, and the loss of things ya just misplaced and can’t remember where ya put them.  Getting old is not easy, but sure beats the alternative: dying young.  Well if you’re depressed, it’s most likely that you’ve not smoking near enough marijuana.  That shit’s legal now in a lot of states, so go see one of them “Doctors” that advertise on the back pages of cheap tabloids, get a medical recommendation and run straight to your nearest dispensary and be depressed no more…or at least until ya run outta weed.

B.  Loneliness:  If you’re lonely, it’s cause you ain’t got enough friends.  I know, it’s hard to meet people and make a new set of friends.  But all ya gotta do is go down to the local tavern, say “drinks are on me”, and presto, you’ll be at no loss for friends.

C.  Those Aches and Pains:  Hey, it’s part of getting old.  Suck it up.  See # A. above for a remedy.

D.  Sex Drive:  Hello…it’s no secret that as one ages, they become prone to bouts of  limp libido.   It happens to us all, (but probably more so to those among us who fucked our brains out as a youth, and are now being punished by God for all that youthful fornicating), even those of us who’ve been in a long term relationship and had sex rationed out on a monthly basis.  Well, the problem is: it’s the same ol’ thing…Boring.  But H D recommends ya try a little #A , turn off the lights, and pretend you’re with someone else.  Gotta be careful though, don’t wanna be yelling out the wrong name whilst in the throws of all that new-found passion.

Well, that’s enough from Hot Dog Man.  Wonder where he might end up next?

NEWS spring 2013

I was gonna call this one, Mail Madness.  But then thought, Male Madness is more like it.  Cause that’s what it is: old, falling apart from the knees down, full blown senior living dementia.  And I’m so busy enjoying it all, that I don’t have time to go through my mail.  Good thing Hot Dog Man volunteered to do it for me.  What a guy.

He does a fairly good job of weeding out the bullshit and only giving me what’s really important.  But the thing of it is, old H D has some real vivid fantasies, and often times, instead of sorting and evaluating the mail, he spaces out entirely, and imagines himself in some pretty strange situations, with even stranger mind-states.  Like euphoria in the one above, to paranoia in the one below. [You know, my favorite motel in Lone Pine was bought by an Indian woman.]

Boy….Do they ever send ya some strange shit in the mail.  But it’s all for your own good.  Like all them facts about natural gas, and invitations to get something cheap.  Want a Smartphone?  Let me see….No. I think I’ll take a dumb one instead.

But ya know, despite his inability to focus at times, ol’ H D has a knack for separating the wheat from the chaff.  He picked out the one below; he know what’s truly import, and can’t be passed-up.