My Sabres, Rob Ray, and World's Greatest Tractor Parade all in one blog!

On my way home to visit my mom and play some hockey in The Patch (Peterborough) I usually cut through Stirling, Ontario.

It is a Mecca, at around 5,000 population (if you add in a number of the local livestock), that fuels the rest of Ontario with tractors and hockey stars.

For years there was a sign on the way out of Stirling that had a picture of Rob Ray in an action shot playing for my illustrious Buffalo Sabres, my favorite team since the mid 70's. The title above the action shot read, "Home of Rob Ray, NHL Hockey Star." I love Rob Ray—in a manly way—because he could kick ass like no other, and he might have set records in the NHL that will never be broken; for starters: fastest removal of all equipment and sweater in one motion. Velcro used to be legal. Rob was like a fighter stripper, "You want a piece of this, how about these, you like these, okay how about a punch in the head." Nothing beat the time he pounded some idiot fan who walked onto the ice in Quebec (during a Nordiques game) and taunted him. He grabbed that guy by the throat, lifted him off the ice and beat him like floppy chicken and threw him away like yesterday's garbage, all while standing in the penalty box. It is does not get much better than that. And, of course, he received no additional penalties. Got to love that Old Tyme Hockey! Not the greatest scorer, that Rob Ray, but NHL Hockey Star, nonetheless!

So my memory was flawed, here is the beatdown, not in the penalty box, but he received no penalty. I love his quote. ""thats when we sort of took a little force to him"

Here is the cover of Rob Ray's new book, Rayzor's Edge. I don't think there are any words. You just flip through it and up in the top right corner, you can watch Rob Ray beat the crap out somebody.

These days, that Rob Ray NHL Hockey Star sign is gone. Rob likely beat it into oblivion one night while he was having Tie Domi flashbacks. Tie Domi can do that to a guy.

In its place, on the way into town, a number of new signs have popped up.

The first sign lists all the things that Stirling has, and they are numerous. How numerous? Too numerous to list on their sign. Here's what makes it to the sign:
1) The Museum of Agricultural Heritage (not sure where they hide it, maybe it is just a room in some guys basement, possibly even just a drawer in a bedside table)
and
2) The Stirling Festival Theatre (surely some Hollywood stars have graced its stage).


Stirling is also home to a small pile of rocks.

The second sign has an almost legitimate looking NHL logo at the top, and it says, "Proud Home of..." and then lists Rob Ray, Matt Cooke, Eric Manilow, and Mark Dobson. When I checked this boast on Wikipedia, I also found that Stirling is the ancestral burying ground of the late NHL player Tim Horton, which lies at the edge of the village. Quite ominous, but I'm not quite sure what it means. Possibly Tim Horton's ancestors are buried there but he is not? Will have to investigate that further. Surprised that his name is not on the sign also. Something with an asterisk at the bottom saying, "buried here."


The third sign is the best, I love it. It is brand new it states, "Stirling, Home of the World's Greatest Tractor Parade." Then at the bottom the sign says, established in 2008. Does anyone else have Tractor Parades? Is this really the greatest, after only one year? Judging by the sign, it might also be "Home of the World's Shortest Tractor Parade." As it appears to be only 1.5 tractors long.
I also wonder if Rob Ray takes some time out from helping out with Sabres broadcasts and restitching all the velcro to his jerseys to join in the tractor parade? I wonder, I really do.

How does this tractor parade look? Do they pull things? Are there sexy women on bales of hay? Maybe a miniature hockey rink with Rob Ray beating the bejesus out of some other ex Hockey Star? The possibilities of this type of parade are endless. I will do my best to attend next year's.

I miss Canada.

CHECK THIS OUT!! AWESOME!

G SPOT OUT!

Scary and Stupid Marketing of Spot GPS, and Baji's NO chicken need apply!

I was shopping at Costco on Saturday, and while walking down the international food aisle, I spied a box that read, "Butter Chicken" & "Chicken Tikka Masala." The box contained a number of inner packets (MREs, meals ready to eat, just heat up). These are two of my favorite Indian dishes. I have been eating a number of these type of meals for lunch at work: I just add rice and in two minutes I'm all set.


I'm sure these MRE's are not all that healthy, but neither is the crap at the work cafeteria, and the crap in the work cafeteria is much more expensive. You can refer to my earlier post about the filthy grill at work.

I was about to purchase this "Baji's" brand exotic meal packet when I read closer, but not that much closer since the writing is fairly big. In a yellow starburst it says, "JUST ADD CHICKEN."

What the f? Chicken might be the biggest part of the meal. That's like, "Comes with Batteries, IPOD sold separately." Geez. Nice marketing. Around the Baji name crest it says, "Inspired by a Mother's Passion for Healthy Delicious Food." I'm sure the kids were thrilled when the table was set and they had to run out and kill a few chickens, and surely some were choked in the making of that product.

The above is amusing and mildly insulting. But, what I encountered next, borders on the bizarre. Not that I am a master at marketing (though I AM a Master Shopper), but who the hell came up with this promotional picture for a GPS (you will never be stranded anywhere) product?


This guy does not look like he is comfortable knowing that his Satellite GPS Messenger has him covered. He looks like he is completely lost and the only thing covered might be his drawers, soiled in fear of dying alone in the woods.

I do however like the blurb next to Mr. "HOLYSHIT I'M LOST SO F'N BAD." It says:

"Essential for any family."

What is essential? Having a picture of this guy in your wallet, so you never end up like him? Scared and alone and covered in your own excrement, and, on top of that, moronically out of style with a hankyhead? Who thought this one up? The owner of the company? I hope so, because you pray that good money was not spent on this POC.

It amazes and amuses me that in this day and age, with all the free brainstorming available on the internet, that things like this still happen.

Okay enough product complaining for today.

With much love,
G SPOT OUT!

Dunkin Donuts, Nottingham Way, Hamilton, NJ

SUCKs! They are so stupid it is hard to believe. They hardly ever get my order right. None of them listen to you at all.

There is a guy behind the counter who stands at the coffee area and asks what you want. All the while he is talking to someone on his bluetooth phone.

I will never ever go there again. This was the best screw up yet.

I ordered 4 large coffees. 2 Hazelnut, one with cream and sugar and one with cream. Then 2 regular coffees, one with cream and sugar and one with just milk.

He places them in front of me. Two are marked regular and two are marked H for Hazelnut.

I ask him which one of the regular coffees has only milk. He said they are both cream and sugar. I made him fix that. Then I noticed that the two hazelnuts were marked the same.

Same questions, which one is the one with cream and sugar and which has just cream. He said, they both have cream and sugar. I made him replace one.

He muttered something in his language (the language of arseholes) to his coworker, a woman who also screws up my order all the time. It was something not very nice about me I'm sure.

I get on the road, I realize that one of the regular coffees has cream, instead of milk. Oh well. He still screwed me on one.

I get to work I tell my boss the story, I hand her the Hazelnut with just cream. She asks me to smell it. Guess what, it is a regular coffee. She still drank it, since D&D is good coffee.

I sit down at my desk and take a sip of my Hazelnut with cream and sugar. Hmmm, no sugar. Thanks dickweed.

Happens that the only correct one was a regular coffee with cream and sugar. So out of 4 coffees 3 were wrong. And this was after I made him fix them.

Wow that guy is one stunned son of a bitch! I feel like going back there and sticking his bluetooth up his arse.

Can you believe it. 3 out of 4 coffees are wrong. This guy should have a job as a retarded psychic or something.

Okay I needed to vent. I will not be returning that Dumpin Donuts ever again!

Hey 3 out of 4 ain't bad unless 3 are wrong!

Nighty night!

Sam's Club Rude Cashier

Over the weekend my wife's father bought us a membership to Sam's Club. We already have a Costco membership, and discount cards for every grocery store, but, hey I like to shop. I know it's gay, but I like it. Sam's Club has a nice variety of items. Costco is good too, but they only have a few types of coffee, and I like a good hazelnut. Sam's obliges, with many to choose from.

Just this past week I made a foray into the Sam's Club on Route 1, Nassau Park.

After grabbing a few delicious items and a couple of essentials, I happened to notice a big fat sonofabitch standing in front of the area where rotisserie chickens are sold. He had his tie undone and he was waiting for the chickens (hundreds of them) to stop spinning so he could slaughter them further. I would not be surprised to find that he had utensils in his pocket and a plate hidden in his underwear so he could have at it right there.

There was no employee in sight but I thought, "How rude, to just stand there and wait. Let the guy whoever he is, Mr. Chicken Unslinger, do his job in peace, Fatboy. You'll get your chance. Now move your sweaty plate in your underwear ass somewheres else for a while. PLEASE!"

A few minutes later, I saw a line forming behind him. Of about 30 people. Possibly they were stuffing these chickens with Wii's. The chickenslinger came out and pulled the chickens off of their spinning death machines and placed them in cartons. No sooner would he place a carton down than it was grabbed up by someone in the crowd. I didn't see Mr. Sweaty Assplate get his, but I did notice some blood on the floor, so he may have inadvertently eaten a couple of other people in line, and not in a good way.

As much as it concerns me that I might not score what I want to score when a line begins to form in front of what I want, I waited a bit longer. I did not want to be rude. When there was no line, I walked up and took one as the fine gentleman chickenslinger was walking away, and I said to him, "Thanks." He glared at me like I was the reason he had this job that he loved. What can you do? I tried.

Shortly thereafter I checked out. I picked a line that seemed to moving all right. The lady working the cash looked a bit flustered. Dyed blond, stocky, early 50's, rough around the edges. Rode hard and put away wet.

She put her hand out and said, "Give me your card."

Not exactly polite. But I'm not keeping track.

Then she put my order through, and I wanted to keep things friendly, so I asked her if she was having a bad day. She glared back at me without answering. I think I should have said, "Nice dye job, did you get it at Kennections or the Hairport?"

I ran my debit card through and chose $100.00 cash back. I like to do that, so I don't have to pay the bank fees.

Suddenly she looks at me and exclaims, "Oh, one hundred dollars cash back, NICE! I just opened, and you want one hundred cash back?! I don't have 100 dollars cash to give you. You are supposed to tell us this before we ring you through!"

I said, "Sorry, I was not aware of that policy." To which she pointed to the bank machine and said, "That is what the ATM is for."

I replied, "That will cost me 3 bucks or more."

To which she threw her arms up in disgust and said, "Whatever."

I then stared at her and said, "You will get me my money and you will give it to me."

And she did. The power of suggestion is very strong.

My point regarding the story above is who are these arseholes in customer service jobs that don't give a shit about customer service? I know the jobs are kind of shit sometimes, but you want to move up. You need to enjoy your life, even if it's spent ringing shit at Sam's Club. Change your attitude, act like you care, somebody just might notice and offer you something better.

The dyed blond cashier at Sam's earns the Dickfor award for this week!

G Spot Out!

Dunkin Donuts or Dunkin Dimwits?

We'll see. I am thrilled to see a new store in Trenton. I'm even more thrilled that it occupied an already standing empty retail establishment and I'm completely on my knees thanking God that it is a Dunkin Donuts. I love their coffee and their donuts are good too.

What I like about Dunkin Donuts is it is the workin man's donut shop. No Wifi, no fancy music, no stupid name for their beverages and no burnt coffee. Dunkin Donuts rocks.

On my first visit I spoke with, I believe, the owner. I noticed there were no tables and he assured me they were on the way. I told him that my wife and I would be visiting as soon as they get them in. He then told me that half of the store would be a convenience store. I guess that's okay.

I purchased my coffee and bagel with cream cheese and of course an old fashioned donut and I was on my way. That was yesterday.

The other thing I noticed yesterday in the parking lot behind the D&D there were a few beer cans just tossed in a pile with some Chinese food containers. I thought,"Well that will get cleaned up."

This morning I was in need of more D&D and I parked my car and the same beer cans were laying on the ground.

So when I completed my purchase I mentioned to the woman behind the counter, who appeared to be in charge, and quite possibly could be the wife of the owner, "Hey just wanted you to know there are a bunch of beer cans that sitting in the parking lot. They have been there for a couple of days."

She looked at me and said, "Yeah there is a broken bottle out there on the street in front of the store too." I looked and sure enough there was.

To which I replied, "People don't like to come to places that look rundown, and litter does not look good." She smiled, looked through me and said, "We are working on it."

I answered, "Well you're not doing a very good job."

I really hope that the Chinese Restaurant and the D&D get their act together and clean up around their property. If they don't I won't be going there anymore, and I'm sure many other people will lose interest, too.

I guess, don't work on it. Just do it. Pick that litter up. This is your business. People are not going to walk over broken glass for a donut, and if they see enough refuse and beer cans they might just not want to park their car in your parking lot. Why? Because people who drink beer in the open in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot generally are not good people and if you see cockroach refuse, the cockroaches are not very far away.

So please, please, please Mr. D&D on the corner of Olden and Hamilton, at the old "Cook's Glass" business, please clean up your corner.

With love and cream and sugar,
G Spot out!

I hate the heat! Man do I hate that shit!

I'm watching TV and I see that there is unrest in an African country. They show all these wild-eyed crazed lunatics running through the streets screaming. Sorry I was looking out the window, that's Trenton.

On TV there are these wild-eye crazed lunatics running through the streets screaming. It is some African country. They've killed like one million of each other and it's still not enough. No wait that's America. My apologies, I'll get it right soon.

On BBC there are these wild-eyed crazed lunatics running through the streets screaming, in some African country. There are bodies everywhere. It is out of control.

And guess what?

IT IS REALLY FUCKING HOT!!

People say it's politics, or religon, or hunger. I say sometimes people are just really fucking HOT! It's like, "HOLY FUCK IT'S HOT. I'm going to kill someone if it does not cool down. Your body heat offends me. DIE DIE DIE.

I understand. My favorite time of the year is the nice cool fall. Which is now sometime in December thanks to Global Warming.

I mean there are days I just want to scream FUCK!!!!! and I do. Because it is so FUCKING HOT! I've been screaming FUCK a lot lately but it does not seem to help.

The highest temperature every recorded in New Jersey (110) where I live now, or New York(108) where I used to live, or Toronto(105) where I lived for 10 years, or on Monaghan Road in Peterborough(96) where I used to used to live.

This temperature makes me really mad. Not enough to kill but I could likely beat someone silly because of it.

I was always a bit of a grump and a baby. But since moving to New Jersey, which looks to beat my younger years highest temp by about 14 degrees, I've gotten much grumpier. My poor wife listens to my whining all the time.

I cry like a baby, "It's so hot. It's too hot. It's killing me."

To which she answers "It is summer."

Not my summer.

Okay this is not all about me, well it is really but let's pretend for minute. I feel bad for all those Mofo's over in those hot African countries.

Like: Libya Highest recorded temperature (135.9)

FUCK!

Hoooaaa. I feel hot just thinking about it.

Does Libya have any problems. I think so. Why?

It is way too fucking hot.

And what is with the .9.
I was already on a murderous rampage at 135.
The .9 just adds to the body count.

I was watching TV the other night about how the penguins are suffering. Fuck the penguins, I'm suffering here, right now. Someone had better make a big ice machine and get things back in order or order up a large helping of body bags.

Funny writing this actually made me feel cooler. Screaming fuck does not. I shall write more and scream fuck less. Which should make everyone happier.

FUCK !
THE HEAT
FUCK!

Sorry it is too hot to be polite!

G SPOT on the REALHOT OUT!

Sometimes People Don't know any Better

Last weekend I walked out my side door, because a truck had been idling for an inordinate amount of time next to the house and diesel fumes were filling our upstairs.

I looked to the right and there sitting under a tree on the street was a NJ Transit Tard Cart (the short bus.) Just as I headed toward it, the engine shut off. I proceeded to walk around the bus picking up the typical pieces of litter that get casually dropped by most who travel through these parts: chip bags, glass bottles, freezies, and all other assorted types of shit. The guy in the bus got out and said hi to me, in fact, he said even said good morning and extended his hand, and said "My name is Tim." I shook his hand, told him my name and continued to clean up my hood. He took a sip from his big can of Red Bull and walked away toward the corner.

I noticed that he was talking to another fellow who was driving a big SUV. Then I heard the familiar rattle of a large can as it landed on the street corner not 20 feet from me. I was a little flabbergasted. While I know it is not personal, would you not think Tim would have carefully set it down, or tossed it somewhere it would not attract my immediate attention? Especially since he had watched me picking up litter.

I'd had it. I was not angry, just tired and irritated. So I went over and picked up the can, and his friend noticed me. I thought, oh boy, rumble time.

I then said to Tim, "Hey, what's up with this, dude?" He turned quickly and said, "Sorry. I was aiming for the sewer."* To which I answered, "That will just clog up the sewer." I added, "I'm from Canada this kind of stuff does not often happen."

The guy in the SUV happily offered, "Yeah, I went to Toronto, and it is clean there, man. What the fuck is wrong with us? This is all fucked up. Why do we have to do this? He's right."

No, he was not being sarcastic. He actually agreed.

Tim then reached out for the can in my hand. I said, "Don't worry about it, dude. I got it. You're not the only one, look at the street." The street was covered in litter. I added, "I'm not trying to give you a hard time. Everyone does it. But maybe you could try to put it in a garbage can next time?"

He wished me a nice day and I moved on. Nothing funny here. Just a thought. I think they actually felt kind of bad, and they might just think about it next time they throw litter. It probably won't stop them, but they will think about it. Sometimes it is the thought that counts.

G SPOT on the LitterDownLow!


*I do, however, like the fact that he was aiming for the sewer. I guess close counts in the Litter Toss. Where is the logic in that response?

A Tale of Two Trentonians

My wife and I are sitting in our little backyard, that sits adjacent to a reasonably busy intersection. It is a beautiful holiday Monday, and a few of the neighbors are having guests over for a barbecue.

I'm enjoying a nice cold beer, Chrissy who is pregnant, is admiring my nice cold beer and drinking an iced tea or something of that nature. We can hear a group of people talking loudly on the other side of the street. I just can't believe how beautiful the day is. I'm really not too good at relaxing, not sure why, I think I have restless ass syndrome. But on that day, I was getting used to the chair, in the backyard, and the cold beer in my hand.

I had just been out to the local thrift store and had an odd experience. A young black gentleman who works at the thrift store is usually quite friendly and always says hello. Not so, on this day. This day I looked at him, and was about to say hello, and he gave me the "I don't talk to crackers" look. Then I realized there were a couple of new young guys working with him. Well, thugs really. They were walking around like they owned it and tossing stuff everywhere, and giving menacing looks.

He did not want them to think he was uncool. No harm to me, I can take it. Peer pressure is a bitch and does not make any sense. I was discussing this with Chrissy, when suddenly I see a beer bottle coming over our fence and landing a couple of feet from us. It was tossed pretty hard, so I knew it came from the other side of the street. My wife is pregnant, so I feel protective, and most of our yard is covered in slate, except, luckily, where the beer bottle landed.

Before that bottle stopped rolling I was out of my seat and through the back gate. I didn't know what to expect. One person, a gang, whatever. I was pissed.

Then this skinny young black dude, who is about 25 years old runs up to me and, gets right in my space, inches from my face, and says, "It was me, I apologize like a man!"

I said, "What the fuck did you, what the fuck?!" I was barely coherent and wanted to kill him.
I said, "My wife is pregnant." He turned and he apologized to her, and he actually seemed to mean it.

Then he leaned into me more aggressively and said "I'm apologizing like a man."

Translation: "Who the fuck are you getting mad at me for throwing trash in your backyard in broad daylight. The world is my trashcan and if you say another word about it, I'll fuck you up."

I was dumbfounded: his stance and tone did not match his words, but he did utter them, so I shook his hand and said, "All right. I don't get it but all right."

He had been standing with one of my neighbors, who apologized too. For real. He was stunned I think.

Then I went back in our backyard and I retrieved the beer bottle and I gave it back to Mr. Aggresso. He just stared at me, so his friend took the bottle. I wanted him to know that his apology was horseshit.

That the tale of my first Trentonian.

And here's the tale of my second Trentonian:

Next door to us there was a wonderful Spanish family. Quiet, pleasant, polite, thoughtful, and well, normal. They just did their thing and didn't bother anyone.

A couple of weeks ago they had a baby shower on a Saturday. The party started around 5 pm. Around 8pm I noticed a number of the party kids close to our bushes at the side of the house. I went out and found reeking puddles of urine everywhere. I was not too happy about that.

I made my way next door and found my neigbor, the soon-to-be father. And I said, "Hey buddy, I don't mean to be a jerk, but can you please ask everyone to have their kids stop peeing on my bushes?"

He looked at me and said, "No problem. I'm sorry. Would you like some food?"

Would I like some food? I had been smelling that awesome food since the night before when they started cooking. Before I could answer, he had handed me a heaping plate of steaks and rice.

Another fellow offered me a beer. Chrissy was thrilled with the food, as she described (among other things) in her blog.

So, who would you rather have in your neighborhood, Trentonian #1, or Trentonian #2?

Trenton is fucked the fuck up! I pray that it gets better.

Pretty much any day or night, I see/hear/pick up broken glass, thanks to the neighborhood thugs who smash their booze bottles. I hear their thug music pounding up and down the street, and I listen to them scream and yell and set off firecrackers and ride dirt bikes and ATV's. These wasters do nothing for our neighborhood, or society in general, but most of the other neighbors and parents of these wasters just turn a blind eye.

Now back to the baby shower night, I had at least 3 neighbors tell me that they called about the noise around 11pm, the noise being the music from the baby shower. In fact the dispatcher told them at least 15 people had called.

Why don't these people call when the wasters are creating havoc?

Well, all those who called to complain about the music should be happy as our wonderful Spanish neighbors have moved. They decided one night to have a party and celebrate the arrival of a new life, and a bunch of people in the neighborhood kicked them in the balls. And fuckin' hard too.

Priorities here are fucked.

I'm tired of the stupid neighbors with the stupid priorities, and I'm even more tired of the stupid wasters. So, to all of you, you are on notice: this cracker is watching you.

G SPOT ON THE DOWNHIGH OUT!

Mayor Doug Palmer First White House Director of Urban Policy?

I'm of two minds on this one. If Obama wins, and Doug were offered, and took President Obama's Director of Urban Policy appointment, he would be out of our hair, and we could possibly start to move in the right direction as a city. But after years in the corporate world, I never quite understood how people fall (and fail) upward all the time. It just isn't right.

I don't think he should continue to be Mayor of Trenton, and I don't think it's fair to not to warn the rest of the world that Doug is pretty much all hot air and ego and bluster and all the shit that people don't really need.

My wife hates my analogies but I love them and this is my blog so I win. Sorry Chrissy: more analogies for you to hate.

My analogy on this one is, if Dougless H(elp yourself) Palmer was a contractor and he did really shit work and you knew that he was placing a bid to do his shitty work on an even greater scale of shitasticness for an even more important client that you would still have to deal with, wouldn't you make a quick phone call?

It's not about destroying somebody's ambitions because you simply don't like them; it's about shutting down the Shit Factory before it floods the nation with more faulty ideas and half-assed shitacular plans.

Recently Senator Obama stated that after he is elected, he intends to appoint the first White House director of urban policy, and since Doug mentioned it in his oh-so-important press release about his gushy farewell message to the US Conference of Mayors, after which, he had an oh-so-intimate meeting with the presidential hopeful, Doug must think he's in the running for the appointment (download the press release here). “I want you to be able to call up somebody in the White House who knows something about cities,” Obama said, "to help navigate bureaucracy and get things done."

I think the key question you have to ask yourself, Senator Obama, is did you really investigate the man you're considering appointing? Mayor Doug Palmer is a master at creating bureaucracy. You need only to look at the recent ongoing debacle concerning Trenton's (former) police director's residency to get an understanding of the bureaucratic shitticane Dougie Not-So-Fresh is able to create, costing his constituents a shitload of money in legal fees. "Fuck the Citizens." That's Doug's urban policy for you, Senator.

I think the person for this position would be one that welcomed the thoughts of others and did not look to gather a collection of yes men/women to rubber stamp his ideas, which is certainly not Mayor Palmer, who on a regular basis calls out his own City Council when they dare question him or any of his cronies.

Do yourself a favor Senator Obama, if you become president, and if you create this position, please give it to someone who deserves it. That wouldn't be Doug.

G SPOT OUT

Trenton Mayor Doug Palmer says "FUCK THE CHILDREN"

I was reading the local newspaper the other day. Can't remember which one, since they both pretty much suck. There was an article talking about how this would be the last year the people of Trenton would have free access to pools.

I would rather have read how the public officials of Trenton City Government have been told they will no longer get free cars, free gas, and free insurance to drive all around the land. And I'd like to see an end to their ability to occasionally smack them up and write them off in the middle of a work day while they are shopping nowhere near the city, as Irv Bradley did recently. At least he admitted he wasn't working; I'm sure the city's insurance company liked that.

They said running of the six pools in Trenton cost the city about $300,000.00 per year and, so, the city is thinking of charging per season, per family, or 2 dollars per day. In other, rich municipalities, this is no big deal, but in a city with a government with fucked-up financial priorities, and a gang problem among the young population, the pools should remain free-of-charge. Many families in Trenton are hard-pressed to pay their bills, much less shell out more money for their children to go swimming. What if it is a really hot summer (and they all seem hot to this Canadian), and you can't afford the price of a seasonal family pass. And, what is a family anymore, besides? I'm not judging, since it takes all types, but it is no longer just a mom and dad and kids. It is Grandma, Mom, maybe a dad and a few grandkids and cousins. Do they all qualify for the family pass? Who decides?

Okay, so back to my original point. 2 bones per day per kid. So, figure your family has 5 kids and it gets really stinkin hot for a couple of weeks. 2x5x14= $140.00. That is some serious coinage. So, more than likely these kids are just going to stay home and turn on the fire hydrants (which is cheaper.) And, who is going to ask for the money at the pool, anyway? The city pools, I believe, fall under the jurisdiction of Parks and Recreation, and Cadwalader Park, the city's crown jewel, is falling into disrepair. So, who's manning the front gate, and what will s/he do if the kids refuse to pay? My bet: nothing, that's what. No one gets paid enough to deal with that sort of shit. If the police cannot protect a witness in a gang trial, methinks the pool attendant will look the other way.

That means, of course, that the tougher kids will get in free, and the nicer, law-abiding kids will not go, unless they can afford it. And either way, we'll probably end up with Thug Pool! Eventually, they will just all be filled in or let to decay like everything else in the city of Trenton.

So why has it come to this? Mismanagement, for starters. Our fearless mayor, Dougless Palmer, prefers to fight our council and citizens in court over our ordinances — ordinances he once defended — for his unconscionable buddies. Also, like a benevolent game show host, he likes to give away free cars — but only to his cronies!

But wait! There's more! Let's just put aside the recent $40,000.00 that was paid to the lawyers who represented Joe Guido Santiago, and concentrate on vehicles. Let's say there are 10 vehicles that have been donated by Dougless to the highly-paid city officials (and I think it could be triple that or more, in reality.) It costs roughly $55,000 to own one Crown Victoria for five years (click here for reference). But we can multiply that by AT LEAST 10 (and likely more), that the city is pissing away so Palmer cronies can drive to and from the city, for free, while the rest of us pay upward of $4.00 a gallon, and must maintain our own vehicles.

So here's some simple math: If 10 high paid city officials could do without their cars, since most other workers in the real world have to supply their own, anyway, then we could have free swimming for about 2 years. And if there really are at least 30 of these puppies getting used and abused and driven and blinged-up all over Stirling and Rahway and the Jersey Shore (actors, even great ones that perform in awesome Zombie films need transpo too!), then we could be swimming for up to 5 years for free!

Dougless H. ? I thought the H stood for Hunterdon, but now I think the H stands for "Help YOURSELF" (as long as you're his friend). Mayor Help Yourself! Nice middle name. "Hey," says Doug, "Come work for me! As my friend, Help Yourself to the taxpayers' dough!"

How about it Dougless, what's the deal? Are you going to park the cars and let the children swim? Not likely. Not likely at all, based on your past, unforgivable actions. Soon you will have more places to park your free cars as the swimming pools get paved over, like everything else decent about Trenton!

This Johnny-Come-Lately is going to do his best to make sure you move permanently to your mansion in Hunteron County. When and if Obama calls, someone else will be picking up that phone.

Over and out on the DownHigh!
G SPOT!

President Bush's IQ

I was at a party a couple of years ago. Met this young fellow, around 23 years old. An artist, draws his own comic strip. Kind of strange stuff, shadowing on the face, but he definitely has talent.

Well there were a number of us chatting in the living room, and President Bush's name came up. Some like him some don't. Then the young artist spoke up and said,
"They recently tested his IQ and it was 69."

"What," I said. "How could that be. I think mongoloids score higher."

He said, "No it's true. He is borderline mongoloid. He scored 69."

The guy argued with all of us and left in a huff. Does anybody know what President Bush's IQ is?

It can't be too high. I would think it is higher than the average daytime temperature of most of the USA. It just can't be 69.


Although his recent massage of the German Chancellor could bring it down a smidgen.

I wonder if he would take an IQ test just for me. To prove that he is not borderline mongoloid?

I wonder.

How do you Make an Egg Black?

Well, it is pretty easy for the dimwitted dirtbags at the cafeteria where I work.

Our work cafeteria has grill/griddle area, where you can line up to get lunch or breakfast. The nice thing about the line is it never really moves and you are never really sure who has placed his/her order and who has not.

It is pretty much a shell game, and the shellmaster/grillmaster/dickwadster is not going to let you know, either. They have the customer's view of the grill and griddle blocked by this tall steel fence. You can look behind it if you walk right up close and obviously lean in, kind of when you look over a bridge to the highway below. What usually greets you is something cooking on a 5 inch square of the grill area. This never changes, whether 5 or 10 or 20 people are waiting for their food.

When that area of the grill is cleared, the chef — I mean Chef Dickmiester Wankfuck — will then look up. His eyes are saying, "I have killed before and I will again," but his mouth will ask, "What do you want?" He usually only hears the first part of your order, which doesn't really matter because that is all he is going to make you anyway. So a sausage, egg and cheese bagel will become either an egg on a bagel, sausage and an egg, or an egg with cheese. Not all three, because you had him at Egg and Cheese. If you ask for particular type of bread that is not on display in front of him, he will go away for a spell while his adoring and growing crowd languishes. The cool thing is that after that few minutes or ten, or more, he usually comes back with nothing in his hands and he'll start to cook whatever he wants.

When you really think about it, this is a pretty good system. It is called, "I'm here til 3:30 pm. I can make a bunch of things quickly or I can make a few things very slowly and I still get paid the same."

Most of the time I avoid the grill/griddle, as I don't have a half hour to wait in the morning. But one morning I took a chance and ordered an egg, while he told me the guy before me who ordered was an asshole. I thought yeah maybe he was. The next time I guess I became the asshole. I ordered an egg and cheese and let me tell you, I never thought I would live to see a black egg, but I have and I am not richer for it.

So the dickweed on the grill hands me my sandwich that kind of resembles the leftovers of a liposuction. I open the sandwich and the egg is covered in black soot. It is kind of black and kind of green and not white at all. I tell the woman at the cash register, since I was afraid of the cook, because he has access to sharp cooking utensils, and is quite possibly on some type of prison release program. She looked at it and said, "He is a nice guy." I didn't ask her if he was a nice guy. So I said, "No he's not. He's not a nice guy. This is garbage. Unbelievable garbage." She took it from me and threw it in the trash. I paid for my coffee and left.

The next day I was back and the cashier, an older woman, was firing daggers of hate at me. I am now boycotting the shitfest my workplace calls a cafeteria. I know I can be a dick sometimes, and I can be kind of grumpy whenever I'm hunrgy or tired or am uncomfortable (like an infant). But, like taking your first dump of the day, my breakfast is supposed to be a quiet time between my stomach and my mouth. It is best that I walked away from Mr. Grillfuck, as I get very upset when people FUCK WITH MY BREAKFAST! My work cafeteria gets one middle finger and two poopy pinkies. Tartboy out!

ps. Years ago a guy I know, who was a bit of a mouthbreather was sitting across from me with his girlfriend, who was also a mouthbreather, who decided she was going to just reach over and take a bite of my pancake. I pitchforked her fork and looked into her eyes, and shook my head no, "not today you retarded freeloader."

Class Reunions: Me no get invited do me cry?

I have never been invited to any class reunions. Possibly that makes me bitter. I find that class reunions, especially the ones that are organized by classmates, pretty much echo the sentiments that were experienced in high school. I was not really a loner, or a stoner, I just didn't like to be part of any group. Well any acceptable group. I liked living on the outside, and loosely associated with other malcontents. I really did not ever like school. Until grade 9, I did very well, then I thought, "Really, what the fuck does it matter?" Not a mature thought, I know, and one I sometimes regret. I just kind of figured I would end up working in a factory like my dad did, getting married at 20, and hating all my kids by the time I was 30. Mature again, no, that is for sure.
I realized I needed to have some type of education in order not be relatively unemployable. Can I tell you what the best class, the most useful class I ever took? Can you guess? Typing. I learned how to type in Grade 10, for 4 months before I was suspended from that particular high school. 4 months, I was fast, 63 words a minute on a manual typewriter. These days, age, and drinking have hobbled me. I can only do 50 wpm on average, maybe 65 if pressed for short bursts.
Typing ability is huge in today's workplace. You are always on a computer, and if you can type fast it enables you to dick around and still get stuff done. Everyone knows that dicking around is pretty much a large part of any work day. You have to be good at it. It's not about looking busy. People — unless they are nuts — leave you alone as long as you get your work done and you don't embarrass them. Unless they are complete control freak assholes. But more on that another time.
So I do a lot of typing and I'm quick. I can sometimes type as quick as I think, not that I'm a fast thinker. But I was talking about reunions. Reunions pretty much suck. It's nice to see the good looking guy from school that got all the girls now has a big gut, and no hair, but I already didn't care. Most school reunions are not to see how you are doing, it is to show everyone how you are doing.
While I am occasionally curious to see how some of my high school or elementary school chums are doing, most of the time I don't even think about it. If I had, or they had wanted to keep in touch it would have happened.
Recently I was invited to a "Gala" at my old high school. When talking to the person who told me I should come, I was told that there had already been two prior reunions (that I wasn't invited to), and that everyone was doing great. One guy is a billionaire, another guy sells homes to Hollywood stars, some girls are still really hot. Two reunions, two without me. Kind of hurt my feelings. Two! My parents have always lived in my hometown. I'm as easy to get a hold of as anyone. Why wasn't I invited? I think it simply was because I was not part of the crowd in high school. Well, in either high schools I attended (I was suspended from one.)
I was the class clown, I provided entertainment. I have fond memories of that. Fond memories. Yeah that's what I like. I will hold onto those memories. I never really liked school. I'm glad I learned how to type and I met lots of weirdos and did my own thing. Which I continue to do. Have fun at the Gala, old schoolmates. Hopefully you create some new memories. I have what I need. Hope you are all doing well.
Love,Tart Boy
PS: I did work in a factory for a few months, and I hated it. I didn't have any kids by the time I was 30, I still don't have any at 46. All that is about to change soon and I will emote more love on that little freak, than all the hate I was going to emote on all those little ungrateful bastards by the time I was 30!

Some People are Irritating!

I was visiting my wife's sister and her family the other day. We had food fest and a few beers. My wife's other sister who is recently divorced from a mongo has a new boyfriend. While not a mongo. He is very opinionated, and likes to argue. But only by yelling the same point over and over and over again. Which is fine with a bunch of drunk guys in a dressing room after a game, or in someone's backyard after about 24 beers each. But to yell the same thing over and over and over again in someone else's house that doesn't agree with you. Well that is not really funny, or helpful. It is just stupid.

What was he yelling? Well, "George Bush is a Moron. Clinton was the best." Times 20 or 30. While I think most people these days would be hard-pressed not to agree that George Bush is a moron, and as one of my previous blogs states, a possible mongoloid. Many people do not like Clinton, and that is their opinion. Screaming his name over and over again, does not make them agree with you.

The same person, we will call him Mr. Wheelbarrow for reasons only known to few. Although I think his wheelbarrow is fairly full of some fine gardening supplies, Mr. WB, told me that the reason the US dollar is down is because of the interest rates. They just need to lower them and voila! The dollar comes right back up. Now I think lower interest rates might help. There are certainly many more things at play here. Possibly, the world hates the US, there is a costly war in IRAQ, China is now a huge economic force, the housing market is over-valued etc...
Saying that the dollar will rise, if the interest rates go lower, is like saying we are short on water because the sun is too bright. A part of me, says, wow how do these screamers really feel about what they are saying.

It reminds me of a guy I used to share an apartment with, well there was three of us. Gregg, and I would be watching TV, and Slacker would come into the room. Yes Slacker, that was his nickname, and he was a real moron. Slacker would stand in front of the TV to get our attention and tell us a funny story. Well the story was never funny, but what he would do, is talk louder at the parts we were supposed to find funny. One day Gregg said, "Slacker, the less funny your story is, the louder you talk, have you ever noticed that?"
Slacker yelled, "No." And never told us another story.

Which reminds me I hate yelling comedians. HERE IS THE PUNCHLINE.....OR HERE...HEY I"M STILL YELLING> FUNNY FUNNY FUNNY>

I like to yell as much as the next guy, in fact sometimes even more. But there is a time for yelling and a time to just shut the fuck up.
Love G

Too much Brown can slow a man down!

I was watching TV the other night and I fell asleep. When I awoke there was this very professional looking infomercial playing. Two seemingly intelligent men bantering back and forth about how great it was to have a cleansed colon.

The guy who was most into it, looked like he had died, been sprayed with bronzing cream and was barely hanging on. The other guy really quizzed him about why the clean colon is so good.

I certainly don't remember all of it, in fact I remember very little, but two statements that the near dead guy made are forever emblazoned on my brain.

He said with much certainty, "Some very famous people had experienced great pain from having a large amount of feces backed up in their system."

He now had my attention, famous people with backed up dirtholes! Is there anything more exciting.

He proceeded to say, "Yes when John Wayne died he had 40 lbs of feces in his intestines, and remember Elvis Presley, well when they did his autopsy they found that he ad 60 lbs of feces backed up in his system."

That is a lot of feces. Is there any way this could be true. My weight pretty much stays the same, and I have been known to drop some monsters. Nothing like my Friend Len, who used to keep a set of shears next to the toilet so he could cut it in half on the way out. But some gargantuan droppings.

I have had days where I dropped many friends off at the pool, and never has my weight drastically changed. Possibly some people have found a way to drop a John Wayne off at the pool, and a few among us possibly cannonball an Elvis Presley. They might be able to jump higher than the rest of us with our impacted colons.

The website related to the show is: http://www.greenteaoffer.com/default.aspx. The man looks kind of like he might have been shit out of someone's ass after a very greasy breakfast. Like an old hairy sausage with eyes.

From the Throne of G SPot a brown out!

Breakout of Senseless Ass Kissing Trenton New Jersey

So you know, it's Trenton, and there ain't much to do here, 'cept hang with my posse at my crib and play the XBox. It's either that, or go to stupid civic meetings, and well, this place is so fucked that there ain't enough time in the week to hit all the meetings, and really, who wants to listen to a bunch of self-important dickheads in costumes or suits tell us how shit is awesome in Trenton, when it so obviously AIN'T? And there ain't many bitches and ho's that go to these meetings, so I invited the posse over and flipped on the XBox last night. And last night, my homie brought over a hallucinogenic toad, and we all took a lick of that ugly warty thing, cuz we're trying to cut back on the pot and the beer (which makes you fat), and at first I thought that crazy toad was a joke. I did really well on my round of "Assassin's Creed" (my latest XBox fav), better than ever, in fact, until I just fuckin' blacked out.

While I was out, I had a vision, and in that vision, my name was Paulie Arselick Pinetella, and I was attached to strings, like a marionette. But I had a cell phone in my pocket, and it rang (the ring tone was Oran "Juice" Jones' "I Saw You and Him, Walking in the Rain." That's some fucked up shit). I answered the phone and it was my puppetmaster, Dougie Palmer. And if things weren't wack enough, Dougie told me I left my collar at his place and that the invisible fence he set up around my brain (which he owned) was not functioning. He was concerned that I would let him down. I told him this was not the case. All he had to do was attach a string to my mouth and I would say whatever he wanted.

I was told to continue being an ignoramus and to make sure I blamed specific people for Trenton's mistakes, like Reverend Coston, and the bloggers — particularly that one who videos the council meetings, and of course, the people of Trenton who do nothing but hate, and hate, and hate. It seemed wrong to me to blame a man of the cloth, and a brother-in-blog who just wants to keep people informed, and the people themselves, who are all just like me and just want to play video games in peace. But I realize now that this was my own conscience asserting itself: it was like in those fucked-up dreams -- you know, the ones where you scream, but no sound comes out? -- I (as Paulie Pinetella) simply could not think for myself, and despite the silent, ineffective scream in my/Paulie's head, the puppetmaster Doug nodded my head for me, through the phone. Fuck, that's fucked.

Ultimately, I — as Paulie P — had no problem blaming everyone else for the latest fuck-up in Trenton. Blame just flowed out of my mouth, like the Delaware flows alongside Rt. 29. All of Paulie's years of experience of blame and hot air, I guess, made that so easy.

After I was done layin' the blame, I heard the Oran "Juice" Jones tune again, and knew it was the Mayor. He asked me to do one more thing. He said, "Hey can you take a look down below and make sure you have no balls?" And again came the conflict of my own spirit fighting in this vision, but I knew in this hallucination the sad truth: if I looked down, there would be no testicles. I was so upset and again, began screaming in sheer terror: I HAD NO FUCKING BALLS! NO BALLS! But no sound came out, and Doug forced me to look down, where it was confirmed, I had no balls. I screamed some more, silently, though I felt on my face (which I was sharing with Pinetella in my bad, bad trip), a smile, and I could see Doug's ass coming at my face. Before I could even scream -- silently or otherwise -- or turn away, Paulie's reflexes kicked in, and I planted a bit ole kiss on the Mayor's ass, deep in the crack.

I came to a short time later, and immediately felt between my legs: Balls. Hallelujah. And no sign of Oran "Juice" Jones on my cell phone. No strings. And maybe better yet, no munchies. Fuckin' Toad Licking will give you one hell of a fucked-up trip, but it kills your appetite, too, and if you're watching your weight, that's not a bad thing. But fuck that shit, Bros, I laying off the toad juice for awhile.

All in all it was quite a frightening experience. I hope I do not have any more visions about being Arselick Paulie. Ever.

G Spot on the Downhigh out!

Fast Times At Central High

I thought I knew everything, then I realized I didn't know as much as I needed. So after a couple of wobbly pops I dialed up my local school super and got me enrolled is some good old fashioned Online Education!

See I heard that if you were a former student of the Daylight/Twilight/Starbright School Program you could take courses for free. Well I was able to pull up my confirmation that I was indeed a fan of the Twilight Zone. And I further told them, I got ripped off, since one of the shows in the DVD I bought from that Rod Serling dude was all bent and out of whack. And it made me feel plumb stupid and unadored.

This was enough for the bigwigs at Trenton High. I'm now taking Chemistry and Biology.

So if you need to get educated, just call 1-800-WTF-Free and get enrolled. There is something for everyone. Just make sure to use the word twilight somewhere in your conversation.

I think TCHS is obligated to assist me if I did not fully prepare myself for life.

I mean I was given a good education, "but I don't think I got the best."

Free courses are a "wonderful thing" because they send the message that the district will not just send me off. It also serves as a motivation for current loafers to do more while they are still in school or traveling abroad.

"It is a win-lose-win- lose a bit- but win big situation."

I was also told that I could take whatever other courses I want, as long as I keep it under $149,00.00. That is so cool.

Trenton Schooling Rocks!

Time for a few more wobbly pops and some corndogs!

G Spot on the Downhigh OUt!

Trenton High is a Blight on Trenton

I don't think we should tear the school down, or even build a new one. Let's just board it up and put those fake windows on it. Paint some students in class sitting at their desks working on the boards, so we can reminisce about what the school that was, as we drive by. Or, why not just board it up one day with everyone in it? Like a learning time capsule.

Trenton High was rated in the "New Jersey School Report," in need of improvement for the 3rd year in a row. So let's see, it sucks, and nobody can even put a lick of paint on a 75-year-old building to save its life (a simple coat of paint might show the kids that people care about them and inspire less suckage), and we are going to build a new school? Duh, whuh?

So let's go over the options:

Let's build a new school. Well let's see, analogy time here. If I buy my son a used car and he runs it into the ground, do I reward him with a shiny new car to run into the ground?

And in this scenario, where we have a brand-new school to run straight into the ground, we've got all of the same playas on deck. How do we take any of this seriously? Didn't I see the School Super on the front page of the Trentonian wearing a clown nose? What's with that. Costume party or job?

Maybe they should gather up all the truants, give them a can of paint and a bag of hammers and let have at it. It couldn't look any worse that it already does.

Let's restore the old building: There are some advantages to the old school. For starters, you always know when it is raining outside. But if it gets fixed, you won't be able to tell if it's raining. Too bad. Considering that the building is 75 years old, and its worst problem is that it rains inside as well as outside the building, that's pretty impressive.

But why are there only two options? Here's another idea: Let's just board this bitch up! I'm having a painting party next weekend. I need some help. Can someone bring measuring tape to get all the windows sized correctly? And we'll need lots and lots of nails and plywood and a few ladders. I think we can cover every window nicely, so it matches so many of our other historic, architectural gems in the city. And we can board it up for a lot less than $170 mill. I figure we could do it for roughly $5,000.00, and we could take the rest and invest it in a new sign for the Trenton Fire Department. That sign is important, since at least 3 people a week see it lit up at night, and that can leave a lasting impression on a mindless moron for a life time.

So, let's spend our money where it counts. Board up the school!

Bottom line: fuck history, fuck the future, fuck now. We need a fuckin' cool neon Fire Deparment! Let's neon that motherfucka so you can see it from outer space. Alien firemen will be so motherfuckan jealous!!!

G Spot on the Downhigh Out!

Palmer Pitching Shitballs in the Twilight of his Career

Yo, Dougie. I know you were a pitcher in baseball, so you must know somebody who can come relieve you of your Mayoralty, as you have already been relieved of your senses.

Methinks that you is pretty much a dickfor. Let's see...most of the citizens want the residency issued enforced. The six council members who have a spine want it enforced. A lawsuit has been filed about the residency situation. So, this is not really a request, it's a demand. Residency waivers are not allowed, there is no loophole, but you're thinking if you scream loud enough you will win.

Don't think you are going to waste my money fighting this in court and get away with it. I don't have a lot of money, I also don't get a lot from the City of Trenton for my money. But, for whatever reason, you think you can spend my money with impunity, and not pay for it down the road. Let me tell you this, Rosy Palm, if you decide to drag this out in court, and spend my money with abandon, we won't forget it any time soon. I know I'm not the only one who will make sure the rest of the world knows about your recklessness with our money, too. So smarten up, pal, before you find yourself without a reason to wear those fancy suits of yours.

People talk about the gangs in Trenton. Well, gangs are bad, mostly because they are impulsive and frustrated. You sir, are a reasonably well-educated, well-manicured Macho Thug. There is isn't much difference between you and an OG in one of our street "clubs," only, there's no excuse for the way you carry on.

I guess if you have no problem being a kept man, then don't worry about me. Since your wife makes pretty good money you'll be fine. Mr. Mayor turns into Mr. Mom. You can ride off into the sunset of Hunterdon County every night. Oh, you already do that. So I guess it will not be a big adjustment.

Hey! How about this: Why don't you run for Mayor again. That would be funny. You have at least one vote already: Pugsley Pintella.

So you still got any heat? Do you still have any respect for yourself? Do the right thing and enforce the laws of Trenton, the same laws everyone else has to follow.

G Spot on the Downhigh Out!