Hello T-r-o-u BLE

Strange things are going on over on the Roadchick side of the world. You can read the beginning of this story by clicking here.

And now, the rest of the story.....

Mall announcer: Paging mr Rockboy, paging mr rockboy please pick up the white courtesy phone.

RB: ummm hello? momma is that you?

BD: No, this is me, BD though I HAVE been called a 'mother ******' a time or a thousand.

RB:oh, Bd, your that guy momma is always laughing at all the time right?

BD: with, I think she laughs WITH me.

RB: No, no, its definitely AT you. Why I remember a time she said you were just talkin....

BD: Um rockboy, sorry hate to interupt but it is important ....you need to run run now!

RB:Run? why?

BD: ummm your momma's coming to kill you!

RB:no way dude!

BD: wayyyyyyy,,,,,she's been watching ncis right?

RB: Normally she would be, but she is on her way here to get me tonight.

BD: That's what I am saying, she is on her way to GET you! get out, get out now! RUN!!!!

RB: Dude why so dramatic?

BD: okay tell me, what else does she watch?

RB: Law and order,cold case, 12 kinds of csi, and all kinds of other shows like that.

BD: wow csi? that is even worse than I feared! Not only is she going to kill you , now she knows HOW to do it!

RB:Dude she's right you ARE weird, I am not running from my mom, she don't scare me....wait there she is. Hey MOM! over here!...

::::: enter lots of background scuffling noises here::::

BD: RB? RB? hello? hello?

dial tone......................

We interupt this newscast to bring you a breaking story from the westside. Authorities are not sure what sparked the bloodshed at the local mall today......story at 11!

This is kind of fun

After finishing my last post I have been out surfing a bit. I have left a "F.A.R.T" or two. I have even left an "I.F.A.R.T." I have noticed a bit of a trend. I am almost dissappointed to actually HAVE something to say now. In that case would

"I came in here all ready to just F.A.R.T and run but now I have to comment!" would that be acceptable?

Imagining how the blog owners are reacting when reading any of these is fairly comical to me. I am thirty eight and still occasionally 12 .....so sue me.

Imagining how the same blog owner's other readers will react when seeing that is even more comical to me. "What the hell is this guy dropping by just to say he farts for?"

I think I am now going to start including lots and lots of punctuation. The various meanings of

I.F.A.R.T .
I.F.A.R.T ?
and

I.F.A.R.T !!!!! could cause more than a few wrinkled brows. I may be banned a time or two who knows?

Maybe next time I am surfing through my stat counter and see someone has visited without leaving a comment I will just head on over to their blog and leave:

U.F.A.R.T ?

in their comment section. Once again, the various punctuation could make it more interesting and fun. If they do so twice in a row,

U.F.A.R.T again? could come in handy.

If they continue to do so over and over and over again, perhaps

"I wish just once in a while you would NOT F.A.R.T when visiting my blog" could work.

The possibilities seem almost endless.

feel free to add your own in comments.


BD

My farts dont stink

Please forgive me if I begin to F.A.R.T on your blog. Just a quick note to those whose blogs I frequent on a regular basis. Often I find myself visiting these blogs, reading the posts and just simply don't have anything to add to the discussion. However, at the same time I kind of feel rude NOT leaving a comment. Therefore, I have come up with a possible solution. Michael over at Cardiac Fantasies and I have kind of come to an unspoken agreement. Since it is unspoken perhaps I have interpreted it wrong. You will have to ask him but here is my view of it. Often he will post something. I will go over and read it, and while enjoying it not really have anything to say on the matter. I am pretty sure he does the same thing sometimes when he reads one of my posts. Perhaps he is even rendered speechless, or gets so busy thinking about how much of an idiot I am, that he forgets to respond. I am not sure which of us started it(I think it was him), but at some point we began simply saying "nice post duuuuude" and that was it.
It was our way of saying,

'I was here'

I read

I (maybe in his case while visiting my blog) even enjoyed

but

I don't know what to say.

In my case it often means

I have no smart arsed comment to reply with,,,,the well is dry......perhaps I am coming down with something.......could be the world is about to end.....

but

I don't want to say nothing soooooo

"nice post dude",,,,,submit comment.

When I get that comment from him that is the way I take it. Right or wrong I don't really know for sure. However, when I leave that comment for him, that is exactly how I mean it at least.

I have thought about doing this with several other blogs that I frequent, but I am not sure it will be taken the right way or if frankly 'they won't just think I am a an idiot."

Therefore, I have been trying to come up with another version. Something a bit more 'catchy'.

Something perhaps a bit witty even. Something comical.

So I asked myself, Self: what are some things that are almost universally funny?

Well a good shot to the nuts will always be funny providing they are someone else's nuts. Don't beleive me? Find me one episode of America's Funniest home videos that doesn't contain at least three or four of them. Then tell me you don't laugh even if you KNOW what is about to happen. Granted, women laugh even harder than men, but hey I can't say that I blame them.

Someone else's nuts equals funnnny. Your nuts? Not so much!

The only problem with this is it is hard to come up with a comment related acronym for that one.

G.S.T.N? Not to mention That doesn't spell anything.

Farting ,,,,,,,farting will always be funny. Oh relax all you miss manners types out there just simmer down for a moment. I don't care if your child farts in the middle of church,dinner, or a church dinner in a crowded restaurant. Sure you may admonish him/her for it, but don't tell me when you get home you don't laugh your ass off when you think about it and noone can see you. Don't tell me you won't retell that story for years, perhaps even at his/her wedding and laugh again and again.

I don't care if you are 3 or 833, farts are funny. Farting, even in the middle of church equals at least mildyly funny. Holding your significant others head down on the pew and farting on it? Not so much.

Note: Chick I am talking to you, so leave Redneck alone!

With that in mind I present to you my new 'no comment, comment.'

F.A.R.T.

F ailing
A
R esponse
T oday

I may even go with another version, stop by and simply say "I.F.A.R.T."

I m
F ailing
A t
R esponding
T oday

or

I m
F orgoing
A
R esponse
T oday

Some people go around saying "I heart you",,,,,,,,Me? I may go around saying "I.F.A.R.T you" instead.

To review: This means

A) I was at your blog
B) I read your post
C) I may or may not have something to say about it, but am currently drawing a blank.
D) I don't want to say "no comment" and leave
E) I don't want to say nothing at all and just leave either.

These kinds of things sometimes cause people to ask "BD, are you mad at me?" No, no usually not mad at all, just have no response at the moment. Now I DO. "I.F.A.R.T" you.

For those of you still sitting there with a look of disgust on your face, consider this.

At least "smellivision has still not yet been invented."

See? the glass is indeed half full!


BD

seen it all part two

If you missed part one scroll down a page or so to the last post.



G immediately loses his cool. None of the contingency plans covered this. He starts to insist whatever we do we can't keep staring at the mustache and yet I can't seem to make myself look away. What do you do when someone says don't look down? you look down! When teachers tell you not to look directly at the sun? You look into the sun!

G: "look away don't stare that is rude!"

P: "ohhhhh bet you wish you were looking at the cleavage now dont you?"

G: "Quit playing around P, I need help here, help me turn"

P: "Nope can't help you.before long the eyes will be listening to ME again!(evil laugh)

This went on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, and with herculean effort I manage to turn away and face the man at the table again. I almost hear as much as sense G collapsing on the couch weary and drained. It is at this point that I am reminded of a certain episode of seinfeld. I swear at times my life IS seinfeld. I am also reminded of the saying 'out of the frying pan and into the fire."

The contingencies covered cleavage.

The contingencies covered failure to make eye contact.

If eye contact fails, look out the window.

If the window fails, look at the floor and so on.

The contingencies did NOT cover female mustaches but all in all G handled it pretty well on the fly.

I was soon to find out the contingencies also made no mention of "Moobies", or "mitties" or whatever other term you can come up with for man breasts but this guy had em. He had em in spades and was in serious need of a 'bro' or a 'mansier'.

P: "G?, you there buddy, get off the couch and turn us again, remember cleavage? eye contact!
contingency A) floor! Contingency B, window!"

G: ZZZZZzzzzzzzzz..........

P: "brain? how bout a little help here?"

B: "huh? what? what is going on? P, are you playing the cleavage game again?"

P: "G has passed out and he forgot to turn control back over to me, turn fool turn,,,,,look AWAY from the light!"



I narrowly managed to do so, though I can't really say I remember how. I am fairly sure the damage to my eyesight is not permanent.


Where are they now you may ask?

P? P went 'turtle' after this incident. I haven't heard from him since and am beginning to wonder if I ever will again. It is not known for sure whether he is in hiding, recovery, deserted in the face of the enemy, or what. If he doesn't turn up in a few days I may be forced to ask Rosie what happened after I blacked out. On the bright side, I have discovered sitting down to pee really isn't all that bad.

G? G woke up, recovered fairly well, and is just enjoying the time without P around for a while. At the same time he kind of misses the daily arguments.


B, immediately went to work on updating all contingency plans for future use. He wonders if men will get as upset about the the term 'mits' as their female counterparts seem to. He is also not sure whether to refer to them as Measts, Mreasts, or just stick with male breasts.

The little girl, wound up coloring a really nice picture and hanging it up in the hallway of the restaurant. I still can't bring myself to look at it for fear of causing a flashback of some kind.

Onion rings have been permanantly removed from the menu.


The parents? Safe to say they got free onion rings and who knows how much more. I don't know if they will be back, but if so the other manager is in for a rude awakening. G argued for a while that she should be warned ahead of time, but ultimately gave in to the 'misery loves company' strategy and agreed to keep quiet.


and sometimes you think you have seen it all.


BD

Because even if you can't be smart you can always be a smartass.

seen it all?

It is funny how you never seem to reach the point where you actually 'have seen it all'. You may THINK you have. I occasionally get the idea that I have. Then something comes along that shatters that illusion .

I am working the other night, standing at the counter talking with a couple of the regulars.

I see Rosie standing off to the side and don't really pay much attention to her. I presume that she is just listening in on the conversation to see what we are talking about. A while back I did a few posts called "anatomy of a restaurant". I never covered Rosie, but I suspect there is at least one in every restaurant in America.

Rosie is the local chapter of the rumor mill or rumor control. Rumor Rosie she is called by some. Nosey Rosie by others. Want to know who is sleeping with whom? Rosie is your man. Want to know who is about to be fired, hired, transferred, or promoted? Rosie is your man. Actually to be more P.C. I suppose I should say Rosie is your rumor 'person'. Need to know who failed a drug test, cussed out a customer, or didn't change their underwear this morning? Ask Rosie. Mind you Rosie is wrong as often as she is right, but that doesn't even come close to stopping her from sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Hell it doesn't even stop people from going to her to get the latest gossip ahem...news. A few minutes later I turn around to see Rosie still standing and waiting to speak to me.

"What's up?" I ask giving her a 'what are you still doing here' look.

"Can you go talk to table 8, they found a hair on their plate of onion rings."

I don't by any means want to sound like this is acceptable. From a guest view point it clearly is NOT and I totally understand that. At the same time, from a restaurant stand point it DOES happen and not much can be done about it. Irregardless of hairnets, hats, and such, it still happens. I head over to the table in order to assess the damages, knowing full well they have just gotten some free onion rings at the least. Depending on their level of disgust, they may well get the whole meal.

"How we doing over here folks, I understand we have a little problem?" I say surveying the scene. I see the onion ring plate, with little splotches of ketchup all over it. I don't see onion rings. I don't see a hair either.

The husband is a rather large fellow and doesn't appear to be upset at all. Knowing how irritated women get if they feel you are looking at their boobs I always(well okay 98% of the time), try not to. I especially try not to take advantage of the 'perverts eye view' a standing table approach offers. I will never understand why say in a club environment women who have them all but on display have the audacity to get annoyed when someone looks, but that is a post for another day. That said I can understand how the standing approach could be offensive so the gentleman in me avoids looking 'directly into the sun.'

Through practice I have gotten pretty good at this if I do say so myself. All that practice has gotten me to the point that it almost comes naturally. It is almost a reflex action now. Some sort of anti Pavlov's reflex. The eyes see cleavage, the gentleman side of my being(G) knows to immediately take over, shut off communication to my penis(P) and direct my eyes to make immediate eye contact.

Like I said, this took practice. Many many battles between P and G were fought over the years until finally they came to a compromise. In the proper place or time, if the lady in question shows any sign of interest and I am currently single all bets are immediately off. P can repair those downed commo lines in a heartbeat and G has agreed to at least let P drive for a bit while staying close to the emergency override button. In exchange, P has agreed not to take advantage of a servers point of view in order to look down a woman's shirt, no matter who she is.

Like I said, practice......

Cleavage,.......eye contact!
cleavage? ........eye contact!

The drill had been rehearsed thousands of times. Contingency plans had been made....If you can't make eye contact

look at the ceiling,

look at the floor,

something, anything.

So there I was at the table, looking at the plate safe and secure in the knowledge I had seen it all. Like I said, the man didn't seem to be put out at all. If there was a hair it apparently didn't bother him enough to stop him from continuing to eat.

Cleavage? ......eye contact.......

While I am relieved to realize this means they can't be TOO upset, safe to say I find it a bit disturbing as well. The little girl looks up from coloring long enough to smile and say hello to me. I have a moment to think perhaps Rosie was mistaken or that I heard the wrong table number.

"There was a hair in our onion rings" the wife says while I ask the young lady what she is coloring. Involuntarily, I look down at the plate again figuring surely I just missed it.

"It is right there", she says reading my mind. Following her pointed finger, sure enough, right there in a little bit of ketchup is what appears to be a mustache hair. I find this a bit odd, since NONE of our cooks on staff has facial hair. I am the only male in the building on this night, and since I DO have a mustache it immediately makes me feel a bit guilty even though I know I haven't been anywhere near the kitchen or their food.

"Yes ma'am I am VERY sorry about thaaaa" I begin while turning towards her and simultaneously noting there is no cleavage on display to worry about. This, while at work and trying to be 'professional' comes as a bit of a relief.

I relax

.........and shift into eye contact anyways on three, two, one......

whoa! mystery solved.......She has a mustache that makes mine look like I am still in 6th grade.

Brain: "Screw that, there will be NO free onion rings much less meals when the hair came from the people at the table. That the offending mustache was a woman's was new but still....."

pass the chips.

This week's prompt for Sunday Scribblings is "Fantasy". As most(of the three of you) know, I work in the restaurant business. This pretty much means that for the most part I am surrounded by women. Seems like a good thing you would think and sometimes it is. It is every man's fantasy you would think and at times I had thought so to. As the old saying goes, "women, you can't live with em, can't live without em."

This 'fantasy' comes with a price however which I can sum up pretty well in one word.....

DRAMA!

OMG, the amount of drama that comes up around the work place is quite unbeleivable. On any given day at least one of them is just flat out bitchy. On any given day at least one of them is just super duper sensitive and ready to cry at the drop of a hat. As "BD's law" would have it, the bitchy one of the day(B.O.D) and the sensitive one of the day(S.O.D) will ALWAYS cross paths as often as possible.

Murphy ain't got chit on me......

More often than not there are two or three (B.O.Ds) and two or three (S.O.Ds). I can almost see them when I arrive dividing themselves into teams like some estrogen laced inner city survivor episode.

They have this amazing ability to take the smallest thing and turn it into a huge production.


It starts with someone forgetting to butter the toast.

It starts with someone putting a fork in the slot where the spoons are supposed to go.

It would be okay if it just ended there, but oh no!!!! Three weeks later the fork offender will ask the fork offendee to hand them a spoon and it all starts all over again.

"well if you would put the damned forks where they are supposed to go I could do that!"

Before you know it CNN, Fox news, and CBS vans are sprinkled along the parking lot to cover the latest riots in town.

Before you know it they are showing a picture of waitress "a" being led away in handcuffs. She turns back towards the camera and shouts,

"Well clearly she did that on purpose JUST to get on my nerves and piss me off,,,,,,,,she should have been fired and I wouldn't have had to try and throw a stick of butter at her!"

The reporter would then ask "but ma'am, witnesses say that you stabbed her 18 times in the neck. What do you have to say about these accusations?"

"I was reaching for a spoon, to fling the butter at her you know, and there it was, a fork where the spoon should have been! I just snapped. Serves her right! It's called Karma baby!"

I have more patience than most people. Hell I have a LOT more patience than most people. I can let things go in one ear and out of the other with the very best of them. Occasionally though I have enough. This is where my imagination usually takes over.

I envision Tattoo from that old show fantasy island standing in front of me. There is no plane coming to get me but he still does "da plain da plan" and points to the sky because let's face it, a 40 year old 'short person' doing this will never NOT be funny.

Suddenly I find myself in my office. To the naked eye my 'office' would be better described as a closet. A VERY small closet in fact. It doesn't have any windows.

It doesn't have a view, unless the stacks of paperwork and the wires poking out of the back of the printer constitute 'a view'. To the naked eye my office has a door. A simple door with a lock on it.

To me however, that door is like a force field. To me that lock is a trigger I can push to activate the E.D.S(Estrogen defense system). Any amount of mindless bitchery or whinery causes the E.d.S to immediately shoot out a transportation ray where the offender is whisked away to another world, forced to wear ugly shoes, watch ESPN, and where the toilet seats DON'T go down.

Maxwell smart used to have his "cone of silence". I have my 'cone of testosterone'.

Thankfully, I only need to retreat to my fantasy land occasionally and usually for only 10 minutes or so. Ahhhhh but it is a GREAT 10 minutes!

And people wonder why I spend all day Sunday vegged out in front of the television or in a sports bar watching football.

Hrrrmph!!!!!

Women! Can't live with em...........................Pass the chips.


For more Sunday Scribblings please click here.


BD

speed traps part two

So here I was, clearly with the policeman checking my speed. I could almost see the smirk on his face. I could almost see him thinking "ahhhh middle aged man in a sports car SURELY he is speeding."

I am not sure what I was expecting. Maybe, part of me was expecting an invisible ray to shoot out of it and transport the unsuspecting officer into another part of town, another city, or galaxy. Maybe that is why in spite of all the beeping I had heard I had never seen one single police car. Perhaps the beeps were just the little creatures version of a 'high five' after doing so. It's possible.

Maybe I was expecting this thing to start making some sort of sound I could easily recognize. Maybe, start singing the tune to cops so that I would KNOW what it was trying to tell me. At the very least I would know that I need to take my shirt off, poke out my beer gut, and start speaking incoherently in case they are filming this stop and pull me out of the car. I have seen enough episodes of cops to know doing so is apparently florida Law.

Part of me expected a fist to protrude out of it, or better yet one of those giant foam fingers you see at football stadiums across the nation. Only this time, it would be using the finger so many other people use on me everyday while telling me "i am number one".

I could have handled that.....

Maybe part of me expected this thing to trigger some mechanism that would cause the smell of bacon to come pouring out the vents in my car or the radio station to automatically change to a commercial just in time to hear some guy wake up out of bed and mutter "time to make the doughnuts".

I am not sure what I expected. Any of these would have been acceptable. What I got was NOTHING.

Not a beep, not a blip, not a song.

Not a bleep, not a burp, not a throat clearing "ahem",,,,,,NOTHING!

So I can't help to think along the lines of "radar detector my ass!"

I can't help wondering if the people who built these things, didn't just throw some wires together in a little case and call it a radar detector. I am guessing they had a meeting at some point, where someone suggested, "we need to make it just beep randomly so the fools buying it will THINK it is actually working."

I haven't officially given up on it, but I HAVE started to try and figure out what it is trying to tell me. While doing so I have paid particular attention to my surroundings when It DOES start to beep.

One thing that I have noticed to be consistant. Whenever I get within three blocks of a drugstore, especially CVS or Walgreens this thing beeps without fail. The closer I get the faster it beeps, blinks, and whistles.

I am reminded of that ED commercial where the catch phrase is something like "so when the moment is right be ready for the moment".

Perhaps my nephew was looking out for me after all. Perhaps he knows, that at any given point every american male finds themselves in a situation.

Who hasn't found themselves unprepared at a time when you are watching a movie with your girlfriend and things get hot and bothered?

Who hasn't had the phrase "no glove, no love" pounded into their heads?

Who hasn't reached into their wallet to pull out the trusty item you've kept there so you could live up to the ole boy scout motto of "be prepared"?

Who hasn't done so only to read in horror the words "best if used prior to 1983" just under the "only 98.8% effective" warnings?

Now, thanks to my nephew, I can rest easy. Should I ever find myself in that situation again, errrrrrrrr I mean if someone I know ever finds themselves in that situation, I can hop in my car plug in my condem detector and know that I can find one in mere moments instead of hours.

After all, "when the moment is right, be ready for the moment."


BD

If you can't be smart, at least be a smartass.