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Sunday morning sloth
Desire more out of self
Only not sure what

Restless under skin
Jaw clenched tight, shoulders stiff, tense
Snap at transgressions

What dreams I have had
I wake with an impression
But no memory

—–

Pigpen’s Monster Tree
Shows a  suprising skill in
Drawing monster trees

Christabel and the Jons

May 11, 2007 at Oak Ridge Pavilion
1401 Oak Ridge Turnpike, Oak Ridge, Tennessee 37830
Cost : free

As I type this, Pigpen is beside me watching The Backyardigans on the TV in my room.  Man, that show is freakishly watchable.  I mean, its the worst kind of child show, what with the songs, and the cute little characters, but I think there are some sort of subliminal messages in it, or something.  If MastaG gets into the sphere of influence of this insidious show, he’ll inevitably get sucked in.  I barely have enough willpower myself to look away from the TV to type this.

My god, will they keep the volcano from erupting?  And will they sing that damned song again?  Oh, please sing the song!

Oops, I digress.

There are approximately a billion children taking up the other 800 odd square feet of the house, making lots of noise and shooting nerf guns, which makes the Backyardigans a winning prospect.  I was playing Call of Duty in the living room, but the friggin Nazis kept killing me.  I’ve always had interesting anger management issues with video games.  Usually, when I try to do the same thing, and end up failing about 3 times in a row, I get a voice saying ‘Dude, find something else to do’.

I proceed to ignore the voice because, hell, what does it know?

Then I fail 2 more times.  I feel my shoulders tense, and my blood pressure rise about 10 points (or units, or degrees, or whatever it is they measure blood pressure in these days).  I keep doing it, because I’ll be DAMNED if the game is going to beat me.

I’ll fail about two more times, and then I’m good and pissed.  As a kid, I broke 2 Super Nintendo controllers in my mindless, Hulklike wrath, by snapping the bastards in half, usually while bellowing something unintelligible and flailing around like a snake caught in an electric fence.

After my little tantrum, I’d start playing again (I kept spare controllers, for just such a situation).  I have a bit more restraint now than I did when I was 12, but on the 7th time those freakin Nazis killed me when I was just trying to blow up their stupid tank, while nerf bullets whizzed around me, and kids I don’t really know come up and ask what I’m playing, well, maybe its a good thing the Backyardigans is on, and a Pigpen is here to squeeze on.

But damn, I bet I could blow that tank up this time…

I’ve been trying to see how long I can old out talking about this situation, but after it hit Knoxnews and the AP, I figure I can’t hold back much longer.

It seems that Pigpen isn’t the only one who likes to pee in the flowers…

Theres evidently a bunch of dumbasses that like to golf over at the Centennial (should be paying for itself in 10 years!), get tore back, and let loose around the 18th hole, right next to this woman’s house, who evidently bought a house next to a golf course thinking that people wouldn’t be peeing in her backyard or something. Geez.

Man, I make no bones to anybody who knows me of my contempt for golf and the whole damn golf experience. Its a waste of land, it has idiotic fashion trends and terminology, and tends to attract the most shallow, contemptible people.  Yes, its a judgement call, and yes, some of my friends play golf, but I still make fun of them, both behind their back, and to their face.  Yes I do.

Wait, I lost my train of thought.  Crap…

Anyway, golf is dumb.  And peeing in public is too, unless you’re 4.  Then its cute.