Archive for the ‘Holidays & Memories’ Category

Thanksgiving

Thursday, November 15th, 2007

Samuel Hitches awoke with a slight feeling of dread. It was November 23rd and the farm was cold and grey. From his bed he could hear the livestock in the barn, and the smell of horse and cow, met his nostrils, reminding him of all of the things that needed to be done before the end of the day.

He got up, and the pain hit the muscles of his back also reminding him of how much work he does a day. “Sheeet” he said out loud as he stretched. What he needed was a hot bath a good breakfast, and a sip of the old juice.’ That out to do it” he said out loud again, as he got up. Just then he slumped a little, as the image of his fucking sister in law creeped into his head. “Aww fuck” he said to himself. “That bitch is coming down with those asshole kids.” The brother in law, was
alright, but that bitch made him sick. It’s not what she said, but the things she didn’t say. The way she looked down on him for marring her sister. Shit, it wasn’t the marriage as it was getting her pregnant. But Margie was a good wife and a great mother to little Timmy, and If all that Samuel had to do was get through the holidays without a fight, then that was good enough.

Samuel got under the spicket and ice cold water dumped out unto him. “Jesus. H. Christ on a God damn stick” he said, as the ice blue water cascaded over him. If that didn’t wake you up nothing would. That was some cold fucking water. “No heat this year” he though to himself, as a grim familiar tingle that ran across his belly. he just knew that bitch was going to make a comment. But then again, was it too much to have fucking hot water for his family? This year it was. maybe I should sell this dumb farm he thought, but then what? It wasn’t like he was good at anything, it wasn’t like it would be all that easy for him to get a job.

“Is there any breakfast ready?” he yelled at the stairs, putting on his overalls and snapping them shut. The realization of what he had to do today hung in the back of his mind. The turkey. Samuel was accustom to killing, it was what a farmer did. you never get too attached to the animals, had to keep little Timmy away from the damn pigs. Once he saw that stupid movie with the talking pig and the spider, it was all over.

“Is Breakfast ready?” he yelled out again, hearing nothing but farm life. he could hear the pigs and the “cluck cluck” of the turkey’s in the barn. If they only knew what was coming for them today he thought to himself and a little smile spread across his face. Not like it was funny or anything, but those damn birds are stupid. “Oh shit, the axe, I forgot to sharpen the axe!” He said out loud. Well that would have to wait until after breakfast.

Samuel slipped on his boots and clomped down the stairs. Margie must have taken Timmy to town to get whatever that stupid bitch of a sister would want for a Thanksgiving meal. probably wine or something Richie rich like that, but there had better be breakfast waiting when he got downstairs or so help me, Margie would be hiding out for the Holidays.

“Is anybody here?” he began to yell as he stepped into the kitchen, but he stopped short. the kitchen was bloodbath. pots and pans were boiling over and steam was ringing in the air. On the kitchen table was a hot cup of coffee, and sitting next to it, was a plate with Timmy’s head cut off at the neck, his eyes staring blankly at nothing. he has an ear of corn stuffed into his mouth as flies crawled and buzzed around it. Next to the table was Margie, or what was left of Margie. her head was gone and one of her arms was stuffed into the neck. It almost looked as if she was waiving to him from the floor.

“What the fuck” he said out loud, as he heard something coming up from behind him. Something big. He spun around, but took a blow to his head and darkness came over him.

When Samuel came to, he smelled the thick oder of manure all around him. He was hogtied with his arms around his back and the rope was eating into his groin. Samuel noticed that he was thrown over the cutting stump. ” What the fuck” he screamed, this time as the cluck cluck sound began to rise. He realized that he was surrounded by turkeys. they were all over scratching and pecking at him. one of the turkey even spit seed at him. “This is crazy” he said as he tried to crane his neck around to see. It was at that moment that he first saw it. From back with in the barn the shape of a huge Turkey moved. It stepped out of the dark, ducking it’s head around the eves. Samuel could not gage how big, but this was the biggest turkey he had ever seen. As it moved, the other turkey went wild, clucking and scratching and pecking at Samuel. The huge bird stepped past him and he saw the heavy blade of the axe lift up out of view.

“It’s dull” he said through spit and tears. He strained to look, to make some sort of contact with the great bird. “You don’t understand, the blade, it’s still dull” he pleaded. Tears ran down his cheeks making everything blurry, “Please”, he tried to say something, anything, as the turkeys went wild.” It wont cut…” he started to say, But then thought came to Samuel. I don’t think it cares.

Toys

Monday, February 26th, 2007

I’m surprised you don’t remember my dads vagina Lafferty, He was also the singer in your band.

Thanks for the picture Doug. I still don’t remember that Wallin dude. No doubt a great guy. Funny and sharp. I’be been trying to think of something to say all weekend, but he got me. I’m like a bowel movement, or I’m a bowel movement. You can’t beat that.

Except for a story….

When I was sixteen my next door neighbor was also sixteen, and those of you who know anything about anything, knows that means “Make Out”. She was awesome, about as ugly as me, we made out on the road and in the woods by our houses, it was awesome. She would also have friends over and I’d get to make out with them. Now before you go thinking that I had it made, you have to remember that I was still in the “rub on them and cum in your corduroys stage. My little pistol was ready to fire by the time I got it out of the holster. But I was pretty good at making out, and titty grabbing.

Well one day it happened. My neighbor and her friend had been drinking, and they called me over on the phone. My mother could hear that that it was a rowdy scene over there, and I ate dinner as fast as I could and ran down into my older brothers Gary’s room and grabbed a condom. Not that I ever used one, but I knew where the secret stash was. I fucking ran over to her house and was led by my hand into a room. Where a very drunk girl took off her clothes and laid down waiting for pleasure.

I gently put my hand between her legs and found a mound of hair. Then I took out the condom opened it and unrolled it first, then tried to slip it on my penis. It wouldn’t. I could just barely get it over my cap, and it hung there like a ski hat or a sock hanging off your foot. I started to sweat a little so I began to rub the mound of hair, come to think of it, I think I was rubbing around her belly button.

It was then that my mom called on the phone, and told me to come home.

In hindsight, it’s a good thing that I didn’t “get any” that day. Because, although now, in my mind, I play the scene very different, back then I think if My penis even came close to that hairy mound It would have been over before it started. And in a way that would have been more embarrassing.

Your pal Randy

Toys

Friday, February 23rd, 2007

All together I have seven nephews and nieces. And I love them. Here is one thing I noticed about people when they are really little. They love to take shit out of the toy box and throw it all over the place. I have to say that I think they all did it, at some point. Generally around two years old.

One thing I don’t get, is why my brothers buy them so many toys when they are that young, because it seems like all they really like to do with the toys, is take them out of the toy box, and throw the shit everywhere.

I think I would buy my kid only one toy for that reason. I’d let the kid play with a shoe or something, because at that age, there is no difference from a sock, or a wooden ducky, and I don’t care what you say. Many kids have died playing with a plastic bag for gods sake, so that shows you how much a kid can like a fucking plastic bag.

But this presents a bigger issue. If the game is to take shit out of a box and throw it around, why isn’t it just as fun to pick it up and throw it back in the box? It isn’t fun. Why? I mean it’s almost the same game if you think about it.

For some reason, cleaning up sucks, and we know it when we are two years old.

Don’t get the wrong idea folks. I wash, and I do dishes and clean up. But I do hate it. Unless I’m stoned, then I love it, but you know what I mean.

I really wonder why. Is it because the orgasm of joy that you feel when you throw toys around is over? If the game started with Toys being all over the place, and kids got to run into a room and throw them in a toy box, would they hate it from the start?

also, if you are reading this and you look down at your desk and there is a plastic Darth Vader, you need to wise the fuck up.

I’m serious about that.

Your pal Randy

I Love Thanksgiving

Thursday, November 23rd, 2006

A many of you people know, Thanksgiving is one of the holidays that I love best. My Family, on my moms side took part in the slaughter of all those poor injuns, back in the day, I think the motherfucker was Welsh, but needless to say, we have been celebrating ever since.

My grandmother Alma was the best at cooking the turkey. Lena, who was German couldn’t cook a turkey to save her life, and to tell you the truth, I don’t think that Germans have ever been good at anything other then being assholes, and blonde, I guess. But my dad’s side of the family is German, so
we love them anyway.

Well, one Thanksgiving, back when I was in junior high school, my whole family got together and we were going to have quite the celebration. This time instead of having a frozen turkey we went to one of those farms where you get to pick it out, and kill it yourself. Well Lena shouted something like. “Das Puken akt Mine Spietel!” and we all looked at her like she was mad, and it turned out that she wanted to be the one who took the turkey down. Knowing that Alma was going to get all of the praise over her delicious gravy.

We pointed out the bird we wanted, and my god was it a big one. It’s majestic plumage suggested quite a feast, and we handed Grandma Lena the twenty two, rifle, but before we could say anything, Lena had slipped over the fence with a butcher knife between her teeth.

“No!” my dad whispered, but it was too late, Lena had already begun the hunt. She crouched down, among the other birds and did her best to blend in. Every now and then you would see her head pop up with her huge glasses on, and she would “Gobble,gobble” then duck back down, and make her way to the large bird.

The gigantic Turkey having no idea what was about to descend upon it, pecked away at the ground without a care in the world, as Lena crawled closer. Lena popped her head up and said “Gobble.. and then we saw her head explode. A fountain of blood started spewing out of the hole in her head, and she said “Aktune Gobble mine shtappo” as she fell to the ground.

We turned around and saw that Alma was holding the rifle. Well, that was about enough of that. My dad, elbowed her in the neck, and me and my brothers started to punch the old bag in the face and groin Until she fell into a heap of old skid and urine.

That Thanksgiving Alma had to make the turkey herself and all of the fixing, for what she did to Lena. She had three broken ribs and she lost an eye and some fingers, but we didn’t care. The old bitch had to pay.

I love Thanksgiving and I miss my family.

Have a great one

your pal Randy

Rumsfeld knows exactly what my penis looks like

Monday, November 13th, 2006

And that is because it’s in his mouth right now.

Thank you Jason, that was a nice thing to say. And it reminds me of a true story, with yours truly in it.

A long time ago, I worked in this deli in Boston. I was twenty one, ish and I grew my hair long. In hindsight I looked like a real blower. Anyway, I worked with a guy named Emit, and he was an amazing artist and a cool guy and he was pretty gay. Pretty fucking gay.

Emit tried to get into my pants almost everyday. He would grab me from behind, and all sorts of stuff. I told him once that I would fuck him just to get him to leave me alone, but alas, I am just attracted to women, with all of their stupid baggage and bullshit. And crazy “off the charts” egos.

Emit asked me, what it would take to get me in bed, and I told him I would think about it. The next day I told him that if he found six women who were willing to fuck me all at once, I think I might just need to suck a dick in all of that. Maybe a little something in the ass.

God bless him, he tried, and even got a couple of women who were willing, but not enough by my book. But I will respect him forever for trying.

The thing that I am the most amazed at, is how willing people are to be depressed, or hurtful. There is murder all over the news every morning. People kill each other like as if they are drinking water. And nobody bats an eye. Almost every thing on tv is based on hate and fear and lies and hurt. Death, death, death.

But you really cross the line when you talk about pleasing yourself. Think about that.

Pleasing yourself.

That should be every persons goal, every day of their lives.

What are we so afraid of? Why is sexual pleasure so scary? It drives us to do all sorts of stupid stuff, like pray. Just because an orgasm feels good. Last night I parked in front of my neighbors house and this morning there was egg on my car. What goes in in that guys mind? what the fuck is he so angry about? He needs to jerk off a little if you ask me.

Free love didn’t work, but we learned about condoms. I think it is time that people start fucking each other again, and get intimate. I see all of these couples, who obviously lost their intimacy, and they are fat fucks, getting out of trucks filling the empty void with Mc Donald’s.

I think it might just be about time that we learn that it is ok, to feel good and be happy.

and by the way,

it feels good to be an American again, even if it’s just for a day.

I love you people

your pal randy

Halloween

Wednesday, October 31st, 2001

Now we had many streets that connected our neighborhood. The whole thing sort of spiraled around down a big hill and certain streets shot off into corners and dead ends. The whole neighborhood was surrounded by miles and miles of woods. And to an eight year old at night, that might as well be hell. Our house was in the middle of all that. That age where the edge of your neighborhood was the edge of your world. Yards, turning into woods, sectioned off by crumbling stone walls long forgotten by parents and adults. We even had a decrepit old barn (the red Barn) in the middle of a field that held rusty rakes and iron things. And on a dare you could almost get inside by yourself before the screams began to well up inside you. Making you run blindly back through the field to safety. There was a dirt road that never got developed and wound about a mile into the bramble. Eleven months out of the year these were just places. In summer they were spots for high adventure, places that the dinosaur’s roamed. But in October, everything turned. You could feel the things that lay in the witch grass just beyond the dead end. The eyes staring back at you as you passed the pond on the way home for supper. Death creeped in turning things yellow and brown and wicked.

There was a house down a very long driveway, that twisted and turned. From the road you could barely see the house lights at night. The sound of dogs barking could be heard throughout most of the neighborhood. Rumors of evil undoubtedly spread. Evil. Six wild hounds that would tear you apart if you came near his house. And some of the older kids even got shot at as they tried to get a closer look. An old man who lived alone, he had crooked teeth and a shot gun. And he did things, bad things. His name was Nick Pasolo, and the legend was that he went mad. And even though he was never seen, everyone called him Uncle Nick, and he lived down Uncle Nicks road.

One Halloween my brother Chris and I stood at the top of uncle nicks road and made a dare. It was foolish. I think I was a ghost and Chris was a Dracula. I had on your standard bed sheet and his face was painted white. Huge one piece plastic teeth stuck in his mouth pushing his lips out, and the occasional llsssst! to suck the spit back in as he talked. We stood there in the dark and made a dare. We were going to do it. We were going to walk down that road and see the devil. We were so scared that we may have been holding hands. Ready at any moment for a pack of red eyed hounds to burst through the woods and surround us. Maybe to hold us down by our necks and wait for the madman. To hear the giggle of some insane clown with broken teeth and one gray eye. Nothing. just the sound of gravel under our feet. When we approached the porch we could hear the sounds of tv from inside and the blue flicker began to light up the sky like lightning. Chris rang the bell. Ding… Dong… That was it. The longest sound I have ever heard. Every part of my body wanted to run. I would have run straight through the woods all the way home if Chris had even turned to look at me. But he was in a trance. A little Dracula wide eye staring straight ahead, waiting. waiting for the devil Frightened out of his little dracula mind.

An old man answered the door. He was dressed in a T-shirt and he had white hair. He was sort of round and he had a soft nice face. He looked like he just woke up. ” Jeepers” He said, “What day is it?” rubbing his balding head. “It’s Halloween Uncle nick!” we said back and held out our bags.” Uncle Nick” he muttered. he looked confused. “wait here” he said, and went to the kitchen. When he returned he had a box of cookies. “I’m sorry, I never get visitors” he said. “What are you a ghost” he asked. As he dumped the whole box of cookies in our bags. Yes a ghost. “Listen, if you see any more kids, tell them to come by” he asked us, and we left. “No one ever comes here” he said as we walked back up the driveway.

That was it. that was my last Halloween trick or treating I think. It was most certainly the last one I remember. It sucks leaving childhood. Miss those days.

randy

Halloween

Wednesday, October 31st, 2001

HalloweenNow we had many streets that connected our neighborhood. The whole thing sort of spiraled around down a big hill and certain streets shot off into corners and dead ends. The whole neighborhood was surrounded by miles and miles of woods. And to an eight year old at night, that might as well be hell. Our house was in the middle of all that. That age where the edge of your neighborhood was the edge of your world. Yards, turning into woods, sectioned off by crumbling stone walls long forgotten by parents and adults. We even had a decrepit old barn (the red Barn) in the middle of a field that held rusty rakes and iron things. And on a dare you could almost get inside by yourself before the screams began to well up inside you. Making you run blindly back through the field to safety. There was a dirt road that never got developed and wound about a mile into the bramble. Eleven months out of the year these were just places. In summer they were spots for high adventure, places that the dinosaur’s roamed. But in October, everything turned. You could feel the things that lay in the witch grass just beyond the dead end. The eyes staring back at you as you passed the pond on the way home for supper. Death creeped in turning things yellow and brown and wicked.

There was a house down a very long driveway, that twisted and turned. From the road you could barely see the house lights at night. The sound of dogs barking could be heard throughout most of the neighborhood. Rumors of evil undoubtedly spread. Evil. Six wild hounds that would tear you apart if you came near his house. And some of the older kids even got shot at as they tried to get a closer look. An old man who lived alone, he had crooked teeth and a shot gun. And he did things, bad things. His name was Nick Pasolo, and the legend was that he went mad. And even though he was never seen, everyone called him Uncle Nick, and he lived down Uncle Nicks road.

One Halloween my brother Chris and I stood at the top of uncle nicks road and made a dare. It was foolish. I think I was a ghost and Chris was a Dracula. I had on your standard bed sheet and his face was painted white. Huge one piece plastic teeth stuck in his mouth pushing his lips out, and the occasional llsssst! to suck the spit back in as he talked. We stood there in the dark and made a dare. We were going to do it. We were going to walk down that road and see the devil. We were so scared that we may have been holding hands. Ready at any moment for a pack of red eyed hounds to burst through the woods and surround us. Maybe to hold us down by our necks and wait for the madman. To hear the giggle of some insane clown with broken teeth and one gray eye. Nothing. just the sound of gravel under our feet. When we approached the porch we could hear the sounds of tv from inside and the blue flicker began to light up the sky like lightning. Chris rang the bell. Ding… Dong… That was it. The longest sound I have ever heard. Every part of my body wanted to run. I would have run straight through the woods all the way home if Chris had even turned to look at me. But he was in a trance. A little Dracula wide eye staring straight ahead, waiting. waiting for the devil Frightened out of his little dracula mind.

An old man answered the door. He was dressed in a T-shirt and he had white hair. He was sort of round and he had a soft nice face. He looked like he just woke up. ” Jeepers” He said, “What day is it?” rubbing his balding head. “It’s Halloween Uncle nick!” we said back and held out our bags.” Uncle Nick” he muttered. he looked confused. “wait here” he said, and went to the kitchen. When he returned he had a box of cookies. “I’m sorry, I never get visitors” he said. “What are you a ghost” he asked. As he dumped the whole box of cookies in our bags. Yes a ghost. “Listen, if you see any more kids, tell them to come by” he asked us, and we left. “No one ever comes here” he said as we walked back up the driveway.

That was it. that was my last Halloween trick or treating I think. It was most certainly the last one I remember. It sucks leaving childhood. Miss those days.

randy

Funny Bird

Thursday, March 15th, 2001

I’ll tell you what I miss from the old days, I miss the glory. Back when I was a kid, we used to smash all sorts of things. We would smash tv sets, we would smash bee’s nests, We would smash my little brothers car models. Christ we would light them on fire and then smash them. We had a junk yard about four miles from my house, and we would walk there and sneak in. Then we would smash everything that could be smashed. We would use bats and pipes. Have you ever smashed one of those big florescent bulbs that explode glass everywhere, and let out some toxic gas? we did. We would throw those things at each other like they were spears. We would run at each other and smash them together as we passed, like jousting. We would stand on tv sets and smash the glass, and the tubes. Have you ever run straight into a sliding glass door swinging a bat until the thunderclap of broken glass filled your ears. Then you start laughing to all you friends because half of your cheek is dangling open? “Oh shit, moms gonna be pissed!” remember that? I started thinking about that last night, because like an asshole I got a computer and I was trying to figure out how to plug in the monitor.

God do I miss the glory days

Krandell

Secret Santa

Friday, December 22nd, 2000

Now anyone who has been here for a year or two knows that I get some pretty disturbing Secret Santa gifts. I get Severed heads, and I get Little fat dolls of myself on a cross, stuff that is really funny, but makes me worried a little. Joel sculpted me a King Kong from my own sketch books, and I make out with that thing weekly, it’s so damn good. Now I have been sick as a dog for the last week and a half, so much so that people like our own Todd/ T-money, have kicked me out of the building here. Today I came in and on my desk, in a little bag was my gift. I forgot totally about secret santa. Well, I opened the bag, A little hesitantly, as you can understand, and I got one of the most beautiful gifts I ever got. It is so sweet that I had to start making out with Gibby. I am so sorry that I wasn’t here on Wednesday, so everyone could see how great my gift is. Come by and see it. Thank you, Thank you.

I’ll say it again

Fuck ILM they are a bunch of assholes

Fuck Pixar they make sissy movies

Fuck Dreamworks they are snotty apes!

TIPPETT STUDIO RULES! It’s the best job, with the best people

Merry Christmas people

randy

A Thankgiving story

Wednesday, November 22nd, 2000

This is a story that my grandfather would tell at Thankgiving

The year was 1443 and three ships set sail from England. The Charlston, the Rosenburg and the Santa Rosetta. Their mighty sails flew proudly at sea. After months and months, the entire crew hated their captain Christopher P Columbus. He was a complete ass. Christopher wore real baggy jackets and really tight spandex pants, fitting his bottom snugly. After months of hunger and scurvy, the crew started to beat Christopher Columbus badly. His tights had finally drove the crew mad. Just as they were about to thrash him to the missen mast, they ran ashore in a strange land. Everyone stopped fighting at once. Hunger floated in the air. As they came ashore, strange people appeared out of the wood. Beautiful tan bodies all cut with muscles and sweat, dressed in nothing but scraps of dear skin and feathers. Beautiful women wearing nothing but mud. These people were but a strange folk indeed. Nakkid kids running amuck. They led the hungry pale people from the sand, and showered then with food. They taught them stupid things like bury fish with corn, and to dance for rain. But the pale people were grateful. And we broke bread with the savage, and all was right. After we were good and fed we killed all of those funny nakkid people and taught the turkey to run for it’s god damn life, and then we built some stores and there was much merriment.

lets eat some bird