Smoking Gun: The Magic Bullet Theory, Chapter 1

"Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun in your hand?
Hey Joe, I said where you goin' with that gun in your hand?
Alright. I'm goin down to shoot my old lady,
you know I caught her messin' 'round with another man."
It was a Saturday sometime this past fall. A beautiful day, sunny, with a nice breeze. Tay and I were sitting on her back deck enjoying the fresh air rousing us to wakefulness after sleeping in. We were chit-chatting when Tay mentioned that she had a paintball gun. She said she kept it loaded for self defense. I kinda chuckled at the notion of a paintball gun used for that purpose but, hey, it's really not that bad of an idea. She also said it was good for shoo-ing away stray dogs, especially when Petey is in heat.
"Go get it", I said. "I want to play with it". Tay obliged.
When I went to use it, it was jammed with paint, so I took it apart and cleaned it until it was in proper working order. Unfortunately, it was also out of CO2. So off to gander Mountain we went to replenish the CO2 and her ammunition.
When we returned, I started squeezing off rounds at propane tanks and tree trunks. I told her how I could not be trusted with a paintball gun because it was a situation similar to that of Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes fame), who said while holding a croquet mallet during a "gentlemanly" game with Hobbes, "I can tell you the temptation to misuse these is awful." Needless to say, I'd pick out a knot in a tree trunk and pretend it was Tay's heiny while she was bent over gardening. I'd squeeze off a few rounds with deadly accuracy, painting the knot green with nary a miss.
Tay turns to me and says, "You've got issues".
"You're just figuring this out now?" I exclaimed.
"How about I take you around on the quad and you can shoot stuff?" Tay offered.
"Sure, let's go" Tay replied, "We'll take Shadow and Petey (her dogs) for a run".
Hot damn, I got the coolest girlfriend. So we mount the quad, loaded for bear. I'm hoping to "paint" a few deer while were out. Put the fear of God into them and maybe they'll actually survive the hunting season. Well, that was my warped justification anyway.
But after a few miles of tooling around, I didn't find much to shoot at, so we pulled over. Tay got off the quad and walked to a gate that housed some of the neighbor's bulls.
She climbed up the gate and leaned over the fence about 20 feet away from me. She was in an incredibly prone position with her gluteal area pointing towards the quad that I was sitting on.
(the sound of a gunshot echoes through the valley)
Tay is hit. Green paint oozes on her inner thigh. She climbs down the gate cursing. She turns around and....
Stay tuned for Chapter 2.


Eight Days in the Hole!

Ok, who the hell am I kidding? Taking a hiatus from talking about nonsense? It's impossible for me. So, after my eight days in non-blogging purgatory, I'm on the precipice of making my triumphant return.

Also, look for Bluey's World: Volume One, "My First 15 Months", which can be found at available bookstores near you (Viking Press).

And if you got hoodwinked by the previous sentence, you are way too gullible to be reading this particular blog.

Bluey's in the house...........again!


Bluey's World On Hiatus

Sorry to say that I'm going to have to take a sabbatical from Bluey's World.

I've got a lot on my plate these days. Thanks for listening over the past 14 months.

Bluey out!


Snakes On A Plane Doesn't Frighten Me!

However, Bitches On A Cellphone scares the bejesus out of me.

On three occasions this past week, yentas yakking on cellphones while driving almost killed other vehicles in front of me on the road. God knows what is so fucking important that it can't wait until they get home.

In one car, there was a thirty-something woman in tears, apparently arguing with her boyfriend/husband while cutting off a car on the entrance lane of the highway. The other two consisted of women in their own fucking world, not paying a lick of intention to the road and drifting in and out of their lanes. One decided to get in the left lane to pass a truck. The only problem was that the bitch was doing about 58 miles per hour and cut off a minivan full of kids that was tooling along in the left lane doing about 65-70. Apparently, she never bothered to check her rear view mirrors before she decided to pass.

I see at least one of these incidents weekly and sure enough, every time I see a near accident, it turns out to be a bitch on a cellphone, who is so goddamn absorbed in her own life, she doesn't have any spare time to consider the safety of others. Now, I'm sure this article seems incredibly sexist and callous. But, the fuck if I care, I see what I see. Maybe men's cellphone use in cars affect their driving less, how the hell do I know? The truth is that almost every time I see a moron swerving in lanes or cutting someone off or driving too slow to be safe, it turns out to be a chick on a cellphone.

Obviously, the bigger picture is that cell phone use should be banned on the roads but I'm calling a spade a spade. Every once in a while, I do see an unsafe male driver on the cell but the clear majority is perpetrated by women, who seemingly get so involved in their conversations, that they cease paying attention to the road whatsoever.

God, I wish I had a cowcatcher on the front of my Durango. I'd plow these bitches right off the road. They shouldn't be driving anyway. They should be home pregnant, preparing dinner for their man and wearing sexy underwear or preferably a NY Rangers jersey and nothing else.

Now how's that for sexist?


Happy 12th Birthday To My Daughter, Bebis!

Bebis turns 12 today. A shout out of monkey-goodness birthday wishes to my monkey loving progeny. It does make me bitter that she shares a birthday with the cocaine wrecked, meatloaf stuffed fat, dead, very limited talented, room temperatured, worm eaten Elvis Presley.

Oh well, everybody has a cross to bear.

Happy birthday, Bebis!!!!!!


Notre Dame Fighting Irish 6, Robert Morris Colonials 2.

Last night, Meersky and I attended the ND/RMU ice hockey game at the Mellon arena. It was the first Division I college hockey game I think I've ever been to. It was a pretty tight game for two periods until the Irish ran away with the game in the third period.

The event was also pretty well attended as a litle less than 4000 souls came out on a balmy 50 degree January evening.The thing that struck me though, only because I've never really got to see it firsthand, was all the Notre Dame fans at the game.

Let me be honest with you, I have a real axe to grind with Notre Dame poseurs. You know them. They have absolutely no ties to the team, never have stepped foot in South Bend, much less have ever been in Indiana in their lives. They may be Catholic and/or Irish or neither but their reasons for their absolute devotion to the team have no basis in any actual reality.

They are no better than NY Yankee fans that were born nowhere near New York City. They are called bandwagon jumpers. They hook onto winning teams much like a remora on a great white and enjoy the ride.And they are obnoxious about how great they think "their" team is. Usually when you question them about their allegiance to the school, you usually get some stupid answer in return.

How I fucking wish that one of them, just one of them, ever said "I only like them because they are traditionally winners and I am a hopeless retard that needs some sort of psuedo boost of pride to celebrate the fact that I am catholic or irish or that my mother's friend's sister's grandfather's roomate went to a great school like Notre Dame".

Last I checked, there were tons of Catholic Universities to root for if that is your thing (Boston College, Holy Cross, Villanova etc...). I guess none of the other catholic schools must be devout enough to warrant all these fans' devotion. If it's an Irish thing, I'm guessing that celebrating your ancestral history of alcoholism by drinking to excess at least once a year on St. Patrick's Day (who incidentally isn't even Irish), isn't enough to carry the pride through the year. Or the absolute worst: Notre Dame poseurs who are not Catholic, not Irish and have no ties whatsoever to the school.

These people make me sick when I have to listen to them.I have no problem with Notre Dame. They can't help that they've accumulated all these retarded fans. And as long as the cash registers keep ringing what do they care? Hell, none of their teams seem to be worth a damn for years now, but the money keeps pouring in. My hats off to them for selling people smoke.When I went to pull a picture off the net, I almost fell off my chair when I found the Jewish Irish fan club logo, apparently a group of rabid Irish fans in Israel, go figure!

I wouldn't be surprised at all if Osama Bin Ladin, GM of the New York Yankees, has a touchdown Jesus statue on his mahogany desk.


Bluey's 10 New Year's Resolutions:

10. Spend more time figuring out what the buttons do on my new Xbox360 wireless controller. (Where's the diamond?) Also, get my Xbox live account switched over so I can start the year fresh by irritating Supermonkey with fresh racial taunts.

9. Try to get back into double digits for the number of alcohol containing drinks consumed for the year. Woody's sip of champagne at midnight on New Year's eve only got him to nine for the year!

8. Use the word "smegma" more often in daily conversation. Smegma is a Bluey originated word from back in the day that referred to an offensive looking and smelling unidentified substance. Smegma is brought to you by the letter S.

Authors note: Apparently Bluey was full of hot air when he laid claim to the derivation of the word smegma. Please refer to the following Wikipedia link:(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smegma#Smegma_in_popular_culture

Thanks to Choder for pointing out this fallacy! Although, I'd argue against it, it's use in a Monty Python skit when I was three years old, pretty much voids any claim I can make. I still plan to use the word more but hope that the Monty Python troupe members that are still alive get ass cancer for stealing my pre-school material.

7. Finding an actual "Pigsknuckle Paradise" restaurant and taking my kids there as punishment for giving me cancer over the three of them never being able to settle on a restaurant.

6. Refusing to wash my hockey equipment until I am a walking open bottle of vinegar in the locker room, thereby forcing my hockey team to finally free up the #6 jersey for me (I currently wear #16, because some callous individual refuses to part with it).

5. Get a new dartboard for selecting stocks.

4. Spend less time with Tay, weaning her off the overdose of Vitamin R that I seemed to provide her in 2006. Allowing her to provide me with more home-cooked meals. This goes hand in hand with her resolution (not taking me for granted). This will put our relationship in my comfort zone of having a personal slave who caters to my every whim. (Yes!)

3. Invent a device that turns off my hearing for the times that I am visiting my mother. If I am unsuccessful, I may just be the first person to ever die from cochlea cancer.

2. Attach a snowplow blade to the front of my Durango, so that I can just plow "shrivs" and morons using cellphones in their cars, out of my way when I'm driving.

1. Put the same sort of computer answering service on my cellphone that the utilities companies have on their customer "help" lines. (If you really need to talk to Bluey, please press 9 now). This way I can go all of 2007 without taking any phone calls. I'm starting to use 200 minutes regularly each month and I'm not happy about it. At this rate, the radiowaves from my phone will give me brain cancer by 2014.

Happy New Year to all!

Hopefully we can all avoid getting cancer for at least one more year!

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