Life on Fields

Quintet list for January 18th

2006-01-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

Five things you never want to hear the woman you’re cheating on your wife with to say:

Oh, by the way, your wife called today.

Hey, I’ve never noticed this rash before!

I really think we should get married.

We need to discuss where “this” is going.

And drumroll please…

5. What does it mean if the line turns blue?

Grossest Louie Watch to Date

2006-01-12T20:15:00.000-08:00

I was making our time cards out today at work. I noticed that tomorrow is Friday the thirteenth. Against my better judgment, I mentioned this to Louie.
“Oh,” Louie said, “I don’t believe in that stuff. You know, like the good Lord says, ‘You can’t wish upon a star.’” What? What bible do you read? Maybe he confuses God with Walt Disney. To be fair, that is a common mistake, isn't it? I don’t know. Anyway, here’s the gross part. After work, I was in the bathroom washing my hands. Louie comes in and starts peeing. I feel the need to mention that the toilet is only like two feet away from the sink, without a stall. I’m trying to ignore him the best I can when he says, “Oh my gosh, look at my pee. Look how yellow it is.” I swear, he really did this.

The Crapper's My Private Place

2006-01-11T20:49:00.000-08:00

You know, I mention my co-worker, Louie, a lot in this blog. Why shouldn’t I? He’s a comic gold mine. I’ve noticed a new habit of his that I think drives me more nuts than any of the rest. He always feels the need to talk to me when I’m in the crapper. No joke. He can go all morning and not say a word, but just as soon as my butt hits the seat there he is right outside the door yelling in. The other day a customer walked in, and there Louie was, at the bathroom door, carrying on a one-sided conversation. I wonder what that customer thought. Can you imagine? Who in their right mind talks to a person when they’re trying to take a dump, except for of course your wife?

Quintet list for January 10

2006-01-10T15:29:00.000-08:00

Five things you never want to hear from your doctor:

Ooops.

It should quit burning in a week or so.

There, the rectal exam is done. Uh…have you seen my other glove?

You mean I was supposed to amputate your left leg?

And drumroll please….

5. O.K., time for the colonoscopy. Let me fire up our new scope made by Weedeater.

Turkey Flavored Rice Krispies

2006-01-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

Ok, people, this one is a classic. A buddy of mine recently had back surgery. He can’t pick up anything. I mean, nothing at all. I called him today to ask how he was doing. “All right,” he said, “except for I wanted a bowl of cereal this morning, but I couldn’t pick up the jug.”
Well, this was already humorous enough for me, so I asked him, “Do you need me to come fix you a bowl?”
“No”, he said, “I already took care of it.”
“How’d you do that”, I asked
He replied, “ I got the turkey baster and used it to fill my bowl.”
There are just some things you would give anything to see. I didn’t even have the nerve to ask him how he was dealing with his sex life.

I'm Google's Whore

2006-01-07T17:43:00.000-08:00

I finally whored myself out. I decided to put adsense on my blog. For those of you who don’t know what that is, I’ll explain. It boils down to this, Google gets to put ads on my site and if anyone clicks on them I get money. They say Google software actually reads my blog, at least someone will, and will put ads on my site according to what I write about. I’m really conflicted about this.(Trojan condoms) I take my blog writing very seriously,(Ford F-150) and I don’t want to sell out and bring you, gentle readers, an inferior blog.(Masengill douche) That’s what’s wrong with this world anyway; ads are everywhere.(Betty Crocker) No matter where you turn you’re bombarded with ads.(Wal-Mart) Oh well, I need some new bling.(Hertzberg’s Diamonds)

Dumbest Louie Watch to Date/Shout Out to Dave

2006-01-06T21:53:00.000-08:00

O.K., I’m going to have to give a little back-story on this Louie watch. Louie has a girlfriend. She is about five one or five two, she weighs about one eighty or two hundred. She’s big. Louie is about five three and weighs ninety-five on a good day. Yeah, I know, I don’t know how they do it either. Anyway, Louie drives himself nuts thinking she’s cheating on him. When he ain’t singing, it’s all he talks about. I don’t say it, but I’m thinking, “She’s huge, man. She’s ugly. She doesn’t even have a pleasant personality. Trust me, she’s not cheating on you. She couldn’t find anybody if she wanted to.” But I’m too polite so I keep it to myself. Today he was going on and on about it and said the dumbest thing to date. He said, “And now she says she’s going through menopause and having hot flashes. (she’s 46) I think she’s just nervous about all the cheating she does, and it’s making her sweat.” Huh? Could he get any dumber? I don’t know for sure, but I bet he does.

David, hope you’re feeling better, buddy.

The Main Gist is I Want You to Buy This Movie

2006-01-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

Buy Stewie Griffin: The untold story. Do it. Do it now, I’ll wait. It is hilarious. It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed that hard at a movie. I don’t like to shill stuff, but your life will be better if you buy this dvd. Your hair will grow back. You’ll lose that five extra pounds. Your wife’s butt will even get smaller. If you don’t buy this movie your mom and dad will quit loving you. If you don’t buy this movie your dog will die in an unfortunate ball licking accident. If you don’t buy this movie your wife will leave you…never mind I want you to buy the movie, not swear it off forever. Buy it. Peace.

I am Tagged (and not in the good way)

2006-01-03T10:55:00.000-08:00

I was tagged by the creator of the hilariously funny “Caption This” creator, V the K, to name five personality quirks, so here goes.

I constantly repeat myself.

I constantly repeat myself.

I have the infuriating habit of always thinking I’m right.

I have the more infuriating habit of being right most of the time.

I love reading blogs written by kittens.

There you go, gentle readers, I just let you a little deeper into my psyche. Please clean up when you leave.

Computers, like Chess, Suck

2005-12-27T18:59:00.000-08:00

I’m back. My computer went down the other day and I just got it back this afternoon. Let’s just start by saying I know diddly about computers. You should let me do brain surgery on you before you let me work on your computer. My wife got Microsoft Printshop 2006 for Christmas. I thought it would be simple to install, I mean, hey, I’ve done it two or three times before. I tried to install it. It said it was installed, but with errors. I tried to uninstall it, but it wouldn’t let me. I called my trusty computer tech, David, and he told me I should bring it in. David knows me all to well. I took it down to his shop and plopped it down on the counter. David and my conversation went something like this:
David: Hey, what’s up.
Me: Nothing much. This computer’s screwed up.
David: All right. I’ll take a look at it.
Me: What do you think it is?
David: Oh, it might be the sldkufo or maybe the a;lsdoiue. I’ll take it in the back and see. Oh, yeah, you’re a;lsdiufzal;ff might be bad too.
Me: How much is it going to cost?
David: Around twenty bucks.
Me: See you tomorrow.
So I picked it up and it works fine. Now I can blog like I’ve never blogged before.

X-ry X-mas

2005-12-22T20:12:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s that time of year again. X-mas. I can remember back when I was young, we’d go sledding all day and come inside to warm up. Grandma and Mom would be pulling fresh, hot X-mas cookies out from the oven and Grandpa would be putting the finishing touches on the X-mas tree. That night before we went to bed our Mennonite neighbors would come and serenade us with X-mas carols. They would sing, “We Wish You a Merry X-mas”, “Oh, X-mas tree”, and “Have Yourself a Merry Little X-mas”, that one was always my favorite. After they left, Grandpa would get his old battered Bible out and read us the X-mas story, when he got to the part that said, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior, which is X the Lord,” I would always get goosebumps. When grandpa was done reading; all us kids would go to bed. We’d lie there under the covers anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa, and any time we heard a noise we just knew in our hearts it was him. One memorable night, straining my ears as hard as I could I heard in the distance, “Merry X-mas to all, and to all a good night.

Tell me. What’s Christmas without Christ?

Chess Sucks!

2005-12-20T17:57:00.000-08:00

I’ve been trying to learn chess. Now, I’ve always considered myself a relatively smart man, but there’s just something about chess that, just, oh, I don’t know makes me feel like a total dumbass. I thought computers made me feel dumb, but chess has really got them beat. Chess makes me feel inadequate, yet every night I keep playing. I keep choosing easier and easier opponents and I keep losing and losing. A game shouldn’t be this hard. It’s a board game for crying out loud. Everyday I tell myself I’m not going to play again. I come home and sit down in my chair, trying to ignore my computer’s siren song. “Come play chess,” it sings sweetly, “you can win this time,” and like the sailors of old I heed the song, I amble over to the computer full well knowing I’m going to shipwreck on the rocks. (That was all metaphorical. I don’t really need a ship to get to my computer. I use a rowboat.) So after this next game, I’m done. I’m going to quit. I can do it. I don’t need it. I mean, what’s one more time going to hurt?

No Crybabies

2005-12-16T22:09:00.000-08:00

You know, usually I don’t blog twice in the same day (I’m getting old; I don’t have the stamina), but something hit me tonight while I was surfing through blogs. I don’t really care what you put on your blog. You can write about being gay, a nazi, a cross dressing midget; I don’t care. I’ve seen some sick crap on some of these blogs and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen some pictures that were borderline illegal, but there’s one thing that offends me more than anything else. Girls, when you get dumped, quit writing about it on the damn Internet. I know when I get dumped I sure as hell don’t want to broadcast it to the world. Do you think something romantic will happen, like, out of the millions of blogs he’ll read yours and come running back to you? If you are; you’re dreamin’. I feel like my eyeballs are getting raped every time I come across one of these sappy, saccharine, blow chunks, pieces of crap. Good lord, get over it. You were used. Every one gets used once in a while. Think of it as training for the real world. So, turn off your computer, grab your little teddy bear, and cry yourself to sleep like everyone else does. I know you think it will make you feel better if you get those feelings out. And you should, it’s not healthy to hold all those emotions back. So if you really need to let it out, I mean, if you really just have to tell someone about it…buy a damn diary.

Where's the Love?

2005-12-16T17:55:00.000-08:00

Larry Johnson has run for a hundred plus yards every game the last six games. Since November first no one has gained more yards than him, no one’s scored more touchdowns, and he’s second in yards per carry. Don’t you think he would get a little love? Oh, no. Everyone’s bitching because he missed a block. Does everyone think Priest Holmes never missed a block? Has anyone watched L.J. play? He’s un-freakin-stoppable. If you’ve got to pass put Tony Richardson in, no one’s going to stop your passing anyway, no one has. I only saw him miss one block. ONE! How many plays did he pass protect Sunday? If we’re not careful L.J.’s going to leave. He wants to play here and now. Do you think Priest is still going to be playing three years from now? Come on, he’s missed a lot of games the last three seasons. Give L.J. the ball and see how far he’ll carry us.

Sing! Sing a Song!

2005-12-15T19:54:00.000-08:00

If you’ve ever read my blog before, you’ve heard me talk about Louie. I wish I could put audio on my blog, because I would love for you to hear him sing. Louie sings ALL…DAY…LONG. And Louie’s not a good singer. Louie doesn’t even know the words half the time. Louie has to get right in your face, because for some reason he thinks you can’t hear him unless he does. And that voice! I can’t even describe it. It’s a cross between a cat getting its tail slammed in a car door and the sound a man makes when he zips himself up in his pants. Terrible. I change my mind, gentle readers, I’m glad I don’t have audio on this site, because I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Which gives me an idea, before McCain can get his anti-torture law passed, let’s use Louie. I give Saddam ten seconds.

The Gum Incident

2005-12-11T21:23:00.000-08:00

It finally happened today. After all my years of playing basketball in high school, pick-up games and rec games, I finally did something on the basketball court that people will talk about for a few weeks. Let me set it up for you. I was playing in our rec league tonight, it was the second half and we were down by twenty-three points. (For those of you who think I’m going to tell a story about how I single-handedly brought us back to win the game; you might want to quit reading now.) I got a rebound and was bringing it down the floor looking for someone to pass off to. Everyone took off to the other end of the court. “Why,” I asked myself, “did everyone take off when they know I can't dribble worth a crap?” So I figured I’d remind them of my less than stellar skills on the hardwood, “Hey,” I shouted, “someone needs to come back and get this, because I can’t dribble worth a cr—“!!! That’s when it happened. My gum went flying out of my mouth and landed about three foot in front of me in front of our bench. I dribbled over to it. I sat there looking at it, all the while still dribbling. I would have liked to call a time out so I could pick up my gum, but we had already used our last time out. I was going to kick it off to the side, but I was afraid it would stick to my shoe and I figured that would really complicate my dribbling. I only had one choice. Still dribbling, I bent over, picked it up, and put it back in my mouth. After the game, my thirteen-year-old daughter said, “Why didn’t you just throw it off to the side?” So, there it is, my little claim to fame. Everyone, and I mean everyone was watching me as I left the building.

Hedgehog, if you read this, get to feeling better, and get back to work, moron.

Mamas, Don't Let Your Gay Sons Grow Up To Be Cowboys

2005-12-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

There used to be three things I could count on in my life: death, taxes, and cowboys were straight. I went through life happy as could be, I mean, I found three things I could count on, a lot of people can’t find one. I had three. I did, anyway, until Brokeback Mountain. Let’s get this straight (no pun intended) I have nothing against gay people at all, but why do they feel they have to infiltrate every single aspect of our lives? I don’t care if they get married. I don’t care if they adopt kids. I don’t even give a damn if they make a lesbian the pope, but cowboys are not gay. Oh, every once in a while they’ll show footage of a gay rodeo somewhere, which I think gives a whole new meaning to the event bareback riding, but those guys aren’t cowboys. Cowboys are tough. I’m not trying to be stereotypical, but when was the last time you saw a tough gay. I mean, really, I couldn’t care less if a sports star came out of the closet. I could care less if a movie star came out. I don’t know how else to put it, except COWBOYS AREN’T GAY. It’s ludicrous. I could go to see King Kong and Brokeback Mountain this weekend and I’d have an easier time believing there’s a forty-foot ape running around Manhattan than there’s such a thing as a gay cowboy.

Damn, Dirty Canadians

2005-12-10T09:00:00.000-08:00

I just read a blog called “America Sucks”. At first, it kind of pissed me off until I read their profiles and found out they were from Canada. You know something funny about Canadians? They envy us. They have to tear us down to feel good about themselves. Canada isn’t important and they hate that. Canadians have the equivalent of penis envy with Americans. So, I calmed down and thought it through. What else does someone in Canada have to do besides rag on America? They can’t go surfing. They can’t go to the beach. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any gambling in Canada, but I might be wrong. To be honest, the only thing I know about Canada is that they have Mounties and if it weren’t for Dudley Do-right I wouldn’t even know that. So go ahead Canadian American bashers. Bash us. Write evil things about us. Do whatever you have to do to feel good about yourselves, but don’t be upset if I don’t read your blog…I’ll be at the beach.

How I'll Save the World

2005-12-09T23:39:00.000-08:00

Don’t you hate when you’re surfin’ blogs and you come to one written in a foreign language? I don’t mind people blogging in their native tongue; I hate the fact that I sit there for five minutes staring at it thinking it will rearrange itself and I’ll understand it. I just stared at a blog written in ancient Sanskrit for all I know, hoping I would recognize one word. Just one! I could have been looking at a top secret Al-Qaida memo that, somehow, was accidentally posted as a blog telling the super top-secret whereabouts of Osama, and I blew it. I knew when I took ancient Sanskrit in school I should have paid more attention, but I sat there thinking to myself, “When will I ever use ancient Sanskrit in the real world?” Now I know. So I can read freakin’ blogs. So don’t despair gentle readers, I will dust up on my Sanskrit and the world will be safe again.

Dropping babies and Tookie

2005-12-08T20:31:00.000-08:00

Here’s something fun to do. First, you have to have two things: a young baby and an over protective mother. Sit in a chair with the young baby and when the mother leaves the room drop something heavy on the floor ( I used a big lotion bottle) and yell, “Oh, Crap”. Then you sit back and watch the fun. My wife is four foot ten and weighs ninety-five pounds but she could have ran through the Chiefs offensive line when she thought I dropped that baby on the floor.

If Saddam Hussein wrote a kid’s book that helped them know that being a ruthless dictator was bad, would we still want him dead? Fry Tookie.

Victoria and my secret

2005-12-06T20:20:00.000-08:00

As I’m sitting here trying to think of something to write, my wife is sitting in the living room watching the “Victoria’s Secret” special on T.V. Which makes me wonder …why am I sitting writing on my blog when there is a “Victoria’s Secret” special on. You want to know why? Because of you, gentle readers. I know there is a lot of you out there who will get borderline suicidal if you don’t get to read something new on my blog everyday, and since I haven’t wrote anything since the 1st I’m sure the suicide rate nationwide has went up a few percentage points. The reason for my absence is because I had schoolwork and lots of it. But I’m back now and I’ll try to keep up. Put the gun down, put the pills back in the medicine cabinet; I’m back.

LOUIE WATCH
I needed Louie to help me cut some metal today. I looked in the front of the shop; he wasn’t there. I went to the back to the paint room; he wasn’t there. I looked in the office, the bathroom, and the tire bay; he wasn’t there. I go outside. Here comes Louie about a block and a half away walking back to the shop. “What are you doing,” I asked?
“Oh, there was a tree down there that looked like it needed cut down, so I went down there and asked them if I could cut it down for firewood,” Louie says.
Why would a person, in the middle of the morning an hour away from break, walk three blocks down the street to ask someone if they could cut down their tree? Why, if you were going to go ask someone if you could cut down their tree, would you not tell your boss? I’m serious, if someone can see the logic in this, please, let me know.

Louie Watch

2005-12-02T19:53:00.000-08:00

I’m going to start a new feature today. I’m going to call it Louie watch. Louie is a guy I work with that is so strung out on painkillers it isn’t even funny, however some of the stuff he says and does is very funny, so I’ll share them with you.
Today’s Louie watch: I called my wife today at break. I got our Callwave outgoing message so I knew she was on the Internet. Just to be stupid, I said, “Quit looking up porn and call me back,” and hung up. Louie says, (and keep in mind he’s serious) “Is she looking at naked men?”
I said, “No, she’s probably on her chat room. She goes to a Christian chat room and talks to people. The other day she talked to a missionary in Nigeria.”
Louie looked at me and says, “Wow, I bet he had a weird accent.”
Priceless.

Overdue Goodbye/ Enthusiastic Hello

2005-12-01T20:31:00.000-08:00

Tom Brady drops back to pass. It’s third and seven and a must make down. If the Pats can score before halftime they can change the momentum and maybe the outcome of the game. Around the end of the line a man in red suddenly appears arms flailing and spit flying. Just before Brady can make the throw, he’s tackled. Not a bone crushing tackle, it wouldn’t even make the top fifty on Sportscenter, but it was a game changing tackle. Goosebumps spread up and down my arms and I have a feeling I haven’t felt in almost six years. The man making the tackle wears a different number, but there was something uncanny in how much he looked like number 58. Not in physique, or size, or even color, but there was something about him. As I watched the rest of the game I thought about how much I missed 58. Some people had a difficult time understanding how the death of Derrick Thomas affected me. I watched him every Sunday for years. I lived and died with him a hundred times. Hell yeah it hurt when he died. It would have been different if he had been sixty, or seventy or even fifty. He was thirty-three. I’m almost thirty-three. He was taken too young. Now, there’s another man flying around the end of the line. He gets sacks in bunches. He can change the flow of a game. I’m going to watch him every Sunday. I’m going to live and die with him a hundred times. Jared Allen’s good. Jared Allen will beat you down. Yeah, I’m going to watch number 69. I’m going to appreciate him while I have him. And seeing the ghost of 58 every once and awhile ain’t bad either.

Boondocks

2005-11-29T19:32:00.000-08:00

If you've read my profile, you know I'm a fan of comic strips. There's one called Boondocks. I'm really not that a big fan of it. They've made it into a cartoon on Adult Swim. BEST...CARTOON...EVER. Except for of course maybe Simpsons. If you haven't seen it try to catch it. It's on at 11p.m. est on cartoon network. The humor of Boondocks plays so much better on t.v. than on the printed page. It's like Aaron McGruder,the creator of Boondocks, is bound in a three panel strip and needs a whole thirty minutes to unleash his hilarious and thought provoking humor. It's been a long time since I've found something on t.v. that I laugh this hard at. Until later.

First Day

2005-11-28T21:14:00.000-08:00

This is the first time I've ever blogged. So please be gentle. Let's start out with a little about myself. I'm thirty-two, married, and the father of four children ages ranging from three weeks to thirteen years old. I'm from the good ol' red state of Missouri and proud of it. I love God, my country, my family, and the Kansas City Chiefs. I believe bleeding heart liberals that think it's o.k. to kill a child, but not o.k. to go to war to get rid of terrorists (does anyone remember 9/11?) should be deported. I'm not real political, but I believe what I believe.
There's a sports columnist named Joe Posnanski that writes for the Kansas City Star. If you're a sports fan and you've never read him look him up on www.kcstar.com . Until later.