Back yard vigilantism!!

Being friends of nature, we put in a wireless router on our computer so the backyard animals can Wi-Fi on their computers. It seems that after reading my blog, one of them became a vigilante! Do you remember that rabbit I wrote about? Well, when I went to mow for the first time this year today, I found him DEAD under a bush. Some animal, and I think it was that dang starling, offed him! He then crawled under the bush and went to that bunny hutch in the sky. He could have read what I wrote and my tough talk scared him to death!

I didn't do an autopsy, so I didn't notice if there was a bullet hole in his hide. I figured if the bunny was dead, then he might've been sick and sick wildlife and me stay away from each other. It might have been death from natural causes. After a busy Easter, the bunny's heart could've exploded from the strain of lugging so much candy around.

Of course, there are a number of reasonable explanations for a dead bunny under my bush. One of his kids could've killed him for the insurance. Might've died of old age. He probably didn't stiff his loan shark. They would've broke his leg, not his neck. Now, I think its safe to say that he didn't commit suicide. After all, rabbits cannot say "Goodbye, cruel world." Plus, I didn't find a note. I doubt if it was a heart attack, the dang thing was a vegetarian.

The rabbit could have been a she. I didn't bother to check for boobs. That opens a whole other avenue of conjecture. It could've been PMS run amok or embarrassment over a bad haircut. She probably asked her husband if her butt looked big and blew up when she heard the answer.

Of course, when there is an unexpected and premature death, the first thing you think of is drugs. Ol' Peter Cottontail could have been a druggie and overdosed. It didn't look like a meth addict. It still had its teeth and its coat was well kept. I didn't see any tractor marks on its little arms. They might have been there but he was too furry to tell. He might have been a glue huffer and burned out his brain. I don't remember missing any glue, but my memory sucks and I don't really keep an inventory of my glue. He might have been a dope smoker but there wasn't any junk food wrappers laying around so I sorta doubt it.

He might have been a rap bunny and another rapper coulda capped his ass. Probably had a rap name like DJ Bugs or L'il Buster. I don't know if rap bunnies ride around in stretch Hummers too but I haven't seen any driving around the neighborhood lately.

Everyone knows how rabbits will eat anything that grows. It could've eaten something it shouldn't. More than likely it had a lunch of cauliflower or green peppers and they killed him. I know that if I ate that crap, I'd deserve to die too! Might have had a poison ivy salad. I remember when we were kids, me and Jerry and Richard Hyde fed a goose about ten pounds of gravel at the cemetery. He wasn't too spry afterwards! Something like that could have happened here. Some bratty kid could've fed the bunny something like grits or granola.

If you ask me, he probably was looking in our windows when he saw Karl Rove on tv blowing off about how Obama is to blame about the economy and not the previous administration. Ol' Bugs probably stroked out while he was screaming at the tv about the stupid gasbag scapegoating an innocent guy.

I'm pretty sure that PETA is looking to sue me for responsibility in the rabbit's death. Remember, if the glove don't fit, you can't convict! I don't know how this has anything to do with it but I like to say it.

Finally, you might think that I am celebrating the demise of dat wascally wabbit. Well I'm not. It sorta scares me. Something out there didn't like a cute little bunny and wasted it. Being sorta obnoxious, I probably have a lot to worry about using that rationale. To any bunny fans out there, let me tell you that I cared about that rabbit and to show you how concerned I am, I'll be taking up a collection to help pay the college costs for its 73 kids. Send your checks to me or donate to me using PayPal. Together we can make a difference in the lives of Bug's kids.

How about "Chip off the ol' Block"?

If you look back in some of my previous blog entries, you'll see where I refer to myself as "the fat guy" or "the big guy". When you're a hefty fellow, you tend to do that (If you're not a tight ass!). God willing and the creek don't rise, by MAXMAS Day in August, I'll be looking like my father-in-law Wayne and I will have to come up with new descriptors for myself. That won't be much of a problem for others, though, because "Hey you!" and "bozo" will still apply. In my unwitting quest to convert myself from a smoldering blob into a reasonably healthy guy before I retire, I have also eliminated a lot of the adjectives that I have relied on for years. What is left for a self-deprecating guy to do?

One good thing is it gives me some ammunition to use against those who saw fit to continually remind me that I was fat and have not yet said anything about my endeavor to get rid of my spare tire. (The tire is a Dunlap as in "My belly done lap over my belt!). My two oldest brothers have called me "fat Max" for years. Its only been since he moved home that Jim now calls me "flat Max". You can't fool me. Flat Max is fat Max with a French accent. The last time I saw Gene, he was looking good. The diabetes and heart attack got him focused and trim. Jim though, is a different story. I yearn for the opportunity to call him flat Jim or fat Jim. Turn about is fair play, right? Given the opportunity, after all the years of humiliation it caused me, I'll probably pass. We liberals are better than that.

One person won't get that same consideration. A former classmate of mine named Craig has made crass comments and demeaning observations about my weight for years. Add to the fact that as I shrink out of my old clothes, he's growing into them! The first time I see Craig after I duck under 200, I'll make some well-rehearsed and juicy comment about his lard ass. I might even make a smarmy crack about his growing baldness. (He's losing his hair faster than I am.) Jim and Gene get a pass because I love them. Craig doesn't.

Now, back to my dilemma. What is a self-deprecating and slim (I hope, I hope!) guy gonna do? I can't refer to myself as "Slats". Most people have never heard that description. I can't use "Jack Sprat" because that infers that my wife is fat and believe me, Gramma J is looking buff! I'm just hoping to look, act and feel normal. Go from obese to nobese. I guess I'll have to give my body shape a rest and use my other characteristics as descriptors. I could be "pick-up boy". Oh crap, that won't do. I don't own a pick-up. This summer, I'll probably be known as "long grass guy" or "stray ray". If I lived in New Jersey, I'd probably be referred to as "Einstein"! There the state university is a private college and they graduate you from high school if you can spell linguine! You know what a 13 year-old virgin is called in New Jersey? Out of state!

Even the terms they use for normal guys are pretty sucky. "Joe Blow" has gay implications I don't even want to talk about. "Joe Six-pack" has been used by Sarah Palin so often in the last year, it lost its meaning for normal people. "Joe Six-pack abs" might be nice for some people but I can't even spell abs. To me, sit-ups are only done by show-offs and crunches are candy bars with Rice Krispies in them.

Now that I'm 2/3's of the way to my goal, I'd like to once again express how grateful I am to all the many people who have said and written so many kind things to and about me. I am completely and totally honored. For an example, after Jenny gave me props on her Facebook page, all the Davis girls made very kind comments. It has really struck an emotional chord with me. After years of being fat Max, friends, family and even strangers are saying so many nice things to me that sticking to the program has become much easier and that one thing is very apparent. Boy, I must've been really fat!

Now, I'm sorry if I dwell too much on my weight issues buy people are usually quite perceptive about issues that they have to regularly deal with. You lose weight and you notice people who need to lose weight. Am I right, Oprah?! My harrowing ordeal with a saliva stone has made me sympathetic to those with kidney stones. Reroof your house and you notice roofs.

This weekend I will again be surrounded by my family as we celebrate little Jaden's second birthday. I'm excited at the prospect of our seeing Jaden, Shannon, Mike and Shane along with the McClure clan at Shannon's on Sunday. Two is the age where kid's toys all need to be assembled and this birthday is no exception. Jaden will be happy to know that Uncle Shane put together our gift instead of Grampa so she'll rest assured, in her big girl bed, that all the parts were used and inserted in their proper place.

Talking about Shane, with his work schedule, he often has his afternoons open so he's taking up golf. The first time he swings a club will probably elevate his game way ahead of mine. I look forward to playing with him.

Last but not least, today would have been my dad's 86th birthday. Whenever anyone would mention how I was just like him, dad would say "That's the best compliment he'll ever get!" You know, I gotta agree with him. Happy Birthday, Dad!

"There he went, Fudd!!"

As my last post iterates, its springtime in America. Animals, especially the dumb ones, have migrated back to our back yards. They've come out of their burrows, nests, hives and holes to make their homes in my yard. If it has a stinger, I'll find its nest somewhere very inconvenient, like the hollow handle of my gas grill. Yeah, getting stung when you lift the lid on the grill just adds to the grilling experience.

Besides my yearly infestation of hornets and wasps, the pests that get on my nerves the most is rabbits. Since the dumb bunnies make their nests in the middle of the yard, I'll invariably mow off the top of at least one when I mow the first time. They use a lot of hair in their nests so when the mower shoots out a wad of hair, I know a bunny nest just lost its roof. Well, you say, what harm could a "widdle wabbit" do anyway? Plenty! Have you ever seen a Bugs Bunny cartoon? Its based on FACT! Lately, I've been eating a lot of vegetables and I'd like to have a little garden where I could grow some of my favorite veggies. Not with those varmints in my yard! Ask Shannon what happened to her pepper plants two years ago. The rabbits ate 'em. All the way to the ground. With those buck teeth and beady eyes. Just when she was ready to enjoy a couple hot peppers, along came some bestial bunnies to eat not only the peppers, but the whole stinking plant!

Now, it those bucktoothed barbarians would eat the broccoli or cauliflower, I could possibly be tolerant. But when they eat the green bean and pepper plants they deserve no mercy! I proudly displayed a box of rabbit meat in my freezer for 3 years before we finally pitched it.

Next month, the Easter Bunny will be back, jacking our kids up with sugar, making them fat and rotting their teeth. I heard on Fox News that a group of rabbits were major stockholders of Hershey's, Mars and the Tootsie Roll companies. Therefore, the so-called Easter Bunny is actually a shill for the candy companies. As for the candy, the rabbits don't even like to eat it. Not when they can stroll into my yard and belly up to the Teders Salad Bar.

Those of you rabbit apologists out there who think that the little bunny in the fat guy's yard is an innocent bystander, take a second look at its actions. If it was innocent, it would traipse through my yard, easy as you please. But no, its out there, running around suspiciously. What's it running from? Whose garden has he just raided? And when they stop, just look at those red, beady eyes. Oh, you say to yourself "Its so cute and fluffy..." Well and Hitler used to wear a fur coat! I'm not saying that rabbits are Nazis or anything but, I haven't seen any squirrels in my yard since the rabbits invaded.

Finally, the last thing in the world I want to do is scare little kids, like my dear Jaden, away from the Easter Bunny. All I'm saying is, when you take the kids to the mall to see the Easter Bunny, keep the mace handy!

What is bird for "Get outa here!"

As I was slaving away at the taxes this morning, Jenny noticed a bird carrying straw and twigs into the side holes of the gas grill. Being the dumb one of the family, I went out and lifted the lid of the grill. It was becoming a huge bird's nest. There was straw weaved all the way through the briquettes, grills and gas jets. Luckily, it wasn't finished. After I cleaned out as much as I could, I burned out any leftover straw I might have missed. As I was doing this, the birds came back and boy were they mad! After about 15 minutes, my frugality kicked in. I turned off the gas and stuffed the holes with wads of newspaper.

This really torqued off that stupid bird. He stood on a nearby tree limb, flapping his wings, spinning in circles and squawking up a dickens. After the grill cooled down some, the bird came back and his demeanor hadn't improved one bit. He was crawling all over the grill looking for a way into it. The wads of newspaper were particularly irksome for him and his girl-friend bird. If they wise up and pull out the paper, I'll have to invest in a sling shot.

Now, this isn't the first time I've had animal issues with this grill. Last year, I had wasp nests in the handle. What does Mother Nature have against my grill? I use "natural" gas. Its not as if that black starling is related to those chicken wings I grilled last fall. They were unrecognizable as to species, but were way too big to be starling wings. Hey bird! If that's your problem, go build a nest at that Vietnamese restaurant!

He's also pretty nervous. Every time I go outside to get a nice picture of him squawking on the basketball backboard, he flies off as soon as the door clicks. What's he have to be nervous about. Besides trespassing in my stinking gas grill.

I thought maybe I could Doctor Doolittle the damn thing but that didn't work. I learned that starlings are a lot like railroad officials. No matter how much common sense a suggestion may have, it will be ignored in favor of an original plan that doesn't work. Do you hear that bird? If you succeed with your twisted plan, the first time we grill breasts, we'll have an extra one! Yours! He's just standing there on the backboard with his little wingtips in his ears. Hey bird! Even the railroad would have figured out after spending thousands of dollars and a month studying it that it is not a good idea to build a nest in a gas grill! Get with the program, Jeckle!

Now, if this was New Jersey, I'd just order a mob hit on the darn thing. Plant his little feet in a small block of cement and throw him into a bird bath. Make a little Starling Cacciatore!

How would politicians handle the situation? Obama would point out to him an empty bird house in the neighbor's yard and convince him it would be easier to live there since those people are dumber and less threatening. (They don't have any friends from Jersey!) McCain would have ordered a drone attack on it. In Congress, the Democrats would have instituted a grill use tax while the Republicans would have shipped him off to Guantanamo!

Even though I'm pretty much speechless, as is normal, I know what Jenny would have to say about this whole situation: "Quit screwin' around and get on those taxes!!"

Me and my Amish buddy...

Shane and Ashley were able to come home this weekend from Indy and I am happy to see them again. We just don't get together often enough for me. While he was home, we got a couple pictures together. Its all part of my ongoing effort to look good by getting my picture taken with people who have the looks.

I wanted to post these pictures instead of the one I had posted because I'm anxious to rid myself of my "whopper big" past in favor of my "sorta big" present. I am hoping that by the time Maxmas Day arrives in August, you can't tell me from Shane from the back (without looking at the hairline!)

So if you see Shane-o around town, say howdy. I'm sure that if you see me, you'll notice a spring in my step that always seems to follow Shane home!

Distilled Barney...

Boy, am I distressed. It seems that my last blog entry was so blah that my buddy, FUZBUKT didn't have anything to wisecrack about. That being so means that I have fallen down on the job. He's my goofy alter ego. Sorta like Lou Costello to my Bud Abbott or Gracie Allen to my George Burns. I feed him lines like Sally Strothers feeds Filipino kids. The fact that my last entry couldn't be mined for a joke is a shame that I'll have to learn to live with. If you were reading this straight out of my journal, you would see where my tear drops have smeared the ink.

The other day when I was grocery shopping, I picked up a gallon of distilled water. What makes this noteworthy is the fact that the distilled water has an expiration date! The water had a "Use by" date for goodness sakes. Then what? All the water, not just the distilled stuff had expiration dates. You would have to be a world class, blue ribbon, hall of fame dumbass to throw the water away when it is not used by the date on the side. Oh, but those people exist! They may breathe through their mouths or live in Auburn, but they're there.

This experience has sorta piqued my interest in expiration dates. Now that I've got to start checking other things like toilet paper, kitty litter and garbage bags. Its like any other defining moment in your life. Get a butchered hair cut, you notice hair cuts. Put a new roof on your house, you notice roofs. See an expiration date on a gallon of water and you notice the labels put on products to help businesses from being sued by boneheads. Like: Remove the plastic wrapper before baking the pizza. Bananas must have the peels removed before eating. Do not drink the fabric softener! Wouldn't it be tragic if you were so stupid you needed these warnings? It would be worse, though, if your spouse or kid was. Personally, I don't have a problem because I've surrounded myself with smart people. Poor people like Barb have to take it on the chin!

Being more proof that I am attempting to enter the Twenty-first century is the fact that I've opened a Facebook page. I'm pretty much clueless about all the jargon used and features of Facebook. I've been given two green beers and I'm at a loss figuring out what it means. Also, I've noticed that there are some people who are very eager to accumulate friends. One of Shane's friends wanted to be my friend too. I'm pretty sure that there's nothing in my life that would interest him but, since I'm the nurturing type, I'll be his friend. I'm convinced that Facebook will bring about the "Barneyfication" of America with everyone stumbling around asking "Will you be my friend?"

I'm hoping to use Facebook to help me touch base again with old friends from high school that I have lost contact with. I've already got one, Mike Hockaday, and can't wait til I get home and check out his page. I'd like to touch base with old friends from college but I can't remember their last names. I remember that an old roommate's mom's maiden name is Valentino but I can't remember his first or last name. One of my best friends during the "Motley's Pub" year was Don from South Bend. Last name is a blank. The same goes for my old Army buddies. I remember more of those guys names but I can't find much on 123people on them. It seems that all my old friends (at least the ones that I remember) have lived their lives under the radar. Is it too much to ask, if a guy's memory sucks, that his old friends be flamboyant enough to get noticed by the world wide web?

Well, when I get off this train in Cleveland I'll be headed to a new hotel. We no longer stay at the Wyndham. Now we're at a Doubletree Hotel by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Also, I'm hoping it has a good place to walk (its right by the lake) without the panhandlers and traffic.

Finally, last week Paul Harvey, the radio commentator, passed away. His feature "The Rest of the Story" was always one of my favorites. The reason I mention it was because one of his broadcasts has stayed with me forever. Jen and Shannon have probably heard this a dozen times so bear with me please. During the filming of "The Wizard of Oz", the character of the Wizard and the traveling salesman, played by Frank Morgan, needed an old used tuxedo. The director sent a flunky to the Salvation Army store to get one. After the filming was done, a wardrobe lady looked in the jacket lining and saw the name of the original owner of the tux. Who was it? L. Frank Baum, the author of "The Wizard of Oz". And now you know... The rest of the story.

So there you go Fuzzie, plenty of ammo for your gun!

Walking with Giants!!

I'm sorry that its been so long since I wrote an entry. Its not that I've been busy and couldn't find the time. If you want the real truth, things have been sorta slow lately and I've been on vacation the last week. I just haven't had anything to say. Those that know me know that having nothing to say has never stopped me from saying something. So, even though I am affected with 100% writer's block, I'll muddle ahead because that's the kind of guy I am. First, let me make some observations...

Jenny's dad, Wayne, is nearing maintenance weight on his lifestyle change. His dedication to proper diet and exercise has him looking great! He's been leading the way for me and deserves an enormous "Way to go!"
Last weekend, at the Home and Garden Show, I met Shannon's co-worker and Laura's husband Dalen. (Though officially known as Sara's dad) What an interesting guy. There's someone who needs to write a blog.


One of my life's greatest pleasures is my little granddaughter Jaden. Like anyone else, she has her favorite TV stars. Jaden's three favorites are Arthur, (Curious) George and Clifford. At the Home and Garden Show on Wednesday, I got my picture taken with two of the big three!
(Rotating the picture sorta squashed me a bit.) Ordinarily I don't grovel at the feet of celebrities but think of the street cred with Jaden I got with this picture. I'm hanging with the superstars!

Afterwards, Jenny had to get a picture with me. Sorta like basking in the glow. I even had to fight off the urge to dress in all yellow. Couldn't find a 10 gallon yellow hat in my size anyway.

For the time being, I'm back on the Garrett to Cleveland run. The guys with more seniority than me have found what they believe to be better jobs elsewhere. I can hold three turns in the Cleveland pool so I ought to be able to ride it out for awhile. Now that I said that, I'll probably be rolled out of this pool before I get back to Garrett on my first turn. Also, this trip I'm working with the Junior Rush Limbaugh that I described in a blog last October. What a treat. Sorta makes me want to deregulate something or torture someone.

As many of you know, my lovely daughter Shannon is expecting again. She is due in September and her mother and I could not be more excited! This blessed event makes it more imperative that I keep focused on my diet. Then, when she gets to be eight months pregnant, maybe everyone won't comment how much she looks like her dad!