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Nasty John (Part Last)

The Final Chapter

Well gang, this will be a wrap in the Nasty John saga. I could have filled ten episodes with the stories I could share, but it’s time to move on. Fast forward. Things changed drastically over the Summer. Our dorm, McKneely Hall was torn down, our housing request to room together was unanimously and vehemently denied by the university and we were assigned to separate dorms on opposite sides of the campus. The roommates they assigned us were tools. There was no way they were putting up with more crap from us. Those bastards! After an uneventful semester on campus, Randy, John and I decided to get an off-campus apartment. That’s where the fun continued.

Randy

“True friends stab you in the front.” – Oscar Wilde

I would be remiss if I ended this saga without elaborating further on our good friend Randy. The Nasty John saga would not have been the same without his ridiculous and ludicrous participation and agreement to go along with everything we suggested. Randy, like John, was a photographer for the school paper. He was obsessed with the band KISS, chemical experimentation and wreaking havoc with John and I. Randy was part of our regular running crew and was present for most of the catastrophic events we caused. As stated above, he eventually became our roommate when we moved into our off-campus apartment. One night, John, Randy and I were driving around looking for somewhere we could get in trouble. We were running low on fuel so we stopped to fill-up at a local Raceway gas station. While we were gassing-up, John and I hatched a scheme to get some free alcohol. We told Randy to go smoke a cigarette away from the gas pumps near the outdoor beer display. Back then, gas stations would stack cases of beer outside the store that were “On Special.” The plan was that when we were finished gassing-up and paying, we would give Randy the signal and he would grab a case of beer, run to the car, get in and we would haul ass. We gave the signal. Randy stomped out his cigarette, looked over his shoulder to see if the cashier was looking, then grabbed a case of beer and started running towards the car. As he awkwardly approached our vehicle, that’s when John and I jumped in the car and drove off, leaving Randy standing in the middle of the gas pumps with a stolen case of beer. Knowing he was in deep shit, he tried to think of his next move. There was Randy, his feet moving up-and-down in a side-to side jogging motion, head looking left and right, like a leprechaun doing an Irish jig or someone who was about to crap their pants. Making his final decision, he dropped the beer and took-off running. John and I drove around for a couple of hours, drinking beer and giving some time for the police to get their statements and clear out. As we drove back near the store, a darkened, hairy blur came flying out of the woods, across a ditch and dove onto the hood of the car. It was Randy. He’d been hiding in the woods for two hours, covered in mosquito bites, briar scratches and pissed off to high heavens. He said that the police drove by shining their spot lights in the woods and almost caught him. We gave him a cold beer and he was fine. We all had a good laugh (except Randy). How he stayed our friend I’ll never know.

Here’s a pic of Randy selling his blood for beer money. Randy’s blood was so chock-full of THC and other chemical stimulants that patients who were transfused his blood got higher than a kite. His blood became so popular, patients would ask their Hematologist for a pint of “O Positive-ly Randy“

Horticultural Heists

“If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn’t sit for a month.” – Theodore Roosevelt

Throughout their college career, both John and Randy had a strong interest in Botany. Sorry, let me clarify. They weren’t interested in studying Botany, just stealing plants. Case in point…The Great Bubby Harvest. Another reminder…Bubby is the friend we left in Florida after “borrowing” his truck to drive home to Louisiana (and) almost had him arrested on terrorist charges on the roof of a dorm. Bubby would always brag about how his cousin operated this big pot farm hidden in the woods somewhere around Tickfaw, LA. We would always tell Bubby he was full of shit and it would really piss him off. Finally, John and Randy bet Bubby $ 20 he was lying. Knowing he would not be able to function in life until he proved them wrong, Bubby said “Bet accepted! I’ll show you the farm!” He reacted exactly as John and Randy expected. Bubby fulfilled his end of the bet and with a brand new air of confidence and feeling vindicated, smugly collected his $ 20. Two days later I entered my room to a strange but familiar smell, a whirring noise coming out of my closet and my hang-up clothes strewn on my bed. When I opened the closet door there were numerous four-foot tall pot plants hanging from the clothes rod, several blow dryers running and a space heater. Under the bed were pillow cases stuffed with additional plants that were waiting their turn to be dried. John and Randy had conducted a night raid on the pot farm and carried as many marijuana plants back with them as humanly possible. Now common sense would dictate that stealing pot plants from an active drug dealer could have got John and Randy in a lot of trouble (and possibly shot). When asked why they took such a ridiculous risk, Randy clearly articulated, “Because we got all this pot for $ 20!”

The most classic display of impaired stupidity occurred on a Saturday night. I had started dating Celina at this time and she was still in a dorm, but was a regular visitor at our off-campus apartment. Sometime during the day, John and Randy got drunk, high or both and were driving by a Home Depot that was having an outdoor garden sale. Randy was particularly intrigued because apple trees were on sale. When later asked why he was so intrigued by these trees Randy candidly stated “I love apples.” We think he just had the munchies and apples sounded good at the time. I’m not sure what they did the rest of the day, but I do know the result. When Celina and I arrived at the apartment Sunday around noon to drop off my stuff, we opened to door to find the entire apartment filled with apple trees. It was like walking through the Garden of Eden only it smelled like dirty underwear and stale beer. Almost every square inch of the living room was filled with foliage and I could barely make my way to my bedroom. The only thing missing in the apartment was Randy and John. After dropping Celina’s laundry and other stuff at her dorm, we returned back to the apartment to try to figure out what was going on. When we got there, Randy and John were finally there and looked like hell. I asked them “What the hell happened to you?” In unison they replied “We got arrested.” “Doing what?” I asked. “Stealing apple trees from Home Depot.” And then Randy asked one of the most random, unexpected questions I’ve ever been asked. “Do you guys like them?”

One of the explanations they gave as to why they would do something so stupid and reckless was that they though it would be funny when Celina and I walked in and saw all of the trees. Apparently what eventually got them caught was that after making several back-and-forth runs to abscond trees, Randy’s car broke down on the final run. There they sat in Randy’s white Ford Mustang, in the Home Depot parking lot with the rear bumper sagging due to the weight of the trees protruding from the trunk. His car looked like a white lab rat crapping stalks of celery. When the police pulled up and hit their lights, they told Randy and John to step out of the vehicle. They complied. When the police officer asked them what in the hell they were doing, John told them “We were trying to return these trees but the store is closed.” Not a good excuse at 11:00pm. They were subsequently arrested, booked and bailed out of jail the next morning by our Director of Publications, Rick.

Where’s Randy you assholes?! I want to go home!

Community Service

“It has always been a mystery to me how men can feel themselves honoured by the humiliation of their fellow beings.” – Mahatma Ghandi

Fortunately, thanks to Rick’s vouching for Randy and John and the raw stupidity of their motives, the police realized that their actions did not have any major criminal intent, but there would still be consequences. I can’t recall the actual sentence but I do remember it involved some fines, probation and community service. By some miracle of fate, I found out where John and Randy were preforming community service on a particular afternoon. Possessing this knowledge, I gathered some of our mutual friends, loaded up in the car, grabbed some beer and headed towards the work site. As we approached the work crew picking up trash on the median, we singled out both John and Randy wearing their neon orange work vests carrying their government-issued trash gigs, rakes and plastic bags. As we drove by, we flung the empty beer cans we’d been drinking along with several Burger King bags full of trash in front of them yelling “You missed a spot asshole!” John & Randy were furious, flipping us off while cursing us the entire time. As we made a U-turn and were headed back for our second trash deposit, there they were waiting for us, rakes and gigs at the ready looking like Captain Ahab waiting to harpoon Moby Dick. As we came within distance they launched their tools through the air sailing towards us like track star javelins. Some sailed high while others hit their mark, cracking a windshield and pummeling and gouging paint from the hood and sides of our vehicle. This carried on for 10 – 12 minutes until we had run over their tools so many times they had to resort to throwing trash and mooning us. The passing traffic wasn’t quite sure why there was an angry young man, wearing an orange vest, with a broken gig and a rake, holding a plastic bag, bearing his ass on Main St. We laughed all the way home. Sadly, this brush with the law was one of the last acts of stupidity that I can recall being committed by our crew. It is a bittersweet memory.

Are you guys all done? Not quite….

Growing Up

As the saying goes, “All good things must come to an end.” Time passed. I met a girl. John met a girl. We matured? Over time we started spending more time apart. We both moved on in our lives to find ourselves, start careers, get married and basically get caught up in the high-speed chase of life that consumes your time, priorities and in some cases, friendships. Sadly, I haven’t spoke to John in 36 years. Over the years, I thought about him constantly and wondered how he was doing and how his life had turned out. I made many attempts to locate him. I networked common friends, searched LinkedIn, Facebook and the internet for him, all with zero results. I’m ashamed to say I even searched obituaries for him. I just wanted to know he was O.K. The guy was a ghost.

It’s amazing how such a simple act as writing a blog can have such an incredible impact. When I decided to write about the Nasty John days, I did one final search for John online. Again, I didn’t find any contact information for him. What I did find though was a picture…a picture of him! Holy shit! Yes, he was alive and quite well. Fast forward to the next week. While reading my blog, a good friend of mine Gina contacted me and said “I have John’s phone number! You should call him!” Uhhh..holy shit. After working up the courage to dial the number, I got his voicemail. Then I texted him saying who I was and could we talk. John and I talked that evening for the first time in 36 years. In way too short of a time, we recanted our lives over the past many years. We shared our successes, failures, celebrations, tragedies and talked about our past days in college together. Both of us agreed that if we had the chance to apologize to everyone we had wronged (especially Bubby) we would do so in a heartbeat. So as I close this chapter, let me share something that may surprise you about John. Given the crazy-assed antics I wrote about in the first three episodes, what do you think he’s up to today? Well, he is CEO of his own company, he’s a nurse practitioner and provides in-home comfort, mercy and medical care to patients (many of them elderly) who are unable to leave their homes. Surprised? This just goes to prove the old saying, “It’s not how you start, it’s how you finish.”

Lastly, I’d like to share some advice that I’ve learned first hand. Firstly, hold on to your memories, even if they aren’t the most acceptable. You might not be proud of them, but it’s part of what made you who you are today. Secondly, try harder. Don’t let 36 years pass to find out what your good friend has been doing his entire life.

The last picture I could find of John and I. It was a great day. I think this was taken at the Strawberry Festival in Ponchatoula, LA. The pretty girl between us is our good friend Karen. She was nice enough to tolerate us in doses and keep us out of trouble
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Nasty John (Part 3)

Room 136

“Misfits aren’t misfits among other misfits.” – Barry Manilow

Room 136. Our personal oasis. Our home away from home. We were two doors away from the back door escape hatch of McNeely Hall. It was perfectly located for our covert comings and goings late at night without entering/leaving and being seen through the lobby. It was also perfect for sneaking alcohol, girls and other contraband into the dorm. We would either place duct-tape over the locking mechanism to keep the door open or tap on a friend’s window to let us in the back door. Our room was the gathering place for the entire first floor of collegiate oddballs, weirdos, geeks, criminals, ROTC and other generally cool people like us. We called it the “Island of Misfit Boys” (sweet Rudolph movie reference). As you approached our room in the hallway, you would notice a certain unmistakable odor that emanated from the food we had nailed to the outside of our dorm room. This is how we protested the horrible cuisine in the university food service pavilion (a.k.a the cafeteria). Nailed to our door was a collection of various food items from the cafeteria in various stages of decay. A carrot, burger patty, dinner roll, chicken wing, ham sandwich and several strands of spaghetti were all part of our door-front buffet. In addition to being a sign of protest, we also did it to piss off James the Believer across the hall. On any typical day or night you could find a group of us in the room playing poker, drinking beer, watching MTV 24/7 (When they actually played videos) and rarely studying unless the exam was the next morning. It was the hang out room for anyone who didn’t want to study or were just batshit bored. The ceiling tiles in the room were sagging and stained (for good reason). Whenever we played poker, we would remove one of the tiles and throw all the crushed empty beer cans into the ceiling as we finished them. We were the central gathering place for misfits and lost souls. Then one day, we received an invitation to hang out somewhere else. We accepted the invitation only to realize later…There’s no place like home.

Dorm Room Bar 1967-1980 | College dorm, Vintage dorm, Dorm room
So, uhhh…What are we going to blow up tonight?

Poker Night!

“Last night I stayed up late playing poker with Tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.” – Steven Wright

Typically, poker night was held in our room as everyone else was afraid of getting caught with alcohol and apparently we didn’t care. Some guys would bet and lose their entire weekly allowance in one night and then stress out the rest of the week. One week, our friend Bubby invited everyone to play poker in his room at Tucker Hall. You remember Bubby don’t you? He’s our friend that we left in Florida, sleeping in our destroyed condo, after taking his own truck back to Louisiana and almost going to jail for it. Given we were tired of hosting and having to clean up the aftermath, we gladly accepted the invitation.

It was early evening when we headed over towards Bubby’s room. While dusk outside, there was still a beautiful faint blue light in the sky. Now one thing to know about me is that I notice whenever something’s out of place. Once I was reading Celina’s Victoria Secret catalog and found four typographical errors (true story). Celina still wonders why I was reading the text and not looking at the pictures (I was doing both). The faint dusk light provided a clear image of a round, darkened silhouette of an abnormally giant head peeking over the roof of Tucker Hall. It was an ambush, and we had a pretty damn good idea who was on the roof due to the enormous size of the suspect’s cranium. Stopping short, I stated in a loud voice, “Shit! I forgot my money in the room!” John said “What?” I whispered to him, “They’re on the roof and are going to ambush us. I’ll be right back.” I hastily walked back to our dorm room, picked up the phone, called Campus Security and calmly stated “There’s a man on the roof of Tucker Hall…I’m not sure if he has a gun or not.” Thank God caller ID wasn’t invented until 1987.

Meme Maker - Did someone say Poker Night?

Bubby’s Betrayal

“I know the feeling of confusion and betrayal. I know the feeling of fearing for my life.” – Jason Reynolds

When Campus Security arrived in full S.W.A.T mode and surrounded Bubby on the roof, he was shitting bricks. Bubby pleaded with them to let him go and that the whole thing was just a stupid prank and it was John and I that had called as a joke. He said he had planned on bombing us with some “water” balloons which most were actually filled with catsup, mustard or Bubby’s urine. Given what we did to him in Florida, he had every reason to retaliate against us. He just sucked at it. Scared to death, when the officer said “Your friends that called said you may have had a gun.” Bubby defensively and accidentally blurted out “They’re the ones with the guns in their room!” Uh-oh. This, unfortunately, was a true statement. John and I kept two shotguns hidden deep above our room far into the ceiling tiles. These were only used when we would stay the weekend and go dove hunting (which was rare.) If we were caught with firearms in our room, it was grounds for immediate, permanent dismissal. Our response to Bubby’s prank had just crossed the line.

Meme Creator - Funny why am I surrounded by stupid. Meme Generator ...

Search & Seizure

“Getting caught is the mother of invention.” – Robert Byrne

John and I were back in our room laughing about the fact that Bubby was probably squirming at the moment and whether he would need to change his underwear. We knew he wouldn’t get in any major trouble, except maybe getting written up for going on the roof. That’s when the “Boom! Boom! Boom! came pounding through our dorm room door. John and I looked at each other with an “aw shit” grin on our face and John casually opened the door. Standing there were two Campus Security officers. In a very terse voice, one of the officers proclaimed “We need to search your room!” John looked over his shoulder at me, turned back to the officer and yelled “No!”, slamming the door in the officer’s face. He then turned to me and said “We’re fuc&ed!” The booming began again and we both agreed that there was no other option but to let them in. I took the lead and opened the door the next time, turning on whatever charm I had and stated “Sorry officer…My roommate is having a bad day. He just found out his girlfriend cheated on him due to his small wiener and he failed his mid-term exam.” John didn’t like my creative ad-lib so he lobbed a textbook and several expletives at me. I told the officers to make themselves at home and search anywhere they liked. They informed me that given the dorms belonged to the university, they didn’t need my permission to search, “But thanks anyway.” John and I laid on our bunk beds feigning disinterest and innocence as the officers searched our closets, drawers, book bags, under our mattresses, inside our pillows and even inside the pockets of some of our dirty laundry. All they found was a lock-blade knife and eight Silver King firecrackers. That was enough to get us in trouble. As the officer was about the leave, he looked up seeing the sagging and stained ceiling tiles and used his night stick to reach up and poke one of the tiles aside. When he did, a shower of crushed empty beer cans came raining out of the ceiling like a clattering aluminum waterfall. There was no way for them to get up into the ceiling to search more thoroughly for any guns, but they were satisfied. They had more than they needed to screw us. As they closed the door, they let us know we would be hearing from the university. Immediately after they left, the phone rang. It was Bubby saying “I’m sorry.”

Wife Material | Women's uniforms, Military women, Female cop
Please officers! Feel free to search John and I. We’ve been VERY naughty boys lately.

Consequences

“Nothing is worth doing unless the consequences may be serious.” – George Bernard Shaw

John and I were subsequently placed on disciplinary probation meaning that if we were implicated in any future violations of school policy, we could be dismissed from the university for a period of no less than one semester and possibly a full year based on the severity of the violation and university discretion. We were cited for possession of explosives and alcohol on campus. They made it sound like we were up on Federal charges! Realizing we were dangerously close to crossing the final line, we calmed our activities for the rest of the Spring semester. We also forgave Bubby because he apologized to us and we never returned the favor. Oh yeah, and because of the Florida incident. The Spring semester ended with a yawn and it was time for us to return home for the Summer. I would be required to get a Summer job, there would be many keg parties to attend and I had three months to decide what to do with my life moving forward. It didn’t take three months. The decision was easy. You know how the old saying goes…”If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Well boys and girls, it’s about time to wrap up the Nasty John saga and move on to other things. This story could go on forever as there are so many tales to tell, so I had to end it somewhere. The next episode will be the last in this series. There we will touch on division, new beginnings, horticultural heists, community service and growing up. You may laugh, you may cry, you may become slightly nauseous. Until next week…Cheers!

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Nasty John (Part 2)

The Driving Force

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

By now, most of you who read Part 1 are probably wondering “why” we acted the way we did. Why would two handsome, physically-fit, intelligent young men fortunate enough to attend the most prestigious regional university in remote Southeastern Louisiana waste their lives? Let me attempt to calm your disappointment. Consider the timing. It was the early 80’s. Animal House was released in 1978 and skewed the way students would look at attending college forever. Toga parties were huge on campus, as were unfortunately parachute pants, big hair and leg warmers. It was anarchy! Have you ever been inspired by a book or article you’ve read? Some people draw inspiration from the Bible. Others are inspired by books from Anthony Robbins, Richard Branson or The Dalai Lama. Our inspiration was National Lampoon magazine (which we both subscribed to). The was one special issue titled “The Utterly Monstrous, Mind-Roasting Summer of O. C. and Stiggs.” The title says it all. It’s about two idiot friends – O.C. “Out-of-Control” Ogilvey and Mark Stiggs, and their outrageous antics over one fictitious summer. We loved it because it had everything we loved…Girls, booze, rebellion, revenge and girls. It became the operating manual for how we would conduct the next several years of our college lives.

National Lampoon was founded by Harvard University, which made us feel smart.

Chicks…Check ‘Em Out!

“A bachelor’s life is no life for a single man.” – Samuel Goldwyn

John and I liked girls…a lot. We decided that we were going to change our approach in meeting girls. We were going to take a much more assertive, confident, mature approach. No more introducing ourselves with fake names like Mike Hocksbig, Hugh Jorgin or Dick Gozinya. No more bad pick-up lines like “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” or “Was your Mother a beaver? Cause Damn!” or “I’m glad I have my library card because I’m totally checking you out!” We still, however, used “Do you work at Subway? Because you just gave me a footlong” and “I like to stay on top of things…Would you like to be one of them?” Just kidding, but maybe not. We decided to use our pseudo-cartoon-celebrity recognition as a way to break the ice. We would frequent our local drinking establishments like The Sting and survey the room for two attractive girls. Then, like a cheetah sneaking up on its prey, we would go in for the kill. It went something like this. “Hi, my name’s Jerry…What’s yours?” (I never really listened to the answer) And your name? (Again, not listening). Guess who my friend is? The girls asked with a confused look on their face “Who?” “Guess!” “We don’t know.” “It’s Nasty John.” “Who?” “Nasty John from the school newspaper. Take a look at his face until you recognize him.” “Oh my God! It is him!” “Can we buy you girls a drink?” “Sure!” Fortunately, it was Thursday night and draft beer was 25 cents and mixed drinks were 50 cents. Never has $ 5.00 gone so far. The trap was set. Imagine a cheetah dragging his conquered prey into the tall grass. That rarely happened. In our defense, our new scheme to meet girls worked great. The only part that didn’t was the actual “bringing girls home” part. What we failed to include in our plan was the fact that in addition to creative opening lines and free drinks, girls apparently wanted sensitive guys who listen and have money, charisma, things in common, intelligence a big package and “feelings.” No such man exists in the world today…except me.

Brand Building – (Mardi Gras 1983) Each dorm got to pick a theme for the Southeastern parade. Our theme was “US”. I drew cartoon caricatures of everyone in the parade. All the girlies got all the beads. How could you not love us?

Sorority Scheming

Profit is sweet, even if it comes from deception. – Sophocles

John was the university photographer. As a result, he would get many invitations/assignments to photograph the many soirees and events that were held by the many sororities on campus. They would hold various functions like award ceremonies, dances, theme parties of a philanthropic, social or chapter nature. John would always take me along as his assistant to help carry his lighting, camera bags and equipment. I also had a camera to assist in capturing the many special moments of the event. I must have posed hundreds of girls and taken thousands of photos that were never developed because there was no film in my camera. It was all part of a ruse to get me into the event. I had to look legit. When I asked John why I couldn’t have film in my camera he stated “Film costs the university money and I’ll get in trouble for developing hundreds of your out-of-focus pictures of nothing but cleavage.” While a pig at heart, he was fiscally responsible. One thing to note was that the large camera bag I carried was always empty. There was a reason. At a given point in the event, John and I would carefully choreograph our moves. It was a thing of beauty. Think “Dancing with the Stars.” While John would summon all the girls to get together for a group picture (which took forever because it’s girls), I would raid the food table/buffet and fill the empty camera bag with finger sandwiches, cookies, spring rolls, cold cuts, vegetables, cocktail weenies and anything else I could fit in the bag. Given the girls would want several retakes because their eyes were closed, they were laughing or mostly talking, it gave me ample time to clean them out. Afterward, back in the dorm room, we would descend upon our spoils like a pack of hyenas fighting over a fresh carcass. After the alpha-males John and I would eat our fill, we would offer the remains to our friends. Several of the girls would notice the missing food and wonder which one their sisters was binge eating and purging. Surprisingly, given that most of the sororities were so bitchy to each other, they never talked and our actions were not discovered in advance. To this day I bring an empty camera bag to Golden Corral.

Pin on bid day
Hurry up and take the damn picture! We all have to pee!
Best Animal House GIFs | Gfycat

James the Believer

“Fanatics do not have faith – they have belief. With faith you let go. You trust. Whereas with belief you cling.” – Yann Martel

James lived in the dorm room across a very narrow hallway from us. Our doors were eight feet apart. James was one of the several campus “Holy Rollers” and was part of one of the university Christian organizations. Given that I too, am a Christian and have a very strong faith, I respected James for his zeal for the Lord. I respect anyone who is willing to stand up and defend their faith. The respect was not mutual. James was fanatical in his views and his preaching. He was a fire-breathing dragon of Bible quotes and religious doctrine. Did you ever know someone that was obsessed with something and had to talk about it 24/7? Like the girl I used to date who was obsessed with unicorns, wouldn’t shut up about them and had them splattered all over her bedroom walls, comforter, clothing, underwear and had tattooed on her ass (sorry..TMI). I always thought that if James ever had the chance to meet Jesus, our Savior would tell him “Dude, take it down a notch.” While he would boldly proclaim his piety, he would judge people based on his own views and beliefs. He believed John was possessed by demons and that I was a heretic. He was always telling me I needed to be saved even though I informed him I had checked that box at baptism. Frequently, we would open the door to our room to find religious brochures shoved under the door. Compounding the fact was his proximity to our room. Every time we committed any type of violation of campus rules he would run up to the the Resident Assistant’s office to report our indiscretions. It was like having a little brother who told Mom and Dad every time you did something wrong. There came a point in our time where our tolerance ran out and something needed to be done. We declared a Holy War.

Funny anti christian Memes

The First Crusade

“Once you start a war, you have to win.” – G. Gordon Liddy

While James was extremely animated in his preaching, he was a modest guy. It was well known on the first floor of McKneely Hall that Saint James waited until late in the evening to go “Number Two” when everyone was tucked away in their rooms. He liked his privacy. Possessing this valuable information, we hatched our plan. John and I hung a couple of soda cans tied together on his outside doorknob. When James exited his room for his 11:00pm constitutional, the cans rattled loudly and startled him. Thinking it was a stupid prank we had pulled to scare him, he proceeded to the community bathrooms midway down the hall. The cans were actually an alarm that notified us when James was leaving his room. Giving him adequate time to select a clean stall and get settled in, we departed our room on our mission. In our possession was a strong explosive “firecracker” called a Silver King. Think of an M-80 on steroids. It packed a punch. While James was in the stall, we placed the Silver King inside an empty grey garbage can and put it on a “delayed fuse”. A delayed fuse is when you insert the fuse halfway down the side of a cigarette and light it. As the cigarette slowly burns down, it eventually lights the fuse and BOOM! We inserted the fuse close to the end for a shorter delay and lit the cigarette. The next two minutes gave us ample time to sneak back to our room, turn off the lights and climb into bed. The explosion and concussion was incredible and shredded the garbage can to pieces. The shock blew James off the toilet onto the filthy bathroom floor. Adding to his horror was the entire first floor of students opening their doors, running into the bathroom to see what happened and seeing ” Modest James” covered in crap with his pants still around his ankles. Conspicuously missing from the crowd were John and I, feigning sleep and lack of involvement in our room. Bad move. Our lack of reaction or appearance immediately pointed the finger at us…and that’s when we got “The Call.”

File:Silver Salute Crackers.jpg - Wikimedia Commons
BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE !

Mrs. Donna / House Mother

“To be old and wise you must first be young and stupid.” – Author Unknown

The phone in our dorm room starting ringing. We didn’t answer. It rang again. then again. We knew who it was. It was our Resident Assistant/House Mother, Miss Donna. She never understood why we called her our House “Mother.” She was a bitter 60 year old woman who had no business being around the younger generation but most importantly, she hated John and I. No matter what happened, even if it wasn’t on our floor, our phone would ring and we would get called to her office. I reluctantly answered the phone and said “Dominos?” It was a manic Mrs. Donna wailing at me saying “You and John get your asses to my office right now!!! I calmly stated “We can’t come right now.” She yelled “If you don’t get down here now, I’m writing you both up!!!” I again calmly stated “We’re not ready to come just yet.” She then screamed “Last chance! Now or you’re done!” Knowing we were pushing the limits, we finally complied and headed to her office. We politely knocked and when she opened the door she shrieked “Oh my God! What the hell is wrong with you!!!?” There were John and I standing at her door wearing nothing but our tighty-whities. I smiled at her and stated ” I told you we weren’t ready to see you.” As Mrs. Donna continued to scream at us to get out, I did notice her glancing just a little too long at our banana hammocks. Naughty lady….

Angry Old Woman - Newest images - page 1 | Meme Generator
Go cry to the Dean bitches!

Judgment Day

“Judge not, lest you be judged” – Jesus

Judas James had betrayed us. He violated the ninth of the ten commandments. Bearing false witness against your neighbor. He had fabricated a story that while dropping a deuce at 11:06pm, he had seen us enter the bathroom through the cracks between the stall door. He said he didn’t know what we were up to, but then the explosion occurred. Truth is, had he actually seen us he would have hauled-ass out of that bathroom stall as fast as humanly possible. Given all of the evidence was circumstantial, we got off easy. We received an official warning from the university that any future violations would result in us being placed on disciplinary probation for the rest of the year. One more slip-up and we were done. We proudly framed our official reprimands and hung them on the outside of our dorm room door like a badge of honor for all to see. They had won the first battle. But as you know, it’s not about who wins the battle but who wins the war. We were coming…and there was nothing they could do to stop us.

The Ten Commandments and the Tabernacle (Exodus 19-40)
JAMES! YOU SUCK!

More to Come

I’m exhausted. Reliving these experiences is wearing me out. Be sure to keep an eye out for Nasty John – Part 3. There, we will delve in tales of lost innocence, Bubby’s betrayal, search & seizure, consequences and new beginnings. To make it easy to follow me, I’m including a link to the exact page you are already on but can’t find the damn follow button. Hope you’re enjoying Hot Jeremiah.

Click on this link: https://hotjeremiah.com/follow-me/

Then find this button:

If this doesn’t work, I give up.
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Nasty John (Part 1)

The Beginning

“I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.” – Helen Keller

Keep in mind as you read this, that this is just the warm up. The prelude. There’s just too much that happened to recant in one post. The following story is the tale of two unlikely friends and their adventures in collegiate terrorism. As always, I assure my readers that the facts contained in this blog are 100% true.

We met each other in high school. John was a quiet, introverted individual who had “trouble” written on his forehead. There was a certain mysterious darkness about him that intrigued me. Given that I was an extreme extrovert, I immediately engaged him and began the process of peeling back the layers of the onion to find out what this guy was all about. In my opinion, John was a troubled soul that needed saving, and I would be the savior. That never happened. He was just a regular dude with trust issues. Please note that I was not a rebellious person. Yes, I drank too much alcohol and got in a fight just about every weekend, but I never skipped school, never smoked pot, tried to be nice to people and valued my friendships dearly. John brought out the naughty side of me. Better yet, the “nasty” side of me. I started doing things and taking chances that I never would have taken. It was fun and exhilarating at the same time. Over time, a close friendship was born that would result in a chain reaction of stupidity and shenanigans that historians and scholars will deem as “ridiculously immature”. Thus begins the story of Nasty John.

(Left to Right) – Randy, Nasty John, Jim & Yours Truly

McKneely Hall

“Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life son” – Dean Vernon Wormer

Following an absolutely average academic career at Slidell High School due to pure apathy and a desire to party, John and I both applied to Southeastern Louisiana University (SLU – a.k.a. Slow Learners University) and were accepted. Go Lions! As with most universities back then, first-year freshmen were required to live on campus. John and I submitted our housing request to room together. While most people will deem it the worst decision ever made by the SLU administration, others (John and I) would deem it the greatest thing ever to happen to that campus. Our application was accepted. We were going to be roommates! We were assigned to our dormitory, McKneely Hall. We called it “The Mac”. It was perfectly located directly in the center of campus, near the Student Union and was a perfect base of operation for the covert activities and night raids we would be conducting. It was shaped like a long rectangular, shotgun military barrack. It had a small lobby with a 40 year old sofa, several dated chairs and the door to the Resident Assistant’s dorm directly to the left. In its infinite wisdom, SLU assigned a 60 year old woman as the R.A. for an all-male dormitory. We called her our House “Mother”. She never knew what we were inferring. More to come about her later. There was only one entrance and one exit on the other end of the building. It was designed to monitor the comings and goings of all who lived there. It was a two-story, piece of crap, fire hazard that should have been condemned years ago but the State of Louisiana was too cheap to demolish it and build a new one. The walls of our room were painted cinder block, the wood doors had graffiti from previous detainees carved into the surfaces and they smelled like a combination of Lysol, jockstrap and cabbage. This was the dorm that based on your previous academic record, was reserved for “low percenters”. That meaning there was a low percentage chance that you would make it to your second semester. It didn’t matter…we were home.

Nothing says study, work hard, make good grades and be the best you can be like free, University provided alcohol.

The Lion’s Roar

“I wanted to get a job being creative, and I did.” – Lady Gaga

One thing my father taught me was responsibility. He taught us to that you should work hard and earn what you get. When I was in high school and was dressed and ready to leave on a Friday night, I would would ask him for some money to go out with my friends. He would say “Sure! Go rake the yard first!” Needless to say when he told me to get a job because “College isn’t a free ride!” I took his teachings seriously and applied for the easiest, most “cush” on-campus job. I applied with our school newspaper, The Lion’s Roar, and was hired to sell advertising in the paper and as an illustrator/cartoonist. John did the same and was hired as the head photographer. It was a match made in heaven. This was against school policy as you could not hold and be paid for two separate on-campus jobs, but yet I did given the campus administrators were inept. Selling advertising to local businesses got me connected to every bar in Hammond, LA. I rarely paid for drinks. Being the cartoonist gave me a communications platform to drive the university administration batshit. Fortunately, our department supervisor, Rick, was equally demented as John and I. He was our “mentor”. Many times I would walk into Rick’s office to see him looking out his window with a pair of binoculars. Unfortunately, he wasn’t bird watching. He was watching young female coeds walking to their classes. He had a prime window view that overlooked one of the main walkways on campus. He would say “Jerry! Come over here and check out the rack on the girl in the green shirt!” Given he was my boss, I felt uncomfortable telling him no. That and the fact that I was a man and a pig (not necessarily in that order). While a dirty old man with an appreciation for ogling young female students, Rick saved our asses on more than one occasion. He personally bailed John out of jail and saved me from repeated calls by the Dean to have me fired. But that’s another story. The Lion’s Roar became our personal playground. And we used it to our full advantage.

Our she-witch editor (Daria) and our department supervisor (Rick)
Photo of the Lion’s Roar staff. You will notice John and I are not in the photo or even mentioned in the yearbook. She-witch Daria purposely gave us the wrong date for the photo. She paid dearly (see dead squirrel reference below). Notice the NastyJohn cartoon on the back of the papers they are holding.

Nasty John

“The chief enemy of creativity is good sense.” – Pablo Picasso

I was a cartoonist with no cartoon! How would I earn a living working for the most prestigious and only campus newspaper in Hammond, LA? The answer was living in my dorm room with me. I would write satirical and true stories about the real-life, on-campus exploits of my roommate John. But no one wants to read a cartoon named “John”. It needed “flair” (Office Space reference). Have you ever heard any of the Nasty John jokes? If not, let me explain. It’s about a young elementary school student who the teacher will never call on because he’s unpredictable and always says something profane. Given the mixed audience who may be reading this (including my Mom), I will abstain from sharing an example of a Nasty John joke…but here’s one. John’s teacher asks the class to use the word “fascinate” in a sentence. No one raises their hand but Nasty John. Feeling there is no way John could turn this word into something dirty, the teacher reluctantly calls on John. He then stands up and tells the class “My sister’s sweater has 10 buttons but she can only “fasten eight” because her boobs are huge!” You get the picture. Anyway, that was the genesis for the creation of Nasty John. I created a cartoon strip which featured real-life characters like John, me, our friends Randy, Lance and others. It detailed shit we actually did on campus that no one could prove. It ran every week in the school newspaper. We would sit in the Student Union, see the papers get delivered, watch everyone rush to grab a copy and flip the pages until they found Nasty John. Students (and even some faculty) would laugh when they read it and we knew we were on to something. Then the question was, how would we put it to our selfish use? – See the “Chicks…Check ‘Em Out” Chapter of Nasty John (Part 2).

There was an incident involving a dead cat that I will write about later. Also, Daria (our editor) was a cat lady. You will see the theme repeated.
There was also an incident involving a dead squirrel that ended up in our editor’s desk. Today we are still the lead suspects.

Are you noticing a theme yet? Daria (our editor) was an animal rights activist (which I respect). These cartoons were intended to drive her crazy.

DISCLAIMER – Please note that I would never intentionally harm any animal. These cartoons were created to be shocking, inflammatory and drive certain individuals and staff crazy. The only animals I kill are spiders, cockroaches and mosquitoes and for that I do not apologize.

Daria

“I’m just an individual who doesn’t feel that I need to have somebody qualify my work in any particular way. I’m working for me.” – David Bowie

Have you ever had an arch-nemesis? Daria was ours. She was the she-witch editor for the paper and everything had to be approved by her. She also loathed the existence of both John and I. I’m not sure how to describe her other than a narcissistic, intellectual, sexually ambiguous, know-it-all cat lady who deemed herself superior to everyone around her. She didn’t like the businesses I sold advertising to, didn’t think my cartoons were funny or appropriate (they weren’t) and thought John’s photographs of cheerleaders and sorority girls were too suggestive (they were). What really drove her crazy is that each week I would draw two cartoons. One was morally acceptable and the one I would submit for the “editor’s” approval. The other was morally offensive and would be the one I actually sent to the printer for publication. Imagine Beavis & Butthead before MTV. Complete bait and switch. Every time the paper would be distributed across campus, she would be furious. So was our Dean. There were so many complaints from different campus organizations and the SPCA that I almost got fired several times. But I was resilient. I was bringing in so much advertising revenue that my sins were overlooked. Coincidentally, PETA was founded the same year I started college. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta! Compounding Daria’s utter disdain for us was John and I repeatedly asking her out on dates just to see the disgusted look on her face. We would also stuff socks down our jeans and then when she would tell us we were disgusting we would ask her “Why were you looking at my crotch?” Childish, but quite effective I must say.

bitch be all up in my kool-aid and she don't even know what flavor ...

The Point of No Return

Once John and I realized we were well established and respected figures in the arts, literary and cartoon establishment, we devised plans to use this new found campus pseudo-fame to our advantage. What would follow would be a multi-year series of stupid, immature and sometimes decadent adventures that left people asking “Why?” Grades would suffer, probation would be assigned and police would be involved. I will do my best to chronicle these events so they can be recorded in the historical archives of nowhere. There is one disclaimer though. After reading this you are probably wondering why an intelligent, beautiful woman like Celina would have ever dated me, much less marry me. The answer is that she knew nothing about this part of my life before dating me. I respectfully ask you grant her absolution.

Action Required

Please stay tuned for the next episode which I creatively named “Nasty John (Part 2).” It contains juicy stories regarding our sudden popularity with sororities, becoming on-campus celebrities/chick magnets, gambling, toga parties, marijuana, firearms, protests, explosives, virginity and pizza delivery. You think I’m shitting you, but I’m not. I would never shit my favorite turds.

By the way, I made it easy as crap to follow me. Go to the “Follow Me” page on my site (if you’re reading this, you’re already there) and do what it freaking tells you to do! Follow Me! It’s not rocket science. Don’t make me ask you again or I will Instagram/Facebook shame you. I need to get up to 50 followers to earn a free coffee mug from Google.

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Spring Break

The Disclaimer

I had second thoughts about writing about this particular true story. The primary reason was that I didn’t want anyone to think less of me based on the childish actions of my past. But then I thought, “How much less could you possibly think about me?” The bar was already pretty low. I’m also pretty sure you did a lot of dumb-assed shit in your lives as well. I then thought about how everyone has been dealing with the COVID-19 situation and how we’re all eager to get out and enjoy life again. That’s how I remember Spring Break feeling. We were cooped up in class and couldn’t wait to run out, hit the beaches, drink too much alcohol and act like fools. And that we did. This is a story about one such Spring Break in the pre-Celina era of my life. I was attending Southeastern Louisiana University and was probably around 19 at the time. As a result, I was immature, selfish, impulsive, pretty wild and filled with hormones. As you read this, just keep in mind a verse from a very good friend of mine…”He who is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone…”

Road Trip

“Wherever you go, go with all your heart” – Confucious

We departed from Hammond, LA and headed down I-12, connecting to I-10 towards our ultimate destination, Ft. Walton Beach, FL. The truck was meticulously loaded with all the essentials for a fun-filled vacation. Included were canned beer, bottled beer, keg beer and bathing suits. Subsequently missing from the provisions we had loaded for our 4 -hour road adventure was food, water, sunscreen or cash. We drove to Florida in our friend Bubby’s pick-up. Bubby drove, my friend Randy sat in the passenger seat getting high, and my roommate John and I rode in the bed of the truck drinking beer from the keg and waving at any cute girls we would pass. It was a beautiful, glorious day. What could go wrong?

(Left to Right) Randy, Me, Bubby & John

Stuckey’s

“I think nudity is funny, especially when it’s inappropriate.” – Chelsea Handler

John and I each possessed a superpower. We could turn beer into pee. After letting Bubby know our eyes were floating, we decided to pull over at a Stuckey’s. Do you remember Stuckey’s? If not, let me tell you about them. If you were driving down the interstate and you had sudden mad craving for a cheap souvenir, peanut brittle or a pecan log roll, Stuckey’s was your destination. We pulled in, parked, peed and then got in line at the register to purchase whatever roadside travel-stop crap we had each selected. Standing in line in front of us were two very attractive girls wearing suggestively tight tube tops and shorts that left most of their caboose exposed. John, being the Southern gentleman he was, politely tapped one of the girls on the shoulder and said “Excuse me Ma’am.” She turned, smiled and said “Yes?” John returned the smile and said “I have to tell you, you have a magnificent ass!” As I waited for the loud slap to occur across John’s face, she surprisingly stated “Well yours isn’t too bad yourself!” That started John and my dialog with the two fine young ladies. We attempted to get to come to Ft. Walton with us but they respectfully declined stating they were on their way to Tallahassee, FL to open a new nightclub. They commented that a couple of good looking guys like us shouldn’t have any problem getting in trouble in Ft. Walton. They paid for their merchandise and departed. John and I were next in line and did the same. As we exited the front door, the two girls pulled up in a black T-Top Chrysler Cordoba with a large sign in the back seat that said “Daddy Rabbit’s Playhouse & Gentlemen’s Club”. WTF? They then both simultaneously removed their tops and gave us a preview of the “nightclub” they were opening. As they drove off they yelled “Nice meeting you boys!!!” John, in a desperate attempt to get them to come back did something my eyes can never unsee. He pulled down his shorts to his ankles and naked from the waste down, started gyrating his hips like someone dancing the The Floss. His junk flailed back-and-forth like a bad martial artist swinging half a set of nunchucks all the while yelling “Come back!” If things couldn’t get worse, as he was body-beckoning the two strippers to return, my friend Randy was politely holding the door for an elderly couple that was exiting the Stuckey’s. To this day I remember the shock and horror on that poor man’s face. I also remember the sly smile his wife gave John as she walked passed him to their car.

Stuckey's on Twitter: "Next Exit...#MothersDay! This year, treat ...
And Strippers Mom…Don’t forget the strippers.

The Prankings

“I’ve been doing pranks my whole life, so I guess I’m pretty good at it.” – Bam Margera

When you are young and in college, you prank your friends. Some of the pranks we pulled were a little more severe than most normal college students. Once we checked into to our seaside escape, the prankings commenced. One of the first occurred after Randy passed out cold on the sofa. We had found a can of black spray paint under kitchen sink and thought, what the hell? (See double exposed photo below). Randy had to go to the convenience store to purchase gasoline so he could wash the paint off his legs in the shower, subsequently ruining the shower. The next involved another friend, Alan, who drove in to stay with us for a couple of days at our hotel. He had just returned from basic training for the Marines and was in full jarhead mode. He also did not hold his liquor very well. One night when he passed out, we took markers and decorated his face with swastikas, gave him a puppet mouth, a clown nose and colored both of his ears blue. The next morning everyone loaded up in the truck and I woke Alan stating “C’mon! We’re all going to the Waffle House!” Alan quickly threw on his clothes and jumped in the truck. It took everything we had not to burst out laughing. We all sat our table and the waitress came up, smiled, threw her hand over her mouth and said “Is he OK!?” I said, “He’s just really tired.” When Alan asked “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I told him, “Your eyes are just really bloodshot and puffy.” That is when Alan announced that he needed to pee and needed to go to the restroom. Knowing he would eventually be in front of a mirror when he washed his hands, we threw money on the table for the coffee and hauled ass. We barely made it into the truck before Alan came charging like a bull out of the Waffle House threatening to kill us all. During his long walk back to our hotel, he had plenty of time to cool down plan the many retaliations that would follow.

The first coat is dry. It looks like he’s ready for a second.
Pretty Princess
Pirate, Princess, Pickle Bunny
You know Jerry, we brought cups…

Bubby

“You guys are assholes!” – Bubby

Bubby was a natural human target. Something about the guy just screamed “Screw with me…please!” He was target of frequent pranks during the trip. One afternoon, Bubby was sitting on the toilet contemplating life when a lit 12-pack of bottle rockets was shoved under the locked bathroom door. Bubby instinctively stood and screamed “Shit!” and then he did. We called this one a ‘twofer’ as we had only intended to scare and/or inflict minor injuries on him. Bubby shitting on the floor was a bonus and what we call in Louisiana “lagniappe”. Bubby was victim yet again when he was taking a much needed shower. We picked the lock on the bathroom door and snuck in. As I grabbed the end of the shower curtain, John raised his camera. I threw the curtain open and John snapped off several award-winning pictures of Bubby, buck naked, obviously cold and flipping us off. Those pics would finally be used in the Crown Jewel of pranks. I took the photos and using an Exacto knife, cut out the naked image of Bubby and made my own personal greeting card and mailed it to him at his home. The unintended result that occurred is what made this prank even more special. In my haste and cheapness of not wanting to buy an envelope, I used free Southeastern Louisiana University stationary to mail the card. Upon receiving the official looking envelope from the University addressed to her son and knowing her son’s propensity for bad grades and disciplinary probation, Bubby’s Mom decided to open the envelope. What she extracted was a card designed as a simple country outhouse, complete with a half-moon window cut out of the door. Peeking through that window was an eye. We all wish we could have been there when Bubby’s Mom opened the door to that outhouse to reveal her wet, naked son, standing next to a toilet, holding 12 bottle rockets, shit all over the floor with the caption “Who needs Ex-Lax when I’ve got fireworks!?” I’m laughing my ass off as I write this.

Big Splash by ben - Meme Center

The Road Home

“My wife met me at the door the other night in a sexy negligee. Unfortunately, she was just coming home.” – Rodney Dangerfield

Sometimes Karma’s a bitch. It was check-out day and there was precious little time to prank Bubby one last time. The plan was discussed and Bubby’s fate was sealed. While Bubby was sleeping off his final hangover of the trip, Randy, John and I woke up early, packed our stuff in the hotel and loaded up Bubby’s truck for the trip home. Being the considerate friends we are, we were careful not to wake him. Then we took Bubby’s truck and drove back to Louisiana, leaving him sleeping in the room to check out, explain the deplorable condition of the room, to hear that his damage deposit would not be returned and to find a way home. When Randy dropped me off at home, my Mom came to the door and said “What have you done!? The State Police called here asking about a stolen truck!” Uh-oh. Bubby had played his trump card and now we were the ones scrambling. We were fugitives! Given we really didn’t feel like driving another 8 hours round trip, we paid Randy $40 and a case of beer to go back and pick him up. Bubby eventually called the State Police explaining he was mistaken and that one his friends had “borrowed” his truck without telling him. I narrowly escaped my grand theft auto charges.

At least we brought the keg back! Unfortunately, we had not put a deposit down on Bubby.

Reflections

You would have thought we would have learned our lesson but the pranking continued and with more intensity than ever, always trying to outdo ourselves. Bubby, Randy, John and I all drifted apart over the years. We each went our separate ways but I still like to think that every once in a while a smile comes to their faces when they think about those times. We all do a lot of stupid things when we are young. The lesson is being able to look back, learn from mistakes and improve on how to better execute the stupid things you did and make them stupider. And by the way…I haven’t stopped pranking people. You may be next…if you don’t start following my blog.

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The Birthday

Prelude

The Woodlands, TX. Mid-November, 1992. It was a Friday. The reason I remember this is because it was the celebration of my 30th birthday. It was also the last time I puked (a.k.a. the Technicolor Yawn). Yes my friends, whether you care to know or not, I have been on a “no-vom” run for the last 27 years. Most people celebrate their accomplishments in their careers, families, athletics or academics. I celebrate the number of days since I last threw up. Below is the unbelievable story behind the origin of this celebration. But if you know me, you know it’s completely believable. And as always, it’s 100% guaranteed to be true.

The Deception

“The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.“ – Oscar Wilde

My loving wife Celina wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party. She had planned it on the Friday before Thanksgiving week as many people would be heading out of town to visit family for the holiday on Saturday or Sunday. She also wanted full attendance as it was my milestone “30th”. Given it was on a Friday night, there were two critical things she needed to accomplish to pull it off. First, she needed enough time to allow guests to get home from work, have their baby-sitters arrive and then get to our house. Second, she needed a diversion to keep me from coming home from work early. Being the sneaky-minded girl she is, she enlisted my boss Frank to “take me out for a couple of drinks for my birthday” and not to bring me home before 8:00pm. And that he did. We went to a popular rooftop Mexican restaurant in Houston that was famous for their signature “Perfect Margaritas”. The “Perfect” carried a two-drink limit. I believe the recipe was a mixture of ice, tequila, triple sec, lime juice, LSD and crack cocaine (salt rim of glass to taste). I enjoyed all four of mine. Needless to say that by the time we headed to the party, I was hammered out of my skull. But that was OK…I had no plans for the evening.

The Seabird Monastery: Doom and Gloom and Cartoon Jumpers
These margaritas are making me AWESOME!

Surprise!!!!

“Life is full of surprises. Some good, some not so good.” – Pablo Escobar

As we pulled into the driveway, I invited Frank inside for one last drink. He agreed. When I opened the door I was greeted with an eardrum-busting, pants-crapping “SURRRRPRISE!” (I did not bust my eardrums.). It seemed like there were a thousand people in my home, basically because I was seeing three of everybody by then. I was totally blown away. Everyone was there and I was overwhelmed with appreciation. I navigated my way through the sea of people shaking hands, getting hugs, and kissing great friends and neighbors. I felt truly blessed. There were tons of appetizers, desserts and liquor. When I finally made it into the kitchen there was a tequila shot waiting for me. Yay! Then some jello shots. Yay! Then more margaritas! We partied for what seemed like hours! It was actually only thirty minutes into the beginning of the party when I excused myself briefly “to go check on something upstairs.” That was the beginning of a chain of events I set into motion that would make my birthday memorable for the rest of my life.

drunk on one GIF
Thank you for coming to my party.

Crash & Burn

“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain as does failing to hear and see it.” – Michelangelo

As I scaled Mt. Kilimanjaro (a.k.a. our staircase), I crawled on my hands and knees struggling with all my might to reach the summit. The “altitude” was making me dizzy, nauseous and clouding my judgement. I kept hearing people ask me “Are you O.K?”, but that could have just been the voices in my head. As I reached the peak, I took a deep breath and turned left into our bedroom. I decided to make camp here. As I attempted to establish my base camp, I instead fell forward onto the bed while projectile vomiting all over the new comforter Celina had just bought. As I lay there contemplating my next move, I decided that while very damp, sticky and smelling like chips-and-salsa, this would be a good place to get some sleep until morning. As I surrendered to the elements, I fell fast asleep. Then I woke to the rescue sirens.

Hindenburg disaster - Wikipedia
Just on more shot honey. I’ll be fine!

The Discovery

OK, they weren’t rescue sirens. It was Celina screaming at me and man was she pissed! “What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You disappeared and everyone is asking about you!” “Oh My God! Did you throw up on our new comforter?!” “You ruined the entire party!” Being the smooth operator that I am, I answered “Can I have a kiss?” Surprisingly, I didn’t get one. Celina stormed out and I fell back into a foggy dream state. I’m not sure how much time passed, but I woke up and realized that I was lying in a smelly pool of death. Was I roofied? Who could have done this to me, especially on my birthday?” I could hear the party was still in full swing so I got up, took off my clothes and laid down in the shower. The feel of hot water raining down on me was the only party I needed. As I lay there enjoying my spa night, Celina came to check on me and entered the bathroom with fire shooting from her eyes and nostrils and said “Your going to drown in there!” “I’m fline! Go brack to yur lil’ party!” The next time she came to check on me, I had pulled the shower curtain rod from the wall and was covered in a plastic body bag from head to toe with the water still streaming down on me. She was furious with me and said “See! I told you! You could have drowned!” I replied “Ha! But you were wrong! I could have suffocated!” Given the current shower situation awarded little privacy, I moved my naked self to the kids bathroom and resumed my spa night in the other shower. Again, I fell into a sleepy haze.

shower finger guns GIF
Hey Baby…Want to join me for a little birthday fun?

The Search

“Searching is half the fun: life is much more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party.” – Jimmy Buffet

I’m not sure how much time passed, but I woke up to freezing cold water raining down upon me. Apparently water heaters have limited capacity. Shivering, I shut off the water, gained my senses and listened. No noise…no more party. I wrapped a towel around my wet, chiseled frame and went downstairs. Everyone was gone. Food was put away, dishes were done, presents sat unopened on our dining room table. I then began my search for Celina whom I had disappointed so badly that evening. I called her name. No answer. Checked our bedroom. Not there. Checked the living room. Not sleeping on the couch. Checked the back deck. No one. Now most men would panic in these types of situations, but not me. I was cool as a cucumber. After carefully considering the evidence, there was only one conclusion. That bitch had gone out partying with everyone after my party and left me home to drown! At 1:30am, I walked out of my front door and began my door-to-door search of the neighbors homes for my wife wearing nothing but a wet towel. In the cool November evening, the moisture from the shower glistened in the moonlight off of my rock-hard pecs and washboard abs. I went house-to-house, standing in gardens, peeking in windows, looking for the party that contained my wife. The fact I wasn’t shot and killed was a blessing from God. The police reports the next day would be largely dismissed as no one in law enforcement would believe their was a ghostly-white, wet, incredibly built, towel-bearing Peeping Tom lurking in the Woodlands.

Muscular young sexy naked man wrapped in a silk cloth Door Sticker ...
“Excuse me…i know it’s late…but have you seen my wife?”
Man strips naked at Sky Harbor in front of children
“You don’t understand officer….she’s 5 feet tall….has red hair…”

She’s Alive!

“Joy in looking and comprehending is nature’s most beautiful gift.” – Albert Einstein

I returned home cold, worried and angry as to the whereabouts of my wife. I decided to complete a canvas of every room in our home. Finally, I came upon Celina curled up in our daughter’s day bed. I was elated that she was safe. As I looked at her curled up in the fetal position, I began processing (in my brilliant mind) what brought her to this point. “Oh my God. Look at her. She got so drunk she doesn’t even know what room she’s in!” “She fell asleep in our daughter’s day bed.” It was then I removed my towel, climbed in the bed next to her cold, wet, naked and with the sweet-sour fragrance of Acqua Di Vomite’ cologne. She shrieked at me to leave her alone. “Oh…playing hard to get, are we?” I pulled her towards me under protest, put my mouth next next to her ear and whispered “You were so drunk you fell asleep in the wrong bed.” She then proceeded to deliver a Bruce Lee quality elbow to my ribs and screamed at me “I’m in this bed because you puked in ours you idiot!!!” Oh. Then the entirety of the night came flashing back to me. I watched the evening play before my eyes like a bad dream. What had I done? Oh, I had screwed up. I was in deep shit. And I would pay.

Elated GIFs - Get the best GIF on GIPHY
She’s alive! She’s Alive!

The Aftermath

Saturday morning was not a happy one. Once our kids had returned from their sleepovers, in lieu of going out to get donuts, Celina left to go shoe and clothes shopping with her friends. It cost way more than my party. Part One of my penance imposed by St. Celina the Punitive was that I had to watch our kids all day with a hangover the size of Montana. It was as if each child had their own personal cowbell that they could ring in my skull whenever they chose. Part Two was that I was required to personally call everyone who attended the party and apologize for my behavior. It was incredibly embarrassing and an important life lesson learned. As I lay there licking my wounds most of the day, I pondered what additional lessons were learned as the result of the previous evening. The following is what I deduced:

  1. Tequila is the devil.
  2. Vomiting sucks.
  3. Husbands should be forgiven on their birthdays.
  4. Never use tension shower rods.
  5. I look great wet in the moonlight.
  6. Never have parties on Fridays.

Featured

The Battle of Seville

The Prelude

OK. You can’t make this shit up. If I could, I would be one of the greatest fiction writers of all time. It was a hot August day in 1982. The number one song at the time was “Eye of the Tiger”. That may seem irrelevant, but it may have been a foreshadowing of what was to come. See, that song was from the movie Rocky III which was about preparing for a huge fight. The only twist is that my family made no preparations. None were needed. We were always ready to fight.

A Family Wedding

“People’s personalities get tweaked at weddings.” – Peter Dinklage (Tyrion Lannister)

It began with another routine wedding in my family. Weddings were a frequent occurrence due to the sheer size of my family and a number of accidental pregnancies. Nothing extraordinary occurred at the ceremony. A couple was married, family and friends drank, danced, ate, laughed and celebrated. Everyone enjoyed themselves, no one got in an argument and for the most part everyone kept their clothes on. It was a beautiful, perfect day. Bored yet? Well don’t forget…it was MY family.

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Another great wedding in the books!

Uncle Bill

“Little Jerry…One day you will look in the mirror and say, I want to be just like Uncle Bill” – Uncle Bill at my wedding

For those of you who knew my Uncle Bill, you KNOW I speak the truth. My Uncle Bill was one of the most confident, generous and funny men I’ve ever met in my life. He was extremely entrepreneurial and loved his family more than anything. He was unbelievably confident and in his mind, was correct about everything. He was always willing to remind you how wrong you were. I wouldn’t say he was a vain man, but that would just be me being nice. He was the self-proclaimed Casanova of the family. He never met a mirror he didn’t like and never missed an opportunity to stop at one, pull a comb out of back pocket and slick his hair back and say “Damn Bill! You are one good-looking man!” He always entertained us at get togethers and loved to be outrageous. One day, at a wedding reception at his house, he performed an alcohol-induced striptease for our entire family. He stripped down to his blue Froot-of-the-Looms that revealed two large holes in the rear. Egging him on, we began stuffing money in his underwear as he danced. He claims when he woke up the next morning and went to the bathroom, fifty-eight cents in change fell out of his ass. It was Uncle Bill that was the unintentional catalyst for what was to happen next. In his generosity, he invited family members and friends to a post-reception party at the Seville Lounge in Slidell, LA (which he owned). Drinks were on Uncle Bill!

fat guy speedo GIF
You know you love it!

The Seville Lounge

I have a vision and I know I’m right – Lech Walesa

My Uncle built the Seville Lounge from the ground up. He wanted to bring “class” to Slidell and only HE knew how. His original concept was to build a large, beautiful fountain at the front entrance and name it “BILLY C’S FOUNTAIN LOUNGE”. When he found out the construction costs of the fountain, he quickly scrapped that concept and changed the name to “THE SEVILLE LOUNGE”. He felt that “Seville” would conjure Spanish images of flamenco dancing, bullfighting and beautiful women. He wanted to bring a little bit of “Spain” to Slidell since the only things we had that were Spanish was a La Quinta Hotel, Taco Tico and Old Spanish Trail road. He wanted his club to be the Copacabana of rural Slidell. His original vision never quite came to fruition as when the Seville was completed, it looked like a residential home where someone had stuck a neon beer sign in both windows. Apparently the cost of a paved parking lot was too much as it was also scrapped in favor of gravel. Regardless, it had a bar, pool tables and a dance floor. That was all my family ever needed.

WELCOME TO SPAIN!
(Actual Photo of the Seville Lounge)
38 years later and it’s exactly the same.
(Actual Photo)

The Intrusion

“Uninvited guests are often most welcome when they leave” – Aesop

The party was in full swing and everyone was having a great time. Given it was regular business hours and the parking lot was full, several patrons were stopping in to have a drink and were turned away due to the “private party.” One of those patrons arrived on his motorcycle along with his “old lady” on the back seat. He was dressed as a typical biker would with the name of his biker club emblazoned on the back of his leather vest. The name of his club was the same name of his rather large extended family from Pearl River, LA. For legal reasons and fear of thirty-eight years later retribution, let’s call them the “Knox Brothers”. My cousin Clay (who was a beast) politely engaged him and informed that we were officially closed. The gentlemen understood and was about to leave. That’s when his “old lady” engaged my cousin Ricky in conversation. What she lacked in beauty and youth, she made up for in missing teeth. She offered to perform an oral act on my cousin and he started laughing. When Mr. Knox heard what was going on, a scuffle ensued. Shoves were traded, threats were exchanged and then they left. While it was a brief, unfortunate occurrence, it was time to get back to the party.

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PRIVATE PARTY! FAMILY ONLY!

The Invasion

“The excessive increase of anything causes a reaction in the opposite direction.” – Plato

The first time I noticed there was a problem is when a biker dude with a long pony tail tapped heavily on the bar room window and told me to come outside while referring to me as an intimate part of the female anatomy. The Knox Brothers had returned in full force to exact revenge for their brother’s exile from the Seville Lounge. At the time I was 18 years old, fit, drunk, loved to fight and just happened to have a pool cue in my hand. Invitation accepted. As I tried to run out the front door, I was met by a line of a dozen or more family members trying to run out the same door. They too had been “invited” and one of the Knox Brothers made the fatal mistake of making an unkind comment to one of my aunts. Unforgivable. They would pay dearly. Fortunately, there was also a back exit with no line. I sprinted out the door, cue in hand and rounded the building ready for battle.

Have you ever kicked an anthill, whacked a hornet’s nest with a stick or opened a bottle of Diet Coke just after you dropped it? That’s what happened at the Seville. As my family tells the story, there must have been 30 motorcycles, several vehicles and 40 Knox Brothers waiting for us. In reality it was about 6-8 bikes, 2 sedans and about 12-14 of the Knox Brothers and their associates. What they didn’t know is they had whacked a hornet’s nest of about 30+ codependent brothers, uncles, cousins and friends who were primed with alcohol and ready-to-go. We poured out of the doors in pairs and the battle began.

come at me game of thrones GIF by Sky

The Battlefield

“Battle is an orgy of disorder” – George S. Patton

As the first wave of combatants engaged the enemy, several of us came from around the building to flank their forces and beat the living crap out of them. The collective “Oh Shit” look on the faces of the Knox Brothers was evident, but fight they did. They had mistakenly opened Pandora’s Box, and Pandora was PMS-ing big time. It was pure mayhem. There were 40+ people in the parking lot wailing on each other. Punches were being thrown and landed at anyone or anything that came near us. At one point, I fell on top of my cousin Mike in a ditch and started punching him! People were running, cursing, tackling each other and getting knocked out. It was like a scene from Braveheart but instead of oppressed Scotsmen fighting the British it was a bunch of drunken Irishmen fighting the Rednecks. Throughout the pandemonium, my 80+ year old Great Aunt Claire was standing in the middle of the fighting throwing holy water on everyone while shouting “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”. She strategically kept a large bottle of it in her purse for just such occasions. It wasn’t her first rodeo showering my family with holy water and she was remarkably accurate. I swear this went on for what seemed like 10 minutes, and then it got better.

wrestling brawl GIF by WWE
Stop! I’m your cousin, you idiot!!!

Here Comes The Fuzz!

“I wasn’t planning on going for a run today, but those cops came out of nowhere!” – Unknown

Someone called the police. I know it wasn’t any of us that were fighting and I know it wasn’t any of the Knox Brothers. Hell, we didn’t even have cell phones back then! Two St. Tammany Parish Sheriffs arrived and jump out of their units. They start shouting commands and orders to everyone and were completely ignored. They were totally outnumbered and overwhelmed. Everyone just continued fighting. Being the smart-ass that I was, I believe I may have said something unpleasant to one of the officers that pissed him off. He starting chasing me, playing a running game of catch-me-if-you-can around his police unit. The other officer joined the chase and came from the other direction to trap me. Just as he rounded the front of the unit, my Uncle Richie hit him like a pro linebacker and sent the officer onto the hood of the car. I had escaped. The police, realizing the situation was out of control, called for backup. While waiting for other units to arrive the two officers tried to subdue whomever they could. Sometime during that period my cousin Tommy decided to pull a tactic straight out of the movies. He removed a hand-gun from his vehicle and fired 3 shots into the air to stop the riot. No one reacted and everyone kept fighting…except the two officers. They had Tommy face down in the gravel parking lot, a knee on his back and cuffed in seconds. While he occupied their time, we all continued the brawl. Then we heard the sirens…Lot’s of sirens heading towards us down Highway 190.

cop GIF
Were you involved in the altercation?

Retreat!

“Retreat, hell! We’re not retreating, we’re just advancing in the other direction.” – Oliver P. Smith

Upon hearing police approaching, the Knox Brothers had enough of getting their asses kicked. Those who weren’t unconscious or being pummeled by several of my relatives jumped on their bikes and escaped. Two of them jumped in their white Ford LTD II and began spinning their wheels in the gravel one their way out of the parking lot. While they were attempting to flee to safety, my Uncle Richie was punching the driver in the head through his open window while my Uncle Walter held on to the rear bumper. As he water-skied across the gravel parking lot he continued to scream “They’re getting away!” Everyone ran in different directions. At one point there was a St. Tammany Parish Sheriff chasing one of my cousins on foot down the middle of the highway. To their credit, not a single officer drew his weapon during the conflict. Many of our family members ran back inside the Seville and pretended nothing happened. Some got in their cars and took off. The police were too busy handcuffing people, taking statements and breaking up fights to chase them. Somehow in all the turmoil, I managed to escape.

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Rescue Efforts

When it was finally over, several of my cousins went to emergency room to get stitches and be treated for minor cuts and bruises. A couple went to jail. A few went to the hospital then to jail. We all left the Seville and congregated back at my parents’ house to take a head count, see who was missing and wait for phone calls from the emergency room and the police station. Once we accounted for everyone arrested or hospitalized, we realized several of the wedding attendees were still missing. As the military saying goes, “Leave no man behind!” We decided to go back that night to the scene of the crime given the police were gone and the doors to the Seville were closed. When we pulled into the parking lot, it was like a scene from Children of the Corn. To avoid arrest, several friends and cousins had chosen to run into the woods and hide when the police arrived. When they saw us pull up they started emerging from the woods, battered, bruised and bloody like zombies from the Walking Dead. Once the extraction was complete we headed back to have a few more beers and regale about our victorious conquest of the Knox Brothers forces.

the walking dead zombie GIF
Did you see me kick that guy’s ass?

The Aftermath

“Life can only be understood backwards: but it must be lived forwards.” – Soren Kierkegaard

We made both of the Slidell local newspapers! We were famous! The headlines read something like “Sheriffs Break-Up Riot at Wedding Reception” and “Nine Arrested As Rival Gangs Clash”. We’d never made the papers for any reason except other arrests, wedding announcements and obituaries. The Seville Lounge stayed open for many, many years with my Aunt Mary at the helm as manager and chief bartender. It hosted many other less dramatic family get togethers over the years and holds tons of great memories. Many of the warriors who fought that day have passed, but the legend of our famous battle lives on. After my Uncle Bill’s passing, the Seville was sold and changed names and ownership several times. It always made me sad that none of the patrons who walked through its doors knew what had happened in that very parking lot so long ago. But there was one very important lesson everyone learned that day. Don’t screw with my family.

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The Courtship

The Not Liking

“It’s easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.” – Leonardo da Vinci

Please don’t judge me as you read this. I am a completely different person than the one portrayed in this story (for the most part). The truth is, I was an asshole in high school and pretty much most of college. Everyone knows this including me. I had issues. Let’s leave it at that. Celina and I did not have a fairy tale romance story. We were not high school sweethearts. We did not meet at a party and fall deeply in love to spend the rest of our lives together. The truth is, we barely knew each other, and what we did know, we didn’t like. She didn’t like me, and I didn’t like her. And we were both OK with that. Celina was two years behind me in school. We ran with different crowds, had different friends and liked different things. I liked things of the liquid variety and imbibed quite often. Celina preferred things of the plant variety and did the same. We were polar opposites. Now you might understand Celina’s apprehension if you had known me then. I was quick-witted, devilishly handsome, team captain and valedictorian of my Senior class. Truthfully, I was goofy looking, made bad hair choices, was a “C” student at best, didn’t apply myself and was angry. I played football and ran track just to get out of class. I didn’t take life seriously. But I was justified to myself, because back then, the only approval I needed was mine.

How could anyone not like me? I’m adorable.

The Noticing

“There’s a difference between beauty and charm. A beautiful woman is one I notice. A charming woman is one who notices me.“ – John Erskine

It was a Friday. Everyone at Southeastern Louisiana University (Go Lions!) went home on the weekends. Celina’s friend Melanie asked if they could catch a ride home with me. I had borrowed my cousin Jimmy’s 1970 Pontiac GTO that week because my car was in a perpetual state of being broken down. The air conditioning did not work so we had to ride the 40 miles back to Slidell, LA with the windows down. My “weekday girlfriend”…let’s call her “Charlize Theron” was riding in front passenger seat with her laundry hamper in lap. She was not happy that she had to ride with the hamper in her lap because I had agreed to let two other females ride home with us. The reason Charlize was my “weekday girlfriend” was because she already had a full-time boyfriend she had been dating for the past four years. She went back to him on the weekends. And I was OK with that because I had my weekends free. Remember the first sentence in this blog about not judging me? Celina was riding in back passenger seat wearing blue jean shorts and a white short-sleeved blouse that was apparently missing a button or two. I strategically adjusted my rear view mirror to have a clear view of my not-so-welcome passenger. As we drove with the windows down, I glanced into the rear view to see Celina staring out the window as we drove. “Wow”, I thought…”She’s pretty cute.” Then another thought came into my head. “Wow” I thought…”She has no idea her blouse is blowing wide open and I’m getting a free show.” As the highway matinee continued I almost ran off the road a couple of times because I wasn’t paying attention. “Charlize” would reach over, backhand me in the arm and ask “What the hell is wrong with you?” Every once in awhile Celina would catch me looking. A couple of times I think I caught her glancing back at me in the rear view. I think we might have had an eye make-out session, but I’m not sure. I was too busy looking down her shirt. I know, I’m a pig!

I HAVE A HEAD YOU KNOW….

The Encounter

“We come together, cuz opposites attract” – Paula Abdul

Remember the part about me being an asshole? Well it gets better. I actually had an attack of conscience and realized how wrong it was for me to have a weekday girlfriend and more importantly the reasons I was doing it. I knew what I was doing was wrong. God I hate having a conscience! As a result, I broke up with Charlize. When this happened, Charlize was devastated (why wouldn’t she be?) She sent her close friend Celina to convince me that I had made a mistake and that I should return to being Charlize’s weekday boyfriend. The approach took place at the Brown Door, a local bar in Hammond, LA that all the college students frequented. I was there with several of my friends drinking pitchers of beer. Celina was sent as a liaison…an ambassador of love by Charlize to win me back. Celina gave her half-hearted pitch about how much I loved Charlize and blah-blah-blah and that I should reconsider. When I explained the true nature of my relationship with Charlize, Celina looked at me and proceeded to tell me “You’re a fu@&ing asshole!” She then reached down, grabbed our pitcher of beer and started chugging it. I thought “You bitch! No one talks to me like that! And then I thought “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” It was hot. I was pissed-off and turned-on at the same time! That’s when I devised my diabolical plan. My intentions were not good. In fact they were bad. They were very, very naughty. This girl would pay for her insolence! And I would be the one collecting the naughtiness.

Chugging Drinking GIF - Chugging Drinking PintOfBeer - Discover ...
Let’s count the ways you’re an asshole. One, two, three…Cheers!

The Hunt

“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.” – Colette

Fast forward several weeks, months…shit…I don’t remember. I ran into Celina again at the Brown Door. She was with her best friend Kelly and some other friends playing “quarters” and drinking beer. Being the bad-ass that I was, I approached their table, said hello and gauge Celina’s reaction. Then I asked if I could sit down with them. No one told me to f@&k off and Celina didn’t throw anything at my head so I figured either things were better between us or she was pretty buzzed. We played quarters and made idle conversation as I devised my ingenious scheme on how to be alone with her. When it was time to go home, I asked if I could catch a ride with them. Since Celina owed me a ride, she agreed. I strategically missed the first two drop-offs that were close to my dorm so I could get out at her dorm. The ruse was working. When we got out in front of Lee Hall, I asked Celina if she wanted to drink a few more beers. She of course said “Yes”. The trap was sprung. Could it really be this easy? I’ve never been called the Space Cowboy, Gangster of Love or even Maurice. But damn was I smooth that night. We walked to the convenience store across street and bought and eight-pack of Miller ponies. Tonight was the night my friends. J-Diddy was in the hizzle! The hunter would stalk his prey. The pirate would seize his booty. Did you like the way I incorporated “booty”?

Steve the Pirate - Home | Facebook
I WANT TO BURY ME TREASURE !!!

The Kill

“He that breaks a thing to find out what it is, has left the path of wisdom.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

We decided to walk back and sit on the tennis courts to enjoy our beers. I was already planning how I would make my move and what I would do with her bra. We opened our beers and started talking. Talking. The number one thing you never do when you are trying to get laid is start talking. As the great Elvis Presley once sang “A little less conversation, a little more action.” But what did I do? I talked. Celina started talking about her Dad passing away, how much she missed him and then started crying. That was it. The beginning of the end. It was over. I’m was never very good at math but there is one equation I did understand: Crying + Heartache = No Sex. Peg-Legged Pete retreated and the quest to seduce and conquer the Isle of Celina was put on hold. I’m was a pig, but a pig with a conscience. There was no way I was going to take advantage of this beautiful girl who carried so much pain. After she successfully knocked over all eight beers with her flailing “Italian Hands”, I walked her back to her dorm, gave her a hug goodnight and tried to figure out what to do next.

Best Streaker Fail GIFs | Gfycat
DON’T START WITHOUT ME !!!

The “L” Word

“And they called it, Puppy Love…” – Paul Anka

I called Celina the next morning and asked her to join me at breakfast. She agreed. At the time, she weighed 91 pounds and didn’t eat. While I gorged myself on pancakes and sausage, she pushed around with two ounces of eggs and a piece of toast. Each day after class, we would meet and hang out together, getting to know each other better. Then one night “IT” happened. No! Not sex! Get your mind out the gutter. Have you ever had an epiphany when you know you’re screwed (and not in a good way). No getting out of a situation. No turning back? That was me. I said “IT”. Seven days into our new relationship, we started calling each other each night after spending most afternoons and evenings together to say goodnight. On the seventh night Celina said “OK, see you tomorrow.” I replied “OK, I love you.” NOOOOOOOOO! What had I done? Why did I say that? What the hell is wrong with me? Am I drunk? What prompted me to say those words? The taste of those three words lingered in my mouth like a bad Italian dinner. I committed the number one guy sin. I said the “L” word. Maybe she didn’t hear it. Maybe she heard it, realized it was a mistake and would let me off the hook. No such luck. Celina said “What did you just say?” I said “What? When? Huh? I said goodnight.” She said “No you didn’t. You KNOW what you said. Did you mean it?” I was now the one who was trapped. The hunter had become the hunted. The pirate ship was approaching. I was doomed! After what seemed like minutes of silence, I managed to get enough saliva back in my mouth to answer her. I said “Yes”.

70 Memes That Are So Stupid

Joanie Loves Chachi

“The future for me is already a thing of the past -You were my first love and you will be my last” – Bob Dylan

To this day I can’t remember if Celina ever said “I love you” back. In fact, I don’t think she did. It doesn’t matter. For years I have denied the fact that I said the “L” word that night, but there is no more denying it. What guy tells a girl he loves her after seven days? It was embarrassing to lose my man card at such a young age. I have CRS syndrome (Can’t Remember Shit). Celina has a memory like a computer drive with events organized by type, date, people and outcomes. There was no way I could continue to deny the truth according to Celina. You know the rest of the story. For the last 36 years we’ve been together. I tell Celina I love her maybe 20-30 times a day and it never gets old. The lesson I learned is that you just never know who someone really is. We all pass judgement and assumptions about people based on our perceptions but we really never know their true story. One thing we’ve done over the years is to get to know our friends’ stories. It helps us to understand their true person and makes our conversations and relationships so much richer. Make the effort to know people’s stories, or you could end up like us. Two young people, who based on wrong impressions, almost missed the opportunity to spend their lives together.

Happily Ever After
Featured

The Honeymooners (Another True Story)

Wedding Day

“Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always”- Dante

July 28, 1984. The best day of my life. It was the day I got to marry the girl of my dreams. I even cut my bangs for the event! It was a beautiful wedding attended by a large number of family and friends. My wife was absolutely gorgeous and everyone was trying to figure out how an idiot like me landed a hot chick like her. It was mostly because of the huge size of my did I mention how gorgeous she was? As with most weddings, there were many drinks consumed, lots of dancing, pictures taken, vows exchanged, a drunken conga line and more drinks consumed. Half the wedding was spent trying to keep my side of the family from removing their clothing. People placed bets with one another whether Celina was pregnant (we only dated 8 months) or whether we were just stupid. They were wrong on both counts. Some people whispered in corners that our marriage was “doomed” and wouldn’t last. They said we were just young and stupid to ever get married while still attending college. Hell, even the Catholic Church said we were incompatible and refused to marry us. Who’s laughing now bitches!? Still going strong after 35+ years! It was an awesome, drama-free, wonderful wedding. And then it wasn’t.

Really honey? You went with bangs and a cheesy mustache? On our wedding day?

Bon Voyage!

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” – Seneca

It came time for us to leave. Our family and friends pummeled us with rice and Celina and I got into our limousine to depart. Well it wasn’t actually a limousine. It was a 1978 Mercury Bobcat hatchback. Thanks to my cousins it was covered in profanity and obscenities about the things that were supposedly going to happen later that night at our hotel. They were kind enough to load a styrofoam ice chest full of beer in the back seat for us because nothing says “Honeymoon Romance” like canned Schlitz. After immediately stopping at a car wash, we began our journey to our first stop on our honeymoon adventure. The beautiful Ramada Inn Beachfront hotel on the Redneck Riviera in Biloxi, MS. This was only to be a quick overnight stop before heading to our “real” honeymoon destination….wait for it…..The Ramada Plaza “Resort” in Ft. Walton Beach, FL. This guy spared no expense on his new bride. It had a faux-rock waterfall with a swim-up bar in the pool that Celina was too young to visit. It had everything! It was like being swept away to a Hawaiian Island only instead of hula girls, palm trees and flowers, it had fat guys, a tour bus full of elderly people and a strange smell. And our fairy-tale honeymoon began.

Noodle Whacking GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY
Hurry up honey! We’re going to be late for the noodle whacking class!

The Accident

“The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.” – Aristotle

As we headed South towards Highway 90, a light rain started to fall. Celina and I were still reeking from the gaga love haze that surrounded us due to the emotional events of the day. We were married! Yay! Some mushy love song came on the radio and that triggered the waterworks. Celina started crying (something she hadn’t done all day). I thought it was because she realized that she was now stuck with me for the rest of her life. I couldn’t stand to see the sight of my beautiful new wife crying. Not because it upset me, but because it was making her mascara run. As I was reaching over and trying to console her, I wasn’t paying attention to the road. When I finally did, that’s when I looked up and hit the brakes, only to slide on the wet pavement right into the back of a flatbed trailer. The ice chest full of beer came flying from the back seat and smashed into the dashboard. After checking to make sure the beer was OK, I then checked on Celina. She was shaken up, but fine. Fortunately, the truck was owned by a Mississippi Judge which guaranteed I wasn’t getting out of this. Given Celina was under the legal drinking age of 21, I began chucking the beers in the woods before the cops got there. The car had to be towed to Celina’s Mother’s camp in Kiln, MS. After removing our luggage and hang-up clothes from the car, we had the pleasure of being personally chauffeured by the Mississippi State Trooper in the back of his cruiser. He spent the 30+ minute drive to Gulfport, MS telling us about his divorce and what a vile, horrible woman his ex-wife was. He also explained to us that we were crazy for getting married, that we could expect a lifetime of heartache and betrayal and that he vowed to stay single the rest of his life. The asshole State Trooper then told us that he would only gave us a ride to the Mississippi Highway Patrol Office in Gulfport, MS. We would have to take a cab the additional 13 miles to our hotel in Biloxi.

Mississippi :: State Trooper Plates
Only YOU can prevent marital bliss.

A Glimmer of Hope

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” – Oscar Wilde

The cab arrived and we loaded our crap into the car. Celina’s eyes were red from crying and I was beginning to wonder if this was an omen of our future life together. To hopefully make things better and take the edge off things, I begged the cab driver to pull over at a liquor store and turn off the meter. Initially he didn’t want to do it but after hearing the story of the disastrous start to our marriage, he agreed. He eventually dropped us off at our hotel, we grabbed our luggage and went inside to check in. What we didn’t grab was our hang-up clothes which proceeded to drive off in an unnamed cabbie’s vehicle. Are you f-ing kidding me? We needed a drink. The legal drinking age in Louisiana was 18 at the time, but in Mississippi it was 21. Celina was only 20 so she couldn’t go to the bar. Man was she pissed when I finally left the bar two hours later and came back to the room.

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IDIOT!

Consummation

Bow Chicka Wow Wow… – Porn

Really? You thought I would write about the details of our wedding night? You may have issues that need addressing. Consummation was not necessary that evening as that bell had been rung some time ago and my new bride was an emotional wreck. I won’t get into all of the sexy details, but if I can brag for a minute…I WAS AMAZING! It just would have been a lot more fun had Celina been with me at the time.

O face gif 2 » GIF Images Download
You should have been there.

The Road to Paradise

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” – Confucius

One thing you should know about me. I’m no quitter. I was bound and determined to make this honeymoon the best ever. I had an idea. I would rent a car and we would drive the next day to our paradise destination in Florida. I was 22, had no credit card and was going to pay cash. Apparently to rent a car with cash in 1984, they required “proof of employment”. I emasculated myself and placed a call to my Uncle Bill (who was also my employer) to verify my employment for the rental car company. The first this he said was “I told you not to get married! See what happens!” Being the generous man he was, he paid for the car on his credit card. We were on our way!

The AMC Pacer from 'Wayne's World' Just Sold at Auction
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta…

The Shit Show

“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” – Marilyn Monroe

As fate would have it, as we arrived at our honeymoon destination, a Tropical Depression decided to form in the Gulf of Mexico and start its slow progression onshore in Ft. Walton. We are Day 1 into our honeymoon and gale force winds are blowing and its torrentially raining. Upon realizing what an incompetent ass she had married and realizing this was the worst honeymoon ever, Celina decided “F@&k it!…I’m drinking the rest of this trip!” There is usually advanced warning of a Tropical Storm or Hurricane. There was no warning for this. As Celina drank, she started making demands like “I want to walk on the beach!” I tried explaining the current weather conditions but it didn’t matter. I was going to make my wife happy. As we dodged pool furniture and beach umbrellas that were tumbling down the beach in 45 MPH winds, she then decided “I’m cold! Let’s go into the hot tub”. Again, anything to make my wife happy at this point. She then proceeded to do unspeakable things to me in front of two 70+ year old sisters in the hot tub with us. When I told Celina to stop she told me “They’ve seen it before!” Then she told them “Take a picture…it will last longer!” I then convinced her that food was desperately needed and that I had made reservations at an incredible steak house that night. We were going to celebrate the first night of our honeymoon in style. Celina continued her self-medication by imbibing in additional drinks before dinner. We each ordered a steak, baked potato and grilled asparagus. Celina ate none of it but did eat three loaves of complimentary bread. After the thirtieth time of telling me “This bread is f@#&ing delicious!” and repeatedly asking the server for the recipe, it was time to leave.

drunk on one GIF
“I’m not as think as you drunk I am…”

There’s No Place Like Home

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened. – Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss)

The next three days went pretty much the same. Celina stayed drunk and I kissed her ass the rest of the weekend. It was finally time to leave and go back to the reality of our lives. As we drove our rented rattletrap back to Biloxi, we weren’t sure the car would make it as the steering wheel shimmied, the rear wheel bounced up and down and it made horrible noises. Just so I could demonstrate to Celina what a macho, reliable husband she had, I then had to call her Mom to pick us up in Biloxi because we had no ride home. It was the honeymoon dreams are made of. Well, maybe nightmares.

Reflection

The German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche once quoted “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.” It turns out that he was right. After the unbelievably unfortunate events that occurred during our honeymoon, we’ve never looked back. Our lives and our love for each other have grown exponentially over the years thanks to a loving God, strong faith, a great family, incredible friends and the ability to laugh at ourselves for the dumb-assed things we’ve done over the years. I consider myself one of the luckiest guys on earth…because I’m still on my honeymoon with the love of my life.

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The Great Hula Hoop Incident of 1994 (A True Story)

Please note before reading this that I love my family dearly. They will not get angry when they read this as they already know how screwed up they are. This depiction will not be news to them. We’re not a vain family. If we were, we would be much more attractive and take much better care of ourselves. Enjoy the show.

The Tradition

“Just because something is traditional is no reason to do it.” – Leminy Snicket

I come from a large, loving, dysfunctional family. Actually, we’re not dysfunctional, we function very well together. We could be more accurately described as codependent. We drink too much, love too much, care too much (about each other). Everyone else can pretty much go to hell if they disagree with us on anything. Our family heritage is primarily Irish and German which means we drink way too much alcohol and are bent on world domination. We have actually discussed invading Poland. Over 50 years ago, the “Elders” in my family started an annual pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, AL. The ENTIRE FAMILY would take a 3 day/3 night vacation together, because seeing each other every weekend for crawfish boils, fish fries, barbeques and birthdays just wasn’t enough. Please understand that this trip included my parents, sister, (12) Aunts & Uncles, (15) first cousins and various friends and tag-a-longs. We would rent a beach house every year and pile everyone in on top of each other. No one slept, everyone was too loud, mealtimes were nightmares, there were fights, a few arrests, an hour wait to take a cold shower and God forbid you had to go “Number 2”. The entire family would complain about how long you were taking, ask you “how did it go in there?” and then announce to everyone how bad the bathroom smelled afterward. It was ridiculous…And I LOVED IT.

You got to love a grill held up by beer cans. (Left to Right). My Uncle Frank (who named me Otis), Me, My Dad, My Aunt Cathy, My Aunt Barbara (hidden) and My Mom.

The Migration

Thursday was the day everyone drove to Gulf Shores from New Orleans, LA, Slidell, LA, Mobile, AL and other distant lands. Imagine the Jews exodus from Egypt, only much less organized and no Moses coordinating the effort. Imagine a swarm of giant, pale-skinned Irish locusts swarming in to destroy a gulf coast town and everyone else’s good time. Imagine a pod of whales swimming at top speed towards the shore only to beach themselves on a white sandy beach. (That was probably the best visual I could give you). That was my family. Preparation consisted of everyone packing food, alcohol (way too much), beach chairs, tents, etc. and very little clothing, hats, sunscreen, first-aid supplies or self-control. None was needed. We were fun, bad-assed and invincible.

Thinking of Packing These 7 Items for Your Next Travel Adventure ...
Dad? Can we stop? I have to pee.

Over the years, after being banned from re-renting the same beach houses and word spreading about our behavior, my family was driven from our promised land of West Gulf Shores. We were driven East all the way to the Florida border and settled at the Phoenix X Condos in Orange Beach, AL. Just to clarify…the “X” stands for the Roman numeral (10) as we were exiled from the other (9) Phoenix condos. It was next door to the world famous Flora-Bama Beach Bar located on the AL/FL border. This was the perfect location as our family could walk next door to drink instead of driving. When we were were thrown out of the bar, stumbling home was no problem. Another convenient benefit was that our baby monitors worked “most” of the time while we were next door partying.

The Invasion

“I take the invasion of my personal space very seriously.” – Kid Rock

EVERYONE knew when my family arrived in Gulf Shores. It was kind of like how animals can sense an earthquake before anyone else. Everyone and everything avoided us. Rip tides moved further down the beach to get away from us. Sharks complained to other sharks about the shitty taste in the water. Sand crabs refused to come out at night. Parents covered their children’s eyes. People prayed. Upon arrival, my family made the beach look like a refugee camp. The beautiful view of the white sand from the condo balconies were replaced with a sea of LSU and New Orleans Saints tents, ice chests, and beach chairs. There were several injuries in previous years resulting from beachgoers stepping on our white legs because they could not see them as they blended into the sand. As a result, we blocked off an area of the beach with orange cones for my family to sunbathe (see below).

Tens of thousands of walruses are stranded on this Alaskan beach ...
Pass the the sunscreen please….
Safety First!

” Let’s Meet at Hooters!”

“Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.” – Cary Grant

In 1994, using the excuse that it would take forever to check in and get our keys, most of the family decided to meet at the local Hooter’s for drinks and wings and to catch up with each other. My wife and I checked in easily and it took about 5 minutes. Being the loving wife she is, she said “I’ll watch the kids, you go have beers with your family.” A truly generous offer, but based on past history, not a brilliant one. I arrived at Hooters and after a few minutes of pleasantries…game on.

Immediately the festivities started and I was participating in a mustard juggling contest, a dance off, and then the infamous “Hula Hoop Challenge”. After a series of minor contests, I raised the bar by claiming I could run and jump through a Hula Hoop without busting my ass (imagine a Siegfried & Roy tiger jumping through a flaming hoop). Yada, yada, yada…the young Hooters girl held the Hoop of Hula vertically, I charged forward and in my best Bruce Lee jump-kick move I launched through the hoop and landed on my feet. The crowd went wild. I was raised on people’s shoulders, my tab was comped and I received marriage proposals from Hooters staff (mostly the guys in the kitchen). There were witnesses to this event that can attest to its accuracy. Many have mysteriously disappeared, most were too impaired to remember and others are family members who are taking my word for it…but it really happened.

Mustard Juggling. It’s a real sport!
Moves Like Jagger
Skills. Check ’em out!

The Idea

“No Idea Is So Outlandish That It Should Not Be Considered With A Searching But At The Same Time A Steady Eye.”– Winston Churchill.

It was almost an epiphany. My cousins Shannon, Brian and I came up with an amazing idea to bring joy into the lives of our family and friends. Why don’t we make it look like Jerry got injured and bring him back to the condo? When everyone asks “What happened?” our hilarious answer would be “Jerry got into a Hula Hoop accident!” We could not wait for the hilarity to commence. As with any great performance, it takes preparation. My cousin Shannon immediately went to work on my makeup. She expertly blackened one eye, patched the other, stuffed cotton between my gums, and strategically placed band-aids on my neck, chin and both earlobes for maximum effect. While she completed her masterpiece, my cousin Brian and I rehearsed our best Johnny Carson / Ed McMahon set-up for the soon-to-be delivered performance.

Let the hilarity begin!

The Incident

“Ideas Won’t Keep. Something Must Be Done About Them.” – Alfred North Whitehead.

Giddy with anticipation of how hilarious we would be, we knocked on the condo door with my cousins supporting me on each side as if I couldn’t stand by myself. We were ready to take the stage. My niece Brittany was the first to open the door. The look of horror on her face was apparent. She covered her mouth and screamed “Aunt Neena! Come quick!” When my wife Celina came to the door and saw me, she covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes filled with tears, and her face turned white. The utter terror was obvious. This caused a collective “Oh shit, maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” between me and my cousins. But the show must go on. My sobbing wife then asked me “Oh My God! What happened to you?” There it was! The perfect set-up! That is when I delivered the punch line “I got into a Hula Hoop accident!” Oh, it was a “punch” line alright. While I was waiting for Celina to realize how funny we were, her face turned from white to red, her eyes widened and she punched the shit out of me. I’m telling you, Mike Tyson has nothing on this chick. She’s only 5 foot tall, weighs a hundred-and-nothing but she’s freakishly strong. She then proceeded to slam the door in our face, ran into the bedroom and locked herself in crying.

The Aftermath

“If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?” – William Shakespeare

While I was still seeing stars, my cousin Brian approached the bedroom door begging Celina’s forgiveness for the stupid thing we had done. I instead went to the bathroom to admire what a great job we did on my makeup. After an extended amount of time, Celina finally emerged. I eventually convinced her how sorry I was, begged forgiveness and asked if I could give her a hug. She reluctantly agreed and we embraced. That’s when I started to giggle. Everyone knows what destruction hurricanes have wreaked on the Gulf Coast. None of that compared to the pounding I took from Celina. Katrina was a Category 5. Celina was a Category 10. I wouldn’t call what she did to me domestic violence, but that was only to keep her from going to jail. Needless to say the rest of the vacation didn’t go well for old Jerry. I pretty much was relegated to watching the kids and serving her drinks while Celina went to the pool, beach, bar or pretty much whatever the hell else she wanted me to do. She wouldn’t speak to me the rest of the weekend (which most of the time is a good thing). After a long day of partying and passing out that night, she took a sharpie and wrote on my lower back “POOP COMES OUT HERE” and drew an arrow pointing to my butt crack. I wish someone would have told me it was there over the next three days. My back-tat became the talk of the beach. The most damage was done to our credit card. It took a worse beating than I did. Celina used my idiotic behavior to justify a shopping spree that consisted of new bathing suits, sandals, dresses and designer sunglasses. Did I learn a lesson that day? Of course. A very profound lesson. Some people just can’t take a damned joke.

Reflection

Writing this made me realize how much I miss those days. Times were simpler. Our kids were kids, family was everything. Over the years, we’ve gone less and less with the family to Gulf Shores for a variety of bullshit reasons. The crowd has thinned and many of the Founding Elders have passed away and handed the torch to us. I’d like to think that our next generation will continue this tradition and make it even better. Stop making excuses. Seize every opportunity to spend time with your family. If you don’t, you may end up a guy in his late 50’s who desperately misses his family and reminiscing of the way it used to be. And please never forget….Don’t drink and Hula Hoop.

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Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?

Amazon.com: Unoopler Poster Revolution Dream of Chicken Crossing ...

Oh God. Please tell me you didn’t visit this blog to hear the answer. Were you looking for a more profound or enlightening answer to the children’s joke you learned years ago like “What is the meaning of life?”. If you were, leave this site immediately. You have issues that cannot be addressed reading this blog.

The Mind is Terrible Thing to Waste

It’s amazing how a rainy Saturday morning and several Bloody Mary’s can get the creative juices flowing. Given I’ve somehow managed to get you here to read this, I’m going to take this opportunity to let you all know about all of the things that I dislike, irritate me and generally drive me crazy. This has been a long time coming. If you don’t take the time to read this you’ll have to endure me complaining about these things the next time you see me. Sit back, relax and read. Don’t forget, I’m always right:

Jeremiah’s List of Things I Dislike:

+ Miracle Whip – You’re not freaking mayonnaise! Stop pretending.

+ The Word “Bazaar” – I’m OK with “bizarre”, but the word “bazaar” is like fingernails on a blackboard to me.

+ Facebook Posts that Demand Me to Copy and Repost – Don’t tell me that if I don’t copy and repost your post I hate Jesus, puppies, disabled people, etc. Just stop it.

+ Black Licorice – Let’s put the stale taste of death in a chewy string candy!

Eating too much black licorice is harmful, FDA warns

+ Shoe Sales – When my wife tells me she saved me 50% on a new pair of shoes when she could have saved me 100% by not buying them in the first place.

+ Mimes – C’mon man. That’s what you chose for a career?

Bwog » What If… SEAS Were A School Of Mimes?

+ Clowns – See above. They are literally the scariest damn things I’ve ever seen.

+ Anyone Who Drives Faster Than Me – Why are you flying past me when I’m already doing 10 miles over the speed limit? Are you a maniac!? Who do I secretly want you to get pulled over and ticketed when I don’t want the same for myself?

+ Anyone Who Drives Slower Than Me – Get out of the fast lane you asshole! Stop reading your stupid texts messages and looking at your girlfriend’s selfies! Why don’t vehicle manufacturers install missile launchers on the front bumpers of cars? I wish I were Mad Max right now.

+ The Sight of Blood – I’m actually feeling a little woozie writing this line.

+ Having to Fart – Based on previous experiences, I just never know how it’s going to end up.

+ Sex That Lasts Too Long – Ha! That was a joke!

+ The Sprint Guy Who Used to be the Verizon Guy – He tells me “Don’t take my word for it…” Why would I? You betrayed your former employer and have no credibility. You also look like a garden gnome. Can you hear me now?!!! You make me want to eat lead-based paint.

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, standing and outdoor
I’m a douche…But don’t take my word for it….

+ Telletubies – They freak the bejesus out of me.

+ The Kylira Birth Control Girl – Sweetheart. You don’t need an IUD. Just make that face every time you’re with a guy and you’ll be fine.

The Face of Kyleena - Album on Imgur

+ The Xifaxan Commercial – An intestine holding his hands over his ass so he doesn’t crap himself?! Isn’t that an intestine’s purpose?

PuppyMonkeyBaby vs. the walking intestine: What will haunt your ...

+ Nick Saban – No explanation needed . Go Tigers!

+ Bill Maher – Dude. There is literally nothing funny about you. How did HBO give you a show?

+ WebMD – I go there to research a pimple and when I leave I’m scared I might have a brain tumor.

+ The Stupid-Assed Checkout Guy at my Kroger – When I asked him why employees weren’t wearing masks he told me ” Masks are only for people who already have coronavirus”. When I asked him if he thought that the 60 people in the store wearing masks actually had coronavirus he said “probably”.

+ The Stupid-Assed Kroger Checkout Guy Again

+ Showing Up at Your Friends’ House and Realizing You Have Something Stuck in Your Teeth – Then realizing it will be 3 hours before you can get it out.

+ Hemorrhoids – Never had them, never want them.

+ Direct TV – Why can’t I remember the numbers if the only 4 channels I ever watch and not have to scroll through all the channels.

+ People Who Say “Supposebly” – It’s supposedly. “Supposebly” you took English in school.

+ Pepto-Bismol Commercials – Really? C’mon everybody! Let’s sing a song about “nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach and diarrhea!”

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Diarrhea….

+ Zydeco Music – Why not just throw two stray cats in a clothes dryer?

+ The Words “Ointment” and “Moist”

+ People Who Wait Until They Get to the Register to Decide What to Order – I’ve been standing in line behind you for 10 freaking minutes. When the girl says “Can I take your order” you now miraculously discover the giant menu board? “Honey, what are you in the mood for?” I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. You on an episode of The First 48.

+ Walmartians – I’ve seen things I cannot unsee.

+ Billie Eilish – Isn’t the world dark enough already?

Billie Eilish debut album announced: What we know so far

+ Gauged Earlobes – Why? Just Why? Because you needed an extra two holes in your head?

Image result for gauged ears | Ear gauges, Amethyst earrings, Gold ...

+ Tequila – It hates me equally as much as I hate it. It’s pure maniac-in-a-bottle.

+ The Word “Penis” – There are so many other cool names for this like “The Juicy Flute, Mr. Happy, Big Jim and the Twins, Mr. Potato Head, Huey Lewis and the News, Alvin and the Chipmunks and Shlong.” Get creative out there!

Well, I’m exhausted now and my Bloody Mary has long been empty. Thanks for letting me get these off my chest. My next blog will be much more positive. Have a blessed Easter weekend.

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The Jeremiah Story

OK, the first thing you probably want to know, other than “Why in the hell is Jerry writing a blog?”, is where the name “Hot Jeremiah” came from. Excellent question! So glad you asked! There are several inspirations for the name. Let me explain.

The first is the name Jeremiah. This name has been part of my life since I was a young child. It was one of my many nicknames including Little Jerry (my Dad was big Jerry), Jerry Pat, Otis, and That Asshole Jerry (my peeps from High School used that one). It was well-earned.

The second is that it’s my favorite of all Bible versus (Jeremiah 29:11) as it’s a promise of hope and an assurance that God has our back. He’s had mine on more than one occasion and I’m relying on Him now to pull me out of some deep shit right now. But that’s for another blog.

The third is that Jeremiah was a bullfrog. He was good friend of mine. I couldn’t understand him because he spoke German, but I helped him drink his wine. And he always had some mighty fine wine. He also was a singing bullfrog which is rare. He brought joy to the world, to all the boys and girls, and the fish and you and me. Three Dog Night was one of my favorite bands growing up. Always loved that song because it was fun and stupid, just like me.

The fourth reason is that “Jeremiah’s” was the name of my Dad’s favorite bar off Canal Boulevard in New Orleans. He spent most days, nights, weekends and holidays there while he was pretending to go to work. OK, maybe not that much time but he went there a lot. It was a gathering place where he would meet his friends, co-workers, brothers and his bookie and they would drink, argue about politics, tell lies, tell jokes, play Bouree (Booray), get in fights and then forgive each other the next day….Just like this blog (except no politics).

The fifth and most important reason is that when I signed up on WordPress to register the site, the only URL with the word Jeremiah in it was hotjeremiah.com. And it sounded cool. Like me.

Why Now Jerry? Isn’t There Enough Pain In the World?

I’m a man of many words and very little action. I scream at stupid football coaches on TV when I’ve never coached college or professional sports in my life. I’m a bastion of useless knowledge in a world where people are easily entertained. I feel sorry for the Tiger King. Hell! I don’t know! I guess my brain is full and I need to empty it. One of the real reasons is that I love making people laugh. I hope I’m successful in that endeavor. The other reason is that I can’t stand Facebook. While there is some good stuff posted, there are way too many negative posts in addition to a lot of misinformation. I need some positivity in my life right now.

OK, I’m probably on the verge of losing some of you who weren’t big “book learners” and don’t like reading anything without pictures, so I should probably wrap it up.

To my old friends who will read my blog out of interest, guilt, curiosity or obligation, I thank you. To my newer friends who are just getting to know me and want to see if the stories my wife has been telling them are true, I thank you. To my soon-to-be friends who stumbled upon this site because you were Googling something completely different (Monkey porn) and ended up here, I thank you. In the words of the great writer Mark Twain, “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” I promise to preach the truth on this blog…or not.

More to come…