Christmas Letter 2007

Dear family and friends,

2007 has been a very good year for our household. We’ve accomplished so much and we hope you enjoy hearing about our fine year. As some of you may know the Mrs. is due for our 6th child this spring. Seeing as she ain’t quite 30 yet, I’ve taken to callin’ her my little iron womb. I’m so proud of her and we’ve both got our fingers crossed that this one won’t have to go to the special school. Speakin’ of the other’ns, little Lonnie and Crystal have started pretendin’ they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. Lonnie’s teacher called me in about it, but I told her it was just a stage and to let ‘em have there fun. Crystal, she’s as smart as a little whip. She figured out a way that she don’t have to pay for her milk at school but once a week and the teacher can’t figure out who keeps a doin’ it. I told her that’s the teacher’s fault and to just keep ridin’ it ‘til she learns her lesson. Ronnie and Cody are still the only siblings in 2nd grade that ain’t twins, so this makes four years runnin’. We’re both prayin’ that they hold the mark until their 8th grade graduation so they got somethin’ good to put on their job applications. Finally little Poinsettia is whizin’ through kindygarten. The teacher told us she’d never seen a little girl eat that much paste in an entire school year, let alone one sitting. You ain’t never seen her mother’s face shine brighter.
As for the Mrs. and I, we’ve had quite a year ourselves. I had enough luck on the scratch-off’s back in July that we were able to get the boot off of the van so we’ve been drivin’ a little bit. The Mrs. has been workin’ hard tendin’ to the little ones and with her brittle bone disease it’s double tough for her. We was both scared that if she tried to stir the mashed taters for Christmas dinner that her wrist would snap right there. So I said “Honey, we’re goin’ to Cici’s this year!” As for me, I ain’t workin’ at the spark plug factory no more, I never really saw eye to eye with the boss up there. He was a young punk with his fancy high-school diploma thought he knew when I ought to be on break. Imagine me, a grown man takin’ orders from him. No way, I got the hell outta there. So after taking the summer off, I’ve been workin’ up at a chicken factory. I’m already the second assistant on the guttin’ line. So things are lookin’ pretty good up there. In fact, if I ever decide to, they told me I could start comin’ in full time. Well I reckon I’ve bragged enough on us for the year. I’m sure y’all can see we’re doin’ just fine up here. We still got the fold out, so if any of you’ns wanna come and visit, you’re always welcome. I hope everyone has a real nice Christmas and a wonderful New Year.

Sincerely,
Monty Clark

How To: Cruise

Easy Steps to a Bitchin’ Life

1. Get a Trans Am. In a pinch a Camaro will do, but something about a giant eagle on the hood of Trans Am really gets the blood pumping.
2. If you don’t have the dough for one that’s already cherry, get a fixer upper. The fixer uppers can be spotted in the classifieds with the following descriptions: “Body Rough”, “Great Teen Car”, and the ever popular “Runs”. Which is really all that you need, one that runs. After all, it’s tough to cruise if your car doesn’t run.
3. If you do decide to get a fixer upper, don’t be slowed down by waiting until you’ve got it just like you want it. It’s perfectly acceptable to cruise a work in progress. You might be asking, “Hey bro, I’ve only got a primer coat on my Trans Am and I don’t have the money to get it painted yet, how can I cruise like this?” Never fear my empty pocketed little man. A primer coat is just fine. Just let the ladies know that you’ve got some limited edition race car paint on back order.
4. Stereo, stereo, stereo. Louder = Better and remember, bass is just two letters away from being badass so get some sweet subs.
5. Now to complement that stereo, a music collection is necessary. The Top Gun soundtrack is a good starter album. It gets the hair on your neck to stand up with Highway to the Danger Zone, yet flows seamlessly into Take My Breath Away which is what you’ll be hearing from all of the women who are lucky enough to ride with you.
6. Another key point to remember is that under no circumstances are the front seats that came in your ride acceptable. Custom seats are generally out of the question so seat covers are the next order of business. Lamb’s wool offers comfort and a touch of class, but in my opinion a spandex animal print really says you are the king of the road.
7. In sticking with the earlier mention that louder is indeed better. A custom muffler is the next order of business. These little babies wear two hats; they sound awesome and look pretty sweet too. Once again, they don’t fit everyone’s budget. In the event that you’re coming up a little short, just take the muffler completely off. Not only will that bitch roar, but it ain’t exactly street legal, which is pretty much smoking hot.
8. Finally a custom decal or two on the back glass really makes the car your own. Here there are a few options I highly recommend. Calvin pissing on something (a rival car maker is a safe bet) is always tough and shows your humorous side. A sticker either proclaiming that you actually have “No Fear”, or commanding someone else to “Fear This” is good. Really anything centered around fear and your lack of it, or other’s as it relates to you is worthy. Patriotism is good as well, however it should be mentioned that if you do go the route of patriotism, it should be a large sticker covering the majority, if not all of the back glass. NASCAR is never a bad bet either; R.I.P. #3 is probably about as good as it gets in that category. Finally, anything Taz is a must. It really doesn’t get any cooler than Taz. He does what he wants when he wants, and he does it fast…just like you.

Now that we’ve got the basics for the ride covered, it’s time to address what sits behind the wheel.

1. The first thing is your hair. Now, I’m fully aware that the mullet has become the butt of many jokes. Keep in mind these jokes are being told by total losers, the mullet is kick ass. We all know what a mullet looks like, no need to elaborate on that too much. The important thing that most new wearers of the Missouri Compromise forget is that if you decide to go with the oily cape in the back as opposed to windswept, be sure to scotch-guard your seat covers or they’ll be looking pretty shabby, pretty fast.
2. Next is facial hair. Don’t be alarmed if you don’t have a gorilla beard coming in. In fact, if you do you will probably want to thin it out. Full beards say two things: I drive slow, and I work a 9 to 5, this is not cool. A mustache is, without question, the way to go. It says you’re a man, and one that parties hard…yet with class. If you are of a lighter skin complexion, thin and wispy is the winner. In fact, thin it if you have to. However, if you have a nice tan then thick is in.
3. Never let them see your eyes, ever. Corey Hart pretty much hit perfection when he declared in 1984 that he wears his sunglasses at night. It’s important to note that unless you are buying Oakley Blades (or a knock-off of these) then you are wasting your time. (Bonus alert!: Oakley also makes bitchin’ stickers).
4. Clothing is our next topic. While pants make an appearance when leaning on your hood in front of Taco Bell, it’s the shirt that matters when you’re sitting in the buckets of your Pontiac. Really you have two options, a factory made tank-top (good) or a shirt you’ve made into sleeveless on your own (best). When cutting out the sleeves, it’s important to not only cut off the sleeves, but to cut them all the way down the side of the shirt so that the girls get an occasional glimpse of your abs. More often than not, this will send the panties straight to ankleville. As for what to make into a sleeveless, I recommend B.U.M. Equipment, Hobie, or Marithe and Francois Girbaud (if you’re trying to break a losing streak with the ladies). If you absolutely insist on something with sleeves, for god’s sake wear a football jersey (preferably your own from high school) with no shirt under it.
5. Finally, get a hot lady to ride with you. This is important because girls want to know you can commit. It’s the same principle that a busy looking restaurant often draws more walk-in business. Usually the best ones can be found wearing some sort of Looney Tunes themed t-shirt and wearing a wet-perm. As my cohort Keith once stated “It really doesn’t get any better than a Tweety shirt and wet-perm.” I’ve yet to hear truer words spoken. These lovelies are typically found at roller skating rinks, bowling alley’s, or taking a smoke break at Burger King (double bonus here, she has an income and gets you free food).

That pretty much covers the basics, the last step is to find a hot stretch of asphalt where the ladies hang out and just drive man, just drive. After that, you’ll have so much muff flying at you you’ll need a helmet on, that’s no bullshit either.

Gum? Let me help you with that...

Orbits is a fine brand of chewing gum. They have some decent flavors and are willing to branch beyond the usual wintergreen, peppermint and the like. Overall it’s pretty good too. However, the thing that irritates the hell out of me is they can’t make a package where it is possible to take a piece out without pulling out all of the pieces. That damn foil sticks to every single piece in the pack every time. Do they need to glue the gum down to the foil? I don’t know about everyone else, but every time I want a piece of Orbits, I end up wrestling with the package trying to avoid yanking all of the pieces out. Furthermore, why don’t they figure out that this happens and remedy the situation? Is it necessary to fasten the gum down to the bottom of the box? Are there an overwhelming number of Orbits customers who find themselves reaching for a stick of gum while suspended upside down? Not only does the gum not pull out, but the little flap that tucks into the box never works as intended. It’s nearly impossible to get the pre-cut notch to break apart so the lid fits in it. You have to mangle the entire pack of gum to get it to close. You would think that a company so concerned with pieces of its product falling out that it glues them to the bottom of the package, would come up with a functioning lid. It has to be one of the worst package designs available. Sharing a piece of this gum is also an ordeal. You can’t do the classic hold out the open pack and let the person pull out the piece they want. It’s always a two handed affair. Why does this happen? I just think they’re bastards messing with us.

One of the Many Commercials That I Cannot Stand

I really don’t care for those V8 commercials where the people get hit in the forehead. First of all it’s the dumbest slogan I’ve ever heard: “coulda had a V8”. The one that really irritates me the most is where the distinguished looking fellow is having lunch with some associates and neglects to eat any of the broccoli on his plate. The waiter, after observing this, plunks him on the forehead with his hand. This is paired up with a cute sound effect, and followed by the slogan. Here is the problem with this. Of course he could have had a V8. He also could have had some fresh broccoli. He could have had a veggie smoothie with wheat grass or some shit in it. The point is he didn’t want the fucking broccoli. Nor, did he want a fucking V8. I have been to restaurants before in my life. Maybe I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m going to assume that at some point in this scenario the man was given a menu with multiple options of what he could spend his money on to eat. Presumably, he selected what sounded best to him. What he was hungry for at that moment. Had he wanted a V8 he would have ordered one, or at the very least inquired about ordering one even if that particular restaurant did not carry V8. Either way, it renders that smug waiter and his asshole head-slap pointless. Now now, I’m fully aware that it’s only an ad. Not all ads are based on reality. However, when making a commercial the good people writing it should at the very least consider what they’re saying. Buying a product is, in effect, a consumer making a decision. This decision is based on all sorts of criteria, unique to the individual consumer. Seldom in today’s mass media, on-demand-information, and advertising-overloaded society are consumers unaware of what options are available for their purchase. In other words it’s not often that people don’t know what they "could" have had. People are perfectly aware that V8 is a drink produced by a company who is willing to sell it for a given price, should the consumer decide to buy it. Exactly what reaction would be ideal in the eyes of the marketing team at V8?

Man at table after being told he could have had a V8: "Wait a second here. You mean I could have had a V8?"

Waiter: "But sir, you didn’t eat your broccoli. I just assumed th…"

Man at table: "Never mind that I didn’t eat my broccoli, I was unaware that you would have sold me a V8. I saw it on the menu, but I figured it was some kind of private reserve. I honestly had no idea that me, John Q. Hungry, could have had a V8."

Waiter: "No sir. That V8 is for anyone…anyone with money."

Man at table: "Hold on, hold on (digging some crumpled up bills out of his pocket). You mean I can trade this (holds up wadded up bills), for a V8?"

Waiter: "Exactly (wink!)."

Man at table (throws the wad of bills into the air): V8’s for everyone! (Restaurant cheers)

Now watch this commercial again, and tell me that it’s not horseshit.

What if?

What if you injured your butthole while skiing? Injured it to the point where you wound up with fecal incontinence so people had to know about it because you were changing your own diaper at 32 years old? Now, don’t get hung up on the details here, I have no idea how this could happen. How it could happen is irrelevant. In fact, that’s the point. I think most people would have a pretty hard time thinking, or believing how this could happen. Sure, you would tell the story about how you were at the top of, “Pirates Lagoon”, “Fritz’ Nightmare”, “Blitzkrieg Bop” or whatever ridiculously named ski-run you were on and “so this rabbit comes out of nowhere and…” just stop right there Louganis. We aren’t buying it. No, regardless of how true it might be, we will truly never believe what happened. In fact, if you have a lisp and live in Texas, you might as well buy the rope and decide if you want a Ford or a Chevy to drag you.
Anyway, just a thought I had. Although if next time you go skiing you can’t avoid hitting a tree, you may want to get it with the knee just in case.

A visit from ED

Well it’s time for me to tackle another “hard-hitting” story. It’s one of those topics that we can all relate to, whether we admit it or not. I’m talking, of course, about ED; also known as explosive diarrhea. First of all, what a great name, the adjective explosive just sounds exciting…and terrifying. It’s like there is a little bomb made of watery shit, ready to go off at any minute. Except, don’t expect Kiefer Sutherland to swoop in and cut the blue wire at the last minute, this baby is set to detonate whether you like it or not. Really, that’s the thing about ED that makes him so dangerous. No matter your will power, or how badly you want to make it to the toilet, if he’s ready you are powerless. There’s that cold sweat you get, your mind is focused like you’re getting ready to throw strike three to win the World Series. Yet in spite of this determination, this desire, this you vs. him battle to the death, he always wins. Even the most Herculean sphincter can only prolong the inevitable fury of ED. While I’ve not lost a battle to date, I’ve certainly had my close calls. Afterward, I feel like a first time mother in the delivery room must feel. I’m sweaty, relieved, a little tired, and honestly I think there is some sick touch of euphoria and pride in there somewhere.
However, let’s really be honest here, ED is no average malady. ED is a ruthless, conniving, and above all genius of a thing. Seldom are you sitting on the sofa with the toilet only steps away when ED comes. No my friends, ED is found in places like a long road trip, on the subway, and during a standardized test to determine your collegiate future. These I know from experience. Other places I can only assume that ED lurks are during a scuba diving expedition, an Oscar acceptance speech, and at the bottom of a mine shaft. However, ED’s evil genius doesn’t stop there. He operates like an upstart boxer who just wants it more than the champ. Little jabs at first: “Hey buddy, I’m here and I’m coming.” Then more direct blows: “Thought I was going away? Nope, I’m getting stronger.” Finally, the barrage of punches where only one will remain standing: “Take that! I own you! I’m better than you!” ED is uncanny how he can dominate you physically while taking away all of your senses. You can’t hear anything, you can’t carry on a conversation, you can’t even think, and any distraction will undoubtedly leave you with your Jockey’s full of chili. However, ED does have a weakness: he comes in waves. It’s those down moments, where he rescinds into some evil rectal lair that even give you the slightest chance. It’s like you’re playing Green-Light-Go at the skating rink, only ED is calling out “Red-Light-Stop!” instead of the aspiring DJ in the corner of the rink. Once ED is there, on the cusp, you have to stop. Any bit of energy directed at another muscle will sure result in horror.
If all of these things aren’t enough, ED knows. He knows when the toilet is near. He understands that you are close to victory, that he only has so much time at this point. He knows you would take a shit in a wooden bucket with a nest of baby birds inside right now…and he starts to push – hard. I once almost wrecked my car into a gas station by leaving it on, in gear, and letting the clutch out while jumping out to use the (worst) bathroom (ever). Once that porcelain promise land is in sight it’s over. There is no more holding it, just hope you aren’t wearing coveralls with a corset and chastity belt underneath (umm, not that I ever wear that or anything…oh no, I’ve said too much again). The pants never make it down past mid-thigh, checking for anything on the seat isn’t an option, and forget about a protective paper ring. You’re only thankful that you have something under your ass other than your clothing or the ground.
ED, while a worthy competitor, is generally gracious enough in defeat to stay away for a while. A while, though, is the key. He will be back, at the worst possible time of course. So remember these three things about ED and know them to be true: he won’t be forgiving, he won’t be expected, and most of all, he won’t be solid.

Creationism

OK, so I’m not saying that these religious people, so adamant about creationism, are wrong. Really there is no proof either way. Obviously this is true or we wouldn’t have the argument in the first place. I have to think though, if you really step back and look at the picture as a whole, you’ve got to question creationism a bit. Exhibit A: tapeworms. So I’m thinking, this all knowing, all powerful individual who decides to create a universe no less is coming up with creatures in his head. Certainly this is a huge task to create a system where there are so many checks and balances, everything serves a purpose, some obvious others less so. So after this gets done, the cake is there, icing on it, a few decorations, but something is missing. What creature could really round this universer thing out? Hmmm, how about something that farts a repair for the ozone? How about something that pisses out crude oil? No, none of these things could possibly be useful. I’ve got it! How about a long thin noodle-like creature? A mouth connected to an anus by a white slimy piece of tape ought to do it. But what can we do here to really make this little guy perfect? I know. He’ll live in the ass of something else. Yep, right inside. Not only will he live in the ass of something else, but he’ll just bite right into the side of his pipes and feed right there. Bullseye! God, you sly little minx, you’ve outdone yourself again. What could be better than that? A useless, brainless, shit-feeding, ass-living worm, it’s really the mona lisa of ass critters. No seriously though, looking back on it that does make a lot of sense. Think of how much good the tapeworm does for the planet in general. So much fabric is saved on clothing the rail-thin filthbuckets that carry these things around inside them. Also, the modeling industry has seen a real explosion in disgustingly thin women who've found the magic in letting an intestinal parasite lose the weight for them. With all of the wonderful things that a tapeworm does, it only makes sense that someone created it out of pure invention. Let’s hear it for creationism!