and Now, a Holiday Message from Stuckmen's Sausages...

It's difficult during this time of year to write about the holidays without offending at least everyone else and probably yourself in the process. The only thing this country can truly admit is that this time of year is special for all faiths that are recognized by others as incorrect and that things need to be purchased and given away. Food and drink need to be consumed in gatherings of those who would rather not be near others, and the poor and alone are made to think about what they've done to be poor and alone.

In these days of blind commercialism and religious lethargy, most forget what ultimately started it all: the birth of everyone's savior, Cab Calloway on the banks of the river Kwanza. Cab Calloway is probably best known for his Gospel of Minnie the Moocher (which was the original blueprint behind Scientology as well as the popular game of Chutes and Ladders) and for his role in what led to the Temple's rededication by the Jews in Jerusalem (which later was the inspiration behind the character of Chewbacca in the Star Wars movies).
Ultimately, Calloway would be betrayed by one of his closest followers, Vincent Van Gogh, who turned him in to the Romans, having blamed Calloway for the loss of his ear in the now infamous 'Salted Pork Incident'. His death now celebrated during Easter, where Van Gogh is represented as an egg-laying rabbit....probably due to the two perfect ears....take THAT Vincent!!

Sadly, Cab Calloway's life and achievements have been co-opted by an American born Jew named Jesus who later was responsible to the election of President Bush and the war on oil-owning Brown People, or as it became known later: Operation Fuck Calloway.

I for one refuse to give-in to these changes and hopes the world will join me today in celebrating this day properly by singing scat-carols around the Calloway Tree....except for Canada, which has no reason to celebrate anything, seeing as they're Canadian.

Happy Calloway Day to you all!!!

-zs-

An Angel for your Thoughts....I Want Change for That!

Ok....most of you have heard the saying used a lot around this time of year, "When you hear a bell, an angel got it's wings!" This is all too true, but it's not the end of the story....just a tiny tidbit of what's really going on in the angelic order. There is a long list of signs given to us to let us know what's going on to God's winged servants. After years of research through many volumes of ancient text and exhausting interviews with eye-witnesses, I give you just a small part of the larger story...I hope it helps....uh....with your athlete's foot....or something.........uh, yeah.

- When your ear itches, an angel is watching you.

- When your eyes water, an angel is crying.

- When you hear a sneeze, an angel gets the flu.

- When your nose starts running, an angel is out of toilet paper.

- When you hear a fart, an angel just lost it's wings.

- Everytime someone says "Holy Shit!", an angel shits itself.

- When you pay a cover at a bar and then immediately leave and ask for a refund, an angel asks another angel if it's mad at him repeatedly.

- When you hear someone yelling angrily in French, you are probably in France.
(sorry, had to add that)

- When you drop a dumpling on the floor, an angel ponders something intangible.

- When you run over a squirrel in your car, an angel gets the shit kicked out of him in some dive bar in Jersey by a trucker named Dale.

Oh, and every time you post a blog an angel loses 50 or so brain cells....my goal has been and continues to be to make a large group of God's good angels drooling idiots in my lifetime.

Happy Holidays!

Having been full of Hot Turkey Goodness....

Dear Brooklyn, New York...

I give up, you win. I forfeit to you all remaining heart-friendly dark chocolates, and any ability to spell that I have remaining.

Please release your grip.

One List to Bind Them…or “Three Cheers for Infections!”

A long time ago, I was inspired to make a list of things I wanted both to do and/or experience before I was to die…assuming that I would live long enough. I can't remember what inspired this endeavor, nor do I think that it's important to the meat of this blog, so I won't even try to recall. But the fact is that over the years this list has grown and shrunk in increments as I've both added to it and crossed off accomplishments. Somewhere along the way, a second list was formed…this being populated by things I wished never to do and/or experience along the road of life.

I would like to recount some examples from both lists, but the truth is that I can't, not without doubt. The problem is I believe that on my list of things I wanted to do at one point was "To Merge Both Lists Together and Live in a State of Fear and Doubt Forever"...or maybe that was on the other list, which would definitely make more sense but I can no longer be sure, seeing as they are now as one as chocolate and Peanut Butter in the world of a Reese's Cup (that's a terrible analogy, I am aware, but "To make a Weak Comparison to a Reese's Cup While Writing" was on one of the lists as well…and I'm on a roll).

So having explained all of that, I'm either happy to report or sad to announce the crossing off of "To Contract Gangrene from a Wound or Frostbite" from the One List. Apparently it is NOT wise to dress one's wound with uncooked chicken when one runs out of sterile bandages....Looking back on it, I really should have known better. But what's done is done, and at least it'll lead to crossing off more from the list, like, "To Smell Like Bad Cheese without Even Trying" and "To Represent all the Colors in the Spectrum under the Skin of My Arm".

I will keep you posted.

What Kind of Thing Wants You to Eat It?!

The Most Comfortable Bed in the World
-or-
The Truth About Light Fixtures

I like to pee while in the shower…it makes me feel as if I'm beating the system….the plumbing system, with all of it's rules and regulations.

Now that we've finally got that out of the way, let's move on.

It's a widely known little known fact (or an "WKLKF", which incidentally is often mistaken for "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?"….to which nobody has the answer) that lighting fixtures throughout the world are all of one mind. It is even more widely less known that lighting fixtures never forget. This leads us to the truth that an attempt was made on my life last night.

A bit of history for you: I am a descendant of the French 'Deleportes' family, also known as "Pricks" to almost everyone else, but we do all right. Of the many things that my blood came with was a hatred for lighting fixtures, for many reasons but the main for me would be that it would be a light source suddenly being turned on that usually keeps me from having sex…..and for that I blame lighting fixtures. (I just realized, after having read what I just wrote, that I sound like a rapist, when really what I was trying to get across was the fact that I'm very ugly…..see? It's funny? The light is turned on and she's all like, "Ooo, you're ugly." And I'm like, "Well, at least I'm not a rapist. Because rapists are bad?" and then she's like, "Yes, I agree that it is good you are no rapist. Please turn off the light, you disgust me." See? Humor? Sigh….)

During my adolescence this hatred for lighting fixtures was translated into vandalism with late night destruction of yard lights and street lights usually to be followed by chases, violence and sometimes arrests. These events, as well as the countless years my ancestors spent hating and hurting light fixtures throughout history, is what I believe led to last night's hit on me. You see, like I said before, light fixtures are all of one mind…much like the Borg from Star Trek, or like Christians…and I believe that it's just been biding it's time until it had the chance to kill me, which I gave it last night.

The ceiling fixture in my new apartment's bedroom had (past tense) a glass shield also known as a bug collector. Now, the ceilings in my new place are slightly lower than most living quarters, low enough that I have no problem reaching straight up and touching the ceiling, maybe even tickling it if it were ever feeling sad, which ceiling scientist everywhere agree, never happens, which is why I don't waste my time tickling my ceiling or baking small cakes for the chairs that I own (which is a different story entirely). Opposite that ceiling in my bedroom is the bedroom floor, which is where I keep my bed. Now, last night I was in the process of making my bed with freshly cleaned sheets and comforter and what nots (let me explain the what nots: I have the most comfortable bed in the world…a bed straight out of a Dr. Suess drawing. It consists of a platform bed frame with beachwood slats, a pillowtop mattress, a down filled mattress in a flannel mattress cover, a mattress pad, two comforter, flannel sheet set and lastly a down comforter in a flannel cover. Needless to say, putting my bed all together is an event in and of itself) when the fixture attacked. What had happened was that as I was fanning a comforter out over the bed, that process where you lift one side of a tangled fabric over your head a then quickly downward hoping that air will get trapped underneath and in the process of escaping get entangled with the corners of the cloth and inadvertently pull and straighten said cloth out…when what really happens is anyone who enters the room while you're attempting this will be forced into calling the police to report you for beating your mattress with a fabric club…which is why are legal system sees so many of these cases yearly. So again, I was attempting to kill my mattress with a fabric club, and while doing so I caught the glass shield of the light fixture and broke it from it's bolted harness. Before I even knew what had just happened, a large piece of that glass shield had already cleanly passed through my arm, which only a fraction of a second before is where my head was taking up space, until I heard the crack of glass and flinched to one side.

If I didn't mention it in the previous blog, let me just take this moment to explain how cool of a landlord George is: Not only was he right there after I called him on his cell phone for some help with the first aid and helped me dress the wound, but he then proceeded to clean up the broken glass, mopped up the blood in the kitchen/bathroom/living room, retrieve his vacuum cleaner and sweep up the bedroom carpet of remaining glass bits. Keep in mind, this took place around midnight and George, a 70 year old ex cop arrived downstairs expecting to find his tenant with a small cut just in need of a band aid, and instead was witness to a broken light fixture in one room, blood EVERYWHERE, and a tenant sitting on the kitchen floor, covered with his own blood holding his arm for dear life saying, "I'm really really sorry." Over and over again.

I do have to say that I was slightly disappointed when he mopped up for me, as nice as it was, because I had wanted to photograph the scene for this blog, but didn't really want to go through the process of explaining that to George. There really is no way of conveying just how much blood I lost without photographic proof. But I did learn that blood is a very difficult substance to clean up, seeing as after several washings (even with Bleach involved) my kitchen floor is still somewhat stained pink….so much so that we may have to replace the linoleum.

It is also a "Why's Kevin Licking Katie's Face?" that lighting fixtures always attack in series of threes, meaning I have anywhere from none to several attacks to look forward to….because lighting fixtures also can not count, which is why they have such shitty jobs and are looked down on so by us Deleportes.

In case this is my last entry, let me take this time to say that you are all just ok. If I'm still around for Xmas, then I want a pony.