Grampa’s Infallible Pick Up Lines, Vol. 4 8 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Friday October 27, 2006 at 8:27 am)

Grampa:  “Do you have a credit card?”

Nameless: “Yeah.  Why?”

Grampa: “So we can get a hotel room and fuck.”

Nameless: “Okay.”

Grampa: “And buy a bucket of chicken wings.”

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Grampa’s Infallible Pick Up Lines, Vol. 3 4 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Wednesday October 25, 2006 at 9:23 am)

Your eyes are really beautiful.

Now bend over.

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Grampa’s Infallible Pick Up Lines, Vol.2 6 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Tuesday October 24, 2006 at 8:34 am)

Look, we can have as much fun as you want, but if you get emotionally attached, then this is going to end badly.

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Grampa’s Infallible Pick Up Lines, Vol. 1 6 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Thursday October 19, 2006 at 9:11 am)

Granted, I might be a sociopath, but I’m funny.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Vol. 6 13 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Monday July 17, 2006 at 9:41 am)

(Taken from the Gospel according to Yow)

Rule #219:  All a man really needs is beef and friction.

Seriously.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules For Living, Vol. 5 7 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Wednesday July 12, 2006 at 1:22 pm)

Sorry, I’ve been under the weather.  I’ll try to get back into form as soon as I can.

(Taken from King Tonga’s Book of Happy Optimism)

Rule #43:  We’ll all be compost in the end.

I don’t know about you, but I take great comfort in that.

So, g’head, make it a double cheeseburger.

And smoke some cigarettes.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Vol. 4 12 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Saturday July 1, 2006 at 10:49 pm)

Rule #86: Expectations are merely premeditated resentments

This is one of those sappy, Hallmarky NA things that my sponsor told me early, in the beginning of my recovery.  Hearing it made me just want to slap him in the ole beaner. 

Life, however, has proven to me that this is, in fact, true.

For instance:

You get up at 4:30 in the morning and have to drive about 65 miles to the airport to catch the red eye to Honolulu.  You should have awakened half an hour earlier, but you must’ve turned off your alarm in an Ambien inspired haze.  You are therefore running late.  You decide to forego your stop at the ATM because you can reasonably expect (Expectation #1) that there will be one in the airport in Honolulu.  In fact, you know this to be true and you have used it before.  It is even an ATM from your bank, so you don’t have to pay that stupid service charge.

You are flying on a new airline in the Islands, one that has special, super-low fares in an effort to drum up business.  You reasonably expect that you will save some money by using this airline (Expectation #2). 

Aside #1: On the airplane there was this guy who was so unbelievably gay that it hurt to look at him.  The thing is, I don’t know if HE knows that he is gay.  Everyone else sure as fuck does.  He’s this Pacific Islander dude.  Now, in case you don’t know it, in general the Pacific Islander, notably the Filipino and Hawaiian, usually exudes this uber-masculinity.  It’s like a land full of alpha males, all pissing everywhere to mark their territory.  Anything that even remotely smacks of gayness is shunned in an attempt to posture more strongly in the hopes of being the next great Head Clubber.  Anyway, this guy is in his late forties or early fifties.  He has short, spiky hair, gelled to all hell and he has long hair in the back.  Complete fucking mulletude, my friends.  He is wearing a white T-shirt and carpenter pants.  The white T-shirt has the sleeves cut off.  It is also cut off about an inch above the belly button.  Here he is, swaggering like a matador, love handles poking out of his Elton John half-shirt, Captain Mullet, ready to piss all over the world.  Truly, it hurt to look at him.  I almost felt sorry for him for a second.  It passed.  Apparently the airline couldn’t let it go, though.  Security met him as soon as we landed and he was escorted off the plane.  Apparently he was too gay to be on their plane.  He was last seen playing hide the nightstick with four TSA agents. (more…)

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grampa’s handy-dandy rules for living, vol. 3 3 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Tuesday June 27, 2006 at 8:09 am)

(Originally taken from the inscribed palm fronds comprising King Tonga’s Book of Happy Optimism.  Which, incidentally, is beautifully illustrated with hundreds of little Humpty-Dumptys)

Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Rule #119:

A friend will help you move.  A good friend will help you move a body.

It’s true.  Nuff said.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Vol. 2 10 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Monday June 19, 2006 at 10:14 pm)

(Special thanks to Doc Thorazine for unearthing this nugget of truth and conveying it to Jesus Yow Christ, who later bestowed it upon me)

Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Rule #37:

It’s a fine life, if you don’t weaken.

Recently I heard someone talking about the “Courage to Endure.”  To me, this could mean, say, you are in the middle of week 19 of 48 weeks of chemotherapy for some minor, but, ultimately, terminal liver disease you may have picked while up being extremely stupid in your youth.  Some days you have no desire to get out of bed, or go to work, or exercise, or behave civilly to any other human being.  Still, you have to force yourself.  When it comes right down to it, some days all you have is the courage to endure.  And, really, that is all you need to get you through. 

Though, a really understanding roommate doesn’t hurt.

That is not, however, what this rule is about.

The reality of this rule is simple.  If an opportunity presents itself, you need to be prepared to take it.  For instance, say it is 6:39 a.m. on a Saturday morning.   For the sake of this example, let us assume that there is no trash pick up on your island and you have to take it to the transfer station yourself.  You are out on your lanai and you are getting your trash together to take to the dump.  At that instance the little yappy dog from across the street just happens to trot up to you.  And licks you.  To say that you have fantasized more than a hundred ways to kill this dog would be the understatement of the decade.  And the fucker comes up and licks you. While you have an empty trash bag, suitable for the disposal of evidence, in your hands.

It is at this point that you need to get all Carpe Diem and make a decision.  You have two choices. 

(A) You need to get over any moral quandary you may have about whether offing this dog is in any way spiritual and pet it with one hand while dragging your J. Marttiini filet knife across its throat with the other, then toss it in the bag, hose off the porch and head to the dump;

or,

(B) You need to stop complaining about that dog and just get the fuck on with your life.

I think it was Gandhi that said, “He who hesitates is lost, mutherfucker.”  He was so right.

I’m sorry, Gandhi, I let you down.  As I sit here mixing Cooke’s secret ingredient with ground beef, listening to the dog bark and making meatballs, I can say for absolute certain that I won’t let you down again.

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Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Volume 1 7 comments

Posted by grampa in grampa's handy-dandy rules for living (Sunday June 11, 2006 at 8:52 pm)

If you plan to drive 60 miles (one-way) on a two lane road, meet with any administrative body (particularly one comprised entirely of recovering addicts), go to Wal-Mart, or CostCo, or, essentially, leave your cave and interact with any other human being on the planet, bear this in mind:

Grampa’s Handy-Dandy Rules for Living, Rule #1:

People are stupid. Please plan accordingly.

And by plan accordingly, I mean have absolutely no expectations about the length of time it may take to drive anywhere. Ever. Or, to think that just because someone has an expensive car they have any concept of how to drive that fucker. Do not assume that people know how to merge. Realize that most people (especially an administrative body comprised entirely of recovering addicts) just like to hear themselves talk. And will do so. At length. Do not assume that anything fruitful will be said. Ever. Finally, do not fail to underestimate the stupidity of cashiers.

Or neighbors, for that matter.

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