regularguysarchive

MOUNTAIN CHURCH

(from 2/19/05)

While I was away, a reader who goes by the name of Jeff emailed me this:

Larry, this may be the funniest headline I've ever read. You should be able to take this and run with it.

Navy to commission attack sub Jimmy Carter

What's it going to do, sneak up on an enemy destroyer and build it a home? Ahh...forget it. Best to leave it up to the professionals...

Jeff

I don't know, Jeff. That's a funny line. The only difference between "professionals" and non, is that the professionals are just people who, like yourself, have a good sense of humor, but don't really give a shit about what others think. So, you're halfway there. When you stop caring, you'd be surprised where your mind will take you. Look at the people who named the sub. They know Jimmy Carter is a coward and a joke of a president, but they name a fighter sub after him anyway. Why? Because they care waaaaay too much how it may look to fans of that wrinkled shit peanut and his whole Tom Joad trashneck family. Do you think any of the soldiers aboard the Sub Named Carter will perform their missions with any degree of confidence now that the bureaucracy has put a "torpedo me, please" sign on their backs? Nuh-nuh.  But they'll say nothing because they are professional soldiers not entertainers. Find the guy who gets dishonorably discharged for insubordination after decorating the inside of the sub with photoshopped snaps of Amy Carter getting sodomized by Uncle Billy in a barn, and sign him to a sitcom development deal. There's your man.

I was also pleased to read last week that the maker of my computer fired their she-CEO. I was happy for her husband and children who can now enjoy a nutritious, hot home-cooked meal for a change. And what a company she ran! Now when I run out of ink on my printer, I buy a new printer. They're the exact same price. Either the ink is over-priced or the printers suck. I think it's both. She had to go.

I'm still a skeptic when it comes to women in business. It's slightly awkward at best, much like when my mom defended my cock size a few years ago. Yeah, my brother and I were insulting each other as brothers do, and he made a remark suggesting that my genitals were smaller than the norm. In my defense, my mother said she always thought mine was rather big. Her heart was in the right place, but it was weird. 

I was at a business meeting for some radio advertising a couple of years ago and there were two other men and a woman in the room. I had met all previously. The men shook my hand and the woman insisted on a hug. A hug! A grasp of another person in an intimate embrace where the bosoms and crotches get dangerously close? Yes, a hug! What possible legitimate business purpose could this have? For the really big mergers, why not a deep soul kiss with lots of tongue and petting for 5 minutes in a closet? I hugged her back, but she really lost any trace of business credibility she may have had as a female executive. The faces of every male in the room everytime she spoke said, "Go home and bake, ya hormone." And my mind drifted to thoughts of the welfare of her motherless children, and her hapless husband and how they were coping with this woman's inability to face reality.

The reality on the slopes of the Soviet Socialist Republic of Vail, CO, is that their on-going bogus campaign about safe skiing is a lawyer's wet dream.

In liberal sissyland, Vail, CO, the buses run on natural gas, and the ride is free, because, as we all know, if the people of the sprawling 4 square miles of Vail, CO, year-round population of about 5, didn't watch themselves, the impact on the environment would be catastrophic! A bobcat might move to another state or die! So a human is inconvenienced or gets killed. Whatever. As a great female leader once said, "We're going to take things away from you on behalf of the common good."

And due to that sort of thinking, the reality is that in Berkeley of the Mountains, Vail, Cee-Oh, if they actually cared about humans getting killed on the mountain rather than trees and bunnies, they'd have armed patrolmen on the slopes ready to wisk away these asshole snowboarders and the guy who skiied right over the back of my skis at about 40 MPH while I was standing still. But they don't. They have the "Ski Patrol" which has all the muscle of retired UN delegates. Imagine how much more you'd drink at a bar knowing that the only DUI enforcement between your car and home was a 64-year old guy with a fanny pack and a walkie talkie. So an aggrieved skiier has to chase the culprit all the way down the mountain himself, risking more life and limb, and shocking families by yelling at the top of his lungs, "Ski on me? I'll kill you, motherfucker."

It was the wrong guy. He calmly said, "Oooh nuuu, It was not me, friend," in his swedish hooshygurdyburdy accent. I wasn't sure now. I did lose him for a second during the chase because of his 100 yard head start. And who calmly calls a screaming lunatic "friend" when said loon is right in his face? Plus, this guy was struggling to stay up on his rentals.

"Really? Uh..well. Sorry for threatening your life. But make sure you don't ski on top of people."

I should have pulled his jacket over his head and smashed him in the mouth till the snow reddened anyway, just to send a message to all the skiers, and especially those faggot snowboarders who I'd like to kill just for being born: DON'T BE AN ALPINE DOUCHEBAG!

I was so disappointed that I couldn't rightfully beat him to a crimson pulp, so jacked up on the adrenaline of the chase, that I went back up the lift to look for fresh outrages. I finally spotted a 16 year-old girl who fell down after trying a jump she saw on TV. I laughed and threw her poles deep into the woods. Best ski day ever.

Here's an item from a Vail grocery store. For only 4 bucks, you too can have a sample of the good healthy lifestyle of a woman who died at age 56. And then there was the 40-something bimbo on the lift who told me that she doesn't eat anything that has a mother. We have a lot in common, because, as I told her, I don't eat anything that is a mother.

I love skiing, and Vail has the best in the country, but let's be honest. That place is not a ski resort. It's a giant outdoor church. Our Lady of Granola, serving it's flock of Environmental Methodists for 40 years.

THINGS THAT CONCERN ME

(from 10/8/04)

I think it's OK to drink and drive if it's less than a mile.

I went to pick up some carry out from an eye-talian place around the corner, and as I was early I was offered a glass of wine which I happily accepted.  I hadn't eaten since noon and here it was about 7:30, and man was I plowed.

Home was .7 miles away. Hey, that's like being .07 blood alcohol to me. Close enough. There was no mishap or incident because I drove about 15 mph all the way. The cheese didn't even slide from the pie. I think that should be legal.  And so, I guess now it is.

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Birds are some nervous creatures. I noticed one the other day, bolder than most, because he (she? who cares? they don't read.) got real close to me while I was eating a sandwich.  But it was all twitchy and looking around for danger and predators, and I thought how the hell can you enjoy the food you've just snagged off the ground when you're so damn nervous? Life is too short. I yelled at the bird to lighten up, but it just jumped out of it's feathers and flew away.

I wonder if they ever relax. Sometimes I'll see them in our birdbath out back and they don't seem to be relaxed. I know when I take a shvitz or an epsom salt bath, I'm as relaxed as a fellow could possibly be. What's the point if you have to get out of the shower every 10 seconds and check the house? Dumb. Birds are dumb.

I'm no ornithologist as my detailed and insightful observations here may suggest to impressionable people, but I wonder if they take a breather at night back at the nest enjoying a little worm nightcap without having to swivel their heads every time a leaf drops. Boy, what a life. No wonder they fly into windows.  I wish I could do something to reassure these birds that they can loosen up once in awhile and reduce bird suicide. But I can't. So if they're gonna be nervous anyway, I take out my pellet gun and shoot their heads off.  I tried. Fuck 'em.

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I know that our president has enough difficulty explaining why tax cuts are good, but I'd sure like to hear someone go after this "win the peace" mantra that this fool Kerry and his little NAMBLA buddy John Edwards use with abandon. I'll give it a whack because it's driving me insane.

At it's core, it's best described as an abstract concept of appeasement and appeasers. Our primary goal in the war on Islam is not peace. It is victory. We are fighting people who revel in hatred and violence and this is the language they understand. So we take it to them and shut them down.

Peace is passive. It is the absence of action. There is no peace without victory. John Kerry is essentially saying when he criticizes the president for not "winning the peace" is that he thinks the president failed to be passive. He failed to compromise our principles in order to make this go away. He failed to do nothing. Peace. Appeasement. The two words share the same Latin roots.

Also, peace is something you attain, not "win." It's not a stuffed peace at the carnival. So saying you will "win the peace" makes you sound like one of those putzes that ask, "How many points did the Braves score last night?"  It's runs, dickhead. And you win wars not peaces.

WEEKENDS ARE MADE FOR FUN!

(from 8/7/04)

There's a little competition going on in my bathroom that I'd like to tell you about. One doesn't normally come across the words "competition" and "bathroom" in the same sentence, but that's what makes TRG the #1 visited blog in the world.

I bought two Speed Sticks by Mennen (and that's how it referred to--not Mennen Speed Stick). One for the left pit and one for the right pit. Everyday I apply each evenly over their respective pits. I want to see which runs out first. Will it be left Speed Stick? Or will it be right Speed Stick? I'll have the results soon. Then I'll start another one. It'll be like a league or a circuit.

Anyway, if you ever get paid to do nothing for 8 months and run out of stuff to do, you can give this a whirl. You can thank me later.

144 more days.

I'll Never Be Lonely Again

(from 6/7/04)

There's Wachs' Toy of the Month. Ain't she a beaut? I don't need it, but I've been dying to get my hands on my very own Magellan RoadMate 700 GPS for quite sometime. It makes driving fun again.

Straight out of the box, I suctioned it onto my windshield last night and took off for the video store to give it a spin and occupy my family with LOTR on DVD for more quality GPS time. Poor first choice of destination because it's pretty much one turn to the local Blockbuster, but the  novelty of volunteering myself to be spied on by the government was too great to care.

Today, my daughter complained of the female voice so I turned it to the male voice. I'll switch it back when she and my wife are not in the car, because I like the sexy woman urging me firmly, yet gently, to my destination and not yelling at me when I fuck up. Rather, a pleasant "re-routing" is all I get without even a twinge of angst or sarcasm. Thanks for taking care of that, poopsie. I'll try better next time.

And I like how, upon completion of a trip, she announces, "You have arrived!" My GPS knows I'm really someone who has come into his own, feeling his oats, living in the full flower of his salad days. Yes, I certainly have arrived, haven't I?And I strut from my car to whatever miserable errand I'm running.

Facts About Magellan.

-First name-Ferdinand.

-born in Oporto, Portugal, the same city that gave birth to port wine.

-first person to circumnavigate the globe in the 1500's; got people interested in earth's roundness and gravity.

-went 42,000 miles in about 3 years.

-kept a harem of Muslim women on board his ships.

-got killed trying to convert savage natives in the Phillipines to Republicanism.

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Sorry, Georgia. We learned Friday night at Wills Park in Alpharetta that alcohol, rodeo, and Jews don't mix. Again, sorry.

I don't know if Wills Park is on the major league circuit for bull-riding, but it was fun to watch guys get their asses kicked by wild steak dinners. It was the HUMPS 'N HORNS TOUR and they are affiliated with Pabst Blue Ribbon which is the big circuit one can see on ESPN, but I'm not sure how it works so I couldn't tell you whether these were top riders or the Washington Generals of bull riding.

I do know that for the amount of ass breaking these guys take, they sure don't make much money. There must be an endorphin rush from sitting on a mad cattle for 0-8 seconds that makes it worthwhile for GALAX, VA'S BILLY ROBINSON to, according to the one-page program, sustain a concussion and loss of consciousness after smacking his head on a bull, and earn a tidy $153,000 since 1999! Let's see...after the taxes and hospital bills there's plenty left over for food, shelter, clothing, and a couple more skull fractures. Perhaps the bulk of their salary comes from wearing Skoal and beer ads on their shirts and hats. Let us issue a prayer of hope.

I especially enjoyed the patter of the Rickman-like host. Up on his mount, he used his rodeo voice and silky smooth charisma to delight the folks and shout out the names of the riders and the sponsor of each chute. He was also brilliant, I thought, in being straight man to the witty clown who told funny, but true stories about his crazy wife, his truck, and his fishing exploits to a thoroughly enthralled crowd. Yeeha! Come on!

Attention hipsters! The Von Dutch craze has sunsetted. When you see two of the hats at the bull ring, it's time to search anew.

THE ATLANTY VIGILANTE STRIKES AGAIN!!!!

(from 5/27/04)

After some newspaper research, I found out who the guy was who killed our friend in the car accident on Wednesday. He was killed, too, but I needed to let out some steam because I heard he was drunk and menacing other drivers before the crash occured. With language not suitable for Clear Channel stations, I emailed that his family see to it that he roasted in hell. Felt good.

Later, a friend on the police force told me he was not drunk, but had a heart attack. Oops. Never mind.

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Speaking of death, Old Man Pickle Nose called to inform me for no reason at all, that the looming onslaught of cicadas will be his last. Strictly speaking, he's probably right--he'll be 82 when the 8th plague hits again--but the perspective is alien.  Maybe because I'm still in the Age of Thinking About the Validity of my Genitals while he's in the Age of Thinking About the Validity of Him. There is an obsession for every age, so I suspect there will come a time for us all when each thought is filtered through the prism of demise.

The watercooler at work:

"Did you see my new E55 AMG?"

"Dude, you're gonna get laid in that."

The meds window at the retirement home:

"My son is picking me up in his new E55 AMG."

"You're gonna get killed in that."

Makes sense, but with 3 more cicada cycles left in me, I'm heading over to the car detail place and then workout at the gym.

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The completely unbiased Yahoo! News gleefully informs me that sales of hybrid vehicles, such as the Toyota Prius are going smashingly.

Some people are just too vain to be thinking for themselves. That one would be willing to ditch their SUV and spend $25,000 on a vehicle that has maybe 100 horses and can get up a hill on a cool day, in order to save $5000 in gasoline is cult-like behavior. Yeah, they get great mileage; 40 miles to the gallon. They also get something like 40 miles to the hour. While your new Honda Hysteria is sipping gas, you are sipping Kool-Aid.

How's this for a euphemism? They are also known in the car biz as "Partial Zero Emissions Vehicles." I may be a Barbie doll when it comes to math (and for other reasons, but not now), but a part-time nothing is something. Isn't my parked SUV a "partial zero emissions vehicle?" And the selling slogan is very telling. "Low Emissions. High Praise." Actual adults seeking the warm approval of the toilet training years through their car choices. Sick and sad. Sad and sick.

I'd like to see some follow-up, and no I won't hold my bladder, on how many of these hybrid owners wind up back in an SUV or other combustion engine-powered vehicle a couple years later. 

The petroleum-powered engine may have it's sunset, but not for several cicada cycles. Now get out of my lane you elastic-waistband-wearing hump!

Bhopal Highway

(from 5/13/04)

OK. I might as well tell you about this now before you read it third hand in some Darwin Awards thing, because I still might have to see a doctor about this.

I enjoy feeling fresh after a pleasant movement, as I'm sure most of you do, so I make sure to have a plentiful supply of flushable wipes on hand.

Today, the box was empty except for one dried out sheet. I opened a new pack of flushable wipes. That's odd. It never usually burns like that. Some kind of new aloe formulation? No.

Dow Chemical puts out a bath cleaning product called "Flushable TOILET Wipes w/ Scrubbing Bubbles." Now my loaf baker smells like a linoleum floor. And it doesn't feel right yet.

Here's an instance where indecent language could have saved a life (I swear this is going to give me cancer now). What should be known as 'rectum' or 'ass' wipes is delicately referred to as "Baby Wipes" so people won't be offended whilst scooping themselves like a house cat. The NON-human cloths are known as "Toilet wipes." Very confusing. OK, not so confusing now, but when you are in the heat of battle and unable to read the entire label, it's confusing.

Apparently, someone has done this already. Here's the warning label conspicuously buried in the back corner of the package: DO NOT USE FOR PERSONAL HYGIENE OR AS A BABY WIPE. Thanks lawyers! You've covered at least one ass.

Porn and the Middle East

(from 4/30/04)

The Middle East and the porn world have much in common.

My old pal from California, Porno Mike, contacted me recently to inquire about my latest brush with gig loss. Porno Mike gave Eric and me jobs reviewing tapes for Hustler after we got canned from our show in Los Angeles.

This time he brought only condolences since he too had been released from work. Larry Flynt fired him for sexual harrassment. And I thought I was a victim of politics.

I've been following the HIV in the porn world scandals because I care about porn, but more because it's another great example of how political correctness is literally killing people.

"That story is so bogus," said a laughing PM. "Yeah, the chick got it from a guy who went to Brazil. Wink..wink."

"Brazil must be the new Haiti," I offered.

"No, Brazil is the new 'we're all in denial that 5 men and a lady won't result in someone catching something.' Frankly I'm surprised that with all the fluids flying around on those sets that a camera guy hasn't tested positive yet."

PM has a good point. He's been on enough of those shoots to know that a porn set is as hygienic as a campsite. A large budget is one that allows for TWO boxes of baby wipes. PM sent me on an interview assignment at a gang bang once. The smell overpowered even the great Ron Jeremy who exists in his own aromatic orbit.

But the talking points on this are laughable. The idea that one guy who messed around in Brazil, brought the bug back and beat the odds to infect an actress is as ludicrous as it is dangerous. To believe this PC spin from the porno makers you'd have to believe that:

-No male actors do gay porn on the side. They just wait around to pick up a couple hetero scenes every two weeks for $500 and go back to being firemen and husbands and dads and stuff.

-No porn actors use needle drugs.

-Two beggars at the back door won't result in property damage.

PM estimates the real percentages of HIV sufferers in the porn world are shockingly high. Most just leave the industry without a forwarding address and presumably suffer and die in anonymity.

But bringing up these important facts invites a backlash that few can appreciate until one experiences the special wrath of people with a complete interest in keeping the truth hidden. So people get killed. Just like Fallujah. We could be working on making Syria the 54th state about now if we weren't so concerned with how the French viewed our right to self-defense.

Damn. Forgot to ask Porno Mike. What was the actress going to name her jelly baby?

Larry Vs. Hollywood

(from 4/27/04)

Cousin Sal and Jimmy invited me to hang out all day at Jimmy Kimmel Live (not seen in Atlanta on ABC affiliate WSB-TV, a big fat Cox station), and go to the writer's meetings and the rehearsals and the whole deal. It's a real nice way to spend the day. Watch a live, network show being put together with permission to go anywhere and ask anything. And that's why I feel so bad about pissing them all off.

The games began when I was greeted by the extremely funny Tony Barbieri on Wednesday.

"So Waxy, now that Bush has gotten you fired you still gonna vote for him?" "Yes, I am. He's a good man who can defeat the towelheads. Can I put down my keys now?"

A torrent of abuse began. Maybe they were just a bit tense over Omarosa (the former Gore operative from "The Apprentice") walking off the show the night before in a deranged snit. Maybe they were just tense from being wrong and misinformed. I don't know.

I must admit I didn't put up much of an argument although that's a tough thing to pull off what with so much comedy being tossed out:

"Bush is the most immoral president ever."

"It's Vietnam all over!"

"He's destroying the environment!"

"Georgia is turning your head to mush!"

"He's making the world angry with us."

"He's a womanizer and a drunk."

Oops! I must have the wrong building. Is this 2004 April? No? 1984 November? So sorry.

One writer, my new pal, Jon Bines, who loves his new hybrid vehicle and used to write for the not liberal, but centrist, "Daily Show," really took life hard. He was literally quaking in disbelief that anyone would dispute the conventional wisdom on global warming. Then, as Daniel Stern would say on "The Wonder Years," came one of those moments when you see things clearly, like your dad's freshly washed Corvair on a hot summer's day...

"To even debate whether or not man causes global warming with a person is to dignify a ludicrous argument. I'm not saying you are ignorant, but clearly there's a lack of education here."

Let me sum: I am smarter than you.

That's what it's all about. Doesn't matter whether Bush or Kerry wins or if the planet cools to a more comfortable temperature for the pious, or even if America survives as an idea or a country. What matters is that he has a better quality brain than me...uh, I..no,wait...me. He has better thoughts, better ideas, performed in a better way. I. am. dumb. And everyone in Hollywood knows it now.

Fresh off that victory against #1 right-wing hebrew milkman, the Jimmy Kimmel Live writing staff polished up one of the more consistently funny hours in the short history of the show. Yeah, I'll take credit. Who else made them feel confident and raucous and superior on that day?

I'm back now in the low tax state of Georgia in a house that is 3 times the size at 50% the cost in a neighborhood that doesn't border a transgendered IV drug user's hospice/clinic, and drive my 2002 BMW or 2004 Nissan Murano to the golf course where Clear Channel pays me to go, after filling the tank for about 80 centavos less per gallon than in enlightened Hollywood. I feel soooo stupid.