Sunday, November 30, 2008

Even when...

I'm all fired up and pissed off, this can make me smile.

I hope you all are well.


Spoiler Alert....

In case you are looking for a laugh out loud or feel good post of the week, this is not the place to come. Right now I'm trying to figure out how, we as humans, have reached a point in time where we will trample someone to death to get a bargain on a product, that is a WANT and not a NEED. IF you have no idea what I'm talking about, check it out here.

Things, bling, stuff...we chase all of this stuff, myself included. However, I've never been at a point where I wanted something so bad, I said to myself, “I'm going to get the new Kelly Clarkson cd and I'm going to walk over any motherfucker who gets in my way, cause I deserve it and want to be the first person to put my hands on it.” In addition to getting caught up in the pursuit of meaningless minutia, I've also worked for the devil himself and know full well what Wal*Mart Stores are capable of. There will of course be the code of silence applied to all store personnel and I'm sure jobs will be threatened. Wal*Mart will also employ more spin than a pro-bowler to the media. Damour, the poor soul, trampled to death at the Valley Stream Wal*Mart, was first listed as a hire from a temporary agency, hired to do maintenance in the store.

Sounds plausible enough, he could have been there washing floors or performing other night shift, janitorial duties. Maybe he was actually fixing something like the door, that ultimately gave way and led to his demise? At any rate, one day after this tragic event, I'm reading stories trying to make it appear as if Damour could have possibly been employed as one of the hired, extra security staff. FUCK YOU WAL*MART and FUCK YOU CORPORATE AMERICA! More blood is on your hands and motherfuckers don't think that people are not watching. Let's not leave it up to the temp agency to insult Damour's family by sending them flowers. Wal*Mart should pay for all burial expenses and set up Damour's family for life. Will they? Probably not. There will be some lame excuse like, “the local authorities are looking into this to determine if there will be any criminal charges filed...” YOU BET YOUR SWEET REDNECK ARKANSAS ASS THERE WILL BE CHARGES. Charges of Criminal Negligence, among other things, but what's worse is when you have all the money in the world and an even better legal team, there is no way any of those charges will ever hold up in court.

Still feel good? Still smiling...ok. How about this one?

8 Year old who vowed his 100th spanking would be his last, kills dad.

Anyone see a problem with that? No, I'm not talking about the murder part. I'm talking about a case of criminal neglect, child abuse and a bunch of other things we are probably not privy to.

There is no reason an eight year old should have been spanked one thousand times. None. I'm sorry, you can tell me I don't know what it's like cause I don't have kids and you're right I don't, but I also have been a child and know what spanking is. In addition to that I work with abused children and see every fucking day, the emotional and psychological damage done to kids by parents who don't have any right applying for a library card, let alone having a child. Here's a quick parenting tip: Set expectations. Just like this poor boy did, “Hey the thousandth time you spank me, I'm going to kill you...” He let them know, he kept track, think those spankings didn't mean too much? Think again.

We're turning into a bunch of fucking savages...

I hope you all had a great holiday weekend and remembered what is important with those you love.

I hope you all are well.


Saturday, November 29, 2008

too tired to put anything of any worth down, but I can let you know it is 5:15am and sleep is nowhere to be found.

I'm tired, sore and just want to find a way to put my mind to rest...

so, it's off to download more podcasts and then hopefully to sleep.

I hope you all are well.


Wednesday, November 19, 2008


went to bed at 4:20am this morning, insert corny stoner joke here...

watched Scarface for the first time ever and didn't know it was two hours and fifty minutes long. Enjoyed the movie but still am not convinced it's Pacino's best work. At any rate here are the things winding my clock.

Gas prices...

Has anyone noticed how gas used to be eleventy billion dollars a gallon and now here in the good old ocean state, you can drive to your local stop and shop and get it for about $1.89 a gallon? Shit, I thought I drove through a wormhole the other day and got transported back to 1999. How? When? WHY did gas prices start to drop?

Methinks this is the calm before the storm...

There has been some rumbling about a plan. One that would free the U.S. from dependence on foreign oil and one that could both create jobs in America and help put cleaner running, more fuel-efficient cars on the road. Where is said plan coming from? From Texas of course! Read all about it right here. While people marvel over the idea that gas prices could fall back down to almost reasonable rates, they forget that the surge in non-natural gas prices will continue. Moreover the addition of these new cars will encourage the gas companies to hump us for as long as possible. Pickens predicts gas being $5/gallon as early as next summer... HOLY JUMPING CHRIST!!! Time for this guy to buy a moped.

Down with the King...

Thanks to Ktech for this update on our favorite fast food royal.

Burger King to go high-end...

Ok, let's be honest, when we think fast food, we're in a rush, are caught up in the tornado of stress eating or it's 2:30 / 9:30 in the morning and you've tried to drink like you're in college again and needs the grease to keep from being D.O.A from a hangover...

but really do the clown, the king or that little red-headed slut ever evoke an image of a high-er end food experience? Maybe so, but only after about 6 hours of mario-kart and countless bong rips...

For Burger King to think they will pull business away from the casual restaurant, and I'm assuming they mean the, Chili's, TGIFridays, Ground Rounds, Perkins of the country versus other fast food shits... is sheer lunacy.

Ribs? Are you kidding me? Look at a competitors business model. Rockdonald's only brings out the McRib once a year at MOST cause it give the general public time to forget how shitty it actually is! Ribs...King please! Thick-er burgers... Shit, I got roped into the angus-steakhouse-porkpackge-whatever-you-want-to-call-it burger once...ONCE! Supposedly, the higher grade meat contributes to a better tasting burger.

Hmmm...maybe this is true back in soviet russia, cause the steakhouse burger I got tasted like someone kicked the asshole out of an out-to-pasture stud horse and then put it on some high-falutin' bullshit roll versus the sesame seeded bun we've come to love and be addicted to. Long story short, having to retool your restaurants with equipment to allow the cooking of ribs and thick-er burgers in this economy is just tomfoolery...plain and simple. Fear not as the dollar menu is not going anywhere. This is a god-send cause I know when my ass is in a knot, nothin' fixes it quicker than a rodeo cheeseburger or two and a diet coke.


Pat riots on the Pat-riots

Tom Brady, easy on the eyes, seems to be a nice guy, heck of a quarterback, sold his sole to the devil to go 19-0....ooops went to the well one to many times.

Senior Touchdown is getting bent over by the gossip rags and websites for being seen “walking unaided” around town with Gisele. Am I a life long New Englander, yes. Am I a Patriots fan, yes. Do I think Tom may not be taking his injury and rehab as seriously as he should be...maybe yes, maybe no, but let's not forget some stuff. I can go to work everyday of the week and chances are I can screw up. If I do, no big deal, learn from it and move on. When I leave there is not a press corps waiting to interview me on how bad I feel about blowing it for the team and the scores of fans. Next, even though work can sometimes get pretty hairy, there are not people trying to kill me every weekend, nor are there bounties placed on my head by my coworkers. Let's face it being a QB in the NFL can be the sweetest job, in Brady's case or the worst job, where ultimately you wind up getting in about 5-10 car accidents in one day. Yes, it's a game and these men on their pedestals get millions of dollars to play a game but how much lifelong physical and mental damage can we put a price on?

Now I know some may say well Tom is out screwing around and not rehabing or supporting the team. Fair enough, but when you're thinking that, just remember the days you've called out “sick” or just needed a mental health day and then think about the pressure on Brady. Fact of the matter is if I had the resources and lawyers Tom did, no camera-toting jackass would speak to me like that...ever.

Let's drink till we can't feel feelings.

Yours in Pawtucket,
--Pawtucket Pat

I hope you all are well.


Monday, November 17, 2008

Beginning of a tough weekend...

even though by the time you read this, it will already be Monday.

Friday had the potential to totally suck rocks but gratefully it got better. Started off having to wake at 0'Dark:30 because the furnace man was coming to work in the rental unit. Yours truly needed to be awake to let him in. So I was, a half hour before he arrived. I thought a half hour was respectable enough for me to not look like I just rolled out of bed. However it was cold and my hoodie and pajama pants didn't help. I totally looked “go college.”

furnace man shows up and seems to be a decent enough guy, minimal small talk, gets right to work. As I am leading him down to the turn-of-the-century basement, mom calls my cell...

Yes, I'm up.
No, I'm up...really.
I'm not 19 anymore...I'm responsible.
He's right here next to me, want to talk to him?
Furnace guy: Can you go and turn the thermostat as high as it will go?
I'm on it.
No mom, that was the furnace guy.
Bad news...go ahead.

and then she hit me with it...

My dog had passed on. Maybe passed on is not the right way to describe it, cause my dad had to put him down. But mom said, “we lost Buster...” as if he was misplaced. For a moment, I really hoped he had ran out of the house and was on the lamb, but deep down I knew what she meant. A 14 year-old bassett hound does not run away from a fireplace, two hots a day and probably as many walks, especially not when he has someone who loves him as much as my dad did.

There was more small talk between my mother and I, not that I can recall what was said, but, we exchanged good byes. I hung up and for a second sat down and just wished the fucking furnace man could be done. I wanted a few seconds alone. Maybe not to wail and gnash my teeth but, if I did want to do that, it would be ok.

he came upstairs about 15 minutes later, handed me a bill and then started with the small talk again. Asking if, “I had grown up in this area?” I told him he had and he name dropped some names on me. Names from my childhood and early adolescents. Names of kids who used to beat the shit out of me and torment me just for fun. Three brothers, two legit, one adopted, all mostly assholes. One is a cop, the other owns his own landscaping business and the third..well he just looks like a full-time prick. Driving around in his Mercedes convertible, trying to not let his thinning hair and bald spot show.

I didn't regale furnace man with tales of times gone by. I wanted him to go so I could be alone and start my day. He left. I took some time to think about my dog. I cried. I'm not above admitting it. There are certain bonds when created it takes a death to end them. My bond with Buster was good but not as strong as his bond with my father. For whatever reason my parents don't really associate with a whole lot of people. Not to say they're shut-ins or snobs but they still work a great deal and volunteer, so their free time is limited and often they just want alone time, much like myself.

My dad would get up every morning and go to the bathroom, take his pills and feed Buster. After Buster ate there was a quick walk and then dad and Buster would hop in the car. They would drive off the island to Tim Horton's where my dad would get a coffee and donut combo. The coffee for my dad, the donut for Buster. From what both my parents tell me, Buster was quite a hit at the drive-thru and usually he was salivating just waiting to pull into the window.

My dad grew up an only child, in a cold house, not to say he was not loved, but communication was not a strong suit of either my paternal grandparents. Grandad ha seen some shit in WWII and afterward, worked for the FBI for a short time. My grandmother, armed with a high school education, worked as a nurse for about a hundred years. After retiring, she donated about two thousand gallons of blood and did hospice visits or something or other. My dad had a good child hood, like me he was a fat kid, but I'm sure he wanted for nothing. He grew up with three or four great friends, two of which he is still in contact with and occasionally sees. Buster however, was a constant. Always around, always looking to see what my dad was up to...where he was going...and if there might be a treat involved.

The last two dogs my family has had have been bassetts. Rosebud, Busters predecessor, died early, we think she ate some rat poison and hemorrhaged to death cause our local vet was, “too busy” to take her. Buster on the other hand lived to be fourteen and had been in declining health. My dad was away at a conference when Rosebud died. I think he felt some sense of responsibility, I'm not sure why.

Dad was the only one around when the vet found a softball sized tumor on Buster's spleen. Mom told me that he called her at work, she has been working at the school she retired from just to pick up some extra money. “Wait...wait..wait..let me be there with you, “ she told me she told my father over the phone. He told her, “not to worry, that he could do this and not to bother leaving work.” He was the only one around when he made the decision. He was the only one around when his best friend was put to sleep.

Even now, there is a part of me that wants to know what was going through his head at that point. Not because I want him to relive a major tragedy in his life, but to gain from his experience. My dad has always been the greatest example of strength to me and I'm sure he felt anything but strong at that point. Part of me wants to give him a big hug and let him know he provided a wonderful life for Buster and that dog could not have asked for better owners and friends than my parents. But I won't say anything because I know how hard it is for him to express his feelings and even though I know it's cathartic for some, I think my dad is better left alone.

I finish this post tired and teary-eyed at the loss of a great friend and wonderful pet. I've been trying to take comfort in the fact that like the movie says, “All Dogs Go to Heaven.” I want to believe that. It is my firm hope and belief Buster has crossed the Rainbow Bridge without issue and is playing with all of his new found friends.

Rest In Peace Buster, we will miss you very much!

I hope you all are well.