Mc Rib

Just the name itself can illicit a response. Go ahead, say to someone “McRib.” If they say “Huh? What?” say it again but in a loud clear voice. Their response is either “Eww” or “It’s Back?! Where! TELL ME!” and sometimes “I am from an alien world and do not know what you are talking about.” Personally I LOVE the McRib. It belongs in the Pantheon of Historic Sandwiches alongside the Monte Cristo, Pork Roll Egg and Cheese and the local favorite “The Italian Stallion” from Jimmy’s Foodstore. But the McRib is more than a mere sandwich. It is a sensory experience. Its look, simple and streamlined. The tangy smell of BBQ sauce arouses the nostrils. As you lift it to your mouth notice the heat radiating from it. Then, before long the long dormant lizard part of your brain takes over and you don’t so much eat but devour it, in the most primal sense of the word. All you are left with are the saucy remnants on your face and hands and the aching lust for more. McDonalds thrives on this lust. Just as you start to believe, nay KNOW that finally the McRib is back to stay, like the elusive Sasquatch it slips away.



Good bye my tasty friend.

200 Words about Pro Wrestling

In Texas its not called "Wrestling" we call it "Wrasslin'", and for a time Dallas was one of the 7 wonders of the Wrassling world. We had the Sportatorium and the Von Erich clan. In those days what we in the business call "kayfabe" was alive and well. Basically it means you carry the suspension of disbelief with you at all times. That meant that Faces and Heels never traveled, socialised or were even seen together. You lived your gimmick any time the public saw you. What that meant if you were a heel was that you could be an asshole to strangers and they loved you for it. That time has come and gone; sure current wrestlers will most likely respond to you in character but we all know The Undertaker isn't really a dead man and I doubt you would ever see Abullah the Butcher stabbing people with a fork at Golden Corral.

I am going to set the record strait once and for all. Yes, the outcome of the match is predetermined but the action IN the ring are as real as they can be without violating the laws of physics or crippling someone. Let me put it to you like this, you can always plan a way to loose a match and still come out on top, you never plan on getting a concussion. Hell i had 4 concussions in 3 years, I went blind once and have accidentally broken peoples noses, wrists, ribs and fingers all in a "fake" wrassling match. Oh and I loved every minute of it. In real life I have only ever been in one fight and I was 12 years old, but when I was Josh "The Inferno" Sterno or Gavin Arliss Young I was a white hot grease fire of pure entertainment. I kicked ass and talked trash. It was SO much fun knowing that for a few hours every weekend that all 135 lbs of me could be considered a force to be reckoned with. All the frustration and stress i had inside I could let out in a flurry of kicks, punches, dives and suplexes and also provide a modest amount of showmanship to my loyal fans. Hindsight IS 20/20 and had I know that now at 29 I would walk like an old man and my hips would bother me when it rains I might have changed my path, but the chances are slim.

I LOVED being part of the crazy circus that was Texas Indy Wrasslin in the 90's. I will always carry the scars and stories i acquired during my brief time in the squared circle with pride. I still hope against up that one day, even if its just one more time i can step back into the ring and still give the people a match worth watching

200 Words about Karaokey, Inspired by The Winedale Tavern

In the dim light of the bar I watch a dewy bead of condensation lazily decent my pint glass. I nervously scan the bar, quickly moving my eyes around the room. My blood is thick with anticipation. I mentally battle my fear.

Have I made the right choice?

What is going to happen if this all goes wrong?

Will they turn on me? Can I even pull this off?

I have but a moment to push these thoughts away when I hear my name. The voice cleaves through the din of the crowd, it is all I can hear. My heart flutters in my chest as I hop off my bar stool and walk toward the stage. With shaky hands I adjust the mic stand and nod to the throng.

It is too late now. This IS going to happen.

Bathed in the red glow of the neon sign I address the bar with these words "I'm Lemmy, We're Motörhead and You suck!" As the opening riff of "Ace of Spades" begins its auditory Blitzkrieg. For the next three minuets I cease to exist as I become a living conduit, plugged into the primal current of Rock and Roll. The words of the song spill out of me in a voice made of twisted metal and broken glass.

My hands twist and contort over the invisible frets as I wrench the notes out of my nonexistent guitar. With both hands I seize the microphone and hurl the final chorus at the crowd.

As quickly as it started my vocal artillery ceases. My offering to the gods of Rock is complete and now I am just an empty vessel. The scowl fades from my face as I walk with satisfaction, my metal horns high in the air.

Welcome to Karaoke night

Letters from an Alternate Universe

To all the residents of the Romero Gardens Sub-division.

As we all know the recent undead scourge has irrevocably impacted our quiet community. Thankfully to the succinct action of local law enforcement and itinerant gun enthusiasts we now have regained some sense of stability in our lives. Me and my family are eternally grateful to all of them.

The focus of this correspondence is to discuss the gross negligence and apathy shown by my neighbors.

V-Day will be forever etched on our minds. My home was compromised by the undead at around 11:30 that night. We only survived our 45 day siege because of a hole caused by water damage that allowed us access to the pantry from the attic where we hid. Little did we know that the initial threat was suppressed in less than 12 hours. No one bothered to check on the well being of our family. We languished for 45 days in a cramped attic with no ventilation and the constant fear of zombies.

Unaware to us  during that time our fellow home owners had been taking liberties with our belongings. I would like everything promptly returned or it will be taken back with extreme prejudice

I would like to take this time to personally apologize to the recently widowed Mrs. Kells. Your husbands drunken shuffling was very similar to that of a zombie. Had he not raided my liquor cabinet all of this could have been avoided.

It was only during the Victory Block Party did we realize the coast was clear; no thanks to any of you.

Therefore, I respectfully decline your multiple requests to remove the slogan "Fuck You Guys" that I have painted on my garage door.

See you in Hell

The Lombards

Miss Oppertunity

Somehow that dummy Jill convinced me
 to dress up like a strawberry
and go to "Lets Make a Deal" with her.


She's all done up like Miss Kitty but I'm the one who gets picked.

Door #,1 #2 or  #3 he asks. I'm thinking......

but I take to long and we break for commercial and am ushered off to the wings by one of his goons.

After two in two they haul me back out to choose again.

He leans in close so only I can hear and says "I could eat you ALL day" and tries to tongue my ear.
Then I headbutt him, Jill screams as his nose blooms the color of my costume.

I wonder if they will fix that in editing.

It's not worth mentioning

We were outside the bar, sitting in the car having an argument.
I don't remember what she was saying to me but it smelled like High Life and Parliaments.

She was always so pretty, like Classic movie star pretty.

Then she put a cigarette out on my cheek.

I should have been paying attention but I was thinking about how I was going to leave her chained to a light pole in a few days.