I’ve started getting emails from concerned folks that NEEEEED to know how I’m doing. My mother even sent me a video email the other day to explain what a poor son I’ve been and how she is becoming an internerd to spite me. A video email?!?!? I know I’m talking about my mother here but no one is attractive on a USB webcam. That is unless you are nekkid, thankfully my mother hasn’t learned this yet.

When I say you have to be nekkid to be even remotely attractive on a webcam. Mind you, I meant YOU, any web nekkidness on my part might be considered an act of terrorism, akin to trying to smuggle more than 3 ounces of toothpaste on a plane.

Now did I miss something or has instant messaging lost its charm? I miss the sheer innocence of convincing some young girl that it’s her great idea to remove her shirt and fondle her funbags. I mean everybody is twittering what they are doing like masturbating with Tourette’s, I don’t think anyone’s listening to you. I may be just as guilty of that one… the masturbating that is… to hot midget erotic models… maybe.

Recently I spent a little time exploring all these social networking sites that are bookmarked on my computer. I’ve watched the evolution of social networking and every site claims more people and more features, but I have to admit the most fun recently has been OKCupid. Originally called “The Spark” the online IQ test was their claim to fame. The girl and I mostly log on now hunting unicorns. I know how mythical that creature can be so I’ve settled just to find a few like-minded folks to have the occasional beer and spirited conversation…. A much less elusive endeavor.

So um, yeah… I’m going to need your screenname, please slip into something more comfortable…

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

Religious Freedom in North Carolina is most often defined as the freedom to be whatever Christian you choose to be. When we moved in, my next door neighbor wasn’t as concerned that we knew where the nearest grocery store or liquor store but rather which church offers services that correspond with our schedule.

On the way to Highway 70 today we drove past the “New Aggressive Church of Deliverance”. I’m not kidding, apparently Christians don’t take ‘NO’ for an answer any easier than pan-handlers (this is a story for another time). At first we were taken aback by the relentless Christians but after a few minutes we decided to rename this place of worship “The New First Aggressive Church of Involuntary Flagellation” and all was good.

Bonus: A little history lesson… The original 13 colonies all had drafts prepared of the original Bill of Rights in order to discuss and ultimately ratify those amendments. After it’s ratification in 1791, these priceless early drafts went into storage, North Carolina’s draft was relatively safe from everything but the rages of war as Sherman’s dirty army of Northern Aggression waltzed through Raleigh and some enterprising yankee profiteers decided to take some souvenirs. The draft was returned in 2005 to much fanfare.

The DNC concluded tonight to a show at Mile High Stadium that was second only to the Olympics opening ceremonies. Obama made a rousing plea to bring change to Washington. If this war continues I fear all we’ll have left is change. All the while Iraq sits on nearly $80 BILLION in surplus. Oh sure it’s a drop in the bucket compared to the nearly $10 TRILLION the US is in debt, so why not stay in Iraq. Really, what’s another $23 BILLION a year and countless lives to continue to destabalize a region and rake in billions in profits for oil barons.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I can’t even begin to tell you how awesome the opening ceremonies of the Olympics were, I am trying not to be all gay and stuff, but was near tears there. The closing ceremonies were no less amazing. If you were to interpret the imagery there I can only assume that they plan on taking over the world with large wheeled bicycles.

These guys have put every other Olympics to shame. And at an estimated 60 billion dollars it’s unlikely another country will come close any time soon.

As the Olympics closes, I realize the media will have a whole new group of medal-wielding idols to impress some assumed intelligence upon. The next thing you know, these athletes who have committed their whole being to some physical endeavor will soon be considered celebrities and assumed experts on a range of topics. As if they are more likely to have developed a more informed opinion than the average mouth-breathing American.

Here’s a perfect example, Michael Phelps, after years of hard work, continuous practice and exercise has won eight gold medals in a single Olympics and attained world records in seven of those events. Earning lifetime ‘fuck you’ rights and finally a sweet pay day in endorsements. He’s now under attack for accepting endorsements from McDonald’s and Frosted Flakes. It’s not like he’s endorsing sitting on the couch and playing XBox for 16 hours a day which I assure you is as much a contributor to my morbid childhood obesity.

Hey Michael Phelps, if you come across any ‘child obesity advocates’ giving you shit, I suggest you just tell them to “Suck it” and beat them with a sock filled with Olympic gold medals.

Someone asked me about my photochopping skillz, I explained that for me, photochopping is like sex, if it takes more than 15 minutes and doesn’t make at least one person laugh, I want no part of it.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

The unfortunate aspect of eating rabbit is it almost never comes without a fair share of bones. And so went my first trip to Watts Grocery, the busy local Broad St eatery served its sweet braised bunny in a bed of risotto that was given far more attention than the meat. I fear the chef might have either been a vegetarian or just hated animals. The slick contemporary style reminded me why I can’t stand any place that uses the word ‘bistro’ in their advertising. Not because of the food, drink or the decor, but rather the clientèle who tends to think that because they are at a ‘bistro’ they are being cosmopolitan, regardless of how classless, loud and dull they are… Listen asswipe, before there was McDonald’s, there were bistros. That’s what bistro means, sit down, eat meat, drink a cup a coffee and get the fuck out.

Thoroughly by mistake afterward, I stumbled into Open Mic Night at Broad Street Cafe. On stage this old codger plucked away slowly and deliberately on a tired banjo. He was followed by the bartender belting out some soulful Tom Waits. However all good things come to an end, this end came in the form of a young dark drink of water strapping on a Fisher Price electric guitar and barking out a greeting like an emo version of Easy E. He proceeded to strangle that poor tone-deaf guitar like Norman Bates all the while squawking out “I don’t want your sympathy, I just want to share your agony” (I wish I was making this up). At which time I fear he might have heard my inside voice utter, “You aren’t sharing my agony, you’re creating it.”. After which the room became extremely uncomfortable so I left.

Last night I enjoyed my favorite little watering hole, Dain’s Place. A narrow, hot, little tavern just off the Duke Campus. I only stopped in for some food, but ended up staying until the band started, setting up a mere 5 feet from my chair. I often try to describe bands by relating them to more popular bands, this band sounded as if an autistic Devo had rolled up and smoked an early 70’s chubby, drunk Jim Morrison. I had enough when they began to rape The Pixies “Hey”. I tried to walk out however one of the more prepared students pulled out a pair of earplugs for me. I was in such pain I automatically shoved them in my ears not even questioning their hygeine. Ozzie the bartender was also clearly in pain so I actually cut the earplugs in half and shared them. I had to share a drink with this well prepared fellow. After the show I was heading to the door, sharing the old joke about the two bulls at the top of the hill. I knew I was fucking it up as I opened the door “…let’s go down and fuck those cows… er no, it’s just one cow… uh (falling into a bad Tommy Boy impression) OK, who’s head goes in the butcher’s ass, no wait it’s got to be the bull…” To which the rest of the bar in unison shares the proper punchline as I bow deeply to their superior delivery making a less than clean getaway.

I love this little college town…

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

If I never spend another night in a Days Inn it won’t be too soon. This last overnighter in Winston-Salem was way worse than any previous night.

What was so bad?

Previously to last night it was a warm February night in North Florida. They were so adamant about not getting pet hair on the comforter after paying their exorbitant pet deposit, I didn’t realize it would interfere with the human pubic hair farming they were already conducting on their comforters.

Last night, the bed was so hard I thought I had drank too much and ended up on the floor again. How did I know I was still on the bed? It was only slightly less sticky than the floor.

I called down to cancel the rest of the week, but had to go down to the desk because they couldn’t hear me over the pathetic groan of the air conditioner. I tried to explain my distaste to the front desk clerk, her response was a simple “I’m sorry to hear that” which sounded more like “What the fuck do you expect for $55?”.

Days Inn, may your business center have ‘tubgirl’ made a permanent screensaver!

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I just got back in town from three days of intensive training on how to support Apple Computers without the use of a hammer. Steve Jobs has no sense of humor when it comes to performance art.

The experience was just like being in those Mac commercials, a non-stop emo geek masturbatory fantasy with the small difference  that John Hodgeson was a hostile 350 lb asshole in combat boots, swinging an aluminum folding chair like a WWE headliner. I fear that was my best behavior. You see, there was every brand of Apple geek in attendence, brandishing their slim little iphones and expensive thrift store style and shaggy textured haircuts.

After three days I might concede to wanting one, but I fear if just one emo douchebag walked  by and commented on how cool I was I’d probably fling the slim little powerhouse in an attempt to decapitate the pretentious fucker like OddJob in that James Bond movie. Noone ever thinks my Dell is badass.

The one thing I did learn over the last three days is if you eat here….

You will be getting exactly what they advertise.

Excuse me, I gotta make a run to the ‘library’.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

Durham’s got a reputation… And like mine it’s nothing to be proud of… However, I doubt its reputation stems from liberal abuse of easy fat girls, drugs and local traffic laws. Although I might be wrong, after all Durham is considered a college town. However, despite all this, it suffers from as many ups as downs.

Friday night as we made our way out to dinner I heard the familiar wail of sirens. Familiar only from years of living in the highest per capita homicide capital in the country, Orlando, FL. As I tried to get a bearing I heard a low rumble like a train coming, down the road was a champagne colored SUV with a flat front tire barreling at us with 3 patrol cars hot in pursuit. As we sought cover, the truck leaned into a perilous right hand turn spitting distance away.

I have to add that our little community has a very active listserv (read yahoogroup), we are constantly made aware of yard sales, free events and aggressive solicitors with a flurry of emails every day. This same vehicle had been seen in the area recently aggressively harassing and stalking pedestrians. I emailed the list after returning from dinner to find out what the result of this chase was, a Durham police Sergeant replied that thanks to the listserv participants they were able to cobble together a license plate # and wait for the moron to show up at his home.

It’s only slightly disconcerting that these officers in ‘hot pursuit’ were incapable of getting the license plate without the combined help of the neighborhood, that they lost the 3 wheeled SUV in the pursuit, and the town that the Andy Griffith Show is based on is just up the road.

I’m just hoping that we give these guys more than one bullet. Come on boys, make me proud…er.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I thought I would share this in case anyone else is ready to fling their DVR out the window and use it as a skeet clay. This is the email I sent Time Warner Cable today regarding my DVR box which is no longer even functional thanks to their newest unwelcome ‘upgrade’. Feel free to copy and paste it to your own cable company and perhaps they’ll stop trying to make things prettier at the expense of useful features…

The Time Warner DVR Program Guide is broken. Several weeks ago, without warning or permission my Program Guide was ‘upgraded’??? Features I’ve come to depend on for managing my DVR’s saved programs were lost.
These broken features include:

1. If I play a saved program from the Show List and then want to delete it the Show List no longer remembers which entry I had played and starts from the top again. This is by far the BIGGEST flaw.

2. If I want to record a program and keep it, I used to be able to do it from the original record options, now I have to go to the recording a second time and open a second record options dialog to keep a recording indefinitely.

3. When you delete a running program from the Show List and push down to the next program immediately it jumps to the showing from the Guide instead of the Show List. My work around is to wait a few seconds after deleting and the Show List will become available again.

The only real improvement I noticed was the show list feature ’sort by title’ that might have been there before but I didn’t need it because the Guide actually worked. This is just what I’ve recalled as I write this now, I’m sure more annoyances will resurface after I mail this off. Let’s just say, I’m not impressed with the ‘cool new look’ of your ‘improved’ Guide. Another product that has sacrificed functionality for fancy drop shadows and gradients. Perhaps you should stop hiring Windows Vista programmers.

As with most of my complaints, suggestions and humor this is likely to be lost when the Bangladeshi Tech Support drone opens this email and decides which pre-made form answer is least likely to encourage me to write another email. I’m sure I’m over-thinking this and my email will probably merely be sorted into the same black hole where they deposit telemarketers’ souls.

I know most of you could give a shit, but some of us require our toys to work flawlessly and intelligently so we don’t have to…

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

In an attempt to not show that my not-stalking could be little more than idle fascination, I give you another smart broad to ogle at, may I present…

Jennifer HooperMcCarty Ph.D.,

Hot Metallurgical-type scientist babe.

Jen, if I may be so casual, studies tensile strengths in metals, specifically the rivets of the infamous Titanic. If you’ve been living in a cave for the last hundred years, the Titanic is one of the largest spectacles of Heavy Metal to ever rock straight to Davey Jones Locker. (For the record Maddox, there will no further mention of The Monkees, or the gratuitous use of the word RIVET for all you Industrial music fans).

However, I will make it clear that this smart tart is not to be mistaken with sexy goofball, Jenny McCarthy.

(Hard to find clothed shot, someone buy this girl a shirt)

Jenny McCarty’s Titanic Hypothesis is that the big, bad company, Harland & Wolff was in such a hurry to finish the Big Ship that they used substandard metal in the rivets. She wrote a book about it and also appeared on the Colbert Report to hawk her science packed tome, but I’ll save you some disappointment by saying there are no hot bikini pics of Ms. McCarthy or Dr. McCarty in this book. You’ll have to ask her hubby for those. Perhaps the ole “Do you have any nekkid pics of your wife” trick will work.

By the way, there is also the implication that untrained workers contributed to the faulty application of said rivets, including several Rosie-style Riveters. That’s right Ms. McCarty might be responsible for setting the blue collar sexual glass ceiling just a little lower. She did however supply a little Windex for the ladies by saying it was probably also the Irish.

Oh Yeah. A little piece of trivia which is probably useless but still topical. When I was in St. Nazaire, I was told by a local food proprietor that the SS France was actually designed upon the discarded hull of the Brittanic, the sister ship of the Titanic which was also a hospital ship and not absorbed into the Cunard Line with the rest of the doomed White Star Line. Today I find with a simple Wikipedia search that the HMHS Brittanic is over 1500 miles away as the crow flies, sitting in 400ft of water off the coast of Greece. I am now deeply distraught as I’m not sure whether to believe the highly esteemed Wikipedia or the bumpkin Frenchman who thinks putting a head of romaine lettuce on a pizza makes his coastal food dive more cosmopolitan. I guess the only thing the French are good at is making pastries and surrendering.

So in Closing I’d like to thank you,

Ms. Jennifer HooperMcCarty Ph.D.,

for making metallurgy sexy without the use of one blowtorch.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I started a new job today.

I know, ‘didn’t I just hear this shit already?’. OK, I upgraded and took a job with a local television station. I once swore (OK, OFTEN SWORE) I would never take a position with a local station, but I really got tired of waiting for da goberment to give it to me deep. So now I have fancy benefits like paid time off and real health insurance. I want to share my experiences in government employ, but not tonight.

I know the Mexican single mom across the street in her ‘daisy dooks’ was excited at the news as she bent over at the waist in front of me to either pick up her kid or show off her ovaries. I thought it was an innocent invitation, tacitly relaying her fertility until she screamed from between her legs “Twenty dollars make you Holler”.  Threatening to hike the toddler across the yard. I guess she heard I got a raise. I politely passed and went inside to sip a celebratory scotch out of its gallon plastic container.

I then recalled why I feel so blessed to have a liquor store as my next door neighbors. The proprietors have taken to calling us The Lushes, as if it was a proper name. I’m wane to correct the fact that we aren’t married, as he might figure out that we’re also not related and are living in mortal sin. I’m serious, these Christians don’t fuck around.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

OK, truth is not much of the weekend was filled with LOLZ, that is unless you get a kick out of watching a fat man mow a lawn that’s grown so tall that the federal government was offering me agricultural subsidies.

However on Sunday, I was rewarded for my Manuel Labour as we drove out to the Dorton Arena in Raleigh for a battle of brawn vs. beauty, lingerie vs. laminated floors and good comedy vs. good sense… In other words it was time for Roller Derby.

And let me tell you, the various teams of the Carolina Rollergirls are among the most organized and beautiful ruffians who have ever laced on skates. The show was well prepared and went off with hardly a hiccup much to our chagrin as we showed up late following one of my patented shortcuts.

However, it wasn’t for lack of good directions or easy access to the venue. No, I’m just too obstinate not to follow my own divine instruction, we’ll discuss all that at a later date, this is all about hot, tough broads in lingerie.

One thing I can say is, I will be the most fervent Roller Derby fan in the months ahead… Ok maybe not the most, there were some people there who definitely put the ‘fever’ in ‘fervent’. Many of them looked like rejects from a Troma film, not that this is a bad thing. Lloyd Kaufman, I still love you in a completely heterosexual fashion.

I don’t have to tell you the only thing that would make Roller Derby better.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

That’s right…Hippies Rejoice, someone still likes you, however it’s still not me.

We decided to escape the fast paced world of banjo plucking on the porch in Durham to do some harmonica honking in the foothills of the Appalachian Trail in Beautiful Asheville. The last foothold in the south where tie-dye shirts aren’t considered probable cause for a little illegal search and seizure.

Yeah, that’s our little log cabin up on the hill, which is a big improvement from the one Amy got for us 2 years ago that was built in 1860 and felt like it. I fell in love with this one, I might have to buy my own, they come with wheels like a mobile home except made out of Lincoln Logs, how cool is that?

This log cabin was situated on a working farm, where I got to demonstrate that ALL farm animals are compelled to urinate in my presence, I’ll save you the dozen or so other pictures of cows, pigs, chickens and the other farm denizens relieving themselves at my feet. I will however say that there was no difference from two years ago in that I spent most of the weekend outside in the hot tub buck ass nekkid. It’s true… And to show you how awesome it was, here’s a picture of my cock…

(You can bet this cock is urinating right now)

On the way back we decided to take a detour into the Linville Caverns, by ‘we decided’ I mean Amy said “Turn Right HERE, we’re taking a detour”. However, our cute little guide Amanda made our underground expedition comfortable despite the cramped quarters. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to tight damp places but I promised myself I would try not to discuss vaginas for just one entry. Thanks for sticking in there.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

OK, an anonymous person who may or may not be googling herself, let me know in no uncertain terms that the government of our great land of milk and honey, our bastion of freedom in a swirling abyss of anarchy, may not take kindly to some strange fat man expressing interest in any government scientists, especially while using the word ’stalk’, even in jest.

So for the record… I, nor any of my many fictional personas, have ever actively stalked or participated in any stalking, real or imaginary. Furthermore, I promise to discurage anyone from showing any interest in scientists or Science in general. I will actively encourage everyone to run to church, renounce all reason and good sense, get baptized, and grab your “God Hates Fags” sign while protesting at soldiers’ funerals. This I would do to make sure that everyone knows I have no interest in stalking government scientists.

However if you aren’t convinced, and you wish to interogate my friends with any waterboarding techniques or any other Executive approved torture methods, they would all concur that I am the least likely person in America to be fixated any longer than it takes to look up someone on Google. However, I whole-heartedly encourage you to try, I will be more than happy to supply you with a list of people who I consider my bestest friends and deserve some serious water-boarding.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I usually don’t say much about work here, mainly because I have other outlets for that and I’d prefer to keep the two somewhat seperate. However I got some good news today that I would soon be moving to greener pastures, not that I would abandon these good people but to paraphrase Limp Bizkit ‘I’m doing it for the nookie’.

As such I had to share a little of what I come across in my day to day grind. Now mind you, this doesn’t come from my department, in fact it comes directly out of the FBI guide to concealable weapons which is so widely distributed its hardly a matter of national security, in fact I wouldn’t be suprised if it was somewhere on the internerd by now.

However, it was good for a giggle on a Friday afternoon. I just just had this ‘worst case scenario’ imagery of a feral biker gang of Alton Brown clones descending on a small town racing around wielding flourescent green plastic lettuce knives.

Sometimes I think the only reason Amy sleeps with me is so she can hear the fantastic dreams I retell in the morning.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

It’s (NOT) true, I (HAVE NOT) taken to internerd stalking… I guess this is what happens when I don’t have a bar to drink at and take to scotching it up in front of the intertubes. I imagine I’m pretty harmless as a stalker since I have the attention span of a squirrel. It will take every bit of concentration just to finish this post.

But seriously, I was watching History Channel’s ‘The Universe’ which I tend to put on for background noise. I’ve learned that it makes almost no sense to discuss astronomy with anyone in the bible belt as most people here have a hard time trying to quantify where their Christian heaven would reside in a universe that extends beyond our own atmosphere.

So as astronomers postulating on the scales of millions of light years droned on, this hot little biscuit came on the screen. Suddenly she was speaking my language.

She tried to spice it up by demonstrating the gas emissions of a quasar with two blowtorches. I’m afraid to admit, I might have had an emission of my own. There was something about a hot female astrophysicist with blowtorches in both hands that made me involuntarily touch myself. I reached climax right about the time she started discussing the dissipation of the accretian disc field of a quasar while holding said blowtorch.

It’s not my fault, girls with blowtorches are HOT!!!

Note scientific example:

However, Hot female Astrophysicists with blowtorches are goddess-life.

So… thank you Amy Mainzer,

for not only making astronomy interesting and easy to digest but also making it…

Damned Sexy!!!

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

You only have to look at me to know I don’t have much interest in sports and basketball least of all. This is mostly due to the effects of gravity on fat, creepy, old men (I found out recently among cute little coeds, I might qualify)

Amy, a Michigan native and rabid Pistons fan, has been forcing me to become acquainted with the game in the least obtrusive way by putting the games on the radio. With Sirius we have the ‘advantage’ of picking from several games, not that I would know what an exciting game is… that is until I started listening to the sexual undertones in the color commentary.

I knew that sports have always been a haven for rampant homosexuality, but it wasn’t until this Final Four Playoffs did I find out how dirty it could be, and how colorfully these perverted announcers speak of this young men’s sport.

It all starts with talk of “Double-teaming” and “Triple-teaming”, “Penetrating the ‘red zone’”, “feeding the ball”, “getting the ball inside”, “man on man coverage” all kinds of violations of “the hole” including slamming, dunking or the relatively innocuous “going to the hole”. Nevermind ‘the rim’, “Reach-in fouls around the rim” “planting under the rim”, let’s just say there seems to be an abundance of rim play of all kinds…

And I don’t think I have to explain the profane offenses against men by the the names Butts or Cox.

I’m glad we’ll soon be over all this gayness and moving into Summer for more manly sports where they aren’t afraid of the feeling of spandex against their tanned, rippling, muscular thighs, glistening with sweat…

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

I started work today, I can’t tell you where, let’s just say it’s a state secret. I walked in the door and looked around for someone to tell me who I was reporting to and who was my supervisor. This in turn led to everyone thinking I was their personal “do boy”. I learned a lesson by the end of the day, just about the time the janitor was handing me a mop and either was teaching me to swabbing the deck or was recalling his time as a Mexican golf pro, I’m sorry, senor, I don’t habla Manuel Labour.

People keep on asking me how it is up here so here’s a few more observations about the difference between North Carolina and Florida.

• Co-op is a lifestyle in North Carolina, from veggies to beer and coffee.
• Florida food tastes freeze dried and vacuum packed by comparison now.
• Basketball is like breathing in North Carolina, don’t even ask ‘who’s playing?’
• There is no FARK category for North Carolina
• Seasons in North Carolina: 4 In Florida: 2
• The best friend I’ve met in North Carolina collects TRACTORS as a HOBBY

• And finally, in North Carolina, when you leave your car on the side of the road, the state troopers call your mother 3 states away to see if you are OK.

I know I’ve been wane to write anything recently for any number of reasons, sometimes you’re so busy living you forget the importance of recounting the details. Besides I doubt there is an audience for my particular brand of idiocy anymore. But then I’m reminded that not only am I incredibly funny and intelligent… but according to popular opinion, also DEAD SEXY!!!

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

Settling in comfortably in North Carolina. We’ve been making friends everywhere we go. Some of the circumstances might seem a little ridiculous like two weeks ago as we were in World Market one of the clerks had commented on my leather jacket saying he never had one, so I took it off and let him try it on. Amy smiled and I told the kid to keep it. He practically chased me out of the store thanking me but what he didn’t know is when I put it on earlier Amy had said she didn’t like the way it hung on me. I’m sure the eBay queen will find a suitable replacement for next to nothing.

We haven’t made any real regular friends, despite knowing a few people upon arriving here, but this takes time for both of us, we’re very finicky when it comes to those. We’ve trolled Myspace and Craigslist to get an idea about the folks around town but we’ve made very few intros that way. We both came across a cute little girl on Myspace and messaged her only to be accused of trying to get her in bed. She might have read into my note a little but I’d be lying if the idea of having another girl with Amy hadn’t crossed my mind, especially one that I didn’t mind playing with as well.

Which started me thinking about that most elusive beast, the unicorn, a single girl that is interested in dating a couple in some manor or another while not disrupting the harmony of the first relationship. Although Amy talks about it, she doesn’t think this beast exists. I’ve watched these relationships work at least as well as mine have in the past but like everything I don’t think it’s something you look for, they just sort of happen. Personally, I’d just like to know that Amy has someone to share the limitless affection that seems to go wasted in comparison to my seeming stoicism.

Speaking of mythical beasts, after several years and a total of nearly 292,000 miles, the Grey Car (shown above in a condition I never knew) finally fell victim to a collapsed transmission. Her engine was still running strong as she slowly slipped in and out during the last few days until she finally lost all power in North Carolina at Mile Marker 289 on I-40. Her parts are to be distributed to other worthy Luminas still among the living, donated to a worthy tow truck operator to help out his sister. When I brought it into the service station to confirm the death, they said there is no such thing as a Lumina with 292,000 miles, so I had to show them the beast. This car lived at least two lifetimes and owed no one a thing.

Rest in Peace.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

So after a whirlwind of goodbyes and packing and losing stuff and truck renting and driving through the night with an 18 year old cat howling its brains out for 10 solid hours we got ourselves and most of our shit to our new home in Durham, NC.

And due to our sexy little research area and through the science of Google I have REAL real-time traffic and you can look right in my windows, I couldn’t be more relieved…

We had a going away party of sorts, I appreciate all the people that made it and the few people that wrote to tell me you couldn’t. There were some noticeable absences which were disappointing. But it’s all behind me and I can only appreciate that everyone made our last hurrah a blast and allowed me to escape without much in the way of violence.

So we’re up here still unpacking and both still waiting for our jobs to start and it seems like we might just be waiting until the end of this next month due to the island-like sloth prevalent here. This will surely dry up our savings and make us start tearing the house apart looking for items to Ebay. (I wonder if you can Ebay cats?)

We’ve been exploring the area, here’s what we’ve learned so far:

• There are 2 kinds of pool halls, one is fucked up by management to maintain a certain kind of clientèle like the legendary Green Room and the other is fucked up by the clientèle like the more infamous Jumpshots . Either way, it’s not a pool hall as far as we’re concerned if it isn’t fucked up.
• Top of the Hill is a restaurant in Chapel Hill that UNC students take their parents to when visiting. The beer is excellent, but the food will make you wish you ordered your steak at the Waffle House.
• Cary is a huge suburban sprawl in the corridor between us and Raleigh, it’s said that CARY stands for Containment Area for Relocated Yankees. Needless to say, we’ll be keeping our distance.
• The locals think the area is overrun with Mexicans, trust me it’s not. However, it does help if you don’t mind the piercing din of tejano music pouring out of 1983 Corolla with a missing a tailpipe.
• Honey’s Restaurant is 24 hours with free WiFi and is like a cross between Denny’s and Patsio’s, if you don’t know what I mean, it’s a good thing.
• There is one goth/industrial night at a gay club in Raleigh which reminds me of Ft. Lauderdale 20 years ago.
• Finally, Bojangle’s has it all over KFC, Church’s and Popeye’s combined.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.

You may or may not know, but I am a mere week away from moving away from this fine Sunshine State for the wilds of North Carolina. We’ve been planning this move for approximately two months, all the preparations are made, the mail’s been transfered, the whole deal. We found a beautiful house in downtown Durham, mere crawling distance from some of the coolest bars in the state (For the record, yes, the proximity of good bars does weigh in our decision process).

Neither of us have start dates for work, but we both have strong commitments, strong enough to make the leap, the tension in the house while we waited became unbearable and we decided we just needed to pull the trigger and get our asses out there. If you have any idea what tension looks like in our house, I can assure yo, it isn’t pretty…

I’ll continue my work keeping you fine people safe from terrorists and our own maleficent planet. However, I think for me to finish what is sure to be the most impressive piece of literature ever created, it’s necessary that I find myself a front porch. You should know that North Carolina is famous for its front porches. Besides, Florida writers are known to use really wordy and idiotic titles and wrap their books in seafoam and peach or some other horribly Floridian pastel. Can you really be taken seriously as a writer if no matter how much sex and murder you jam in your opus, it still looks like it belongs in the children’s section.

But seriously, Don’t think of it as me leaving Florida, think of it as making myself more available to the other 47 contiguous states. And truly no state should be allowed to suffer with me as long as Florida has, but don’t you fear for North Carolina, I only have her best interests at heart. Please don’t make me create a list of the people I’ll miss in this fine state, the internet would surely break.

For those of you that would like to say goodbye, Gary Holmes is planning something of an event at The Willow Tree Cafe in downtown Sanford, all in order to make me feel bad about leaving. If you would like to help him in making me feel like I abandoned you all, feel free to join us the evening of Wednesday February 13th. That is this coming Wednesday for those of you who don’t know how to work a calender.

Originally published at Uberbastard.com. You can comment here or there.