Yesterday, I gave blood for the first time. I’m glad I did it, though it certainly knocked me for a loop! It took me a few hours to “get right” again. For my troubles, though, I did get a snappy “vintage Red Cross ballcap”, which I like very much.

Haven’t given blood before? It’s really not that bad. There is a very slight pain when the needle goes in (“the old familiar sting” in NIN parlance), but other than that, you lie there and drink some orange juice and squeeze a ball in your hand. The people running the show in the travelling truck that visited us were very nice.

So Saturday night after a fairly successful poker tournament, Hunter, Chuck, Chris, Kelly and I headed down to The Outlook in the Highlands to meet up with some other revellers, including Hunter’s fine lady Jamie (whose birthday it was). As it normally conspires at The Outlook, we sat around, chatted a bit in a the dark and loud “back room”. There are no TV’s in the backroom, and eventually our attention was focused on the two large windows facing the street.

These windows had shown us many things in the past, and tonight was no exception. No one really paid much attention to the two motorcycles parked just in front of the windows. No one paid attention until one of the riders appeared, that is. His first few fitful minutes of attempting the simplest of operations like putting on gloves, finding keys, etc. were not noticed, until someone realized that this man was heavily intoxicated. We all made suppositions as to his next move – would he attempt to find the sunglasses there were on his head? Would he fumble for his house key, and attempt to ram it into the unforgiving ignition? Would he release the kickstand and be crushed? Unforunately for us and most fortunately for he, none of these things happened. The entertained were no longer so.

But wait! There is still one bike left, and a rider no doubt. 10 minutes pass, and the other rider greets his hog. Thought not as obviously pissed as the first rider, I did notice his multiple attempts to fasten and zip his leather jacket. After at least 5 minutes, I decided that I could stand it no longer, and offered a bounty of $40 to anyone seated at our table that would help that poor man put on his jacket.

It should be clear to the reader that I did not expect anyone to take me up on such a ridiculous quest.

But someone did – oh, they did. Hunter immediately stands up, and I realize that of all the people there, I could count on him to hold fast to his boast. However, seeing as how Hunter had spent most of his luck (perhaps over-spent) placing 2nd in the evening’s poker tourney, I thought for sure he couldn’t complete the deal. My second thought was: My god, Brian Walls is not here, and Hunter is most certainly going to be killed. My third thought was then, of course: At least I will still have my $40.

Moments later, after Hunter had exited the backroom (with Katy in tow) I saw his betoqued head appear on the other side of our window of disconnect. I saw him face the big man, who was still struggling with the jacket. A number of possible scenarios raced through my mind, the least of which was Hunter explaining this farce and offering the dude $20 to have him zip up his coat. The worst was Hunter being punched so hard that he flew backwards into the glass, no doubt expending his $40 in stitches. Shortly after that grisly premonition, Hunter turned about face, saluted to us in the back room, and strode off exit stage right. My challenge well met.

Hunter and I had shook hands before, and I was therefore obligated to complete the bet, which I did. Hunter graciously gave $20 of it to Katy, though frankly if I had had the balls to confront a drunken ogre, I would have kept that $40 for myself.

It’s fairly safe to say that my bets in the company of the Incorrigible Mr. Dixon will no doubt be of a smaller sort from now on. Kudos to you.

Geoff, Dan and I went to eat lunch over in the park by Crosby Middle School today.

I had just finished my tasty cheese sandwich and my Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray Soda when I peeked over to my left shoulder to notice something like a dried leaf. Upon further inspection, I notice it’s some HUGE BUG. Naturally, I retain my calm and gently brush the thing off my shoulder. At least, that’s what happened in the version of the story that doesn’t make me seem like a big weenie. I batted at my shoulder and stood up, screaming like a little girl. Summing the courage to turn my head in the general direction of my shoulder again — I did, slowly. IT WAS STILL THERE!!! AHHHH!!! Finally, I dislodged the damned thing and it flew onto our picnic table, where it sat for a little while, but then finally took wing, in a slow, lumbering manner.

I took note of it’s odd spiny protuberance on its back, it’s nearly 1.5″ length, and its “headless mantis” sort of look, and went back to work determined to identify this thing. My initial searches for “insect identification” and “insect database” were inconclusive. Finally, I decided to check for “Kentucky insects”, and found a site at the University of Kentucky Department of Entymology called “The Critter Case Files” (an excellent resource for Kentucky insects). Having never seen anything of it’s sort in Kentucky before, I wasn’t sure if I’d find it. However, after a short search I determined that this was in fact an “Assassin Bug“. A “wheel bug“, to be exact. My estimation of 1.5″ was right on target — and it’s slow flight characteristics seemed to be right on (though the clincher was that spiny ridge on its back).

Despite my harrowing encounter, and subsequent taunting, I’m glad that I had my near assassination attempt.

So, my step-sister Kristin wanted to get her nose pierced. And Kelly, having had a nose-ring for some time and even second time, became the lead conspirator for this journey. Body Art Emporium (chosen by readers of LEO as the “Best Body Piercing” establishment in 2002) was the chosen piercing place. Well, I won’t bore you with details, so here is the gallery of Kristin’s Nose Ring Experience. It was a wee bit painful towards the end, but our man Doc gave it to her for free for the trouble. Nice guy!

From Yahoo News: Two Charged After Human Catapult Death

Yeah. Catapult? Oh no — they were firing PEOPLE with a TREBUCHET. Wow.

so, as i was “wrapping things up” last night — checking email, etc — after hitting the Outlook with Jackson and Hunter, I noticed Karen, out beloved female kitty going a bit nuts around the front window of our house. I turned to the left to see what was what, and there, sitting just inches from the window was a smallish, grey cat. It scared the living beejeezus out of me, as the cat was lit up by the lamp in the window, and I really hadn’t expected there to be a cat, or really ANYTHING staring in the window at me.

Immediately, the cat-naming gears in my head started turning, and I deemed that this cat should be known as “Stoop Cee-Aye-Double-Tee” (Stoop Catt), as he/she was found upon our stoop after a no-doubt harrowing night livin’ on the streetz. I put out some water and food for this newly-favored kitty, and called it a night. Perhaps he/she shall show up tomorrow? I just don’t know.

From The Smoking Gun‘s “Document of the Day”:

JUNE 25–Meet Dion Milam. The 30-year-old California inmate may be the scariest looking criminal TSG has ever seen. Milam, who wears “Aryan” and “Honor” tattoos above his eyebrows and a swastika tat on his neck, was charged yesterday in a methamphetamine case (his brother-in-law allegedly tried to mail the drug into the Stanislaus County Jail, where Milam is being held on a murder charge). The below mug shot was taken earlier this year following Milam’s arrest in the murder case. Milam, who pulled a gun on sheriff’s deputies, got roughed up a bit as he resisted arrest. (1 page)

ben: that man is the pride of the species and i think we should breed him for our own horrible bloodsport.

it would be called “Aryan Honor” it would start out small and eventually gain a loyal following. then would be exposed as fake and scripted. in the wake of that scandal, reality shows with many of the same “actors” would be created one of which would be “Goat House“. “Goat House“, much like “Survivor” would be the true original, by which future shows are modeled and poorly copied. but even the true originator must wane and then the obvious sequel and a true triumph of a pun — “Goat Boat” would be spawned.

m@: you’ve got an entire TV empire in the works here… just waiting for the societal depravity required to set it in motion…

ben: danielle refers to my flights of fancy as “elaborate daymares”.

m@: heheheh.

(let’s face it folks… i’m just ripping off TVGoHome)

update: caption – “hey buddy, you’ve got a little custer in your mustache!”

further update: that picture is still creeping me out.

(AFP/File/Frederic J. Brown)

“the” SARS.

I give unto thee, a pamphlet from the Church of Scientology, circa 1976. link lifted from DiePunyHumans, now with more RSS!

BTW, get the skinny on Scientology over at Operation Clambake.

I don’t know if i’d really want to buy a ghost in a jar, but its probably safe to say that if i had one, i’d want to sell it.

If you don’t win that bid, you can always just buy one off the shelf.

Then again, you could just make your own.

Next week — are you a ghost looking for a jar?

thanks to jason (via m@) for the ebay link. thanks to memepool for the style.