Oh What A Night!

So I was at the









show last weekend, sitting next to a







and at the break dude gets down on his little knees and starts



So I'm all "what are you doing?"

and he's all "I'm



한국어:







"

so then I'm all "why are you so into





and he goes "I don't know why, but it gives me

WELL, DO YOU?

DO YOU THINK I'M THIS?



















CAUSE I THINK YOU'RE THIS!

Bloggers in a Dangerous Time

Q: If Leo was on American Idol, what would they call his fans?



A: Leo-Tards!

Welcome back to the LDFH. As STAIND would say, "It's been a while". Today I'm going to throw down some fresh blog lingo, or blingo as it's called. All the kids are kicking it, so I thought I should get you up to speed (or should I say hi-speed DSL! Wheeeee!)

Item #1.


Bloggerati: n. The bloggerati is a group of super-elite blog-snobs (or blobs)who dominate the blogging landscape. Some members of the Bloggerati are:

Me
Antonio Esfandiari
Tyler Hayden

Item #2.


Yule Blog: 1. A blog celebrating Christmas. Often enjoyed with Egg-Blog. 2. A blog celebrating Yul Brynner.

Examples include:

The Christmas Blog
BaldHeadShine.com
Yul Brynner: Hollywood's Russian Pharaoh

Item #3.


Geeblography: The notion that the world exists only as a series of interconnected blogs, with no substance outside of said blogs. An incorrect view. OR IS IT???????

Item #4.


Blogunka-dunk: A large, round blog favored by hardcore bloggers. Often appearing in blog videos.

Item #5.


Blogonese: A blog topping for all your pasta needs. A typical recipe would look like this:

Ingredients
- 4 boiled tomatoes
- 1 pinch of salt
- 3/4 of a pound of ground lamb
- A blog

1. Cut up the tomatoes and the blog.
2. Mix them in a pan with the salt and the lamb.
3. Heat the pan.
4. Let sit 8-10 minutes to cool.
5. Serve and enjoy!


LOL Admin.

The Reunion

Dear Mr. Butterfly,

I was so happy to hear the news of your new baby daughter. May she bring you all the joy in the world. My heartfelt congratulations to yourself and Janine for reaching this exciting stage in both your lives. Isn't it amazing that you have started a family? While you do not share my objectivity on the matter, I would hope you can take the time to step back and marvel at your own accomplishments from time to time, as they truly are magnificent.

I am doing quite well for myself, all things considered. The dish-washing business is still rolling along, though my bad back went out at the end of the summer, and I have been forced to wash all the dishes in the bathtub with me each night as I soak it. My work hasn’t suffered, though the bleach is doing a number on my skin. Dr. Morris says my back should straighten itself over the next three weeks or so, and it will be nice to get back to normal. Business has actually been surprisingly good for the late fall, up 10% from this time last year. I was forced to let Dennis (the delivery driver) go in early September, which was harder than I thought, though has turned out to be a real blessing in disguise. He was late for deliveries and pick-ups, and was breaking our best wineglasses like it was going out of style. The new guy, French is his name, has been a god-send. Punctual as all get-out, and extremely conscientious with his packing. Sometimes the hard decisions are the right ones, I guess.

Are you getting excited for the big reunion coming up? I sure am. It will be so great to see all the old boys from the mill again. Will you be bringing the whole Butterfly brood? I haven't seen Janine since just before she went into the hospital for the second time. I remember how worried we all were for her, and for you too. Such a difficult thing to go through with someone you love so dearly, but again thank goodness for small miracles. She almost didn’t go through with the procedure and now, three operations later, she has no stomach and is as fit as a fiddle! Who ever could have imagined. Frank Jessup even told me she was running marathons now, and while I understand that Frank is a liar, the fact that he would think to lie about such a thing is a real compliment in itself.

And I guess your little one will be almost a year old by the time the reunion rolls around. Would she be walking by then? Perhaps speaking language even? You must forgive me if I am out of touch with these matters, as I have only met a handful of children in my life. In any case, I am sure that with the intelligent genes of both yourself and Janine your daughter will be speaking at the youngest age possible. I have also heard some doctors say that the most important things we say aren’t said with words at all, so perhaps we should not place too much emphasis on such matters.

I was thinking the other day about the last time I saw you - no less than eight years ago last month - and it never fails to bring a smile to my face. As I recall it must have been one of the sunniest days that fall, if not that whole year, though of course the mind has a tendency to paint memories the colors the heart wants to see. The leaves in the grove next to the mill had changed a million shades of orange and the smell of fresh cut lumber drifted through on a brisk fall breeze.

George and I were sitting at the picnic tables around back, and you came ambling around the corner wearing that wooden hat you had made. You sat down next to George and said (I remember this like it was yesterday):

“Hello George, how’s Tina?”

…and George said, “Well just great thank you”. “That’s great” you said “and how about little Jasper? He get over that flu yet?”. “Well yes he did in fact, thank you for asking” said George, noticeably quite flattered that you had cared to inquire.

The next twenty minutes are a blur, as you inquired about my folks, by name, and then one-by-one inquired on the well being of every family member of every employee at the mill, all 190 of us (even grumpy old Jenkins in shipping), as a crowd gathered around us, there on the shaded grove. It was nothing short of awe-inspiring Mr. Butterfly. Such a clear and rich understanding of the lives of those around you, truly remarkable. It was the first time we all realized how much different you are from us, how special you really are. You left us just a couple weeks after that, and we all understood it when you did.

And look at me rambling again! I do apologize Mr. Butterfly. I get so caught up, though I know you must have heard that story from enough angles to make yourself an octagon. I just hope you haven’t forgot how much it meant to us all, and how proud we were for you. That was the day I knew you were bound for great things Mr. Butterfly, and you certainly haven’t disappointed in that department.

I will look forward to seeing you at the reunion next year. Give my best to Janine and the little one, and God bless you and your growing family.

Sincerely, your friend,
Trevor Bee.

Gon' Cut Cha' Toes Off

BLOG. IT.
BLOG. IT?
THINK OF. A THING.
AND BLOG. IT!

Did you ever saw a bone saw?

It looks like this:


And did you ever saw a bunion?

It looks like this:


(That is not actually a bunion. It is a statue of Paul Bunyan. Bunions aren't much fun to look at).

I have one of those two things. And a man named Doctor West has the other. And on November 15th the two are going to get together, and then Dr. West will have both, and I will have none! Unless Dr. West gives me a souvenir bone saw.

I will then have 2 to 6 weeks of recovery time. I will have to wear one of these:


and shower like this:


But most importantly, I will have lots and lots of time to kill. I will probably burn the first couple of days playing Breath of Fire 2
on Game Boy, but once that is wrapped up I will be locked in a constant battle with boredom, hanging onto my sanity by only the thinnest of threads.

DAY FIVE: After teaching myself to cook, I will be sick to my stomach from eating so much asparagus and mascarpone risotto.



DAY EIGHT: My self-titled work of post-apocalyptic semi-biographical flash-fiction will hit stores, causing shock and repulsion nation-wide. I will call it: MARTIN FLANAGAN.



DAY FOURTEEN: I will knit a rope.



DAY SEVENTEEN: Terrified of my own shadow, I will wrap myself in Christmas lights and sleep in the bathtub.



DAY TWENTY SIX: Rewatch "Dog Park" and notice subtleties I hadn't previously picked up. Edit my rewrite accordingly.



And on the THIRTIETH DAY I will return to the real world, changed forever by my orthopedic odyssey. Some will say I grew a beard, while others will call it a moustache. Kids will say I am frightening, mothers will find me attractive. Dogs will sneer and cats will cheer as I run and jump and slide and glide. Higher and faster and bigger and better and further than ever before!



LOL ADMIN>>

THAT's Funny

Rondell Sheridan is the host of the home-video show "That's Funny", and he does not, for one second, fuck around. If your tape is funny, he's all "that's funny, welcome to the show". If it's not? He's like "try AFV, cause your shit is NOT FUNNY".

- Hey Ron, what do you think of this?


Ron: That's Funny!

- Alright, how about this?


Ron: That man is embarrassing himself.

A lot of people think he is kind of a prick for being so honest, but that's the thing about Rondell: you can't hate cause he's just telling it like it is. Your tape isn't funny? Don't be a bitch about it, just grow a sense of humor and film your kids doing some shit that IS funny and get back to me, you know?

- Like this:


Ron: That's Funny!

- How about this?


Ron: Why yes, that too is funny!

- And this little guy?


Ron: You disgust me.

Fair enough Rondell. Thanks for keeping it real.



LOL ADMIN>>

The Bread Man

Have you met the bread man?
He’s tall and round.
His eyes are bagels
and his heart is a Danish.

(His buns are rolls
And his rolls are buns)

Bread Man is made of bread.
His feet are scuffed rye,
his hands calloused French sticks.
His mouth is a delicate croissant
that turns downwards when
things aren’t going so good.

Bread Man is bread
baked up fluffy and warm.
Can’t be doughy in the middle
when you are a bread man.
His skin cracks and crumbles
and mold spots mottle his pumpernickel scalp.

His (Danish) heart pumps flax and wheat
out to his longest extremities.
His wide loaf chest heaves in and out.
He tires easily,
lately,
but never quits-
baking more bread and more bread.

I'M SORRY!

Are you sick of getting lyrically thrashed by a nasty diss? So was I bitches!

I ALWAYS used to get dissed until I started busting out what I like to call “Backums” (“Come-Backs” backwards. I’m clever, AIGHT!) So check these nutty Backums, and next time some wannabe punk-ass playa gets in your grill - YOU LAY ‘EM OUT! AIGHT!

Diss: Your mother works two jobs cause she is a stupid idiot!
Backum: You’re an idiot you fucking idiot!

That will teach that trifling-ass punk. But if they won’t back down, sometimes you gotta get crazy on they ass:

Diss: Yo, you look like a fucking popsicle kid!
Backum: I’ll ram a popsicle up your fucking privates you punk bitch!

Shhhhhnap! Game tight bitch!

So there is your Backums. KNOW NOT TO GET FUCKED WIT KID!

But while Backums bail you out when you’re getting balled on, you can usually avoid the whole situation by coming in talking some smooth-ass gully shit. Check this:

SOME DUDE: Yo, what up dun dunna?
ME: Whack-A-Dilly-Yo!

“Whack-a-dilly-yo” means “what’s up”, but all fresh-like. I call this type of talk “Snollege” cause it’s like knowledge from the street, that you didn’t learn in college.

Whack-A-Dilly-Yo? Best believe kid! How about another? Hootie hootie hootie hootie hootie hootie hoo!

SOME PUNK: What up kicko?
ME: Pi is 3.14 muthafucka!

Fundamentally sound. Ain’t no punky-booster-ass chicken-ass going to fuck with that type science. REAL!

SNOLLEGE! So now you know how to defend yourself against some chicken-ass busters, and you know how to represent so peeps don’t be thinking they can play with your shit.

But “what if”, you’re saying, “what if I gotta roll on some fools?” Fair enough, sometimes you gotta take the offensive. So here it is, some dangerous firepower for your lyrical arsenal:

RUFF AND RUGGED!

ME: You bitch, your IQ number is the same number as my hat measurement: 7 and 5/8ths of an inch you gully chicken-ass!

Wha! Wha-sheeeee-it! Dude just got lyrically incinerated!
If we were playing Sorry I would be saying sorry right now to the poor sucka on the receiving end of that linguistical nuke. Sorry AIGHT!

SORRY, AIGHT!