Technophobe's Illustrated #18

Christopher P. Toler, 9/24/09

Why Bavaria ROCKS!!!

The whole region. It just simply rocks. It is almost as if it was designed for great gags, funny photos or some damned interesting sight-seeing!

Let us take a little hypothetical road trip to illustrate my point.

We'll begin at Kissing. (Kissing, Germany.)

From Kissing, its a long, long road, but if persistent, we will eventually get to Petting, (Petting, Germany.) And Petting is a lot of fun. A lot like Kissing, but more to do.

It may have taken some time to get from Kissing to Petting, but it was worth it. Not just because of the wondrous things right at your fingertips, but because now we are so close to Fucking, (Fucking, Austria, that is.) And Fucking is great. Much better than Petting, though Petting is quite nice.

So we go north. You know you are well on your way once you get into Tittmoning. Its just a little further on.

And then here we are. Beautiful Fucking. You’re going to like Fucking. Hey! Let’s make a day of it. There are so many different ways to enjoy Fucking. It really is terrific! I love it.

(There is a bit of scandal in this quaint little town, though. Apparently, the Fucking mayor has been trying to get the Fucking police to stop all the Fucking tourists from stealing the Fucking street signs. Apparently, they are highly sought-after Fucking souvenirs!)

Incidentally, if you get to Petting and things aren’t going quite as you planned, you can always turn south instead. And have a fine time for yourself by going to Wank for a little while.

That’s always fun, too. (Wank, Germany, of course.)

auf Wiedersehen,

Chris

Decisions, Decisions...

Who names these places anyways?

My First Confession

Forgive me, Reader, for I have sinned. This is my first blogged confession.

My first week back to work was stressful for me, and I wasted away my off-hours in trivial pusuits such as beach volleyball. My sin is worse than just a lack of industrious endeavors, (or "sloth,") however. Please bear with me.

Of these games, (twice a week, weather permitting,) I have bragged to my wife in regards to their health benefits and exercise and the like. What I kept from her, (a lie of omission, you might say, for sin #2, if keeping score,) is that between games, I would recoup and regroup in the fashion of my teammates; with beer and cigarettes. Yes, my trusted confidantes, I smoked.

Now, frankly, this would be no big deal had I not quit smoking ten, (or so,) years ago, as I began my wedded life with the missus. A relapse would have surely be seen as a disappointment to her, hence my lie.

To make matters worse, I found myself in Staples one evening after a game, getting some supplies before heading home. While there, I noticed the smell of cigarettes on my hands. In order to hide this smell from my wife, (or compound the lie. We'll make that sin #3!) I decided to clean my hands. As I walked the aisles, I saw a bottle of Purell that had been opened and I chose to swipe a little for my deceptive puposes, ("theft;" sin #4.)

I took a squirt or two, (okay, three,) and began to vigorously rub the tell-tale odor from my hands. Almost immediately, I noticed how viscous the Purell was. Thick and very sticky, too. I looked down and saw the luxurious dry lather I was building and then noticed that I had not stolen a shot or three from a dispenser of Purell, but from a bottle of clear SoftSoap.

I was all soaped up and without any water and in the middle of Staples.

Fortunately, being a goofball is not a sin, so THAT doesn't count toward my running tally. I wiped my hands off on my lower pant leg, made my way through the registers, and went home. I was a little proud of the smoke-masking scent that I had inadvertently covered my hands with, however, ("pride;" Sin #5. Making a grand total of five sins that I am repenting today.)

For my penance, Dear Reader, I shall promise to not have another cigarette, at least until the next volleyball game, and I will have nothing more alcoholic to drink for the rest of my evening.

Thank you for listening. I feel purged, and pure once again.

Technophobe's Illustrated #17

Christopher P. Toler, 9/10/2009 .

(Okay! Even I agree, this is a bit of a stretch. Oh well!)

Postcards From The Road: Bretton Woods, NH

Travelin' Uncle Chris at The Mount Washington Hotel.

From the Stinkhammer songbook...

The year was 1989, (or was it 1990? Whatever. It doesn't matter.) It was the era of big hair, aviator sunglasses, tight acid-washed jeans, the "Heavy Metal Power Ballad," and

Well, one day I was approached by our guitarist and our drummer, with a request. "Write us this song!" they said and presented me with the title, (and gave me a short list of words they insisted were used.) Never one to refuse a challenge, I penned the following little ditty, to be sung in the Power Ballad-style of the day. I give you now;

"I Love You So Fuckin' Much I Can't Shit."

So Fuckin’ Much That I Can’t Shit

Sitting here thinking ‘bout the time you left me on my own

Turned me from a proud young king to a lonely prince on an empty throne

Since you left me standing there on that stormy night,

Seems that nothing's able to come out right.

Since the time that you and separated,

Thinkin’ ‘bout you’s made me constipated,

I love you so fuckin’ much, that I can’t shit.

Seen the doctor he said the problem’s in my mind,

And thoughts about you make my bowels bind.

He gave suppositories but they don’t reach my heart.

No matter how deep I push ‘em, they only make me fart.

In my mind I see your face and my heart skips a beat,

And the pain it causes keeps me glued to my seat,

I love you so fuckin’ much that I can’t shit.

The night you left me hurt me to my very core.

It made my stomach tight and my sphincter sore.

You said goodbye and then just hit the road.

If you don’t come back soon, I may just explode!

Thoughts of losing you were my greatest fears.

Now your gone and I packed up to my ears.

I love you so fuckin’ much that I can’t shit.

I miss the love and affection that you give.

When we were together they were like a laxative.

Now you’ve left me and I’m tighter than a drum.

It’s been so long I’ve forgotten how to wipe my bum!

When you left me you took a piece of my soul,

But I’ll keep waiting for you, perched here on the bowl.

I love you so fuckin’ much that I can’t shit.

Chilling, I know.

Oh, what could have been...