Top Ten Signs You Are Thirty-Something

   We can all remember, recount, or re-tell our own personal coming-of-age stories. First day of school, first kiss, first car–let’s face it, everybody has one unless you’ve lived your entire life in a dark cave or an Amish community. One of my coming-of-age stories is when I reached an age when my parents started letting me stay up later at night, especially on the weekends and in the summer when school was out. As a result, I became well versed in the humor of Saturday Night Live, the jokes of Johnny Carson’s opening monologue, and the music of Friday Night Videos. The nights I watched Johnny I would sometimes stay up a little bit later and watch a bespectacled Hoosier with an odd sense of humor and a Top Ten List that was sometimes self-deprecating.

      Around this same time in my life there was a coming-of-age show on ABC called Thirty Something. It was an entertaining show but much of the show’s subject matter was lost to me because I was teenage-something. Years later, with my affinity for Thirty Something and Lettermen’s Top Ten List, I have compiled my own self-deprecating list since I am now thirty something.

TOP TEN SIGNS YOU ARE THIRTY SOMETHING

#10 You and your buddies used to talk about music and movies. Now you talk about mutual funds and multi-vitamins.

#9  You’re listening to a classic rock station and they are playing Metallica.

#8  You wonder why kids nowadays listen to thier music so loud.

#7  You don’t understand why kids listen to the music they do and the voice in your head asking this question sounds just like your father’s.

#6  Your television has been hijacked by an explorer named Dora and a big red dog named Clifford.

#5  You feel an unusually large bump on one side of your body and you feel on the other side to see if it’s the same size.

#4  You think about how much easier those college research papers would have been if there had been “googling” back then.

#3  The ultimate technology question is no longer how to set the time on your vcr but rather, “How do I send a text message with audio included?”

#2 What? Kids are wearing something other than Levis?

#1 Snap, crackle, and pop are sounds that used to come from your cereal, not your knees.

What are some of you mid-life coming-of-age comments or observations?  Replies encouraged by all, but espcecially my fellow thirty somethings.          

Chinese Food Delivery 101

     Want to know how to become a Chinese food delivery guy in a nascar second? Keep reading and you will find out.

     Just in case you’ve never read one of Cousin J.D.’s posts, I grew up on a cotton plantation in Alabama. My life there on the plantation was gay, but not in a San Francisco gay way. Momma always hosted tea parties underneath our magnolia trees where she was joined by the Baldwin Sisters from The Waltons and a white-coated Colonel from Kentucky. As momma and the aforementioned gathered in the shade, a dozen slaves in tuxedos catered to their every desire. Around supper time the entire family would join momma and her guests underneath the trees  where we dined on the finest cornbread, pinto beans, chow-chow relish and, of course, chicken that the Colonel from Kentucky fried himself. Afterwards, we had momma’s nanner pudding (banana to you yankees) for dessert on the banks of the river as we watched the Generel Jackson paddle upstream. We had all those amenities (Cousin Brian taught me that fancy word), yet we never had Chinese food delivery.

     That was years ago and like The Jeffersons, I’ve moved on up.   

    Over ten years ago I left the plantation in Alabama to make my own way in this world. I ended up employed in the rhinestone mines of Nashville. At first I only earned minimum wage as I toiled with my pick to find only the perfect rhinestone that would one day adorn Porter Wagoner’s coat. But one of the benefits of living in a large metropolitan area such as Nashville is that the Chinese joints will deliver food right to your trailer door.

    I got a fancy coupon in my mailbox one day. It was for Chinatown Restaurant and I noticed they had $1 eggrolls on their value menu. Later that night I called and ordered three shrimp eggrolls (.10 extra for shrimp) for pick-up since you have to order a minimum of $15 for delivery. I hoped in my trusty Dodge pick ‘em up truck and drove down to Chinatown to get my grub. I walked though the door and here is where the movie begins:

        (A very attractive man (that’s me), yet stocky, slightly overweight and bald walks through the doors of the Chinatown Restaurant to pick up an order of shrimp eggrolls. Upon entering he inhales the MSG in the air and  and immediately goes to the toilet to ‘do a pooh.’ After relieving himself he exits the bathroom and approaches the counter to pay for his food.”

J.D.:  Whew! I feel ten pounds lighter (wiping sweat from is forehead). Yes mam. I called in an order for three shrimp eggrolls.

China Gal: Yes sir. Your total three dollah and thirty cent. Excuse me sir. Can you tell me where dis address at?

(She holds up a piece of paper and shows it to J.D.)

J.D.: No, I’m sorry.

China Gal: How bout dis one?

J.D: Can’t say that I do

China Gal: Jus one more. How about dis one?

J.D: 123 Pushover Ln?. Yeah, it’s just right out here…

China Gal: Good! You take food for us, cowboy!

 (She tries to hand a bag of food to J.D.)

J.D: Hold on there Tokyo Rose! I just came to get my eggrolls and some sauce I don’t want…

China Gal: You number one, G.I. We way behind! I give you eggroll free and money to take to dis address!

(she hands the bag of food to J.D. who accepts it this time)

J.D: Hey Flo, you’re real sweet. I want you to know that the only reason I’m doing this is that you Orientals have always impressed me in the movies with all that Kung Fu and crap, not to mention the way you can speak with your words and mouth out of sync. That’s really impressive. Yep, I’ve kinda always admired you Chinese even though I’m still a little ticked about that trick yall pulled on us at Pearl Harbor during the Vietnam War. I guess I can help this one time, I reckon.

(J.D. delivers the food, collects the $30 and starts driving back to Chinatown. He suddenly realizes that there is nothing keeping him from driving home and keeping the money for himself. However, J.D. doesn’t want the Oriental people to think that Americans are selfish, dishonest or greedy. In other words he doesn’t want them to think that the average American citizen is like the average American politician.)

J.D: (walking back in with the money) Here you go, mam.

China Gal: Here you food and five dollah, cowboy.

J.D: That’s sweet but it’s too much, Madame Butterfly. I’ll just take the food.

China Gal: You so kind G.I! You come in for free lunch tomorrow!            

(The next day at lunch time as J.D walks through the doors of the Chinatown restaurant.)

J.D: Your not going to turn me into a delivery guy today are you?

China Gal: Oh! You such a funny cracker! You honkey have so much humor! (She turns and tells her husband that J.D. (that’s me) is the one who helped her the previous night.)

China Guy: Thank you so much for help, cowboy. You eat lunch for free. G.I. number one!

J.D: No problem, Mao. I’ll have the shrimp lo mein with a Mountain Dew please.

China Guy: Right on my brother from another mother!

(J.D. sits down with his food and begins to eat it while reading the latest copy of GRIT magazine. China Doll approaches with another plate of food.)

China Gal: This also free. It crab ragoon.

J.D: Thank you. That’s very kind.

(Moments later China Guy comes up to J.D.’s table as he finishes eating and reading GRIT.)

China Guy: You come be my driver Clint Eastwood! I give you six dollah hour and all food you want!

(J.D. thinks about all the free Chinese food he can eat for free when the MSG suddenly hits his digestive system. He excuses himself to go ‘do a pooh.’ A few minutes later he returns to the table and China Guy.”

J.D: Whew! I feel ten pounds lighter (wiping sweat from his forehead). As for your offer, my Dodge pick em up truck’s got a big old 8 cylinder in it and doesn’t get very good gas mileage…

China Guy: OK John Wayne! I give you seven dollah hour, one dollah every delivery and all the food you can eat. How you like that cowboy!

J.D: That sounds pretty good but……

China Guy: (Interrupting) Good you start tonight!

J.D: Hold on there Shortround! I’ve got a commitment tonight. I tell you what, I’ll come back and we’ll talk about it later.

China Guy: You got deal Marshall Dillion!

( The camera fades as J.D.walks out the door, his large yet attractive backside striding into the horizon like John Wayne as the theme music from The Cowboys plays in the background.)

     And that’s the honest exaqgerrated truth. I haven’t been back to talk to China Guy (his adopted American name is John) yet but I plan on it soon. Maybe I’ll take him up on his offer. Maybe John will already have a delivery guy by the time I go back for some tasty shrimp eggrolls. But I will always have my memories, ahhh… my memories of the 20 minutes or so that I was a Chinese food delivery guy .

Precous Memories.

How they linger.          

NBA Crisis–Racist Referees

   Seems like some fancy smancy high browed Ivy Leaguers have finished a research project that concludes white NBA referees are more likely to call fouls on black players than white players.

    I know this is going to sound so 80s but I am going to say it anyways, “DUH!”

    It takes two members of Ivy League Intelligencia reviewing 13 years of statistics to tell us common cretins that it’s more likely a foul will be called on a black player. It doesn’t take me and my 8th grade education to point out that, given the fact the NBA is made up of mostly black players, the likelihood from a statistical standpoint would indeed be for black players to get called for fouls more often. I believe it was in Mrs. Betty Jean Sourwine’s ciphering class (that’s country for math) that she learned me that.

Let’s look at the PGA. Given that a majority of the golfers are white, we can logically presume that a white guy is usually going to win. Oops….I forgot about Tiger Woods. Ok that’s a bad example — nevermind. 

 I think a better use of these researchers’ time would have been to investigate how much of the fouling in the NBA is black on black fouling. Now that would be interesting and really contribute something useful to the world. Think about how much better our country would be if we knew the reason Shaq fouled, let’s say, Kobe Bryant. It could be because of the long-time feud between the East Coast and the West Coast rap scene. Maybe Shaq is still  a little mad about the death of Biggie Smalls and is taking it out on Kobe and the way he be representing the West Side. It could be that Shaq likes to foul Kobe because he be trying to represent by strolling into the lane he’s defending, thinking he’s going to score. Maybe Shaq is jealous at Kobe because he got him a white ho AND he has such a fine-looking wife. Maybe Shaq fouls Kobe Bryant because he never really liked him that much and, now that they’re not teammates, he can.

  Just think of all the possibilities and social implications if these brilliant academicians had spent their time on the real roots of problems in our country–this instance being black-on-black fouling in the NBA community. Instead we just get this lame report that white refs are calling more fouls on black players.

I call shenanigans.                   

Deities and Doobies

(From The Good-Ole-Boy Network) 

God smokes the good stuff.

At least that’s what a Kentucky man thinks.

Ronnie Turner, a native of Elkton, Ky. was arrested Wednesday night after placing bags of marijuana on 50 car windshields. Turner says that God is mad at the world and chiefs herb to calm down over the matter.

Tuner confessed to Elkton police that God told him to spread the “marijuana message” after burning a blunt and listening his favorite country music album, Red-Headed Stranger, by Willie Nelson.   

  

Poet Pushes Agenda at VA Tech Memorial Service

Famous poetess, Nikki Giovanni, was given a platform at the memorial service for the VA. Tech victims on campus the 16th of April. Along with Giovanni, President Bush and religious leaders were given the opportunity to speak (VT is over 90% Christian. Why did an imam speak?)

     I had the opportunity to read (momma taught me how to do that by the time I was 12) Nikki Giovanni’s work as an English major in college. That was of course after I had left the plantation in Alabama to get edumacated. She’s a brilliant writer but I have a deep suspicion that she is Lebanese. Why’s that Cousin JD? You might ask. Given her short haircut, her fondness of man-clothes and her association with women who do the same I am pretty sure she is Lebanese. Cousin Brian says that she’s not Lebanese but a “Lesbian.” Now i’ve looked for that country all over the map and I can’t find it. I came in third place in Mrs. Nancy Joe Loudermilk’s geography bee when I was in the 5th grade. Grant it I was 15 and should have come in first but that ain’t my point. My point is that I am pretty good when it comes  to knowing where places are in the world and I can’t find the country of Lesbia anywhere on the globe. But I can find the country of Lebanon. It’s just north of Israel, and boy howdy let me tell you something I learned after a little studying. Those people from Lebanon, them Lebanese, they sure hate them some Jews. And the Lebanese women like Nikki Giovanni are very peculiar. They like to listen to music by Melissa Etheridge and Janis Joplin. Also, these Lebanese women often have manly features and hang out with other women who look the same…..odd.

     During Giovanni’s speech she often mentioned something about Mexicans immigrants dying in the desert from thirst and baby elephants dying because of their valuable ivory tusks. As my dear old grandpappy used to say when somebody said something irrelevant to the matter at hand, “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?

      I think the poor old gal got star struck. There she was on stage with the President of the United States of America and she just couldn’t keep that liberal poison in her lungs. 32 people dead, and in the memorial service where she is supposed to be honoring them, Giovanni wants to about Mexicans and baby elephants.

      Evidently those Lebanese women have a hard time showing respect and knowing when to use it.                 

Let the Blame Game Begin

     As the country still reels from the Virginia tech shooting, the bodies of the dead not even in the ground, the finger pointing in the blame game has already started. Is it us as Americans that are always so quick to place blame or is it just us as humans?

     Some say that it is the Tech president’s fault for not closing down campus after the 7:15 shootings. Had students not been on campus the 9:00 shooting would not have happened. I can see how some would say that.

     Some say the local authorities were slow to react to the situation although we now know that the gunman chained the doors of the building shut to slow the authorities from entering the building. I can see how some would say that.

     Some say that there were signs that the shooter has psychological difficulties, noting that he had been referred to counseling previously and one of his English professors found his writings “disturbing.” I can see why some would say that.

     Some say that it’s nobody’s fault but the gunman’s–that anything in the hands of someone so intent on evil can bring death and destruction to mankind. I can definitely see why some would say that.

     But out of all the articles I’ve read, and out of all the stuff I’ve heard on radio and television, the most astute observation came from our President. In case you’ve been living in a cave for the past six years, President Bush often has a problem articulating himself.

     CBS’ Cutie Couric interviewed the President after the memorial service on the Virginia Tech campus in Blacksburg. She wasted no time in asking W. about our country’s gun control laws. Here’s my recollection of the last part of the interview. I am paraphrasing in some parts but not exaggerating, as I am given to do at times.

     Cutie Couric: Mr. President, some say that it’s too easy to get a gun in America. How do you respond?

     President Bush: I think there’s going to be a debate in our country over gun control and there should be after an event like this. To be honest with you Katie, I haven’t had time to think about it. The only thing I know is that there are families grieving right now and my heart grieves with them.

     Can I shout a big hallelujah and amen? Why am I asking? This is my blog and I can say anything I want.  Listen to me now and believe me later: I will make posts in the future in which I will expand on my opinion in the VA Tech blame game. However, for now President Bush, our leader who often times has problems explaining things, put perfectly into words what I was thinking. Who cares where the blame lies 48 hours after 32 people were murdered?

     There are the parents of the dead who are going through an actual hell on earth right now. Imagine this. The victims’ parents did everything a loving parent would do. They changed dirty diapers and got up in the middle of the night to feed them. They made sure that looked both ways before crossing the road. they made sure that they kept a watchful eye on them when they were swimming. They made sure they put their seat-belt on when they learned to drive. They guided them through all the perils of childhood and adolescence, thought they were out of the woods,  just to see them slaughtered.

    Thank you Mr. President for so eloquently saying what I was thinking; let’s play the blame game later. For now let’s just think about the families left behind.   

                                      

Gore Announces His Divinity

Came across this article on the Internet and thought I would share it with everyone.  

Gore Reveals That He Is The Messiah

Al Gore announced today that he is the true messiah, sent to earth to save humanity from a fiery destruction due to global warming. “It’s something that I have been struggling with for awhile. Believe you me, ain’t no easy chore knowing that the survival of mankind lies right here,” Gore said and pointed to his very prominent cranium.

Gore also announced that he will be divorcing his long time wife, Tipper, in order to fulfill the prophecies. “The messiah must be a single man, a lonely hunter, in order to concentrate on the task at hand, which is saving the world from global warming,” he said as he administered communion to the gathered followers. Gore replaced the traditional grape juice and communion wafers with RC and moonpies.

One reporter questioned Gore’s plight for global warming, noting that many scientists still question its existence. Gore responded, “In my Father’s house there is much global warming. If it were not true I would have told you so,” he said as he stretched his hands over the audience and lightning bolts jumped from his fingertips.

The former vice president went on to give details about his birth, The Naivete. “It was a cold Tennessee night in December. My earthly father, Albert Gore Sr. hadn’t been a senator long enough to make money from political favors so we were very poor. I was born in a tobacco barn in Carthage, as there was no room in the Highway 70 Luxury Lounge Inn. During my birth  I was surrounded by very exotic animals such as goats, chickens, a Jersey cow and a pitbull we borrowed from one of our old neighbors in the trailer park. This was done so that the prophecies may be fulfilled,” Gore said as he stretched his hands over the audience and shot sausage gravy from his fingertips.

Gore continued, “My mother laid me in a tobacco manger. Soon a bright star appeared over the tobacco barn and beckoned wisemen from the East, which were mining lobbyists from Washington D.C., so that the prophecies may be fulfilled. King Harold was the governor of Tennessee in those ancient times. King Harold was afraid that I might usurp his power so he sent out a decree that every newborn male child with a watermelon-sized head be put in childrens’ protected services. So my parents took me and fled to Washington D.C and very rarely since then have I returned to the biblical land of Tennessee.”

Later in the day Gore testified before Congress in a hearing on Capital Hill in Washington D.C.  Gore referred to his testimony as “The Sermon on the Mount.” Nancy Pelosi brought some loaves of bread and some tuna fish which was processed by minimum wage workers and laid them at Gore’s feet.  Gore raised his hands over the bread and fish, shot tartar sauce from his fingertips and miraculously turned  the food into enough carbon offsets for the 5,000 gatherers.

Gore then ascended into the sky on a gas-guzzling private jet, vowing before his departure, “I leave you now. But in my place I leave the Holy Global Warming Spirit to comfort you until my return.”        

Was This What Imus Was Talking About?

I’m not sure what Don Imus was referring to when he said the Rutgers Womens basketball team was a bunch of nappy-headed hos.

However, after hours of tireless research on the Internet, I think I found a photo of what he was talking about. Click here     

Proud To Be A Honkey

    The fellas at t-shirthell.com are up to it again. If you are not familiar with t-shirt Hell, the outfit is very deft at penning and selling hilarious, witty, and often lewd, t-shirt slogans. One of their new releases may be their best ever.

   The t-shirt in mention bears a big-eared Barak Hussein Obama Behind him is the traditional emblem of the Democrat Party, the red white and blue jackass–um– I mean donkey. The caption reads : Half Honkey All Donkey.

     How funny is that? Though the t-shirt slogan may be funny at the expense of a racial epithet, that epithet refers to my race, which is full blooded honkey with exception to the fraction of Cherokee blood that flows through my veins, so I feel that can say the word in question freely.

     Honkey! Honkey! Honkey!

     I have always loved the word “honkey.”

     It’s just a funny word, kind of like “discombobulated.” The mere pronunciation of it can garner a giggle.

     Obama is indeed half white. His mother is Caucasian (I don’t know exactly where that country is but they say I am from there even though I can’t find it on a map) and his father is Kenyan, I believe. But like Halle Berry (she so hot) vying to win an Oscar, it doesn’t benefit Obama to promote his pale-face past (that’s the Cherokee Indian coming out in me). In his young presidential campaign, Obama parades his blackness around like a badge he won at the county fair for his prize rooster. On the Nets we see pictures of his African father and grandparents while the honkey side of the family gets far less face time. Likewise, Halle Berry (did I already say she’s hot) was awarded an Oscar a few years ago in a category that an African American actress had never won before.

     African-American? But Halle’s half-honkey too?

     Why isn’t there a designation in contests, such as the Oscars and political campaigns , for the half-honkeys of the world like Berry and Obama? Both are automatically coined as African Americans although they are part white. Evidentlyit just ain’t cool to be from Caucasia, even if only half of you is from there.

  So we have determined here that Obama is indeed half-honkey, but is he all donkey?

   Obama plays the race card to his listeners on the campaign trail like an inbred banjo player. “Evil pale-face keep you down,” he preaches, although not in those exact words. He talks about the audacity of hope, but Obama’ s idea of hope is that everybody in America should get a free lunch. Obama’s idea of hope is the further transformation of the United States into full a socialist society where it’s ok if you are a deadbeat or mediocre at best; the government will take care of you no matter how useless or useful you are. Obama’s brand of hope promises that government owes everybody in this country (not just citizens, notice I said everybody) free health-care no matter how many poor choices they have made to contribute to their health’s demise. Obama’s brand of hope has to be paid for by taxing you and I even farther into oblivion just like our buddies across the pond in Europe do. Our so called allies in Europe who parade around like they are democracies when they are thinly veiled socialists.

    Barak Obama may be half-honkey, but the boys at t-shirt hell got it right twice when they called him all-donkey. No matter how Obama tries to package and present himself to the American people, he still brings the same old hackneyed liberal Democrat message to the table: you are not smart enough or capable to take care of yourself, let the government do it for you. Like a genie, government can fulfill your every wish.

    Obama may not be proud to be half-honkey, but his definitely proud to be all-donkey when it comes to promoting the same old social liberalism that runs rampant in the Democrat party.

    As for me though, I am not ashamed of my honkeyness like Obama is. I am proud to be all-honkey, even though it means I am a horrible dancer and bad basketball player. But in return I can attribute my vast writing and computer skills to my honkeyness.

     That’s a lie. Cousin J.D. here wouldn’t even know how to post on my blog if it wasn’t for Cousin Brian showing me how. But Cousin Brian is a honkey, too. Does that count?                     

Cancer a Better Cause Than Aids

We see them every time there’s an awards show on TV. They’re little red ribbons on tuxedo lapels and gown straps and they are meant to show support for the effort to cure AIDS. And they are at the vanguard of a mess that’s been built by political correctness. For the most part, the PC movement is fabricated by things you should say but don’t really believe because, like a freshman attending prom, it’s the cool thing to do.

I’m going to ask for a show of hands like a Baptist preacher during the Invitation. Every head bowed every eye closed. If you have a close friend or immediate family member with AIDS raise your hand. I am looking out over the congregation and I see a couple of hands. Ok, I’ll make it even easier. If you even know one person, other than a celebrity, with AIDS or is HIV positive, raise your hand. There’s couple more hands raised.

A different question now.

Raise your hand if you have a close friend or family member that has or had cancer. Whoa! Hands all over the church are going up. Raise your hand if you know somebody, other than a celebrity, who has or had cancer. Every hand in the church is up.

I often wonder why a disease like AIDS is the darling of the liberals in the PC movement, getting so much face time with so few sufferers, while cancer plays second fiddle in the background?

Let’s compare the two.

Contrary to our Surgeon General in the 80s (the one with the funny beard) AIDS is a disease that does discriminate. AIDS is largely contained to the homosexual and intravenous drug user community. So if you frequent San Francisco bath-houses, are a male hair-dresser or dancer, or swap needles with you bust druggie, Dougie, you are more likely to contract HIV which leads to AIDS. Cancer however, with the exception of tobacco users, does not discriminate. There are millions of Americans who have never used tobacco, not even one time in their lives, yet they live with cancer. There are even millions of more Americans who lost their battle with cancer and fill our country’s cemeteries and graveyards.

There are a few examples of Americans who contracted AIDS through no fault of their own. One popular example is Ryan White, a boy whose life was cut short by AIDS when he recieved a tainted blood transfusion. Ryan was popular in the media, appearing frequently on Oprah and other outlets. I was a boy myself as America and I watched Ryan wither away. It was so sad to see Ryan die, as it is with any decent human life. However, what made it sadder was that Ryan died so young and because of no actions of his own. Ryan wasn’t a homosexual or heroine addict. He was an innocent kid, a real victim, whose like was cut short by forces outside of his control.

Through years of medical advances and research we now know what President Reagan postulated years ago; AIDS is largely a behavior driven disease, while cancer is not. I think that’s the reason that Reagan refused to expand AIDS research with federal money. Dutch knew that when you make your own bed, you sometimes have to lie in it.

I will be honest. Like every other adult American in my church house survey, I have been affected by cancer. My mamaw (southern for grandmother) beat breast cancer once only to have it return and spread throughout her body. She died a week before my 16th birthday. My my middle sister was diagnosed with breast cancer at 38. She’s 40 now and is currently cancer-free. Neither were tobacco or intravenous drug users nor were they homosexuals. Tell me what either did to deserve cancer?

The eatery I moonlight at a couple of nights a week recently put some displays on its tables. Seem there’s an effort in town called Nashville Cares where on April 24th participating will be donating 30% of the revenues to raise money for AIDS research. I wanted to scream, “What about cancer?!”

If Nashville cares, if the movie and music industry really wants to help people, really wants to raise awareness and money for a valiant cause, they would be wearing a ribbon worth bearing. They would display a desire and passion to cure cancer because cancer patients’ behavior, unlike those with AIDS, never played a part in their contraction of their disease and there are many more cancer patients than AIDS. Yet AIDS continue sto be at the forefront of the liberal-led PC movement with cancer playing the role of the red-headed stepchild at the family reunion.

WHY?              

      

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