“Oh, my! Artoo! Can you hear me? Say something!”

Look what they did to Artoo!  I felt like I was pissing into his mouth.  Separately, I stumbled across an amazing boat name:

If you can’t read it, it’s “Wasted Seaman.”  Try and top that (okay that sounds worse than expected).  Speaking of great names, came across another one this week:

Also, came across the worlds best company name and logo.  How perfect given that National Day of the Cowboy is celebrated on the fourth Saturday of every July.  How baller is this:

Reagan be praised.

Song of the Day (6/21/2017)

I was out motoring when an oldie from 1982 came on that I felt I needed to share with my reader(s, if you count me): it’s Goodbye to You by Scandal.  The music video is incredible so take the time to watch it.  I’m waiting for the day this gets released on Guitar Hero or Rock Band because holy cow is this catchy.  I’m also waiting for the light-hearted cover by Mo Thugs:

Surely the Compton community has fond memories of Reagan’s 1980s.  Speaking of which, I spotted two of my favorite things on my way to my hotel this week:

Speaking of hotel stays, I have a message for the front desk and the room cleaning staff: I don’t care if I’m only staying one night, one and a half rolls of TP is a BIG ask by management.  I’d wipe my gooch with the comforter if I didn’t think I’d get pregnant.

Fortunately I was able to avert crisis by stopping at a McDonalds to pinch off a fresh loaf.  The men’s and women’s rooms only had one stall each and both had a line so I was told to use the mixed bathroom located directly next to the seating area.  After downing four pills of senna lax that morning, I had serious concerns that the tectonic tremors pushing their way through my colon would be heard by innocent diners sitting 7 to 8 feet away from my trembling anus.  I felt my rectum violently shifting and had real concerns that the noises would easily penetrate the two inch door gap at the floor…but as fate would have it, the gods were smiling upon me that day.  There was no flatulence of which to speak…it was all liquid!  Literally pissing out of my ass – and nary a suspicion or eyebrow raised.  They thought I was peeing!  It seems my free trucker’s New Testament was a blessing:

And finally, my Arrested Development reference for the day:

Song of the Day (6/9/2017)

Happy Friday!  Today, we celebrate Comey’s testimony and Trump’s victory over democracy, so the song of the day is some good old fashioned pump-up music.  It’s Do You Love Me by The Contours.  Your darling Disillusioned Dilettante was camping in Southeastern Ohio last week and came across some not-so progressive sites:

And a new slogan for the Duke lacrosse team:

It’s North Carolina so feel free to keep the slogan AND the horse-fucker.

Meanwhile, Illinois residents actually have their shit together:

Some good news for Subway fans as well as for Subway spokesmen not allowed within 25 yards of children in the restaurant:

And finally, something that’s actually pretty neat.  For my millionaire friends shopping at Pier 1:

Revised Song of The Day (6/6/2017)

No one liked my Robin Hood Men in Tights reference in that last post?  For shame.  How obscure do you need me to get?!?  My references are spot on, guys.  Come on!


But the greater shame lies in me fucking up the song on the 73rd anniversary of D-Day.  Today’s song of the day is in dedication to all those who serve and protect the freedoms and liberties that we enjoy and love so much.  It’s A Soldier’s Pledge by Ronald Reagan.

Song of the Day (6/2/2017)…And a Free Hot Plate!

Happy Friday to both of you.  Due to time constraints, I plan to hearken back to my Germanic roots and plow through this post with unprecedented speed and efficiency.  In order to pay my respects to two great nations, today’s song of the day is Amerika by Rammstein.  Before I forget: I’d give my virginity to the man who finds me a pair of Reagan Bush ’84 croakies.

1)  Kicking it off with a common theme on Musings and Malarkey.  WHY THE FUCK DOES OHIO DO THIS TO ITSELF?!?  A professor once told me that the primary difference between humans and animals (okay, another solid song of the day: The Bad Touch by the Bloodhound Gang) is that humans feel shame.  Apparently not in Ohio.

I can’t stand driving in Ohio.  I’m on the road and I have an asshole in front of me and a dick behind me.  It’s one big fucking daisy chain except no one here cares about my dick.  And this seriously has to be the whitest town in America ever since Augusta National Golf Club started allowing blacks.  (Can I say that?)

Heard an ad on the radio for the following URL.  How is this a real URL?!?  How dense can these people be?  www.CincinnatiNorthernKentuckyHondaDealers.com/

2)  There’s a first time for everything.  Playboy’s (this was a nudie magazine in high volume circulation prior to the advent of the internet and brazilian fart porn) first issue was released in December 1953…  64 years later and we have the first time in history where we ACTUALLY need a centerfold:

Somewhat related: while watching porn, do you completely lose all interest as soon as the porn star pulls out a condom?  I do.  FFS, be dedicated to your craft.  Ughhhh, fine, scratch that.  Gator’s bitches better be using jimmies!!!  Tangent: who else gets filled with creamy glee as soon as they see the word “reluctant” in a porn title?

Apparently, Amy was “always really confident.”  Cute!  I’d probably bang.  But only if I could put paper bags over those cankles.

3)  This is more informative in nature.  For my homies who like caffeine, this is purely caffeine – no nicotine or tobacco – and you can swallow it so no need to spit.  I’m not a dipper/chewer but I may get hooked on these.  Caramel was a good taste.  Caramel coffee pouches, that is…  From what I hear, usually the caramels go for the menthols.

Whoops, nearly forgot about another helpful hint.  You should go out and download the Genius Scan app.  It’s free.  It’s on your phone.  You can take photos that automatically convert to PDFs.  Very helpful while on the road and without a scanner and the quality is actually good.  Use this app, you’ll thank me.

4)  Presented without comment.  UGHHHH I wanna comment so bad.  I’ll refrain.

5)  Largest bass caught in Texas lake using McDonald’s chicken McNugget.  How long before the Bass sues McDonald’s for finding a fingernail in it’s McNuggets?  Pardon the Fox News, that was the first link to come up.

6)  Found a rear-wheel drive scrotum in Chicago last week:

7)  Y’all know I fucking love Pickleball.  Check out what I stumbled upon:

8)  This next one is sure to offend!  My dad left me a voicemail.  Somehow, “he’s looking for an Illinois based bank to buy with about $150 million in assets under management” became the following:

One of the partners at my firm is black so this deal could be perfect for us…

9)  With regard to the following, as the Meditative Mandarin put it, “I do enjoy how the liberal narrative on this is whipsawing just as much as Trump”:

10)  I recently heard a story about McDonald’s in which a child vomited in the play area ball pit and it mixed in with the balls such that no one noticed the issue for days.  Now you’ve got to ask yourself: what do you search for when looking for someone to fix the problem?  Do you hop on Craigslist and search for “Ball Cleaners?”  I’m guessing they’ll have a lot of 5 star and a lot of 1 star ratings…  Top ten items of the day, and that’s all, folks!

11)  But this posting goes up to eleven…  Donald Trump is the best example of why the abortion debate is all fucked up.  Are you pro-choice supporters seriously arguing about the timing cutoff for abortions?  If we could’ve just increased the cutoff from first trimester to allowing parents to abort their children up to the age of 13, Fred may have played his cards differently and today we wouldn’t be exiting the Paris Climate Accord like a bunch of myopic state schoolers.  On the plus side (see also: Amy Schumer), the Donald’s Accord antics have distracted the media at home from the Kushner-Russia ties and the obstruction of justice with Comey.  Can’t we get back to the real issues, like the Dakota Access Pipeline and it’s impact on the native Sioux?  Or should we drop it and just agree that apples (the Sioux) and oranges (the Donald) don’t mix?

Well, I’m back to work and to listening to my playlist.  Queen is #7 on the list: and if you look at this comment in a vacuum, it sounds more like Train.  I leave you with a product plug for my American-made finance/gaming friends:

Well, I just pounded one out and now I’m headed to rip a fatty while tearing one off.  Enjoy your weekend!

Big Buck Hunter Guest Posting

I think it’s time I share my talents with the world: my college roommate and I, many years ago, held the record on the Big Buck Hunter at our local Walmart.  We would frequent the store simply to get Subway sandwiches followed by rounds of Big Buck Hunter near the checkout lines for up for an hour at a time.  Many times, this was after 10pm on weeknights.  Each of us had a record in a certain region of the country that stood for quite some time before Walmart eventually got rid of the machine shortly after our graduation.  If Walmart stole our country’s Rockwellian virginity, it certainly stripped me of my ego.  Anyway, my roommate came across the following article and it’s well worth reading:

If Our Country Can’t Agree On Basic Facts, I Fear My Record-Shattering High Score In ‘Big Buck Hunter’ Will Be Lost In The Murk

I remember when I actually trusted the news. I could turn on any TV news show or open any newspaper and trust that they were all working with the same set of facts. Those days are gone. In our new post-truth world, the very idea of objectivity seems to have vanished, ushering in an era of doubt. It all makes me deeply apprehensive, as I fear that in such uncertain times, my record-shattering high score in Big Buck Hunter will be lost in the murk.

Five years ago, no one would have disputed the facts: I scored 27,600 points. I did it with the gun that had the trigger that sometimes gets stuck. I capped off a perfect round with the biggest caribou I’ve seen on the “Alaska” stage. In short, I put on an absolute master class that night at Rudy’s Tavern, taking down buck after buck as an awestruck crowd of bar-goers gathered round.

What now keeps me up at night is the idea that our faith in media has evaporated to the point that the story of my insane BBH high score is in jeopardy.

In today’s skeptical, cynical landscape, who will carry the torch of truth? Yes, Smitty was there, cheering along with everyone else as I caught fire and racked up thousands of points in critter bonuses, but what if the incessant drumbeat of misinformation causes him to doubt himself? When we keep dismissing everything outside our narrow bubbles as false, when at any minute our president could go on another Twitter rampage, sowing confusion and calling my score into question, what does that mean for my scarcely believable Big Buck Hunter run?

And what of my initials, ROD, enshrined forever on the scoreboard? Do they mean nothing? What’s to stop a guy like Stephen Miller from going on CNN, denouncing my story as “fake news,” and claiming that the initials are wrong and that the high score actually belongs to Tony?

Our country is in a sorry state if people really believe that Tony—a guy who couldn’t shoot three bucks to save his life—has a chance of ever hitting one of those small, quick-moving racoons like I can.

From day one, I have been ruthlessly honest about my 11-stage perfect streak and three consecutive Marksman awards that night. Today, every bit of misinformation diminishes that accomplishment. I fear for my future, and I fear for my legacy. The time for action is now. We must resist.