Chop's blog: "Public Blogs"

You ever go through Blockbuster with kids? You walk slowly around looking at the New Releases, while your kids run amock raking videos off the shelves like dominoes. Some bulgy woman who works for the store chasing after them, while trying hail me with "Sir? Sir? Are these your boys?" To which I always say, "No." This allows me time to find a movie that I'll like. Because I know that about 40 videos are coming from 4 little hands that I won't like. Kids don't know how to pick a good movie. They don't read any reviews. They easily believe what they see on TV ads. And, the only "word of mouth" they get is from other kids...who know as much as your kids do about movies. So, as I'm looking at The Last King of Scotland, here comes both boys with some movies for me to approve or deny, based on what I think would be appropriate for them to watch AND what I could stomach watching. Spenser's Choices (he's 9) 1. Leprechaun 2: A midget killing people...Vote: Denied. Why? Blood, Breasts, and a midget. 2. Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj: Me Likey...Vote: Denied. Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll. 3. Deathwish 3: (He comments, "Dad it had boobs on the cover...I figured you'd like it) Vote: Denied. Not because of the boobs, but I'd seen it...it sucked. 4. Stomp the Yard: I'm figuring this is going to have both of them act like Gangsta Rap Breakdancers the whole weekend. I started to say "no." But, he give me the Puss in Boots big eye thing. It's PG 13...I can suffer through it. Vote: Approved. Off to the Snack Section runs Spenser. Brandon's Choices (he's 7) 1. Whore, starring Theresa Russell. I've seen it, it's hot. Brandon thinks it's "Horse" and likes animal movies. Vote: Denied. 2. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: Brandon likes power tools. Vote: Denied 3. Happy Feet: Vote: Denied 4. Poltergeist: It's PG...it's kind of scary...Vote: Approved We watched Stomp the Yard. It was good. I was amazed, good story, great dancing, the kids and I bonded.

School Lunches I hated school lunches, not like I'm on an island with that proclamation. We all hated school lunches. The issue as to why we hated them is diverse though. A. Atmosphere: The lunch bell rings and you head on down with a group of other kids. You funnel into the cafeteria and then form lines...one for the hot lunch...one for the cold lunch. It always reminded me of inmates at a prison. We line up single-file and slowly...one step...at...a...time...make our way up to the stainless steel serving area. There the obnoxious and mostly disgusting looking lunch ladies are there with the plastic gloves on their hands. When I went to school they hadn't invented plastic gloves and they all wore plastic bags on their hands. We shuffled along the stainless steel shelves and got the crappy food dumped onto our sectioned plastic trays. They couldn't even give us plates for God sake. B. The Food: Top 8 Worst School Dishes. Beef and Gravy: Lumps of stringy beef in a watery black gravy. It looked like a bowel movement on a plate. Pork Sausages and Buttered Rice: These were breakfast sausages which I like...but they weren't broiled or fried. They looked boiled. The rice was scooped onto our plates with the congealed butter mixed into it with one of those ice-cream scoops with the thumb button. Pizza Burgers: Not what you think...no...no. Not tomato sauce with cheese on a hamburger bun. Not a hamburger with sauce and cheese. It was a mush that I can only compare to cat puke on a half of a hamburger bun. Fish Pizza: They actually put up signs "Coming Soon! Fish Pizza." I guess they were trying to create a "buzz" about it. It was a square fish fillet, breaded, with a thin layer of tomato sauce and cheese underneath the coating. Grilled Cheese: How can you fuck up Grilled Cheese? Have a school lunch staff make 'em that's how. This was two pieces of white bread, sprayed with some sort of buttery grease, and between it that pungent and orange Government Cheese. This stuff didn't melt, it just sort of got warm and translucent. This Cheese was so bad...in the 1980's they couldn't give the stuff away. They unloaded the Government Warehouses and trucked the stuff away to poor neighborhoods. Horrible. Chicken Soup: Knuckles, weird chunks of dark meat, an occasional bone, a weak urine-like broth, and Veg-All (this is the vegetable medley in cans with the potatos, peas, carrots cut with ridges, and lima beans). Ketchup: They had this stuff in a large steel bucket as you left the serving line in the cafeteria. It wasn't even real ketchup...it was tomato paste that was doctored up by the school "chef." During the 80s, President Reagon actually thought Ketchup was considered a vegetable. Beet Juice Popcycles: Yep...they wouldn't give us real Popcycles that wouldn't be healthy. So instead they gave us Beet Juice Pops. Now in some countries, beets are used to make sugar just like sugar cane. However, it takes a shitload of processing to make it into sugar. These pops had very little processing. They tasted like beets. They sucked. A couple of good things though: 1. Chocolate Milk Day: Our School wouldn't allow us to have Chocolate Milk every school day for fear that we would all get "hyper." This is the God's honest truth. We could only have it on Friday. I guess they figured we would have the whole weekend to unwind. 2. Chocolate Cake with Powdered Sugar on Top: This was a great dessert. It tasted good and you could blow the powdered sugar into your unsuspecting friend's eyes. 3. Peanut Butter Corn Flake Squares: These are awesome. Now they can't serve them due to all the kids with "nut allergies." How come none of us had "nut allergies?" 4. Rice Crispy Marshmallow Squares: Just as awesome as number 3. We used to barter things for extra squares. I once traded a Playboy for one when I was in tenth grade.

Pets: I have a cat and a dog. The dog is a Chocolate Lab, which I named Hershey (I realize this is obnoxiously cute and I hate it too...but it was a moment of weakness). My mother got a hold of the dog and now it looks like the Hogzilla. Ever see a full tick so bloated that its little legs can't touch the ground...that's my dog. I've got her on a diet...you ever see a dog on a diet? They look more depressed than a human. Whenever I'm depressed or sad...the dog can sense it and comes over to me to rest her head on my lap. Is she trying to comfort me? Fuck no. She's thinking "OK...when the water stops coming out of his eyes...I'll get a treat. I'm waiting here for a treat...mmmmm treat." The cat I have is cute. The issue with cats? They think they run the show. You could beat a dog half to death (and I never do that...this is just a point) and it will still come back to you. A cat... it comes to you when it wants to. It thinks it owns you. When it rubs up against you...it is marking you as its territory or its property. When a cat comes to lay on your lap...it comes there to steal your body heat. Most people think when a cat rubs against you it is "kissing" you. It is marking you with scent glands it has in the corners of its mouth. When a cat "head butts" you...that is how it shows affection. Cats like to wait until you clean their litter box and then go in and shit all over it. You ever look at a dog when it's taking a dump...it looks guilty. Like your going to yell at it. A cat proudly squeezes them out...you could have a fucking Marching Band playing right in front of it. The cat...it doesn't care. It's thinking "Yeah...play a fucking Polka for all I care...I'm shitting here...watch me! Watch me dammit!" Cats and dogs have different survivability levels. If a cat and dog were dropped out into an isolated wilderness together...the cat would survive for years. The dog, if it could find its way home would, but if it were too far it wouldn't make it. Cats have most of its instincts still intact. A dog some...but not enough. My cat would wait until my dog went to sleep and then eat the thing. I've had other types of pets...but they don't show enough affection. The idea behind having a pet is sucking any affection you can out of it...using it as an emotional sponge. That's why we have them...unconditional love. A pet doesn't care if you have a job or not, whether you're hot looking or not, whether you smell bad (actually they probably like you more then), whether you have a nice car, or any such shit. They love you because you're warm-blooded, feed them, and are nice to them. I had an iguana. I hated that fucking thing. It would whip me in the fucking face with his tail when I picked him up. The bastard never blinked either. I don't like things that don't blink. It was a "Fruit-Eating" iguana. I really wanted a "Meat-Eating" iguana. That at least would have been entertaining watching it eat something. My iguana would sit there (not blinking) and gum a piece of peach or apple...fucking boring. I think it would be cool if you dipped one of the Meat-Eating iguana in Apple Sauce and had a fight with a Fruit-Eating iguana. That...would be worth watching. I once had a rat for a pet...I froze it to death by accident by keeping my air conditioner on for 365 straight days when I lived in New Orleans. I picked the poor thing up one day by the tail and it was like a Ratcicle. One of roomies in college had an African Python as a pet...the thing was so big he used to feed it full grown rabbits. The rabbits were "Jack Rabbits"...they looked like the ones in your yard. He also had a rabbit for pet...this one looked like the kind you get at Easter. Well the dumb son of a bitch decided that after petting his bunny, he was going to clean his Python's cage. He goes into his room and with the light off, puts his hand in the Python tank. I hear screaming and he comes running out into the living room with the fucking python latched onto his right arm. I'm guessing that the Python didn't distinguish between "Jack Rabbits" and "Bunnies." I'm also guessing that if the Python were big enough it would have fucking eaten us too...whether we smelled like a rabbit or not. Fish...there isn't a fish cool enough to look at that makes me want to go through the work of owning them. You can't pick them up, you can't cuddle them, you can't do anything with them. Plus they always die of something called "Ick". What the fuck is "Ick?" Actually, I'm not even interested enough to care. All I know is that it tears through your tank like Ebola and soon their all dead.

A Mother's Day Breakfast: When I was 7 years old...I decided that my Mom deserved the best Mother's Day Present that I could get or do for her. With no money, no real artistic skills (she had already gotten the Crayon on Construction Paper Card I had made in 1st Grade), the only thing left was to make her Breakfast in Bed. My brother was still sleeping and my father had gone out to get the Sunday Paper and some flowers. I told my mom that I was going to surprise her for "her" day. She had to stay in bed. Now the only appliance I was allowed and knew how to operate was the toaster. I got out the Wonder White Bread took two slices. After sliding the toaster away from the wall a bit on the counter, I gingerly placed the two slices of bread into the slots and plunked down the lever. Soon my mom would be enjoying the toast that I had made for her. I went to the refrigerator and took out the butter tray and began looking for some jam or jelly. I moved jars around...looked behind the milk...in the crispers...no jelly. I remembered though that I had seen some jelly in the cupboard in the bathroom. I thought nothing of it being there...jelly and jam was usually in the cupboard or refrigerator. I got the jelly from the bathroom and waited for the toast to finish. "Pachunk." The toast popped up and was ready. I quickly pinched the toast between two fingers and dropped them onto the plate. I quickly buttered the toast and opened the jelly. I wasn't sure what flavor it was. I couldn't recognize the name on the jar..."P-E-T-R-O-L-E-U-M Jelly!" I said aloud. I spread the jelly onto the buttered toast...not too thick or thin...I knew how to make good toast. I picked up the plate with toast and walked slowly towards my mom's bedroom. I called out to her..."Close your eyes! Your surprise is here!" I entered the bedroom with the toast and I saw my mother grinning with her eyes closed. I placed the plate on her belly. "Open your mouth Mom!" She did. I picked up a piece of toast and moved it to her mouth. She knew it was toast...and took a big bite. That's when she gagged...over and over again. I wasn't allowed to make any more toast for anyone else but me after that.

Being "The Best Dad' in the World (according to my 6 and 8 year old sons when I am about to buy them something or go somewhere they want to go), my sons and I venture to local Malls quite a bit for shopping. Let me define "shopping" as it exists for me. We spend about 2 hours walking around the Mall looking at things that I can't afford to buy for myself while stopping at pretty much every "kid" related store to get something for each of them. I don't spoil them with buying them everything...but I've learned a secret if you buy them something (it could be something for a Quarter) at each place you go they never complain. So by the end of the shopping, I've spent probably $5.00 on each of them...but they have two bags full of stuff. They don't care. Also, I finally realized what the Hell "Dollar Stores" were for...Divorced Dads. I love those places. I can go in and buy a friggin' Spatula for a $1.00 and the kids can get crap too. Anyway back to the Mall. We've been in every store in the Mall. My oldest, who can now read well which is more of a curse than a blessing, sees "Spencer Gifts." (which is sort of like a Head shop/T Shirt/Poster/Lava Lamp Store in the Northeast and possibly elsewhere) He starts asking me to go in there. I say "no" a half dozen times. He then adds that he needs to go in there because his name is "Spenser" and he should show support for the store since they share the same name. (I don't know where he gets this shit from...but he comes up with it. He's the best person I've ever heard at debating and he's only 8.) These stores are full of "Adult Toys and Games" which I don't want them to see. But, the bastard owners of the stores put all sort of flashing neon signs and shit by the door so the kids are drawn to it like moths to flame. I finally give in, like a prisoner resigned to his own execution. My shoulders slumped we enter the store. I've always said that kids are great at homing in on the one or two things that will most embarrass a parent. They blow by all of the other stuff and head like perverted heat-seeking missles to the "Adult Toys and Games" section. I'm trying to distract them with "Hey Guys! Let's go look at the Rock Band T-Shirts and Posters." Nope, that doesn't work for shit. They chop through the Adult Section like crazed lumberjacks. My 6 year old holds lingerie up to his body and doing a friggin' dance. The oldest, who can read and I stated it was a curse, shouts out the titles of the games and laughing. 'Dad! What's 'Hide the Banana'?" and "Let's get Naked Twister." Now people are looking at me like a freak for bringing my kids in the store. But it got worse, if you can imagine it. They find the "personal massagers." Not the ones in the boxes but the ones on display. They each grab one, as they share one mind, and start with the mock "lightsaber" fight. So now I'm trying to herd the kids into a row and they're in the open spot by the shelves making the "VVVMMMM" sounds like in Star Wars and clacking the two vibrators together as they duel. Now, just to avoid imprisonment I grab them both, make them put the "lightsabers" back, and get the Hell out of the store. As we're leaving, the oldest wants to look at the posters. Since, I'm just glad we're out of the Adult Section, I agree but "only for a few minutes." He flips through and gets to the Supermodels. "Look at the Boobs on her Dad!" That's it...we're out of the store. Now the both of them are saying in unison "Daddy likes Boobies!...Daddy likes Boobies!" To cap it all off, the oldest says "I can't wait to tell Mom about how cool that store was." Later that night I got the expected call from Ex, vilifying me for taking them into Spencer Gifts. Horrible.

The worst invention that I ever created...but it worked...for a while. Ever have a great idea as a kid and throw your whole body and soul into it? I used to about twice a day for most of my childhood. I was usually so spastic that I needed this ability to focus on a couple of projects at a time. I wasn't stupid...so most of the things I tried could have worked. Unlike one of my friends who is a College Professor now...but was convinced that if he kept trying he could learn how to fly. He kept flapping his arms and working out his legs (to get a good take-off I guess). He never got airborne. He also was convinced that penile growth could be achieved by directing more bloodflow to the area. So he massaged in some BenGay onto his unit. He then screamed for about 2 hours and perched himself above a sink to let the cold water soothe him. He also thought it would be a good idea to duct-tape the frame of his bicycle back together (where it had come apart at a welded spot near the rear wheel). Since he lived halfway down the largest hill in my town, it seemed only appropriate to cruise down the hill with no shirt on his upper body. He thought it was pretty interesting looking when his back tire actually rolled ahead of him down the road. This was, of course, before he went over the handlebars and skidded on the hot-top with his bare chest. His left nipple was actually hanging off and he had sand embedded in his chest. His mother thought it would be a good idea to disinfect it...so she splashed some rubbing alcohol on the wounds. He passed out for about 15 minutes he told me afterwards. My invention involved my love of ABC's Wide World of Sports with Jim McKay. I loved the Lumberjack Competitions. The Competition involved sawing wood, log-rolling, and climbing a large limbless timber with just a rope and these tree-climbing spikes on their boots and ankles. The tree-climbing is what fascinated me. Well, I had recently come across two of the largest nails I had ever found. They were about 4 inches long and about a quarter-inch in diameter at their thickest point. I also had a large sheet of leather, a left-over from where my mother worked in a shoe factory. I decided that with the leather for straps, two blocks of wood for support, and the two large nails, that I could create some tree-climbing apparatus to attach to my workboots. I was about 9 years old at the time. I spent better than 3 hours cutting the leather, stapling it to the blocks of wood, hammering the nails through the blocks of wood, and then tying this to each boot. The tree-climbing boots were a success...I would be jumping from tree to tree in my neighborhood in no time. I showed my older brother...who barely looked at them...but said "those things are never going to work." I then verbally assaulted him as only a 9 year old could..."You're a stupid jerkface and don't know anything!". I then proceeded outside into the yard to choose which tree I would soon be perched upon the top of for all the neighbors to see. It was a Maple. I inspected it very carefully. Smooth bark...not too wide (I didn't have the rope thing they used on TV so I needed a tree I could get my arms around)...not many branches. This was definitely the tree. With a look around my yard as if it would be the last time I'd see it at this level again, I began my ascent. I was amazed at how well the boots were working. Before long, I was about 15 feet up the tree and laughing with tears of joy in my eyes. I was yelling for my brother to come outside and see how wrong he was. No sooner had he come into view (and I started to see his jaw drop a little...obviously due to his shock at being so wrong) that the leather straps made a nice little "popping" sound. You know something...time slows down when you are falling through the air. I could still see the blocks of wood firmly stuck in the Maple's trunk and the straps flapping a bit in the breeze of my fall as I looked at my feet and tumbled upside down. The leather straps could not take the strain and had ripped away from the staples holding them to the blocks of wood. I don't remember hitting the ground...but I do remember my brother dragging me into the house and words "come-on lumberjack...let's go inside." The mild concussion I suffered healed within a week. And I don't notice any lingering effects from it. Do you?

Home Sick from School When I was between the ages of 6 and 10, it was pretty horrible staying home sick from school. Its not that I minded missing school, its just that it was kind of lonely. My mother worked. She would be gone from about 7:00AM in the Morning to about 3:30PM in the Afternoon. My older brother went to school so he was gone during the same time period. My father was home...but he worked 3rd shift so he was asleep during this time. Being sick when you're a kid is no fun...Bad Cough, Cold, Fever, Rashes, and Headaches all sucked. But nothing...absolutely nothing could prepare you for "The Grip." This is the old-fashioned name for a stomach flu. My Mother called it this. I assume that it got its name because of the vice like squeezing around your stomach and intestines during a dual barf and beef episode when you have a stomach virus. Just typing the words "The Grip" makes me queezy. The hardest thing was deciding whether to shit in the toilet and barf in the tub...or vice-versa. Without Mommy around there was however some comfort. TV Shows. When I was home sick I could count on a few shows to make me actually feel better - The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Gilligan's Island, The Monkees, Banana Splits, and The Flintstones. Visual Aspirin, these shows were to me. However, there were shows that made me feel worse. 1. The New Zoo Review - Hated this drug induced "hippies do good" show. It had the people in animal suits playing Henrietta Hippo, Freddie Frog, and Charlie the Owl. If the three of them had fallen into a Harvester/Combine I would have been the happiest kid on Earth. There were two "human" characters as well. Doug, this guy has child molestor written all over him, and Emmy who was a Hottie in a miniskirt and Go-Go boots. I had fantasies about Emmy, but one of the friggin big animals would always intrude into the fantasy asking to learn how to tie their friggin' shoes or some shit. 2. Family Affair - What type of twisted dysfunctional family was this? You had Uncle Bill (no personality, child-beater Consulting Engineer, who always looked pissed off or uninterested). You had Buffy (this was the girl that talked to her doll Mrs. Beasley. Time for therapy kid...your mom and dad died...you're stuck with Uncle Bill...get used to it.). You had Jody (any boy named Jody needs to have the shit beat out of them.). You had Sissy (the budding Hottie who Uncle Bill lusted after). Finally, you had Mr. French, an English Butler named Mr. French? The English hate the French. And I hated him and his fancy-ass meals, and white gloves. Die...French...Die. 3. The Andy Griffith Show - I kept hoping that before this show came on...my fever would get so high that I would pass out for the 1/2 hour this show was on TV. Andy, Goober, Gomer, Opie, Aunt Bee, and Barney Fife. Sometimes I didn't have a stomach flu and I would still throw up during this show. All I have to hear is that whistling sound track and I'm "barking soup" so to speak. If this was really what "law" was like in the South...then we actually lost the Civil War...we had to keep all those idiots. Now...I don't stay home sick as much being "grown up." And usually if I am home...I'm sleeping not watching TV. But...some of those shows are still on the tube...intermixed with new crap like Power Rangers, Teletubbies, and Rugrats. I tried to watch Brady Bunch with my oldest son once. It was a complete failure. He just didn't get it. Must be a generational thing.

My List of the Worst Vehicle Modfications Known to Man Can't people just have a car the way it was sold to them? Why this incessant desire to "make it my own." I can see one...maybe two bumper stickers. Or a Patriots or Redsox thing. Here are some of the worst ideas people have ever had to modify their vehicle: 1. Painted Flames - This is the absolute worst. I see fucking dorks driving around all the time in Honda Civics, Toyota Corollas, and fucking Dodge Neons with Flames Painted on them. This isn't some retard going out and painting his car himself...that at least would show some frugality. These are professionally painted flames (usually in a multi-color scheme) that run from the hood and front panels, over the doors, and ending at the rear panels. This, I guess, is to show what would actually happen if these idiots actually got their cars up over 100mph and the engines caught fire or something. It's not as if 130 HP is going to ignite the asphalt when they scrub out with their front wheel drive compact matchboxes. As my father always says, "You can put flames on a wheelchair...it don't make it an Indy Car." 2. Golden Crown Airfresheners - This is a blast from the past. You don't see these very much anymore...but they were huge during the 80s and 90s. I guess you'd put some pungent oil into the base of the thing and then gas yourself while you cruised around town. It's not like they were made of real gold. They were fucking plastic. "Oh...roll out the red carpet...King Dipshit has arrived." Whatever. 3. Monster Truck Lift Kits - Why oh why do fucking rednecks from New England love to put Lift Kits in any fucking truck-like vehicle they have. I can see lifting a truck a little bit, especially if you're going off-road. But, when you need a rope ladder to get into the fucking things, enough is enough already. What cracks me up is when they pull up next to you at a Stop and look down chuckling with toothless grins revealed. "I could crush your car man!" I don't bother to say that the extra large truck is a surrogate for a small dick. They wouldn't get it anyway. 4. Lowering Kits - How low can you go? These fuckers go way low. Special credit should be given to the idiots who lower pick-up trucks. Let's make the car I spent a shitload of money on...even more useless. Some of these things can't clear a bottlecap. Fucking ridiculous. 5. Metal Fish - You know the ones with "Jesus" or "Darwin" in the middle. I believe in God. But he's not a Rock Group. I doubt He loves these people anymore for driving around with "Jesus is Lord" or those metal fish. I think they should only sell one kind. A fish with the word "ASSHOLE" in it. That would fit both of these types: The Liberal Evolutionists and the Conservative Creationists. 6. Garbage Disposal Rims - This is my pet name for those rims that have the blades rotating inside the rim of the tire. How about the guy who drives it gets them going real good...stops the car...and puts his pecker in there. See how cool he thinks those are then. 7. Bumper Sticker Cars - This is especially popular with ugly hippie chicks who drive old beaten up Volvos. There are usually so many bumper stickers on the fucking car that if you read them...they all contradict each other. A perfect metaphor for the fucked up minds of these wastes of space. 8. Cars with 15 Fucking Antennas - Tell me. How come in these cars with the Satellite, CB, HAM Radio, AM/FM Long Distance, and Emergency Channel Scanners, the people look so fucking stupid, like they were born without brains or something. You'd figure that people with all that information coming in would look pretty informed. They're fucking driving an AWAC on wheels. Not these assholes. Is something actually going to happen in the World while you're going to get a loaf of bread that you can't wait until you get home to find out about? These are the same people who watch the Weather Channel 24 hours a day. 9. Neon Underlighting - Why? You can't even see it when your driving in your own car. What do you do...stop at a Convenience Store...get out...and say "That's so fucking cool. I love purple." 10. Old Police Cars - The Police should destroy these things for two reasons. A. The people who buy them never paint them. They drive around in the black and white boats and you can usually still see the Police Markings under the quick paint job to cover them up. You know they're thinking..."I could pull that guy over and he wouldn't even know it." Hey buddy...yeah he would. No cop wears a CAT Truck Hat and Flannel Shirts all the time. Fucking retard. B. If they're on the highway I always slow down like an asshole because I think they're real. I pull up and it looks like the Killer Family from Wrong Turn in there. Those are the worst. If you have any of these...then fucking get a life. I can't give you one...you have to find it for yourself.