There is a hole in the Viking Ship

pattersonAnyone who knows me knows that I’m a huge NFL fan, to be specific, a huge Dolphins fan. I’m also a transplant in the Twin Cities from Hialeah. Actually from all over due to my father being in the military, but Hialeah is where I was born and briefly resided. Much of my family is from the Miami – Dade area.

Nonetheless I’ve been a Minnesota resident since 1991 and during that time I’ve gotten to know the Minnesota Vikings franchise and their fans a little better. The irony of it all is that the Vikings and the Dolphins share alot in common. Such as records, plenty of players, coaches, and front office personnel. Actually one the worst front office guys for the Dolphins is now one of the best GMs the Vikings ever had. Rick Spielman.

in 2000 Spielman was the Dolphins Vice President of Player Personnel until he was promoted in 2002 to Senior Vice President-Football Operations/Player Personnel, and eventually General Manager in 2004. During that time the Dolphins drafts were disastrous. Barely worth mentioning in the 4 years were OL Vernon Carey and Yeremiah Bell…barely. I could name a plethora of busts or plyers with potential that never came to be….LB Eddie Moore, CB Will Poole, and LB Tony Bua to name a few. I’ve heard Spielman claim on Minnesota’s sports authority radio station, KFAN 100.3 FM, that he pretty much had nothing to do in the decision making during Dolphins draft. I guess I don’t blame him for taking that stance…Tony Bua….

When Spielman arrived he took over Fran Foley’s old job as Vikings’ Vice President of Player Personnel in 2006, I thought I was going to see the Dolphins demise all over again. Except this time the Dolphins were played by the Vikings. Well I did not. Actually it was a slow build of stability. Players of worth were being drafted; LB Chad Greenway, RB Adrian Peterson, WR Sydney Rice,  C John Sullivan, on and on! Where the hell was this in Miami, Spielman?!

But he doesn’t get a free pass. He also brought aboard Brad Childress, and the ever so self loving and retiring Brett Favre. He was part of the “O.K.” for the return of Randy Moss for a draft pick. The Vikes fans should be so lucky to have an owner willing to spend, albeit poorly invested. But the drafts stayed for the most part solid. And I watched my Dolphins suffer still through Spielman and Company’s aftermath of picks piled on by Sparano and Parcells insanity.

The Vikes 2012 draft was absolutely brilliant. Almost every pick made an immediate impact and contributed to their playoff season. The real gem wasn’t Kalil but a questionable kicker named Blair Walsh. I dare to say it was Walsh who was MVP of that Vikings squad. FG after FG adds up fast and especially when it’s clutch. Hell, even WR Jarius Wright filled in admirably for the *ahem* injured Percy Harvin.

But I saw something very amiss before the 2012 season started. A very open middle underneath and overwhelmed MLBs.

I would say the 20011 season for the Vikings LBs was poor…horrible. I also noticed they did nothing to correct it in the 2012 draft. If anything they were maybe hoping S Harrison Smith could help out. Unfortunately Smith is not Superman. As the 2012 regular season was rolling in I was listening to Paul Charchian on KFAN during his Fantasy Football radio show give advise on players to play during the Vikes/Jags game. He kept missing the name, “Mercedes Lewis”. I tried to call in and call him on it and even predicted a big day for Lewis on my own Fantasy advice Twitter account, @BRHLFF twitter.com. I was right on the money; 8 Sep

“Jags TE Marcedes Lewis could be a Huge sneaky Start. Last year Vikings D got burned by opposing TEs. New OC says Lewis will B endzone threat”

That was just the start.

So what does that have to do with anything? Quite a bit actually. Because Lewis went on to burn the Vikes for 5 catches for 52 yards and a TD. Vikings cannot cover the TE. Harrison Smith was brought in to help with that but was kept busy enough helping a young burnable secondary. The Vikes LBs were going to be exposed all year and TEs lick their Chops when facing them. Here is some evidence:

Week 1 vs Jags TE Mercedes Lewis 5 – 52- 1TD

Week 2 vs Colts TE Dwayne Allen 1-3 – 1TD/ TE Coby Fleener 1- 16 and here is the telling tale…Donnie Avery slants over the middle for a 41 yard gain at one point. Finishes the day with 9 -111 yards

Week 3 vs San Francisco TE Vernon Davis 5 – 53 – 1TD (Davis was the only one to score a TD that day for SF)

Week 4 vs Lions TE Brandon Pettigrew 7 – 67/TE Tony Scheffler 1-16

Week 5 vs Titans TE Jared Cook 5 – 37 – 1TD

Week 6 vs Redskins TE Fred Davis 3 – 46. Note: LB/FB Darrel Young scores on LBs during endzone playaction. The same play will be used against Vikes for a TD in week 8 vs Tampa when Eric Loring Scores

Week 7 vs Cardinals TE Rob Housler…yes Rob Housler 5 – 54(10.1 yards per catch) First Down!

Week 8 vs Tampa Bay TE Dallas Clark 3 – 40(13.3 ypc)/ FB Eric Loring scores TD on exact play used in playaction during previous Redskins game.

Week 9 vs Seahawks TE Zack Miller 2 -47

Week 10 vs Lions TE Brandon Pettigrew  3 – 32 – 1TD (in two games 10 – 99 – 1TD)

Week 11 BYE

Week 12 vs Bears(who refuse to throw to TEs) TE Kellen Davis 1 – 15/TE Evan Rodriguez 1- 11

Week 13 vs Packers TE Jermichael Finley 6 – 60

Week 14 vs Bears TE Kellen Davis 3 – 25

Week 15 vs Rams TE Lance Kendricks  3 – 35 – 1TD/TE Chris Harkey 1 – 21

Week 16 vs Texans TE Owen Daniels 3 – 27

Week 17 vs Packers TE Jermichael Finley 8 – 72 (in two games 14 – 132)

I found it interesting in the post season how Green Bay decided to attack the Viking defense. Over the middle and underneath. Jennings, Jordy Nelson, and John Kuhn attacked the middle knowing the Vikes MLB would not be able to handle the pressure. In those 16 games the opposing TE position alone averaged just over 11.3 yards per catch and scored 6 TDs!

So here is my point. Spielman had me believing that this year was going to be another brilliant draft by him and his people. I was feeling it with DT Floyd and CB Rhodes, these guys are drafting need and shoring up their Defense! Guess What! They traded back into the first round just like last year! I couldn’t believe it! Who is this Spielman guy?! They needed a ILB bad and Ogletree, Te’o, and Minter where all right there for the taking!

To me this was an absolute no brainer and Spielman is really a Draft genius….

With the 29th overall pick the Vikings draft, Cordarrelle Patterson, WR , Tennessee.

Wait, what?! You traded away your picks including your #52 for a WR?! The draft is deep with Wideouts! I could not believe it. Maybe some of the old Dolphins Spielman is still there.

I’m not saying Patterson is an awful pick, because he is not. Frankly, his ability to run after the catch is amazing. But I definitely think it was a price too high considering the blatant need for ILB. I guess the Vikes think they can mask the hole on Defense again this year by slowing opposing teams offenses down with the Run and kill them with spot on FGs. Be assured the numbers do speak for themselves and I don’t find it a coincidence the Bears new Coaching staff went after TE Martellus Bennett this offseason. Everyone but the Vikes see the glaring hole. Of course when you make a playoff run it’s no big deal, but I have a feeling this year it will be. Spielman blinked and I saw what was before.

“Two Processions!” by Pastor Greg Pagh

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A sermon that describes another parade between Palm Sunday and the Parade to the Cross. By my good friend Pastor Greg Pagh.

Texts: Mark 11:1-11 Rev. Gregory M. Pagh
Christ Church – Otsego
March 24, 2013

“Two Processions!”
Good morning again and a very blessed Palm Sunday to each of you. Be of good cheer! After a long, cold winter, Spring is coming, it really is… and even better, Easter is coming! Today we begin Holy Week.
Some of you have known me now for 22 years. You know a lot about me. We’ve celebrated a lot of Holy Weeks together. But still, in the interest of full disclosure, I need you to know that “I’m not a big parade guy.”
As a matter of fact, and Colleen will verify this, I’ll do just about anything I can to avoid going to a parade. I don’t know what it is. Either I suffer from “Shriner’s Syndrome” or as a child I was scared by a clown. I’m not sure, but parades are just not on my list of favorite things to do.
Several years ago, however, I did go to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City. It was just awesome! We stood by the curb and waited for 4 hours in the cold and the rain to hear some marching bands, see some large balloon characters held down by ropes, watch a group of woman carrying lawn chairs in formation, and listen to a lot of semi-famous people lip-syncing on floats. Yeah… it was just great!
Friends, this upcoming week, the one we call Holy Week has two parades. And the truth is, I’m not big on them either. During the first parade, on Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. During the second parade, on Good Friday, he walked out of Jerusalem carrying his own cross. I say that I’m not big on these parades either because the first was based on false expectations of Jesus and the second was the outcome of false judgments about Jesus. Two parades. Two processions. One joyous and one solemn.
During the first parade, the people exclaimed “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” During the second, many of the same people who had cheered on Sunday now shouted “Crucify him!” just five days later on Friday. During the first procession, they were ready to crown him as king. During the second, he wore a crown of thorns.
Have you noticed? Both parades involved Jesus and his disciples. Both involved crowds of people representing clashing kingdoms and widely contrasting priorities. Both parade routes were lined with compassionate characters and evil culprits.
Yes, during the first Holy Week there were two parades, two processions, just five days apart. Today we commemorate them as Palm Sunday and Good Friday. They reveal in stark contrast “who Jesus was” and “what he came to do.” Together, they represent decisions that changed the world! And most people missed it!
You just heard me say that the Palm Sunday procession was based on false expectations of Jesus. Make no mistake, these religious pilgrims were not cheering for a Jesus who would be crucified just five days later. When they shouted “Hosanna!” which means, “Save us, Lord!” they were not crying out for Jesus to forgive them from their personal sins. No! The Savior they had in mind was clearly one who would set them free from the oppressive and brutal Roman government under which they had suffered terribly for so long.
My contention, and it saddens me, is that we’re not unlike those crowds who first cheered for Jesus on that bright Sunday morning in Jerusalem. We’ve read the stories. We’ve seen the miracles. We’ve heard the testimonies. We’ve watched the mini-series. Like them, we too would have shouted “Hosanna” and waved our palm branches.
But also like them, many of us would have been driven by false expectations of our Savior. You see, too often we simply want Jesus to be the hero for our agenda, to put his stamp of approval on our plans, to free us from our suffering, and we fail to see that God is up to something quite different and so much bigger for our world.
There was another parade in Jerusalem that week, one sandwiched in between what we call Palm Sunday and Good Friday. It was a third procession not recorded in our Bibles but noted by historians. It gives us the back-story and helps us understand what a powder-keg of expectations greeted Jesus when his borrowed ride took him down that hill into his destiny.
You see, about the same time that Jesus rode into Jerusalem from the East, scholars of history tell us that the new governor of Judea, Pontius Pilate, led a procession into Jerusalem from the west. His parade was all about displaying the power of Rome to put down any potential rebellion on the part of the Jewish people.
There was a long-standing history. It was the week of Passover and that always meant the potential for trouble. Passover celebrated the freedom of the Jewish people from Egypt centuries before and it always aroused both the faith and the passions of the people.
Just 30 years earlier, about the time of Jesus’ birth, 2,000 Jews had been crucified in Jerusalem following a “Passover week uprising” that had been put down by Rome. We picture three crosses on Golgotha. Can you imagine 2000? That’s a 911! That’s a holocaust! So the purpose of Pilate’s grand entrance at the beginning of this week of such great religious significance to the Jews was to illustrate the unmatched power of the Roman government.
Historians tell how Pontius Pilate rode an armor-clad war horse into the city with hundreds of cavalry in procession behind him. Just imagine the sound. The cavalry was followed on foot by Centurion Soldiers, Rome’s finest, each of them serving as captains of 100 foot-soldiers. Just one Roman Legion consisted of 60 Centurions leading a total of 6,000 men, and at this time in history Rome had 28 Legions, the most feared fighting force in the world.
On each Centurion’s head, hammered helmets gleamed in the bright sunlight topped by the famous Roman bristle. At their sides were swords crafted from the hardest steel; and, in their hands, each soldier carried a spear; or if he was an archer, a bow with a sling of arrows across his back.
Drummers beat out the cadence as they marched. It was a full-on show of force meant to get the attention of everyone in the holy city. You see, normally, about 100,000 visitors came to Jerusalem for Passover. This particular year, however, some estimate that there were more than a million in attendance. Why? They knew that something was about to happen if Jesus dared come to town!
So this was the back-story, the context for the bookend processions we call Palm Sunday and Good Friday. When the Jewish visitors shouted “Hosanna!” for Jesus, it was because they expected this miracle-working prophet to do something spectacular that week. They believed that he was the Messiah they had been waiting for, the one who would set them free from Rome.
Even their cheers for Jesus quoted scripture, in this case the prophetic words found in Zechariah, chapter 9. Listen through the filter of what I have just shared with you. They shouted, “Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the war-horses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth.”
There was only one message on their minds that day. Jesus was the one! The Messiah had finally come to deliver them! He would restore the throne of King David! He would bring freedom and peace!
You may not have known about Pilate’s grand entrance… but don’t miss the contrasts. Pontius Pilate arrived majestically from the West riding on a horse. Jesus arrived humbly from the East riding on a donkey. Pilate came to keep a false peace. Jesus came as the Prince of Peace. Pilate’s procession was a display of the kingdom of Caesar, who claimed to be a god. Jesus’ procession was a display of the kingdom of God, because he was God in the flesh. Pontius Pilate remains buried in some ancient tomb. Jesus is alive and seated at the right hand of God!
When I was a kid I couldn’t help but wonder what happened at the end of a parade. Where did the bands and the floats go after they disappeared around the corner? Well at the end of Jesus’ Palm Sunday parade the events of the first Holy Week began to unfold rapidly.
I want to put a challenge before you this week. These two bookend processions by Jesus are found in all four Gospels – both the Palm Sunday “ride into Jerusalem” and the Good Friday “walk to the cross.” I want you to find these stories in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John in your Bibles and also read everything that happened in between.
You’ll be amazed at how much took place in just a few days. There was a tremendous acceleration of teaching and revelation coupled with growing opposition and accusation. Jesus cleared the temple of the money-changers. He taught on marriage and the “end times” and several other important topics. He answered the accusations of the religious leaders.
He gathered with his disciples for the Passover Meal and expanded its meaning into what we now celebrate as Holy Communion. He washed his disciples’ feet in an act of love and servanthood. He was betrayed by Judas.
He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was arrested by the Jewish authorities, who by the way, came not with palm branches but with swords and clubs. He endured an all-night religious trial before the Jewish Sanhedrin. He suffered a Roman civil trial at the hands of Pontius Pilate and Herod Antipas. Not exactly “due process,” as we know. He was betrayed by the Jews and viewed as threat by the Romans.
His robes were ripped off him. He was beaten and spit upon. A crown of thorns was pushed into his head. He was sentenced to death by crucifixion, carrying his own cross until he could carry it no more. He suffered on the cross for six hours and died alone, abandoned by everyone who had hailed him as king.
All this in five days. From Sunday through Friday. From “Hosanna!” to “crucify him.” Two parades… two processions that are like Holy Week bookends. How could it all take such a terrible turn so quickly?
Two reasons. First, Jesus was not the Messiah the Jews expected, and second, God’s plan of salvation was not the plan the world expected. So here’s what I want to leave you to chew on as we begin this Holy Week, 2013.
During these next days ask yourself, “What am I expecting from God?” And ask yourself, “Have I embraced God’s plan of salvation for my life or am I still trying to work out my own plan?”
You see, our job is not to stand at the curb and watch as these parades go by. Holy Week is about entering in! Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.” We are to walk with Jesus. We are to experience the suffering and passion of our Lord. We are to be participants in the parade. What a privilege! What a challenge! What an opportunity! Let us go through this coming week with our eyes and our hearts wide open… asking the right questions… asking the hard questions… and see what God will do.
These two parades… these two processions… and the Easter that followed, changed the world! Will they change you?

Desert Hornet Dream by Chad Killinger

f18
Somewhere it’s said we are shaped by life’s experiences. Whether those experiences are big or small, each can have its own impact on the soul. Sometimes those experiences can take hold of the imagination in the way a snake would constricts its prey and slowly consume it. Feeling every fiber of that being, tasting where it’s been, and how it got there. Savoring the long slow process and digesting what could be a long interlude to the next consumption. I had such an experience once, as a ten year old boy. It took place on a naval base during a typical hot August day in a small desert town in Ridgecrest California. A town that was hours away from any major California city and sitting just off a gentle cool base of a portion of the Sierra Nevada mountains. It could be a scorching 100 degree heat and all one had to do was take an hour or so drive up the mountain to a comfortable 70 degree picnic.
The base we lived on was the Naval Weapons Station, China Lake, located in the Western Mojave Desert region of California, about 150 miles north of Los Angeles. China Lake is the United States Navy’s largest single landholding, representing 85 percent of the Navy’s land for weapons and armaments research, development, acquisition, testing and evaluation use. In total, its two ranges and main site cover more than 1,100,000 acres, an area larger than the state of Rhode Island. It was a gold mine of history and nature. The majority of the land is undeveloped and provides habitat for more than 340 species of wildlife, including wild horses, burros, Big Horn Sheep and endangered animals, such as the desert tortoise and Mojave Tui Chub. Tui Chub are just feeder fish native to North America; they are the main food source for cutthroat trout in the region. China Lake is also home to 650 plant types. It is far from vast and empty wasteland to be sure.
My father was a Navy vet for 21 years. He was very proud of his job. When I say proud, I mean proud like how proud that fat German kid from Willy-Wonka felt when he pulled a Golden ticket. During the Vietnam War one of my father’s tasks would be the expedient repair of military aircraft to get them off the ground all while taking fire from the enemy. Yet he didn’t like to talk about it. As a matter of fact he would rather tell you about the ignoble toe nails he has from diabetes. My dad loved to talk about his babies. When I say ‘babies’, common sense would say he was talking about myself and my two siblings. No, my dad was talking about his hulking flying rhinos of variable intakes, radar intercept officers, and 2.2 showing on the mach meter strapped to powerful and reliable J79 engines that would fill your nostrils with exhaust until you dropped the canopy. Otherwise known as the F-4 Phantom II. He loved that aircraft.
My Dad would say, “It’s in that seat in that hangar where challenges are met, friendships are forged, and the nation’s will is carried out! “.
I really never understood his infatuation with one particular jet. I mean there were so many cool ones to choose from and with the release of” Top Gun” , I personally thought the F-14 was way cooler. Well, until my dad told me it was nicknamed “Flying Turkey” (when landing, the movement of its control surfaces makes it look like a turkey). So on this one particular summer day, my dad decided he was going to bring me to work. I remember being a little taken aback because I had plans with to eat breakfast with Lucky and the Super Friends, and if I had time, I might have been able to fit Voltron in too. Little did I know or could prepare for what I was about to experience that day.
We loaded into the family Nissan truck with the sun eaten paint job and matching rusted wheel covers and exited out of the compact rows of small homes that were military housing. My father decided to take the long way to work via a scenic desert road. I loved taking drives or biking down the mostly empty roads. I remember looking to one side and seeing hulking majestic mountain ranges peering over cotton stretched clouds. Looking to the other side a tremendous bare canvas of rock, sand, tumble weeds, and the occasional road runner just out of your reach. Every time your eyes wander back to study the distant landscape it seems as if it were merely a projection onto the horizon. It almost feels surreal.
The searing temperature hits you, and has a way to make you look up for relief at the sky and it seems like an impeccable contrast to the ground on which you stand, impassive and blue. It feels as though the gentle eye of God peers down on you, time seems to stand still, and you suddenly feel calm. It is a peace and a respect for the irony of how life flourishing can be suffocated by the radiant light and heat of the desert. It was my playground.
Now as a kid I’ve been in plenty of aircraft hangars and seen a luxury of military aircraft. To say it was “old hat” would be an understatement. I still enjoyed being around it all. The hangers were these colossal barn like structures that housed winged horses capable of raining down death, like Gods of fire from mythical times might rain down destruction. Everything a boy could wish for.
We stopped by the workshop first before entering the main hangar. The shop was no different than what you would see from an auto mechanics shop. Greased tools in large yellow work worn tool boxes labeled with stickers of crude language and half naked women. My Dad never made a big deal over me reading them. He just reminded me not to repeat or speak any of it to front of my mom, “..Because shit flows downhill and I’m not listening to that crap from her today about you…”. Fair enough.
After my Dad had checked in and got his work together we toured through the small and sterile hallway out to the main of the hangar. Now out of body experience, or OBE, is described as usually brief experiences in which a person’s consciousness seems to depart from his or her body, enabling observation of the world from a point of view other than that of the physical body and by means other than those of the physical senses.
That was exactly how I felt when I turned the corner into the main hangar and saw my first F-18 Hornet.
My skin broke out in small goose bumps as the back of my hair stood on ends. There it rested, a leviathan of wing and perfect mechanical beauty. A giant sleeping eagle made of alloy and pride. It’s body more than capable of being the tip of the Greek god Apollo’s arrow. It’s flight true and deadly. The empty canopy, a single eye of a Phoenix. I couldn’t contain my excitement, “Can I see it dad?”, only came out as a whisper as if subconsciously I didn’t want to wake it only to have it fly away in surprise.
“You can sit in it!”, he smiled.
That was the best thing I’ve ever heard my dad say to me, that is, until he told me how proud he was of me before his passing from colon cancer years later in my Adulthood.
At that point I ran up the aircraft ladder so fast that I don’t recall ever feeling the steps below my feet. I could tell my Dad was just as excited for me as he laughed when I put the Pilot’s helmet on.
“Hold on Chad! Let’s get the straps to fit you!”, he said, as I couldn’t keep still looking around in my own ecstasy.
It was like putting a Dixie cup over a marble. I kept pushing it up so as to see out the black tinted visor. The instrument panel overwhelmed my brain and imagination with labels, switches, and random casings. The seat was forgiving and large like a Kings throne. As I grabbed the flight stick and pulled back on it, I imagined this is what Luke felt like in his first X-Wing! Then I surfaced through clouds of childhood imagination. I radioed the tower as they gave me the All Clear. This flight was not an aggression, it was a rider breaking in his steed! We performed barrel rolls, loops, and low pass flybys! I practiced Anti Communist MIG jet maneuvers by what I called, “The Cuban Figure Eight”.
The sun was just starting to reach its highest point in the sky as I had reached the highest point in my boyhood. Oh man, if my friends could see me now! And somewhere below in the speck bare canvas of rock, sand, tumble weeds, and the occasional road runner just out of my reach, my dad smiled and waved to me. Telling me to be careful, that he loves me, and not to stall the engines. I couldn’t make out to where exactly he was, but I could hear him. Laughing and giving instruction, all while letting me dream.

Joe Flacco uses the word “Retarded”

flacco  Joe Flacco was quoted as saying Cold Weather Super Bowl is, Quote, “Retarded”. People are going to try to raise hell I’m sure over his use of the word. I feel he used the word in the right context of his opinion. He wasn’t calling anyone “Retarded”, he was referring to the idea as “Retarded”. Unfortunately for him he apologized in the same sentence for using the word knowing people will jump all over it. Let’s look at the definition. http://www.webster-dictionary.net/definition/Retard

1. To keep delaying; to continue to hinder; to prevent from progress; to render more slow in progress; to impede; to hinder; as, to retard the march of an army; to retard the motion of a ship; – opposed to accelerate.

n. 1. Retardation; delay.

I don’t agree that the idea of a Super Bowl in a cold weather city is “Retarded”. You make millions of dollars playing a game. Plenty of people in this world work in harsher conditions for much less pay. Nobody likes to hear someone making millions of dollars bitching about playing 90 minutes in the cold. Joe Flacco, your thought process is “Retarded”.

I digress.

When used in the right context the word “Retarded” can acceptable. It is part of the English language that unfortunately others have turned into unacceptable and hurtful terms. Only now to use the word in ANY context will call to the attention of the Politically Correct or easily sensitive. I say, Shut up. I have heard those same individuals use words more offensive such as “Fag, Whore, Bitch, Cunt, Fucker,…”. You name it. As for Flacco, well I don’t think in any way was he referring to the taboo mental retardation. Feel free to discuss. http://profootballtalk.nbcsports.com/2013/01/29/joe-flacco-thinks-cold-weather-super-bowl-is-retarded/

Hairy Pooper and Me.

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Back in the late winter of 2003, I was a “seasonal” helper for a Union plumbing outfit in the cities. My work was only supposed to consist of handing tools and digging ditches. But at $12 an hour the supervisor encouraged me to act as an “apprentice”. As anyone who works or worked in the construction trade knows you run into a lot of characters, some more intriguing than others. There were your addicts who were working for the next fix, your heavy hung over drinker, the Born Again Christian recovering addict, the asshole, the guy who didn’t speak English, and so on, and so on, then me.

My Foreman was a Jehovah witness, just for privacy I’ll call him” Scott”, who was about my age and thought everything I did in life was wrong. He mission was to convert me into his thinking. I supposed he thought the best way to get me to conform was to let me know how much my life sucked. I already knew this but it couldn’t have sucked worse than going door to door on my weekends off passing out Watch Tower magazines, ” Excuse me, Madam or Sir, do you know Jesus? I couldn’t help but notice the fine knocker you have.” ,no thanks. Anyways, Scott went on some vacation with his family in January and I was assigned to a Fat Nerdy Foreman named Bob.

Ah yes, Bob.

Bob was an aged older Plumber who pronounced his Polish heritage whenever and wherever he had a chance, “I’m a Pollack ya know!”. All I could do was laugh as if watching a mentally disabled man proclaim his retardation. He also held a degree in Theater and Arts. The man was an expert on everything. For example…

During the scorching summer months, a crew of us were assigned to dig ditches for some town homes in Ramsey and it was hot. I mean it was so hot your ball sac would Bat Wing to your inner thighs! So of course the peons, meaning summer help and apprentices, got to do this work by our lonesome and the journeymen were in the A/C unit homes doing finishing work. It went with the territory. Well Bob just happened to be in charge that day. So I suggested to the other apprentices that we get Bob to bite on a subject at break. This would allow us at least an hour of break time….at least. My friend Nate decided that I should come up with the subject matter since it was my idea. “Okay! What do you guys want to learn today?” I asked. Nate said it had to be something outrageous. Then it clicked, I said, “Time Travel, Bitches.”. I was sure Bob was a Trekkie. I told Nate that during break we would have to start bantering back and forth about time travel at the start of break.

During the scorching summer months, a crew of us were assigned to dig ditches for some town homes in Ramsey and it was hot. I mean it was so hot your ball sac would Bat Wing to your inner thighs! So of course the peons, meaning summer help and apprentices, got to do this work by our lonesome and the journeymen were in the A/C unit homes doing finishing work. It went with the territory. Well Bob just happened to be in charge that day. So I suggested to the other apprentices that we get Bob to bite on a subject at break. This would allow us at least an hour of break time….at least. My friend Nate decided that I should come up with the subject matter since it was my idea. “Okay! What do you guys want to learn today?” I asked. Nate said it had to be something outrageous. Then it clicked, I said, “Time Travel, Bitches.”. I was sure Bob was a Trekkie. I told Nate that during break we would have to start bantering back and forth about time travel at the start of break.

Sure enough at break time we all filed in to a air conditioned town home unit. Nate and I made sure to sit opposite sides of the room, keeping Bob in the middle. I wasn’t quite sure how to begin and Nate kept staring at me, eyes wide open as to say, “Let’s go, fucker….”. So I started.

“What if Jesus was a regular dude in our time and traveled back in time with some cool magic tricks just to set up Christianity and self worship?”

Nate shot me a look like he could actually believe that, then caught himself, “Time travel is fucking impossible you stupid shit, and why would Jesus travel back in time to get his ass kicked?”

That was a bit harsh. We both glanced at Bob sitting his fat ass on an empty overturned 5 gallon paint bucket. His body hunched over his generic Honey Bun, death gripped as if someone was looking to steal a bite. I started to speak, “Fuck you. You think going one night of drinking without shitting the bed is impossible. I bet you would like to travel back in time to change a few of those.”. Everyone looked up
“What?”
Just before Nate was about respond, but then Bob took the bait, “Ya know Einstein had already developed a method of time travel!”, and then he laughed. We all laughed…for an hour and a half as Bob went on and on about time travel and sucking down his Honey Bun in-between breaths.
That was Bob.

Fast forward to early January, here I was in the darkest days of winter. The temps have dropped so far below zero none of the PVC pipe I was gluing was holding. I was miserable and my hands were exposed to the temp. Nobody else went to work that day expect me and Bob. We both apparently needed the paycheck. Bob, all bundled up in his Carhart bibs listening to his Walkman, which was playing the brand new children s book, Harry Potter. He was so excited about it, trying to tell me about this boy who finds out his parents are dead wizards, blah, blah, blah. The whole time all I can think is how much he looks like a damn Walrus involved with some weird Naval radio experiment.

As I was working and listening to Bob mumble and snicker to his story on tape, I was fighting 3 inch PVC pipe and glue. I was having a hell of a time getting it to stay without pushing itself out. The Glue wasn’t made to adhere in these cold conditions and my hands weren’t either. So there was a few times I had to ask Bob for help to twist and hold some ends. He in the course was getting irritated with me and bitched about it, “Do I need to hold your hand, Killer?”
I knew he was mainly pissed because I kept interrupting his fairy tale of some pathetic wizard prodigy. So tired of asking for his damned help I grabbed a angle drill, tapped Bob on the shoulder, and pointed to the next unit. I mouthed “Alligator Flu” to him in which he gave me a weird look back. I know you just tried it after reading this.

“I’m going to start roughing in the other unit, Douche!”

“Good! Do that. Maybe by noon it will warm up!”

What in the hell? Warm up from 10 below? What a Pollack.
So I probably was working for about 10 good solid minutes, buzzin holes, eating wood chips. Then all of a sudden in a loud, you better get your ass over here, “CHAD!”, was shouted from Bob. I couldn’t possibly think why the hell he would need me right now other than to replace the batteries on his Walkman because his fat fingers are unable to open it. I walk in the unit and see Bob walking right in to my personal space.

“I need your help”, Bob said, nose to nose.

“Okay, with what?”, backing away a bit.

Then at that moment Bob turned his back to me pulled his bib collar down a bit and asked, “Is there shit coming out my back?”

The man had gotten so excited like a little kid, about his new “book on tape”, he held his urges until finally it overcame him. He shit his trousers! He shit is bibs so hard he felt it rise up his back and possibly to his neck line!

“I can’t see a thing Bob”, trying not to laugh.

He turns back at me, “I’m going to the Gas station to clean up. I’ll be back shortly.”

This tub of turd never ceases to amaze me! Any normal person would have just called it a day! I personally would have just left and said nothing! YOU SHIT YOUR PANTS LISTENING TO HARRY POTTER!

I watched Bob step into his car and take a seat. It has to have spread even more. His ass must be so raw and itchy right now. As he started to drive away he stopped and waved me over. I walk over to his crap mobile holding my breath and telling myself there is no way I am helping him clean himself!

“I appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t Bob”

Just like that he drove to the nearest Gas station. I of course hightailed it to the crew of heating guys a few units over. I opened the door to their unit and yelled, I mean yelled, “BOB SHIT HIS BIBS!”. Dead silence. Then the whole unit erupted in laughter. In between laughs and jabs I told them what took place. I also told them I was not supposed to let anyone know. They promised they wouldn’t.

About an hour later Bob arrived back from his cleanup. He got out of the car and I could see that he came back with a couple of those Honey Buns he loves so much. I met him at the car as he was getting out.

“Feeling better?”, not that I really cared.

“Much! I got you a pastry.”

“No thanks, I’m allergic to E coli.”

“I washed my ha..”

“Hey Bob! Shitty day, huh!” , interrupted from the Heated unit garage. We could hear them laughing. Bob looked at them and then back to me.

“You told them.”

“I had to Bob. That’s a heavy burden on a guy to hold in.”

“You could have told your Priest!”

“I’m Lutheran”, unapologetic.

Bob started to walk back to his work area, “Get back to work. We’re leaving at noon.”. He then turned to the heating guys in the garage doorway, “Fuck you!”. With that I went back to what I was doing and Bob went back to his Harry Potter and at noon we had left.

Loofah Etiquette.

I was reminded of a story one night drinking with a few friends of mine that I chose to share with them. It was an incident that happened while taking a shower with my ex-wife. It involved the “LOOFAH”.
I was the traditional soap and rag kinda shower patron, Old school. Well the Ex bought me a loofah and said it will “exfoliate” my skin. Well little did I know “exfoliate” literally meant “Rip”. I couldn’t wait to come out of the shower looking like I had just wrestled in a patch of Vietnamese jungle blade grass. I have very sensitive skin.

So the bitch decided to join me in a very rare occasion of joint showering. Whoa, what?! What’s just happened outside of this shower? Did the most of the water disappear from Earth, like that shitty movie, “Solarbabies”? I can’t even roller skate! Why is this happening to me? This is my shower, my time to think! What if I wanted to step out and take a mid shower crap?! You know, the kind that leaves a big wet ring on the seat! I already sleep on the couch, do you want me to start bathing in the kitchen sink?!

smooth-and-renew-loofah-pads_l

When it comes to showering I’m all business. There is a lot of hair to scrub. I went first with the loofah and scrubbed pretty damn hard, since now my body has built calluses. After making sure I was good and scrubbed I proceeded to hand over the loofah, in what seemed an eternity for her to grab it from me. I opened my so newly soap rinsed eyes to see a disgusted look on her face. The conversation went like this.

“What’s wrong?”
“Have you been washing like that the whole time?”
“Yeah..”
“That is gross.”
“WHAT!”
“You washed your ass then your face!”

Okay, until this point I’ve never noticed. I was a little embarrassed. A little, I don’t need a freaking lesson on how to wash up, this was a simple oversight and was no excuse to leave me for my best friend and hide the fact that our son was not mine! She needs to learn some Loofah etiquette!