What's That Sound?
(It's the gears turning in my head...yep, time for more random thoughts)

Ok, it's been a long time and I thought some random musings were way overdue. Plus, I've been thinking about a few things lately and I thought maybe some of you would like to think about these things, too. So here goes:

Opportunity Knocked (did I answer? No, because I'm an ass)
I was on the nine-nickle today driving home from work at 4:00, and what do I see on the shoulder of the highway? A Palm Beach County Sherriff sitting there. I assume he is looking for speeders so I slow slightly and set my cruise control to 65 mph and continue. As I get closer, I notice something wrong: the right front tire is flat as could be. Oh my! Why, I don't even need to slow down, do I? What's he gonna do? Chase me? His tire's limper than a gay guy's hog at Hooters. I could drive by him at 100 mph with my bare ass hanging out the window screaming "Fuck you, Piiiiggg!" and there's not a thing he can do about it. And what did I do? Nothing, I just turned up my radio slightly and went on my way with my cruise control set at 65 mph. I could have done just about anything and I did nothing. The spirit of mischief is dead in me. I am officially boring. I'm going to go pour myself some prune juice and take a nap before Mattlock comes on.

What's With Kids Today And Their Damn Music?!?!
This has been pissing me off for a while now and I'm sure a bunch of you will say, "What? I love that song!" or "I love that artist" but fuck you and listen to what I have to say. Maybe I can change your opinion.
Gwen Stefani - "Holla Back Girl" What the fuck is that bitch babbling about?!? I used to love her when she was with No Doubt and they were a ska/rock band and they played music and the words made some sort of sense. Now she is talking about not being a "holla back girl" and how her shit is bananas. Holy Christ, can someone tell me what the hell she is talking about? Who got Gwen the 2005 Ebonics Dictionary/Thesaurus for Christmas last year? English, Gwen, English!!! For fucks sake - English!!
The Ying Yang Twins - "The Whisper Song" What the fuck is a ying yang twin? What the fuck are they whispering about? What the fuck kind of person actually speaks like that? What the fuck kind of person wants to be spoken to like that? "Wait 'til you see my dick..." "I'm gonna beat that pussy up.." These are actual lyrics taken from the song. Ladies, I'm not a smooth talker, but I think I have an idea of what a girl likes to hear and what a girl doesn't like to hear. Maybe I'm wrong. Raise your hands if you like to hear about seeing a guys dick and that he's going to use it to beat up your vagina. Ok, those of you with your hands up, please keep them raised...the rest of you look at those girls. They're what we call sluts. Thank you, you may put your hands down now.
Ashley Simpson Do I have to say anything? Seriously...this girl has a career? I need to learn how to lip sync.
Britney Spears-Federline Thanks, America's trailers weren't quite full enough. Glad you decided to procreate. Just what we needed...a 3rd Federline running around. "He's gonna be a great dad." Yeah, well I hope the 3rd times a charm, Brit, 'cause he kinda neglected the first two to go on tour and stuff your taco in the handicapped stall of an IHOP at 4 in the morning.

Also, I wanted to issue an apology for last week. I had every intention to go to a redneck bar run by a crazy guy who thinks he's a pirate and wields a shotgun, but I instead got stuck hanging at the Sail Inn for hours and drinking until I no longer posessed the skills to spell simple 3 and 4 letter words. I still plan on hitting the pirate bar, just don't know when that'll be. You can be sure I'll be back to tell the story. Tonight, I'm drinking with my Italian friends. They're all from Brooklyn, they all have the thickest Brooklyn accents and it gets more and more amplified the drunker they get. I am not Italian or from Brooklyn. I'm from English herritage and I grew up in Florida. They're pasta and meatballs. I'm a turkey sandwich with mayo. It should be interesting. What the fuck, huh? Fuggetaboutit.

Hurricane Floyd Part I

This is the Hurricane Floyd Story. It is rediculously long so I will post it in 3 parts...here goes:
Back in September of 1999, Florida got hit by Hurricane Floyd. In my infinite wisdom, I advised my friends Lumpy (from Maine, never experience a hurricane before) and PC (from Boston, never experienced a hurricane either) that there was no way we were gonna get hit in our area. Palm Beach county hasn't been hit in years, I told them, and this will be no different. I spouted off some shit I had heard the local weatherman say about dual-dopplers and barametric pressure and the gulf stream pushing it north of us and they bought it. So while the bank we all worked at was closing early to allow employees to go home and board up their houses, I was able to convince the two of them to go out drinking. Before closing time, I hit the yellow pages to inquire which establishments were going to remain open. No sense in wasting valuable drinking time driving around looking for an open bar, I tell myself. It seems the Gods of Alcoholism were smiling down on us as our local Hooter's was going to be open regular hours. Sweet. First beer and now boobs, too? Jackpot. This is gonna be a good night. Lumpy and I went to drop my car off and then made our way to pick up PC. At this time, the outter bands of the hurricane are starting to hit the coast but all reports are that the storm will continue north and miss our area, leaving us with nothing but some nasty rain. Well, we weren't gonna let a little tropical storm rain on our intoxication parade. After we picked up PC, Lumpy drives out of the development telling us how his alternator is acting up and he has to turn off the air conditioning and radio or his car won't start. However, with Lumpy, telling us this is not enough, so he stops in the middle of the road -not to mention the middle of a torrential down pour- and turns the car off. Of course, when he goes to turn it back on, it won't start. What an ass. So we are sitting in the middle of the road in a God damn monsoon and we need a jump start. No one is out because the weather is so bad and PC and I are getting restless because this is cutting in on our drinking. Finally, after a half hour of waiting, someone pulls up and we are able to ask for a jump. We make Lumpy do all the dirty work because he is the brain surgeon that put us in this position. He gets out, flags the guy down and asks for a jump. The guy thinks we're idiots (he's probably right) for being out in this weather and wanting to mess with electricity. So there's Lumpy, standing in half a foot of water using jumper cables. Lumpy actually gets the car started without electricuting himself and he wants us to pop the trunk so he can toss the cables in the back. Now I'm not sure if you're aware because I wasn't, but on a 95 camaro, the trunk release is in the glove compartment. Something else I wasn't aware of is that people from Maine call a glove compartment a cubby hole. Yeah, a fucking cubby hole. So there's Lumpy, standing with the driver door open, telling me to pop the trunk and that the button is in the cubby hole. Then there's me, leaning over to the driver's side looking for a trunk release and wondering what the fuck a cubby hole is. It's like an Abbott & Costello routine. Lumpy finally leans into the car and opens the glove compartment to push teh button. He tosses the cables in the trunk and gets back in drenched. He then points and says "Cubby hole!!"
Woody - "What the fuck is a cubby hole?!?!"
Lumpy - "That's a cubby hole!" (pointing to the clove compartment)
Woody - "That's a fucking glove compartment!"
Lumpy - "Well, back home we call a glove compartment a cubby hole!!"
Woody - "I'm from Florida, how am I supposed to know that?!?! Did you know that?"
PC - "Of course I knew that, I'm from Boston, it's a New England thing."
Woody - "Why didn't you tell me?"
PC - "I just thought it was funny watching Lunchbox get soaked." (FYI Lumpy's dimentions: 6'3" 300lbs of pure man-child)
Ok, he was right, it was funny. We all have laugh at this -ok, me and PC do, Lumpy's a little pissed- and head on to Hooters. We can't turn the car off or we'll have to jump it so PC and I convince Lumpy to drop us off at the front door so we don't get wet while he parks and leaves the engine running. We walk in and there's 6 other people in the place: 2 waitresses, a cook and a manager, and 2 guys that looked like truckers. While PC and I sit at a table, the waitress comes up just as Lumpy comes sloshing in. She looks at him all wet, looks at us dry and says "What the happened to you?" Lumpy doesn't miss a beat, "These two bastards drove here, but they made me ride my bike!" in his super thick New England accent. HooterGirl - "Awe, you poor thing!" It amazes me how some girls can make it through day to day life being as stupid as they are without hurting themselves. We get a pitcher and start the drinking. Meanwhile, the weather outside is getting worse. Apparently, Hurricane Floyd never got the report that it was supposed to go north. We ende up getting catagory 1 winds in our area with several places losing power for a while and numerous trees being knocked down. But the power stayed on at Hooters and so did the drinking. We get down with our 9th pitcher and attempt to order our next one when the manager comes over to inform us of The Rule. The Rule is that there is a limit to how much beer you can be served at a Hooters...supposedly it's 2 pitchers per person in a party, and I've encountered it before. Maybe it's not really a rule, just a guideline they use to cut people off when they get too drunk and rowdy.
"You should have been cut off at 6, but I didn't realize how many you've had." "How many is that?",I ask. "9. We can't give you any more. You are more than welcome to stay and eat, but we can't let you have more beer." As I've said many times before and will say many times again, no one frequents Hooters for it's fine cuisine. They go for boobs and beer. Yeah, there was still boobs, but we were out of beer, and we weren't grabbing any boobs, so we said fuck it and left. Where to? The Ugly Mug.Continued in Part II. -

Hurricane Floyd Part II

So we decide to leave the fine establishment that is the Boca Raton Hooters because they have decided to stop giving us beer, even though we are more than willing to pay for it. I know, it didn't make sense to us either. not to mention the burden of knowing they were kicking 3 seemingly intoxicated young men out into the worsening conditions resulting from the passing of Floyd. But there we were, trecking out into the storm. To decid on who should drive, we did rock-paper-scissors, and since I was the only one to produce a rock, paper, or a siccor, I won and got in the drivers seat of Lumpy's Camaro. We drove west to Military Trail and everything was going smoothly. We were able to drive slow and steady despite slight inebriation and had the perfect alibi-the bad weather. We got to the Ugly mug in Delray and the parking lot was full and the doors were open. However, there didn't seem to be any lights on inside. Yep, you guessed it...the power was out. But they didn't seem to have a problem with this and neither did we. They still had beer and were serving up the spirits by the light of candle. Actually, if we were looking for women, it would have been great. It was so dark, I could have been talking to a purple cougar with a conjoined twin and I would have thought she was hot and wanted to take her home. That and I was getting more and more wasted by the minute. We decided to do shots, so I order 3 jagermeisters. However, when they were put on the bar, PC and I were possessed by little devils on our shoulders. There were shot glasses with candles in them all along the bar. PC blows one out and gives it a second to cool and hands it to me to give to Lumpy. I give it to Lumpy and he proceeds to take a sip getting mildly warm wax all over his chin. Sure it smarted a little but in the end he agreed if he had been the prankster and not the prankee, it would have been funny. We decide to leave the bar because we are getting drunker and it's getting worse outside. Apparently, the storm hit a lot closer to Palm Beach County than anyone thought and we were getting it pretty bad. That being the case, the first thing to our minds was boobies. We wanted to find a strip club that was open...and I knew just the place.
(Continued in Part III)

Hurricane Floyd Part III

Well, there we were, leaving the Ugly Mug and hungry for boobies. The problem was: what self-respecting strip club is open in a hurricane? (even more pressing of a question: is there such thing as a self-respecting strip club?) Well, I took a shot in the dark and took us to the dirtiest one I could think of...Peek-A-Boo in Lake Worth, where all our sticky dreams would come true. However, we first had to get to Lake Worth. We turn onto Military Trail and go for about 5 minutes when we encounter an obstacle: Trees have fallen down and are covering the entire northbound side of the road. "Should we turn back?" I ask Lumpy, seeing as it was his car we were risking. "Hell no, I wanna see some tit!!" Sweeter words were never spoken. "Try to drive half on the concrete median...I bet it's just the tips of the trees...we can squeeze by." So I pull half on the median, half off and continue to the nudie bar in the hurricane. It's pouring down rain, windy as hell and all of a sudden I hear a huge smash! I instinctively duck and shut my eyes (interestingly enough, I didn't hit the breaks or even slow down) and when I opened them, we were pulling out from under some huge pine trees into an open spot of highway. I look over at Lumpy and it's raining on his side of the car. I guess in my drunken state I didn't comprehend just what was happening, so I reach over and put my hand out the T-top just to make sure I was seeing it right. It was gone...Disappeared. And the front windshield was smashed up pretty badly too. And we were missing a windshield wiper. But where was the glass? Lumpy had only a few small chunks of glass on his sweater, but where was the rest? We stopped the car and looked in the back seat. We had found the missing glass. Poor fucking PC had a shit load size puddle of glass sitting right in his lap. We were going so fast that when the tree fell on us that it blew the glass into the back seat. (yes, a fucking pine tree fell on us while we were driving half on a concrete traffic median in a 1995 Chevy Camaro, leaving a bar with no power to go to a dirty nudie bar in the middle of a hurricane...happens to everyone, doesn't it?) We get to the nudie bar and sure as shit, it's open. And the parking lot is populated with scruffy looking gentleman of shifty persuasion. We park and they all come over to the car to see what happened. We recount our story as fast as possible and head inside. Immediately, a buck-toothed hog of a woman walks up to Lumpy and starts rubbing his chest and says "Hey, hot stuff, want a dance? Ouch! What the fuck? Is that glass on you?!?" And Lumpy says-all casual and shit-"Oh, yeah, watch out, I got some glass on my sweater from my T-top, be careful there sweetheart." Priceless. Well, the girls aren't as great as we had imagined them being when we were at the Ugly Mug (I guess even in the dark, imagined chicks are hotter than real life), so we decided to leave. Not only that, but the dirty fucks outside were eyeballing Lumpy's stereo, which was now easily accessible through the big fucking hole in the roof. We go outside and clear them away from the car and hop in to go home. Lumpy is now starting to sober up a bit and is thinking about all the damage to his car. Surly driving in a hurricane is not covered under his insurance. He drops PC and myself off and heads home to find a huge tree branch in the spot where he usually parks. So he had his neighbor lift the branch, he pulled his car underneath and called his insurance agent in the morning, who informed him that he was completely covered.

All in all, quite a night. We had beer, we had fun and no one got hurt )except for a small cut on the finger of an over-zealous stripper).

Final Score:

Woody & Friends - 1

Mother Nature - 0

Original post date - Saturday, September 10, 2005
Which of the 7 Dwarfs am I?

Holy crap.
It's 7:20 am on Saturday morning. I just left work at the club what seems to be a few minutes ago. I went to sleep around 2:45 am and got up at 5:45 am. Why? Because I'm a glutton for punishment. Oh, and I enjoy paying my bills semi-on time. Let me tell you the schedule I'm looking at up through Monday afternoon:
Friday night - Work 8:00 pm to 2:00 am
Saturday morning - Wake at 5:45 am, work 7:00 am until 3:30 pm
Saturday afternoon and night - Sleep 'til 7:45 pm, get to work at 8:00 pm 'til 2:00 am
Sunday morning - Wake at 5:45 am, work 7:00 am until 3:30 pm
Sunday afternoon - plan to watch football; what will actually occur: sleep
Monday morning - Wake at 5:45 am, work 7:00 am until 3:30 pm.
Ugh! I am so tired right now, not even a B.J. would make being awake worth it. I'm not saying don't try...I mean, you never know, right? (I'm talking to you girl with the nice boobs, in the cut-off shorts and tank top. wink-wink)
So, to any of you out there who plan on visiting me tonight, do not expect too much out of me...I'm tired. Be gentle. Be kind. And love your Woody. Oh, and if you haven't guessed which of the 7 dwarfs I am by now, let me throw you a bone: Sleepy (I would have also accepted Dopey, Grumpy, Surley, Shitty or Doc).

Sleepy times, y'all!

Senior Woody del Presidente
Assistant Deligate to the U.S. Embassy in Monte Carlo