My attempt to make a home-made face mask out of an old jock strap with steel cup protector that I used during my taekwondo days didn’t turn out as planned. For everyone’s information, yes, it’s still functionable and clean and is a size extra-medium.
Filed under Wolf Tales
Both the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institutes of Health have recommended individuals remain at least 6 feet (1.8 meters) from one another to help prevent the spread of the COVID-19 virus. The minimum distance is based on the average trajectory of nasal droplets once expelled from the nose, mouth, or whatever infected orifice a person might have. (If this person can expel nasal droplets from more openings than their mouth and nose, I suggest they be put to death. They will be a danger to humanity, no matter what contagion is in the air.)
This “social distancing” has caused some consternation among many people. For introverts, however, it’s called life as we know it. But, in order to help people understand exactly what the 6-foot minimum is, each state has comprised analogies for their particular citizenry.
Alabama – 2 outhouses
Alaska – 12 salmon or 2 Alaskan King Crab
Arizona – 5 Native American bead necklaces or a blueprint for Donald Trump’s “Wall”
Arkansas – 5 lists of the state’s 3 family trees
California – 1 surfboard or a chest of old Kim Kardashian press-on fingernails
Colorado – 1 miniature horse
Connecticut – 25 recordings of Donald Trump trying to pronounce Connecticut
Delaware – 6 bags of used Joe Biden hair pieces
Florida – 1 adult alligator or 4 motorized wheelchairs
Georgia – 10 DVD sets of “Gone with the Wind”
Hawaii – 5 floral lei wreaths or 1 lost mainland tourist
Idaho – 1 “No Californians Allowed” sign
Illinois – 5 Chicago pizzas (or 10 boxes of .32 caliber bullets if you’re actually in Chicago)
Indiana – 10 lists of the top 10 names indigenous peoples had, before some drunk White people arrived and screwed up everything
Iowa – 10 late-model voting machines
Kansas – 3 sheaths of whole-grain wheat
Kentucky – 5 cases of moonshine
Louisiana – 10 Mardi Grass beads (preferably neon) or 5 indictments of state governors
Maine – 1 lobster (unboiled)
Maryland – 10-15 bricks from a now-dismantled wall built around Washington, D.C.
Massachusetts – 5 cases of Irish whiskey
Michigan – 10 cases of German beer or 1 illegal Canadian immigrant (in Detroit, use anything that’s bullet-proof)
Minnesota – 5 maps of the 10,000+ lakes in the state (complete with detailed explanations why no one has made a concerted attempt to count the exact number)
Mississippi – 50 audio recordings of school children trying spell Mississippi
Missouri – 50 video recordings of school children misspelling Mississippi as Missouri
Montana – 3 taxidermy moose heads
Nebraska – 1 bovine calf or a University of Nebraska cheerleader (whichever is closest and not sleeping at the moment)
Nevada – 500 poker chips or 1 topless showgirl
New Hampshire – 1 10’x 6’ slab of granite or 5 “We Are NOT Vermont!” signs
New México – 1 saguaro cactus frond (unshaven)
New York – 1 life-size inflatable Donald Trump doll, 5 yamakas, or 10 Brooklyn-made calzones
North Carolina – 5 vintage “Missing: Roanoke – Have You Seen Us?” flyers
North Dakota – 25 copies of “Why God Created North Dakota (Because Minnesota Was Too Cold)”
Ohio – 30 unpublished “Best Reasons to Visit Cleveland” pamphlets
Oklahoma – 15 editions of the latest Indian casino directory (also still accepting donations for the “Back to Europe” movement)
Oregon – Any still-living Grateful Dead fan
Pennsylvania – 25 king-size Hershey bars
Rhode Island – Rhode Island
South Carolina – 10 editions of “25 Reasons We Keep Fighting the Civil War and Still Haven’t Won”, © 1964
South Dakota – 3 cases of malt liquor beer or 1 “White People Don’t Let the Sun Set on You!” sign
Tennessee – 1 statue of Elvis Presley, Patsy Cline, or Tammy Wynette
Texas – 1 rifle and a bottle of tequila (preferably José Cuervo)
Utah – 10 Mormon bibles or 25 unused “Romney 2012” posters
Vermont – 10 “Sanders 2020” banners (previously 5 cases of maple syrup) or 5 “We Are NOT New Hampshire!” signs
Virginia – 5 replicas of Cutty Sark clipper ships or 10 bottles of Cutty Sark whiskey
Washington – 5 buckets of rainwater or 200 bongs
West Virginia – 25 “There Is NO East Virginia” bumper stickers
Wisconsin – 5 crates of Gouda cheese
Wyoming – 1 life-size replica of a buffalo (NO live buffaloes permitted, as they’ll kick your ass)
“Don’t move any closer, bitch!”
Filed under Wolf Tales
Reading about my family history has always been exhilarating!
My father’s urn
My mother’s official wedding portrait from 1959, along with other old family photos
The box containing my dog’s ashes
My computers, including this 10-year-old desktop
My cell phone
My vast collection of books
My model car collection
Music CDs
My library of National Geographic magazines that stretch back nearly 80 years
Wine and other spirits
My stash of adult DVDs
And finally…
Who would’ve thought?! At the start of the third decade of the 21st century, this shit would become a coveted item!
Filed under Wolf Tales
I’m all set for…
The End
Filed under Wolf Tales
“The future belongs to those who prepare for it today.”
As we continue moving forward into this third decade of the 21st century, I can’t help but ponder the many things both we and our forebears thought society would have realized by now. I’m considering all of this in the midst of the growing COVID-19 scourge; which now has been officially declared a pandemic. Just imagine…by the year 2020, we thought we’d have:
Flying cars
A cure for cancer
A colony on Mars
Contact with extraterrestrials
Found Bigfoot
Achieved teleportation
Bullet trains in every major city
Life expectancy exceeding 90
Instead, what are we doing? Teaching people how to sneeze into their sleeves and wash their hands. What the fuck happened?!
Filed under Wolf Tales
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I’m happy now,
I don’t need you.
Roses are red,
Chili is hot.
Yes, I love you,
But you’re too fat to be on top.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I like when you cuddle,
But not when you moo.
Roses are red,
Sunflowers are yellow.
Just give me a Xanax,
And I’ll stay mellow.
Roses are red,
Knives can cut.
Don’t wake me up now,
Or I’ll kick your butt.
Roses are red,
I love the morning dew.
Don’t blame it on me,
Because Cialis won’t work for you.
Roses are red,
Ivy is green.
Above all else,
You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Roses are red,
And some are pink.
Change your damn underwear!
You’re beginning to stink!
Roses are red,
The sun is bright.
Steal my cheesecake,
And we’ll end up in a fight!
Roses are red,
Set plants on the windowsill.
Cry all you want.
I won’t pay your damn cell phone bill.
Some roses are pink.
Some roses are red.
I don’t like how you think,
And you’re lousy in bed.
Roses are red.
I feel I’m next.
When you’re around,
I only want sex.
Roses are red.
Politicians are crass.
I have to admit,
You have a nice ass.
Roses are red,
And you called me a hog.
That’s okay.
I’d rather spend time with my dog.
Roses are red,
And you’re the best.
I really love it,
When you braid the hairs on my chest.
Roses are red.
The sky is gray.
You stood me up last night.
So, happy fucking Valentine’s Day!
Top image: Tee Public – Scare Baby
Bottom image: Srandovní obrázky
Filed under Wolf Tales
Over the past couple of years male friends of mine have openly and shamelessly lamented the various travails suddenly burdening their aging lives. Some have actually announced they’re experiencing hot flashes! Seriously?! Hot flashes?! In the olden days (c. 1970s and 80s) I often heard my mother and other women bemoaning the onset of this dreaded mid-life scourge. Since I only heard women complaining, I thought we men were safe and had to deal with other traumas; such as our eyebrows growing together and more spontaneous urination incidents instead of spontaneous erections.
Alas, it seems the much-loathed hot flash has zoonotically migrated into the Y-chromosome crowd. I knew women shouldn’t have been allowed to vote and wear slacks!
While I’ve attributed recent cranial temperature spikes to allergies and Texas’ perennial schizophrenic weather (which might explain some Texans to the rest of the civilized world), I don’t feel I’m experiencing hot flashes. I prefer to call them “hormonal readjustments”. They’re similar to gray hairs; they’re not gray hairs, people! They’re stress highlights!
Shortly after I turned 40 in 2003 – in the days more commonly known as BH (Before HDTV) or BF (Before Facebook) – I came down with the flu for the first time in my entire life to date.
“What’s this shit about life beginning at 40?” I joked with my then-supervisor at work.
A round of Tamiflu, coupled with orange juice, rum and refraining from frequent masturbation helped over that uncomfortable, microbial slump. But I still had the gnawing sensation my body had finally decided to divorce itself from my soul and try to lead a life of its own. I think a number of people experience that same feeling as their odometer reaches the number 40. We never ask for that kind of life change; the shit just slaps us upside the head!
Now, however, at age 56, I’m starting to experience more unexpected physiological changes in my body, as well as cerebral alterations that occur upon realizing life moves more easily when sound and sober. Unexpected, yes, but even more pleasurable. It’s not the same kind of pleasure one might have seeing their best friend and one-time spouse or life partner drive off the cliff in their new vehicle. I mean, what a way to get a new car! Full-coverage insurance be damned!
For me, it’s my body finally getting adjusted to NOT holding in all the rage and angst I have when people piss me off – the madness otherwise known as “Life”.
Remember, we don’t develop gray hairs! Now, my own indigo locks haven’t sported many – yet! But metaphorically, I’m covered! Still – no gray hairs, dear readers! They’re stress highlights! Thus, it’s good to let out as much stress as you can. Just watch out for flu varmints and two-timing best friends!
Filed under Wolf Tales
Another week of the latest reality TV show to torture the masses, ‘The Harlequins of Washington’, has thankfully ended. The histrionic personality of Faux-President Donald Trump has yet to abate and find its happy place. Trump is the “Typhoid Mary” of the current political arena: infected, contagious, absurdly disgusting and in obvious denial. Where’s Louis Pasteur when you need him?! Or maybe Jeffrey Dahmer. Oh, Great Candelabra! I guess I shouldn’t be so brutally honest. But the unbridled scribe in me often takes over my brain faster than Germans at a beer festival.
Yet, every day of the week – including weekends and holidays – the U.S. and the world are treated to regular puny-worded rants from the American Putin. Trump is quicker to name-slur his adversaries – “Crooked Hillary”, “Lying Ted”, “Little Marco” – than he is to produce his tax records. Which, by the way, have yet to be removed from whatever subterranean vault they’re being housed in at Trump Tower.
The schizophrenic weather and temperature fluctuations that have traumatized Northeast Texas in recent months have left the Chief and many other locals swaddled in a morass of mucus, madness and melancholia. I dragged my carcass into visit my doctor this morning, hoping for a shot of some life-altering tonic: cortisone, Vitamin B12, hydrocodone, Don Julio tequila.
Afterwards, I realized our ‘Dear Clown Leader’ could use much of the same; just inject a slew of medications into his fat ass – a process that could last for days – in a concerted effort to nourish his pickling cerebral cortex into some semblance of normality and subsequently (hopefully) save the world.
Alas, dreams are always a good thing. Never give up on them! Now, I’ll steer my haggard self from national news broadcasts, partake of some Don Julio, and embed myself into another reality TV show; one with considerably more plausibility – “Ancient Aliens”.
Filed under Wolf Tales
If you want to know for certain that someone’s response to your Facebook friend request is sincere, just reply: ‘Great! Coming over this evening! Already have yr address. Bringing nachos, wine coolers, Hydrocodone & baby oil. Can’t wait! See u tonight!’
Don’t doubt me on this one! It’s saved me from countless fake friendships and wasting too much time preparing nachos for the lactose-intolerant!
Filed under Wolf Tales
Chief Writing Wolf 