Dieting Advice For the Friggin' Holidays

I'm on what they call ... The Coil Spring Diet ... that means I can eat any food I want that is dispensed by a horizontal coil in a plexiglass-windowed vending machine. I took the family out for dinner in the waiting room at the friggin' Schmitt Music Warehouse in Brooklyin Friggin' Park and when we got there, I seen that the friggin' machine was half-empty.

What with the Godamn Holidays comin' up and shit, the friggin' vending elves are probably busy gettin' laid and hittin' the Holiday sauce ... no matter ... I wuz able to scrounge up a fairly good and healthy dinner:

ENTREE:
Three Musketeers Bar:
Calories: 416
Total Fat 13g (19% of daily requirefrigginments)
Total Carboydrates 77g (25%)
Dietary Fiber 2g
Protein 3g (6%)

SALAD
Fritos Chili Cheese Flavored Corn Chips:
Calories 160
Total Fat 10.0g (15%)
Total Carbohydrates 15.0g (5%)
Dietary Fiber 1.0g (4%)
Protein 2.0g

BEVERAGE
Coca-Cola (80-oz Big Gulp size):
Calories 970 Calories from Fat 0
Total Fat 0.0g (0%)
Total Carbohydrates 270.0g (90%)
Protein 0.0g

DESSERT
Cheeseburger from the McDonalds drive-through
on the way home:
Calories 310 Calories from Fat 110
Total Fat 12.0g (19%)
Total Carbohydrates 35.0g (12%)
Protein 15.0g

Another Game of Roulette on the Friggin' Wheel of Death

Jeez ...
did I have
a friggin'
close call
today on
the wheel ...

It wuz one a them days where I was rushin' out the door so quick cuz I knew the kid who delivers our daily copy of "Grit" was comin' by to collect, that I forgot my friggin' lunch pail.

I'm kind'a pissed at the punk anyway cuz that friggin' Grit didn't turn out to be ... you know ... as gritty as I was expectin' if yuh catch my friggn' drift.



So, there I am ... smokin' the tires all the way to work and I realize I forgot my friggin' lunch box!!! And my iPod a course. It ain't one uh those candy-ass iPods you see the kids flauntin' these days. It's a Russian-made baby, I found it when I was checkin' the Russian Bride web site (not that I'm lookin' around, I just like their husky builds). It was only a few rubles, it's about the size of a shoe box and it's got a hard drive big enough to hold all of Eddie Rabbit's hit songs.

So I get to work and my stomach's already rumblin'. First day on the new job and people think I'm some kind'a slob or sump'm. So I go up to the break room to scope out the selection. It's usually the first thing I do anyhoo when I start a new job.

I like to see what kind'a quizeen my new call-leagues are into and while I'm at it, I usually have some kind'a primal territorial showdown with whoever's been runnin' the roost till I show up. The break room's a good place to pull that one cos you need a good audience to get the word out to the troops not to mess with this new Gus guy.

Plus, there's usually a sink and paper towels in there and that comes in handy when it's time to mop up the blood.

So, first, I hit the coffee machine, it's pretty hard to sit on your ass chain smoking a pack of Winchesters without some friggin' mud to wash 'em down with.

I'm pretty picky about coffee, I know that might surprise you but I do have some class when it comes to my java.

I ain't satisfied unless the coffee has that ever so slight aluminum aftertaste and an overall general bouquet of wet coffee grounds and cabbage. That's the good stuff.

So, to go with my mud and ciggies, I check the the snack vending machine first, the kind with the coils so you can get real pissed and start shakin' the shit outta the machine like a friggin' gorilla on crack. If the earlier ass kickin' didn't do the trick, wait'll you see ol' Gus give the ol' "You talkin' to me" speech to the machine before you start punchin' the fuck out of the plexi-glass and rockin' the son-of-a-bitch till you start bustin' through the sheet rock on the back side.

There was a friggn' cinnamon Bear Claw danglin' from A-9 and judging by the position of the next claw behind it, it looked like I had a 63% chance a gettin' both uh the bastards.

But, somedays you're hot and somedays yer not. That's why they always keep a fire extinguisher handy in the break room. Nothin' breaks through plexi better that one a them babies.

So, after I finished my Claws (they were both a couple weeks past the freshness dates but it's amazing what a big hit of nicotine will do to help chase down a dry pastry.

Since it was still early in the morning, I thought I'd try my favorite morning entree ... the "Good Morning Chuckwagon", a fine breakfast product distributed by the Soprano Vending Company of Jersey.

So I get up to the friggin' Wheel of Death and ... holy shit!!! It's Mayo Monday!!!!

You know what Mayo Monday is don't cha?

That's when the vending guy ain't been in yet and the poor saps workin' over the weekend have milked the wheel dry of ... what I'll call ... the dry necessities.

Them are the classic sammiches of The Wheel. Yer dry sammiches, all the members of the Chuckwagon family, the turkey & swiss, the bologna, the summer sausage, all the good stuff ... gone!!!

Nuthin' left but the wet selection ... sloppy with Mayo the color ranging from light beige-ish green, to Bondo blue. Yer tuna salads, yer chicken salads, yer ham salads, yer straight Miracle Whip on Wonder Breads.

I shudder as feed my rumpled dollar bill into the slot. Through the healing power of mustard, I can usually ward off any of the quick-acting bacteria but this selection looks beyond this. I can tell I'm going to become very familiar with "The Stalls of Montezuma" today ... hope they have a good magazine selection.

I pick out a nice chicken salad that looks about 40% non-green, not bad I think. The machine starts buzzin' and tells me to plunk in another 50 cents, I start banging it with my fist screamin' "You son-of-bitch I'm gonnna kill yuh!" until I draw blood and then turn to them goldbrickin' warehouse ladies and say "Just messin' with yuh" and drop my 4 bits intuh the slot. I'm not sure why I do that, some of my own actions leave me a bit bewildered at times.

So I reach in and grab the soggy bastard and I can just feel it squishing in my mitt. This is one sloppy sammich but this morning I'm one hungry hippo and I shove the son-of-a-bitch into my pie hole without even unwrapping it.

Seriously, your digestive system stands a much better chance if you leave the wrapper on the bastard. It's kinda like safe sex where yer supposed to put a rubber on your dork and go to town. Yeah, like that's gonna happen, they may be ribbed for her pleasure but I feel like I'm humpin' a raincoat. I usually play along for a few pumps then rip the sucker off and ditch it under the bed. I don't think I've caught any diseases yet, I feel pretty good with the exception of that burning sensation when I even think about taking a whizz and once in a while I get those wierd lookin' warts, they're pretty hard to pop.

(Editor's note: please delete the paragraph above before sunrise, CST).

So, where was I???? This rude Editor came in with is attorney and typed sump'm in.

Oh, yeah, so I gulp that mess down and wash it down with a warm can of Jolt that I found in the back of a cabinet behind some Wham CDs.

For the first couple minutes I feel okay but then I get the heat rush. My face feels flush and I can feel my overall body temperature rise like when yer standin' too close to the guitar amplifiers at a KISS concert when they start shooting flames.

Okay, it's 12:30, I'm hittin' it for the night.

What Time Do the Friggin' Polls Open?

Yeah, I'm stickin' with my friggin' oath to vote for the first time. Not that the Replicants ... Repubic--enz ... hmmm ... Reepublikans need my friggin' support. I mean, look at that friggin' Mark Kennedy and tell me he wouldn't be a ball buster out in DC or wherever the frickin' Hell that wuss is gonna set his lunch box for the next 3 years or however long they do this shit for.

Yeah ... I been drinkin' ... why? You wanna take me on or something Bitch?

So, yeah, I better hit the ol' gunny sack and get some shut eye so I can get up and vote.

I know the day is right ... it's always the first Humpday in November, right?

This Friggin' Nuke Situation Has Me Thinkin' uh Votin' Republafriggincan

Yeah, I'm gettin' them brown trousers feelins' again that I usually get before a friggin' Republican controlled election. Just by friggin' coincefriggindence, we got a big election comin' up and them friggin' Evil Doers start stirrin' up shit again.

I'd have to say the timing is usually pretty friggin' good though ... usually them bastards from the Axis of Evil start threatening our friggin' national friggin' security and BOOM! ... we elect some friggin' Republicans and they TCB on their first friggin' day in office.

So, this Foley thing kind'a creeps me out but I guess there is a friggin' chance that maybe one Republican could turn out to be a bad seed. I know they been keepin up a pretty good track record of morals, honesty and friggin' ethics over the years. Besides, this bastard was on the sauce and I always like to cut a guy a break if he can blame it on booze.

Hope you can sleep tight, I'll be watchin' FOX News all night with my friggin' shotgun and an English-to-Korean dictionary.

Gus

Friggin' Big Trouble in Pyon-friggin-yang

One thing that friggin' pisses me off is when other countries that ain't as responsible as the good ol' US of A start dinkin; around with nuclear friggin' weapons.

I mean, shit, you wouldn't let yer kids play with yer firearms unless they had a good reason to use 'em would yuh?

That's all I got for now.

Later,

Gus

Why the Chuckwagon is My Favorite Frick'n Sandwich

I think it's the friggin' name that conjures up some friggin' imagery of the days of the Old West when it was pretty much legal to kill some son-of-a-bitch if he pissed yuh off.

As far as the frickin' sammich goes, I don't even know what the fuck's in it ... I just like the frickin' name. If you had me up against a wall with a broken bottle of Meister Brau tickling my friggin' Adam's Apple I'd venture a friggin' guess.

I'd say it has 2 pieces of bread for sure ... usually by the time lunch rolls around I'm so frickin' hungry I just eat my grub without looking at it, comes from my early, timid days as a human garbage disposal when I used to get a little friggin' queasy at the sight of green bread or meat by-products.

Kinda makes me laugh when I think about what a friggin' pussy I was when I first hit the workforce at the ripe old age of 4.

No ... I'm friggin' serious, Grimstone men don't usually lead long lives (my grandfather sired his last pup at the age of 7, then keeled over from complications due to hardening of the arteries). So, we gotta get out into the workforce as fast as we can, then bone a few chicks and start a family. By starting a family I'm talkin' about a full-fledged Grimstone breeding program. Can't imagine a future world without a few Grimstones runnin' around settin' the friggin' world straight.

But, as far as friggin' gene pools go, my forefathers must'a peed in theirs too much or sump'm because I hit them double-digits and then there was no stoppin' me.

The doctors a-friggin-tribute my long and healthy life to them friggin' Chuckwagons I been eatin' out of The Friggin' Wheel of Death in the company lunchroom.

Speakin' uh the word lunchroom ... some candy-ass exec suggested we call it "The Cafeteria" from now on. I feel really bad about how they found that poor son-of-a-bitch in the weeds near my abandoned Gremlin. Poor sap's last words were "... it was that guy in the hard hat."

The cops never did figure out who the fuck did it ... said they didn't have any leads.

Anyway, I killed enough time to go cash in my Blog for a 6-pack.

Later.

I Feel Like a Friggin' Pimp!

Friggin' Labor Day

So I get to friggin' work Monday and nobody else shows up. The security guard tells me it's friggin' Labor Day as if I don't know. Of course I know! I been celebrating Labor Day ever since I was issued my first friggin' Social Security number in '74. Then I always come into work and I'm always the only one there.

We celebrate it every year, the frickin' kids love it. On Labor Day Eve we huddle around a Sterno stove I swiped when I wuz working at Coast to Coast back in the 70s. We roast a few Chuckwagons over the fire (good thing the friggin' Wheel of Death is so easy to jimmie) and sing Tom Waits songs while we hit the sauce (Ragu).

Then I klck the kids asses up to bed where visions of Chef Boyardee Microwave Cups dance through their heads. I head off to the break room (my wife calls it the friggin' kitchen) and read Crankshaft and play a couple rounds of Jumble. I try to read the Dave Barry column but it's usually too blurry, my paper (The Echoland Shopper) is so friggin' cheap they just Xerox it out of other low-rent newspapers that Xerox their columns out of other newspapers that actually pay for the friggin' thing.

After the little pumpkins have drifted off into a sweet slumber I go fill up the steel-toed boots that hang over the Sterno can with sweet morsels that I scored out of the candy machine at work (you know, where you see a dangling item left by some poor sap who got screwed and ain't got the class to get that machine rocking to and fro till that son-of-a-bitch drops into what Gus calls the bonus bin).

That day I'd scored a Three Musketeers bar that was hardly even melted and I cut that sucker up into 12 pieces ... one for each pair a kids to fight over.

I had a pretty good year so I sprung for some new used hard hats that I found at the Ax Man. 3 of the frickin' kids are turning 7 this year so I fgure it shouldn't be long before I have them working the coal mines. Somebody's gotta pay for the new Cinemax package I just added to the cable bill.

When the tykes awake the next morn, there are squeals of delight as they dig up their presents that St. Workingstiffa Claus has buried our back yard. Kind'a funny, last year, adorafrigginable little Mabel (who turns 3 this year) dug up the remains of a drifter that had probably been down there cookin' since the 30s.

Yeah, I hate to friggin carry in too much further because this story's getting hard to follow ... even for me.

Happy Belated Labor Day yuh friggin' Goldbrickers!