Saturday, August 24, 2002

"....she didn't believe that I walk around my house nekkid! She does NOW." I believed that! I had pictures to prove it long before I met up with you! As for the boiled peanuts....I've had 3. I didn't BRAG about my courage. I simply stated that I ate one and that it wasn't half bad. EXAGGERATION is Acidman's forte.

The truest part of his post....about him never "coming clean".....well, that was true. He didn't. He always maintained that he was a Southern Gentleman. I was merely taking poetic license. Sheesh! He IS a gentleman. And, a fine one at that.
I never "came clean" about being a Southern Gentleman. I believe I have pontificated about that wonderful aspect of my personality since DAY ONE of this blog. What can I say? I'm just a great guy, with a sculpted bronze body, who happens to play a LOT of different musical instruments and entertains kids really well. I don't know why those characteristics appeal the way they do to some women, but I've also admitted that I don't understand women.

Da Goddess MUST confess that I am what I say I am. She has seen Acidman in all his splendid glory, (she didn't believe that I walk around my house nekkid! She does NOW.) and she has not caught me in a lie yet. Exaggeration....well, YES. But not one single lie. She met the friends I write about. She slept in the Crackerbox. She ate ONE boiled peanut and bragged about her courage for (listen, Joie) SWALLOWING the disgusting.thing. She's seen me and my son wrestling on the couch. She's tried to turn the boy against me and been rebuffed. She's seen a lot of things that I believe she enjoyed seeing (including ME).

And JB can kiss my cracker ass. I'm about as big a wuss as HE is a yella-dog socialist democrat. BITE ME!

It's been a lot of fun.
Tired. Yep. I'm tired. But, it was a good day.

Now that the Gutdude has come clean about being such a gentleman, I do believe I shall hand him back the gun, the duct tape and the spoon. The leash is mine, however. I'm keeping that on hand.......JUST IN CASE! Never know when the need will arise to tame a wild Georgia bronze god Tall Dog. He says he won't be tamed. Okay....I'll buy that. I don't think I'd want him tamed. He's pretty well managed to survive this long as is and I like it.

No fucktards danced anywhere near me today. A cracker did. But, he has a few nice little moves. Plus, if you watch his ass and nothing else, it looks fine. A few rough edges.....hell....we all have those. In fact, he did mention something about a couple of mine... I told him he was welcome to smooth those....but it will require some serious effort....if he can find any. If he does happen to find any I'll just tell him to shut the fuck up and dance some more. We'll see who has rough edges then.

All the people here have been great. I am thoroughly impressed with the make believe people that the 'Dude has blogged about. They are, in fact, real. And they are all superb folks. Of course, I could just be under the influence of some serious Acidman mojo and hallucinating all of it. I don't hardly think that's the case, though.

I am listening to the man and his boy having a moment. Quinton is walking on his daddy's back. It's a marvel to watch the two of them together. They are poetry. The love and respect is mutual....and very apparent. In addition to the Wet Willies and the eyeball licking, they have some major father-son magic. I can't explain beyond that. Young Jack holds his own. I think that he is just as much a family member as Quinton is. My son needs a man like this.

I am surrounded by men tonight. Tall dogs and young pups. It's a fine fine evening. A heaven for good girls gone bad. Or bad girls gone good. I'm not sure which. Kinda cool. However, not all the bad girl is gone and I think I may find something naughty deep down inside me later on. He he he.......I may just need to get the Benadryl out for those boys. I feel a moment coming on.

I do believe I need some lotion on my scaly arms. A little bit of peeling from all that sunshine. Nothing a Tall Dog can't handle. I'll unchain him so that he can get to the hard-to-reach places for me. Maybe I'll rate a back scratch and a rub as well.
My fingers are sore. I did a lot of picking and kept track of THREE boys and one Goddess at the same time while I was at Willy's.. I believe the boys had fun swimming in Willy's pool, without a single drowning, and I'm fairly certain that the Goddess enjoyed meeting all those made-up friends I blog about. For a guy with a lot of imaginary friends, I do well in the flesh-and-blood department.

We danced to "Pure Prarie League" tonight, and SHE WHO KNOWS says I DON'T dance like a fucktard. I believe she likes the way I wiggle my butt. Whatever works is fine with me.

I'll admit that I never locked her in the bathroom or buried her in Bonaventure Cemetary. That was all a big, fat lie I invented for entertainment's sake. She never had to hitch-hike anywhere. I made all of that shit up, too. I used duct tape only ONCE, and she really asked for it, the naughty wench. That happened today, and I'm about to go and see, in about an hour or so, if she's ready to be released.

I took her guns away. The pepper spray is in the kitchen cabinet. The dog-collar and leash are somewhere down the road where the boys left them after chasing a mongrel hell-hound down the road this morning. I don't know WHAT to do with this long-handled wooden spoon, and there aren't enough batteries in THE WORLD to power some of these instruments I found in her purse.

Da Goddess has been fine company....

So, I'm an excellent stalker. Hmmm....and I thought I was the one being stalked.

Yeah, I'm posting under the Dude's name because we are attempting to root out a Blogger glitch. It's acting funny again. That just goes to show you how unreliable this Internet shit can be.

Here goes!
I thought Recondo 32 and I had taken care of the stalker, but she managed to claw her way out of the ground in Bonaventure Cemetary like Christopher Lee in one of those old Dracula movies, hitch a ride on a wine delivery truck and show up at my house with a box of white zin under her arm. What could I do? I wanted the wine, so I let her in. She knows my weaknesses. She's an EXCELLENT stalker.

She immediately tried to form an alliance with my son against ME and foment rebellion in the Acidman household. My son is a smart boy. He refused to take the bait for fear of the horrible consequences he would face down the road, even if he won a temporary victory last night. As I said, he is a smart boy. He has been Pop-Tarted and milk-fed this morning and does not regret his decision to stay on my good side. We'll go to the Huddle House for waffles later this morning, as soon as he tires of killing demons and monsters on the Playstation II.

I managed to persuade the stalker to try a boiled peanut. The batch I made last night soaked in the salty water on the smoke-blackened stove until I pulled some out of the pot about an hour ago. She ate ONE boiled peanut, drank half a bottle of designer water to wash it down, then said, "That wasn't half-bad." I somehow got the feeling that if I had asked her to eat a live cricket, she would have done the same thing, with the same "oh-my-god-I'm-about-to-DIE" expression on her lovely face. I'm TRYING to introduce the TRUE SOUTH to the woman, but it's a struggle, except for the fact that she WILL eat grits like a real Cracker. If I have her saying "ya'll" before she leaves, I will consider my efforts at culture-exchange a success. But I'm not there yet.

We're going over to visit my friend Willy around noonish today, for some music-picking and beer-swilling. I'm taking a guitar and a mandolin. I have learned that beer, guitar music and mandolin-picking does strange things to the SoCal lady. She wants to BE FREE when she is exposed to that Holy Trinity. That's why I'm also bringing a roll of duct tape so that I can wrap her like a mummy, because I'm tired of walking up and down the road retrieving her disgarded clothing when she gets in one of those "free" moods. Do you realize how foolish I felt picking up bra and panties in the blazing south-Georgia sun while she went "woo-hooing" down the road with her buns in the wind? After the first episode, all the neighbors went to Wal-Mart and bought video cameras so they could immortalize the next nekkid happy-dance she performed.

Uh, oh. She has escaped from the bathroom again. I gotta go get the duct tape....
Young Pup had the opportunity to join forces with me last night against the Tall Dog. He told me, "You're on your own." Sounds just like his daddy. Of course, he changed his tune somewhere in the middle of the 15th Wet Willie......and I told him, "You're on your own."

Men, regardless of age, must learn to make the most of opportunities when they are presented to them. Hmmm....a lesson to be learned? WOW! Imagine that! (WOW - Woman of Wisdom)

And, the Young Pup also learned that once you turn a woman down she is likely to form other allies.....not only did I lay a couple of Wet Willies on him but I gave Tall Dog the incredible idea of the old tongue on the eyeball treat.

Holy shit! I'm eating boiled peanuts and they aren't half bad.

Friday, August 23, 2002

Isn't this man a fine writer of FICTION? He'll soon be a bestselling author and I'll be just a chapter in the book. He'll write about the woman he killed off in a cemetary.....and it'll be a pack of fucking lies. Of course, that won't matter. He'll get away with it.

Been putting up with his cracker ass since Sunday....can you believe that? He's still alive and so am I. Kinda hard to believe that we haven't cancelled each other out, isn't it? Two strong-willed and opinionated people...he he he....of course, we still have a few days left and I promised to make him dinner Monday. I'll let him eat. I won't touch the stuff. No telling what I might slip into the food. And, I can make a clean getaway......
I woke up at 6:30 this morning for no good reason at all. If I had done that at Daytona Beach, I would have seen the sun rise out of the ocean from my eighth-floor balcony. But I didn't do that when I had the chance. I did it this morning when I DIDN'T WANT TO!

I was really bored, so I called my friend Recondo 32 and asked for a gad-about of downtown Savannah today. Among the many paths he trod in life after his adventures in Vietnam, he once drove a tour bus and lied his ass off to gullible Yankee tourists about the history of this fine Southern town. He remains a damned good, entertaining liar to this day, and he gives one hell of a tour. If I had a companion from southern California who had never seen the true South before, this would have been a wonderful opportunity to show her around. Too bad that she was still locked in the bathroom after exhausting the motor on the electric toothbrush and growing tired of beating on the door. I grew tired of her whimpering and finally let her out.

We ate lunch at the Exchange Tavern on River Street (where they have the BEST POTATO SALAD IN THE WORLD) and then cruised the scenic squares of the Historic District. Recondo32 gave a steady commentary about the history of Savannah, punctuated with insults directed at me, until we ended up at Bonaventure Cemetary, a beautiful, gothic place surrounded by live oaks draped with Spanish moss. We marvelled at the view for a few minutes, then we killed Da Goddezz and buried her there, right next to the Intracoastal Waterway.

Recondo and I split a pitcher of beer back on River Street at the BAYOU CAFE after all that work. He dropped me off at my truck and we both went through the Enmart car-wash to remove any leftover forensic evidence of our crime. I came home and set my kitchen on fire boiling a pot of peanuts. It's the perfect alibi.

Don't you LOVE IT when a plan comes together?
It was a fine day here in Georgia. I have been experiencing the wonders of Southern hospitality.......complete with being told to "fuck off!" when I got too close to the truth.

We went to Savannah today. There, I had a personal tour of the place from two Southern gentlemen. Rob and his friend, Recondo 32, gave me a wonderful driving tour of the city and a fantastic history lesson as well. They also gave me mass quantities of alcohol and a nice lunch. Had the best damn potato salad in the world. And, I don't even LIKE potato salad!

Coming back to the house.....yeah, the crackerbox house, Acidman proceeded to try to burn the place down. Boiling peanuts. BOILING PEANUTS! Sad, ain't it? There's nothing really complicated about the process......but he managed to start a fire on the stove. I really worry about him here on his own. I think I shall have to buy the man gift certificates to all the restaurants in town until I come back and save his cracker ass.

Quinton is here. A nice young man. A fine young man. Busy. Playing with his friend at the moment while we wait for pizza.

Me? I did manage to remove the most toxic of buildup from the trash can here in the house. No longer does one require a HAZMAT suit to throw something away. Universal precautions are all that are necessary now. I can only do so much in the short time I'm here. Rome wasn't built in a day.......and the Gutdude's home can't be made safe for normal people in just a couple short days either. I'll do what I can and expect him to call sometime within the next couple of weeks complaining of ill health as I've upset the delicate balance of microorganisms here. See? That's one more reason to have a nurse on hand.

I think he's twiddled his thumbs long enough. He seems to be itching to blog. Kind as he is for letting me get to the computer on occasion, I do realize that I'm a very short step away from being thrown off this chair and into the pot of boiling peanuts if he doesn't get his time in.
I GOT ANOTHER ONE!!! How about "fucked girls of islamabad pakistan?" Huh? What'cha think of THAT one?

That hit I understand. "Snotwad" isn't nearly as romantic.
I FINALLY GOT HIT WITH A GOOGLE SEARCH! It was for "Snotwads."

I don't know what to think about that....
Some men just don't know when to admit that they are in NEED. Opportunity knocks. Not just on the door. Knocks the door down, knocks the MAN down, and is standing there, bare ass naked and waving a fucking white flag. But, there's this thing. "Oh, I don't need anybody ."

Sometimes a real man just has to let go of the past and embrace the present. Trust in the blatantly obvious gifts that a Goddess is offering. Recognize a good thing when it is right in front of him. Lost opportunities have a way of coming back to haunt one, don't they?

Now, if he would just admit that he needs me, I'd unshackle him from the shed out back, remove the cuffs from both ankle and wrist, and let him bask in my presence.
Damn! I thought I ditched the Bitch when I left her gagged with her own bra, buried under four days worth of wet, sandy towels and trussed like a Christmas turkey in the condo bathtub. I thought I made a clean getaway.

But she escaped. She hitched a ride on the Interstate with some guy driving a Budweiser truck and damn near beat ME to my house. She ended up with a ride to Rincon and a case of beer, too. I have no idea what she did to that driver on the way up here, but I think she wants to do it to ME now.

I am frightened. I have her locked in the bathroom while I blog, but that door won't hold for long. She's cranked up the electric toothbrush and is doing something to the lock as I write. The doorknob is beginning to twist and turn. This doesn't look good at all.

I am toast.

Thursday, August 22, 2002

Convincing story..........................NOT! Why don't you tell them what you were really UP TO??????

Construction workers, my ass.
Y'all DO believe that, don'cha?
I arrived back at the Rincon crackerbox at 1:00 this afternoon. The Acidman Express pickup truck made the drive back from Daytona Beach in 3 1/2 hours with no interference from those aggravating people with blue lights on their cars who sometimes enforce speed limits and other such silly notions. I move fast when I'm unencumbered by a small-bladdered woman who has to stop and "tinkle" every fifteen minutes.

The resort was most excellent. The eighth-floor room had a balcony with a view of the beach which offered an excellent opportunity to watch the sun come up over the water each morning, which I would have done at least ONCE if I had hauled my ass out of that REALLY BIG, comfortable bed in time. Unfortunately, I never managed that effort while I was there.

Across the lane from the room, a grand construction project unfolded very quickly. It's another high-rise hotel springing up like a mushroom from the white beach sand. When I first arrived, the building was two stories tall, with a couple of very impressive industrial cranes extending orange booms over the mess of rebar and plywood below. When I left this morning, the construction workers could make level eye contact with me as I stood smoking a cigarette on the balcony in my underwear.

Those guys worked like ants, from 7:00 in the morning until 4:00 in the afternoon. I enjoyed having a cold Mountain Dew on the balcony every morning, after the industrious fuckers WOKE ME UP with all of their hammering and banging and yelling, just in time for me to miss the sunrise. I then wandered down the street for grits and eggs, wandered back to the room and donned a bathing suit. A few hours around the pool or on the beach, then a couple of drinks at the poolside Tiki Bar took me into the afternoon. Then, it was back to the room to watch the construction and sip white zin on the balcony.

Every late afternoon, huge, black thunderheads emerged in the western sky and rolled toward the beach with a glorious combination of thunder, lightning and rain. The construction workers stayed at their jobs through the storm, including the two guys in the big lightning-rod cranes, which resembled giant praying mantises the longer I watched them work. They were an impressive bunch.

I remember thinking one morning that IF I had a COMPANION with me watching those guys, SHE just MIGHT say, "Ummm... I love the smell of construction workers in the morning." Yeah, if I only had met a companion there, she just might have said that, while sipping from a can of ginger ale and asking when we were going to go eat some grits and eggs. She also might have scratched my back a few times, kept me fine company and dined on steak, barbeque, and blackened catfish along the way.

Alas, that didn't happen. I was there ALL ALONE, by myself, and GUT RUMBLES was hacked by a fiendish stalker from San Diego while I was working on by bronze-god suntan, checking out all the pretty red toenails on the beach and minding my own business. I had a lot of fun, but it surely would have been better if someone had been there with me.

Ya'll, THAT'S MY STORY, and I'm sticking with it.

Tuesday, August 20, 2002

Four dead pelicans later, I'm out of that goddam truck and I AM PISSED! I rubbed sand and salt water on my pelican-wounds, and now I am on a BITCH-HUNT. Goddess, my ass.

Oh, Goddess..... here's MY ASS.... wanna spank it? I'm gonna find her. And she's gonna have hell to pay....
Now, FINALLY.......AOHell at the resort is behaving and letting me blog under my own goddamn name. Bitch.

I have escaped from the evil Bronze Security agent........he's conveniently trussed up in the back of the special security truck. I'm going to let the pelicans have their way with him for a bit while I go eat dinner.

I trust that you're all well and having TONS of fun at OUR expense. Bitch. But, that's the way it goes sometimes. Some days are diamonds and some days are stone. Mine happen to all be diamonds at present. Okay, since I went without grits for breakfast I must go find some now. Behave yourselves. Someone needs to and it ain't either one of us.
I HAVE BEEN HACKED!!!! Somebody snuck in under the radar screen, broke through all my sophisticated firewalls of protection and BROKE INTO MY SITE!!!

Forget that posting below. The person has already been arrested by a BRONZE security agent and is awaiting proper punishment, which will be intense, LENGHTY and merciless.

That's what you get for hacking ME!
Well, lookie here.......Da Goddess has arrived. Get invited...no wait....make that...I STOLE the Gutdude's blog! Yeeeeehaw! There's no stopping me now! Get away from your screens if you can't take the screams.

Mr. Acidman Mars is one lucky guy..........spending all this time with me. He hasn't stopped laughing or smiling since the first spanking. And, there are plenty more to come. Sigh.........he's a kinky cracker.

Actually, the Gut is a Southern Gentleman. Most times. Bronze God all the time. We've been lucky enough to share some fine conversation and, yes, he had white zin.......I stuck with Jack and Coke. There were those beers out at the pool........mmmmmmmmmmmm......I do enjoy a cold one. I don't know yet whether he dances like a fucktard because he refused to go to the class today. Yeah, they had dancing lessons. Go figure. They act like this is the freakin' Catskills. As much as I like Johnny Castle, Acidman is just much more fun. Not nearly the brooding oaf that Patrick Swayze was in Dirty Dancing........

This keyboard is FAR too high up for me to type quickly or accurately. And, I have to get this in before Rob gets back. Heaven forbid he should find out I commandeered his blog. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....don't tell him. It'll be our little secret. He never reads the old stuff anyway.

If I get the chance later, I will most certainly tell you more about this elusive and sexy creature. But, now, I have to go rescue him from the environmentalists and the lady from Yankeeland. She's been all over him since the minute we got here. Damn! It's scary. She's got red toenails..........but that's about the only thing going for here. (My suspicions are that the toes underneath that polish are so hideous that he wouldn't dare put those babies in his mouth.......Poor thing.......has no idea what she's missing!)
Hmmm... I have found the "Business Center" here at the resort, where I can pretend to be doing serious business while I blog. As long as I keep a serious expression on my face, everybody believes that I'm communicating with my boss, swinging million-dollar business deals and swapping dollars for euros, or some such shit.

You would never guess WHO I MET HERE, just by accident. It's a SMALL WORLD, isn't it?

Sunday, August 18, 2002

Okay, I'm outta here. See ya'll about Thursday!
I'm packing for my "fake-asian" at Daytona Beach and I'm pretty sure I have everything I need. Two bathing suits, Phantom Warriors by Gary A. Linderer, suntan lotion and my new and improved fix-a-flat kit, just in case I get lucky. Oh yeah... a razor and a toothbrush, too. Nail clippers, moustache sissors and my 2" pocketknife in case I lock myself out of the condo and have to break in. Clean drawers. A couple of pairs of shorts and some tee shirts. That should do it.

If I forget anything, I'll bet I can find a Wal-Mart and remedy that problem.
Here's something to curdle your grits... MICHAEL JACKSON as The Picture of Dorian Gray.

I borrowed this from THE GROUP CAPTAIN and I just wonder if it made HIS skin crawl the way it did mine.