This blog address shan't be updated any more. It's been fun, y'all.
No, I'm not quitting blogging. I've just moved this stuff back to The (real) Stouthouse. Update your links accordingly, please.
And while you're checking out the new, somewhat-improved Stouthouse, be sure to take a look at the forum and image gallery.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wow... just... wow.
The guy on the left? Eric. You all know Eric, or at least you will soon. On the right is Frank, at Sigma Nu in Auburn. Ol' Frank here is probably going to be a U.S. Senator one day - he certainly had the Bluto Blutarsky thing down last Saturday night. 
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
New one.
EDIT: Link removed, on the advice of someone who knows what they're talking about. I'm about to pitch this one to peeps what pay money for songs, so, uhm... you never heard of it, okay?
Wrote this in my head last night, got it to disk today:
Blue Moon - 5.6mb .mp3.
Wrote this in my head last night, got it to disk today:
Blue Moon - 5.6mb .mp3.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Pole Position
I have a love/hate relationship with strip clubs. I love the idea and love naked women, but every few minutes, the illusion falls apart for me and I find myself battling little bouts of shame. These episodes never last for too long, just appear at annoyingly irregular intervals.
Some guys from the paper decided to go to the local topless bar here in Brunswick last night after work. There was, no bullshit, a coupon in the paper for not only free entry into the "Red Carpet Lounge," but for a free drink as well. So three guys decided to hit the joint after work, and they figured it wasn't a good time unless The Icon was there.
First, a note about the "Red Carpet Lounge." It is not known for it's quality, nor is it known for it's beautiful women. It's located on a little side street in downtown Brunswick and if you're not looking for it, chances are, you'll never notice it. I had never been inside, nor had I ever had the inclination to go inside. It's just a small, dirty little place, and from what I had heard, "dirt leg" was one of the nicest ways to describe the girls there.
Well, the girls weren't that bad, but at 5:00 in the afternoon, they weren't that enthusiastic either. Oh, and by girls, I mean two, both no older than 21. But every once in a while, when the mood struck them they would head to the stage, twirl around the pole and fish for a couple of bucks. But, since the four Brunswick News employees were the only ones there, the ladies weren't (initially) getting that much.
I played a game of pool with one of my comrades, then it was decided that we should at least make the strippers feel like their weren't shadow stripping. So we sat down front and center before the small stage. The girls, both of them, were what I like to call trailer park hot. In a very trashy way, they have a great deal of sex appeal, but take off the pole and out of the strip club, and they ain't so hot anymore.
I'm always okay at a strip club until the stripper makes eye contact. Other guys get off on this. When the stripper makes eye contact with them, they get this real serious look on their face, like they're telepathically telling the stripper to fuck them. I get a different look on my face: The awkward smile. It's like I'm trying to telepathically communicate too, only I'm saying "Hey, look, I'm different than these other perverts. I'm interested in who you are." I get embarrassed. I think of myself as a very progressive guy. I'm a good liberal, and think that everyone should be treated equal. But I'm also not gay. I like naked women. I like to watch naked women. I just feel bad sometimes for being there.
But then it goes away. She's off trying to earn some formula money from the guy next to me, and I'm looking at boobies.
Some guys from the paper decided to go to the local topless bar here in Brunswick last night after work. There was, no bullshit, a coupon in the paper for not only free entry into the "Red Carpet Lounge," but for a free drink as well. So three guys decided to hit the joint after work, and they figured it wasn't a good time unless The Icon was there.
First, a note about the "Red Carpet Lounge." It is not known for it's quality, nor is it known for it's beautiful women. It's located on a little side street in downtown Brunswick and if you're not looking for it, chances are, you'll never notice it. I had never been inside, nor had I ever had the inclination to go inside. It's just a small, dirty little place, and from what I had heard, "dirt leg" was one of the nicest ways to describe the girls there.
Well, the girls weren't that bad, but at 5:00 in the afternoon, they weren't that enthusiastic either. Oh, and by girls, I mean two, both no older than 21. But every once in a while, when the mood struck them they would head to the stage, twirl around the pole and fish for a couple of bucks. But, since the four Brunswick News employees were the only ones there, the ladies weren't (initially) getting that much.
I played a game of pool with one of my comrades, then it was decided that we should at least make the strippers feel like their weren't shadow stripping. So we sat down front and center before the small stage. The girls, both of them, were what I like to call trailer park hot. In a very trashy way, they have a great deal of sex appeal, but take off the pole and out of the strip club, and they ain't so hot anymore.
I'm always okay at a strip club until the stripper makes eye contact. Other guys get off on this. When the stripper makes eye contact with them, they get this real serious look on their face, like they're telepathically telling the stripper to fuck them. I get a different look on my face: The awkward smile. It's like I'm trying to telepathically communicate too, only I'm saying "Hey, look, I'm different than these other perverts. I'm interested in who you are." I get embarrassed. I think of myself as a very progressive guy. I'm a good liberal, and think that everyone should be treated equal. But I'm also not gay. I like naked women. I like to watch naked women. I just feel bad sometimes for being there.
But then it goes away. She's off trying to earn some formula money from the guy next to me, and I'm looking at boobies.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Jake Hallman, savior of mankind
Jake hasn't been in the best mood lately. All things considered, can't say as I blame him. But that's no reason to forget about the things that make the great Jake Hallman, um, great. So here are five things about Jake Hallman that most people never knew.
1. Jake Hallman is from the year 2871- Contrary to what Star Trek tells us, things don't get better in the future. With each passing century, shit goes way south. Scientists of the future figure that the best way to make some much needed changes to their present is to shape their past. Jake Hallman is their champion.
2. In 2871, Jake Hallman was a robot fighter- It wasn't the best line of work, but it was a living. Whenever the Ultrahuman Subterraneanites decided to get rowdy and send a giant robot to the surface for a fight it was Jake Hallman who was called on to deal with the metal monstrosity.
3. Jake Hallman's real name is Jaek9375B- What can I say? The future is a strange place.
4. Jake Hallman shoots lasers from his finger tips- Most of the time he used this skill to fight the giant robots. In his off time, he burned his name into building facades.
5. Jake Hallman once sacrificed an entire city to destroy one robot- Don't judge him. You have no idea how you would have reacted had you been in the same situation.
1. Jake Hallman is from the year 2871- Contrary to what Star Trek tells us, things don't get better in the future. With each passing century, shit goes way south. Scientists of the future figure that the best way to make some much needed changes to their present is to shape their past. Jake Hallman is their champion.
2. In 2871, Jake Hallman was a robot fighter- It wasn't the best line of work, but it was a living. Whenever the Ultrahuman Subterraneanites decided to get rowdy and send a giant robot to the surface for a fight it was Jake Hallman who was called on to deal with the metal monstrosity.
3. Jake Hallman's real name is Jaek9375B- What can I say? The future is a strange place.
4. Jake Hallman shoots lasers from his finger tips- Most of the time he used this skill to fight the giant robots. In his off time, he burned his name into building facades.
5. Jake Hallman once sacrificed an entire city to destroy one robot- Don't judge him. You have no idea how you would have reacted had you been in the same situation.
Monday, January 09, 2006
"Hi, I'm with the newspaper..."
People in Brunswick, no matter what the subject, don’t like seeing their name’s in the paper.
Maybe it’s some kind of throw back to the good old days, when a boss or county commissioner would burn your house down if you aired an opinion that ran contrary to what the local authorities wanted your opinion to be. Or maybe people think that the press, no matter what question they come along asking, are assholes.
For a while, I was doing health stories for the paper. Not the best the stores ever, but at the same time fun. While other people in the office were asking about the details of last night city council meeting, I got to ask questions about vaginal health, proper testicle size and dripping penis’. It was fun to talk about those things openly around mixed company.
Anyway, I got asked once by my editor why I used the same batch of doctors for most of my stories. I had a stable of about ten that were my go to bitches. I had tried to get more doctors than that, but so many don’t want their names in the newspaper. Not because they’re afraid of being misquoted, but they don’t want people to think ill of them.
Real estate agents in the Golden Isles are the same way. There’s a caste system among them, and they are all very aware of it. The agents that have been in the game for years are constantly giving the younger agents and even the paper shit for using agents who haven’t paid their dues yet. It makes for getting variety in the real estate section difficult at best.
All we’re missing here in Glynn County is a crooked sheriff and a little guy in a white suit that runs everything and we’ve got Hazzard County. Besides, there are already no less than three 1969 Dodge Chargers painted like the General Lee running around town.
Maybe it’s some kind of throw back to the good old days, when a boss or county commissioner would burn your house down if you aired an opinion that ran contrary to what the local authorities wanted your opinion to be. Or maybe people think that the press, no matter what question they come along asking, are assholes.
For a while, I was doing health stories for the paper. Not the best the stores ever, but at the same time fun. While other people in the office were asking about the details of last night city council meeting, I got to ask questions about vaginal health, proper testicle size and dripping penis’. It was fun to talk about those things openly around mixed company.
Anyway, I got asked once by my editor why I used the same batch of doctors for most of my stories. I had a stable of about ten that were my go to bitches. I had tried to get more doctors than that, but so many don’t want their names in the newspaper. Not because they’re afraid of being misquoted, but they don’t want people to think ill of them.
Real estate agents in the Golden Isles are the same way. There’s a caste system among them, and they are all very aware of it. The agents that have been in the game for years are constantly giving the younger agents and even the paper shit for using agents who haven’t paid their dues yet. It makes for getting variety in the real estate section difficult at best.
All we’re missing here in Glynn County is a crooked sheriff and a little guy in a white suit that runs everything and we’ve got Hazzard County. Besides, there are already no less than three 1969 Dodge Chargers painted like the General Lee running around town.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
I'm sick, too.
First, check this out. These are, bar none, the best Web comics out there, and the darkest humor I've ever seen. Read them all. You'll love 'em.
Blearg. I'm in much the same state as Chris, but the doctor eschewed antibiotics, and put me on a big ol' 10mg dose of Prednisone.
That's right, Prednisone. I've got the laundry list of side effects, too, and it's kind of interesting.
1) My face is puffy. I now know what I'll look like 25-30 pounds hence.
2) I've got an appetite like a madman. See 1), above.
3) I'm hopped up beyond belief. I've been on this cleaning binge. I don't clean.
4) Sleep? What's that?
5) For those of you who are faint of heart, stop reading right now, and skip to 6).
I said right now.
Every morning I'm waking up and blasting about a pound of thick, ugly snot out of my nose. It's like mud. I've had a lot of respiratory problems and sinusitis for years and years and years, and it's never been anything like this. I guess it's a good thing to get it out, right?
6) I'm hot. Now I'm cold. Now I'm sweating.
But I feel much, much better. Really. Apparently, this is how a very highly-motivated Jake would act.
That's scary to me. I used to be highly-motivated. Now that I've been reminded of what that's like, it's time to kick it into high gear again.
Even when the Prednisone prescription runs out.
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