Freddy's World

A little courtesy appears to be too much to ask

2012-01-16T10:45:00.002-06:00

As we celebrate MLK Day and ponder a message of peace and tolerance, it begs a look at what we have become as a society.

It's not a pretty look, either. If you are reading this, it's probably not about you. But you probably know people like this.

I don't know if I simply hadn't noticed these things before, or if people really have changed. I am leaning the latter.

And I think it's a shame. When did we get so selfish, so me oriented in our everyday lives? Whatever happened to common courtesy?

I'm talking to you, person behind me in the car who speeds up when they see me signal a lane change so they can cut me off.

And you, person speeding through a crowded parking lot while texting.

And of, you, really large overperfumed lady who insists on getting on the elevator before I get off.

Not to mention the person who won't hold the elevator door for you.

Or the one who lets a door slam in your face even when they know you are behind them.

When did it get to the point where we became so intolerant of other's beliefs, especially in our political process. Why is it if you say you are a Republican, you are branded a reactionary right-wing Fascist? If you are a Democrat, you are a "liberal" who is trying to ruin the country.

In truth, both sides get a lot right and a lot wrong. But there seems to be no middle ground anymore.

We live in a world where Internet trolls rip people at will with no repercussions. Where if you disagree or try to have a discussion you simply branded an idiot and ignored.

It's a damned shame.

I might be in the minority, but I still believe there are more good people in the world than bad. I still believe that not everyone is like that. But if you are one of those people, and you did take the time to read this, please take a second every now and then to think about how small actions can add up. That a little courtesy can go a long way. That it's OK to be nice to people on occasion. To realize that we actually share this planet with others.

None of us are perfect. We all make mistakes. Hopefully we learn from them.

So the next time you get on your cell phone and put it on speaker in public, or carry on a conversation in a movie or assembly where the other people are trying to watch and listen, or cut in front of someone in line...Try a little courtesy instead.

It's really not so hard.

And we're back! With big news...

2011-12-28T11:15:00.003-06:00

Yes, I know I promised to post more here and failed to deliver. But starting today, I will endeavor to at least get one post per week minimum.

And we return with good news -- Acing Racing, the greatest gambling book ever written (yes, I am biased) is finally available.

You can get it here: http://outskirtspress.com/webpage.php?ISBN=9781432781743

Need to know more? Here is an excerpt, the introductory chapter:

If you are reading this, chances are you are one of the hundreds of thousands of Americans who got stung by the government’s crackdown on online poker.

You like to gamble. You enjoy the action. You loved the convenience of logging on and finding a game right away.

Yes, you like playing live, too, but it’s not always easy to get to the casino or poker room. You need to replace that rush that came with multi-tabling and constant action.

Or maybe you are a sports gambler, but you have problems finding ways to wager legally.

You might also be a horseplayer looking for some new strategies and ways to increase your action. You like sitting at home watching TVG or HRTV and playing along with the hosts, getting bets on as many races as possible.

Maybe you are just a gambling degenerate who likes to get his/her wager on in a variety of ways.

This book is for all of you.

Let’s face it; most people gamble for the action. Poker exploded in the mid-2000s, going from a backroom, shady collection of gamblers to a mainstream game played by everyone. ESPN made it into a national phenomenon, and sites like Pokerstars and Full Tilt made it cool to play cards.

It is a game that in many ways is a metaphor for life; it’s you against the world. Sometimes you do everything right and lose. Sometimes you can do the wrong thing and come out ahead. In the end, if you do the right thing more often than not, it all evens out, and you come out ahead. It is skill with an element of luck thrown in, just like life.

Other casino games don’t provide the same rush. In craps, blackjack, roulette -- it’s you against the house, and the house always has an edge on every game. Sure, you get lucky every now and then, but long-term, you can’t win. If you did, you would be the one owning the giant, lavish casino instead of visiting it.

There is one other form of gambling that is similar to poker. Like poker, the players place their wagers, the house takes its cut, and the players play each other for the rest.

Like poker, there are a variety of wagering opportunities. Like poker, it involves skill with an element of luck.

It is also perfectly legal to play online in the United States. There are some restrictions, and some states do not allow it, but chances are you can open an account today and begin legally wagering immediately.

Are you a tournament poker player? Many of these legal sites offer tournaments as well, and the skill it takes to win a poker tournament translates very well to winning the tournaments for this form of gambling.

Yes, horse racing offers almost everything poker does.

Unfortunately, it has much the same identity poker did before the online boom; shady old men wearing derbies and hanging in dark rooms. It is seen as a sport for the rich; beautiful ladies in big hats sipping on expensive drinks. Gamblers tend to find it too confusing to try to understand all the elements and nuances. The research seems difficult to figure out in order to have an edge over other players.

All of those are myths.

In truth, the live racing experience is a blast. But thanks to the online sites and cable channels that show you almost every race, you can do what you always did playing poker, too – stay at home, get all the action you want on your laptop and use all the same skills you’ve developed playing poker to make money.

What did you always hear about Hold ‘Em? “A minute to learn, a lifetime to master?”

Horse racing isn’t all that different. Once you understand the basics, you can apply your own poker and wagering skills and develop a strategy that works for you. Isn’t that what you did with poker? Learn as much theory as possible and apply it to your own games?

You will learn that horse racing is the same thing. Each race is like a different hand in poker. How you play it will depend on your bankroll, position, and what the other players are doing.

The concept of this book is not to give you one strategy for playing. The idea here is to give you all the tools you need to get started, provide some high action strategy and theory, and do it in terminology you will understand from your poker life.

We’ll also tell you where you can bet online, where you can watch the races, and provide strategies for action junkies as well as those who simply want to grind out a profit.

And don’t worry; if you are a sports gambler, we’ve got strategies for you, too. Longtime horseplayers who are looking for ways to adjust to the online gambling world will find everything they are looking for here as well.

The idea is not to overload you. Many horse racing books delve so deeply into minutia they lose readers who are just trying to get started. The idea here is to give you a quick overview and basic understanding of the game. The idea is to have fun, not overwhelm you with thousands of wagering angles.

Once you are in, where you go from there will be up to you.

Simply put, this book should be your first step into a new gambling world, one that should satisfy all your needs.

If all that sounds appealing, read on. This book is for you.

And then...

2011-07-26T21:46:00.002-05:00

Yes, I know I need to post here more. Will try to do better. Been in a writer's block mode for a while, but now everything is flowing again, so I will keep it updated. Ten quick thoughts...

1) 14 years ago this week, we lost the best Fred Faour who ever lived. RIP, dad. I miss you every day. Dude was the funniest man I ever knew.

2) We had a great time in Canada. Will post some pictures soon. Condolences to our good friend Theresa, who lost her mom while we were there. She and her husband David are awesome folks, as are their kids, Kyle and Steven. Memo to Mack Brown: Kyle is 15 years old and is playing football. He is already 6-4. Rick Barnes has recruited Canada...Now it's your turn....

3) Stay tuned for an announcement soon on our movie project. We have an awesome director.

4) Stay tuned for a long-awaited announcement on my gambling book. Working on final financing now, and once that's done, it will hit the shelves. Hopefully something in the next two weeks. It is for poker players, horse gamblers and action junkies, with a chapter on sports betting. I am thrilled with the final product.

5) Memo to old people: You don't have to carry on conversations when you are line at the bank, store, or anywhere. I know you don't get out much, but when seven people are in line behind you, talking about your boils to the person behind the desk is too damned much.

6) Anybody watch Wilfred? Perhaps the funniest show on television. Wish I could get stoned and talk to a dog all day...

7) Stunned at how scared people are of dogs in Houston. An old lady in the next building moves faster than Kareem Jackson every time I take Derby for a walk anywhere near her...Really?

8) Props to all my friends from high school who are still rocking in bands. You guys are awesome.

9) If you can believe it, I am involved in a religion again. Good place for all of us who are accepting of all religions.

10) Not to sound like a fortune cookie, but enjoy every day. Life is awesome. We are all lucky to be a part of it. Screw the dickweeds who try to make it miserable for the rest of us.

Thanks to all of you who read this blog. Much love to everyone.

The Surfer

2011-05-30T10:10:00.002-05:00

It was a quiet, cold day at the beach, one of those afternoons not really fit for getting in the water. It was chilly, the waves were non-existent, and the sun offered little warmth.

Even the fish seemed uninterested, bored. It wasn't a day anyone would remember for any reason.

The horizon, however, seemed different today. It beckoned like an old friend, fading a perfect blue sky into a mix of purples and oranges as the sun neared the end of another daily trek across our lives.

It was a perfect time for solo reflection, wondering why on earth anyone would stand chest-high in the chilled, brownish water of Galveston Bay.

It was even more bizarre to see the surfer.

He was old, unshaven, wiry thin in his wetsuit. He seemed to appear out of nowhere, paddling gently alongside me, looking for waves that didn't exist.

His voice was crippled, as though it had been rendered useless from yelling long ago.

His very presence was surprising enough, but the cowboy hat tied tightly to his head seemed completely out of place.

"Nice day, huh?" He offered.

I snickered. "Not really for humans, no."

I felt the water seem to grow colder. "Nice hat," I said, unable to think of anything else.

His gray features almost formed a smile. He sat on his board, pensive, not really moving, as if he just wanted someone to be around.

"Not much in the way of waves today," I said, fishing for any idea as to why this man was in the water, hanging around me, wearing a tattered brown Cowboy hat.

He pointed to the horizon. "They are out there," he said softly.

I looked hard, but didn't see any.

"So you are going all the way out there?"

He seemed to smile, but it was hard to make out his lips covered in his gray, unshaven beard.

"I'll go where the waves are."

The simplicity of his comment seemed to make sense.

We sat there in silence for a while, the waves gently rocking. It was peaceful, reassuring.

"I lost a friend," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper now. "We came down here all the time. We'd sit in the water for hours, never really surfing. Just enjoying the water, you know?"

He looked sad, those few words saying so much.

The chance meetings we have in life, the moments you forget as soon as they are passed...sometimes just knowing a person is there makes everything seem OK. When they aren't there anymore, you realize all the things they meant to you.

The surfer just sat there on the board, looking out, wistful.

"I never got to say goodbye," he said. "We never get to. Silly things get in the way. We get so caught up in work, stress, life...paying bills, dealing with jerky bosses. You just forget to talk to people. Then one day you can't anymore."

He adjusted the hat as the wind started to whip around us, making the day even colder.

"Wouldn't it be great if every day could be spent in the water, just knowing somebody is there next to you?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

So I didn't. The silence seemed to say enough. There was something ghostlike about the man, something surreal, yet at the same time comforting.

"I think it's time," he said.

He started to paddle, looked back, and said "Thank you." Then he added something else, something I couldn't hear, as the wind roared in my ears. This time I clearly saw a smile.

I watched as he gently paddled toward the horizon, to waves only he expected to find. He just kept going, farther and farther, until all I could see was the hat gently bobbing in the water.

Then even that was gone.

I waited a while longer, then got out of the water, downed an ice cold beer and watched the horizon, but he never came back. Hours later, warm from a fresh buzz, I finally left.

Many times since I have gone to the same area, hoping to see the surfer in the brown cowboy hat. A man whose name I never knew. I checked the newspapers to see if anyone had gone missing, but there was nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if it even happened, this chance meeting with a surfer who just wanted someone around. I wish I could talk to him again, see that ridiculous hat. Learn more. Feel more.

That chance meeting reminded me of so many things. Sometimes, just knowing someone is there means so much. When they are gone, we feel a void that can never be filled again. As we get to a certain age, we lose more and more people. Our friends begin to disappear, some never knowing how much they meant to us; that sometimes just being there brought a joy to our life we can never recover. As our days begin to dwindle, more and more gets taken away.

That few minutes in the water stays with me; of all the chance meetings that happen every day, an old man on a surfboard stays in my head.

I didn't know his name. And I don't know what happened to the surfer.

I just know I never got to say goodbye.

------------------------------------------------

For Mindy. We will miss you more than you will ever know. Goodbye, my friend.

Want to beat the Falcon? Here is your chance...and a short story

2011-02-27T20:19:00.002-06:00

No, it isn't a euphemism, like punching the clown or tickling the critter. This is real. Lose more than I do and you can win a prize.

Very simple. You get 50 percent off of Physician's Weight Loss Center. You get to be healthy. And you can beat me, and get praise for it. Very simple. Call them today at 281-332-5677 and get in the game.

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A couple quick takes: another cool local musician to check out: Jimmy Pizzitola. Very cool, mello stuff. Check it out. Also, please check out my sports blog. The latest entry is on Houston's best sports bars. No. 1 is my all-time favorite.

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A short story, which is unpublished. It is a sequel to something I wrote many years ago, but it stands alone. I thought with all the vampire love now, it was worth trotting out. So here it is:

DUST TO DUST

He took a long drag on the cigarette. The vampire had been dead a good
10 minutes, his ashes finally cooling off.

Cronin had done this a thousand times; he knew exactly how long to wait.

This one had been tricky; a young, beautiful girl. Her skin looked
tan, thanks to a lot of makeup. That was a new trick. She had blonde
hair, and did everything to avoid the goth look. She looked like any
other California teen-ager with daddy’s credit card, a trust fund and
a lot of spare time.

She was young, too. That made her tough to spot.

In the end, however, she made a mistake. They always made mistakes.

And Cord Cronin had seen them all, for over 400 years.

The last 10 had been the hardest, since he’d been forced to kill his
longtime friend, the only other vampire slayer in the world. They had
once been monks in France, long ago under names he couldn’t even
remember. They had lived a thousand lifetimes since then, hunted down
thousands of vampires, killing them all.

Another deep drag. Smoking was OK for him, because he knew a secret.

As long as he had those ashes, he could never die.

The time had come. Cronin pulled out his coke spoon, quickly snorted
the cooling ashes. Just like Coke. Three lines. Four.

The warmth came over him. He felt new, young. His skin tightened
slightly, the wrinkles faded.

That was the secret they had learned long ago. The ashes of a dead
vampire -- inhaled properly -- would keep you alive forever.

Mack McHenry had just started to figure it out when he died. Cronin
had been fighting it ever since.

With each year that passed, it took more and more ashes to bring that
warmth. To fend off the years. To stay alive.

And after 400 years, Cord Cronin had no interest in dying.

Cronin loved life. He loved all its pleasures; simple ones, such as
the drag of a cigarette. More complex, as in the thousands of women –
and a few men – he’d been with in his life. He loved alcohol,
gambling, sex. Especially sex.

And he loved killing vampires.

He was so good at it. He would let them get closer and closer. He
would try to make himself a potential victim. He would get as close to
being bitten as possible; then he would kill.

It was his greatest pleasure.

And he saw no irony in the fact that he had become what he had sworn
to kill all those years ago,. As vampires fed on the blood of humans
to stay alive – needing to kill to feed – he did the same to vampires.
After 400 years, he was closer to them than humans.

And he didn’t care.

He loved watching vampire movies. He saw a lot of himself in Blade.
Only he didn’t have all the fancy weapons. And vampires would never
organize; they were solitary creatures, and they always kept one
apprentice. So if you killed one, there was always another. Never
more than two. And if one got away, they always found a new
apprentice.

It used to be Cronin and McHenry always got them both. But after
McHenry’s death, Cronin realized a terrible truth.

He couldn’t kill them all. It would mean the end of him.

So now, more often than not, he let one get away, to keep the species alive.

It occurred to him it made him an accomplice. Another human would be
turned. Dozens more would be killed.

But he couldn’t live without the ashes.

He snorted three more lines. More warmth, more calm. He put the rest
in a plastic bag, but he knew he would finish it off before the night.

The girl was actually 67 years old, but physically, she looked 16, her
age when she was turned

She had pretended to interested in him, then pretended to be a
prostitute, not a spoiled rich school girl, swearing she was “at least
19” years old.

That was mistake No. 1.

Cronin was still a very good looking man, and he didn’t look a day
over 28. He was tall, dark haired, with an athletic frame not unlike a
tennis pro’s. His hair was a little too long, but it flattered his
features. His skin was dark, vaguely Arabic or Mediterranean.

The only hint that he was over 400 years old was the eyes. They were
originally hazel, but now they were gray. Anyone who met that gaze was
taken in by the eyes. They were not the eyes of a man; they were the
eyes of an ancient being that had walked the earth for centuries.
There was something sinister there, something brilliant. Something
vaguely evil.

He was not a man who ever had to work very hard at finding
companionship. Finding sex.

But there was nothing like sex with a vampire.

And that was mistake No. 2.

It was on odd quirk of vampires; male ones could not function
sexually; their desires were sated only by blood.

Female vampires, however, were different creatures entirely. They
thrived on sex. They used it to bring in victims, but more than that,
they were addicted to the rush. A female vampire would never kill
until she had an orgasm. Then, she would lock in on the carotid
artery, drawing a deep, slow drink like the drag of a cigarette.

Cronin always knew they were vampires the minute they began having
sex. The vampire bodies were slightly colder than normal, slightly
more dry. And they always closed their eyes. He would catch a quick
glimpse of the fangs, and that would be that.

This one was oh, so close. She was on top, pumping, hoping he would
stay hard long enough to finish first.

She was quite beautiful. Like Cronin, her eyes belied her age, but her
body was the perfectly shaped, lithe frame of a supermodel. She, too,
was athletic and limber. She adjusted to his every movement with
flawless precision; there’s was a dance more than sex. They reacted to
each other as if they had know the other for decades, knew every
little movement that would stimulate the other. There were no moments
of awkwardness. It was pure ecstasy.

Then she screamed the scream of a an animal that was about to kill. He
bodied shimmied and spasmed in pleasure.

And in an instant, she changed -- from a purely sexual being to an
animal needing to feed.

Her bared fangs flashed toward his neck with unnatural speed; she had
done this hundreds of times, and they never saw it coming. She loved
the pure joy of draining a man’s blood as he squirmed underneath her.
Sometimes, if it took long enough, she would have a second orgasm.
Even a third.

Not this time.

Before her teeth got to the man’s throat, she felt a bite in her
chest. A small one at first, but enough to make her stop. Then the bit
became heat. Pain. She sat back up, Cronin still inside her, and
looked at her chest. A small wooden dart had pierced her in the heart.

Cronin smiled at her as she looked at him with a quizzical, almost
bemused stare.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She tried to move, get off him, but the pain was too much. The dart
had gone straight to her heart. She was stunned. How did he know?

“It won’t be long now, sweetie,” he said, his voice smooth, a quiet
whisper, as though he were sharing an intimate moment with the love of
his life.

Again she tried to get off of him, but she couldn’t feel her body
anymore. She was lightheaded.

“You’ll be dizzy soon,” he said softly. She tried to speak, but he put
his fingers to her lips, shushing her, smiling at her the way a lover
would.

“It’s OK, sweetie,” he said. “The dizziness will turn to darkness. You
won’t see your body fall apart. It’s OK.”

Her face started to contort. She looked into his eyes one last time,
and suddenly she understood what he was.

“I love you,” he whispered, and felt the sudden burst of his own
orgasm, and the tingle throughout his body, especially in his face.
Then he felt warmth.

Then pure heat. The vampire was dead now, but her body was about to
turn to ashes. He pushed her off him, and watched how quickly she
deteriorated. The beautiful body that just moments ago was a
passionate lover was now reduced to a smoldering, hot pile of ashes.

“I love you,” he whispered again, softly. “It’s a shame one of us had to die.”

It was then that he sat and waited for the ashes to cool. He had a few
shots of Jack Daniels, put his clothes on and retrieved his dart from
the pile of ashes.

It was just after Cronin did yet another line that he heard a knock on
the door. It was almost 3 a.m., and Cronin wondered if the noise had
awakened anyone. But then he remembered he had requested a room far
away from anyone else. And it was an old Motel 6 deep in Kinder, La.
It was a Wednesday night, and no one was there anyway. He was glowing,
warm from the ashes. And as satisfying as the sex had been, he felt
slightly aroused again.

He pulled his jacket on, put his .45 in his belt and held the dart
under his sleeve. Human or vampire, he would be prepared.

He looked through the peephole and saw a woman. She looked mid-30s,
extremely beautiful, but a frown on her pale face. She had his eyes.

Without trying, he had found the other vampire. She made no effort to
make her skin look less pale. She looked like someone who enjoyed
being a vampire.

“If I let you in, I will have to kill you,” he said through the door.
“I know what you are.”

“Is she dead?” The voice was lilting, sexy, but Cronin heard the pain
and fear in it. Clearly she loved the creature he had just destroyed.

“I’m sorry,” Cronin said. “It was her time.”

Silence. Dark, uncomfortable silence.

Then a deep scream that wasn’t unlike the other vampire’s orgasmic cry.

“You son of a bitch!” She screamed. “Do you know what a beautiful
creature you destroyed? How much history was there? You killed a
treasure, you fucker.”

He went to his suitcase, and pulled out some of his weapons. His
favorite was a handheld crossbow that had a clip of the darts and
worked like a machine gun. He and McHenry had invented it in the early
20th century. It was the only thing that worked.

There were so many myths. Sunlight didn’t kill vampires; it burned off
their skin and put them in a feral state that took months to recover
from. Eventually they would, but their appearance was never the same.
Holy water did nothing. Crosses did nothing.

Only sharp wood. Directly in the heart. It reduced them to ashes,
ashes he could use to live forever. He immediately got greedy,
thinking like a junkie in need of more.

“Can we talk?” He asked. “If I let you in, will you let me talk?”

“I’m going to wait outside until you come out, and then I am going to
kill your fucking ass,” she said.
He sat inside for an hour, almost dozing off. But his erection and the
rush of the ashes got the best of him and he went to the door.

“You still there?”

“Sunrise isn’t for two more hours, fucker,” she said.

“I’m going to open the door,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “And I will kill you.”

He opened the door and stepped back, expected her to fly in and attack
him. He had the dart under his sleeve, the crossbow in his left hand
ready to fire.

But she just looked in his eyes, puzzled, angry. And then she understood.

“You are one of us,” she hissed. “Why would you kill another one of us?”

He pointed the crossbow at her chest. One flick of his finger, and she
would be gone. He loved this feeling, the feeling of holding another
creature’s life in his finger.

He felt like God.

“I’m not one of you, sweetie,” he said lovingly, as if he had known
her all his life. “But I can’t live without you.”

And Ella suddenly knew. He was like them, but he wasn’t. He was a
vampire who lived on vampires. For the first time in her 270 year old
life, Ella was scared.

Ella was turned by Raven, a genius of a vampire who had come over from
England on a boat, ready to conquer the new world. He was beautiful,
powerful. His apprentice had been killed on the boat in a freak
accident, when he fell on a railing one night, and the wood had
pierced his heart. Avry had been with Raven for almost 500 years; the
great vampire lord was devastated.

He met Ella on the boat, speaking one night. Her husband had died from
the plague, and she was lonely. She was going to the new world with
his brother and her wife. When Raven talked of the loss of his dear
friend, Ella was smitten. When he took her soul with his bite, she was
willing. She had found the one true love of her life.

They enjoyed nearly 200 years of happiness and friendship until Raven
was killed by a bowhunter with a lucky shot. It was just an
unfortunate meeting and circumstance. The hunter was drunk, saw Raven
as a threat and fired, hoping for the best. He hit a miracle shot, and
one of the world’s great treasures was lost, just like that.

Ella drank the man’s blood, but made sure he died slowly and
painfully. It took days for him to die. She would lock him in the
basement during the day, keeping him too weak to fight. Then she would
torture him at night.

After nearly a week, he passed away. By then, Ella had turned his
pretty young daughter, Alice, into her new apprentice.

Now, all that was left of Alice Baumgartner was a few stray ashes on
the bed, some on this man’s face, and some in a small baggy he had
just put in his jacket. In a strange way, Alice was all that was left
of Raven, too. Ella felt a deep pain, and a deep anger. One she hadn’t
felt since Alice’s father.

“So one of us dies tonight,” Ella said in a sweet but sad voice.

Cronin smiled. “Not necessarily.”

“I will kill you, sir. Or you will have to kill me to stop me.”

He picked up a pair of glasses and filled them both with straight Jack Daniels.

“Forget your anger for a minute and have a drink,” he said, handing
her the glass.

She looked at him coolly, waiting for her chance to pounce. His smiled
disarmed her slightly.

“Your friend killed my friend. He probably killed another friend of
yours. Should we just keep going with his?”

She frowned and took a deep shot of the Jack. Damn, it was good. It
warmed her cool body.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he lied. “I want you to leave before dawn,
find a new apprentice and live on. I won’t get back this way for some
time.”

He poured her more Jack. She was close enough to pounce now, if she
wanted. But she eyed the crossbow warily. She knew she had no move
here. He would kill her in an instant.

And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, she thought. Did she really want to
find another apprentice? Keep living without Raven? The undead life
hadn’t been the same without him. As much as she had loved Alice, she
had never gotten over Raven. Maybe it really was time.

Maybe this odd stranger was supposed to do it.

She took another long drink.

“You are going to kill me, aren’t you?” She asked. Her voice quivered,
not with fear but anticipation.

Cronin felt strange. The high of the ashes was wearing off. The
alcohol hadn’t kicked in. He suddenly felt something he wasn’t used to
feeling – sympathy for this creature.

“Yes,” he said. “That was the plan. Get you in here, make love to you,
then kill you.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” she said.

This time was different. This time, when she finished, she didn’t
attack. And then he finished without killing her. And they both lay
silently together, wondering who would move first.

They were enraptured, glowing from the sex and the anticipation. And
they both thought the same thing. “I’ve lived long enough.”

“Cord Cronin. Born Louis Depardeau, France. 1598.”

“Ella Samuels. England. 1738.”

She was warm from the alcohol and the sex, which had been more
fulfilling than any she’d had. Even without feeding. “I have to have a
new apprentice.”

Cronin rolled over and whispered to her.

“I have to kill another vampire.”

“I have about an hour until dawn,” she said.

They made love again. This time was even better.

Cronin felt her body underneath hers. Unlike Alice, Ella was a little
heavy, but still very attractive. She was soft, lumpy. She felt like…a
wife. Cronin didn’t want to kill her.

Ella felt strangely drawn to the man, this vampire chasing vampire. He
was beautiful, strong…he satisfied her main thirst unlike any other.

They made love with deep, heavy passion. Violently, but tenderly at
the same time. They moved in tandem, as if psychic, fulfilling every
need but one.

The thirst.
The thirst started in the stomach, but then it moved to the throat.
Feeling a lover’s heartbeat only made it worse. The cool nakedness
built the pulse. They moved together, up and down, up and down.
Deeper, harder. The orgasm was coming. So was the feeding.

It was tangible now. This time, there would be no letting go. The
bloodlust must be fed. The vampire must eat. And dawn was coming.

She finished before him, looking down and smiling. There was something
about him that touched her, a part of her long dead, perhaps even
before Raven. Maybe, she thought, maybe there was something that could
work between them. In a sick way, maybe they could find love.

But then the hunger took over.

Ella Samuels felt the bite in her heart, and realized what had
happened. She felt Cronin’s spastic orgasm, then her body went numb.
She started to feel dizzy.

The hunger had gotten to Cronin. He couldn’t handle it anymore. There
was something about her – maybe something worth saving. Maybe he could
have been happy with her.

But the hunger…God, his nose was burning.

“I love you,” he whispered, and felt the warmth of orgasm.

“I love you, too,” she said.

“It’s OK, sweetie,” he said. “The dizziness will turn to darkness.”

She was about to black out. “It’s a shame one of us had to die,” she said.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Then everything went dark, and Cord Cronin waited for the ashes to
cool, his face pale, drooling, shaking from his hunger.

Random updates on weirdness, weight, windmills and what not

2011-01-21T06:47:00.004-06:00

That's about as generic as we can get in a title.

So yes, this blog has been inactive for a while. I've found it harder to come up with freaks and weirdos since the radio show became daily over a year ago. Most of my bizarre stories tend to go there instead now. I will make an effort to also get them on here. (Yes, I know, I have made that promise before, and you see how that worked out. This time will be different. Really). Of course, that's the same attitude that gets you married three and a half times.

So we will briefly hit the highlights:

1) Weirdness. After almost four years in radio, I found a way to get the elephant woman story on air. Ratings went up that month. So the bottom line is people would rather hear about elephants being serviced than how much the Texans suck. Or they want to talk about Brett Favre's penis. Or Rex Ryan's toe-sucking fetish.

Thank God. Degenerates are more fun than Houston sports teams right now. Elephants, too. Think of that one next time you go to the zoo.

On weight: Not sure where I run into more freaks. The elevator or the gym. This is for those of you who insist on talking to people while you are working out. Especially in the locker room. Consider this free advice.

Speaking of the gym...OK, so weight loss is a bit of a hobby for me. I have lost a bunch, gained it back, lost a bunch more, gained some of it back, etc.

There are some opportunities for me to do some visual media this summer, but not if I look like Jabba the Hut's degenerate uncle. After weighing through several options, I chose Physician's Weight Loss Center.

I wanted a program that would get the weight off quickly, but more importantly, keep it off for good once I get where I want to be, so that I never refer to myself in Jabba terms ever again. I am going to the one on Bay Area Boulevard in Clear Lake (technically Webster, but hey, I am in radio now. I don't have to be accurate.) I chose them because I get individual care, it's doctor monitored and the program is designed for long term success. The others I did were not, or I felt like just another fat person they were trying to run through the program. These guys aren't like that, and if you need to lose a few pounds, please give them a call at 281-332-5677. Several of the Blitzers have already signed up.

I'll keep some progress updates on here. So far, the count is just over 11 pounds after two full weeks on the diet.

It's a hard thing to admit you can't lose weight on your own. I had been hitting the gym hard lately and still gained weight before I started this. If you can do it on your, that's awesome. If not, having someone help is a good thing. These guys get it. In three months time, if I still look like a troll, it's on me.

On windmills: OK, you got me. It was just alliterative and I thought I would be able to come up with something and failed miserably. So there.

-----------------------------------

We'll be doing live shows at Sam Houston Race Park every Monday from noon-2 during the racing season. I will also be out there for .50 Fridays for much of the meet, so come by, have a few .50 beers (unless you are on a weight loss program) and play the ponies. I'll also be putting picks on Examiner.com every day.

Random updates on weirdness, weight, windmills and what not

2011-01-21T06:47:00.003-06:00

That's about as generic as we can get in a title.

So we will briefly hit the highlights:

Thank God. Degenerates are more fun than Houston sports teams right now. Elephants, too. Think of that one next time you go to the zoo.

Speaking of the gym...OK, so weight loss is a bit of a hobby for me. I have lost a bunch, gained it back, lost a bunch more, gained some of it back, etc.

I'll keep some progress updates on here. So far, the count is just over 11 pounds after two full weeks on the diet.

On windmills: OK, you got me. It was just alliterative and I thought I would be able to come up with something and failed miserably. So there.

-----------------------------------

Favorite week of the year and frozen tundra

2010-11-05T09:03:00.008-05:00

There's nothing like Breeders' Cup Day. Well, other than Derby Day. But let's not ruin a good overstatement.

I am looking forward to this year's more than any since...well, Sunday Silence/Easy Goer in 1989.

I won't bore you with picks, but if you want them, Friday's are here and Saturday's are here.

Zenyatta has been an absolute joy to watch this year. I don't know how many times I thought she wasn't going to get there, then...bam! She makes it.

The analyst/handicapper in me says no way she wins. Blame, Quality Road, Lookin at Lucky...those horses are all light years better than what she beat in last year's Classic.

But there is something about her. She has that it factor. If she were a human, she would be Michael Jordan in his prime. Tiger Woods before he got all skanky. Tom Brady.

She just finds a way to win.

When I was a very little kid, I fell in love with horse racing when Secretariat unleashed the most dominant race in history in his Triple Crown-clinching Belmont. It brought tears to my eyes, the majestic power of such a fantastic animal. (Later many other horses would bring tears to me eyes by getting beaten on the wire to cost me big scores. But I digress)

Zenyatta is not that kind of horse. She isn't going to destroy a field like Secretariat did.

This will be her toughest test. Deep down I'm hoping she does it, and that somewhere, a little kid is watching and falls in love with the sport.

Those kind of moments have been rare in recent years. Smarty Jones was a letdown in his Triple Crown run. Big Brown was, too. The build-up for Zenyatta has us set up for another disappointment.

In my heart, I hope that's not the case. But if she does lose, I will have to console myself with winning tickets.

Isn't that how capitalism works?

---------------------------------------

Speaking of capitalism...The final table of the WSOP is this week. While I am hoping Michael Mizrachi wins it, he might be too short stacked. Jonathan Duhamel, John Dolan and John Racener look like the most likely winners. I do think moving the final table to November has been great for poker. We don't get to talk about it as much on The Blitz, but this time of year I miss having the poker show.

More importantly, I have the bug again, and playing like a fiend online and am looking at playing some big tourneys next year, including the main event.

Anyway, with the BC, final table and good college and pro football this weekend...it's my favorite sports/near sports weekend of the year. (Well, other than the opening of football season. And maybe January bowl week. And Derby week...OK, never mind).

-----------------------------------------

So we will be taking a trip to Canada soon. I have only been to Toronto, and this is Saskatchewan, so I don't know what to expect.

I am assured this is inaccurate, but this is what my American friends have told me:

1) Everyone says "eh" and hands me a beer when they meet me.

2) Carrying a hockey stick on the plane is encouraged.

3) Cross-checking family members is perfectly acceptable.

4) If I get depressed, I am only allowed three downs, not four.

5) I will be frozen into a popsicle the second I get off the plane and will have to be shipped back in the service cart.

6) Eskimos rule the wasteland and will some day rise up against the world.

7) The Canadian hottie just his me over the head as I type this, so it must not be as funny as I think.

------------------------------------

Local band update: If you get a chance, check out

Adrenaline. Very strong cover band in the Houston area. Have seen them several times and they never put on a bad show.

A long overdue update on freaks, twitter and an awesome local band

2010-10-20T16:15:00.005-05:00

Yeah, I know, no updates for a long time on this blog. Trying to balance teaching, radio, Examiner sports columns, and a script I need to have finished yesterday. But my son shamed me into updating and promising something every week, so five quick points and we'll be back in business:

1) Just signed a new deal with ESPN radio, so the Blitz shall endure unless I decide to leave Houston. So Falcon haters, tough you know what. It's a blast doing the show with Hoffman, the ratings are through the roof and I work with a great bunch of people at 97.5. Thanks to all of you for making us the No. 1 midday sports show since December of last year...

2) Freaks still find me. A man on the elevator after the show today started a Tantric chant and wanted to "show me his new tattoo." I got off on the third floor and walked the rest of the way.

3) If you are a serial Twitter or Facebook status updater, I am de-following/friending you. That means if you post an update on Facebook more than 10 times a day...or 25 times on Twitter. I don't need to know that Mark Schlereth is walking his dogs, or that Bennie is "waking up." Please just assume I know you are waking up every day. If not, then...well, someone else will update your status, and I will pay my last respects.

4) I am finally on Wikipedia! I've arrived! (Thanks for whoever did that).

5) Saw a couple great cover bands last week...Fan Halen from California, and Tokyo Road, a local Bon Jovi cover band. We knocked down a few with the guys from Tokyo Road after the show. Please check them out on Facebook and go see them if you are in Houston. Awesome band, GREAT musicians, very cool guys.
(Canadian hottie in concert gear)

There. Updated. Everybody happy now?

Publish Post

Why do birds suddenly appear...

2010-05-02T13:48:00.003-05:00

So it is time to catch up a little. This blog is where I am supposed to mention generic freaks and weirdos, but life has taken on so much -- dare I say, normalcy -- of late, that it has been hard to come up with topics. Plus, a bit of writers block, since I am also doing the Examiner sports blog and have been working on some new, disturbing fiction. Expect some excerpts on this blog soon.

First, I have to give serious props to Curt for his artwork. He is a very talented man who also works at the college. His only flaw is that he is a Chiefs fan, which is only really a flaw if you think winning is a good thing. But he is one hell of a talented guy, and the Chiefs did have a nice offseason. So there is that.
In all seriousness, thanks Curt. Great stuff!
------------------------
I did actually eat crow. It was as hideous as it sounds. I don't have much else to say about that other than I was tasting barbeque'd crow for two weeks. Ugh. I still have nightmares.
I think it was bad karma. Now, my car is constantly pelted by overflying birds, I can't get Bird is the Word out of my head and an angry grackle actually took a flying swipe at me in the parking lot recently, presumably revenge for his lost cousin.
Ah yes, a point. I have one somewhere. If you have read this blog for very long, you are familiar with my admiration (well, ok, outright worship) for the late Douglas Adams. Dirk Gently's belief in the fundamental interconnectedness of all things inspired this post.
Why I would incur the wrath of all birds over a measly crow when I have been devouring chicken, turkey and the occasional duck my entire life...
Perhaps it is the Falcon nickname? Professional jealousy?
Other concerns:
A car almost ran over me. The sticker on the window? Willowridge Eagles.
A kid threw an F-bomb at me for no real reason. He had on a Baltimore Orioles hat.
An 18-wheeler nearly runs me off the road and then of course the driver...flips me the bird.
On the other hand, this interconnectedness thing can work out. The answer to Life, the Universe and Everything in Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide is...42.
The whiskey I am drinking at the moment? 42 proof.
Yesterday was Derby Day. How did it finish?
4-2.
And yes, this time I picked the winner.
Kind of makes up for, um, Mine That Bird winning last year?
(Yeah, yeah. I know. Long weird road to a bad punch line.)
------------------------------
A.J. Hoffman debuts full time on The Blitz on Monday. Make sure you tune in. He is a talented dude and it should make for a fun show. He is a real pro, has a sick sense of humor and will fit right in with Team Degenerate. A lot of very cool, talented people tried out, and any number of them would have made for a great show. But this one should be pretty awesome. Please check us out Monday through Friday, noon-2.
------------------------------
If you aren't a fan of The Blitz on Facebook, please become one. It's a fun group of wildly divergent people and there is a lot of good sports talk on there on a daily basis. Plus we'll have some show updates and giveaways on there as well.
Enjoy the rest of your day. I would rant on, but I Gotta Fly Now.

Crow, new Blitz scheme and more

2010-04-06T09:28:00.009-05:00

I am a crow. Do I look like a tasty treat?

So I have to eat a crow.

As a falcon, does that make me a cannibal?

We challenged our Facebook fans to get to 1,000 before April 1. They crushed it.

Next up, if we get to 2,000 by May 1, Jong Lee has to wear a thong and go stand on the street corner with a sign that says "The Blitz Rocks."

I don't think we will get there, but the more pressing issue is I actually have to eat a crow. We're working on the details, but let this be a lesson: Never underestimate the public's desire to see you humiliate yourself.

---------------

The Blitz is undergoing some changes. We've moved to 12-2 p.m. Monday through Friday. I know it sucks for people who had just gotten accustomed to 1-4, but it's a prime time gig, should get us on the road more and should help continue to build the station's numbers. In a perfect world, we'd do a longer show, but this is one case where shorter is better. Really. (and I have NEVER used that excuse in my life).

The other change is a little less fun. Matt Dean is leaving the show. He has been accepted into the graduate program at Rice business school with a full ride. Rice is a terrific institution; a degree from there is priceless. It's a terrific move for Matt and his family longterm.

From a personal standpoint, I am thrilled for him and Persis, his terrific wife.

Yes the Blitz will continue. We've got a lot of good people who want the gig, and we'll keep the basic elements of the show.

However, it's rare in life you get to work with someone you truly like and admire. Matt is intelligent, funny, and most of all, a terrific friend.

We've all been in positions where we worked with people we didn't like. I've been fortunate in my short radio career to work with two gentlemen -- David Nuno at 1560 and Matt -- who I am proud to call friends.

In the end, Matt was too smart for radio. He has a brilliant future ahead of him, and he will do great things in this life. We will all look back and remember how we knew him back when.

As an aside, hey Matt, don't get Boggs'd at Rice by those teachers. (Gratuitous Shawshank reference).

The show, of course, will go on. It always does. And it won't suck. We'll still hit degenerate topics, have a gambling slant, make fun of everyone -- especially ourselves -- drop in great sports takes...

Most of all, we'll have fun.

But as happy as I am for Matt, it is bittersweet. He has truly made The Blitz a joy to do every day.

For that, I say: thanks, amigo, and vaya con dios.

Can you take the crow with you?

Five random thoughts from the Falcon...

2010-03-19T09:45:00.003-05:00

Don't fear the Falcon.

Spring break is winding down. The NCAA Tournament is heating up. And The Blitz is trying to put Matt Dean in a loin cloth. (OK, so that third one doesn't fit. This is the kind of random thing that happens when people talk you into trying margaritas with beers sticking in them. More on that shortly.)

Regardless, it's time for some random observations.

First, however, a few words from our sponsors:

*Please join us on Mondays at Sam Houston Race Park for The Blitz from 1-4. The Greatest Show in the History of the Known Universe will be there two more weeks in March. Come out and enjoy great racing, $1 draft beer specials and an opportunity to win a dollar by being the first to hit me on the head.

*Please join our Blitz Facebook page. If we are ahead of The Drive by Monday at 4 p.m., Matt The Superstar will wear a loin cloth in studio. It promises to be amusing if not pretty.

Now, on with the show...

For the first time in forever, Spring break actually means something to me. I never took one in college (working), and until I started teaching this semester, it never meant anything to me other than having to find babysitters for the kiddos. However, a week off from the school has shown me just how much I missed all those years.

(Yes, I still had to do radio all week, but is that really work?)

Anyway, five observations from an old man's first spring break in forever:

1) Spotted Dick is not something you get when you fail to wear the proper protection. Jockey Paul Nolan, who is from England, joined us Monday and we reset his love for Spotted Dick. And no, I will not be putting Spotted Dick in my mouth at anytime, even though Paul is the leading rider at the track. It is a delicacy perhaps best tried on spring break. But not by me.

2) This has nothing to do with spring break, but strange men hanging out near a playground with a cane and a sign that says "you must be this tall to ride" should be reported to the authorities immediately. No more details necessary.

3) Finding a bar that shows all the games and drinking all day is a moral imperative on the first day of the NCAA Tournament. In fact, it is a much bigger deal than St. Patrick's Day. This year, if you played it off right, you could have done both. Overdo it on green beer Wednesday night, call in sick Thursday and spend all day watching the games. It requires skill, stamina, and...well the touch of a degenerate. It is the sports fan's version of spring break.

4) The idea of Matt Dean in a thong came after several of these and a weird flashback to a Ted Nugent concert. Why is it everything seems like a good idea when tequila is involved? And why is it I always have dreams involving talking cats afterward? Isn't spring break sponsored by Tequila?

5) Finally, if for some reason you are having a bad day, overdid it on St Patty's Day, being stalked by the guy with the cane or having dreams about talking cats, try this site for a good laugh.

And lay off the tequila. School starts again on Monday.

Not as easy as it looks...

2010-03-02T16:59:00.004-06:00

OK, so the whole world gets caught up in the Olympic spirit. Once every four years, obscure sports like curling take center stage.
Carl Dukes, whose show follows ours, spent a lot of time talking about how anyone could curl and how easy it was. So the nice people of the Curling Club of Houston invited everyone down to learn.
We visited the Space City Ice Station, which is an awesome place. The people were terrific. Friendly, helpful, enthusiastic.
So I barely know my way around ice, much less curling. The results were predictable:

OK, so that was the only time I actually fell down.

Team Blitz, of course, had a ringer. The Canadian hottie, who looked like a natural, even though she hadn't curled in 10 years. We won, and didn't need her to make the last shot to do it.

Anyway, I have to admit, it was a blast. It's also harder than it looks on TV, especially the sweeping. A good time was had by all:

More details on the Examiner blog, but I highly recommend you give it a try sometime.

Especially if you don't mind falling on your ass.

Perfect? Naw, not so much

2010-02-08T19:53:00.003-06:00

Perfection is where you find it.

A joke told so eloquently it evokes the desired reaction.

Those teaching moments where you see the light come on, where someone learns something for the first time.

A day lounging on the couch with your favorite person, beer in hand, football on TV.

The pocket aces that hold up against pocket kings. Or flopping quads and having someone bet heavy.

Turning the TV on time to see a favorite movie coming on in the next few minutes.

An enchanted moment.

A horse getting up by a nose at the wire.

A hole in the clouds, with a small ray of sunlight breaking through, signaling the end of a storm.

There is a lot of perfection out there. Everywhere. Every day. Sometimes we tend to forget that; focus on the negative. The failures.

The negative creeps in our thoughts, follows us around like a mangy, wild boar, angry and aggressive.

Perfection is beating the living crap out of that boar; pounding him to a bloody, messy pulp.

OK, so this post doesn't qualify as perfect.

Sorry. Good moods don't make for good posts. Hopefully I will have a freak encounter tomorrow.

The Blitz is on...for an extra hour

2010-01-28T07:55:00.006-06:00

First, as always, please check out Examiner.com for sports takes. Click early and often...

Big news on the radio front this week: The Blitz picks up an extra hour. We will now be on from 1-4 Monday through Friday.

It doesn't seem like a lot, but it is a big deal on a lot of levels.

From a personal perspective, I am now off the 6 a.m. updates, which now means no more 4:45 a.m. wake up alarms. I can sleep until 6 and head straight for school instead of the station/school/back to the station/back to school run. (45 minutes one way via Beltway 8 if no one is...um, er, carjacking). So life should be a little easier on all fronts.

It's also a nice response to our listeners and the ratings we have put up in a very short time.

This is an extremely competitive sports talk environment. There are a lot of talented people all over the city, many of whom I consider to be very good friends. I was fortunate enough to get a foot in the door because of a past life in newspapers, and I had no idea how things would play out.

We started with a weekend morning show with a pretty simple idea: put two fun-loving degenerates with solid sports backgrounds together. Throw in a sick, somewhat disturbing sense of humor and multiply that by two. Then focus more on fun and less on controversy, but don't be afraid to tackle issues when they come up.

We had no idea if it would work, and to be honest, we weren't too worried about it if it didn't. We pretty much took the Princess Bride approach: They will most likely kill us tomorrow. If so, we'll all move on to other options.

But it turned into a daily show, and now that has turned into a bigger daily show. They will still most likely kill us tomorrow. If not...well, there might be a new Dread Pirate Roberts in town one day.

Anyway, thanks to everyone for listening, and to Matt the Superstar and Long Lee, adult film star, for making it work. Hopefully there will be more good stuff to come in the future. If not? Well, there are still other options out there, including the following....

---------------------------------

After all that time searching for a nickname, we've finally come up with one. Well, more appropriately, an alter ego as opposed to a nickname.

Meet Freddy Falcon.

It has sort of a generic, FM morning DJ vibe. Or maybe an adult film star vibe. Or maybe just a bad actor who gets a lead in a Lifetime movie opposite some burned out female actor in her 60s who is made up to look 30 and has a midlife crisis.

I can see the tout now: "Tune in Tuesday at 8 for Life Choices, starring Kathleen Turner as a middle aged housewife who is struggling with her feelings. And introducing Freddy Falcon as the friendly widower neighbor whose poignant artwork touches a nerve and sets off a chain of events that will change their lives forever."

Hey, it worked for Peter Coyote.

The Freddys World challenge

2010-01-26T16:41:00.004-06:00

OK, so I suck again. Haven't been inspired to write much lately. However, since I have assigned my students to post once per week on their blog, I will do the same on this one.

(Also, please check out the Examiner columns. I get paid per click, so help a fellow out).

Today's topic on the show was best/worst team names. Sure, names like the UC-Santa Cruz Banana Slugs and UC-Irvine Anteaters are easy to make fun of, but even some of our NFL teams are pretty weak.

Dolphins? Really? They inspire fear? And don't even get me started on the Cardinals.

Allegedly there is a hockey team in Alabama called "Hicks with Sticks." The easy punch lines are too numerous to list here.

But my personal favorite was the Webster University Gorloks.

Warlocks I have heard of. Gorgons, too. But Gorlocks?

And no, it is nothing sinister.

From the Webster University website: "The Gorlok is Webster University's school mascot. It is a mythical creature that was designed by Webster staff and students through a school contest. It is reported to have the paws of a speeding cheetah, horns of a fierce buffalo, and the face of a dependable Saint Bernard."

You judge for yourself. I don't see the Saint Bernard. Looks like a freaky combination of a lion, cat, dog and bull. In other words, the result of a very drunk animal party:

Oh well, we shall all fear the Gorlok.

My personal favorite? A caller suggested the Reapers. I like it. Nice uniform possibilities. And who isn't afraid of death?

OK, so I suck...but you know you love me

2009-12-17T10:44:00.004-06:00

I haven't been posting to this blog much of late. Been busy, and once school ended, I kind of shut things down for a week or so. But I will do my best to get some new posts up over the holidays, because after all, if we can't make fun of our friends and families on holidays, what good are we?

So Friday is another milestone -- i.e., another slow step in the long marathon march toward death -- in terms of keeping score of years I have been alive. For the record, it will be 45, which sounds really freaking old.

Val always says age is just a number, you are only as old as you feel...blah blah blah. She is smart, cute, funny, and wrong.

I am old.

Last year, I did some kind of 44 things bit for each year. This year, I prefer to let is pass quietly into the night.

I only have a few observations/thoughts as I hurl ever closer to infinity:

1 -- What is the protocal on getting text messages from numbers you don't recognize and the people act like they know you? Respond with a simple "lol, bud?" Or, "that's funny, dude?" Do you ask who it is? Young people should be able to tell me this.

2 -- For the record, Valerie is not 20 years younger than me, despite what people keep saying. If she gets carded again in front of me, I am going to throw up.

3 -- ABBA in the rock and roll Hall of Fame over Kiss and the Chili Peppers is the greatest crime of this century. If you happen to own a stealth bomber and want to "accidently" let a missle go on the place, be my guest. Mama Mia is NOT cause for the Hall of Fame. This is an embarrassment to God and everybody.

4 -- I inherited a cat in the Val deal. If he chews through one more electronic cord of mine, he will be microwaved.

5 -- The holidays can be a depressing time for a lot of people and for a lot of reasons. If you get down or depressed, take a minute to laugh. I highly recommend this old Sam Kinison bit (warning -- the language is rated R):

Hope everyone has a great holiday stretch, no matter what you celebrate, and I promise to post more in the coming months.

An ode to the bird/Bud Adams

2009-11-18T17:48:00.005-06:00

Subtitle: What rough beast slouches toward Houston, waiting to be born again?

OK, so we dropped a Bud Adams poem on the show this week in honor of his Sunday performance. Here is the video:

I feel compelled to share the poem as well:

Bud, oh Bud

How could you be so bold?

Dancing in your suite, looking frail and old

Yes, VY is your guy, and he did the job

Made people forget you dress like a slob

In Houston we remember your exit act

You were a jerk – that’s a well-know fact

After your big win on Sunday, you bounced so odd

And shot the Bills a pair of rods

Yes, we know you are old – 86

But that’s no reason to act like a ….Richard

There you were, so happy, so gay

Now you are out 250k

Bud, old Bud, so defiant

You better not pull that act at Reliant

(Yes, I am still a little bitter over losing the Oilers).

An experimental entry...and ode to the monkey man

2009-10-20T09:17:00.004-05:00

This is a test. This is only a test. If it had been a real emergency, you would already be dead.

Actually, this is more of a social experiment for use in my Mass Communications class. Feel free to follow along in your books.

What is the real purpose of this blog? Self expression? A writing outlet? A place where spider monkeys and evil clowns can feel welcome? Where freaks can be forever analyzed? Where the elephant woman, carjacker and wheelchair prostitute can find piece of...well, something?

The answer, quite simply, is all of the above.

What would this world be without freaks and misfits? People -- or creatures -- who entertain us? And what would the world be without vehicles like this to highlight their exploits?

Hence the return of the Monkey Man.

My first encounter with the Monkey Man came over a year ago. He was near the station at Gessner and Westheimer. He was a homeless man who looked exactly like the Monkey Man from the Golden Child, a relatively terrible Eddie Murphy movie.

I felt badly for the Monkey Man. Was there no job for a character actor who looked like a monkey? Was he typecast in Golden Child?

He was back the other day, standing outside of Hooters, of all places. He seemed more beaten down than ever. He wasn't even lustily eyeing the orange shorts. He seemed more interested in the wings.

Sad.

As I gave him a dollar for cleaning off my windshield, I wanted to tell him how much I had missed him. How Golden Child II might still happen. How Eddie Murphy's career had gone to hell, too.

(Check out the video above. He has a brief appearance standing next to the bad guy, 8-11 second mark).

I did my best to give him a pep talk. I implored him not to give up. Maybe a bath, a new agent...something might break for him yet.

Hey, it worked for Meredith Vieira. There is hope.

Cell phones, texting, and no -------- while driving? No way...

2009-10-01T08:22:00.003-05:00

OK, I promise to get back to updating this thing at least once a week if not a little more often.

I haven't had my usual freak encounters (well, I have, but since they all involved co-workers...Just kidding folks).

We had an exercise in our journalism class where the students wrote columns on cell phone use while driving. They did a nice job, made good points.

Oddly enough, driving to work this morning, I saw something much more dangerous. And much stranger.

A car was weaving on the beltway, in the right lane, slipping into the left, back to the right, all over the place. It was about 7:20 a.m., so I didn't think the person was drunk.

My first thought was texting, but then I wondered if maybe he/she was ill or perhaps even having a heart attack.

I tried to get close enough to see what was up. I instantly regretted it.

HE was not on the phone. Or sick. Well, not physically sick. Our driver was quite clearly pleasuring himself as he was driving.

I was left to wonder what would inspire that? Was he practicing his shifting? Working on his multitasking? Then again, the car was a hybrid. Maybe it needed some weird lube job.

It gives a new meaning to the term "Carjacking."

Maybe he needed a hands free device.

Needless to say, I got away as quickly as possible. But if you see a smarmy looking dude with black glasses in a blue Prius, swerving from lane to lane, just make sure you have protection.

Hey, maybe he could get on the cell phone, have phone sex and combine the two while driving!

Can't wait to read what they find when they pull that body out of the wreckage...

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The official countdown will be a week on Friday. Can't wait to get The Val in town. We will need a new nickname for her, however, since Virtual Val won't be Virtual anymore...

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And happy birthday No. 8 for Katie Faour, who just for old time's sake had to throw a visit to the emergency room in last week. (She's fine). Here is what I wrote last year about her...

Sorry...been a little busy...

2009-09-09T21:30:00.002-05:00

My apologies for not posting lately. Essentially doing three jobs now, and still learning how to multitask again.

The first San Jac Times will be out in a few days. It will be my first foray in the newspaper business in three years.

It isn't perfect. But I feel like Dick Vermeil when he took the Rams job.

(And yes, there is a Super Bowl victory in our future).

I promise to have something funny for you soon. But today, I am simply here to apologize for not being prolific.

The good news? The Canadian Countdown has begun. The hottie will be here in less than a month.

Even when I don't blog, she will. So F World will endure. At least, as long as you guys want it...

Blogging at 33,000 feet....

2009-08-21T11:52:00.004-05:00

Just musing about how amazing it is that I am writing this blog from 33,000 feet in an airplane. What an incredible world we live in.

The down side is decided to give AirTran another try.

Someone should tell Brenda the flight attendant it is OK to smile. That her face won't freeze that way, all joker like. I mean, she has enough makeup on to BE the joker, but still. I know you work for a crappy, low paying airline, but if that is the last face I see in this lifetime, at least put a fake smile on it.

And I am playing online poker. Nice to know your aces can still get cracked while you are somewhere over Louisiana.

I admit, there are things that still amaze me. The childlike wonder is still deep within me; something as silly as having wireless on an airplane makes me reflect just how far our society has come. How many wonderful things are coming down the road. How communication will continue to grow and evolve.

It makes me wonder how much more I will see in my lifetime!!!

ACK! Turbulence! Bad! Logging off! AAAARRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

(OK, that was bad, even for me).

I wanna rock and roll all night...changing careers again

2009-08-13T09:11:00.005-05:00

In case you haven't noticed, we've been in a rock and roll kind of mindset of late. Maybe it is all these photos that have been showing up on Facebook:

Geoff Fish (left), Johnny Pineda (seated) and a very dazed looking Freddy. Geoff is an awesome musician who has a band that plays all around Galveston County called the Motor Cycos. Johnny was one of the most talented musicians I've ever met. The other guy in the picture...well, he sucks. This would have been circa 82 or 83.

(Yeah, I know. The hair is brutal. I have that Beatles/George Harrison/drug era look).

But our failed attempts at reliving youth are not why are here today. We are here to talk about a success story.

We had a rough day with guests on Sunday's show. It almost forced us to retire on the spot.

Fortunately, Dane and Ben from the Galactic Cowboys saved the day by coming in studio.

If you aren't familiar with the Cowboys, check them out. They put on a great live show, and they are doing a reunion tour the next three nights. Tonight they are in Dallas; Friday is Austin Saturday night they will be at Warehouse Live in Houston. (Tickets are available by clicking here).

We highly recommend you catch the show if you like music with energy and passion.

If you don't know their music, you might know them from their appearance in the movie "Airheads."

That was a fun part of the interview, which you can listen to here.

(The story about Adam Sandler alone is worth it).

Anyway, do yourself a favor and check out the shows. You won't regret it.

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Starting next week, I will be embarking on a new career as a communications professor at San Jacinto Junior College. I will be teaching two classes and helping produce the school newspaper.

Maybe we can make it the best college newspaper in the history of the known universe. It will also be a chance to get back to doing what I do best -- help people develop. Then they can all act like they are better off without me when I'm gone, just like real journalists...

(I'm kidding, gang. Really).

Besides, corrupting young minds is what I do best. There might be a full class on how to take a journalistic approach to mimes and spider monkeys.

I plan to continue to have a relationship with the radio station and will still be doing shows. More details on that as we get them.

Freddys World should endure; I am uncertain about Examiner.com. I will try to keep it for a while, but the college and radio will be priorities 1 and 2. My poker career is probably over at this point, too. It takes a lot of time and effort to play at a high level, and I won't have the time to do that anymore, at least not for a while.

As for the classes, they will focus on traditional journalism, but I plan to teach a lot of social media and emerging forms of gathering news and disseminating it. Twitter as a news engine, etc.

Hopefully, it will be fun and entertaining.

If you live in the Pasadena/Clear Lake area, consider signing up. I promise you will learn a lot. At the risk of sounding cocky (what? me? really?) they are very lucky to have me.

It's an excellent opportunity one my end, too. It wouldn't have happened without a lot of nudging and help from Dr. Bernie Smiley (a.k.a "Jesus") and my brother Patrick.

And, of course, lots of encouragement and support from The Val.

Anyway, it's an exciting new opportunity. And I hope to finally get a new band together.

Maybe I can go all Rogaine and bring back that hair...

Say hello to my little friend...

2009-08-12T07:16:00.004-05:00

My apologies for the lack of posts here recently. No real excuses, other than I just haven't had anything funny. That and a bit of writer's block. And a lot of effort going in to pissing off all the college football fans on my examiner column.

That, plus Twitter, Facebook updates, updating the Web site...my life has been pretty boring lately. (Although hopefully there will be a major announcement any day now that will reinvigorate my freak encounters).

However, my new neighbor qualifies as a freak encounter, even though I have not met him/her/them yet.

No one has lived near me for almost a year; Ike wiped out most of my building, so I have gotten used to peace and quiet.

The past few nights, the familiar "thump, thump, thump" of a stereo returned, so I knew I finally had a new neighbor below me.

The thumping got steadily louder each night. One night, I fired back with some tunes on the computer. This went back and forth for a couple nights.

Finally, however, the war escalated. I could hear Kanye's voice over my TV.

First, I responded with conventional weapons. The speakers on the computer are pretty salty, and Cowboys From Hell generally is enough to discourage any further exchanges.

It didn't work.

Kanye was even louder.

Perhaps it was the Evan Williams. Maybe it was the disappointment that conventional weapons failed.

But I did what most Americans do in this situation -- overreact. Out came the tactical nukes -- a.k.a. the Les Paul.

My real amp is still in La Marque, but I have a little practice amp. It doesn't look like much, but it packs a wallop, especially turned up to 10.

A few rapid riffs, some distorted power chords, and then a few bars of God of Thunder ensued.

I screamed my best Scarface: "Say hello to my little friend!" (Of course, I couldn't hear myself saying that. It was old school, feel the chords in your guy stuff. I think I re-damaged the roof at Reliant Stadium).

Typically when nukes are involved, everything was destroyed.

When I stopped playing, there was no sound. No thump at all. The tactical nukes had done their dirty job.

It has been quiet ever since. Too quiet. I kind of miss the dull thump of music from below. Were the nukes really necessary? Could we not have solved things in a diplomatic fashion?

It was a sad statement on our society. Reason, diplomacy -- all out the window. You fired on me, I fired back. You fired again, I nuked you.

Isn't this how the Terminator series began? With machines deciding we were too violent to live?

What does that say about us that we don't even consider solving our issues without musical violence?

The moral of the story? I am victorious, but I do not feel like a winner.

Then again...damn, I still play a mean guitar....

Naked mimes and other assorted weirdness...

2009-07-20T10:34:00.002-05:00

First, check out the sports takes at Examiner.com. I try to update it every day, so please give it a read.

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OK, it's a Monday. After watching the same movies over and over again this past weekend, I am frustrated. I need something new. Something fun. Something weird.

Maybe some new movies. Maybe a new sport. Maybe just something disturbing.

Maybe all of the above:

1) Scarface, the Musical. Think of the song list: Say Hello to My Little Friend, Every Day Above Ground is a Good Day, Say Goodnight to the Bad Guy, I Got Ears, ya know.

Tony Montana pulls out his machine gun, then breaks into song.

(To the tune of the Beatle's Love Me Do)

"Say, say hello

Say, say hello

Say, say hello

...to myyyyyyyyy

Little friend."

Of course, Pacino doesn't have the greatest singing voice, but that is part of the charm of the movie.

2) Mosquito Fights. This could have saved Michel Vick his job. After all, people get furious over dogfighting. Would they care if we bred, raised, and trained mosquitoes to fight to the death?

Would the, um, bloodletting really offend anyone?

3) Joe Pesci as the Mafia Monk. "You know, Euphalias, you are a f---ing mumbling, stuttering little f---. You know that?"

"You made me put your head in a vise for that f---ing monk?"

"Et cum spirite, de spiritus sanctum, amen, you stupid motherf---er."

4) Samuel L. Jackson as Hamlet.

"Does Horatio Look like a bitch?"

"Gimme my skull. It's the one that says bad motherf----er."

"To die, to sleep, perchance to dream. Hey! Wake your ass up! I ain't got time for this."

"I am the foot, f----ing master, Portia."

5) Naked Mimes. I don't know why, but I want to see feeling the invisible barrier in the nude. Fake ice skating in the raw.

According to Wikipedia, Traiānus banished pantomimists; Caligula favored them; Aurelius made them priests of Apollōn. Nero himself acted as a mime.

What does that mean? Not a damned thing. But they would be funnier naked. Maybe it's already been done. Maybe that's why Caligula was so into them.

Yes, you would paint all the parts, in case you were curious.

OK, I am officially weirded out by myself now. What did you expect? It's Monday.

I wanted weird. Mission accomplished.

Breaking up is hard to do...

2009-07-13T10:29:00.006-05:00

This is a sad day in Freddy's World. Breakups are always tough, even when you know it is time.

You put your life into a relationship; you give everything you can. You follow them everywhere. You write blogs about them. You praise them to anyone who will listen on the air.

But then they get to be too important for you. Too big. Too popular.

And you are left alone at night, wondering what went wrong.

You love someone so much it hurts sometimes. And they don't love you back. So finally, as painful as it is, you have to let go. You have to say goodbye.

It has happened many times before, and it will happen again.

This weekend, it happened to me, and I am letting go. There are other fish in the sea. I will try some new experiences and work hard to get this one off my mind.

I said goodbye.

No, not to Val. Are you people crazy?

To one of my other loves.

Shinedown, at one point the most underrated band in the world, is being put in the wind. Kicked to the curb. Dead to me.

I have seen them at least seven times in concert. From the first time I heard Fly From the Inside, I knew they were the band for me. Energy, passion, power; everything I had ever wanted in a band.

When Us and Them came out, our relationship got stronger. Save Me, Some Day, Heroes...powerful stuff.

When Sound of Madness was released, things were at their best. I even wrote a review of the concert for this blog. I bought the album the first day it was available on Itunes. It was over a year ago.

I thought we would be happy forever.

But we started drifting apart. Other, more attractive bands started becoming a part of my life. The magic started to disappear.

Then, it happened.

Shinedown showed up on our sister pop station, a top 40 station with a very young listenership.

"Second Chance" was the song. A nice little ballad.

And then they played it more. And more. And more.

This week, they played it more than that idiotic Lady Ga Ga Poker Face song.

Now, I just can't stand it anymore. Shinedown is too popular. Teens everywhere now sing their songs -- well, song. They have become a huge pop band.

And so it is time for it to end. While Shinedown left me for someone younger, I have started trying new people, too. The Offspring became my new favorite band after we had them in studio. I spent some time with Linkin Park. Green Day. I went back some old loves, like the Chili Peppers.

I'm putting my life back together.

Who knows if I will ever love another like that? Who knows if I will find happiness elsewhere on Itunes? But it is time to move on. Time to let go.

I will always love you, Shinedown. And not to throw your own words at you, but...

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.

Birthday wishes and a eulogy

2009-07-10T07:53:00.009-05:00

The birthday boy is the one on the left.

OK, so this is a day late, but I was out of pocket all day for reasons that will hopefully soon be apparent. First, make sure you check out the sports commentary here. Click early and often.

Anyway, Will Faour had his 11th birthday yesterday. He is well on his way to being the smartest person in the family.

The kid has a great sense of humor, is a pretty good poker player and is an absolute beast on Roblox.

He's also a pretty good indication I am officially old.

Regardless, happy birthday little man. I wanted to say something nice before you become a teen-ager and start hating me. But you are a great little dude and I have the best son in the world.

(And the best daughter, in case you are reading, Katie).

------------------------------------------------

I have decided that I should fake my own death. Besides getting a Wikipedia page, I will be a much bigger star in death. After all, Michael Jackson is bigger than ever. Steve McNair is being hailed from all corners. Forget one's penchant for (censored) and the circumstances around the other's death; look at all the nice -- if fictitious --- things that were said about both in their respective eulogies.

I mean, really; think about all the exaggerations people could use on my behalf:

-- Fred redefined journalism and was at the forefront of the multimedia explosion.

-- Fred helped launch the careers of many of the biggest stars in sports journalism.

-- He took the blog concept to a new level.

-- He invented anti-twittering.

-- He dressed up like Batgirl. (Who doesn't?)

-- He was a kind, warm, loving person who went out of his way to take care of others.

(Hey, do you really buy all that BS about Michael Jackson? If that stuff is true, I can be kind, warm and loving)

-- Thanks to Fred, the career of Sparkles the Evil Clown was rejuvenated, and he went on to be an international superstar.

-- Fred was personally responsible for improving international relations, befriending many Canadians.

See how death makes you look like a superstar?

My blog postings will suddenly be popular. People will scramble to find old short stories. Like Michael, they will forget my screwups.

I will become a legend, forever remembered and praised for being better than I was.

Elvis Presley. Michael Jackson. Uncle Freddy?

Meanwhile, I will be hiding out in Guam under the name Fareed Hadid. Raking in royalties. Enjoying my fame.

Playing golf with Michael and Elvis.

Then again, they don't have football in Guam. Probably no poker. Likely no Canadians.

Guess I will have to settle for being unsuccessful, boring and alive after all.

And still no Wikipedia page.

A special guest host...

2009-07-01T18:17:00.006-05:00

In honor of Canada Day, and, well, my general laziness...I decided to have a guest blogger. Not shockingly, she is Canadian.

Before you jump into this, please click on the ads. And check out my sports commentary at Examiner.com.

Anyway, as you probably know by now, Virtual Val is the conscious of this blog. (Not to mention a consensus No. 1 in the Faour BCS rankings). Most of my ideas usually come from goofing off with her anyway. Since I have been a little busy of late and haven't posted an entry, I am handing her the reins for this one. She is funnier than me, better looking than me and in general, much better than me.

And while it might be Freddy's World, that world would be pretty lame without Val.

So here....she...goes:

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So, Fred and I cooked up a scheme that I would do a guest blog. I’m not sure how exactly this came about, but I am guessing alcohol and my usual lack of good judgement were factors. Basically, sucks to be you, reading this (if you still are, now that you know it’s not Uncle Freddy), because Fred is the writer in this particular family.

Initially, I was thinking of doing a bit on how Canada is superior to the US. Fortunately, I remembered that I am moving to the US in the not too distant future, and should wait until then to make enemies. Hey, guys, I apologize in advance. Your national sport may be the NFL. Ours is American bashing. And we are very good at it. There’s a lot of material. You do it to yourselves (the best bits are at 3:18 regarding the 24 hour clock, and 6:49 about the $5 coin):

Um, oops. I can’t help it.

So what am I going to write about? Well, not spider monkeys, evil clowns, or naked mimes. Those are all Fred’s. I have been told to write about what I know, and I know nothing about any of those things. Really. So, I have decided to write about some pranks to pull on your significant other that I have heard about. *Disclaimer – I have not, nor ever would, pull these on Freddy. I will think up whole new ones.

Change the language on their cell phone. Nothing beats getting a text “What is the French word for menu?” in the middle of the day. Why not text back entirely in the chosen language to really increase the frustration level? “Je refuse de répondre pour les raisons qu'il peut m'incriminer.” Babelfish has been my friend for a long time.

Lemon Jell-O or plain pectin in toilet water. I have never tried this one, I ran across it surfing the ‘net, but it sounds hilarious. Mindy just explained to me how to do this – make the Jell-O with half the normal amount of boiling water, then pour it into the toilet bowl and give it some time to set. Imagine. Him peeing into the toilet bowl, and the water isn’t moving. The only drawback? Darned sure it won’t be him cleaning it up.

Tape over the infrared remote control thingy (I am not a tech geek, leave me alone) with black electrician’s tape. Imagine the fun you could have, because you KNOW men will never actually walk up to the TV to turn it on. And most devices (my stupid cable box, for example) cannot be operated without a remote control. Better yet, do it to all the remote controls in the house.

Admit what you have done before he goes out to the nearest electronics store and spends WAY too much for a new one that does everything but something truly useful, like the cleaning the toilet after pulling the Jell-O prank.

Put pillows in bed; make it look like you are asleep under the covers. When they start to crawl into bed, grab their ankles from your hiding place under the bed. Move it up a notch by taping him screaming like a girly man.

OK, four is enough for today. Anyone got any good pranks out there? Please note, nothing that would cause a separation of assets. I kinda like this guy. Even if I am fairly sure he will never let me blog again!

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Addendum from Fred....she DID pull the French thing on my phone. AND my email. Grrrr. I will be watching the toilet diligently from now on.

I have a confession: I have been streaking

2009-06-24T08:56:00.004-05:00

OK, we all have secret pleasures. (And no, I don't mean fantasies. Those are different. Most of mine involve a hot tub and a certain hot Canadian chick. But that's none of your business).

A secret pleasure is much different. Stuff like ice cream. Chocolate-covered termites. Dressing up like Bea Arthur and performing in burlesque shows. (Wait a minute, maybe that's a fantasy).

Regardless, I have a new pleasure. Actually, it's not really a pleasure, so much as an addiction.

It is ESPN's Streak For The Cash.

It is a simple game, and best of all, it's free.

Pick 27 in a row and you win a million bucks. Nothing to it, right?

Except my longest streak is five.

The beauty of streak for the cash is that it involves every sport known to mankind. You simply pick one way or the other.

In cricket, I blew a streak on Sri Lanka vs. Pakistan.

I also made a terrible error in lacrosse, when I took Virginia over Cornell.

Today's picks include stuff like who will record more aces at Wimbledon? Sam Querrey of the U.S. or Marin Cilic of Croatia? For the record, 69.9 percent of the world has selected Querrey.

Oh yes, soccer. Spain wins by two goals or more vs. the U.S., or U.S. wins, or loses by one goal. 54.8 percent of the world is on Spain's side there.

I can't wait for tonight, when I can pick who will be ahead after five innings -- the Phillies or Rays.

There was even one where you could pick the over/under on number of letters in the freaking spelling bee.

I am addicted. Rugby. College softball. Badminton. Name your sport, I am streaking it.

Maybe we could create a streak for the cash involving entertainers.

Who is the next actor to have a meltdown that shows up on Youtube?

Alec Baldwin

Christian Bale

Which actor's next movie will be the bigger bomb?

Adam Sandler

Mike Myers

What has been actor will jump start his or her career with an animated voice role first?

George Clooney

Sean Penn

Who will be killed first by an angry, Gargoyle-disguised person?

Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl

The Most Interesting Man in the world

Which country will Obama bomb first?

Iran

North Korea

So I am taking Bale, Myer, Clooney, Flo and none of the above.

Back to my real game. There is golf tomorrow. I'm liking Hunter Mahan to have a lower front nine score than Paul Goydos.

I think I need help.

So that's what I am to you, AirTran? Luggage? I have had it with these (expletive) dogs, on this (expletive) plane...

2009-06-15T09:20:00.006-05:00

So I hadn't been to Canada since 1996 for the Breeders' Cup. I really didn't remember much about it, except the old Maple Leaf Gardens was awesome, and I never could get the hang of that kilometers instead of mph thing.

I still can't. I see "100" on a speed limit sign, and I am going all Jeff Gordon. Besides, those little numbers on the speedometer are little for a reason, right?

I have encountered as significant number of freaks, because that's what I do. However, I have been overwhelmed by how cool all the people are. Not just the folks we've been hanging with -- shout out to Theresa and Dave for being awesome! -- but the people in general, especially around the border towns. Fred represents H town at Woodbine with the hottie. Photo take by Norm the Awesome Canadian handicapper.

Everything has been awesome so far, especially getting to meet Norm and Michelle and Danny and his family. We also met Doug and Helena, Gary and Alex, and Jim and Diane, all of whom make great drinking amigos.

And, of course, the Canadian hottie has been awesome as always.

I'll have more later on Niagara Falls and my trips to Woodbine, my new favorite racetrack. And the goofiest rental car ever.
Fred represents the Ticket and UH at the Falls, from the Canadian side. I saw an Aggie.

But for now, I would be remiss not to share my freak show trip getting here.

I've always liked Southwest Airlines. No frills, but flies everywhere I want to go and I have never had any real issues with them, except the time I almost died landing in New Orleans. But I forgave them for that.

Continental is my favorite, but they don't fly out of Hobby, which is very close to where I live. So we are essentially divorced.

So I decided to try AirTran for the first time because it was an incredibly cheap fare -- even cheaper than Southwest. The plan was to fly into Buffalo, and drive to Toronto. Arrive about 11 that night and have an easy time, right?

First, the "really cheap fare" did not include the $15 for checking my bag. So my round trip went from $120 to $150. Since it was still less than Southwest, I could live with that.

Everything was fine until right before take-off, when were put on ground stop for the trip to Atlanta and plane change. Two hours we sat there because of alleged storms in Atlanta. OK, that's common travel fare. No worries.

We arrived in Atlanta two minutes after my next flight was scheduled to take off. I sprinted to the gate, where they were rushing everyone on board. (That flight was delayed, too).

We loaded.

And we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, someone from the airline came on and said the flight crew had been delayed in Chicago.

They would be here in about an hour.

An hour on top of the hour we had already sat there.

What airline puts people on the plane when its flight crew is still two hours away?

The flight attendants were rude, obnoxious , and told no one anything. They snapped when people asked questions. The would not respond to simple requests for water.

But that wasn't the weird part.

I tried to doze off, and suddenly I was snapped out of my semi-slumber by a noise.
BARK!

Did somebody's kid just cough? Did somebody step on an infant?
BARK!

"Tebow! Stop it!."

I admit, I was cranky, tired and confused, but a bark? Tebow?
BARK! BARK! BARK!

"Tebow! Stop it!"

At that point it hit me.
There is a dog on the plane.

And she was talking to something that was barking.

Well, OK, so I couldn't really see the young lady, because she was in front of me.

But she had a dog in a small carrier. Barking. On a plane.

When did this start? What's wrong with the cage in the belly of the plane? What kind of airlines allows dogs?

Look, I love dogs. I get it when people really love dogs. But I would never bring a dog on an airplane.

Worse, the people next to the young lady got irritated, so she moved. To the seat behind me. Where "Tebow" was under my seat.

Tim Tebow would not like his namesake. He is small. He yaps like crazy, especially on takeoffs and landings. And he has a penchant for waking me up.

I can live with dirty airplanes that haven't been cleaned since the 1960s. I can live with long delays and not telling us what is going on. I can deal with being put on a plane for two hours before my flight crew arrives. I can even live with rude flight attendants who are pissed off they got turned down by Southwest.

But DOGS? On a plane?

BARK!

At one point, I almost got up and went all Samuel L. on the dog.

"I have HAD IT with these m--------king Dogs, on this m--------king plane!"

Two can play at this game. I am bringing a tarantula on the way back. Lets see how long the pet policy lasts.

Southwest, I apologize for straying. It was a cheap, sordid affair. After Thursday, it won't happen again.

Unless you go dogs on me. Then I am riding in the belly with the luggage.

Just like I am doing now with AirTran.

I want my own Wikipedia page, dammit

2009-06-08T10:06:00.004-05:00

First, please click on the ads above. You don't have to buy the clowns, but enough clicks and I get paid. Also, check out the Examiner commentary for sports takes. As always, show some love to Brandy, who is always entertaining as well as being hyper cool.

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Will Faour read the post before this one and complained that he and Katie were not mentioned. You guys get run all the time. We interrupt your playing of Roblox or being on Youtube to say you just got your own paragraph. Happy?

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I want to know how famous I need to be to get my own Wikipedia page. That is my new standard for success in life.

Clearly, I am a complete failure. Apparently, radio host/blogger/online columnist/former editor/degenerate is not enough to get me on Wiki.

What will it take?

Apparently, every Pope is on there, including this guy.

Pope Vigilius? Really? A dude who has been dead since 555?

Richard Justice has a wiki page. He used to yell at me all the time when I was his boss. Is that fair?

Matt Dean has a wiki page. No, not THAT Matt Dean. Some Minnesota politician. He has a page. He is an architect. Great.

We brought this up on the show, and Rob Mungle called in. He, of course, has a wiki page. Yes, his bio is just one sentence: Robert Louis Mungle (Born 1968 in Houston, Texas) is an anime voice actor for ADV Films, he is also a stand-up comedian.

Rob said it was "no big deal. Anybody can be on there."

Anyone but me, apparently.

There are eight dudes named Bob Jones on there. EIGHT. One is a Christian Evangelist who founded Bob Jones University. Thanks to him, Bob Jr. and Bob III got wiki pages too, in the line of succession as President of Bob Jones U.

The other Bob Joneses include two baseball players, a New Zealand tycoon, a Texas businessman and a member of the U.S. House of Representatives.

But no Fred Faour. In fact, no Faours at all.

We do, however, have a wiki page for ESPN 97.5 The Ticket. It mentions Put Up Your Dukes with Carl Dukes. It mentions Calvin Murphy. It even mentions Julie Takahashi.

No Front Page. No Fred Faour or Matt Dean (the radio star, not the architect).

Will offered to create one for me after I die. So great. I won't be able to enjoy my moderate fame if I am dead.

The are nine Jim Smiths. There are 28 Mike Joneses, including a canoeist, new age pianist and a personal trainer who allegedly had an affair with evangelical preacher Ted Arthur Haggard.

So, apparently, if you are an Evangelist, you not only get a page, but anyone you do gets a page as well.

There are nine Valerie pages, even one about the name itself. There are 27 Fred pages, but apparently the name is not interesting enough to get its own page.

One Fred was a Vermont farmer who simply ran for senate. Another Fred was "one of Joe's two best friends in the animated series Time Warp Trio." Just one of two best friends? Apparently, Fred is not worthy of being a best friend on his own.

The biggest insult? There are 27 Barts. Even my haters are all over Wiki.

I am going to make it to Wiki one day. If I have to run for senate, become an Evangelist or let it be rumored that I had an affair with an Evangelist.

Or I could just die. Then Will could make a page for me, and Bart would be happy.

Until then, I will just have to settle for this. Or maybe this.

Sorry, it's not enough. I want my own Wiki page, dammit.

A thank you, and a birthday gift

2009-06-03T13:42:00.001-05:00

So please click on the ads you see to the left. Another 1,000 clicks and I will get paid. You don't have to buy the clown costume, but please help a brother out.

And follow me on twitter as Gargoyle409. (If you have to ask why I am Gargoyle409, you don't read this anyway).

Also, please check out my Examiner sports commentary and tell your friends. I get paid per click, there, too. Support a degenerate. Click early and often.

-----------------------------------------

So many of you know Virtual Val, the Canadian hottie. Many of you have actually met her. Some of you know her as the funny, sarcastic voice on the other end of the computer.

What you probably don't know is that she might be the coolest person ever. Funny? Yes. Sarcastic as hell? Check. Mischievous? Yep. Downright evil in a good way? Probably.

Well, V V turns 40 today. As I recall from that RECENT milestone, that is when you become officially old.

Well, Val is anything but old. She has the energy and outlook of a teen-ager; the appearance of a 26-year-old; and the wisdom of...well, a 40-year-old.

Anyway, I am very lucky to have her in my life. Those of you who actually know her also know how lucky I am.

I have been extremely fortunate the last two years. Even with everything that went wrong, I made so many new and incredible friends...working with Matt the Superstar, the 1560 guys...Dana B...Dwain C..Plus all my friends who were there all along: C squared, Curtis, Rocket...And my mom, my grandmother, my brothers...all of whom kept me going when things were the most bleak.

Maybe I am not as rich or powerful as I used to be, but I found what I was looking for -- happiness.

Val has had a lot to do with that, as you all have.

Thanks to all of you for being there. I promise to post something funny tomorrow, but for today, I just wanted to thank everybody.

And say happy birthday, young lady. Thanks for being part of my life.

(But you aren't a better poker player than me. Yet).

Sex ed? Really? And meet the Globo Gym Purple Cobras...

2009-05-27T10:06:00.011-05:00

First, as always, please click on the ads on this page. And please check out my sports takes on the Examiner site. Tell your friends about that. The more hits, the more I can afford to live without going back to the real world. How could you live without my lame takes on Houston sports, spider monkey takes and bad radio shows? Really? Please click often. The life you save may be mine.

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Recently Will Faour, age 10, went through sex ed. In the fifth grade. They had a night where the parents were to join their children and see what their kids had learned.

Will, of course, told me they had been discussing puberty.

Hah.

Maybe I am an old prude. Maybe I am naive. I was expecting something like Sammy the Sperm meeting Elaine the Egg. Together, they created Ed (Eddie or Edna) the embryo, who became Fran the fetus. Hey, just need to drop this off and get back to my Roman orgy

Or maybe I was expecting Spanky the Stork. I don't know.

Instead we got diagrams. Very descriptive pictures. Discussions that included the words anal, oral and vaginal. Masturbation. Wet dreams.

Yes, kids know more at a younger age, but now I have visions of a little group of fifth graders having a Roman orgy, dressing as Spartans and discussing whether or not to go oral, anal or vaginal.

Even I was rendered speechless. All I know is if you see a serious looking little woman with a dvd wanting to talk frankly about sex, run like hell.

Or join the orgy. Your call.

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Whenever I visit a new gym, new stories often follow. Tuesday was no exception.

We are filling in from 3-5 this week for Carl Dukes, which gives me a nice two-hour window to hit the gym nearby. I belong to a gym that has locations all over Houston and stays open all night.

(You want more than that, advertise with me, gym owners).

So the one closest to the station does not have a basketball court. That's usually enough to send me further up the road. But since time was limited, the plan was a quick weight rotation, a little treadmill time and back to the station.

However, as soon as I walked into this place, I knew something was wrong.

I had stumbled into Globo Gym.

The plastic surgery-supported supermodel behind the front desk glared at me with that, "who invited you to this club?" look. She ran my card twice to make sure I really belonged.

When the machine actually accepted it, she tossed it back at me, not even looking at me.

I had walked into the world of the beautiful people on their lunch break. Needless to say, everyone else in the gym gave me that same, "what the hell are you doing here?" look -- at least the ones who could spare a half second to look down their noses at me.

Other than occasionally amorous old ladies, I like the other two gyms I usually go to. I play basketball with some good guys, and I don't ever feel self conscious. There are a lot of policemen, firemen, shift workers...just good hardworking folks who like to work out and talk sports. My kind of guys.

Average Joe's Gym kind of guys.

At this place, the people were clearly in a rush. No one was even remotely friendly. I kept expecting to see White Goodman show up on a giant screen and say, "Amber, work those abs! Tiffany, feel the burn!!!"

"Who is that old dude over there? Go back to the Meyerland gym, loser."

"Fred, you don't look like this guy. You should hate yourself." -- White Goodman.

As an aside: Do all women try to look exactly like each other in the gym? At the other two places, every woman (except Estelle) is blond, wears a baseball hat with a pony tail, light blue leotards, white shoes and usually a pink and white top. There are dozens of them. At this place, they were all brunette, black leotards, black shoes and a gray top. No hat. Is there a Female Law I don't know where everybody who looks like has to congregate at a certain gym? There were at least 20.

Meanwhile, as if I weren't feeling out of place enough, the locker room had a V.I.P locker room.

Nicer lockers? Really? That's it? You feel the need to pay for nicer lockers? The beautiful people truly have to separate themselves from other beautiful people?

Not only that, the VIP room had a glass door so the second-class beautiful people could see inside and long for the days they, too, could get in the V.I.P. locker room.

I pressed my nose against the glass, whimpering. The best of the best ignored me. I think one actually called security. We are the Globo Gym Purple Cobras. And we will, we will rock you!

I quickly left, fearing Lazer, Blazer and the other Purple Cobras would come and take me away.

I was, frankly, afeared.

But I am no longer.

You are not afeared of me???

I have news for you, beautiful people. I am here all week. I will be there every day. Get used to it. Quit looking down your nose. There are more of me than there are of you, and I will start bringing friends.

Go watch the end of Revenge of the Nerds. Go watch the end of Dodgeball.

We win, hot people. You should be afeared.

Um, how much is that V.I.P. locker room?

Just Tweet me, baby...Let's get random

2009-05-20T09:59:00.006-05:00

Please click on the ads. You will help support a degenerate. And please check out my sports takes on the Examiner site. Tell your friends about that. I get paid per click, so help me out. I promise to make you laugh here at some point.

I apologize for not posting much lately. Between the Examiner blog, updating the 975 Web site every day, working on some writing projects and this Twitter thing, I have fallen behind. Or maybe the clown bit just scared everybody. Either way, sorry.

Every now and then, it's fun to go totally random. No planned takes. No ideas that evolved from being drunk and watching movies. Just go with some generic thoughts as they pop into my head...

1) Am I the only one who doesn't quite get Twitter? Yes, I am on there, and it is helpful for touting the blogs and what's happening on the radio. But I am not real prolific. What all am I supposed to write?

I am simply not that interesting.

Fred is sitting in the studio at work playing online poker? Fred is going to the gym? Fred is mixing Jack Daniels with Jager shots, which is a colossally bad idea? Fred is sick of that freaking poker face song? Fred is probably glad he didn't go to New Orleans because he would have gotten Dana and Mindy arrested? Fred is considering putting up a Twitter update but doesn't know what to say?
Tweet me, baby.

2) I like Bart. Bart stalks me and wants me to die. I appreciate his honesty, whoever he/she is. Maybe if I send Bart some naked pictures he/she will leave me alone. Or just laugh so hard that he/she will cease to hate me. Regardless, it's nice to be hated.

3) I like Canadians. (*-One in particular I like quite a bit). Nice folks. Very friendly. Our little pets to the North. But why do you guys have such American Envy? We're not mean. We're not arrogant. We don't start wars with other countries just for the hell of it. We leave that to our government. The rest of us are pretty cool.

*-gratuitous reference to Virtual Val.

4) Did you see they are re-making Footloose? Really? We can't do my version of Road Warrior, but they can remake Footloose? Why not Flashdance? Why not Dirty Dancing? Please, Hollywood, enough already.

5) Speaking of movies, Rip Torn has apparently really become Patches O'Houlihan. All that's missing is the hookers in the room.

6) Does it seem like Michael Vick got out of prison awful fast?

7) It's about time C-squared got on Facebook.

8) Brandy is blogging again! All is right with the world!

9) Poker really is life. Been in a life funk for a year and my poker suffered. Suddenly I'm happy, and hands hold up. Weird.

10) Finally, a joke on the difference between men and women...
A man is driving up a steep, narrow mountain road. A woman is driving down the same road. As they pass each other, the woman leans out the window and yells, "PIG!"
The man immediately leans out his window and replies, "Stupid!"
They each continue on their way, and as the man rounds the next corner he slams into a pig in the middle of the road.

It's time for a movie remake...check out this cast

2009-05-11T09:50:00.003-05:00

OK, so no one liked the clown killers. You are no longer allowed to complain about clowns to me. You had your chance, and you blew it.

Please click on the ads, and for sports takes check out my examiner commentary.

I love really clever cover versions of old songs. I prefer bands that take a soft song and just rock the hell out of it. The Ataris' version of Don Henley's Boys of Summer, for instance. Seether's new version of Wham's Careless Whisper is a Freddy-type remake.

Oddly, I hate movie remakes. There are too many, they aren't clever, and in fact they are often just weak attempts to capitalize on an old movie's success. It shows how little creativity there is in moviemaking these days. The Longest Yard remake was an absolute disaster. Planet of the Apes. Poseidon.

Bad ideas, all.

But thanks to a little Evan Williams and AMC on a Sunday night, there are some movies I would actually like to see remade. No. 1 on that list? Road Warrior. Don't ask me why, but the entire cast popped into my head while I was watching it. After that, I had a few other ideas...

Movie No. 1: The Road Warrior.

It was light years better than Mad Max, which was pretty good, too. I mean, who can forget the Toecutter? But I am thinking big budget, blow-up-a-lot-of-stuff, high-dollar, super special effects. My cast:

Max -- Christian Bale. He would need to be kind of a scruffy, John Connor-type in the role. He doesn't have to talk much, but his character needs to dance on the edge of sanity, much like his Batman.

The gyro captain: Steve Buscemi. Who could be better? Goofy, slightly dangerous, kind of like his character in Fargo.

Toadie: You remember Toadie: "YOU! You can run -- but you can't hide!" Vin Diesel would be perfect. You need bald, you need mean, you need an anti-hero. I'm thinking a Riddick-type character.

The Lord Humongous: John Cena. Originally, I was thinking Diesel for this role, but Humongous wears a mask, and you need Diesel's face in the movie. Cena will be a towering, menacing presence.

Papagallo: Ed Norton. Norton could play any role anywhere. But I am thinking a combo Worm in Rounders and American History X after he gave up on being a skinhead. Papagallo is a leader, but he is tricky and deceitful at times. Norton could handle this beautifully.

Diretor: Michael Bay. I want a Transformers/big screen/military feel to the last run to freedom. Lots of stuff blowing up, lots of bodies and arms and legs.

Rewritten screenplay: Me. I would stay loyal to the original, but I would have a longer stretch at the beginning when Max is on his own, with a few more kills and explosions.

OTHER MOVIES:

FLESH GORDON: Remember the rapist robots? Yeah, we need better special effects. Mark Walhberg as Flesh Gordon. (Well, his Boogie Nights character).

IT: I get to play the clown.

TRON: Imagine what we could do with special effects. And how about this for an updated cast:

Kevin Flynn/Clu (originally played by Jeff Bridges) -- Tom Cruise. Yes, he has gone completely weird, which is why he is a perfect fit.

Tron/Alan Bradley -- Jason Statham. He is more of the badass in the film, so Statham is a good fit.

Yori/Dr. Lora Baines -- Halle Berry. Just because I can.

Ram: Ashton Kutcher. It is time for him to get past "Dude, where's my car?" Plus, his Twitter hits alone will get people to pack the house.

Sark/Ed Dillinger/Master Control program: John Malkovich. Just be Cyrus the Virus from Con Air in a sci fi setting, and it will be perfect.

KRULL: Liam Neeson could reprise his role as Kegan.

Wait a minute....Why do I get the sense you people haven't see any of these movies? Check out IMDB and get back to me. ..

It's time for you and the clowns to make up...(OK, that was bad...)

2009-05-08T10:12:00.008-05:00

First, please remember to click on the ads. They pay for this drivel. Also, check out my sports commentary at Examiner.com.

OK, almost every one of you has an irrational fear of clowns. I don't get it, understand it or support it.

Clowns need love, too. Especially evil ones. Think about it: what would Poltergeist be without the clown? What would It be? What would Uncle Freddy be without this wonderful alter ego?

Yes, even Sparkles needs love.

However, since you all hate clowns, we have found the place for you. You can thank those French Canadian folks for this:

This is part of a series of clown hatred. Click here and you will see even more.

Folks, it is time for this irrational fear and hatred of clowns to stop. They are people, too. (Well, some of them). They are important contributors to society. Without them, there would be no small cars with 30 clowns shoved inside. No balloon animals. No giant red shoes or bulbous noses.

No Sparkles.

Maybe we should educate you.

Did you know that all forms of clowns are descendants of the white-faced clown, who used white makeup?

Did you know that many clowns take two hours just to get ready for a performance?

Didn't know that, did you? See how much trouble they go to for you to hate them?

Don't worry. I am not angry with you. You are all sick. You have something called coulrophobia -- the irrational fear of clowns.

We are going to work past this.

Let's try something... How could you fear this guy?

Without him, there would be no Oscar for The Dark Knight. There would be no reason to live.

So I am asking nicely, please, get over your fears. Embrace your inner clown. Accept Sparkles as one of your own. Let me make him my permanent Facebook profile.

Only then can we stop the madness. Stop the hatred. It's time to stop the abuse of clowns in our time.

If not, we are going to fight back. We're not going to allow you to continue to treat us like second-class performers.

Auguste clowns, unite. Circus clowns, sign up. Hobo clowns, join us. Rodeo clowns, we need you.

The Day of the Clown is coming. When it does, there will not be a safe balloon animal anywhere.

Be afraid, haters.
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Here's another blog for those of you who like horse racing. It's all about MC Gelding.

And drop by Brandy's place and say hi and give her some ideas.

And click on the ads!

One way to cure road rage; in Calvin we trust...maybe not this time

2009-05-04T09:50:00.009-05:00

If you read the last post, you know how bad Houston traffic is when it rains. When it doesn't rain, drivers are just as bad.

So there was a road rage incident on the way to Sam Houston Race Park on Saturday, but it had a happy ending.

Sort of.

Saturday was a long day -- early seminar at Gulf Greyhound, followed by a long drive north to be at Sam Houston. It was roughly 2 p.m. on 290, not too far from SHRP, when a red Ford truck (you never see THOSE in Texas) swung over in front of me, almost putting me in the concrete wall.

Once I recovered, the road rage inspired anger began to rise. The ears turned red. The low growl came up in the throat.

But since it was Derby Day, a religious holiday, we let it go.

Until he almost hit the car again, this time swinging over a full lane without looking. He sped up, heading for the exit toward Sam Houston.

This time, the anger took over, and the Honda was roused into action. As we drew alongside and I was about to drop an F-bomb, I saw why the guy was struggling with his driving.

He had the Racing Form spread out across his steering wheel. He was handicapping while driving on the way to the track.

Instantly, the rage was gone.

Whoever you are, red truck dude, you are my kind of guy. Yes, you were irresponsible. Yes, you almost killed me.

But it was a good cause. I mean, who can really hate a true degenerate like that?

Hope you had the winner, pal.

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Props to three people who had the winner of the Derby:

1) My mom, who loves jockey Calvin Borel. She talked about the horse all week. Thank God she didn't listen to her idiot son.

2) Virtual Val, who liked the horse for some other inexplicable handicapping theory that I refuse to listen to until Preakness week since I am still steaming. But my guess is Val is Canadian. The horse was 2-year-old Canadian champ. Good things rarely come out of Canada, but this time, one plus one equals 50-1.

(Don't get mad, Canadians. Until you do something about Celine Dion...sorry, that's our image of you).

3) Scotty the Genius. Not sure if it was Scotty or me who coined the phrase "In Calvin We Trust." I will take credit for it. Scotty will have to settle for being greatest handicapper in the history of the known universe.

Calvin Borel has been on almost every long shot winner I've ever had. He has been one of my favorite riders for almost 20 years now. Delta Downs. Fair Grounds. Sam Houston. Oaklawn. Churchill. The defunct Ellis Park. Louisiana Downs. Turfway. Calvin has won huge races for me at all of those tracks. He even won a big race for me once at Jefferson Downs.*

(If you don't know Jefferson Downs, you are either under the age of 30 or not a true horse racing degenerate).

Regardless, we've been saying "In Calvin we Trust" for years.

When he got away at 50-1 -- the second longest shot in Derby history -- I didn't. Growl. Snarl. Grumble.

It was an incredible ride, typical Calvin rail-skimming brilliance. He was also aboard Oaks winner Rachel Alexandra, who won by about six miles, so it was a big weekend for the young man.

In the last three Derbies, Calvin has a first on Mine That Bird, a third on long shot Denis of Cork, and a win on Street Sense. That record stacks up with anybody. (Yeah, I had Street Sense. Hoo boy. He wasn't 50-1).

From now on, we blindly trust no matter what.

Congrats to everybody who won. You guys are much smarter than me.

Except for one guy.

Sam Houston track announcer Michael Chamberlain is the most underrated announcer in the country. Other than an affinity for Jerry Baily, bad handicapping and weird yellow corduroy pants, he is a good guy.

At our seminar, he didn't even mention the winner. Then he spent five minutes saying how much he hated Pioneer of the Nile, who finished second.

Walking out, he showed me an 8-16 exacta ticket he had bet.

Because that is his birthday.

Buy some new pants with it, pal.

So I have learned my lesson if I want to be successful...In the Preakness, I am betting a 12-18. Even if there are only three horses. And betting Calvin.

And I plan to handicap the race while driving. Maybe then I will get it right.

Yes, it's wet and wild, F World style...Psycho Dwarf!

2009-04-29T09:25:00.007-05:00

Houston is actually a pretty cool place to live. Year-round golf, Jennifer Reyna, mediocre sports teams, strip bars across the street from churches. You just can't beat it.

For the most part, we have terrific weather, too. Sure, in August it's usually so insufferably hot and humid that small children have been known to spontaneously combust while walking to the neighborhood 7-11. Old people sometimes melt in in their Buicks, and simply become part of the seats.

But other than that and the occasional Hurricane every 25 years or so, the weather is terrific.

Except when it floods.

We have a lot of bayous in Houston. (Or, as Virtual Val called them on one visit, "concrete ditches.")

Occasionally, during the monsoon season (which is about once a month or so), we get serious rain dumps that cause flooding. The bayous come out of their banks, and the idiots come out in their cars.

That happened this week, and the worst of it was right around 5 in the morning when I was trying to drive to work. (I never made it. You will be spared the details, because every other word would have to be expletive deleted. But ESPN listeners were spared the "It's 9:09, I'm Fred Faour with your Houston Sports Update" annoyance.)

The good news is that while I was stranded, I was able to witness several freaks and morons, which of course, leads to a Freddy's World posting.

Genius No. 1: I ain't slowing down guy -- This is my favorite dude. Even if the water is four feet deep, he is going to blast through it as fast as possible. He usually has a Hyundai with about 2 inches of space between the bottom of the car and the ground.

He's also the guy you see two minutes later with his hazard lights on, stranded in the middle of the street, cursing his luck as he wades through waste deep water in search of a tow truck to get him out. And whoops! He dropped his cell phone in the water!

God must hate him. That's it.

Genius No. 2: I ain't tailgating, I'm drafting -- You have to love the guy who gets three inches behind you on your bumper as you go 5 miles per hour through 3-feet deep water on the road.

Am I supposed to speed up? Really? Are you gaining four seconds of time by going all NASCAR on me? Do we need to add a bumper accident to getting stalled in the middle of the road?

When we get stalled together, forget it: I will not let you borrow my cell phone when you drop yours.

Genius No. 3: I have a truck; I can go anywhere -- Yes, you can go a lot of places. Your F350 will get you through 2-3 feet of water. It won't get you through 5.

A not-so-distant cousin of Genius No. 1, he will be a little farther down the road than his cousin. He might even pick up No. 1's cell phone as it floats by.

Genius No. 4: Somebody Save Me guy -- This guy rarely lives to tell the story. Here's a big hint; we have several underpasses with measurement gauges so you know how deep the water is. That should be a pretty good indication that if the city is flooding, you might avoid even considering going that direction. If the water is over the 6-foot mark, do you really think you will get through? I mean, maybe you are the Waterboy and have an air boat and you are fine. But if you are driving a Mustang...well, you will be climbing on the roof of your car, hoping someone will happen by and rescue you.

The good news? A solid number of these float away and are never heard from again, so at least there isn't a lot of repeat business for the rescuers.

Genius No. 5: Feeder Road guy -- When it floods in Houston, the feeder roads to our numerous freeways are nightmares. Some are low-lying underpasses near concrete ditches and result in a lot of Genius No. 4 incidents. It's a simple rule when it floods: stay off the feeders.

But No. 5 is different, because even though cars are coming back at him the wrong way on the road...even though no other cars are exiting...he will exit to get on the feeder road. Even when he is the last guy going that direction, he won't stop. "I"m only a half mile from home," he thinks.

He winds up swimming it. Or being washed away with the tide, never to be found.

I was fortunate enough -- or unfortunate enough -- to witness all five in one day. I also picked up four water-logged cell phones.

Hopefully, we are done with monsoon season for a couple weeks, and we can now look forward to our summer heat deaths or -- gasp -- another hurricane.

If we get any more floods, the herd will be thinned around here.

No wonder Noah was the only one to survive. He was surrounded by Houstonians.
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Please click on the ads. They support this blog. And please check out a couple of my fave blogs: Brandy, of course. And this one, too. It's hilarious.

Also, after months of trying, we will have an interview with Puppet the Psycho Dwarf coming on the Front Page very soon. Just go here and you will see why this is something we felt the need to do.

And if it rains where you are, well...watch out for the freaks.

A public service for all my married friends...

2009-04-22T09:13:00.004-05:00

OK, I recently had a conversation with a friend who was later than he should have been in getting home one night. He needed an excuse for why he was late.

No, he hadn't done anything wrong; he had just had a few beers with friends. But the "beers with friends, whoops time-got-away-from-me excuse" screams something far more sinister, and people are loathe to use it.

So as a public service, we're going to offer some perfectly plausible excuses to use on your spouse when you stayed a little late to drink with your friends.

No, you should not use these as excuses for when you are doing something you shouldn't. (In that case, you should simply keep the "beers with friends, whoops time-got-away-from-me" excuse).

But for those times when you really ARE out with friends and time gets way from you, give these a try. (Keep in mind I have never actually USED these. They are collected from others over years of research. Really).

1) FLAT TIRE. Done correctly, you can use this one several times over, especially if you have a slow leak that has to be plugged occasionally. A flat tire will buy you an extra hour to an hour and a half. (Memo to the other spouse: Ask for a receipt after the first time you hear this excuse. Then he/she will have to come up with something else).

2) LEFT THE CELL PHONE AT THE BAR. This is dicey, because it can happen for real, so using it as an excuse once will get you in trouble when it really happens. But it works like this -- "I was almost home, then realized my cell phone wasn't here. So I had to rush back and get it. Obviously, I couldn't call..." You can buy as much time as a near-round trip home, so your lateness quotient varies.

3) I WAS PLAYING POKER, TOOK A NAP ON THE COUCH AND DIDN'T WAKE UP UNTIL 6 a.m. This is pretty much self-explanatory. Don't expect it to work more than once, but it explains more than a couple hours.

4) I WITNESSED A CAR ACCIDENT. "Yeah, it was a bad one, too. Had to speak with the police. A cherry red Camaro t-boned a Miller Lite truck. The camaro ran a red light. Brutal."
Detail is important -- you have to give as much as possible. Even use "Officer Johnson," if you like. This is another one shot deal, but it's easy to sell. You didn't call because you were freaked out by how bad the lady driving the car was hurt and wasn't thinking properly.

5) I RAN INTO...(INSERT FAMOUS PERSON HERE). Now, the key to this is it has to be somebody believable. If you say Justin Timberlake, they won't buy it. But Dusty Hill? Sure. Ben Stiller? No way. Jerry Stiller? Possibly. But hey, they were really cool to meet in person and bought the beers. Sorry I didn't call but I was starstruck...

Sure, there are others you can use. Saved a baby from a burning building. Rescued a drowning elderly woman from a swimming pool. But those require proof.

I prefer more straightforward stuff: They were showing Zoolander at the bar and I couldn't leave until it was over. (Cool people will get that).

The game ran late.

I met two very hot twins and...oh, never mind.

Hey, you could just tell the truth. But if not, please feel free to try any of the above. Just don't use the same excuse on each other the same night...

You're gonna go far, kid

2009-04-14T17:17:00.017-05:00

I have interviewed Hall of Famers in pretty much every sport. It's no big deal at all. Athletes just aren't intimidating.

Musicians? Completely different. I'm like a google-eyed kid. So when Noodles and Dexter from Offspring were making the rounds at our sister station, 104 KRBE, we put in a request to interview them. KRBE is a pop station, so it's pretty rare when they have a band come through we would want. (No disrespect, but Lisa Loeb doesn't do it for me).

Regardless, they were cool as hell and happy to oblige. The KRBE folks were awesome about it as well (special thanks to Leslie for making it happen. She is the coolest breeze in radio).

So on Sunday's show, we will air a taped interview. Needless to say, it was a blast. Tune in and check it out.

I am officially a groupie now. Shinedown is still No. 1 on my "Must Stalk" list, but these guys made a huge jump.

Those of you who have known me for decades know all I wanted to be growing up was a rock star. Well, first I wanted to play quarterback for the Oilers. Then I wanted to be a point guard. Then a pitcher. Then a rock star. Then a Dungeons & Dragons world champion. Then a novelist. Then a rock star again. Then a journalist. Then a freedom fighter named Ali Akbar Faour.

Then a super-criminal named The Gargoyle.

Then, finally, a radio host/degenerate/poker player/freelance writer/goofball.

And, oh yeah -- a rock star.

So that didn't work out so well. Now I settle for occasionally shredding the Les Paul and rocking the mike at karaoke like every other failed wannabe. (Yes, I am talking to you. Just admit it like I have. It will be much easier on you in the long run. Join our group. Hi, I'm Fred and I have been a wannabe for 26 years...).

Sigh. I would have been a great rock star. Just wish I had Noodles' hair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Please click on the ads and help a brother out. And don't forget to check out the sports takes on examiner.com.

For my former and current print journalist friends out there, I am working on a new project and I need your help. Please e-mail me at fmfaour@sbcglobal.net if you are interested. I will explain what it is then and you can decide whether or not to participate.

Thanks, and a big DFD to everybody...

In the interest of fairness....

2009-04-10T10:47:00.005-05:00

OK, so for those of you who hated the five most overrated bands/singers of all time, I will give you a better target. Here are the five most underrated bands in Freddy's World. (Those of you who knew me in high school...well, my tastes haven't changed much over the years).

Readers of F World will know I think Shinedown is the most amazing current band. But since I heard Second Chance on our sister pop station yesterday, they can't be considered underrated and are eliminated from this conversation. (If they have any more hits, I am going to have to drop them from Most Favored Band status). Tom Petty would have made the list, but since he played at halftime of the Super Bowl, it's hard to call him underrated.

Anyway, make fun of me as much as you like...

5) Thin Lizzy. For some reason, they just never got big before the death of Phil Lynott. They didn't take off after, either. "Jailbreak," "The Boys are back in Town..." Their songs were energetic and exciting. Another band that inspired a lot of successful bands.

4) Albert Collins. No knock on Robert Cray or the great B.B. King, but Collins was an incredible blues guitarist, the bets of the genre. (Yes, his career started in Houston. If you don't like the provincialism, bite me). He inspired many great artists, including Cray. He died of cancer in 1993. You might know him from his cameo in Adventures in Babysitting. You should know him for "Frosty," "Cold Snap" or "Iceman."

3) King's X. Score another one for the local team. (Well, they were originally from Missouri, but the Houston music scene doesn't have a lot of stars. We claim them). They are brilliant song writers, but they just never quite took off. "Over My Head" from "Faith, Hope, Love" gave them some commercial success, but their library is deep and versatile. (Also check out Doug Pinnick's solo albums under the name Poundhound, by the way). They are awesome in concert and are another band that has multiple influences on other bands. If you haven't heard them, you are missing out.

2) Blue Oyster Cult. (If you are one of my high school friends, you guessed this without looking).
I pretty much have stalker status with these guys, since I have now seen them 14 times. They have been making music for almost 50 years. They inspired many of the rock bands of the 80s and 90s. You probably know Don't Fear the Reaper and Burnin' for You, but those songs aren't even among their best. They are weird, versatile, clever. They wrote songs about soul-eating demonic swords (Black Blade), Astronomy (Astronomy), Tattoo Vampires (Tattoo Vampire) and dead Joan Crawford (Joan Crawford).

From Joan Crawford: "Catholic schoolgirls throw away their mascara...they chain themselves to the axles of big Mack trucks...the sky is filled with herds of shivering angels...the fat lady laughs: "gentlemen, start your trucks!"

How can you not love that?

"Then Came the Last Days of May" is simply the best song I've ever seen performed live.

1) Eric Johnson. Simply the most talented musician you've never heard a word about unless you live in Texas. His live shows are magic; his guitar work is legendary. There is not another guitarist in the world who combines his skill and feel. He's also got a very melodic voice, and his music is versatile. I've seen him four times, twice in small clubs in Austin. Don't know who he is? Just download Cliffs of Dover and feel free to thank me later.

Many years ago I went to see him at the old Rockefeller's in Houston. He was playing two shows. I went to buy tickets for the second show while he was on stage for the first one. You could hear the muffled guitar riffs outside. They were so brilliant, I stood outside and listened through the wall. That's magic, gang.

OK, poke all the fun you want...

Yes, I am a blasphemer...What's in a name?

2009-04-09T08:48:00.004-05:00

I am going to upset everyone be saying something I have believed since I was a kid. Most of you will consider it blasphemy. Many of you will hate me and threaten to kill me.

But there might be one of you out there who actually agrees with me. And we shall stand together, arm in arm and tell the world that everyone else is wrong. We shall walk them out of Plato's cave and show them the outside world. We will change the universe for the better.

I am going to dispel the greatest myth of the 20th and 21st century. This is an important moment for society. I know I will be ostracized, but I am prepared for that.

So here goes:

Led Zeppelin is the most overrated band in the history of the known universe.

There, I said it.

Yes, Led Zeppelin sucks. I know I will have to watch out for snipers, hit men and other assorted mercenaries, but I can be silent no more.

For decades I have heard their music described as "transcendent" and "magical."

How about "lousy?" How about the worst live show you will ever see? How about Heart's cover version sounds better?

That's the Facebook Top Five list I want -- most overrated rock bands/musicians of all time.

Just to piss off anyone I missed, here are the others:

2) Bruce Springsteen. Has he done anything in 20 years? Is he even relevant? Born to Run and Glory Days. Great, a two-hit wonder. Disappear, freak show.

3) Nirvana. Oh, come on. If dude hadn't kicked, would you even care? Soundgarden was better.

4) Pink Floyd. Really? Listen to them again without doing drugs and get back to me.

5) U2. Edge is a horrible guitarist. A few lessons and he might sound like a 6-year-old. They take themselves too damned seriously. Yes, I like a few of their songs, but that is why they are only No. 5 on the list.

OK, hate away...

-------------------------------------

Thursday was national "Name Yourself Day."

Apparently, for one day, you are allowed to change your name to whatever you want. Yes, it is a stupid concept, but I spent all morning trying to come up with a new name. (It should be easy, but since I still haven't come up with a real nickname for myself yet...)

So I ran the gamut, starting with some great movie names -- Chest Rockwell, Brock Landers...Dirk Diggler. (Hmmm...wonder what movie is stuck in my head right now?)

Maybe I could go all Pulp Fiction and just be The Wolf?

Or maybe The Gargoyle? (Oh, that one is taken. Damn. Maybe Freddy Gargoyle?).

If I wasn't such a lousy writer, I could be Word Smith.

Or maybe I could go all Hollywood and be Lavender Cruise. Or Sebastian Selleck. Or Denny Degenerate.

Or gangster? Henry Hill. Vito Andolini. Nicky Santoro.

Maybe I should go animal. Gary Giraffe. Peter Platypus.

Spider Monkey?

I like that. Spider P. Monkey. Done and done. (P. for Poindexter).

OK, that was easy.

Freddy is back, and I'm famous...well, not really

2009-04-07T10:48:00.009-05:00

I know I am way behind on posts; sorry. I know, I suck. It was either that or whack the blog once and for all and just forget about it.

But since Brandy's back, I feel honor bound to return as well.

So we'll get back to a couple shots a week at the very least.

First off, a reminder to please check out my sports takes at Examiner.com.

And click on all the ads on this site, please. They help pay for my inaction.

Meanwhile, a quick gym update:

I'm not the old fat guy in the gym anymore. We're making progress. Starting to tone up again, and I can now do an hour hard on the treadmill after lifting weights for an hour. I'm still not scrawny, thin super hot Freddy, but the arms are starting to pop again and I'm not embarrassed to walk in the gym. (Well, I wear sweats that are four times too big and a wrestling mask like Rey Mysterio, but I'm not the guy people make fun of anymore).

(Digression No. 1: Sorry for the wrestling reference. Wrestlemania was in town).

(Digression No. 2: I am about to do a social experiment regarding weight loss. Stay tuned).

Back to my point: I made yet another new friend yesterday.

We had a long day at the station, with two shows. In between, I decided to hit the gym and go as hard as possible for two hours.

I belong to a gym that has several sites around the city (you want me to name you publicly, give me a discount, folks). So I went to one near the station, which I haven't been to very often.

The guy at the desk scanned my card and did a double take.

He looked at me for a second.

"Are you Fred Faour of the Front Page?"

"Um, yes, I am."

"Wow!" he said. He was legitimately excited. His name was Trey, and he knew everything about the show. Running bits. He loved the Deaths and Inside stories. He even mentioned how much he loved the show open. "Have you ever seen a grown man naked?"

After about five minutes, I thank him for listening and told him to call the show sometime.

But I left somewhat depressed.

Don't real famous people have groupies? Like, real ones? Why is always the Treys of the world? Why couldn't it be the hottie behind the desk?

"Dude," she would say. "I LOVE the show. And I have some green jello, Evan Williams and a Spider Monkey at my place and I know how to use them ALL."

Sigh. I get Trey. And Estelle Getty. And B.B. King.

I will try again in another 15 pounds.

The top five movies...Sham Wow! She bit me!

2009-03-30T10:32:00.005-05:00

So I ignore most of the Facebook apps that people send me, or that I see on other people's status updates.

But I am a sucker for top five lists. Anytime I can rank five anythings, I am all over it.

Top three? Forget it. Unfulfilling.

Top 10? Too demanding.

But top five, I am a complete sucker. Five best hotties. Five best insults. Five best insects. Five worst sexual encounters. Five worst elevator stories. Five best wheelchair prostitutes. Five best spider money jokes.

You get the idea.

So I couldn't resist the five best movies thing that was going around.

Unfortunately, you just list them; there is no way to comment. So I feel the need to defend/explain my choices, since it went out to my 240-plus friends.

1) Pulp Fiction: We've already brought out the Gimp. Maybe we should have sent in the Wolf.

Samuel L. makes the whole thing worthwhile.

"You ever read the Bible Ringo? There's this passage I've got memorized...

You're the weak."

The cameos are awesome -- especially Christopher Walken, Eric Stoltz and Harvey Keitel.

Bizarre, clever, funny, violent, hip. A perfect Freddy movie.

2) Shawshank Redemption -- No real explanation needed; this is almost a perfect movie. Nothing sugarcoated or glossed over. Tim Robbins is perfectly cast; so too is Morgan Freeman. At its truest essence, it is a buddy movie.

If you haven't seen it, then shame on you.

3) Goodfellas -- The Henry Hill saga features some of the best acting you'll see anywhere. Ray Liotta is unbelievable; DeNiro was still DeNiro; Pesci's character was delightfully violent. The use of music as a device to move the plot was copied for years by other directors. Interestingly, Casino featured many of the same actors. It was really "Goodfellas go to Vegas." I once knew a colleague who liked it better, because he saw it before Goodfellas.

He was an idiot then and is still an idiot.

4) Rounders -- This is one you might not have seen. Go rent it right now and report back to me immediately. Matt Damon is terrific, Edward Norton is over the top, but the whole show is Teddy KGB, played by John Malkovich. He is essentially in two scenes, but the entire movie revolves around him.

Great supporting performances by John Turturro and Gretchen Mol, who plays the most dislikeable girlfriend in history.

There is only one flaw in the movie -- when Petra visits Mike and he asks her to leave. (If you don't know what that is about, see the second sentence).

5) Reservoir Dogs -- Another brilliantly done Quentin Tarantino movie. Of course, he's gone downhill since Pulp, but how could he not?

The brilliantly evil Mr. Blonde. The smarmy Mr. Orange. The annoyingly brusque Mr. Pink.

It ends the only way it possibly could.

Yes, it's violent. (I'm sorry, I LOVE the ear scene. I think it's hilarious). Yes, it's over the top.

I love it.

Notice a trend? Violence. Hidden humor. Criminals. Hmmm....what does that say about me?

Don't answer that.

What do you think of my five?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

OK, if you haven't seen it, the Sham Wow guy got himself in trouble with a prostitute.

Vince Schlomi is his real name, and he's a 44-year-old pitchman. Apparently, the Pay Per View (euphemism for lady of the evening) bit his tongue and refused to let go, which started a fight.

Schlomi sells the Sham Wow and the Slap Chop on those annoying infomercials. You've seen them.

It's unclear whether he used either during the fracas, but we will guess she was less than Wow'ed by his Slap Chop.

Regardless, you can order them both for $19.99 plus shipping and handling.

He must have sold quite a few. The Pay Per View cost $1,000.

We assume the tongue biting was part of the deal.

Adios, amigos...DFD...I need a gimp...

2009-03-25T09:22:00.011-05:00

First, please check out the Examiner commentary for my sports takes. I get paid per click, so please help the young man out.

Also, I am not going to comment on the Chronicle's editorial cuts until Sunday's show, so if you want that, you will have to tune in. I will say it seems pointless to make people walk the plank off the Titanic after it has already hit the iceberg. But what do I know?

Regardless, vaya con dios to those who are gone. To those remaining? I honestly give it three years max before one of the proudest and most historic businesses in our city is gone forever.

As far as non-editorial goes...one of my dearest friends -- and one of their best salespeople -- was also cut.

If CC can't sell ads for you, then you are already dead. You are just preserving your own meaningless, loser existences for another year or so. See you in the soup line, dickweeds.

Enough of that. Let's have some fun...

--------------------------------------------

A couple of people have asked what the "DFD" references are on the shows.

I would google the lyrics to "You're Gonna Go Far Kid" by the Offspring and you will figure it out.
(Make sure you are over 18). It refers to the "Dance..." line.

It's an inside joke, but almost everyone will identify with it.

Feel free to join Team DFD...

-------------------------------------------

Thanks to Brandy, I think I need a Gimp.

I posted a weird response on her blog that was basically an obvious reference to Pulp Fiction wrapped around a subtle reference to the same movie.

But it has me thinking: I need a gimp. Someone to chain up, dress in a weird black outfit and keep in my basement.No, I would not want the Gimp for use in Russell's Ropin' Room. I would just love to have an instant servant.

Need someone to get me a beer? Bring out the Gimp.

Need someone to clean the apartment? Bring out the Gimp.

Need someone to watch over Bruce Willis while I have him chained to a chair? Bring Out The Gimp.

OK, so there are some issues. I don't have a basement. There is a downstairs apartment, but it is occupied by a guy who works on his motorcycle inside the apartment.

So the Gimp will have to live in the closet.

I do think there are some good uses for the Gimp.

Estelle Getty hits on me? Bring out the Gimp.

Elevator freak annoys me? Gimp.

Elephant woman shows up? Gim...um, never mind. I might keep that one for myself...

I think a nice pet Gimp would be a great addition to the Faour menagerie.

The Gimp could mind the store when I'm -- I mean The Gargoyle -- is out and about. The Gimp could accompany me to Vegas so I can fit in better.

Yep, I need a Gimp. If only so I can say, "bring out the Gimp." Then answer myself with, "Gimp's sleeping."

"Well, I guess you're gonna have to wake *him up then."

Applications will be accepted immediately.

(*-female Gimps will be perfectly acceptable)

Meet my "friend" Trevor....Brackets, brackets, brackets...

2009-03-19T09:02:00.003-05:00

OK, you were promised freaks.

So meet the new man in my life: Trevor.

Thanks to Will and Katie, my reputation is tarnished. Trevor is my new "special friend."

This is how rumors get started: Kids talking to their friends about "Trevor" and not being specific. Some of their friends think Trevor is a dog. Some think he is daddy's new live-in friend.

Some think he is the weird freaky uncle.

Well, he is weird. Temperamental. Demanding.

Trevor is a GPS system.

For some reason, the kids chose to name his Trevor, perhaps because of his vaguely English voice.

They talk back to him. They make fun of his pronunciations. They get excited when he gives directions on how to get home. But they keep Trevor's true identity a secret.

So now some parents think I have a "friend." Of course, the kiddos -- being my offspring -- aren't discouraging this at all, because they think it's funny.

Trevor, meanwhile, is getting moody. He doesn't always give the route immediately. He sometimes wants to send me off in the wrong direction and gets nasty when I disagree with him. (Should I be surprised? He was a gift from Val...)

Being a man, of course I rarely ask him for directions anyway, which is starting to cause some trouble in paradise.

Fortunately, Trevor's voice can be adjusted. A sex change may be in order.

Maybe that will save the relationship.

---------------------------------------------------

I am encouraged that our country is rallying enough that the president can spend a chunk of his day filling out an NCAA bracket for ESPN. I take this as an positive sign that he has this president thing down and has time to enjoy basketball with the rest of us.

So if Obama can do it, so can Trevor. He picks Memphis over North Carolina in the title game.

And he bought me a nice smoking jacket...

Not so fast...

2009-03-17T11:23:00.003-05:00

Just a quick update: The debut of the new show is being delayed. Until it gets sorted out, we'll still be on Sunday mornings and Monday nights. Stay tuned.

I promise a freak update by the end of the week.

In the meantime, check out this hilarious video with the comedian CK on the Conan show. Everyone under 35 years old MUST watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus

Bad news, good news... a new evil plot...watch that zipper...

2009-03-12T08:59:00.005-05:00

First some bad news for those who listen to our radio shows: The Front Page and The Main Event are dead.

(OK, maybe it's not bad news. If you hate the shows, it's great news for you).

Now, the good news (or bad news for the haters):

We're starting a new show on Monday that will run five days a week and kick off our new lineup of local programming. We'll be on 1-3 p.m. Central Monday through Friday. It will be a very similar show to The Front Page -- lots of humor and fun and some goofy stuff, plus some great sports guests and takes. The first show will be this Monday. If you get a chance, listen on the stream at www.975theticket.com. (You can also check us out on the new studio Web cam. Yes, I am looking good these days. Or not).

Anyway, it's good news. We have only been doing this about a year, and to move into a slot like this (and replace a national ESPN show) is a big deal. Those of you who have kept firing me jokes and funny ideas in the last year...please keep it up.

A lot of people are responsible, most notably Matt The Superstar, of course, who has carried me much of the last year.

Also, The King, Jerome Solomon, the most talented dude I know. I was an eyelash from getting a real job when he kept me in the business.

Mostly, I want to say thanks to all of you who read this blog. Also, all the funny Facebook stuff you guys do makes great material. So thanks a million.

I will be starting a new Facebook group for the show once we decide what to name it.

Of course, if we suck and the ratings plummet, I'll be flipping burgers in six months.

You want fries with that?
--------------------------------------------------------
Also, congrats are in order for Miss Hu.

And our shameless non-Brandy blog plug of the week. Check this one out.

OK, here's a new evil plot for all of us:

I'm not very political. Never have been. Couldn't tell you if I'm conservative, liberal, or both. Depends on the day and the subject.

But I have decided to get political. Sort of.

Here's my plan:

Let's pick a politician on Facebook each week. Not a big timer like Obama, mind you, but say a state rep from Idaho.

We can start with a conservative, join their friends list and change our political status to "Republican." Then, let's update our Facebook status with completely bizarre, Liberal-leaning status updates every few hours.

"Fred is thinking the economic stimulus package is a great idea."

"Brandy is thinking we need more defense cuts and need to add social programs."

"Danny believes there is nothing wrong with hitting it with an intern every now and then, especially if she has a cigar."

Then the following week, we go conservative on a liberal:

"Fred says stop taxing and let these poor people fend for themselves."

"Dana wishes McCain had won."

"Val is Canadian and doesn't give a rat's ass about your politics. Ours sucks enough as it is."

The beauty of this is we will find out if the politicians actually read their Facebook pages, or if it is just some cigar-toting intern running the show.

Disclaimer: If you really are political, you are banned from participating. We can't start taking stuff seriously around here.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

A quick follow up on the gym: I haven't seen Estelle in a couple days. I really hope she didn't die. I might have been her last chance at...urrrgghh!Never mind. I am making myself ill.

Meanwhile, I forgot one key element to working out every day:

Never forget to bring a second pair of underwear to change into after the workout.

Otherwise, you either go commando during the workout (trust me, BAD idea) or when you leave.

If you do the latter, and you are a male, well...don't get dressed and talk on the phone at the same time. The zipper is not your friend. In fact, I was an eyelash away from a Something About Mary moment.

Fortunately, we don't have a bleeder. But it was close.

(Yeah, yeah, I know. No big loss. Keep it to yourself, people).

I have lost my sex appeal. Unless you are Estelle Getty...

2009-03-06T10:03:00.007-06:00

Warning: The contents of this post are rated PG-13. And they are disgusting. Read at your own risk. (Like that will chase you away).

Yes. It's over. I have nothing left to live for. I am no longer appealing.

B.B. King ignored me in the gym today. Estelle Getty didn't, but that's another story.

First, some background.

I have a history in the gym of men hitting on me. I have no idea why; I don't roll that way. I don't put off signs. In fact, I put on my headphones, pull a hat over my eyes and ignore everyone as much as possible. I don't bother anyone and hope no one bothers me.

It doesn't help.

Up until about a year ago, I was a workout fiend. I was in the gym six days a week and was in terrific shape. Then I got in radio, got fat and got out of my routine.

But we've made some progress in the weight department and have started going back to the gym every day. Admittedly, I'm not quite as attractive as I was, but hey, that's why I'm back in the gym.

Even so, getting spurned by B.B. hurt.

B.B. is a rather large individual who used to occasionally show up in the gym. Well, the locker room. I'm not sure I've ever actually seen him in the gym itself.

He goes about 5-foot-1, and -- generously -- about 420. He wears skin-tight white leotard-type pants that show well more than anyone would want to see. They are like bike pants, but would have been better served as underwear.

Either way, they were disgusting.

(A special thanks to whoever invented the material. If those things ever split, it would be a natural disaster).

And he looks just like blues legend B.B. King.

A couple years ago, I was getting ready to shower when B.B. approached me and asked me a very strange question.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful (Richard)?"

Needless to say, I was taken aback.

I think I mumbled something about, "yes, I get that all the time" in a weak attempt to be funny and quickly retreated.

The former colleagues will probably remember that as the day I smelled like stale sweat, because the shower wasn't happening after that.

I did my best to avoid B.B., and rarely saw him after our brief conversation. Other than the occasional disturbing smile, he did not bother me again. (Well, he did wear those ridiculous shorts).

So it had been a year -- at least -- since I had last seen B.B. waddle into the gym seeking Richards to compliment. He was there yesterday, probably a few pounds heavier, still wearing the same disgusting shorts.

And he ignored me. Nothing. Not even a wry, disgusting smile. And he certainly was no longer impressed with...well, never mind.

So partly relieved and strangely disappointed, I went on my way and began my workout, hat over my eyes, Offspring ("dance, ----er, dance!") blasting in my ears, knowing I was no longer attractive to large, B.B. King/toadlike males.

But apparently, I am still quite fetching to the elderly set. Because as I was there, I saw a... well, mature woman who looked just like the late Estelle Getty trying to take a weight off a machine so she could do the workout with no weights on it. She was struggling, so I stopped what I was doing and took the weight off for her.

She didn't look a day over 90. She moved at a speed of about one mile per century. But it was nice to see her trying to stay healthy in her old age. She thanked me for helping, proceeded to do her one rep, and I went on my way, trying to erase the smell of Ben Gay and stale Depends from my nostrils.

Let no good deed go unpunished.

A couple minutes later, she approached me, interrupting my workout. She asked my name, started making small talk. I was trying to figure out what the heck this was about, and then it hit me:

Estelle Getty is trying to pick me up.

In horror, I politely ended the conversation, saying I only had a few minutes left to finish before I had to go. But she croaked something about "hoping to see me around again soon."

I'm not sure what was worse; being dumped by B.B. or pursued by Estelle.

I am no longer sexy to old, overweight men. But I am George Clooney when it comes to 90-year-olds.

Either way, the thrill is gone.

I think I will try a new gym today.

Just for Vik...what a croc?

2009-03-05T11:32:00.002-06:00

Since Vik the dazzling Brit wants Crocs...well, here we go:

This is an American croc. Which apparently means it is uglier than other crocs from around the world, seems hell-bent on world domination, watches REAL football on TV and probably drinks Miller Lite or Bud Light.

Oh, and he has probably been running some Ponzi schemes on the other crocs, where he somehow got to eat all the human beings with a promise that if other crocs brought him bodies, they would eventally get 20 bodies back.

That's about all the croc humor I have, except for one joke I heard a long time ago, that also happens to be a blonde joke...

A man walks into a bar with his pet crocodile.

The bartender screams and demands the man get the creature out of there immediately.
The man tries to calm the bartender down and says his croc is VERY well trained and there is nothing to worry about.

To prove it, he pulls out his, um, member and puts it in the crocodile's mouth. Then he hits the crocodile over the head several times.

After a few good smacks, he pulls it out and shows the bartender. "See? No marks. He's harmless."

The man then asks everyone at the bar: "So, would anyone else like to try?"

The blonde in the corner quickly stands up and says...

"I will...but don't smack me on the head!"

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On a more serious note, please click on the Examiner commentary for me. I get paid per click. Help a brother out.

Have a great day. And don't fall for any crocodile-inspired Ponzi schemes....

We promised laughs...

2009-03-03T08:49:00.005-06:00

OK, as promised no more mention of newspapers or serious stuff. We're going back to more traditional F World fare.
That means begging (please click on our Examiner commentary and tell your friends), gratuitous Brandy links, a reference to killing the blog once and for all and something about spider monkeys.
While we are in lockdown trying to reinvent fiction, we've decided to share some of our favorite funny videos from recent weeks. It's a common blog tactic when you don't have anything funny. Drop in some videos that make people laugh. That way, you are entertained, I don't have to come up with another freak, and we still get a blog posting.
Plus, i get to show off my sick embedding skills. (Well, except for this first one, which seems to bleed over.

Speaking of bleeding, don't miss the last one.

First off, there's nothing quite like a mascot blowing out his knee goofing off on the basket. The Buck is out for the season:

And if you are going to participate in a dunk contest, don't kill your girlfriend:

I promised monkeys. Here is what happens when a girl gets on a monkey's bad side...

Finally, you think there is a rivalry between the U.S. and Canada in hockey? Check out this fight -- in a paralympic game! (Somehow I think Val or Danny is responsible for this one)

OK, this will probably be the last blog. Until the next one.

Czaban is a genius...a way to save newspapers...check out this hottie

2009-03-02T08:54:00.010-06:00

I hate being serious on this blog. It's not really the point of it, especially on a Monday, when we all need a laugh. So I promise a funny take at the end. If you just drop by to laugh every now and then, you can skip this. If you have ever worked for a newspaper or read one..feel free to humor me. I promise, it will be the last thing I ever write about newspapers on this blog.
Every now and then I have that pang of sadness about my former life. I have no regrets about leaving the business, but I hate sitting on the sidelines watching as people say the newspaper business is dying.
The sad truth? It's already dead.
The Rocky Mountain News is gone. The San Francisco Chronicle and Seattle PI are likely next. These are not fly-by-night operations. These are papers that have been part of the fabric of this country for decades. They have rich, even majestic histories.
Like many newspapers, they have been doomed by a changing news dynamic, a shaky economy, and -- more critically -- bad management and foolish decisions.
Unless someone wakes up, we will be lucky to have more than 10 major newspapers left by the year 2020.
However, to paraphrase Miracle Max...newspapers are only mostly dead, not all dead. And we all know that means barely alive. And barely alive can be saved. (OK, had to get a movie reference in, even when I am being serious).
I heard the uniquely brilliant Steve Czaban throw out a concept on his show this morning, and it made perfect sense to me.
Side note: If you like our shows at all, you would love Czaban. He is smart, funny, caustic. He has one of the most entertaining shows on the planet. Unfortunately, I only get to listen to the first hour each morning on my way to work as I make your local sports updates safe for America. He is terrific. I would settle for being 1/10th as talented. Here is his Web site.
Anyway, I don't know if he was serious or not, but here's his idea:

Newspapers should kill their Web sites.

Something about it struck me as perfectly viable. While I am sure this has been discussed by others before, it's the first time I have heard it. Maybe it's a huge topic these days and I am just so out of touch with newspapers now that it seemed unique.
Unique or not, the more I considered it, the more plausible the concept became.
Since the mid-1990s, newspapers have struggled with how to deal with the Internet. At first, Web sites were marketing tools. Now they are the newspaper.
Remember what management used to tell us? "We have to do it. We have to increase our presence on the Web."
So we all proceeded to make the core product obsolete. Give away what we tried to charge for elsewhere.
We did it so well, that there was no reason to buy a newspaper for news anymore.
Readers get everything they could possibly want from the Web site long before the paper hits the ground.
Newspaper Web sites aren't profitable. If they were, people would not be getting laid off.
They are also a paradox -- the better the Web site, the more obsolete the print product becomes. And the better the Web site, the more it is pirated -- and profiteered -- by other, more effective sites.
Newspaper Web sites can't compete with Yahoo, MSNBC, ESPN. Those sites essentially aggregate the best news. So if you do great work, they pick it up. But if the important news is going to show up on Yahoo, why would I read it on the newspaper's Web site?
I get almost everything I need these days from ESPN.com and Yahoo. By the time I pick up a paper -- if I even do anymore -- there is absolutely nothing unique that I haven't read elsewhere or seen on the paper's Web site.
Killing the Web sites would make newspapers relevant again. If that's the only place I can get John McClain, Jerome Solomon, Richard Justice...of course I would buy it.
"Yes, but people will read other Web sites instead of us."
Really? Then you are doing a bad job. People want their newspapers. They want a free, independent press. Joe the blogger down the street can't do what you do.
An educated society knows that.
It's time to stop trying to be Joe the Blogger and be real journalists again. Joe the Blogger isn't an independent press. Real journalists are losing their identity by trying to be everything but journalists.
Because that is what they are being told to do by managers who don't know any better.
I've said this before: running a newspaper is like owning a sports team. It's a public trust. People are passionate about it. They want to love their teams. They want to love their newspaper, too.
People will pay to see Lance Berkman. They will also pay to read Richard Justice.
Think about it: what are the most successful remaining newspapers? Community papers with little or no Web presence.
Newspapers should get back to being what they were. When the ESPNs and Yahoos can't get their information from newspapers until a day later -- and have to retype it instead of link it -- people will have to go back to the print product. Will there be as many readers as we used to have? Of course not. The world has changed.
But an awful lot of people would come back.
Circulation can be turned around. The business can be turned around.
As for the Web sites? Kill them. At worst, go back to what they started as -- a marketing tool that touts what is in the paper but doesn't give ANYTHING away.
Find out if you really have more readers than ever before. Make them leave the Web to come to you.
The biggest hurdle -- as always -- would be ownership and management. It would take someone with vision and guts to make a decision like that. Space would have to be increased in the newspaper to get the quality of information back in print. That costs money. You would have to hire real talent again that people would want to read. That costs money. You would also have to actually cover events again. That costs money.
Yes, you would lose some Web advertisers, but in truth, much of that is piggyback business.
In this economic environment, it would take unbelievable courage to try something like that.
And no, there are no guarantees.
Will it work? Who knows? What is being done now damned sure doesn't.

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So I lied about being funny. What the hell did you expect? It's Monday. I've been blogging about gargoyles, spider monkeys, evil clowns, wheelchair prostitutes, elephant women, oompa loompas, foreign freaks and sexy mannequins with no arms for weeks. I can't be serious for one day? I can't have one blog entry that's about an important topic?

Just blame Val. We haven't done that in a while.

OK, so I made up the mannequin thing. For the record, though, if they have a goth look and no arms, I am all over them. Why not? I've gone out with more shallow women.

The plastic burns can be a bit much though.

Oh, come on. You think she's sexy. And I will never tell what happened to the legs...

The Gargoyle lives...

2009-02-27T20:59:00.003-06:00

And there is reason to fear. Check him out here.

We have found out what is wrong with the economy. Now, we will fix it.

2009-02-26T09:43:00.006-06:00

My brother Patrick has discovered a secret.***

(***-Said secret requires some knowledge of Batman Begins. If you have never seen the movie....well, you suck. And you will get NONE of the references).

It is one of those deep, dark, hidden things that might get him killed just for discovering it.

However, I am stealing his discovery and taking full credit for it. Only because I am hoping to save his life, of course. They will come after me, not him. I would hate to have his death on my hands. (Especially since his wife, Lori the Oompa Loompa, would bite my ankles off in anger).

Regardless, this is the biggest discovery since finding out we are really in The Matrix.

Remember, they killed Keanu for revealing the Matrix. (Well, they killed his career).

So I can only imagine what will happen to me for reporting the discovery of The Truth.

It is the most relevant discovery since online poker.

Here it is: Our current economic problems can be traced to one organization.

(No, not Citigroup).

It is frightening to dare mention the name, but I must:

The League of Shadows.

Yes, the very same. The group that burned London to the ground. Sacked Rome. The group that tried to overthrow Gotham twice -- the second time was through a disturbingly effective fear toxin.

The first? Economic sabotage.

Yes, I know Raz Al Gul will come for me now. (Or, as he went by in the comic books, The Demon. Coincidentally enough, that was the nickname I gave the first ex).

Think about it -- carefully planted CEOs forcing key companies into bankruptcy over a 20-year period, destroying the economy of the world and bringing us all into chaos.

Their sick, twisted version of justice will be served. (Hey, maybe Ken Lay was Raz Al Gul and it was all a cheap parlor trick...).

Sadly, it's working. What shall we do? We have no Batman.

There is no one person to turn to (no, not even Obama).

It's times like this we really need the Gargoyle.****

****please read prior post on the Gargoyle. (25 things...)

Granted, The Gargoyle is a little upset. The League never tried to recruit him. Yes, maybe he is a little old and pudgy for ninja training, but please. No one inspires fear like The Gargoyle.

So watch out, ninja freaks. Watch out Raz. While Fred fears you, the Gargoyle will be waiting. We will burn your house to the ground and leave you for dead.

(Memo to Raz: Could you give us a couple more months to drop some more weight first? Ten more pounds and I can get into one of those cool kevlar suits. Well, the Gargoyle, not me. Because that would be impossible, us being the same person. I know we are never in the same room, and whenever the Gargoyle's mask is removed in public, he looks like me, but that means nothing.)

Where were we? Oh yes, you, Raz. (Incidentally, Liam Neeson did an awesome job portraying you. It was almost as terrific as his Briar Gates in this classic).

I have a simple question for you.

Why do we fall, Raz?

So we can step on your throat.

You ain't seen bad yet. But it's coming*****.

*****You will only find this amusing if you are one of the seven people in America who actually saw Next of Kin. Sorry to mix movie references on you.

Fear the Gargoyle.

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No, I didn't give up being funny for Lent. I gave up religion.

And yes, the blog's fate has been decided. Sort of. My name is Inigo Montoya -- you killed my blog. Prepare to die.******

******-Princess Bride. Keep up, people.

Check out Brandy's guest bloggers. They are doing a nice job.

And I think I have mentioned this blog before, but it is fast becoming one of my new faves. Lots of great description and compelling narrative about everyday life. It takes talent to do that.

Not all of us have that kind of talent. Those of us without skill do, however, have Gargoyle costumes. (Allegedly).

So fear us. But thank us when the economy turns back around. We will have conquered the League of Shadows and buried Raz once and for all.

Because we have finally learned to do what is necessary.

I killed Lance Armstrong. Almost...

2009-02-24T09:39:00.007-06:00

OK, just because I am blogging every day, don't be fooled. I am still leaning toward killing the blog. It's just that the freaks keep coming out. (This is taking on a Dread Pirate Roberts, "I will most likely kill you tomorrow" vibe, isn't it?)

While we are waiting for that day, please click on the ads, and check out my examiner commentary. Click as often as possible. It needs love.
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I killed Lance Armstrong today. Well, I almost killed him. And it wasn't exactly Lance.

Memo to ride-a-bike-like-you-are-Lance guy: You are lucky to be alive today.

First, let me say I have nothing against cyclists. It's good exercise, it's a nice way to get outside... good for you.

But Lance Wanna Be (LWB), if you are going to be out racing with traffic at 5:15 in the morning, there are a few things you should know:

1) It is pitch black at 5:15 in Houston. There is no sunlight, and very little in the way of street lights. The moon will not protect you, genius. Especially when it is behind the clouds.

2) Lance doesn't race down South Braeswood when he trains. If he did, he would be smart enough to wear something reflective. Or he might use the perfectly nicely paved bike trail we have along the bayou.

3) This is Bray's Bayou, not the Champs Elysees.

4) Lance usually wears a bright yellow jersey. That might actually reflect a little on a dark, unlit road.

Yes, LWB, while you are going full tilt, fantasizing about leading the peloton, some of us are going to work. We're not awake. We are in a hurry. We aren't going to see you weaving through the cars.

This particular genius survived his first brush with death because the car in front of me slammed on its brakes at the last second. Our friend LWB was zipping along at a bustling 27 miles per hour in the left hand lane in front of someone in medical scrubs driving a Ford Ranger.

The driver saw our friend at the very last second. Had the Ranger been going any faster, LWB would be a News brief this morning.

Instead, he quickly dipped away from the Ranger into the right-hand lane, right in front of Uncle Freddy.

Keep in mind this is a very dark road. No lights. Nothing. And he is dressed in his tight little biker shorts, a skin tight Discovery Channel racing jersey...with no type of reflectors or anything. No lights. Nothing.

He did, however, have on an aerodynamic helmet. I assume he wore this so when I crashed into him and sent him flying, he would go an extra 20 feet or so before hitting the pavement.

He only lives today because I resisted the urge to do society a favor by not stopping. But I did not want a dead, 103-pound person with minus-15 percent body fat getting tied up under my wheels. It might take weeks to get him out of there.

So I slammed on the brakes. The car behind me had to do the same, almost hitting me and driving me into LWB anyway, making my moral dilemma moot. (The fact that I could even REACT at 5:15 in the morning is worthy of some sort of award).

After almost causing three cars to crash, LWB turned and -- I think -- shot us the finger. It was too dark to tell. He then raced off.

Well, I couldn't let this go.

As fast as he thought he was, the Accord caught up with him pretty quickly.

I pulled up alongside (I could still barely see him), rolled down my window, and offered a helpful, "Hey, you Lance-wanna-be-idiot f---er, wear something we can see."

He ignored me, furiously pedaling, chasing an invisible breakway in the Alps.

At sea level.

In a bad neighborhood.

At 5:15 in the morning.

He was completely focused on zipping through the ever-dangerous Fondren Southwest in his own private Tour de the 'hood.

I gave up, sped up, got past him and went about my way. (I noticed another car had to slam on the brakes behind us, too).

And I was left -- as always -- to reflect (oh, did I really type in that pun? ugh) on my freak experiences.

In retrospect, I think LWB is the smartest dumb person alive.

I mean, if you are going to ride a five-pound bike in traffic surrounded by cars made of metal stuff that will smash your tiny, bony body into all bran cereal, why not do it at 5:15 in the morning?

After all, people are unlikely to be on the cell phone at that time of morning -- like the woman who almost ran over me in the parking lot yesterday. (Although she was hot and she smiled at me afterward, so I forgave her).

They are unlikely to be texting while driving -- like the kid who was doing that in heavy traffic on the freeway and almost ran me off the road last week. (We were heading toward Galveston on Mardi Gras Saturday. There was more traffic than Talladega, all going 80 miles an hour. Kid is lucky he didn't start The Big One and bring out a caution).

I mean, who calls people at 5:15? Who texts at that time of morning?

So maybe LWB has it right. All he has to do is dodge a bunch of tired people who are going to ridiculous jobs that require you to be out and about at that time of morning.

Of course, this being me, I have to put odds on what happens to you, Mr. LWB:

Odds you are killed by a half-awake driver: Even

Odds you are killed by a gang-banger in Fondren Southwest who will sell your $1800 bike for $80 to buy drugs: 6-5.

Odds that you get blown to bits by a road-raged driver with a deer rifle: 7-5.

Odds that you win the Tour de the 'hood: 2-1.

Odds that you win the Tour de France: 5-1.

Odds that you are really Lance Armstrong: 100-1.

Odds that you think you are Lance Armstrong: Never mind. We know the answer to that one.

Good luck with your future, LWB. I'm betting it doesn't last long.

I'll look for you in News briefs.

And here we go...Marry me, Mr. Chimp

2009-02-23T08:45:00.009-06:00

OK, still no decision on the future of this blog (see prior post). Maybe by Friday.

In the interim, some quick takes from the weekend:

1) Thank God they gave the best supporting actor to Heath Ledger. He was so transcendently brilliant in the Dark Knight that if those stuffed-shirt Academy freak shows had denied him...well, I would have dressed up like the joker, stalked them all, killed them in their sleep in a deviant way, and sent them on to the next world, where hopefully Heath would be waiting there to do it to them again. (Yes, I admit I am strangely drawn to Heath's portrayal of The Joker).

OK, maybe I would have dressed as the Gargoyle and done it.

I am still a little angry that The Dark Knight got screwed in general. After all, we wouldn't want popular movies that are dark and Freddy-like being rewarded. We should always reward weird movies with subtitles and fuzzy filming.

When your star has to die to get an Oscar...that seems to be a bit much.

Maybe I should whack them all anyway -- but dre ssed as a chimp.

(If you missed that story...have you been traveling in Anarctica? Hiding in a cave? Watching too much sports? Living on Facebook? Doing radio shows?)

Hey, why not a chimp for a husband? After all, that's where it was going. Are they really any different than men? They eat. They drink alcohol. They take Xanax. They burp, they sleep.

Then they maul your friends.

At least men just try to sleep with your friends.

OK, so give men a slight edge in that battle. But here's what we REALLY want to see:
*-Chimp vs. Pit Bull. I'm taking the chimp and the points.

Maybe that pet spider monkey I want to get isn't such a good idea after all...

(*I am joking. I have not gone all Michael Vick on you. No animals were harmed in the writing of this blog. Animals are our friends and should not be harmed. Then again, they also shouldn't be fed wine, given Xanax or dressed up like little boys. Especially when they are big enough to kill you).

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And please click on the ads. (I can't wait to see what "chimp" and "spider monkey" bring! Especially since my recent posts brought an "elevator accident expert!." I wonder if he or she can protect me from freaks in the elevator...)

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Life, the universe and everything...No way out for A-Rod?...Bathroom humor

2009-02-20T09:27:00.007-06:00

OK, we're going to get back to having fun with the blog. But first, I had an epiphany about blogs the past week, and it means I will be blogging like a fiend for the next month or killing Freddy's World once and for all. We'll see.

First, bear with me. I promise there will be some funny A-Rod stuff in a minute. But first, my epiphany:

My favorite thing in the world is writing fiction. More than poker, football, horse racing, spider monkeys, evil clowns and bathing in green jello.

I've gotten away from it recently for a lot of reasons, but that's about to change. So F World will either benefit or suffer.

I recently picked up a copy of The Salmon of Doubt, a collection of some of the final writings of the most brilliant writer ever, Douglas Adams.

Adams wrote the single greatest collection of books ever conceived: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series. (One of my proudest moments as a father happened recently when Will started reading the series. He loves it. Smart kid).

Adams was uniquely brilliant. I had the great fortune to meet him once at a book signing. He was tired, clearly not enjoying it, but he was affable. (He was also one of the few people I have met outside the sports world who towered over me).

I am never impressed by famous people; I've been around them from the time I was a spud.

But I was too nervous to speak to Adams. I mumbled something about being inspired by his writing and wishing I was 1/1-millionth as talented and brilliant as he was.

He asked how important writing was to me.

I thought of the only clever thing that came to mind. I answered with a number.

"42."

He laughed, signed my book "to someone who has found the answer to life, the universe and everything, Douglas Adams."

(Read the books and that will make perfect sense. You'll also appreciate that all my goodbyes contain the phrase, "So long, and thanks for all the fish.")

The book was stolen from my car several years ago, which sucks, because Adams passed away far too young in 2001 at the age of 49. Whoever stole it took a bunch of CDs, and it just happened to be sitting on top. The book couldn't have meant anything to them and it probably ended up in a dumpster somewhere. Adams would have probably found that amusing.

I have had a great life and would only change one thing -- I wish I had gotten the opportunity to know Douglas Adams.

Adams was brilliant for a simple reason; he took sentences in directions no one would ever dare try. He wrote prose like he was writing a song. His mind was so brilliant and out there, he could try almost anything and it would work. He was an amazing combination of Asimov, Monty Python and Aristotle.

He would write a sentence like, "it hung in the air in exactly the way that bricks don't."

The great ones do that, like the truly great bands. The Beatles took the interior of their music in directions no one could; it was the key to their charm. Guns and Roses did the same thing. It wasn't the hook or the melody, it was the layers underneath that made the music unique.

They see on a different level; they write for the ethereal plane as well as the real world.

That kind of brilliance stands out. Some people appreciate the brilliance without understanding where it comes from. Some people understand it, but can't duplicate it.

Hence my epiphany. The Salmon of Doubt is a collection of essays, short thoughts, things Adams left behind that his editors found.

I hang on every word. Even letters about his childhood are brilliant.

They are blog entries before blog entries. I think how wonderful it would have been if Adams was alive and blogging. The humor, the insights...I can't imagine how incredible it would have been.

I can't do that. People will never hang on my words like that. So is this blog worthless? Is it a waste of time? Should I kill it?

Or should it be a place to keep mentioning the freaks? Keep honing my chops? Pull your entertaining comments into fiction? Use it to improve my writing?

I don't know. I will never play basketball like Michael Jordan, but I can still play and enjoy it.

I'll never write like Douglas Adams, either. No one ever will. I'll always enjoy it. But will anyone else?

So it's either Life, the Universe and Everything or So Long and Thanks for all the Fish for F World.

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While we're considering cosmic questions about the blog, please take a second to click on the ads. And please check out my examiner commentary before they decide I am not getting enough hits and decide to reassign me to Madonna Examiner.

Speaking of Madonna, her new wife, Alex Rodriguez, has become the biggest liar in baseball.

Madonna once starred in A League of Their Own, with the famous line, "there's no crying in baseball."

Good thing no one ever said "There's no lying in baseball."

A-Rod the Roid Freak has become the biggest liar on the planet. Every day, we find out something new.

My favorite is his mysterious cousin, "Yuri."

A-Rod has hired all sorts of PR freaks, consultants and lawyers to tell him what to say. One of them had obviously spent too much time watching No Way Out.

Kevin Costner turns out to be a Russian spy at the end. (Sorry if I spoiled it. It's 21 years old, if you haven't seen it by now, tough).

They created the mysterious Russian "Yuri."

Why not Kaiser Soze?

Million dollar consultants, and that's what you get? Bad Kevin Costner movie references?

Imagine how that meeting went.

Consultant 1: "Let's create a Yuri."

Consultant 2: "Yeah, but the fake cousin is supposed to be Dominican, not Russian."

Consultant 1: "What does it matter? We are making him up."

Consultant 2: "How will he look?"

Consultant 1: "Like this."

Consultant 2: "We can't use that."

Consultant 1: "Why not?"

Consultant 2: "That's A-Rod at spring training."

(OK, that was a long way to go for a weak joke. It's Friday. What did you expect?).

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We have the worst bathrooms in history at the station. They are cleaned about once a week, the toilets don't flush...it smells like the floor of a shrimp boat on a good day.

On a bad day, it smells like hairspray.

We have a sales person who apparently lives in his car. He's a kid, early 20s, short, weighs about 80 pounds.

Apparently he bathes in the sink, and spends a good 30 minutes each day grooming himself, complete with hairspray.

I'm not sure what brand, but whenever I walked into the fog cloud each morning, I long for the days of stale urine and unflushed floaters.

I finally said something today.

"Dude, what's with the cloud?"

"Yeah, it smells in here."

"I meant the spray."

"Yeah, that really helps, doesn't it?"

He then excused himself to bathe in an equally pungent cologne.

Next time, I'm flushing him.

A farewell to a friend

2009-02-16T06:23:00.014-06:00

I don't do death well. Never have. I hate funerals, hate the somber eulogies that rarely capture what a person was really about.
They say funerals are supposed to be for the living. If so, why are they always so full of B.S.?
My dad, rest his soul, had it right. At funerals, he would make us laugh. He would remind us of the funny things and quirks about the person who died. A lot of people thought we were sickos when we were sitting in a corner laughing like idiots (they were probably right).
But we celebrated life.
I bring it up, because I had a lot of conversations with Terry Haye s, my former secretary and dear friend, about that very subject. The last really serious conversation we had a few months ago was about exactly that, among other things. She hoped people would celebrate her, not mourn her passing.
She finally left us yesterday after a long battle with cancer, an ugly, crippling disease that has no conscience and no concern for who it touches or why.
I thought a million times about what this blog would say when I got the news. I wanted something that would be poignant, funny and capture what Terry was really about. I knew no matter what I wrote, it would fail miserably.
I apologize in advance for that.
I had no idea how to start until this morning, when I read the obit in the Chronicle by David Barron, a terrific writer.
And I started laughing out loud.
There was a quote that said, "Terry's loss will be felt not only by those of us who had the pleasure to work with her, but by the many who knew her only as the caring voice on the other end of the line."
Terry was the best secretary ever. She was organized. She was tough. She would call B.S. on you in a heartbeat.
But her phone conflicts were legendary.
It made me think of the two or three times a day I would have to talk down an angry caller who had gotten into it with Terry.
We would get some weirdos calling in -- a lot of drunks (yes, even at 8 a.m.) and sexists who resented a woman answering the phone in a sports department. Needless to say, that never went over very well with Terry.
Some mornings when I got in, I would already have a list of people to call who wanted to talk to Terry's supervisor.
(She was almost always the one in the right).
I can't tell you how many times I had to try to talk the rednecks off the ledge. Almost every call would start with, "that &@!@$!&$ woman answering the phone..."
A couple times, Terry joked about going to the, "I'm sorry if I'm cranky; I had chemotherapy for my terminal cancer this morning" card to disarm them. When she finally did, I laughed my ass off. It got better when the redneck on the other end said, "that doesn't mean a woman should be answering sports questions."
It's one of a thousand hilarious memories I will have of her.
Even when Terry was mad, she made me laugh. When she was sick, she would make me laugh. When she was upset, I would try to make her laugh.
It's that Terry I tried so hard to hold on to; the Terry who was brave enough to share her story with the world in her blog. The Terry who approached everything with no B.S. and a beautiful sense of humor.
I hate cancer for what it did to that Terry.

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Terry was incredibly organized in the office. She planned everything.
So it was no surprise that when she got sick, she planned to go to London and Paris and travel the world.
And oh, how she would agonize over her blog entries. They had to be perfect.
I would frustrate her to no end when I wasn't organized. (Trust me, she would would hate that I am writing this totally on the fly).
She also surrounded herself with wonderful people, especially her sister, Bev, who is one of the strongest and most incredible people I've ever met.
I can't tell you how much I admire Bev and the others who took care of her. Those people are true heroes and real inspirations. Terry was fortunate to have people like that in her life at the end.
For her sake, I am relieved that she is no longer in pain. That faith or no, a better place awaits. In the end, her life had true meaning, and that deserves to be rewarded in the next world.
What more can a person ask for out of their life? More than any of us, Terry had a purpose. Her blog touched thousands of people, gave them hope. Gave all of us hope.
I have to believe there was a reason for that.
A few months ago, I was in the hospital. When I was admitted, the nurse said, "oh, you used to be the Cancer Diva's boss! I love her! She is terrific!"
I couldn't help but smile, even though I was sick as a dog. I wonder if Terry ever realized just how popular she became.
For a lot of people who truly needed it, she was an inspiration.
She made it personal. She made it OK to be sick and talk about it.
I was proud to be the Cancer Diva's boss.

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But we'll leave others to talk about Terry the Cancer Diva and how they will remember her.
That's not the Terry I wanted to share.
The last real time we spent together, I got her drunk. It made her sick for a couple days, but it was worth it (at least to me). We just kidded around, downed way too many margaritas and talked about everything from life to death and how to deal with both of them.
As always, we laughed.
Of course, she called B.S. on me for a few things. (She was right, as always).
And that's what Terry will always be to me. Not the inspiring Cancer Diva; not the sick person who I couldn't bear to see at times.
She was the one person you could be completely honest with.
Because she, too, could be brutally honest with you.
Before she became the Diva, Terry transformed herself through weight loss. She went from a beautiful person with no self confidence to a beautiful, thinner person who could take on the world.
She inspired me -- and encouraged me -- to try to do the same.
And she was an inspiration in a lot of other ways. She taught me to take chances.
To try to inspire others. To be a better leader. A better boss. A better person. To be honest.
To make people laugh.
Unfortunately, I haven't always lived up to her expectations.
That is what makes me sad. I always wanted to inspire her -- and others -- as much as she did me.
As much as anyone, I loved and respected Terry. She was more than a secretary to me; she was very much the little sister I never had. I loved her as a friend, a co-worker, a confidante, a person I trusted completely.
We rarely get friendships like that in life.
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So she asked me to do one thing when this day came: make you laugh. Tell funny stories. Celebrate her life.
Once again, I am letting her down. As much as I want to joke, I miss her. I miss her sense of humor, her sarcasm, her stuffed cats. I miss Secretary's Day. I miss the mornings where she would critique whatever hideous tie/shirt combination I had on. I miss her trying to get me to eat one of her damned vegetarian meat substitutes. I miss talking angry rednecks off the ledge about her phone etiquette. I miss the office parties and the Patron shots. I miss the Buffy the Vampire Slayer conversations. I miss talking 1980s rock music. I miss her blog entries. I miss our talks about Shawshank.
That movie will always be special to me. When she found out she had cancer, she lived by a simple line in it, and I once shared it on her blog:
"Get busy living or get busy dying."
More than anyone I've ever known, Terry got busy living.
Today -- on a day I am supposed to make you laugh -- all I can think of is another line from the movie, one that makes me see her smiling face pop in my head whenever I think of it.

"As for me?

"I just miss my friend."

And I always will.

Goodbye, Terry.

Elevators and Freddy just don't mix

2009-02-13T09:55:00.004-06:00

Sometimes, you have to take a different approach to things. Maybe my elevator problems have been my fault. After all, I just kind of go about my business, shuffle off in the corner and avoid people. Maybe that's why I attract so many freaks.

So this week I decided to try something different.

Be friendly. Affable. Smile. Carry on conversations with complete strangers in the elevator. Ask them how they are doing. Give the illusion that I care.

"How are ya on this fine morning, buddy?"

"How about this weather?"

"It sure is early, isn't it?"

As usual when I try something like this, it went horribly wrong.

Oh, it was OK for a couple days. An elderly woman thanked me for asking. A custodial engineer offered to clean out our studio. The guy bringing our Friday kolaches offered to specially cook me a few next week. (Sadly, I had to politely decline. *!#%*!#% diets. Twenty pounds down; 110 left to get rid of).

I was starting to think that maybe this was the way to go. I was making new friends, cheering people up, in general being just a friendly guy.

Until Thursday.

As usual, I get on the elevator and it is just me and an elderly fellow. He smelled vaguely of Ben Gay, stale cigarettes, cheap wine and diaper. Like a lot of people who work for the company in this building (an oil company), he was pretty rough around the edges.

He looked a lot like this:

(Yes, I know. Brooks was here. So was Fred. If you don't get that reference, go rent Shawshank.)

Buoyed by my recent success, I tried the "how are you today, sir?" approach.

He grunted, added to his diaper, and dropped a "none of your f----ing business" on me.

That was a first. Before I could respond, he started cackling, like he had just made a great joke.

"I always tell people that," he drawled. "Just a joke, fella."

Me: "That's funny. Really."

It: "I'm doing real good, since you asked."

Me: "Not judging from the smell, you're not."

Sigh. I haven't spoken to anyone on an elevator since. See where being friendly gets you? Thank God I have a cold or the smell would STILL be in my nostrils.

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Taking advantage of my newfound ability to imbed videos, check out Joaquin Phoenix's appearance on Letterman.

It had to be a set-up, but it was bizarre either way.

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Also, here's a link to my examiner commentary. Please help a brother out and click on it a few times. I promise the Derby winner is in that top five. Place your bets now. And my always gratuitous link to Brandy.

Watch out, world. Hunger and headaches make you dangerous

2009-02-09T09:53:00.006-06:00

OK, I've had a brain-tumor headache for four days. I'm about to spend the next five days being on the air for eight hours a day. (Yeah, I know, life is tough).
And I spent way too much time with my all-time steroids team. (Although in order to avoid legal entanglements, it is an all-time "performance enhancing" team).

For some reason, I have some things that I really find irritating today and feel the need to call out.

1) Katie Couric. I have now seen her 2007 interview with A-Rod 26 times today. If I hear that whiny, annoying voice one more time I will kill something.

See what I mean. I just beheaded an innocent passerby. Thanks, Katie.

And let's not get started on how badly she butchered the airline interview last night. Give it up and go back to meaningless fluff, hag.

2) Dick Vitale. Our friends around the world have no idea how annoying this little freak really is. Fifteen years ago, he was funny. Now he is a sad little man.

Next time I see Dickie, I might just punch him before he can say a word -- if that is physically possible.

3) The Cameron Crazies. If I hear one more time how they are a wonderful part of college basketball, I am going to throw up.

Today on This is your life...Wait, you don't have one!

Seriously, kids, have all the fun you want. Bounce around like maniacs. But if I see you standing behind Dickie V on ESPN one more time and start screaming when there is no team or game or anything else there...well, see the passerby above. Again.

4) Steroids and baseball talk. Enough, already. Who cares? They cheated, hit a bunch of homers, and their peckers won't work in 20 years. What does it matter? If they help my fantasy team, they can inject themselves with anything they want.

5) People who say Jessica Simpson is fat. Really? Who decided this? Some bitter, mousey magazine editor or wannabe blogger who got rejected by Tony Romo? If this is fat, folks, our society sucks more than Katie Couric's interview skills.

I'm not a big Jess fan, but are we kidding?

Hey, it's Monday. It's gray and gloomy in H Town. And I have a headache. And diets suck.

And dammit, no football for seven months. Aaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhhhhhhh!!!

Look at the bright side: you aren't on my list. Well, unless Katie Couric is secretly stalking me. In that case...sorry Katie, I was just kidding. Wanna have lunch?

Ugh. Clearly I am too old to blog and too young to die. I need a new hobby.

Wonder when Dicky's contract expires...

25 things about...well, someone

2009-02-04T09:26:00.004-06:00

Most of the F World gang is on Facebook. So almost all of us have been getting tagged with this "25 things about me" list that is making the rounds.

Mnay of my friends have very interesting ones; I have actually learned some cool stuff about people.

I have also read some funny ones (like this) on other blogs.

I have resisted doing this on Facebook, mainly because I don't think there are 25 things that people would find interesting about me. Since I am about 1/100th as interesting as Brandy, I would probably only be able to come up with 10 real things.

The other new development is I am getting lots of friend requests from old high school amigos and amigas who I haven't seen in years. I've also got some people who really don't know me that well on my friends list.

So in true Uncle Freddy fashion, my plan is to come up with 25 things about me (fictitious, of course) that are as bizarre as possible, send them to the people who barely know me, and gauge their reaction. Over/under on people who drop me as a friend?

I say 80 percent.

So, here they are:

25. I once shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die. But I shot him in the leg, and it took weeks for gangrene to set in. So I didn't actually get to see it. But I heard it was interesting.

24. I eat kittens. Preferably right out of the box, but microwaved is OK, too. Sauteed is nice.

23. I once worked as a professional, um, electrical device. (shameless link to Brandy's blog). Wait a minute...that one was true.

22. I once dated Madonna and Dennis Rodman. At the same time.

21. I like to reprogram traffic lights to cause accidents.

20. I spent two years living in Nepal as Ali Akbar Faour and leading a small group of freedom fighters.

19. I was once arrested for allegedly stalking Ben Stiller.

18. I was in an acting troupe for three years and played Sparkles the Evil Clown. Sometimes, I would go out at night dressed as Sparkles to get in the character. It required some perverse acts involving small animals. I didn't enjoy them. Much.

17. I once caused a therapist to go insane by telling my Sparkles stories.

16. I worked as a professional psychic for a while. I predicted I would someday do a blog.

15. I invented the Jack and Coke.

14. Ned Beattie requested I play the hillbilly in the remake of Deliverance. We acted out the part. He squealed like a pig. I got hired; he didn't.

13. I spend one weekend a year hunting human beings in Lower Mongolia.

12. I am considered a minor deity on Guam.

11. I have naked pictures of me, Penelope Ann Miller and an ostrich. If you look hard enough on the Internet, you will find them.

10. I have Lysdexia.

9. I don't believe in torture, unless I am successful at pulling it off.

8. I was once married to Lindsay Lohan's mother's second cousin on her uncle's side.

7. I like throwing battery acid on people's pets.

6. Sometimes, for grins, I go to strip clubs and pass out fake $1 and $20 bills in exchange for dances.

5. A total of 57 women have restraining orders against me. My goal is to get to 60 by the end of 2009.

4. I like to practice my sniper skills on marathon runners.

3. I am deathly afraid of sheep. Well, sheep that talk, just in case they ever invent one of those. If so...that will be another restraining order.

2. For two years, I was a dictator in a small South American country. Over 5,000 people "disappeared" under my "re-education program."

1. I am secretly the Gargoyle, a local super-criminal who has committed thousands of crimes dressed in a sick cool Gargoyle suit. The local police are baffled, the FBI has no clue...and I have stolen millions in a kevlar Gargoyle suit. Please don't tell anyone.

Hmmmm...maybe that will cull out 100 percent of those facebook friends....

Why Texas is special; A bong day's journey into night....

2009-02-03T08:14:00.003-06:00

While most of America was partying during the Super Bowl, Uncle Freddy wept.
(And no, it's not because I am on a freaking diet and there was all kinds of great food going around).
Football season is over.
Life is no longer fun. This is like losing a family member. Or a pet.
Football is more than a game; more than a religion. It is a way of life.
And now, we have to go seven months without it.
So in this darkest hour of our darkest day, we offer random depressed musings to our friends all over the world...

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Apparently, adultery is completely acceptable -- and, in fact, encouraged -- in my home state of Texas.

A Super Bowl ad for ashleymadison.com -- a married dating site -- was banned in every market in the country. But they showed it in Texas. Apparently, we are special. Either that, or so desperate for money we'll take any ad.

The site's catch phrase? "Life is short. Have an affair."

As you know by now, we don't judge in F World. (Unless we don't like you). We also don't get political.

Still, you have to wonder what's next....

Perhaps killahomeless.com? "Life is short. Whack a homeless guy. You will love it and you will be doing them a favor."

How about serialkiller.com? "Life is short. Kill as many people as possible without getting caught."

Or sexwithamonkey.com? "Life is short. So are you. Maybe a monkey will work better for you."

Getcaughtoncamerawithabong.com. "Life is short. Be like Mike. Phelps, that is."

Ah, nothing like living in Texas. Thanks, Ashley Madison. We needed the money.

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Michael Phelps has money, fame and athletic success. He is dumber than a barrel of hair, but who cares? Three out of four ain't bad.

Michael likes to have a good time, and he's enjoying his stardom. He's 23 years old and he is going to make some mistakes.

Like hitting a bong in the middle of a party with people you don't know.

Yes, Michael is stupid for putting himself in that situation. But this being Texas and all, where everything is legal, the real idiot is the person taking the photo.

Why not blackmail Michael for more than a British tabloid would pay you?

Hmmm. blackmailmichaelphelps.com. "Life is short. Get as many bucks as you can taking advantage of a famous athlete's stupidity."

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Please check out my Houston sports commentary at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner. I really need to build that one up. It only does well when I piss people off.

And click on the ads. They pay for this blog.

I promise to get back to posting every day as soon as I get over my football depression.

And look for me on AshleyMadison.com as "hot21yearoldhtowngirl..."

'I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying.'

2009-01-26T08:47:00.004-06:00

Pop quiz: Name the person who said that and win...well, nothing but my love and admiration...

First, please check out the examiner blog. We're really trying to build the site, and I am desperate for page hits. Help a brother out.

And click on the ads on this page. They help pay for your entertainment and enjoyment (or hatred) of this blog.

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For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.

-- William Shakespeare

So Brandy and I have been playing blog tennis lately, firing topics back and forth. She has been kicking my ass on a regular basis, so it was my turn to come up with something.

She has already done her entry. As usual, it's terrific.

Sadly, I feel like this is overtime in college football and she has already posted the touchdown. (Sorry, football withdrawal).

Because the end of football season in indeed like a death, I've been thinking about mortality a lot lately. Hence our topic, the best and worse ways to die. The idea was to pull it off without being morbid. So here we go:

WORST

5) Blowing yourself up while attempting to boil eggs.
OK, so glass explodes when you put it on a burner. Who knew? Thank God somebody called me and it exploded while I was in the other room. Otherwise they would still be picking bits of glass from my rotting flesh (sorry, too morbid). Yes, I am stupid. I'm still kind of new at this single old dude stuff.

4) Getting stepped on by Aubrey Coleman.

(Gratuitous sports reference/attempt to drive you to my other blog. Made you look!).

3) Death by Jack Daniels.

No, wait, before you say that's a good death, this is in honor of the late Jack Daniel, whose death was colossally stupid. Daniel founded the famed Tennessee distillery. He died of blood poisoning, which in and of itself isn't that bad.

Except he got the blood poisoning by injuring his foot when he kicked a safe when he couldn't remember the lock's combination.

A sad end for the inventor of the greatest drink of our time. I vow not to kick any safes in anger.

Unless I am drunk. On Jack Daniels.

2) Death by Dungeons and Dragons.

Yes, the late Gary Gygax gave us a game that robbed many of us of our teen years, and some would argue our souls.

So most of us turned out OK (yeah, yeah, insert punchline here). But we did play with some weirdos. What if 25 years later, one of them showed up with a samurai sword and cut you in half? With no warning? That would suck.

And there is a precedent.

Look, I am apologizing now for whacking Balthazar the Brave, Morgon the Magnificent, Zupherious the Somewhat Paranoid, Franklin the Disco Freak, Airdrie the Awesome, Nick the Not so Awesome, Duncan the Dismal Druid and Rex the Flatulent. (OK, Rex had it coming).

Memo: They were not real. Get over it. I'm sorry I killed your phony magic users. It was just part of the game. Put the sword away and see a therapist.

1) Death by elephant anus.

It would start by getting your arm stuck in an elephant with -- um, erectile disfunction -- while trying to massage the elephant's prostate by reaching into his rectum. Then, the elephant gets angry and goes on stampede, while you flail hopelessly behind, eventually being sucked completely inside and suffocating. (Hmmm...too morbid again? Perhaps).

I fear the elephant will haunt me forever.

AND NOW THE BEST

5) The Russell Crowe in Gladiator Death.

He gets to kill the bad guy, wrap everything up, become a hero in death and everyone forgets that Russell Crowe is actually a world-class jerk in real life and about as heroic and admirable as Ted Bundy. This would be a great way to go; if they make a sequel, I want in.

4) The Will Smith in I am Legend Death.

He saves humanity as we know it, and blows up in a fiery blast. Can't beat that. Yes, the movie sucked, but if you can pick an awesome way to go, it's hard to top that. We will try anyway.

3) The Ken Lay Death.

So I am about to go to prison for the rest of my life? I have a better idea. Go on vacation first and drop dead of a heart attack. Live the life, help ruin the economy, bail out before you have to pay. I'm in!

2) The Jim Morrison Death. I mean, what would be better? Fake your own death and disappear, walk the earth like Jules in Pulp Fiction, and eventually die just outside Austin, Texas, near the lake, staring out over the water, with everyone thinking you are really just a retired old dude named Bart Savage.

(Disclaimer: This is in no way an indication that if I were to pass away under, um, suspicious circumstances....well, don't look for Bart Savage in Austin. No way I use that name).

Finally...

1) The Big Public Assassination Death.

It would be so cool to be important enough for someone to want to whack you publicly. And not a Postal Worker-type disgruntled ex-employee thing; a true assassination.

I would be making an appearance to raise money for my campaign for the Degenerate Party, or at a book signing, or playing a concert with Shinedown and the Peppers. And some former D&D player who snapped will listen to Linkin Park backwards and hear voices in it that tell him to assassinate me to "free the D&D demons" and to show his undying love for Ellen Degeneres, if she would just change teams.

Then my career would REALLY take off.

Is that too morbid?

If we are going to change the world, let's at least be original

2009-01-20T10:33:00.006-06:00

While most of America was transfixed on Obama's inauguration today, I was more interested in the commentators.

It's amazing to me how much the news fossils try to be sportscasters on days like this.

Which means -- of course -- they trot out every cliche known to man.

There are entire books devoted to cliches. So you would think that some of these TV morons would know not to say Obama will "take the bull by the horns."

Or that he wasn't putting all his "eggs in one basket."

Really?

You sure about that? Maybe Obama shouldn't "Rock the boat." Maybe he should "go with the flow."

In my opinion, he is caught between "a rock and a hard place."

At least he's not "foot loose and fancy free."

(If they had gotten on Michelle's dress, they would say, "you only hurt the one you love." I mean, really. What was that lime green? She looked like a giant sherbet box. Half of America wanted its vote back).

If Obama -- who has a sports background -- starts dropping sports cliches on us, I'm going nuts.

Im mean, what if he plans to take over the world by taking it, "one country at a time?"

Will it take a "total team effort" for the U.S. to "overcome adversity?" But certainly, Obama has to believe "our guys will step up."

Regardless, I am just hopeful that we will "win as a country, and lose as a country."

After that first victory, hopefully the war won't be "a lot closer than the score indicates."

No matter what, we expect Obama to give "110 percent." Besides, "records are made to be broken."

Finally, if you hate this post, well...

It is what it is.

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Quick addendum: OK, many people have told me the dress was gold. Fine. It was still hideous no matter how you slice it.

The other major concern? The Obamas can't dance. That, frankly, was completely brutal.

What's a good cliche for that? Oh yeah, two left feet. Although in this case, make it four.

Everybody wants to rule the world...so I will

2009-01-15T08:52:00.007-06:00

First, please check out my Examiner blog at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner. Even if you aren't a big sports fan, you might find this one interesting. Feel free to comment on it and call me an idiot. If not, please just click on it. My numbers have sucked lately.

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Quick congrats to Steve Campbell, who is braver than all of us and got engaged. He is a terrific dude and I miss working with him. Congrats to Steve and his wonderful daughter, Olivia.

So Awesome Brandy had another fun idea for a blog-off: What would we do if we ruled the world? So I will give mine, and then she's up. Hers will be much better. (Then I have to come up with a clever idea for the both of us. So far, all the ideas are hers. Yeah, I know, Val, women are smarter...).

And I am thinking perhaps Awesome Brandy the Blogging Goddess (ABBG) for a new nickname, replacing Awesome Brandy. What do you guys think?

Yet another shameless plug for her blog, Slapdash Thinking.

Regardless, time to rule the world (Campbell writes my acceptance speech):

This is a big responsibility. Would I be serious? Funny? A tyrant? A wise leader?

OK, probably all of the above, minus the seriousness and wise leader bit. So here we go:

No. 1: My first act would be to decree..."All children under 16 years old are now... 16 years old!"

(OK, sorry, gratuitous reference to Woody Allen's Bananas, which seems to be what comes to mind when I think of ruling the world. That and the horribly annoying "Everybody wants to rule the world" by Tears for Fears. Or, more appropriately, R.E.M.'s "It's the end of the world as we know it...and I feel fine."

Thanks for sticking all that in my head, Brandy.

OK, let's try again...

No. 1A: Invade the moon. As a planet, we need an initiative we can all get behind and support. We need an easy victory to prove we are one world united against the universe. By taking over the moon, we don't have to kill anyone and we feel good about ourselves as a planet.

No. 2: Assign all politicians, elevator trolls and other assorted scumbags to "occupy" the moon for us. And forget to send them enough supplies. (Do you like the the way I just casually justified mass, um, "cleansing?" Isn't that what great dictators, er, politicians, do?)

No. 3: Replace the National Anthem with Kid Rock's "American Badass" and make it the official anthem of the earth.

No. 4: Declare that American football must be played in some form or fashion 365 days a year. (I would declare the same for soccer for our other international friends, but they already do that).

No. 5: I would make Thursday "Whack the Knucklehead Day." We would have an international vote, and whoever wins would get whacked on television in a Running Man-style hunting game.
"This Thursday on Whack the Knucklehead, vote on Madonna, Michael Jackson, Fabio and everyone on American Idol! The winner gets hunted down and killed on air by Arnold Scharzenegger dressed as the Terminator!"

No. 6: OK, this is really starting to sound like a dictatorship. Let's lighten it up. Friday afternoon is "Everyone does Patron shots, performs drunk live music and passes out" day. Government grants available.

No. 7: Declare Patrick Stewart my Director of Space Development, just so I can hear him say, "engage." And I get to call him "No. 1" in a derisive tone just to see how he likes it for a change.

(Actually, as world leader, I would be a lot like Q in The Next Generation series. Kind of the Loki, mischievous demi-god type. But we digress).

No. 8: Rule that Slapdash Thinking is required reading for all college classes, even Calculus. (Don't you love the way I seamlessly drop in plugs for Brandy?)

No. 9: Have someone lose weight and do my workout for me. And have someone type in my Facebook status for me. "Fred is ruling the world. Take that, haters. You might wind up on Whack the Knucklehead Day. Or disappearing in a bag ala V for Vendetta."

No. 10: Pay for the greatest inaugural ball ever, hosted by Sparkles the Evil Clown. Everybody from all over the would be there....We would clear out an old missile silo, decorate it with trees and brush, fill it with spider monkeys, peregrine falcons, mice and duck-billed platypi (for the Aussies). And the Patron shots will flow like wine.

We would serve fajitas and everybody would get a signed photo of Sparkles.

We would bring in our own police cars and have a demolition derby. Then I would attempt to jump a motorcycle over Star Jones. And we would bring in fire trucks and have a parade, like we had just won the Super Bowl.

Then we all dress as scary clowns and terrorize women and small children. (whoops, sorry, that's a personal thing. Please ignore it).

Then we have the biggest concert ever.

I would hire Shinedown to be my opening act, then the Chili Peppers to be my backup band while we did the greatest show in history and I ended it with a kick ass rap/metal version of Everybody Wants to Rule the World. (With American Badass as the encore, with Kid Rock joining me on stage. But I don't let him have the microphone, because I rule the world and he is just a lowly musician).

Then all the cool women I know will get up and do drunk poetry and throw poison darts at Sparkles The Evil Clown. Then we do drunker karaoke until everybody passes out.

Then, when I wake up, I declare world peace. Anyone who starts wars or other trouble is killed as the opening act on "Whack The Knucklehead Day."

Once that was done, I would declare that Val, Trish, Bernie, Patrick, Vikki, Joy, Min, Hu, C-squared, The horse babe, Jason, D, MC Gelding, Danny and AM each get to rule Anarctica for a day.

Then I would suddenly disappear, walking the earth like Jules in Pulp Fiction, leaving this world leadership thing to Brandy.

Let's place some ads!

2009-01-13T09:43:00.004-06:00

First, a quick plea to check out my sports blog at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner. Need help with my numbers on that one.

And my standard gratuitous plug for Brandy's blog...

And please click on the ads for both of us.

But do it at your own risk.

It's amazing what pops up on google ads on all of our blogs. The same thing happens on gmail; if you send me an email that mentions going to the dentist, I will get 20 ads for dentists.

The Ex is a lawyer. Every time I get an email from her work address, I also get 20 ads from "lawyers in Houston," "corporate lawyers," etc.

Brandy, whose blog is Slapdash Thinking, sent me an email. The top ad was for "Slapstick Classes NYC."

Thanks, but I will pass.

One the last entry, I mentioned scary clowns. (Well, Brandy did).

The ad on my blog?

"Clowns. Payasos. Santa, Book a Clown or Santa Claus Show Or Rent the Costumes!"

I now know where to get my clown costumes -- www.classyclowns.com!

Another recent post brought an ad for Chinese mail order brides. Out of curiosity, I had to click.

I found some potential brides. Sort of.

Nam is 30 and likes men who cry. Guess that rules me out.

Wang from Beijing is 26 and wants an older man who knows where he is going in life.

Well, I'm halfway there. According to the ad, she is "ready to serve you."

Great. I will take a Jack and Diet coke, please.

Recently, on Facebook, I saw an ad that said "date a model! These models are looking for high-class men. Go to meetamodel.com!"

Um, warning, lonely men. "Model" could mean anything, including "private modeling in your hotel room."

They charge for that. (So I have heard).

(And I've dated real models. They are waaaaayyyyy overrated).

Another personal favorite:

"10 mistakes guys make with women -- the 10 most dangerous mistakes you probably make with women and what to do about them."

I'm guessing trying to date a model online would be No. 1 on that list. Ordering a Chinese bride would be No. 2.

(In my case, speaking to them is probably high on the list, too. Bad things happen. But we digress).

My new goal is when I send an email to people with gmail, I am planning to drop in a word that will bring a totally inappropriate ad without the email being obvious.

Alas, there will likely be some disappointments. The best "dickweed" brought was "DILLIGAF Store."

As for "Spider monkey?"

Search that one for yourself....

Send me your favorite Facebook/Google ads. We will see who can come up with the goofiest one.

Thanks to Brandy, we are playing Q&A

2009-01-07T08:07:00.005-06:00

One of my favorite virtual amigas is Awesome Brandy, who has a TERRIFIC blog. (Hint to the non-Internet savvy: click on that link and it takes you right to it. Clever, huh? And click on the google ads for both of us, please.) When I begged for help on Facebook, she suggested a meme -- a Q&A between bloggers. The beauty of it was she didn't know if I was serious and I didn't know if she was serious. Which is a perfect reason to do it. (I'm guessing her answers will be much funnier. I will be sending her questions shortly).

Hopefully you will find this one amusing. And be sure to thank Brandy -- she spared you a poignant, depressing ramble that was coming on the heels of some brutally bad news that will likely spell the end of Freddy's World as we know it.

(Fortunately that will wait until another day).

Remember, these are her questions. She allegedly had a collaborator. The answers are mine. (See how easy it is to be a blogger?)

As The Joker says...

Here...

we...

go!

Question 1: Where did your unnatural fascination with creepy clowns come from?

Answer: Those clowns are sexy, not creepy! And it started with Poltergeist, of course. Wasn't that clown the coolest ever? And I WILL be a clown next Halloween. Well, DRESSED as a clown, as it were. A scary, sexy clown.

2. If you were a monkey, what kind would you be?

A: A spider monkey, of course. With the um, er, "equipment" of a gorilla.

3. If you could have an alias of your choosing, what would it be and why?

A: I would be The Gargoyle, a polite criminal with a dazzling English accent. (Think Geico lizard). The Gargoyle would be a bank robber dressed as -- of course, a gargoyle (a fat one though, since I would be covered in kevlar).

The Gargoyle would bring back the gentleman-like, Romantic criminal mindset of the Old West (Think Owen Wilson in the Shanghai movies) and casually flirt with all the women as he robbed the bank, then disappeared in a cloud of knockout gas that puts everyone to sleep.

Except me, of course, because my Gargoyle face would be equipped with a gas mask.

Never mind the gas; my blog is putting everyone to sleep...

4. What is your worst bad habit?

A: I am VERY good at ALL of my bad habits.

5. What is your favorite item in the world? Why?

A: A little box with my name on it my kids gave me for father's day once. It reminds me that I didn't always suck as a human being. Damn, that seems like a long time ago. Help, funny question, please! I am being sucked into a poignant moment! Aaaaargggghhh!!!

6. If you hate the usage of U's (as the rest of the English-speaking world uses them) How come you spell your name FaoUr?

A: Faour is a majestic name of Syrian/Lebanese descent. Some of the greatest Iraqi generals under Hussein (OK, one) shared that name. It is an honorable name, rare with its three consecutive vowels. I love the name. (Although "Freddy...a.k.a. The Gargoyle" has a nice ring).

I HATE u's in words that don't need them. Humour, for instance. It's HUMOR, dammit. Not HU-MO-U-R!

7. Are the freaks attracted to you, or is it really that you are attracted to freaks?

A: Yes

8. How do you deal with a troll...I mean, negative person?

A: Try to make them laugh. Failing that, laugh at them (then duck). Face it: in life, there are only three types of people. Cool folks, trolls and Politicians. I laugh WITH the first, AT the second and run like hell from the third.

9. Can you guess the collaborator of this questionnaire?

A: It's either Osama bin Laden, George W. Bush, Alex Rodriguez, Ronaldinho, Pope Benedict, Michael Jackson or Kermit the Frog. (Didn't think I could get those seven in a single sentence fragment, did you?)

10. Have you enjoyed this meme (Q & A chainletter like thing for bloggers...however this one being specifically for you...)?

A: Hell yes! Spared me from coming up with another idea! And spared everyone else a poignant look at life that would have depressed all of us.

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So there you have it. Check out Brandy's blog for hers. (Linky thing again! Cool! Don't you love the constant, shameless plugs for Brandy's blog? It's called Slapdash Thinking. Check it out by clicking here!).

OK, so we will create our own freak show...

2009-01-06T08:47:00.004-06:00

It is well established that I am a freak magnet. Just combine P.T. Barnum, an Ozzy concert and an animal nudity convention and that represents the type of weirdo that seems to seek me out on a regular basis.

But I have not been out much lately, so I haven't had a freak encounter in forever.

Obviously, I haven't been on enough elevators lately either.

Sadly, my life has become alarmingly normal, which frankly is pretty disturbing in and of itself. You can blame Virtual Val for that. Isn't everything her fault?

Hence the lack of posts here recently. Most of my time has been spent on my sports blog (http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner). Good stuff if you like college football, the Texans, or bagging on the Astros. But there aren't a lot of amusing freak encounters there. No elephant women, no elevator trolls.

So I was reduced to asking for ideas for this blog on Facebook. Fortunately, several folks had outstanding suggestions. So I just thought I would use them all:

Jesus Bernie suggested I write about friends and family meeting love interests.

Why is it that no matter what you do, there is at least one person in your family who will hate whoever you bring in? ("She's too cute. She's too ugly. She's too skinny. She's too fat. She's too opinionated. She's too quiet. She's too aloof. She's too outgoing. She's too sleazy. She's too prim.")

(Women, feel free to insert "he" in there).

That family member then inspires two or three other people to hate him/her as well.

Then, whenever that person is out of the mix and a new one comes in, what is the No. 1 line?

"I wish he/she was more like the last one."

--------------------------------

Val suggested I mention people you meet, promise to add to Facebook and then forget their names.

But if you can't remember their last names, do you really want them to know your status when you put something on there like, "Fred is having a bad day and thinking it might be time to go postal on his co-workers with a machete and some super glue?"

They might not realize you aren't serious. Well, not REAL serious...

------------------------------

Aunt Betty suggests worst blind dates or worst haircut.

The worst haircut for me is easy. In high school, the initiation was to get your head shaved. I was given an awesome mohawk. With a mini mullet. It was awesome stuff.

Fortunately no pictures exist that I know of, although I am sure Betty will find one.

Worst blind date is equally easy. Stevie Wonder and I had a horrible time. He just isn't my type. Brilliant musician, but he is a terrible kisser. (Ugh, that was weak. Can't believe I didn't delete that).

That would lead me to Trish d'lish's suggestion of strikeouts/great past swing and misses. Stevie would probably count in that one, too.

Actually, the worst blind date was the one who ordered four $80 glasses of wine before I realized how much they cost and suggested maybe she'd had enough.

As for strikeouts? Heck, Trish, what makes you think I ever miss?

-------------------------------------

And finally, Brandy....your turn!

------------------------------------

Tomorrow I promise to spend all day on an elevator and just observe. It should provide months of material for the blog. If not, I will just ask you guys again. Great stuff all! Thanks!

It's New Year's, and I resolve to...

2008-12-31T06:57:00.004-06:00

OK, we all need New Year's Resolutions. I suck at them, but it appears to be a moral imperative to do them. So here we go:

THE BIG ONES (The ones I am likely to try to keep)

1 -- Lose weight
2 -- Straighten out my finances
3 -- Get back to Vegas for the Main Event
4 -- Finish a new novel

THE EASY ONES

1 -- Gain weight
2 -- Spend more
3 -- Don't go anywhere
4 -- Don't do anything

OK, obviously this isn't working. Let's try some for famous people:

President Obama -- Keep smoking. Otherwise, he might get irritated and bomb North Korea.

Heath Ledger -- Avoid dying again so he can do another Batman.

Jerry Jones -- Get another facelift, just to see if there is any skin left****. (Non-Americans, just google "Jerry Jones Cowboys" and you will see what I mean.

George Clooney -- Acting lessons. And a movie that doesn't stuck.

Roger Clemens -- Someone who actually buys his BS. Well, besides his wife.

This isn't working either. Sigh. To heck with it. Here's wishing everyone an awesome 2009. The real resolution (besides the top four above) is to be as funny as possible next year and hopefully provide a chuckle or two on a bad day.

What resolutions do you have? The weirder the better...

Thanks for reading and see you all next year!

Happy holidays, and fear the Reindeer

2008-12-25T11:01:00.003-06:00

Happy Holidays to everyone. Happy Hannukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza, Pleasant Festivus. Whatever your day/weeks, enjoy it/them.

The Faour experience is a little bit of everything. Hannukah for the kids, Christmas with my family.

But our Christmas experience is a little different. We all get together and make fun of each other over lunch. Then we occasionally play poker and I whine about getting donked.

(As an aside, until basketball comes on, we are stuck watching Christmas movies. Why is it EVERY Christmas movie involves orphans getting parents for Christmas? What about the other 200 kids at the orphanage? I want THEIR story. But we digress).

We also make up our own Christmas stories and tell them in the car on the way to visit the family.

Last year's story was Zunoz the Blue Nosed Reindeer.

Zunoz was Rudolph's older brother, ignored by the Santa family. So he evolved into an evil genius bent on world domination, with his first goal being to destroy Rudolph and the other reindeer, take over Santa's Sleigh, and drop small thermonuclear devices on key cities. The remaining humans -- out of fear -- would be forced to worship him.

But his evil plot was thwarted by Will and Katie, and he was presumably killed.

But Zunoz wasn't dead.

Vixen went to the local North Pole bar for some pre-Christmas egg nogg when a drunk reindeer began berating her. He smashed the jukebox, hit her over the head with a bottle, and rendered a serious beatdown on Santa's Reindeer.

It was Zunoz, drunk, blue nose flaring, dressed in a dirt old elf outfit.

Zunoz was arrested by the local elf police. Santa visited, and was faced with a Christmas decision: Bail him out, get him some help and clean him up, or leave him there to rot.

That's where the story ends this year. But I like the idea of a Zunoz Christmas special each year, where he tries different ways of overthrowing Rudolph and Santa and taking over the world.

Ah, you can't beat Christmas cheer.

Happy holidays, my virtual friends.

44 ways you know you are old...

2008-12-17T17:00:00.007-06:00

Today, Dec. 18, is a very special (and depressing) day. Your blogging friend will have been patrolling the earth for 44 years.

Forty-four-freaking years. It sounds so devastatingly old. It seems like yesterday I was an angst-ridden wannabe rock star teenager cranking out wicked guitar riffs and chasing the young vixens of the 409 area code.

By now, I would have expected to know the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.

I will just say this -- it wasn't 42. Or 43. Kind doubt it's 44.

The real answer? Pretty simple. Do the things you enjoy, treat everybody else better than you treat yourself, and don't be scared to try to be whatever you hope you can be in life. And when you fail, try something else.

The only true answer is finding what God (or whatever your deity) meant for you to be. That creates a harmony in yourself and in the universe.

Simple, huh?

Good luck finding that. I have no brilliant insight there.

At 44, I think I've found that harmony in the entertainment world, such as it is. In fiction. In making light of the world and myself.

Now if we could just figure out how the hell to make that profitable enough to exist comfortably... maybe that's the real answer.

But I digress.

Anyway, for your reading pleasure or displeasure, in honor of the day, here are 44 ways to tell you are officially old:

No. 1: You are listening to an "oldies" station and they play Pantera.

No. 2: People tell you "you are only as old as you feel," and you realize you "feel" 70.

No. 3: You are the old dude in the gym.

No. 4: You go to a college football game and your friends think the cheerleaders are hot, and all you think is "damn, they look like 12-year-olds."

No. 5: You make fun of Hooters girls instead of pursuing them.

No. 6: You go to sports bars instead of clubs.

No. 7: Your kids are watching the same movies as you and getting things you are missing.

No. 8: You start thinking like your parents.

No. 9: You can't remember half the people you meet anymore.

No. 10: (It's doubly bad when you "meet" someone you actually dated more than once.)

No. 11: You go to concerts and count the people older than you and hope you aren't in the top 5 percent* (that goes down one percent each year).

No. 12: You realize you are closer to being eligible for Champions golf tour than you care to admit.

No. 13: You are calling 43-year-olds "young man" or "young lady."

No. 14. You realize you were actually middle aged at 22.

No. 15: You realize you are worth more financially dead than alive.

No. 16: You realize you are closer to social security than High school.

No. 17: You are just six years away from being able to play in senior poker tournaments.

No. 18: People start sending you magazines like "Geezer jock." And you think the woman on the cover is attractive.

No. 19: You start thinking about getting a plant. Or a cat. Or a turtle. Or a goldfish. And becoming an old dude with a pet.

Then, of course, you meet people who have never heard of the following:

No. 20: Monty Python

No. 21: Benny Hill

No. 22: Hogan's Heroes

No. 23: Hong Kong Phooey (and Scatman Crothers).

No. 24: Aldo Nova

No. 25: Black Sabbath. (But they know Ozzy from the reality show. Really? He was in a band called Black Sabbath?)

No. 26: Freddy Mercury

No. 27: Dokken

No. 28: Krull

No. 29: The Southwest Conference

No. 30: Animal House

No. 31: They start making remakes of movies and you remember seeing the original in the theatres.

No. 32: You remember when there were no cell phones.

No. 33: You remember Atari pong and Intellivision.

No. 34: You wonder what life was like without the Internet. Even though you spent most of your life without it.

No. 35: You remember when Dec. 7 was the darkest day in American history, not Sept. 11.

No. 36: When you see people you haven't been around in a few years, they say.."Wow...you look...um, different..."

No. 37: You pull a muscle putting gas in your car.

No. 38: You run away screaming when you hear the words "tequila shots."

No. 39: Thirty year olds call you "sir."

No. 40: You are suddenly a "veteran" in your field.

No. 41: Your daughter's friends ask if you are her grandfather.

No. 42: Your daughter's friends' grandmothers are more attractive than their mothers.

No. 43: You start checking out www.viagra.com

And finally, No. 44:

When you start creating lists of why you feel old, come up with 44 reasons and could easily do another 44...

Odds and ends...and more odds

2008-12-12T10:43:00.006-06:00

Disclaimer: The blogger would like to apologize for the following cheap technique. It is getting more and more difficult to attempt to be funny and entertaining all the time, 24-7. So sadly, we are reduced to this. It is cheap, it is weak, it is pathetic. But that's what happens when you get old. (I will be a small pocket pair next week. And sadly, it is not 3-3. But we digress)

Anyway, some generic odds to share with my friends:

Odds you will not laugh at anything in this post: 3-1.

Odds that you guessed I meant 55 by my pending age: 2-1

Odds I hate you if you guessed 55: Off the board.

Odds that Tom Cruise will come out in 2009: Even.

Odds of Bugs Bunny making a comeback doing entire movie as a female rabbit: 4-5.

Odds one of my friends will have a pet coyote in 2009: 6-5.

Odds that I will mention something about circus midgets, trapezes and and spider monkeys when I get stuck and have nothing funny: 1-9.

Odds I will disappear from society and walk the earth like Jules in Pulp Fiction: 4-1.

Odds that Will reads this, even though he isn't supposed to: 1-9.

Odds that you haven't laughed yet: 1-1.

Odds that a gratuitous picture of the evil clown will freak you out: 1-1.

Odds that a gratuitous picture of this ugly kid will make you laugh: 2-1.

Odds that the Canadians and Brits will find a way to add another "u" to gratuitous: 1-1.

Odds that the government will offer me a bailout: 9,999,999-1.

Odds that I get elected president and invade Canada, Australia and England, just so I can hang with all my friends in those countries: 8,888,888-1.

Odds that I am out of odds: 1-10.

How odd is that?

Yes, I look bad...

2008-12-09T09:23:00.003-06:00

Here is Wild Will, me, Jen Reyna and Matty the Superstar after last week's show.

Check out Jen's blog at http://www.click2houston.com/bumpertobumperblog/index.html

If she sticks with the Front Page, we will make her a star. (Well, a bigger star).

(Yes, I know I look old. I was tired and a wreck and didn't spend any time getting ready and wasn't expecting to get pictures taken. So bite me).

Elevator trolls 2, Uncle Freddy 1

2008-12-08T10:33:00.003-06:00

Someone suggested I blog about how hard it is to be funny all the time.
Since I couldn't come up with a way to make that funny, I didn't do it. But I do feel like if you are going to take the time to come here, you should be amused. Or disturbed. Or entertained.
If you are bored, I have failed miserably.
So I apologize to the 26 people who were bored by last week's posts. Boring people are one of my pet peeves.
So, too, are elevators.
We won't recount all of the weird freaks I have attracted on elevators. But thankfully, they make life entertaining.
My favorites are the ETs. (Elevator trolls).
This morning, I finally fought back.
An elevator troll is a person who is in such a huge hurry to get on the elevator, they jump on before the person on the elevator can get off.
You know them. You hate them.
This morning, Ethel joined the list of ETs.
Ethel is an elderly woman who wears too much stinky perfume. She looks like she has been smoking for 71 years. Her skin has more wrinkles than The Usual Suspects. She has enough makeup to make the Joker blush. (Or is it enough blush to look like the joker?)
She works at one of the other businesses at our beautiful building. I'm not sure which one, but she has left her smell hanging in the elevator for months.
This morning, Ethel and a co-worker were getting on the elevator as I was trying to get off.
I have a five second rule. If you are not off the elevator in five seconds, and I am in a hurry, then I can troll you.
Ethel clearly has a less than a second rule.
I was stepping for the door as it was opening.
Ethel immediately shoved her way past me, along with her equally elderly friend. They never said excuse me, never even noticed I was trying to get off the elevator. Even though it was the first floor.
I was unable to get around them and to the door before it closed.
Ethel and whomever did not even notice me. (I know her name is Ethel because it is embroidered on her purse. Don't ask).
I was in a bit of a hurry. Was hoping to get a kolache between morning updates, which means I have little margin for error. An extra three minutes on the elevator counts as an error.
So I politely asked if they had seen me when they forced their way on. (At 6-3, 230, I am a little hard to miss.)
She grunted something inaudible that sounded like "move faster next time. Some of us work for a living."
The man looked at his shoes and didn't say anything.
Trying to be nice, I said calmly, "it's usually courteous to let people OFF the elevator before you get on."
She grunted again and mumbled something else that sounded like, "don't lecture me, kid. If I am late for work, I don't get paid."
"Well," I replied sweetly, "we wouldn't want that," as my elbow "accidentally" hit the stop elevator button, and it lurched to a halt.
"Whoops," I said politely. Then fumbled for a few seconds before pushing the button again and restarting the elevator. "Sorry Ethel. Don't want you to be late. I mean, if you couldn't afford perfume, or Marlboros with no filters, or skin care products, whatever you would do?"
I then -- politely of course -- added.."Oh, you must have been late last week and missed out on the skin products. Sorry."
The man forced a giggle. Ethel growled. We made it to her floor.
I didn't get my kolache, but I got a blog entry.

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Sports fans check out the examiner blog where I unveil the greatest college football playoff plan ever conceived at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner
And please click on our advertisers above (even if you are bored). They pay for this blog.

OK, kid, here ya go; The greatest story ever told; Yes, she's hot

2008-12-02T08:35:00.008-06:00

It's hard to say no to your kids. Especially when they are as cool as mine. Will asked me to post of photo of himself and Katie on the blog for a computer class project he is doing. So here ya go, kid. And don't read past this. The rest is for my adult friends. And no, you can't have a pet hedgehog. (Thanks for THAT, Jody).

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OK, so we all have drunk stories. (Well, not me. I have never done ANYTHING I regret because of alcohol. At least that I can remember. Or will admit).

I have said before on this blog I am a freak magnet. Dig back far enough and you will find the wheelchair prostitute story. Anytime I go out of town, I attract weirdos.

The greatest story ever, however, was the elephant woman. And yes, it is sort of a drunk story.

I was in Orlando, Fla., for APSE judging. That was where sports editors from all around the country come together and judge other sections. At the time, it was a very big deal. It was the academy awards of our business.

The whole trip started out strange. We were staying in a hotel that was next to a giant mermaid. (No, she wasn't hot). So anytime we went out and got lost we just had to drive up and down the road until we found the giant mermaid.

We spent most of the time locked in small rooms judging other newspapers, then a few hours at the bar, then back to work.

As an aside, I miss the hell out of contest judging. The camaraderie with the other editors, the friendships that developed...it's irreplaceable. If I could have one thing back from my journalism career, that would be it. (Well, there are a lot of people I would like to work with again that left the Chron years ago, including a few of you who read this blog. You guys know who you are. And yes, a few of you who are still there, too).

Anyway, back to our story. We had been judging for two days, and frankly, it was grueling work. Results from the contests were starting to trickle in, and our section hadn't won anything yet, which is a different kind of stress.

One of the young men I was judging with was Jeff Rosen, who I would eventually hire at the Chronicle. We were both pretty wiped out when we got stuck on an elevator for a good 15 minutes.

With a bunch of "zoo people."

It turns out that besides APSE, the hotel was also hosting a zoo convention.

There were zookeepers, vets, animal freaks of all kinds.

And the hotel was going through a sale, so the customer service was shoddy. They weren't in much of a hurry to get us out of an elevator, even though 10 of us were stuck on it (two journalists, eight zoo freaks). The hotel never answered the alarm; we finally got help by calling the front desk from cell phones and screaming at them for 20 minutes.

After that experience, I needed a drink.

We hit the bar, and I noticed a young lady sitting next to me. She kept creeping closer and closer, like she wanted to talk.

She seemed friendly, and she was attractive. After a few minutes, she started talking to me.

(My freak alarm did not go off, even though she said she was one of the "zoo people." Maybe it was because she was attractive).

She seemed very interested that I was a sports editor. We chatted briefly about why I was there and what I did.

But the conversation quickly turned to her.

She offered that she was there to do a session on antelope mating and artificial insemination of antelopes.

At that point, my freak alarm started to beep quietly.

Then, unsolicited, she offered this: "But the most interesting thing I have ever done is take semen from an elephant."

At this point, I see Rosen, who had been sitting next to me, on the other side of the bar, laughing. He had abandoned me.

I, on the other hand, was trapped. And a little scared, especially when she began describing the process in great detail.

"It takes two people to get elephant semen," she said with enthusiasm. "My assistant put on a large rubber sleeve, shoved his arm up the elephant's rectum and began massaging the elephant's prostate."

Her tone was clinical, matter of fact.

"This, of course, made the elephant erect."

Of course.

"My job," she said, becoming more animated, "was to be the catcher."

Before I could comment, she added, "The catcher's job was to stabilize the penis, then collect the semen."

Oh.

"But the problem was stabilization," she said. "During the process, the penis would spasm, up and down. I would reach my arms around it and try to prevent that from happening."

She then showed me how she did it, her arms over her head.

"But I am only 5-foot tall and 103 pounds, so it was a struggle."

She then to began to jump up and down, mimicking the struggle.

Of course, I had to ask the obvious question. Journalistic integrity, of course.

"How big was it?" She repeated my question. "Five feet long and three feet wide!"

After she bounced a few more times, she said, "then the elephant ejaculated!"

"And," she said, "I collected TWO liters."

At this point, I was looking for the exit. The visual of two liters of elephant...um...well, I had lost my appetite for food, alcohol and zoo people.

And I should have anticipated her next question. "Do you want to know the weird part?"

"Oh..." I said. "I HAVE to know the weird part."

She looked around to make sure no one else was listening, and whispered quietly.

"It was kind of sexy."

"So..." she said after an uncomfortable silence. "A bunch of us are going to go dancing later. Would you like to go dancing?"

The image of the bouncing zoo person in my head on the dance floor was too much to take.

"Um, er, no, I have to go to a meeting," I said, glancing quickly at my watch.

"What kind of people meet at 9:45 p.m.?"

"Oh," I said numbly. "Sports Editors. We are night people."

She seemed disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind, I am a hell of a dancer."

"Yes," I thought to myself. "I am sure you are. But I don't think I can manage two liters."

All of my female friends who hear that story insist she was trying to pick me up.

My question is OK, if that's the case, why an elephant? Who can compete with that?
Why not a chipmunk? Even an antelope?

But an elephant? Not a chance.

Zoo people.

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I'll have another entry on it later, but Ch. 2's Jennifer Reyna joined us live on the Front Page Sunday. For all of our international listeners who asked me the obvious, "is she as hot as you guys say?" You can check out her blog at http://www.click2houston.com/bumpertobumperblog/index.html
And yes, she was very cool and great to have on the show.

---------------------------------------------------

As always, please click on our advertisers. And for sports takes, check out the examiner blog at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner
The latest takes include what Mike Hampton means for the Astros, grades on the Texans win Monday night, and why the Longhorns got screwed by the BCS. Please check it out.

So thanks for...nothing? Represent your country!

2008-11-25T08:33:00.010-06:00

So it is Thanksgiving week in the States. A holiday where we celebrate a bunch of Puritans making nice with Native Americans, then later stealing their land, horses, trinkets, women, buffalo and anything else they could get their hands on.
It is a tactic that has been employed ever since, especially when it comes to American women. They make nice, then steal everything you have.
But we digress.
This is a happy time, a time for giving thanks for all the wonderful things in our lives.
So, let's see, there's...uh...um...er....
OK, so it hasn't been the best year. I guess we should look for the things we're thankful we're NOT.

1) I am thankful I am not on death row. I mean, if they ever found that rotted, decaying body buried in that playground...

2) I am thankful I am not a bank or the stock market.

3) I am thankful I am not old. Well, never mind on that one.

4) I am thankful that I don't know any pervert priests.*

(*-see short story on prior post).

5) I am thankful I don't have a fanny, as it were.

6) I am NOT thankful that football season is nearly over. And that I think Rice is going to beat the Cougars.

7) I am NOT thankful for torn PCLs.

8) I am NOT thankful for hurricanes.

9) I am NOT thankful for people who don't return phone calls or emails.

10) I AM thankful for transvestites, evil clowns, spider monkeys, goofy Facebook statuses, language barriers, naked animals, bad movies, thongs (on strippers and sumo wrestlers ONLY), bearded women and all assorted circus freaks, Vern Troyer, sexy grandmas, flying dogs, devils needing penis enlargement, and anything else that gets me funny looks when I drop it into seemingly normal conversations. It occurred to me I am not very funny without you guys.
So thanks for that, too.

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OK, the real things to be thankful for are two awesome kids, my brothers, mom and my grandmother, and all the cool people who keep life fun in H Town...The Chris Cs, Curtis Ps, The horse babe/Jason P entry, big Abel, the 1560 guys, El Deano, Michael the Mouth, Scotty S, Jerry the Man, No Fold, D Bounds, Super Sue, Rocket, Bern and Trish and everybody else I am forgetting who always picks up the phone when I call. Or returns my emails.

In the end, isn't that what matters?

Some other stuff:

1) Jack Daniels. Or Jim Beam, depending on the mood.

2) Shinedown. Or Linkin Park, depending on the mood.

3) All in with Aces against kings pre-flop, until the inevitable king on the turn. (Thanks for nothing, Poker Stars).

4) Making people laugh without dressing up like Little Bo Peep.

5) Making people laugh when I DO dress up like Little Bo Peep.

And most importantly, all the cool folks from all over the world who read this blog and click on the ads, which helps keep me in Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. I'm too broke to travel anymore, but you guys bring a little of the world to me every day. For that, I am eternally grateful to all of you. Much love.

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And finally...

The beauty of this blog is that so many of you spark the ideas. It's as much a community blog as it is me, which is a good thing, because you are all smarter than me. (At least most of you are).

Actually, when I first started this, a lot of the ideas came from chatting with Val. So she is sort of the unofficial conscience of the blog. She has even contributed a few ideas (not the funny ones. Those are mine).

Since then, many of you have suggested great ideas. Sometimes the ideas were great and my execution sucked. Sometimes we made them work.

The Canadians dominated for a while. Then the Aussies. Of late, the English have had the best ideas. (Especially Awesome Joy and Vikki the dazzling Brit).

The Americans? Not so much.

All this is a nice way of challenging you to throw me some fresh ideas. The best stuff always gets repurposed for our radio shows, which helps keep me employed.

Whoever has the best idea...well, I will publicly admit you are smarter than me, and that your country is by far the best in the world. (Not you, Val. Everybody else).

Just make sure it has nothing to do with Puritans and Native Americans...

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And another blog I would like to recommend: http://gadfly-waywardthoughts.blogspot.com/

How about giving me some head...lines?

2008-11-20T10:32:00.004-06:00

I am asked all the time if I miss working at a newspaper. My standard answer is I miss the people, not the place. As time goes on, I don't miss as many of the people as I used to, either. Guess that is natural. (*If you think I am talking about you, I am probably not. If you think I don't mean you, I do.)
*-I am just kidding. Please don't email and say, "do you mean me? You people are more paranoid than I am.

There is one thing I wish I could have back, however. One great regret. One thing I miss above all else.

Stupid headline mistakes.

There are millions of them around the world. Many great blogs make a career out of these. Here are a few I like. I am sure my former colleagues will have many to contribute.

Here are a few of my favorites from my days at the Chron. Some made the paper, some didn't.

1 -- "Brenham caught with Peters out."
Brenham had a player whose last name was Peters, and he was injured. Of course, that's not how it reads. It reads like an exposure case. The great irony? The same player was later allegedly caught on a recruiting trip, um, spanking his monkey* in a dorm hall.

*-see post on euphemisms.

2 -- "Man arrested after 20 years on lamb."
This is one of Paul McGrath's longtime favorites. That has to be one sore lamb.

3 -- "It's nut-cutting time for Kentucky."
All I can say is "ouch." Really. In Kentucky, that usually means geldings. Poor guys. Amazing how the meaning changes when you put a "u" in where there should be an "e."

4 -- "After 10 years, Johnson finally gets head job."
Poor guy. He must have been married all that time.

5 -- "Cowboys Sanders to miss three weeks with bulging dick in back."
Ah, typos. Obviously, Deion was a transcendent football player. But an extra package?
Guess that makes threesomes easier. Or maybe it was inserted.
Ugh. We learned to be careful with bulging discs.

Just this week, several headlines caught my eye for different reasons. "Sex in retirement homes becoming a problem." What, are they breaking hips at a record pace? "Death ends 15-year relationship." Damn dirty death.

Trish the superbabe pointed me to a great blog that has several
http://failblog.org (page 6: "Chick accuses some male colleagues of sexism" is one of my favorites.)

OK, I'm challenging everyone to give me their favorites. Best of the best wins some 97.5 gear.

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As always, please click on the ads on this page. They help pay for the blog. And for the best sports takes in Houston, check out the examiner blog at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner

And please check out a new blog from someone who is uniquely talented, clever and insightful (all the things I am not):
http://slapdashthinking.blogspot.com/

She has a lyrical way of writing that will sing to you. I predict this will be one of the most popular blogs on the planet in a few months.

Language barrier; Relationship advice from Uncle Freddy? Really?

2008-11-14T10:46:00.005-06:00

One of my favorite things to goof off with is Facebook and some of the silly games on there. I enjoy the games like Wordscraper (dammit, it's your move, Trish) but I also have a blast on a silly horse racing game which is basically a bunch of colored pixel ponies.

My addiction to real horse racing is the stuff of legends, so being drawn to a goofy game based on it isn't a real stretch.

But as stated before on this blog, it's more the people. Most of the time, it is essentially like sitting in a bar with a bunch of other addicted degenerates talking about whatever comes up.

So it is not a stretch, too, that we all have similar interests. As such, I have made virtual friends with all sorts of wonderful people from all over the world.

(Yeah, yeah. Get a life, I know. Thanks, I have one. It's just virtual).

Regardless, there are very few Americans on there. Most are English, Aussies or Canadians.

Wonderful countries, all. Wonderful people, too.

But they don't speak English.

Well, not Texas English. Not even American English.

It's amazing how many phrases have gone off in completely different directions on different continents. (It has also led me to getting clocked in Wordscraper by these clever foreigners).

Thanks to Austin Powers, I managed to learn a few. I might take a bathroom break. The English go to the loo.

We don't have a word for loo, unless it's short for looney. (Which is what calling a bathroom a "loo" seems to be).

If your name is Randy, you can expect to get laughed at in England. While it's a nice, solid American name, it's also horny over there.

My personal favorite is the term, "fanny." In the States, it means butt, rear, etc.

In England, it apparently refers to a vagina.

I can see where this could be confusing, especially for an American/English couple. Especially if the man asks, "can I have a go at your fanny?"

Wars have been started that way.

I am also confused as to where a fanny pack is supposed to go now.

I am currently losing weight. I am not sure where I would do best. In England I would be losing stones. In Australia, kilograms. Here, it is pounds. Which would be money in England. (That might be my best bet. I am MUCH better at losing pounds in England than in America). But I WANT stones here. Sigh.

And I can't even talk to the English about tea. For some it's dinner. For other's it's lunch. For me it is a wretched drink.

And my English friends don't understand why we giggle like school girls when they talk about eating spotted dick. It's a sponge pudding for them. For us? It's someone who needs a penicillin shot.

Well, at least we all like alcohol. Even if I go to a bar and they go to a pub.

And Canadians...what is it with putting the extra "u" in every word? Is it really necessary? isn't Glamor just fine as Glamor? Why does it need to be Glamour? And humor...does it really need to be hume-you-are? That's what "humour" looks like to me.

Admittedly, I REALLY need to travel the world more. Unless I want to keep getting clocked at Wordscraper.

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OK, if you have more of these, please share. Thanks to Joy, a clever young lady from England, for her help with this. Also, much love for Vikki the Dazzling Brit, who drops stuff out of the blue that is funny as hell and sends me scurrying for a dictionary. And thanks to Brandy the Awesome American for speaking the same language and wanting me to be president. And Virtual Val, the Canadian goddess, who puts a u in every word that has an o just to confuse me.

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In response to C-squared's comment below...You want relationship advice from ME? What's next, human rights advice from Saddam Hussein? Bar Mitzvah advice from the pope? Coaching advice from Gary Kubiak? How to spell O words from Val?

Try this: At our age, until you purchase a ring, you are just friends. (That's what you get for dating 18 year olds). You don't need to drop that fact on them until you have been dating for about a month. Tell them it's a late 30s/early 40s thing.

Oh, and K-10 offsuit is not a good hand....:-)

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As always, please click the ads, and visit the examiner blog at http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner

Thanks to all!

Help, please! And be sure to sign off...

2008-11-11T09:01:00.003-06:00

Friendly reminder to please click on our advertisers. They pay for this blog. And please visit the blog at examiner.com for sports takes at http://www.examiner.com/Houston-Sports.html.

I have discovered I do not speak English. I need help from my English, Aussie and Canadian friends. Please send me some of your favorite phrases that are unique to your country. It will be for a blog entry later in the week. Just some of the things that confuse your American friends. Email them to me at dragonman409@gmail.com

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Now, a bit about ethics. We have been filling in for Calvin Murphy off and on over the past two weeks. Matt brought up a brilliant ethical dilemma on the show, and it got a lot of great response, so I thought it was worth revisiting here.

One of our interns left his personal email signed on a work computer.

The ethical question: How much are we allowed to do?

Send emails to his friends? Change his fantasy roster? Change his password.

The possibilities were endless. First up, his friend Jennifer. We had to send her an email confessing that he had a "small problem." But that he was considering enlargement surgery and would she be willing to talk about expanding their friendship at that point.

Mom, of course, got the full confession. "Mom, I have been wanting to tell you this for a while, but I recently found myself. I will be bringing my 'special friend' Bruce home this weekend."

And, of course, to Bruce..."I have a confession...I am attracted to you in a special way. Can we talk about this in person? Sorry I haven't brought this up sooner, but I wasn't sure about you until now..."

So what is over the line? How much can we get away with? When do we go from funny to childish?

And if any of you get strange emails from me, you'll know I was stupid and left myself signed on and the kid got me back...

Some updates...why you should vote for Fred

2008-11-04T09:49:00.004-06:00

Sorry for the delay in posting. I have been spending a lot of time working on the Ticket's Web site and also the examiner blog (http://www.examiner.com/x-1519-Houston-Sports-Examiner) and this one has suffered. I promise to get caught back up this week.

In the interim, please visit the advertisers on this page. They pay for the blog. And check out the examiner blog; I get paid per view there. It's a great blog if you like Houston sports. If not, click on it and comment anyway and help a brother out.

Fun stuff is coming on this blog. Sometime this week, I will have something on how even though we all speak the same language (theoretically), the English, Aussies, Americans and Canadians all need translators for each other.

Also, some new fiction in the works. I had a Halloween story called Night of the Living Old Yeller. Didn't get it done in time for Halloween, but it is almost finished and it is as disturbing as it sounds.

I am also working on a new super villain series.

On the radio front, we'll be filling in for Calvin Murphy on 11/4, 11/5, 11/6 and 11/11. That's prime time, 5-7 p.m. Central. You can hear us on the Web site at www.975theticket.com. It promises to be entertaining, so please check it out.

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So it's Election Day in America. Please get out and vote.

It doesn't matter whether or not you vote for the guy who says nothing or the old chipmunk looking dude who had to pick a hottie as a running mate to have any shot. Just vote.

The next election, however, I will be running for president as head of the Degenerate party.

I ask for your support.

Unlike my future opponents (the incumbent Obama and Palin the she-devil, who will run on her own in four years), I am not going to resort to ducking the issues and relying on my good looks to get elected.

I will not resort to negative campaigning.

However, I might have to point out a few facts.

I will mention that Obama is just a pretty face with the personality of a sponge.

I will mention that Palin sounds like she missed out on the lead in Fargo but that she did star in Damien Omen III as Damien.

I might even have to reveal that they had a little-known affair, and are secretly into each other in a big way.

And that they were both sexually involved with different farm animals, too. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but is this who we want leading our country?

No, this will be about me.

I promise no taxes whatsoever. We will get our money by initiating a national lottery and tax, er, collect from you that way.

I promise more national parties. No, not Dems and Republicans. Real parties, with circus midgets, trapezes, and Palin in a teddy.

We will also run the country like a college football program. In fact, just like the University of Texas.

Because of that, I promise we will invade Canada. (Nothing personal, Canada. We will leave right after we invade. We don't want to keep you.).

But we do need an easy win to help our BCS rankings. Iraq was tougher than expected. They took us to the wire. China is gaining points on us. We need to pad our stats.

Canada is like Baylor -- we need a rout to feel better about ourselves. We will pull the starters once we get a big lead. Really.

And finally, I will legalize poker in all states, eliminate the death penalty (except for people who annoy us) and decree that football must be played year round.

And I promise some pot for every chicken.

Or something like that.

Regardless, join the Degenerate party, and vote for Fred.