Star Trek plus pretty much anything equals epic. This video is no exception. Tik Tok Trekkies…Tik Tok. Hope everyone is having an awesome Tuesday morning!

We’ve all known for a while that Lindsay Lohan is out of her damn mind, but this picture shows just how far off the deep end the poor girl has gone. And I thought Michael Jackson showing up an hour late to court in his pajamas was bad. Come on girl…and you’re shocked you got sentenced to 90 days. To quote Mr. Ed Lover, “C’Mon Son!”

Seeing as how disc jockey’s are always talking up Thirsty Thursdays and great deals on drinks, cheap cover charges and the like I decided to take a different approach. As a recovering alcoholic I thought it would be interesting to link videos of people making asses of themselves while drunk. Thirsty Thursday is just a horrible marketing scheme that inevitably leads to What The F@ck Friday. But more on that tomorrow.

So this week I bring you “Struttin.” I can’t say for sure that this gentleman is drunk -- but he’s most assuredly on something. I couldn’t find any info about this video except that a Huntsville, Alabama reporter is trying to do a story and for whatever reason this passerby goes off about people that have to walk from place to place. As an Alabamian I’d like to point out that Huntsville IS one of our classier cities. Just keep that in mind. Now I’m off for a walk. Got to be struttin’ dat ass. Keep it sober, keep it safe and keep off camera.

Whoever said kung-fu should onle be used for for self-defense was a fool. Check out Bruce Lee tearing up a ping-pong game using only a pair of nun-chuks. If this doesn’t make you a bad-ass I don’t know what does.

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A shmoke und a pancake. You know, a flapjack und a shigarette? No? Shigar und a waffle? No? Pipe und a crepe? No? Bong und a blintz? No? Well, then there ish no pleashing you.

So there I was, trying to stand on my front porch and enjoy the afternoon. Hanging out, enjoying the weather – a beautiful October afternoon in Alabama. Suddenly I feel as if I am being watched. Not like a stalker kind of thing, but one of those kind of “is this computer camera on while I am surfing adult sites?” vibes. Never had that? Me either…I was just making that up – seriously. A friend told me about that feeling.

Anywho – there I stand with a very unusual feeling and I look to my left and there, about 3 feet away – just hanging around minding her own business is a deer. This is at first one of those fight or flight reactions – do I run? Do I hide? Do I kick this deer in the crotch, gouge an eye and wrestle it down hoping my manly show of force will deter it? I wish I had a manly story. But, I didn’t do anything. I let out a quick “What’s up, deer?” and went back to minding my own business. After all, perhaps if I pretended I wasn’t there she would move on through the neighborhood and go hang out on someone else’s front porch. It’s the same approach I use with the homeless.

But then I got to thinking – I’ve seen all those damn Disney movies – the ones where the animals work in pairs and everyone’s best buddies. Maybe this deer was best friends with that squirrel I sent to the afterlife a couple weeks ago. Perhaps it had traveled many, many miles in search of me – to exact revenge in a flurry of paws and fur. Maybe it was my turn to “pay the piper.”

I mean, honestly? What the hell? When did I become Dr. Doolittle? I am remarkably unqualified for situations such as these. I never took this class in college. The closest encounter I have had with an animal in 10 years prior to this month was that one time a cat clawed my man-berries through my shorts at a house party. Or that time my ex-wife bit me when she…never mind that, actually. I still have scars and nightmares.

So I stood and thought about this quandary. Suddenly my brother opens the door, Bambi startles – I hear a faint “God D*^&!” and a quick slamming of the door. Once again, the familial ties have failed me and I alone am left in a compromising situation. The brother is batting 0 for 2 of being any kind of aid in times of crisis. I felt like George Clooney’s character in Oh, Brother Where Art Thou. “Damn, I’m in a tight spot.”

Here is a frightened deer, ears perked up – possibly wanting to exact its revenge on me – angry at my potty-mouthed brother for taking the lord’s name in vain. Of course this deer has on a collar – which makes it seem less threatening. But in my mind, equally dangerous. That’s how they sneak up on you. “Oh, look at me. You can pet me! I wont hurt you!” You can’t fool me deer. A pet deer? Seriously, work on a better disguise. At least put on a mask – pretend to be a dog, or my elderly neighbor.

I thought perhaps I should offer her a cigarette as some kind of peace treaty. But as I am currently uninsured I thought better of putting my paws that close to a wild animal’s mouth. I consider taking her on as a pet, but I can’t foresee her curling up on the foot of my bed.

So I do what any redneck from Alabama would do. No! I didn’t shoot her, mount the head and make deer jerky. I start waving my hands wildly in the air, screaming random gibberish and profanity and making a quick B-Line right in her direction, at which point I scare the shit out of someone’s petting zoo escapee. Either that or she decides I am crazy enough to “off” her just as I did the squirrel. Either way, the predator becomes the prey. Kind of like in “The Last House On The Left,” but completely different.

So here I am. I am beginning to wonder if crap like this use to happen to me all the time but in my drunkenness I just never noticed it. I’m not sure, but either way I am changing colognes – and brothers.

Dear God, If I make it out with my anal virginity I will never do it again!

I have had the unique pleasure over the last few weeks of attending a Level 2 Substance Recovery Class courtesy of the fine state of Alabama. Every Sunday morning I get to go and sit with a strange and eclectic group of pot smokers, beer drinkers and a guy who got a public intoxication charge at a hot-air balloon festival.(He is at the bottom of our class hierarchy) I’m going to be honest – I dreaded attending this thing more than a 18 year-old girl does gaining the “Freshman 15.”

I was smashed when I received this sentence for a first-time DUI. Then again, I was also really smashed when I got arrested. This is probably why I am not nor ever will be a judge. But I have taken so much from this class – I have learned a great deal about myself by talking and listening – something that has never been my strong suit. I learned that it’s very, very easy to make one impressively bad decision and have that effect the rest of your life. But I have also learned that it is equally easy to make decisions to change yourself and get what you want out of life. Not to mention I have picked up random tidbits of knowledge from the wise musings of a few ex-cons who spent several years in prison.

1.There are many great, easy ways to make Meth – but doing so will most likely end up in you blowing yourself up or losing your teeth. Lesson Learned = Meth is bad for your future and your dental hygiene.

2. Making “Julip Juice” – aka Prison Wine – in the toilet of your cell will land you and everyone in your cell block 6 additional months if caught. Lesson learned = Do this and find yourself on the wrong end of a shank

3. Prison Food is not only unhealthy to eat but can be used as a weapon – if you turn your tray upside down the grits will not fall out. Lesson Learned = if the meanest SOB on your cell block steals your biscuit – grow eyes in the back of your head, he could kill you with it.

Of course, aside from this knowledge that I hope I, or any of you for that matter, never need to use in the Big House, I have actually learned some amazing things. I have tons of respect for my classmates and one in particular told me something yesterday that really got me thinking. Life is not something that happens to you, he told me. It is something that you make happen – just one tidbit of wisdom he spouted to me after 7 years of soul-searching in a federal prison.

And it is the most direct and accurate advice I have ever been given. He said it with such certainty and for good reason. He has changed his life, finished a degree and completely changed his world all despite being an ex-convict. I feel fortunate I don’t have to learn the same way he did. If there are things you want, goals you aim for, places and things you want to see and people you wish to find again – YOU have to do it. Sitting idly on the sidelines never helps win the game. If we wait for great things we will wake up one day and wonder what happened to life. Nothing in life is given to us – but it is all there for the taking.

I feel like a new person each and every day as I rebuild my life into what I want it to be. I wake up with such excitement and passion every morning. Each day is an adventure and a chance to get what I want. I didn’t think about this class in those terms. I could have gone and just sat through it and learned nothing – an opportunity lost. But instead, I grabbed life by the horns, embraced the course, and it has given me more lessons and tools in 2 months than I had learned over the last 29 years. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to dry out some Skoal so I can hand-roll some cigarettes out of it. Those trade 4 to 1 or so I’ve heard…

I generally shy away from posting anything political – but I figure this doesn’t really count since it is the greatest thing ever made. Combine the masterful political prose of Barack Obama with the touching, powerful vocals and musicianship of Rick Astley and you get this: The BarackRoll. Quick question – is it just me, or do Rick Astely and I favor? Anyway, the point is: For my people out there – I’m never gonna give you up. Just know that.

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A little help, please?

My brother was banging on my door yesterday morning. Loudly.

“I’ve got a serious problem!”

I took him at his word as we haven’t been on much of speaking terms for the last few months. I figured, if he decided something warranted his speaking up, I should at least listen.

“What the hell, man?” I asked. “I’m talking with my lady friends.” Alright, maybe I wasn’t – but there’s never anything wrong with saving a little face in the light of unpleasant circumstances – i.e. a recent divorce. “This had better be good.”

“Just go out and look at my car,” he replied.

So, with a keen interest in how big a pain in my ass this “serious problem” was going to be I moseyed out the front door and this is what I saw.

Lodged helplessly in a small section the grill of his 1996 Geo Prism is a squirrel. A helpless little furry critter that, to my amazement, was not only alive but highly aggravated. While not Dr. Doolittle, I surmised this info by the rapid pumping of claws and angered squealing that was being directed at yours truly.

“What the &^*&!” I yelled. I approached with caution, as I have been told that an upset squirrel is only surpassed in danger and anger by an upset woman. As any blogger would do, I first photographed the situation – for evidence, accident reconstruction or posterity. Besides, it’s what cops do, so I figured I was following protocol at this point.

Apparently my brother had hit the little fur ball on a venture into the city. Thinking, as most people would, that he had put that little tree dweller down for a dirt nap he continued about his business. Lo and behold, much to his amazement, when he stopped for some liquid refreshment at the local 7-11, he found his passenger attached to the grill of his ride.

Being the animal lover he is – he decided at that point that in lieu of removing said creature from grill, he should come see the older brother about this problem. After all, what is family for if not times of need: like when there is a live friggin’ squirrel attached to the front of your car like a mechanical hood ornament.

As he told me – “It was a long ride. People kept honking and trying to get my attention. An old man on his front porch nearly fell over. So I just gave him a thumbs-up, thus indicating that yes, I realize there is a live animal on the front of my car as I drive 65 miles per hour down the highway.” I can only imagine what must have been going through that squirrels mind over those many miles. I would venture it was something along the lines of…

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!, etc. etc.”

Ummmm...no way.

After much quiet contemplation and inner dialogue I asked myself the pertinent question. WWSID? What Would Steve Irwin Do? Then however, I thought better of that idea – mainly because Steve Irwin is currently managing the petting zoo at that big ole’ Animal Sanctuary in the sky.

So I did what any normal person would. I decided to remove this nuisance with the implements of destruction (gardening) that we all have around the house – namely, a shovel and a hoe. Well, Mr. Squirrel saw this coming and let out many shrieks of horror. As did I. And perhaps my brother. But in the end I freed him and I thought all would be well. So, imagine my shock and awe when upon a subsequent trip outside (Yes, I had gone back inside to tell my lady friends of the exploits of Russell Crowe, Animal Savior) I find that Mr. Squirrel hasn’t moved despite being quite alive. Perhaps it was the broken back that was limiting his mobility. There were to be few tree climbings or nut-hunting forays in his future.

Problem #2 – “What are you going to do?” asks brother who is now causing me more problems than I need before I have had at least 3 coffees. I am now faced with a moral dilemma. I am not a huge animal guy. If this was a pet, I would take it to a veterinarian. But a random squirrel? They are a dime a dozen. Hell. This was natural selection at its best. I knew what must be done. Shovel? Gun? Anti-Freeze?

I had to think fast as the neighborhood cats had taken notice of the Christopher Reeve of squirrels – and I figured anything was better than being mauled while defenseless by a miniature tiger. That’s not how I want to go. Although, neither is death by shovel.

So   I did what had to be done. With a heavy heart, a belly full of yogurt and a cup of coffee in one hand I became The Grim Reaper’s Dirty Little Assistant. I just told myself that perhaps this was a terrorist squirrel and he was trying to figure out ways to disrupt traffic patterns and make everyone either:

1. Late for Work or

2. Force some kind of major traffic accident

While this only slightly eased my guilt, I managed to do my duty as a man and as a Alabamian. (I have learned that being from Alabama and driving a truck automatically makes you qualified for situations that involve life and death – animals, people, etc., you are expected to have something in your truck box to fix any situation) Before you ask, no I did not use the shovel. It was simply used for disposal. How did I do it? I’ll save that information for me alone. I’ll take that to my own grave.

As I finished my cigarette I pondered the meaning of life. But that made my head hurt. I went in, sat down, sipped my coffee and told my lady friends all about it – about how I saved the cute little critter from his agony and pain. Maybe I left out the part about going to heaven courtesy of my hands. That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing chicks dig. After all, I too am just a squirrel trying to get a nut.

The Olympic Games are now over and thankfully, everyone has returned home – or in Michael Phelps case, back to his tank at Sea World. But with myriad events vying for you attention across multiple streams and television stations, did you get to see everything you wanted? Did you miss the discus? Or perhaps you weren’t able to catch that 3000-meter steeplechase. Maybe you just couldn’t roll out of bed early enough to catch the last round of solo synchronized swimming. Well fear not fellow couch dweller. Here is the only thing you missed that was actually worth seeing this Olympics.

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As someone who was a professional musician for a bit of my life, I am generally pretty easy on bands I see and hear no matter their talent level. We all have to start somewhere. I’m sure I played some absolutely atrocious gigs in my life, and I know some of my readers were around for a few of those. But for the love of God, I hope it was never this bad. They could play this to torture terrorists at Guantanamo Bay. Honestly, when I heard this cover of The Final Countdown by Europe my stomach hurt so bad I thought I had been kicked in the twins.  Please tell me they are doing this on purpose.

There is absolutley no way this singer could be any worse. Just when you think that they can suck no more, it just goes further and further downhill. I felt for the people that had to sit in the audience with a straight face. Here’s some advice to you young musicians out there. Recording yourself can be a great learning device: but NEVER post it to You Tube without getting some serious critiques first.

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