Friday, September 18, 2015

Love, Jim

Indulge me by reading on past the pic. Admittedly, I’m absolutely terrible at writing in the style of sexy, mushy, dirty or even the classic “love note.”

I dated a woman who loved the “dirty” cell phone text chats. From time to time I’d receive a random text beckoning:

“Tell me something dirty.”

Jim: Hmmm…something dirty?

Girl: YES…something dirty!

Jim: I want to f**k you.

Girl: Uh, you’re a WRITER…I meant write something sexy and suggestively dirty, using your writing skills silly.

Jim: The driving rain casts a hypnotic tympani on the roof as I lay in this bed tonight.  Nature’s spectacular show is punctuated by  brief streaks of lightening tracing the  midnight sky, illuminating your beautiful face in a soft electric blue glow. Thunder fills the air with a commanding, yet mysterious, percussive rattle on the window panes…reminding me that I really want to f**k you...right now.

Girl: Uh...Never mind. I’ll be over in a few minutes.

Jim: Can we have sex???

 I don't know the first thing about writing a love note but a few years ago I decided to give it a pencil stab for someone special after a small disagreement.  Translation: I likely said something dumb.

This is a writing exercise that my editor, my mother, my friends and any number of my college professors would have referred to as a "recipe for disaster.

 My dearest sweetheart,

I'm fully aware that I would, of course, NEVER speak that way in real life but I figured it to be inappropriate to begin a love note with ""Whassup?"

The primary reason that I opted to craft a personal love note revolves around my refusal to purchase a $4-dollar card just because I said something dumb.  I'd go broke in that eventuality.

Actually, I usually throw cards away after I read them anyway...or when a woman breaks up with me, whichever comes first.

I deeply hope that you might find it possible to forgive as I'm quite thrilled that you like to watch football and do not force me to cuddle after sex.  I also love that thing you do when you bend your upper torso downward from the side of the bed.

Actually I love numerous things about you, including the fact that you're not afraid to take a long road trip with me even though (according to a magazine article that I recently read) I fit the primary demographic and socioeconomic profile as that of a serial killer.

By the way, I would never chop you up and bury you under a heap of lyme and sod in a vacant field located miles from a state highway near a rural town in Arkansas.

What I truly want to tell you can't be fully conveyed on paper because there are, in fact, so many things that I love about our time together which would be better conveyed via 2 for 1 margaritas at Loco Libre on State street.

always,

Jim

Since I've officially given up on Hallmark, I'm gonna send some writing samples to that candy company that sells those little hearts which have the consistency of blackboard chalk, with a slight minty taste.  Here's my first draft:

copyright Pontchartrain Press 2015

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

The Old Man And The C Student

Today marks 26 years since my dad passed. Settle down...it's a celebration, in that he provided a solid foundation on which I hold  positive outlook for life to come.  For instance:

I relish the day when various gastrointestinal ailments, coupled with a neurological disease, renders me a wandering nomad, unable to properly wipe my ass without the assistance of an apathetic teenage son who’s impregnated two girls and dropped out of school after the 10th grade in order to form a band named:

“Doo Doo Jones & the Transcendental Fuck Sticks.”

Only he will not be able to correctly spell transcendental due to his lack of education.

Dad did, however, lay the bricks and mortar so that I might better understand the world around me.  What seemed nonsense 26 years ago makes perfect sense to me today.

1. Crazy people seem to possess amazing talents in that they are incredibly creative…most importantly, they are usually also extremely good in bed.

Of course, one must accept the bad with the good in that you might eventually find yourself waking to find this person standing over the bed, threatening to beat you to death with a tea kettle unless you can explain why American Idol won't force a re-match between Jordan Sparks and Blake Lewis.

2. No one can tell me what the name “Todd” is short for…not even my friend TODD! I kinda understand Jim from James and, barely, Bill from William. But HOW do you get DICK out of Richard? This, likely, didn't come out as I intended thus angering the anti same sex crowd in Kentucky.

3. As dad advised, I learned to expand my bilingual horizons. I now know how to say a dirty word in French.

4. I’ve encountered self-proclaimed, spontaneous people who follow an itinerary.  A style the old man refused.

5. It IS possible to be friends with an EX…until they find out that you’re dating someone else. (This lesson caused a considerable amount of personal property damage for a friend)

6. Walking away from an argument is indeed a good and healthy policy…so long as you destroy both cell phones, eliminating text message abilities for either party.

7. I’m still not a role model for children.

8. Under certain circumstances, giving up might just be an accomplishment.

9. It takes 5 drunken guys to change a flat tire.  Dad didn't warn me of the pitfalls of alcohol. I learned that one on my own.

10. Dad and The Surgeon General seem to be correct in their assessment that there is NO safe cigarette.

My friend, Pete, was mugged outside of a convenience store after purchasing a pack of Ultra Lights.

11. “There’s NOTHING good going on at 4am!” This was a regular assertion offered by my father when I was 17-years old. With the assistance of my lady friend, Ashleigh, we blew that theory right out of the water a few months later.

12. NEVER skirt civic duty.  A counterfeit excuse letter from the Pope will NOT get you out of criminal court jury duty…and might result in a contempt of court charge.

13. NEVER trust ANYONE who begins a sentence with “I’m not gonna lie.”

14.  It is, decidedly, not one world. Craig's List is truly a one stop shopping mecca.  In addition to finding a job, one may also find a slightly used weed eater, books, a cat, an automobile and, as evidenced in the following post, unique experiences:

"I'm alone on the couch at 253 South Scott Street.  There's a ski mask by the door on the front porch.  Put it on, come in and SHIT on me then leave...no questions asked."

What sort of questions would one ask after going to the bathroom on top of another person?  Although I have MANY questions for the person who posted this ad, I have an equal number of questions for the person who carried out the request.  However, I'm not about to visit Scott Street to ask either of them.

And, finally, one to grow (up) on...

Dad taught me that times get tough.  Your job is to be tougher or gentler. Figuring out when to be which takes common sense.

Miss you lots pops. as the French say, Merde!

hehheh.

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2015

Saturday, August 1, 2015

MY LIfe And Other Calendar Flaws

A substantial amount of time has passed since I last contributed a writing to the fine folks at Pontchartrain Press.  

I've been doing important things over the previous months, such as devaluing journalistic integrity of a New Orleans magazine via guest contributions and returning to my longtime career path.

Actually, I blew off all writing deadlines and pretty much everything else upon learning that the Mayans had, somehow, developed a calendar with an expiration date- thus bringing about the end of the world. 

Upon receiving this alarming news, I immediately did what any logical person would do...I emailed Donald Trump, since he gets along famously with Mexicans.

Now that I think about it, the Mayans were a relatively advanced civilization whose people demonstrated brilliant innovations in applied math and writing techniques; they created topless beaches in Cancun AND the bottomless margarita.  

Constructing an incomplete calendar will forever cast a dark shadow over these impressive accomplishments as far as I'm concerned.

Their lax work ethic should also serve as a stark reminder to those who consider hiring Hispanic "Day-workers" in front of the neighborhood Home Depot and/or voting for Jeb Bush.

Example: The Mayans constructed pyramids (and my neighbor's house) which are referred to as "Ruins", while Egypt's pyramids proudly live on!**

**Note: Minor codes exceptions, as it relates to Egyptian pyramids, include isolated scorpion infestation and acts of deadly homeland terrorism in and around the neighborhood in which they are situated.

Before anyone hastily judges me as a xenophobe,  it's important to note that 
I absolutely love Hispanics...especially Salma Hayek.

Since I really have nothing of measurable importance to contribute upon my return to Pontchartrain Press, I figured it to be acceptable that I simply offer a rambling.  The piece documents a 364-day journey of self-awareness and is titled: 

                                           "Things That I've Learned"

Also known as: 

                 "I'm Glad That My Parents Aren't Alive To Witness This Shit-Show."

1. Gossip still amuses me, in that one can only WISH that half of it were true. Unfortunately, my "gossip" life is much more exciting. To clear the air, a typical day in my world, regardless of what one might hear through the grapevine, unfolds as follows:

Wake up
Have some coffee and a smoke
Go back to sleep
Watch Judge Judy
Flip between Judge Nasty and whatever baseball game is being televised
Drift off to sleep
Wake up to find that the neighbor's cat has entered my house and is laying on top of me.
Order food
Think about writing
Go back to sleep
Wake up to learn that the Red Sox lost the game
Scrap plans for writing
Feel remorse for being an ass hat to my ex
Watch Jeopardy

2. As evidenced by an aggressive fly which has invaded my house this week, stinging caterpillars on the sidewalk and a city-wide infestation of knife wielding mosquitoes and brain eating amoebas, I've learned that even the insects and organisms are thugs in New Orleans!

3. I came to know three angry gentlemen this year who are age 74, 76 and 79 respectively. If I made it that far, I would be happy to still be ALIVE. If I were able to attain an erection at that age I'd consider it an added bonus.

4. I accept the fact that I'm far from perfect, as are we all...except for Carson Daily.

Through the years there have been missteps, mistakes, errors in judgement, approximately 4-minutes, passed out (face down) in the snow, attending a Loverboy concert and downright stupidity.  

The saving grace that illuminates the road before me is to work toward reconcile, to help others when I can and to recognize every experience (good or bad) as a learning curve.

5. My friend, Doug, has apparently mastered a gardening feat in that he has grown peppers in his back yard which are so hot that they could be weaponized and sold on the black market to North Korea.

6. My neighbors are clinically insane...and usually drunk.

7.  SAVOR those in your life who you love and who love you...no matter the flaws. You'll miss them when they're gone. I promise.

8. The aftermath of hurricanes trigger incredible sale prices.

While waiting in line at the ONLY operating convenience store, thanks to generators, this is an actual transcript between me and a store customer.  It's important to note that she is a known neighborhood prostitute:

Me: Hey how ya' doin'?

Hooker: Good...it's been slow since the Hurricane passed last night.

Me: I'm sure.

(Insert awkward silence)

Hooker: So...you want a quick Bl*wjob for $20

(Insert awkward silence)

9. Me and my friend, Cornell, can indeed solve the world's problems from his front porch...until his pint of Gin runs dry and/or his wife comes out to yell at us around 3:00am. These days, thankfully, I'm the sober one.

10. The most stupid name an automaker could ever give to a car is "Yaris."

11. Monuments and flags don't kill people...assholes do.

12. My friend, Todd, is still somehow married, which teaches me that...well, it actually teaches me nothing.  Other than the fact that he's often quite intoxicated, is regularly forced to attend functions which include in-laws who are also regularly intoxicated as nephews and nieces run around in circles screaming as though they are running from the scene of an ISIS attack. 

13. Words are more powerful than many people realize. I need to measure mine more often.

14. The Hot Tamale candy machine at an establishment in New Orleans is broken and dispenses candy with no money required. I will NOT be naming this establishment in the interest of greed.

15. Mike, the editor, recently paid me a compliment!  Which confirms that, no matter what YOUR doctor says, Adderall IS indeed right for him.

16. I learned nothing during my downtime about soccer.

17. No matter what you might think, there is absolutely NO way to look cool while driving a mini-van.

18. An inordinate amount of attractive women in New Orleans jog at 6am.

19. I hope I don't look like a creepy dude at 6am.

19. Creative appreciation is in the eye of the beholder.  For instance, I recently suggested that a friend, who's trying to come up with a name for his band, call themselves:  

"Tom Selleck's Moustache"  

Against protest, my suggestion was flatly rejected.

20. All cell phones are different, so make sure to do your research before making the purchase.  example: In the past, mine sent out random, idiotic texts after about 4 Irish whiskeys.

21. I learned that, sometimes, it can be an impossible mission to cheer up a friend or loved one and that it's best to leave well enough alone so that they might handle it in their own way, as painful as it might be.

I boldly look to the future and fondly ruminate on the past...except for a creepy moment at age nine. Every time I get into a van that smells like cotton candy and cigars I piss myself. Long story.

It wasn't easy being a kid...and not much easier as an adult but, growing older DOES bring one perk: discounts.  I understand that the neighborhood "working girl" is running a birthday special.

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2015

AUTHOR NOTE: This piece is dedicated to Kristi, who tolerated me despite tough times and set me back on a smarter, healthier road. Truly the love of my life.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

aaaargh...Get To The Chopper!

Okay...the previous tease for a new piece was preempted due to our coming to grips with how Kim Kardashian STILL managed to install herself into the Caitlin Jenner story.

I promise the new one is  ready, just as soon as Donald Trump gives the ok. It will, hopefully, make you smile, possibly solve the Greek financial problem and likely prompt you to kick my testicles

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Stay Tuned...

A new article coming soon.  Just been waiting for Comcast to install high speed Internet into the cardboard box under the bridge.


Wednesday, December 3, 2014

It Was The Best Of Times, It Was...Required 8th Grade Reading

I truly admire those who optimistically look for positive angles in life situations, especially without developing a moderate alcohol addiction.

Sensing that stress might possibly be casting a dark shadow upon my usual positive mindset, last November I decided to burn up two-weeks of accrued sick leave days before I contracted an incurable illness and be forced to use the company benefit for legitimate purposes.  I felt that a break was needed in order to rejuvenate and recharge. 

My downtime afforded the opportunity to learn a great deal about myself and others.  I met interesting people, I met irritating people and even tried my hand at a few fun work challenges, one of which involved me being yelled at a lot by an old man with a heart condition. 

I also participated in a short stint at a suburban city lock-up due to sloppy record-keeping.  They actually made me wear a black and white striped jumpsuit for 13-hours!  I felt like I was in "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?"  Only surrounded by meth addicts. 

It seems that I forgot about a $200 balance owed on a traffic infraction from years ago and now owed said balance PLUS a contempt fine.  

As a matter of record, I hold contempt for several people but they don't charge money for it.  

Elsewhere during my sabbatical, I  joined a flock of believers at a local church which seems to be shepherded by a very nice pastor who's admittedly in anger management counselling AND pornographic addiction therapy.  I'm not certain as to whether one sin has anything to do with the other...But, I'd love to take a peek at his computer history logs.

From: Mike Klein, Editor
To: James Patrick
Re: Time Off

Did you quit again?

From: James Patrick
To: Mike Klein, Editor
Re: Re: Time Off

Not at all...I told you that I was burning up some unused vacation and sick days.  

From: Mike Klein, Editor
To: James Patrick:
Re: Re: Re: Time Off

Yes, but that was last November, over 300 days ago.  Where you been?

From: James Patrick
To: Mike Klein, Editor
Re: Re: Re: Re:  Time Off

I spent a spell of time at a middle eastern radicalization/re-education camp.  Shortly thereafter I realized that it wasn't for me...primarily because I cant grow a scruffy beard and I don't particularly want to blow anything up...except for your condo.  Besides, I'm blonde...not exactly a physical attribute that the radicalized underground embraces as a poster child.

As a matter of fact blondes, typically, can't grow beards and those who CAN usually grow spotty facial hair, making them appear as one of those pedophiles you see on Dateline NBC spotlighting an Internet underage sex bust which is being conducted at a seedy inner-city motel near a Waffle House.


From: Mike Klein, Editor
To: James Patrick
Re: Re: Re: Time Off

Hmmm...any fruits of labor gained from your time off in the way of writing?

From: James Patrick
To: Mike Klein, Editor
Re: Re: Re: Re: Time Off

Indeed!  I kept a diary.  Actually girls call it a diary; I think guys are supposed to call it a journal...so as not to sound needy, sexually confused or emotionally unstable.  

From: Mike Klein, Editor
To: James Patrick
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Time Off

I see.  May I read a sample of your journal during this "finding Zen" journey of yours?

From: James Patrick
To: Mike Klein, Editor
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Time Off

Absolutely... 

21 November 2013
I just received a text from my friend Jeff.  Any guy who texts "K" "OMG" or "LOL!" has a vagina!  End of discussion.  I can't be friends with this guy now.

19 December 2013
I took in a stray cat a few weeks ago.  I named him Sneaky Pete.  He's kinda scruffy but affable.  He has a meow that sounds as though he's smoked cigarettes for 25 years.  

Pete was apparently separated from his family years ago after Hurricane Katrina (according to the microchip implant).  The phone number on file was disconnected so Pete has a new home with me now.  He's been therapeutic, good company during my time off and search for inner-peace.  

20 December 2013
Sneaky Pete was, sadly, struck and killed yesterday by a driver who was texting while driving past my house.  She didn't even STOP!  I wonder how that text read?

"I'm stopping to get take-out gyros and beer on the way home...OMG, I just ran over a cat.  LOL!  Be home soon! xo"      

27 January 2014
It's been quite some time between journal entries.  Along with Todd, I helped our friend, Amanda, move into a brand new (even shittier) place of residence last weekend.

For as long as I've worked with her, Amanda cant seem to ever catch a break.      

In order to foster an air of positive reinforcement for Amanda and her downward spiral, I reminded  that she seemed to be moving backwards in life...but that it was far better than moving in with her parents...since they like her older sister much more.  I assured that no one would judge  if she considered a career in topless dancing or suicide.  

As a side note Todd got into a scrape with the authorities. 

Todd is  the only person at Pontchartrain Press who happens to own a pickup  truck.  He also, apparently, was never a boy scout as evidenced by his knot-tying prowess in securing Amanda's mattress.  We lost it about a half block from Amanda's old apartment where it fell onto a homeless man and three pigeons.  Talk about Manah falling from heaven!!  

Todd's truck is large and macho.  I think it's the Ford F-3,570.  It's black.  Actually, I think the factory color is called  "Black Lung." 

It's equipped with a state of the art "towing package", leather interior, the entire defensive line for the Green Bay Packers, a mounted surface to air missile launcher, a fully stocked bar and a malfunctioning left brake light.  

The brake light especially caught the attention of a helpful New Orleans police officer who took time from patrolling notoriously safe streets for which the inner-city of New Orleans is world famous.  

Fun Fact:  The Louisiana driver's license exam contains (and I'm not making this up) the following question:


"How much does the state spend on highway beautification projects annually?"


At least gang members have a neat and tidy playing field in our roadways and now have more vehicle lights at which to aim after Todd and I wrap up our day of assisting Amanda in her next chapter of personal disappointment.

The officer also helpfully indicated that he smelled beer emanating from the truck.**

**Note: For the record, Todd was not drinking.  He only drinks in his kitchen late at night while watching The Tonight Show With Jimmy Fallon.  Realizing that adultery isn't a viable option, Todd usually prays that his wife and child don't wake up as he cries himself to sleep on the living room floor.  

Now that I think about it, moving day is a ripe opportunity for police departments across the country.  As a matter of fact, DUI inspection points should occur on Saturday afternoons which fall on (or about) the first of the month.

As a public service announcement, I fully support removing drunks from the roadways and, in many cases, from the bar stool located directly next to me.  

In the meantime, brake-light traffic patrol overtime payrolls rise while drug dealers safely continue to collect payments from Federal and state funded life-enrichment programs, free insurance and I-Phones while officials nab dangerous guys such as my (sober) friend, Todd, who flagrantly piss on the Constitution by smugly strolling through life with a faulty brake light.    

Rather than risk jail time...I skipped the urge to voice my (not sober) opinion and opted for the safe approach, thereby, in a distinguished English accent, I removed my hoodie and informed the officer:


These are not the droids you're looking for."   


Then I offered him a slice of Papa John's pizza.

Todd passed the field sobriety examination quite famously and his wife, Melissa, is (once again) not speaking to me.  So much for Jedi mind tricks.

14 February 2014
It's Valentine's Day!  Which means absolutely nothing to me. 

Anyway, my friend, Nick, is trying to name his band.  It's a shitty band but I enjoy watching them play, mainly because they put my name on their free bar tab wherever they perform.  I recommended that he name the band:


"Tom Selleck's Moustache"

Sadly, he didn't like my suggestion.

02 July 2014
I simply can NOT begin my day without the brilliant take on tragic world events without weighing in for impact angles as presented by Matt Lauer, Kathie Lee, Hoda Kodb, Savannah Guthrie, Al Roker and the amazing Carson Daily.  

12 August 2014
I hate my life.


17 September 2014
Assisted a friend who owns a construction company by taking part in a house "demo" & drywall hanging project which was located on a hunting camp in northeastern Mississippi.  As an important reference note, my friend is a black man.  With "hanging" involved, this seemed to have a tragic movie plot written ALL over it.

Since I didn't know what the terms:  


"Hanging drywall" 

"House Demo" or "Mississippi" 


meant, I agreed to participate.  Especially since he offered to pay me cash.

In retrospect, what I should have done is to lie on the ground, arms outstretched, flat on my stomach and demanded a rescue helicopter.

I must admit that smashing walls and house frames to pieces with sledgehammers all day left me with an immeasurable sense of manliness. I believe that I even grew a third testicle.*

*Note: Applying body lotion at the end of a construction workday sadly negated ANY sense of manliness.  OMG!  LOL...K? 

With seven entries in a 1-year journal it's abundantly clear that I'm simply not responsible enough to keep a journal.  Which is fine by me since there are any number of items on my list of personal inadequacies.

When I began this exercise, I read an article that touted the practice of keeping a journal.  That it's supposedly the closest experience one can reach in time travel--  an invaluable tool with which to learn about ones's self by revisiting entries after an extended amount of time has passed.  (Also known as reading drunken out-box texts sent from the night before)


Maybe so, but I feel strongly that I learned far more from what I DIDN'T immortalize in the written word on these pages...memories (both good and bad) which subtly linger as background noise or an afterthought-- sort of like any song recorded by the group Train.   

I hold experiences in my mind as a basement of sorts,  a musty room, illuminated by dim lighting through dingy windows-- strewn with history, dusty artifacts and a number of missing neighborhood children. 

I can choose to revisit them or I might simply wait for them to naturally disappear as a vague memory, sort of like Bill Cosby's television career.  

Most importantly, I learned that taking a year off is not the most financially sound decision that I've made over the years and I now know that unlimited text/SMS packages can actually control the stray pet population.


“You'll have bad times, but they'll always wake you up to the stuff you weren't paying attention to.” -- Robin Williams

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Butterball Genocide Hotline, Please Hold

True meanings of many holidays have become so blurred over the centuries.  For instance, Easter and Christmas are not associated with Christ.  One is associated with a mutant 6-foot rabbit who strews candy all over the yard for boys and girls...essentially a littering crime.  The other involves a fat guy dressed in a velvet suit (insert John Waters film credits here) who commits millions of felonious breaking and entering crimes across the globe.  Both of which, depending on who's wearing the costume, could result in crimes of pedophilia.  

And we wonder why our children have bad dreams at night?

Not Thanksgiving.  This is a holiday that has always been associated with EATING.  A commemorative feast celebrating the fact that the white man finally came across a group of people that they DIDN'T kill upon their arrival to the brave new world.  I love Thanksgiving and I love to eat!

In New Orleans, being the health conscious city that it is, Thanksgiving feasts are taken to the extreme in that one traditional culinary treat is an entree called "Turducken."  It's a turkey, stuffed with a duck AND a hen!  Sort of like an Ornithological genocidal nesting egg.

As a point of reason, I'm not putting anything on my dinner plate with the word "TURD" in it.   

It's been a couple of years since I've been asked to write a Thanksgiving column.  It's not that I'm not a thankful person, I really am.  I just don't like to craft holiday writings.  I also don't like The X-Factor.  One has nothing to do with the other with the exception of bad performances.  

For instance, one song and dance routine is filled with deep feelings of underachievement, inadequacy, regret and animosity which takes place around the family dinner table surrounded by judgmental people and the other plays out on the Fox Television Network.

My editor regularly asserts that I seem jaded around the holidays.  Quite the contrary.  I fondly remember many wonderful holiday moments, like the time that I found myself holding the rites of passage torch by way of a distinguished honour in being asked to deliver the Thanksgiving dinner blessing...at age 7.
  
I bestowed thanks for typical items in the eyes of a normal seven year old.  According to my mother, the prayer went something like this:

"Dear God, I'm thankful for my family, I'm thankful for the new shoes that Grandma got me, I'm thankful for the food today and that daddy isn't drinking and yelling at mom about money and having to be here at dinner today like he did all day long on Tuesday.  Amen."

As I recall, an uncomfortable aura hung heavy in the air, swirling within the thick, decadent aroma of Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole and candied yams. This seems to have caused dad to drink again later that evening as mom opted to sleep at my aunt's house until Sunday.

This year I find myself thankful for the little things in life.  I'm thankful for my neighbor who begins her jogging routine with a stretching exercise each day between 8:05 am and 8:16 am, wearing painted-on, form-fitting spandex jogging pants.  After completing a full broadcast career, I'm thankful for not having anyplace particularly to be on any given day, except between the hours of 4:00 pm and 5:00 pm when Judge Greg Mathis airs locally.
  
I'm also thankful for my friend Jeff, who recently helped me to complete some tedious home improvement projects.

I reluctantly recommend Jeff as a fine "catch" for the ladies.  His handiness seems to leave an impressive stamp on the lady friends in his life, however, he tends to do little things which get him into trouble when he settles down with someone.  He leaves the toilet seat up, tosses his laundry onto the bedroom floor, leaves dirty dishes in the sink, sleeps with numerous other women while in a relationship, etc.

I'm also thankful for the pilgrims, who fled England in order to establish a pure form of religious freedom without persecution which led to the creation of modern day American Christianity...and Alabama. 

The pilgrims piled onto the boat, piloted by Captain Henry Fleischman, the only known Jewish Pilgrim, and fled their societal jail of religious oppression and socialized health care programs.

As a historical anecdote, Capt. Fleischman was not known for his stellar navigational skills, being somewhat of a moderate alcoholic.  As the boat touched land in, what they thought was, America, the Pilgrims found themselves in the enchanted land of Nova Scotia.

During their stay, they restocked and took advantage of an unexpected opportunity to spread Christianity to Canada and warn them about Justin Bieber.

Being a typical man, Capt. Fleischman refused to ask for directions and boldly guided the Pilgrims south via horse and wagon.  They finally ended up in the promised land of Philadelphia, where they were immediately carjacked.

After a quick tour of the Liberty Bell museum and Independence Hall, the pilgrims celebrated the first Thanksgiving dinner with their new found Native American friends at a lavish casino where they feasted on pizza and cheese steak sandwiches.  Since it was an Indian reservation casino there was, of course, no alcohol...much to the dismay of Captain Fleischman.

Speaking of awkward situations...I'm also thankful for Pontchartrain Press' chief research monster and contributor, Eric from Philly.

Whenever I call on him I can always count on well thought out, accurate contribution to one of our books or articles...with a little extra.

We always communicate via text message rather than my proposed Facebook instant message suggestion.  Eric somehow feels that using Facebook, as he puts it, causes one to "catch the gay."

Jim: Sorry I've been busy lately and haven't dropped you a line to see what's up.  How ya' doin?

Eric: Well, my AIDS is actin' up again.

Jim: WTF? What's wrong with you??

Eric: Try telling someone that while holding your back.  Even though backache has nothing to do with AIDS, the reactions are priceless!

Jim: I've heard enough.  At least you picked something easy to spell.  I always pick Leprosy.  Actually, I think it's harder to contract Leprosy than it is to correctly spell it.

Eric: Speaking of things that are difficult to spell, that's why Chupacabra didn't make the list.

Jim: Is that covered by Obama Care?©

Eric: Not sure, but I don't believe in it.

Jim: Obama Care or Chupacabra?

Eric: Chupacabra...it's Mexican.  I don't believe in Mexico.

Jim: Mexico is real, I assure you.  Four Mexicans re shingled the house across the street today.  BTW, I took Mexican in 8th grade.  I didn't do well in that class but my teacher, Ms. Montes was hot!

Eric: I'm holding out for solid proof that mysteries would be solved in order of distance:

Bigfoot
The Loch Ness Monster
Aliens
Heaven

Jim: I'm writing a Thanksgiving piece this year.  Something fluffy and feel good so I can get into heaven.  Anything YOU'RE thankful for?

Eric: Reese's peanut butter cups.  Every year for Halloween I buy a metric shit-ton of them and, before I go to bed, I hang a "Registered Sex Offender" sign on my porch.  Then, I eat them all uninterrupted.

Jim: Aaaah...Reese's, billed as the greatest, profitable retail accident in history...aside from Keanu Reeves.

Eric: I'm also thankful that I came from a different era.  I'm a bit disappointed about the lack of assassinations these days though.  Our parents had the Kennedy's, MLK, John Lennon, etc.  On top of that, our war is lame, our music sucks our recession is one where everyone still gets a new I-phone every week...this generation is an embarrassment!  So, what's your plan for Thanksgiving dinner?

Jim: Wild Turkey with cranberry juice and thoughtful reflection.

Eric: About what?

Jim: Where it all went wrong.

Eric: Cool.  If you decide to eat a bullet after several drinks you should stream it with webcam.  I'll save a video cap and make it my Christmas card this year.  I was gonna go with a video cap of a girl I recently had sex with for the card.

Jim: What's the cap?

Eric: After we were done I realized I didn't have anything within reach so she could tidy up...towel, socks, shirt.  So, I handed her a plastic grocery bag.  I'm gonna title the vid cap "Happy Endings And New Beginnings."  In honor of New Year's and all.

Jim: I'm sure that was a proud moment for her.  BTW, you should opt for PAPER bags at the store.  Now you've angered Al Gore.®

Eric: Every time I heard the crinkling of the bag I couldn't stop laughing.

Jim: What the hell is wrong with you??  Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?  It's on my bucket list btw.

Eric: I don't believe in Jews.

Jim: Oy Vey...Gotta go.

Eric: Have a blessed holiday.

I suppose I have much to be thankful for, all of which escapes me at the present moment.  But, suffice it to say, I'm thankful that I've never dated anyone Eric has had relations with for sure.

I'm also thankful for the Butterball Hotline ladies who have an admirable sense of humor each year when I call.

Butterball Operator: Butterball hotline, this is Carolyn, How may we assist you today?

Jim: I'm havin' a bit of trouble with this bird.  

Butterball Operator: Where are you now in the process?

Jim: Fairly early actually.

Butterball Operator: What's that noise?

Jim: It's the turkey.

Butterball Operator: It's alive??

Jim: Yep.  I'm on the front porch trying to kill it.  I just don't have the moxie to do it.  Since I don't own a hatchet, I figured a .38 caliber handgun would work.  Actually I was hoping that I might be able to talk the bird into killing itself;  I've never killed a creature.  Since my ex-girlfriend is not available to guilt it into feelings of abysmal self worth and failure, I gave up on the turkey suicide option.  My ex is in Ohio with family this week I think.

Butterball Operator: (indistinguishable talking and background laughter)

Jim: At any rate, all the neighbors seem to be on their cell phones staring over at my porch...maybe they're on with another one of your operators.  I'll go see if they found any helpful information.  Thanks!

I'm truly thankful for a handful of friends in my life who encourage, set examples and, otherwise, shape a fun, sometimes awkward and inappropriate, but always entertaining world in which I share with them.  

It seems that I must now relinquish my "man card" after typing that...But, I still don't stop for directions, so perhaps that offsets it.

copyright Pontchartrain Press, 2013