“A Boy Named Sue”
My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn’t leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don’t blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me “Sue.”
Well, he must o’ thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a’ lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I’d get red
And some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Sue.”
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fists got hard and my wits got keen,
I’d roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I’d search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name.
Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I’d stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud,
There at a table, dealing stud,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me “Sue.”
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother’d had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: “My name is ‘Sue!’ How do you do!
Now you’re gonna die!!”
Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a’ gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
I tell ya, I’ve fought tougher men
But I really can’t remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin’ at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: “Son, this world is rough
And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong.”
He said: “Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Sue.’”
I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I’m gonna name him
Bill or George! Anything damn thing but Sue! I still hate that name!
— Shel Silverstein and Johnny Cash
Put it in their bed.Haha. Even better. I was walking, so all I could do was pick it up and carry it to a dumpster, which was like HALF A BLOCK AWAY. I flipped them off, though, but they probably didn’t see me, busy as they were racing off to a barren and self-absorbed existence.
If I see you throw your pathetic fast food trash out your window I’m going to pick it up, follow you home, and throw it in your goddamn yard.
When capitalism attacks.
“I have herpes,” she says.
“And I don’t,” he says
“And we we wanna keep it that way!” they say in unison.
Then they go explore a cave or something.
Flash to the side effects: MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS, ANKLE NUMBNESS, OILY STOOLS, AND A SUDDEN, UNCONTROLLABLE URGE TO DEFECATE.
Flash back to the couple as they repel down a cliff, thoroughly medicated and their viral infections completely separate.
And while we’re at it: Why are all the women in tampon commercials wearing white pants?
Like, how a very large section of Americans think the guy who exposed it all, Snowden, is a traitor.
It’s like, the only rights left in America worth protecting are the rights of those who are violating the rights of the people. The only rights that matter are the rights of those who are snooping.
If somebody calls them out, well, TRAITOR!
But no one seems to mind, at all, that they are tracking our every move via the telephone. That’s cool. Our rights? OUR RIGHTS?
But they have foiled DOZENS of terrorist attacks—and just as soon as we fabricate everything, we’ll let you know what those are.
BUT NEVER SURVEILLE THE SURVEILLERS! It’s a violation of their precious rights!
Freedom! Our spy agencies must have free reign to snoop and spy on as many Americans, without suspicion and especially warrant as possible, and those who expose it and try to prevent it are
VIOLATING THEIR RIGHTS. Why, they are traitors, even!
The rights of the people? The Constitution?
The only rights that matter, in 2013, are the rights of the people and organizations who are violating yours. TRAITOR!
What does July hold? Oh, boy!
Father’s Day is coming up and the online advertising I’m assaulted with is very generically male oriented.
I am not exactly a generic male.
First of all, I don’t play golf, so “dad” doesn’t need any new golf gloves.
I don’t fix or build anything (that isn’t made out of words), so saws and screwdrivers (not the drink) and ratchet sets are out.
The internet has determined that I’m a “dad”, and it is flooding me with these typically male items to give me ideas to tell my kids (who IS young and broke and only one kid, by the way).
I could just hear me now: “I saw this totally sweet wrench on the internet the other day when I was looking at foot fetish porn. It was fucking spectacular!”
People always bitch about being targeted by advertisers, that soulless, ethics-less companies are watching your online moves to “target” you, but you gotta admit it’s terribly clunky at best.
The only thing they know about me for sure is that I have a penis and a beard (Look! Beard oil only $20!).
Pray, my friends, that it stays this way.
I don’t mean that in a sexual innuendo way.
I get these “soup bones” that have some meat on them and dole them out to him and he totally loves them. Every time I give him one, it’s like Christmas. His tail wags until it’s blurry.
He takes it in his mouth, his eyes saying “You sure this is cool?” and goes and lays in the grass and gets to work on it. He’ll be there twenty minutes, a half-hour working away at it.
Finally, he will have it cleaned of every single scrap of goodness, plus gnawed to shit, and this is when things get funny. Holding it in his mouth, he will travel all over the yard, which is pretty big, looking for the absolute perfect place to put it. He will dig many preliminary holes, then change his mind.
Under the half-dead yellow rose bush? He will begin digging, then “Nah.”
How about by the fence we share with the neighbor? He will begin digging, then change his mind again.
On like this for about the same amount of time as he worked on it, twenty minutes to a half-hour. Eventually, he’ll just drop it and forget about it completely.
Haha. What a silly dog.
I don’t mind him digging up my yard. This weird almost bone-burying, coupled with his voluminous piss and shit are saving me from that strange socially compelled obligation of mowing my yard.
At this point, it pretty much looks like the beach at Normandy out there and I’m totally fine with that.
It’s hard enough to meet a woman you DISlike, much less like. — George Costanza
Anonymous asked: I think your son is pretty hot. I am a fan of facial hair on guys and his is pretty nice. I notice you have a full beard. Have you guys ever talked about faciaL hair?
Oh, sure. He is troubled by not being able to grow a full beard. I’m like, DUDE, you’re 19.
I myself couldn’t grow a real bear until I was around 25.
He, though, he has a friend who is the same age, 19/20, and he can grow a full beard!
THE DARK GIFT IS DIFFERENT FOR EACH OF US
“Grow what you can and fucking love it, own it,” I told him.
A real man only offers encouragement to another man’s beard, no matter how light or sparse or patchy.
Only a total fucking little bitch would bring another man down in this area of his life.
The thing is, men are SUPPOSED to have facial hair. If you as a woman don’t like it, then you should never be offended by a man’s preference for a thin, big-titted girl.
It’s just as shallow :)