I don't blog here no mo.

Go here instead! fiddlepit.wordpress.com

Ego check.

Sometimes, whenever I start to feel way too talented and/or awesome, I just look at this picture and realize no matter what I accomplish on this earth in my lifetime, this horse is cooler than I am.



(I'm really sorry that the horse's dong is visible. It's gross.)

(Also, I'm really sorry if you didn't initially notice the genitalia and my first apology brought it to your attention.)

(That's enough.)

Your son Rip is on line toot.

I am once again impressed with my own high level of immaturity.

I saw this commercial on TV, laughed my ass off, and proceeded to look it up on YouTube just to watch it five more times.

Snowcones, windshields, and missing you.

I know I don't post as often as I intend too, but I hate writing about it very much because I don't like it when people spend every blog entry talking about blogging itself and how hard it is to find time for, being overly apologetic and seeming really into themselves by assuming that anyone cares or even notices they haven't written in a while.

Enough about that.

I guess I haven't felt very funny lately. My mind has been more serious than usual. I think that happens to me in the spring. Every spring, I get really emotional and mushy and sometimes a little dark. I listen to old songs that remind me of people and places I don't have anymore. I get more sentimental than anyone knows and I even cry a little and wonder if anyone else does this whole thing each spring, or ever.

But one thing that gets me happy again about spring is the dawn of snow cone time. I love a juicy Tiger's Blood snow cone. With a real spoon, not one of those stupid, long, red straws with a tiny little cheap "spoon" end that will surely catch my lip and pinch it.

In the spring I always decide I want a convertible. Maybe I will rip off the top of my car tomorrow. With my bare hands.

This is barely related, but I think if I ever needed to replace my car’s windshield, to save money I would just make a new one. There are a lot of glass buildings downtown. I would simply go downtown at night with a glass cutter and remove a windshield shaped piece of the Bank of America tower and caulk it on to my car, no?

All this to say, if you want to get a snow cone, call me.

I don't like birds. They defecate on my car.

I don't know why the mysterious collective referred to as "they" call this:

a bird's eye view. Birds do not have eyes on their stomachs. Birds to not dangle downward-facing eyeballs from their feet.

Birds have eyes on the sides of their heads. I think a bird's eye view is probably closer to this:

Just a thought.

Come on, Henry

Is it just me or has it been "Ford Truck Month" every month for the last seven years?

Decision 2008

Sometimes a comparison begs to be made. This is one of those times. You may not know that Ron Paul and Ru Paul actually are brothers, and they are both running for president. I made a graphic to help me keep them straight.



On one hand, Ru Paul would mean free socialized belly chains. But Ron Paul would make sure my personal belly chain liberties were protected.

CHAIRS: take a seat- you'll feel great!

For some reason I'm amused when I see magazine ads and billboards for milk. Or avocados. Or oranges. Because it's not a specific brand that's being advertised.

'Hey, buy this stuff- we don't even care what kind. Any kind will do. Just buy it, because it's good.'

It would be funny to see that outside of food products. I'd love to drive down I35 and see a billboard that reads:

SHOES
fun to wear, good for your feet

or

PENCILS
an American classic brought to you by the United Association of Pencil Manufacturers

An exchange

Person: See you later, alligator.

Myself: After this episode of The Commish, starfish.

Stronger

I want these so bad. In yellow.

(I just fear that I will be walking along, looking fly in my shutter shades and accidentally step on a pigeon that I couldn't see due to the positioning of a shutter in my field of vision. The problem at that point won't even be that a beautiful, innocent bird died. It will be that pigeon juice is on my shoes, and I can't live with that.)