9 Guys That Annoy Me

"I only need three hours of sleep. I get up at 3:30 every morning."
Um, remind me not join you on any long distance road trips. I'd love to see the quality consistence of whatever work it is that you do. Here's a clue for ya: you may feel superior; I think you're lying blowhard.

"Kingfisher's next drink is on my tab."
Look, you drunken fool, I don't like you. We're not friends. Everyone else may take advantage of you, but I'm gentleman enough not to in your daily inebriated state, and not bring attention to your hypochondriac opinionated boorishness. I hate feeling obligated, but if you sneak one in on your tab, I won't feel guilty for not buying you one.

"Can you get this report for my client?"
Sure. But if I bring it to you an hour later and you have already given them one, and it's wrong, I will break your teeth with my staple remover.

"Sir, do you know how fast you were going?"
What is this? Cash Cab? Do I win something if I get it right? Or are you just asserting your God-complex jerkoff coppitude? Just gimme the chicken shit ticket for going 60 in a 55 while everyone else whizzes by at 80. Remember when a policeman was your friend? Not no more.

"Yeah, I hit the gym before work this morning. (stretch) Got a tennis game tonight. Got a mountain bike ride on Saturday. (flex) Going kayaking Sunday."
Great! I'll say hi to your wife at the bar later. If I wasn't married, I'd be riding her implants within 2 hours.

"Income taxes are unconstitutional. The IRS can't force you."
Sigh. 100 years of this argument hasn't worked, buddy. Take off the tinfoil hat and PAY YOUR GODDAM TAXES you worthless pile of ignorant sludge. Then I wouldn't have to process your wage levy. All three of them. Idiot.

"God bless you." (after I sneeze)
Arrggh! Why do you insist on perpetuating this stupid superstitious pagan ritual? Isn't it a little condescending to assume I want your God's blessing? Do expect me to say the same? I sometimes do, but only when someone belches or farts.

"BBLLLBBBRRRBRRRBLLBRRRRR"
Middle-aged Harley guy, with your bondage outfit and German WWII helmet and white nicotine stained mustache and your hey-this-is-america-freedom-is-mine arrogance, I was enjoying this quiet Grand Canyon rim with ravens' calls and wind in the pines until you FUCKED EVERYTHING UP WITH YOUR GOD GIVEN RIGHT TO BE A LOUD ASSHOLE. Impinging on everyone else's space with whatever you want to do because it isn't physically threatening is not Freedom. It is rude, irritating, arrogant, and the exact antithesis of liberty and civility. And you are not a rebel. You are, however, a huge donkey sucking asstard fuckhat. It is my fervent wish that road pizza is in your immediate future.

"F-R-E-E that spells free, credit report dot com BAY BEE"
Everybody in that car deserves to die. Especially the non-guitar playing pothead qwerbo in the back.

Q: What Do You Do...

...when someone you love needs help and won't take it?

A: Not a damn thing. And it sucks.

Where The Hell Is Kingfisher?

2008 has been booooooring so far. I haven't had much to write about. Besides which, I've been working my butt off. So to show that I am, in fact, still alive, I present some pictures of recent Kingfisher life in a lame imitation of a post.

This is my office at the radio stations. Kinda cool, huh? The amount of energy spent here this year gets most of the blame for my absence in the blogosphere.

Here is the nerve center where I preside over numbers and pretend to be a manager. The screen saver shows a picture of one of my favorite joints on the Santa Cruz municipal pier. Note the coffee cup with a picture of the Pupfish, the nifty Las Vegas 51's baseball (yes, our local team is actually called that), and the aquarium in the back, which my boss calls "a stroke of genius." Why, I don't know. I think he was surprised with my decorating scheme.

Here's a close up of some of the fishies in said aquarium. They're the smartest occupants in the office.

This is the dead animal head across from my desk. He creeps out the hippie chick who hosts our weekly adpot a pet segment on the rock station. The creeping out makes me laugh. He is also a target for practical jokes. He has been decorated at various times with cigarettes, a fake mustache, a sign promoting pot smoking, and training bras.

Princefisher II was asked to the prom. Here he is in his best Men in Black impersonation. Note the young man expression of nonchalant cool while clutching a corsage. Heh.

After a winter and spring of atrocious winds that has everybody in Las Vegas wheezing, complaining, and hornking out a bloody nose in the shower every morning, we were finally able to spend a day on the Pupfish. Here is my daughter with the newest addition to our family. Aren't they cute?

She's a 1-year-old shepherd/chow mix (the dog, not my daughter.) She was the featured dog on the rock station 2 weeks ago. She was rescued from a drug house, had been at the shelter for almost 2 months, and was slated for euthanasia. I saw her in the lobby, she licked my face, and another sucker was born. I named her Poppy. She is learning about family life for the very first time. Boy, is she smart.

That's about it. We're going to the boat for a relaxing Mother's Day. Maybe I'll write some more at my watering hole tomorrow.

Be nice and send Mom some flowers on Sunday. Or at least call her and let her know you're wearing clean underwear.

Now, for no reason at all, here's a picture of frogs playing poker.