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Warning, read this blog first, I implore you!

I posted some old MySpace blogs on here just for grins. Now what I wrote on MySpace was for a very specific audience of my friends and family....therefore, there will be a lot of "inside jokes" and a lot of un-PC references. Perhaps the most offensive thing about these blogs is that they aren't all that funny.   But hey, If you have some time kill, read through and feel free to mock / jeer / diagree.
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MySpace blog 11.4.07

Friends (I’ll be there for you)....... Current mood:nostalgic Category: Blogging Halloween Weekend was a blast. Ciss and I got invited / crashed a great party (thanks, Lancey). It was mostly a costume party, and most guests dressed up to some extent (On a side note, I have to confess I LOVE dressing up on Halloween......and anybody else that can un-selfconciously wear a costume has earned a little of my respect). Lancey and Shelley's house is beautiful, the party was not a huge event, and nobody (that I could tell) over-indulged on alcohol. Imagine, then, my surprise when I asked where the bathroom was.   "Oh, you don't wanna go in there", Aaron said. "Why not", I inquired. "Because somebody pee'd all over the floor. Really hosed the whole place down" "?!?"   The "Mysterious Pisser" did such a thorough job of wetting the place down that somebody had to actually get A MOP and clean. It was reminiscent of a truck stop bathroom in hill country. I suspect whoever it was was doing his impression of "Man drinking from a water fountain", or "Lawn sprinkler". So far, the identity of the pisser remains shrouded in mystery. This anecdote reminded me of another little gem of a story.....one that has to be told.   Jimmy S. was (technically still is) a guy 2 yrs older than me. We went to school together, and to the same church (his dad is the pastor), and although I knew who he was, we never really hung out in the same circles (in small town Atlanta, Texas, this means that we had different drinking buddies). Until B. developed a crush on Jimmy. See, whenever B came in to see Cissy, she was by default in our drinking group. And B wanted to meet Jimmy, so we usually had to tailor our plans in some incredibly complex Rube Goldberg-ian fashion just so B and Jimmy could cross paths (to which she would act all surprised and say "oh hey, what are YOU doing here"). Whatever. We all went along because we were tired of B's current boyfriend, a nancyboy supreme. The point is, we got to know Jimmy. And to know Jimmy is to like Jimmy. He was very easygoing, loved to drink beer, and had access to a skiboat!!! Jimmy eventually becomes a drinking buddy, even outlasting he and B's relationship.   The introductory pisser story reminded me of something Jimmy once told me. It seems that he had some anxiety about urinating in somebody else's bathroom, due to the "splashing noise". If the room was unusually quiet, he would actually get on his knees and relieve himself, to try and cut down on the noise. Oddly enough, he had never shared this secret with B.   Which kind of opens the floodgates for "Jimmy Stories". There is a city about an hour away that decorates the whole downtown area for Christmas with millions of Christmas lights. Jimmy once told Cissy's parents that they should go see the lights. "It's better if ya wait until dark, though", he advised them, dead serious.   Once Jimmy told me that he and anoher friend were driving around on the backroads drinking beer when they came upon what they thought was a horrific wreck. Police sirens and wet, red meat on the road almost made him throw up......until his friend told him it was just an overturned watermelon truck.   The piece de la resistance, however, is when Jimmy and I were working one summer for the Tx State Hwy Dept. We had to get serious physicals. The kind where ya have to "turn your head and cough", if you know what I mean. When Jimmy went in to do his physical, the Doctor told him to "Drop your pants to your knees", and turned around to scribble some notes on the chart. When the doc turned back around, Jimmy was on his knees, pants bunched around his ankles. "Son, what the hell are you doing down there?" the doc demanded. Jimmy answered "I thought you said 'Drop your pants and to your knees'......" Keep in mind that nobody would ever have known this story if he hadn't told it on himself. Dude had a sense of humor, that's for sure.   Then there was the time that my ex-girlfriend gave him a handjob. Funny stuff, but that's a whole other blog.   By and large, Jimmy is a great guy (even if he wasn't exactly the brightest back in the old days, he sure was a lot of fun). He's married now and has a family. I think he's doing pretty good, except for a freakish mild heart attack that he suffered a few years back. I hope he kicks ass. He was, and still is a very good friend, even if I haven't seen him in years, and I wish him happiness. He did have to put up with B for awhile, after all.....heehee.....
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MySpace blog 10.17.07

Sometimes Validation Sneaks up on Ya Current mood:grab-ass-y Category: Blogging Wow. Now that I look back, it's been about 6 weeks since my last blog. Damn you, Information Techs (sorry MB) and administrators, for blocking access to my beloved MySpace at work. Because I'm not generally a fan of lengthy exposition (if a movie has to result to exposition to explain the plot, you are sooooooooo screwed. "Star Wars" is the only exception to the rule), I'll just briefly explain that I was unexpectedly given a night off last night. Hence this blog. Last WeekEnd, we packed up the kids and went to "Six Flags" (which shall henceforth be notated as "6F") with my sister and her 2 boys. We do this in October because:   1) - The temperature in October is much more conducive to 6F than any of the summer months. It's the difference between mildly over-warm @ the peak of the day, and sitting nude on the floor in Hell's boiler-room. 2) - It's usually less crowded than in the summer. Although Cissy & Ryan had a 1.25 Hour wait to ride "The Titan", all the other rides were boarded in less than 45 minutes (.75 Hour, if you prefer to be dazzled by my math). 3) - Because it's Ivey's birthday month, we consider this excursion his birthday party. At least I don't have to go to Chuck E. Cheese, or take a bunch of stranger's kids to a movie and pretend to like them, or anything of that nature. 4) - In October, 6F does the park up in Halloween themes. And I do so love Halloween.   Since 6F does a Halloween theme, one of the first things Phoebe (my little, and younger, sister) and I do is to purchase passes to the 4 separate "haunted houses". They were generally pretty good.......Lots of spooky props and lighting, atmospherically creepy. The only complaint I had was with the "actors" that staffed the haunted houses. They were mostly high-school drama students (although the dude that portrayed Leatherface [ from the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre"] had to be pushing 6'8") that moved a little awkwardly and over-acted quite a bit (pssssst.....teen aged "Blacula"......here's a little hint. I can see right off the bat that you're wearing spooky contact lenses and fangs. No need really to open your eyes as wide as possible [achieving that Graves' disease look] or keep your lips pulled back in a grimace. Sometimes subtle is spookier). And, as a quick aside, I should know about the acting. In high school I was the darling of the one-act play scene. My drama teacher often told me that with hard work and lots of practice, I could achieve the emotional range of William Shatner.   One thing that is a little weird about 6F is the dichotomy of age. Most of the people there were clearly either parents, or teenagers. The teenagers run about engaging in grab-assery that was unheard of in my day (although, to be fair, the grab-assery of 6F is NOTHING compared to the handsy foreplay that kids do at Wet-n-Wild. That's a whole other blog, though). Phoebe and I saw a couple in the pavillion grossly making out. They were so awkward and stiff (no pun intended, heehee) that it was clear that they had met at 6F. It was like thumb wrestling, but with tongues. Cissy and Ryan also observed some high teen melodrama whilst in line for the Titan.   By far and away, the best part of 6F (except for maybe the $10.00 sodas, or $20.00 hamburger baskets) was the people watching. It was like tripping on acid while visiting a steroid-pumped county fair. One of my new favorite games to play was "Spot the European on Vacation". Gee, how about the guy with the 80's haircut and weird foreign jeans? Yup. What about the woman in stirrup pants and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt? Right again. How 'bout the man in a wearing a fannypack and dark socks with his white sneakers? Hmmmmm.......I don't know......let's eavesdrop for foreign language.....yes! 3-for-3!!   I was engaged in an intense bout of people watching when Phoebe casually told me that Mike (her husband) always says that 6F makes him feel way "above average" in every way. You know what? It's true. So what if I'm fat......there's 10 guys over there waaaaaaaay fatter. My hair is curled into a Jewfro? Look over there. Think I'm a creepy bastard? Check out the mutant ManChild to my left. The only danger is looking TOO closely and seeing somebody validating themselves while looking at ME...... All in all it was a good trip (I cannot over-recommend the benefits of valet parking. Yes, I know I usually loathe valet. This is an exception to the rule). Except that Phoebe didn't get any funnel cake. Again. There's always next year, Phoebe.
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MySpace blog 8.2.07

Lettuce compare bad dates ( NOT the fruit) Current mood:Sylvan Category: Blogging So, before I get started I have 2 important announcements: 1) - Our newest blog friend, Misbehaving ( I assume everybody has met MB and read his blogs? M, I'm talking to you.....don't be shy......he writes good stuff) pointed out that I've totally ignored my tradition of dedicating a blog to the newest kid on the block, so to speak. This blog is dedicated to you, MB (although the "honor" may be a little dubious). 2) - This blog has been blatantly inspired by MB's latest. Ciss kinda went into it in her comments, and I realized that the story has to be told. In all of its ugliness.   To really understand how I got into this mess, everybody needs to understand 2 things about me ( side note- Is this "2 things" a recurring theme? I don't know, my friend.....I don't know): I have trouble telling people "no", and I'm waaaaay too nice. I understand your skepticism, but it's true.   The "dog-eat-dog" atmosphere of Atlanta High School was so oppressive, that I had gained a reputation as a "really nice guy" (no better way to get laid in high school, right? yeah) by doing nothing more than NOT insulting people to their faces. Apparently I'd also, by my junior year, captured the attention of a senior lass (Her name is ****). Her father and my father were......not good friends, exactly, but......they knew each other really well. Throughout the year I had avoided going to ****'s Halloween party ( She told me "I'll be wearing a toga"), ****'s Thanksgiving party ( "We're gonna play seven minutes in Heaven"....I didn't know what that was, but I didn't like the sound of it), and ****'s Christmas & New Year's parties ( I knew all about the hazards of mistletoe and 12:00). Spring was rolling around fast, though, and so was prom season. At my house, hints were getting dropped that **** wanted to ask me to her prom. This was an actual conversation:   Dad: "I saw Jerry ***** today." Me: "Really." Dad: "He said his daughter thinks you're a fine young man, and so does he" Me: "........." Dad: "He thought you might be a good date for her prom. She's cute." Me: "Dad, she's kinda ugly" Dad: "........." (sending out silent, powerful waves of disapproval)   The very next day at school, **** cornered me and asked me to the prom. It was a little awkward, because we almost never spoke. I hemmed and hawed, but for every half-excuse I gave, she had a comeback (I cracked under pressure and couldn't think of a iron-clad excuse. Besides, I was trying to give her the opportunity to save some face, but she was having none of it). Finally, she administered the coup-de-grace: "I've already bought the tickets, and there's nobody else to go with...PLEASE?"   Prom time. Everybody parked their cars at the high school and boarded a chartered bus to go to the big city of Texarkana. The whole ride down (about 45 mins) was incredibly awkward and silent. I didn't have any friends in the SR. class of 1987, and I didn't know squat about my date. Since it was a chartered bus, the chaperones were not exactly vigilant about screening for alcohol, and everybody was drinking like a fish (except.....somebody forgot to give me the memo. And I could have used a stiff drink). All throughout the night, I fought off a tipsy, dry-humping **** who was trying to kiss my neck. At one point, my date told me "You ought to take off your shirt and just wear your jacket and bowtie".....(WTF?!?). I declined. It was a looooooooong dance. The bus ride back was even worse. It was very dark, and the slobbery sounds of kissing seemed to be preternaturally amplified. I stared straight ahead, thinking how much of a good-night kiss I'd have to pony up to avoid being talked about. At this point, **** takes my arm, puts it around her shoulder, and for good measure, down the front of her dress. So now I've got a handful of boob (Another sidebar....as a commited boob man, that part wasn't so bad. It was just a little unexpected). It was time to man up and take one for the team, so I made out with her. Just for a little while. When the bus arrived back at the high school, **** and I went to my car (unluckily, like MB, it had bench seats. Because I'm a quick, quick learner, I planted my right hand firmly on the steering wheel). **** leaned over and breathlessly wispered "I don't have to be back anytime. My parents trust you....we can do anything you want.....". What I wanted to say was "Ok, then.....we're off to find some hot chicks". Instead, what came out of my mouth was "Er.....It's already a little past my curfew.....I have to go home". I thought that would get my point across. Wrong. **** was incredibly unfazed, saying "....Well, call me tomorrow and we can do something then". Wow.......I didn't call.   Every so often for the rest of the year, My dad would ask if I'd seen **** around, or had heard from her. I would just look at him in stony silence. He got the message.   Years later, Ciss and I saw **** at the local Super Wal-Mart ( the social nexus of Cass County) going grocery shopping. **** was loading her buggy up with frozen entreees. "Hmmmmm", said Ciss, "Dinner for one, ****?" It was the best and meanest line I had heard in a long time.
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MySpace blog 6.18.07

This is not Lifetime! This is, like, a PARODY of Lifetime... Current mood:fallacious Category: Blogging So, I read recently that Ciss and I have a "Lifetime" -esque love story that practically yearns to be shared (Ok, let me first point out that I've actually heard this a lot. Cissy thinks this, and so do the strangers that we meet that she shares our story with (Anybody remember the couple from the Gomez concert?). Secondly, let me point out that my above use of the word "yearns" was intentionally ironic, since "yearns" is very much a Lifetime word.....not so much a Trey word. Thirdly, let me point out this may be my longest use of the parenthesis to date. I've even managed to work in the much-coveted parenthesis-within-a-parenthesis. Impressive, eh?). Well, to be fair, I used to think that too. Upon later reflection, though, I have changed my mind. "But why, Trey....why?" you ask. Good question. What follows below is a list of reasons that refute the Lifetime theory.   1) - I was never an abusive boyfriend that both scared and excited Cissy at the same time. 2) - Cissy's mother never uncovered long-buried dark secrets from my past that would come back to threaten all that I hold dear. 3) - My ex-girlfriend never plotted harm to Cissy in a passionate, yet ill-thought-out plan to win me back. 4) - That scary Wank Wank Wank violin music is not audible when I enter a room with a scowl on my face. 5) - Cissy doesn't have an identitical twin sister that she was seperated at birth from that would later come back into her life to wreak havoc. 6) - Ciss and I never teamed up to investigate the abduction of a local young lady, only to have the trail lead to a white-slavery ring that we broke up using only our bravery and wits.   Oh, sure I could on, but I think I've made my point. If anything, our romance is more akin to a Spike- style movie. "Trey....", you may be saying, "You can't spring a theory like that and have no examples to back it up". Well, actually, yes I could, but because you and I have forged a genuine emotional connection, dear reader, I WILL show how The Trey and Cissy Story could totally be made into a spike-tv movie.   1) - I have a cool catchphrase ("What's up, mothafucka?") that I like to spring when nobody expects it. 2) - Ciss is kind of like my "sidekick". We have witty banter. 3) - Although I have the physical size and martial arts prowess (Aikido, mothafuckas......see how I did that? Catchphrase, my friends, catchphrase....) to be a total badass, I am really a friendly, sensitive guy 4) - Three words: Daily car chases 5) - Cissy is one stone-cold hottie in a league waaaaay above me, yet she's clearly devoted to me, mind, body (hehheh) and soul. 6) - We are considering getting a liscense to carry a concealed handgun. Why? Because we can.   Again, I could go on and on, but I think I've proven my point. Tune in next time when I may compare my marriage to Starsky and Hutch......or maybe LaVerne and Shirley would be more applicable.........
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MySpace blog 5.16.07

Dante wrote an instructional manual......for me Current mood:ribald Category: Blogging So.....I know you're probably wondering what has happened to my blog page. When I view it, it seems to be all scrunched up. I don't really know what happened. I changed the text in the title box a little bit, and BAM! It is widely known that I am techno-tarded (or computarded, if you rather...), but I think that this problem is beyond that. I think it may be a divine punishment for the topic I am about to discuss......namely:     I recently crossed paths with the ugliest woman ever !!   Lest you judge me too harshly, let me 'splain. I am all too aware that very few ladies consider me handsome (At least I have you, Mom......I'm still your special, special boy, right Mom?), so if I mock somebody's appearance, it's all in good fun.....I never make fun maliciously.....so believe me when I say that I met a woman this week that was so unattractive that I found myself silently "cheering" for her. First I will describe her. Keep in mind that this is a real person that is 30-something: 1) She was very short (like Brandi short) but built kinda weird. Huge belly, smallish boobs and smallish butt. Hey, she was built kinda like a Buddha. I didn't make the connection at the time.... 2) She was extremely bald on the crown of her head, but even worse, wore her hair in a female "combover" type of style. Her bald scalp was covered with a puffy, blotchy rash. 3) She had very thick glasses (even thicker than mine, people.....That's saying something) with an odd yellowish tint to the lenses. When she removed the glasses, I noticed she had a lazy eye. 4) Her face had several (each cheek, forehead, and chin) large moles. I mean the huge witch-type moles. 3 of the 4 moles had stubble growing from them, like she had shaved them recently.   So....I was facinated with this woman. I told myself that surely she must have something going for her. During the course of my conversation (which was significant......we chatted for probably an hour or so, all totaled) I didn't see that she had much of a sense of humor, or was reasonably bright. I put her to bed and spent the rest of the night bothered that I couldn't find any beauty in her. In the morning, I went in to wake her up at the designated time. When she swung her legs off the bed, she farted. I don't mean one slipped out. This was the fart of somebody that doesn't care. It lasted probably 2 seconds (Do this for me now. Look at a clock and make a "raspberry" sound for 2 continuous seconds. Yeah. That's how it was). What did she say? "Excuse me". I'm sorry, but I'm *not* going to excuse that behavior. When I told Cissy about my experience, the first thing she said was "Well is she married?".......Is she married?!? Hello?!? No she's not married! I doubt that she's ever been to "first base".   So there it is. Yes, I'm prolly gonna burn in hell for this blog. But maybe, just maybe I can atone......I think I'm going to get her a copy of "Witty Things that Trey Said" (If you would like a copy of this book, just ask Pam) so she can impress guys with her conversational abilities. Then maybe she'll change my blog page back to normal.     PS- after I posted this blog, I found how to fix the page. See? All must be forgiven, eh?
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MySpace blog 5.10.07

I love Paris in the springtime Current mood:enthralled Category: Blogging So, I look up and it's been almost 2 weeks since I last blogged. Damn job. Actually, it's not been crushingly busy....more like steady. I can't complain. Except for the rats. What I seem to be getting lately is an influx of spam in my in-box. It's always a message like "I was bored and looking around MySpace and I saw your page", or "I'm new to MySpace and my page needs help", or "I'm moving to your town soon and don't know anybody". The rest of the message is always the same. The sendee wants me to "holla" at her through AIM or Yahoo chat. The interesting thing is, every message that I'm being sent is from a different MySpace sccount. Different display name.......but the display pic is (mostly) of the same girl. Also, at the end of the text, she (or maybe he.....see how I think outside box? That's how I roll) signs her name....Paris. That's right. She uses different accounts, but signs the same name. That's how I know it's all from the same person (told ya I was sharp....). I used to just delete these things, but just for variety, I've changed my routine. Lately I've been responding back, usually in a non sequitur fashion. Here are some of my random responses:   Day-um, that ass sure is fine, yo!   Would it be weird if I asked you to spread jelly on my calves and call me "Herman" ?   Could we get together and eat potroast sometime? I'd like to introduce you to my mom!   You've changed your look. I think the "tranny" fad is awesome. Keep up the good work, Hottie. BTW, you ARE a chick, right?   Hun, any chance I could tickle yo ass with a feather?   I'm bored too! The local train station has started running off the hobos, so the "hunting" has really dried up as of late. Boring!   I guess the whole point of this blog is this: Spammers, please reply back to those that reply to your original spam. It's that personal touch that will persuade somebody to subscribe to your webcam, holla at you, or buy those penis enlargement pills. Come to think of it, maybe I should moonlight as a spammer and put my brilliant people skills to good use.
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MySpace blog 4.13.07

Perhaps I'm "marked", or star-crossed Current mood:dichotomious Category: Blogging So, I was in a MySpace conversation the other night. It is very rare for me to have somebody to talk to, unless I have a student watching over my shoulder (verry rare indeed.....hey, SOMEBODY has to mentor young minds). I was relating to this person a strange little story that had happened when.....out of the blue it struck me.....I realized that really weird things happen to me all the time. Ok, maybe not life-changing, channeling the dead type of weird.....but "Twin Peaks" kind of weird. I decided that this week's blog would be dedicated to some strange things that have recently happened.     People engage me in strange conversations. I don't mean friends. I'm talking about nebulous acquaintances, if not full-on strangers. Last week, I was walking into work and fast approaching somebody leaving work. While this person is a familiar face to me, we barely have a "nod" relationship (you know....a slight nod as a greeting when we pass....maybe the occasional "good evening"). Out of the blue, this lady stops and says "Hey (because she doesn't know my name).....Have you ever cooked Tilapia? (As in the fish)". Well.......as a matter of fact.....actually I have. But how did she know? How did she know? So I spend the next 15 mins in the parking lot in a Forrest Gump moment (You can fry tilapia.....you can bake it.....grill it....broil it.....steam it.....carve it into sushi....make fish tacos.....etc.) discussing a flavorful fish. I did not forsee that. Here's another odd little tidbit. People often cross me in line. I don't mean that they cut in front of me. I mean that, if there is a long line stretching in one plane, and people need to cross to get to the other side of the line, then the point in which they will bisect the line will be directly in front of me. I used to be stumped by this. The odds are astronomically against ME being the cross point, but yet it happens 90% of the time. After reading the excellent Freakonomics, however, I looked at this mystery in a different light and have come up with two solutions: 1)- I am a big man, and my personal space requirements are big as well. Therefore, in any given line, I have probably more space between me and the person in front of me. That creates a more attractive crossing point. 2)- People are drawn to my raw, magnetic sexuality like Mark Foley is drawn to male congressional pages. I'm still looking into this. Strangers tend to see me in two polar ways. Either I'm a big, physically intimidating, creepy man, or I am a big goofy "softy" type. Most kids are not scared of me. On the contrary, they like to scale my mountainous belly (to be sure, this can take a couple of hours, which is a testament to its size) and climb onto my shoulders. The parents, however, are not usually so impressed. It was not so long ago that a little girl came into the sleep lab for a test. I explained to the mother that she would have to stay in the room with the girl (I know, I know....but you'd be surprised at how many parents want to drop their children off for some parental free time)and explained that after 2-3 hours of sleep, I would come back in the room and place a medical device on the girl. So, the girl goes to sleep and the time comes for me to go back into the room. As I open the door....*BANG* *CRASH*...the parent had rigged an "alarm" by putting a chair against the door, and putting the trashcan on the chair. So much for not scaring your kid, lady. Sorry that I'm such a creepy bastard that you had to barricade yourself in your hospital room. Next time I'll put my trousers back on, ok? The truth is....I'm actually a big "teddy bear" (by that I mean that I have glass eyes and often sleep with children <------Kidding! What? Too much?)
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MySpace blog 4.3.07

Do you like the smell of Blog-pouri? Current mood:mawkish Category: Blogging So, it's become a bit of a tradition for me to write an introductory blog every time I get a new reader. Everybody, meet M-….She is a big fan of The Damnwells music, which puts her street cred as "legit. Too legit to quit". M-, this is everybody. This week's special guest lurker may very well be Mr. Dezen, who recently did me the great honor of subscribing to this blog. I must confess, though, that it makes me a little nervous knowing that somebody that has a real talent for words may be watching. Dezen, if you are reading this, please know that I tried to auction off both my pinky fingers on EBay to attend the premiere of Golden Days and subsequent concert. My wife kept nagging me to throw in a kidney. THAT's how big a fan she is. Anywho, not a whole lot has been happening lately. And I like it that way. So, there is only one thing that I can write about: My Vasectomy. After the birth of my daughter, it was decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. By that I mean that my wife decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. So, I went to see the urologist. Of course, the doc wanted Cissy to come in for the consult. After all the talking was done, the doc (who is probably a full 14 inches shorter than I am) said, "Okay, take off your drawers ('cause we are in the south, after all.) and let's take a look". Now, this brings me to the very essence of this story: What is the protocol for what to do with one's hands while getting his scrotum examined? It didn't seem like I should place them behind my back, like I was listening to a speech. It didn't seem like I should clasp them together behind my head. I damn sure couldn't put them on the doc's head. In the end, I did what I had to do. I placed my hands on my hips, arms akimbo. Awkward, yes. From my vantage point, I couldn't see the doc's face, but Cissy could. She reported that, as I lowered my undies, a look of awe crossed the doc's face. "Why…", the doc stammered, "…Why I can't ethically do any work on this perfect set of testes. I might as well deface the statue of David…". After much begging and pleading from my wife, though, the doc finally relented and agreed to the procedure. After we left the office, Cissy asked "Why did you have your hands on your hips? That looked extremely posed, and more than a little gay". Thanks for the support, Ciss…. Well, the office gave me a printed list of instructions. The night before the procedure, I could either shave the coinpurse, or they would do it for me. Being the go-getter that I am, I decided to tackle the problem head on and start a-shavin'. Unfortunately, I haven't had too much experience. I say that because when I laid back on the table, the nurse took a look and brought out the shaving kit. After calling two more nurses in for some lifting help, I was successfully shorn. After that, the actual procedure was a breeze. But…..I had to have a follow-up semen test to determine that I was, in fact, sterile. Now, for all you non-medical types, let me line it out for ya. They give you a cup with a threaded top and tell you that the sample needs to be provided in a timely manner (that means within 15 mins). Big problem….I live 45 mins away. So, either I get down to business in the car (hopefully with Cissy driving. I mean, I'm a multi-tasker, but….) or I get to get auto-amorous in the clinic bathroom (which is no big deal, except for the wonderful aroma, the potential of getting caught, and the incredibly limited space). In the end, I was able to use my local community hospital for the test, which meant I could "go to town" in the privacy of my own house, watching my collection of Golden Girls DVDs……Cissy refused to "help out". Thanks for the support, Ciss…...
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MySpace blog 03.20.07

Oh I wish I was in de land o' cotton...wait....I am.... Current mood:Truculent Category: Blogging Even though East Texas is growing pretty rapidly (Texarkana and Tyler, I'm talking to you....Queen City, you may be excused), I'm sometimes struck by how rual we still are. For example, there is a lot of confederate flag decor. I started noticing this......really noticing it...... just a little while ago. It led to the formation of my much-touted "Rebel theorem". The Rebel theorem, condensed to just the salient parts for all you non-scientific types, states that the property value of the house is inversely proportional to the amount of confederate stuff on / around it. Thing is, now I've started seeing this stuff on automobiles.....really seeing it.....recently. The other night I was driving in to work when I spotted a truck. Actually it was the truck. The truck of a rebel flag-lovin' mutherfucka. Seriously, there were no less than 8 confederate stickers on the back truck glass (I counted). That's not counting the 2 bumperstickers....Yes, before you ask, one of the bumperstickers was the "They can have my guns when they pry them out of my cold, dead fingers"......Yes, before you ask, the other bumpersticker was "The south shall rise again".   As a bit of an aside, let me just interject that I love living in the south. Not too terribly cold, and for the most part the people are friendly. Lots of folks are missing teeth, so my congenital birth defect is not soooo noticable. But....c'mon guys.....did you learn history at all (psssst....I don't wanna spoil it for anybody, but the south lost the civil war) between going "Frog gigging"? Bubba, are you aware that if the south had won the civil war, it would have left America fractured and weak, and we would have been invaded and plundered? Why, if the south had won, we prolly wouldn't be speaking English right now.....we'd be speaking Spanish.....ohwait.......well nevermind that last point.....   But back to the subject of the supertruck. There were stickers on the glass that didn't make any sense. Sure, I understand the "Southern born and southern bred...." sticker, but how about the one that said "Cousins are for cornholin'"....WTF?!? There was this one decal that had a lil' confederate Calvin taking a leak on the Ford logo. Huh? Did the southern soldiers really hate Henry Ford, or is the owner of the truck expressing his own opinions? Obviously, the Order of the Confederate Chevy has splintered off from the Fraternal Brotherhood of the Confederate Ford. Astute readers may be wondering "What did the occupants of the supertruck look like"? Sadly, they had his/hers mullets. The lady of the truck was truly dedicated to the theme.....Her hair was red, her skin was white, and the dark circle around her eye was bluish. Ah well, that's what ya gets for being so damn slow with that TV dinner... As the supertruck pulled in to EZ-mart for $ 3.50 worth of gas, I briefly thought about pulling in after them and explaining "Ya know guys, it's always the low socio-economic demographic that feels the need to hyper-express their pride. Is that because pride is all you really have left?" My eye wandered back to that "cornhole" sticker and I decided to keep going.......Hey, I've seen "Pulp Fiction" and I don't have any desire to meet the gimp.   I've been re-considering the matching mullets for me and Ciss......
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MySpace blog 03.11.07

Is Fort Worth ever on your mind? Current mood: awake Man, Fort Worth was more fun than I thought it would be....For the latter part of winter break, the whole family made a trek to FW. I worked Thursday night, and we got up to go Friday morning. Cissy was going to drive and let me get a little more sleep.....but honestly, I feel a lot better about our chances of making it alive when I'm driving, even on 4 hrs of sleep. This time there was no trick parking, but it was.......you guessed it.....valet. Oh well. After we got settled into the room, Cissy was going to take the kids and go trail riding via horseback, while I would get a couple more hours of sleep in the posh bed. When they left, I thought it an oppertune time to take a big dump. This way, there would be plenty of time for the air to clear out (sometimes, the family complains about the fresh-picked-roses smell) by the time they got back. Post dump (and about 10 lbs lighter, if ya know whut I mean) I had just settled in for my nap and had been asleep for about 15 mins when the whole family rolled back in. Good thing I hadn't rented "All natural titty extravaganza....volume 4" (and I couldn't say for sure, but in the preview there was a woman that looked a LOT like our own B Liles....Hmmmmm) on the pay-per-view or that would have made for some awkward conversation. Well, it turns out that Cissy couldn't find the stables, but DID find a bunch of desserts. Yum.....Donuts..... A little while later, we decided to walk around downtown to find a place to eat. We probably hadn't walked 10 yards when the was a little "screech" sound. We all glanced at the direction of the sound and caught the tail end of a car vs. bicycle accident. "Oh, the lady in the car is having a REALLY bad day" joked Cissy, as the cyclist lay broken and bleeding in the gutter.....Nah, just kidding....the guy was ok. But as he struggled to his feet, we saw that this lady had not hit just any cyclist, but a BICYCLE COP! "Wow, that lady's day just got a whole lot worse" Ciss said, as the cop angrily waved the car to pull over on the side of the street while he had a word with her. Have you ever been to Fort Worth? Downtown, I mean? As we were eating, then later walking around, I was struck by how much of a cowboy town FW really is. Lots of Cowboy hats and boots, and the old Western cut jackets. As a person of Native American heritage, it was just about all I could do not to scalp some old man and shout "Bury my heart at Wounded Knee, mutherfucka!"....or maybe "I will fight no more forever!". And I probably would have, too....except for all the Bicycle cops milling about.
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MySpace blog 03.06.07

It was the best of times, it was the...uh...best of times Current mood: quixotic Category: Blogging Well, last week at our house was winter break. That means everybody (except me) automatically gets 7 days off. It was an awesome week, though. Ciss and I made a roadtrip to Dallas earlier in the week to see Gomez. Traffic was not really that bad, but downtown....the streets are often one way, and there is currently a lot of construction. Put it all together, and it means that I only had to circle the block 5-6 times (Look kids....Big Ben!) before I could dart in to the tiny valet lot. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate valet? I think valet is in the top 3 evil things that Satan has loosed upon the Earth (The other 2 are methadone and Marilynn Manson). We will, unfortunately, further delve into the valet situation later on... The hotel was pretty cool. Very old building that had been re-done, but still had some soul left. Ciss and I wondered what to do first: Have a Starbucks treat? Walk around downtown and see the sights? Have a drink in the ultra-swanky bar? Long story short, we followed the example of some friends and had sex. There, I said it. We actually did all of the above, jackasses.... When it was time to depart for the concert, we decided to take a taxi. I walked over to a cab parked right outside the hotel's front door. The on-duty light thing on the top of the taxi was not turned on, so I was unsure if the guy was on break, or what. "Hey man" I say (because I am the people's champ), "Are you on the job?" The cab dude just looks blankly at me "We need a taxi", I explain "Abu jabba doe. No go diggy die" (in a thick Nigerian accent) I literally can not understand a single word that the guy is saying. So, I do the right thing and just start walking away. This is when Cissy walks up. "Can you take us to the Gypsy Tea Room", Ciss said. "yee-ssssss-uhhhh.....You know add-dresssss" "It's on commerce street, just up a couple of blocks" Cissy manages to direct the cabbie to the Tea Room. As we are exiting the cab, I almost step on some dude's foot. Turns out to be a member of the band Gomez. They appear to be on their way to scoring some dinner. After a short wait, we got in to the Tearoom. Now, if you've never been, I'll just tell ya: It's kind of a dive bar. I guess that's why my wife felt comfy enough to belly up to the bar and order a Chardonnay... WTF?!? (Beer and liquor only, sayeth the barkeep) ...The barkeep must have done his job pretty good, because Ciss was loose enough to make some friends at the concert (I know, I know...what a shocker...Ciss talking to some strangers and sharing our background). One was a kinda creepy couple originally from Colorado. Another was some very young blondie that was about to get married (but man, could she shake that ass!). Another was a goofball college kid with buck teeth (I would get to meet him after the concert, outside at the hotdog cart). Regardless, the concert was awesome. Real fuckin' awesome...The boys from Gomez played for well over 2 hours solid (not much talking between songs, and no breaks). They sounded great, but the crowd was mostly there to see the opening act, Ben Kweller ( He sounded ok, but he was dressed in this weird nautical-type theme. Striped sailor's shirt and captain's hat. I know it sounds bad, and he looked even more gay than my description sounds). After the concert, Ciss and I were hungry, and wanted to catch a quick taxi back to the hotel. I asked a nearby street hotdog vendor "Where is our best chance of catching a taxi?". "Right here", he answered, "Taxis run up and down all night long". While we were waiting, those damn hotdogs started smelling good. Cissy wanted one (This time, no sarcasm....I really WAS shocked that My wife wanted a processed meat product from a street vendor! Go figure....) but I explained that I was saving our cash for the taxi. I guess that was when the homeless guy heard that we wanted a taxi. "Y'all want a taxi?", he asked. "TAXI.....TAXI....." he bellowed, while running into and out of the street (ummm...I can clearly see that there are no taxis coming, crazy homeless dude...). Ciss and I started moving away. After we had waited awhile (Zero taxi sightings, either) we decided to start walking toward the hotel while keeping an eye out for a taxi. It was a little less than a mile, and the temp was nice and cool. As we were walking, though, I eventually noticed that we were discreetely being followed by a guy in a hoodie. He was about a half block back, but keeping pace to slowly overtake us. Of course, Ciss had no idea, and wanted to frequently stop and take pictures, until I explained. The only thing is....every time I told her we were being followed, she would say "Nuh-uh" or some variation thereof, until she spotted him with her own eyes. Finally, we made it back to the hotel. Just in time to miss room service. Well, I can always grab a quick bite.......Oh, wait a minute....That's right....My car is in VALET! I can go nodamnwhere! Cissy finally calls the front desk to ask if any place nearby delivers......Ah! Chinese food delivers! And the front desk hooks us up with the number! A very speedy 25 minutes later the delivery boy shows.....er, I actually should say the deliveryMAN, since he was about 50. And, here comes the unexpected....He spokey very little English! No, seriously! Very little English! The bill comes out to 26.87....all I have is 2 Twenties.....He looks like he has Zero idea of how to proceed, so I tell him "Just give me 3.00, and you keep the rest" (sure it worked out to be about a 40% tip.....That's just how I roll....That's why I'm America's Champion). Finally he got it through his head that I'd left him a pretty good tip, because there was a lot of grinning and nodding, until he backed out through the door. That was when Ciss discovered that we had been shorted one order of fried rice. The nice thing was.....finally I have beaten Brandi's and my record of drunken pizza spending. Forty dollar fried rice is a hands -down winner. You would think that for 40.00 it would be the best friggin' fried rice in the world, with all the amenities.....uh, not really......they forgot to include the eating utinsils. So.....Cissy sat on our expensive hotel bed and ate 40.00 fried rice with her fingers. Nice. So ladylke. Quite luckily, I had discovered the fork just in time for me to chow down. And this outing was only the start! Stay tuned for the 2nd part, or going to Ft. Worth with the family!
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MySpace blog 2.9.07

Red is traditionally the color of love....also the color of satan Current mood:smitten Category: Blogging So...It's almost St. Valentine's day. For the most part, I dislike this holiday. The hype has become an unmanageable monster (for proof, I offer The Vermont Teddy Bear commercial....that commercial is creepy on many, many levels. Next time you see me in person I'll tell ya all about it). Now, I like to think that Ciss knows how much I love her.....(Not that I believe in soul-mates. Let's face it....B and I are 2 beers away from "doin' it" at any given moment. It's just that sexuality oozes from me like sap out of a maple tree. And like that tree, I have a tube sticking out of my chest from which a small wooden bucket hangs. Supplicants come from near and far, just to dip their unworthy fingers in the bucket and dab some of my sexual power behind their ears.....Um, where the hell was I going with all this? Oh, right...) and I think that if I have to get some cheesy something to impress her on a "special day", then I'm not doing my job very well. Of course, it could just be that I'm a cheap, curmudgeonly bastard.   Or it could be something else entirely.     Do y'all give any credence to the theory that past stresses can psychologically cripple a person in some areas? When I was much much younger (around 3rd grade or so) I used to love the school Valentine party. Sugary goodies (yes, I was a portly child) everywhere, culminating with the exchange of cheap V-day cards and message hearts. How painstakingly I used to scrutinize the wording of each card and heart......I didn't want to send the wrong message, you know....but the cards and hearts I always recieved were....a little strange. Like, I recieved a beautiful Scooby-Doo themed card once from my crush du jour. But on the inside it said "You'll never find love. Just like Velma"....weird, right? And sometimes I'd get candy hearts that had, imprinted on them, little phrases like "Eat all you want, fatty....but you can't fill the void with food". Huh? Later on, I found out that those gifts were from my teacher. She recognized potential when she saw it...   Flash forward to high school. One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold paper hearts that you could get delivered to your valentine while they were in class. The then-school secretary announced the big event over the P.A. and urged us to part with a dollar so we could "walk around with a big heart on". Yup, she actually said it....One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold computer dating slips that you could fill out and get results of who was most compatable for you. One of my top choices was Cissy (almost 100% compatability, as I remember).....but when I asked her to the Jr/Sr Banquet, I was blown off (.....um, not like that....I meant that Ciss turned me down...seems she'd rather go with her bitter chubby Mormon friend.....kiss my ass, compu-match!) So, apparently, I have quite a history with Feb. 14th. In an effort to break the curse, this year I have a very romantic gift for Ciss. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will divulge this: A Donkey Punch will be involved.   PS- B, Ches has something very similar planned for you. Something about "Cleveland", maybe?!? So, happy V-day to all of you. May you each recieve your well-deserved Valentine's gift (Even if it's one of those creepy Vermont Teddies....)
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MySpace blog 2.1.07

Sorry, this blog will prolly suck.... Current mood:hidebound Category: Blogging Why? Because I'm getting sick. Yes, I can feel, as I type this, my temperature slowly starting to rise (not in a metaphorical sense, either). Pre-driving to work, as I'm helping prepare dinner, I kinda have a coughing fit. "Oh no", says Cissy "You're getting sick!". "Nonsense", I firmly exclaim, "This is only sinus drainage". Well......fast forward roughly 6-7 hrs, and I'm hooking up my patient (a kid, but more on this later on).....I start to get the tell-tale feeling of an impending illness. Well, great...apparently, my wife has a spooky Nostrodomus-like gift for seeing the future. Next time, hon, could you use your powers for something a little more useful? Like foretelling the lottery numbers, or whether that hooker will press charges? Usually, I'm not so bitter about getting sick, but I thought I was gonna get to come home early from work. I mean, it was snowing and sleeting pretty hard in Douglassville and the ENTIRE drive to Texarkana. My patient (an older pre-adolescent of the age that Cissy may very well teach) and his mother were from a small town in Arkansas. Arkansas had supposedly been getting more precipitation than even Texarkana. Thus, by the associative property of geometry.....They'll surely re-schedule! I'll get to leave early! Um.....not so much....The snow was so bad in Arkansas that they left EARLY to get here. Nice.....Anywho, the kid is really nice. But he suffers from what I like to call "O.F.I.".......For you uninformed, that stands for "Overly Feminine Influence"...That is to say his parents are divorced and apparently doesn't spend much time with his dad. Just the mom. Here's how I know: On his first visit, this kid left his personal-blanket-afgan-shaw type thingy here at the lab. Well, cause I have a sainted heart o' gold, I placed it in a bag and held it for him in case he returned (yes, buttholes, I DID try to call them). On this visit, when I presented him with the blanket (which is known as "boogie-boo", or something...) his mom said excitedly "Oh! You'd better hug his neck!".... And the kid started to lean in for it !!!!   She quickly rectified her faux-pas with..."You'd better shake his hand!" (which I did). Look, I know it was a heartfelt, sweet moment. But think of this poor poor kid. He's got to learn how to handle these social situations in a masculine way. This boy is on the fast-track to sitting on the toilet when he has to pee! And if things get to that point, then the only further instructions to give would be: "son, when you sit down to pee at school, be sure and brace yourself, because an ass-beating of epic proportion is certain to follow"   Ok, As I look back on this blog, this was not even what I wanted to write about. I was gonna tell an amusing little story about working in a local community hospital located in Cass County....Oh well.....maybe it's the fever talking...
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MySpace blog 1.25.07

An enigma revealed Current mood:august Category: Blogging Well hello there, guys. Did anybody catch The Tonight Show last night? If not, y'all missed a bizarre, rambling stand-up comedy set by a drunken Phyllis Diller. She said that she was about to turn 90, so.........have a beer for me, Phyllis. In case you are not the rabid Scooby Doo fan that I am, you may not be aware that Phyllis Diller actually starred in a Scooby episode. As I recall, she was smoking almost constantly in that episode. Way to be a Role Model for the youth of the 70's, Phyll.....Anywho, If you didn't catch her stand-up set, well.....don't despair. I've got a little joke for ya:     Me: Knock Knock...... You: Who's there? Me: Nutbag Pedophile.... You: Nutbag pedophile who? Me: The Nutbag pedophile that tried to pass himself off as a 12 yr-old boy by shaving off his body hair and wearing makeup. I enrolled in 7th grade. Later, it was discovered that I was really a 29 yr-old man! Surprise!     So.....y'all did hear about this, right? I'm sure that you (like most people) are wondering how in the world this freakjob could have passed for 12. I wondered that myself, until the afternoon that I had to accompany my oldest son (astute readers may know him as "sexy bitch"....y, eh?) to a local JP's office to pay for some speeding tickets that he had. On the ticket it states that a juvenile must be escorted by a parent. Into the office we went, and sauntered up to the receptionist's desk. I quickly explained that we were there to see the JP. The receptionist told us that the JP was not in, but took the ticket (I guess to calculate how much "the sexy bitch" owed). After reading the ticket, here is a true and accurate account of the conversation:*   Receptionist: "Now which of you is this ticket for?" Ryan: "Me" Receptionist: "A minor has to bring in a parent with him" Trey: "Yes Ma'am....That's why I'm here" Receptionist: "What? You're his parent?" Trey: "Yes Ma'am...I'm his dad" Receptionist: (blushing) "Oh...I'm not going to say how old I thought you were" Trey: (awarkwardly shifting his large girth from foot to foot) "oh...Haha" Ryan: (daydreaming about the ladies)".........." Receptionist: "I thought you were his brother, or friend, or something" Trey: (wondering if this is being filmed for a hidden-camera show) "Well....no"   This was a little strange for me. Older women usually don't hit on me in such a transparent ploy (Big Girls and Black Girls, sure, but not Old Ladies). I kinda think it's because my aggressive, surly sexuality must be a little threatening to them. But here was this older lady, dishing out compliments and pressing her cleavage together....yeah, ok, maybe I was looking.....what?.....Anywho, that's when it hit me. There are people in this world that CANNOT estimate age accurately. And that, my friends, is how a 29 yr-old man got enrolled in the 7th grade. BTW, As I write this, I'm considering trying to get back in the 10th grade. I'll let y'all know how it goes in a latter blog.       * Ryan can vouch for the truthfulness of said conversation. Names have been left out for the sake of basic human decency.
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MySpace blog 1.19.07

I can dance if I want to....I can leave my friends behind... Current mood:ruminative Category: Blogging Well, I guess it's pretty evident that I'm starting to get a little bored at work. And when I get bored, I tend to blog. Cissy told me last night that I had to friend Heather so she could read my blogs. It's always a little un-nerving for me to let somebody "new" in to read what I write.....not because I always bare my soul in an embarrasing, man-weepy sort-of-way, but because I am acutely aware that some think I'm a lil' strange (Ciss and Brandi don't count). It has become a sort of tradition for me to dedicate a blog to the newest friend who might read my blogs (anybody remember Cyndi D.....anyone? Oh, right.....she's still kinda with us). So, with that in mind, I thought I would try a pre-emptive strike and just come clean with the main reasons of what makes me one weird dude....and these are not in order of importance.....     1) - I tend to make up weird little songs in the car for the enjoyment of my passengers. The last one was, I think, a little ditty called "Who put the I in illegitimate"...uh, you would have had to be there.... 2) - I am an obsessive, voracious reader. I will read ANYTHING. That's the reason I subscribe to Playboy......and Sexy Grannies... 3) - It is a running joke that I think my life may be being secretly filmed for an underground reality - TV show. But I'm not paranoid, or anything.....ok it's time for my psycho-genic meds...... 4) - I prefer my microwave-popped popcorn to be just a little burned 5) - When I halfway joke about me being psychic, I'm only halfway joking....there have been some strange incidents...Now if only I could come up with those damned Texas lotto numbers.... 6) - When I start drinking (seriously drinking....I haven't cut loose in a long time) I will gladly hear your life story.....but I will quite probably offer some drunken advice/ philosophy. And I can't guarantee that it will be good advice (just ask Brandi). I think the last one was something like "Man, screw Google stock.....invest in edible paper.....that's where the money is!" On a side note, when I'm REALLY, REALLY drunk, I turn into a pizza connoisseur. 7) - Although it pains me to admit this, I kinda have a fingernail thing. I can't stand for my fingernails to be very long, so I keep them clipped short. Very short. But I think I developed this thing after working at the hospital, so doesn't that make it a little more understandable? Yeah, I thought so.... 8) - I really have no problem with uncomfortable silence. If somebody, say, at work, asks me an overly personal question, I have been known to not say anything at all. I'll just keep the eye contact, fold my hands, and...not say anything until the moment is soooooo tense that the other person gives up and leaves. On another side note, Cissy will tell anybody anything. This is especially true when alcohol is involved.     So, there it all is. My soul laid painfully bare. All I can say is, "Heather, if this stark admission doesn't scare you off, then welcome to the Trey blogs".   Oh, and I almost forgot....I'm a boob guy....
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MySpace blog 1.18.07

How I met a real live whore!! Current mood:I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth Category: Blogging So, I was at work esta noche, and my scheduled patient did not show up. As it just so happens, there was a previous study to score (a real monster...8.1 hrs of recorded time). I decided to take a break around 10PM and go to Burger King (take that, diet). I placed my order, pulled around to the window, and paid the cashier. At this point, there was a knock on my passenger side window. It was obviously a homeless woman. "Sir", she rasped, "Can you please give me a lift to the shelter?". I looked at the BK cashier, she looked at me, and we both kinda shrugged like WTF. Please keep in mind that it was around 35 degrees outside. Long story short, I felt bad enough to give this chick a lift (generosity has always been my weakness....too much love for humanity, doncha know). As we near the shelter, she (inevitably) asks for 10$, and I tell her sorry, but all I can give her is the ride to the shelter. "I'll give you a blowjob", she said. Man....did I mention that she looked around 75 and stank really bad? This encounter really floored me, and left me incredibly depressed at the plight of some people.....so as her head was a-bobbin, I reflected that (unlike her) I was really, really lucky. Howso? When I checked my e-mail today I saw that I had apparently won not just one, but 4 different foreign lotteries (suck it, Texas lotto!)....and had 2 different business proposals (with minimum monetary investment).....and also discovered that a long-lost distant family member died, and I could claim the estate (as long as I prepay the taxes, a small amount compared to the 2.4 million euros I stand to inherit). So, yeah....I'm one lucky bastard.....How many other dudes get the chance to get cheap head from a member of the homeless while eating BK (Actually, I guesss that means that we were both munching on a whopper, eh?)   Ya-da-dant da-da Dant !
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MySpace blog 1.17.07

Weird recurring dream Current mood:lil' creeped out Category: Blogging Whilst trying to avoid any semblence of work, I was recently flipping through the late-night television channels. So, what did I stumble across? A classic Sly Stallone movie (Cobra...it really reinforces what a freak Stallone has become since his plastic surgery...for more on that, please see my earlier blog), infomercials galore (most, it would seem, deal with the lack of quality sleep, although the Girls Gone Wild videos take a strong second place), and a trailer for the movie "300". Noticably absent was the usual Action Central Cabaret commercials (but, I digress....). But this movie 300 looks to be pretty weird. From what I could piece together, it is a re-telling of the battle between the Spartans (not of NCAA fame) and the Persians. Interestingly enough, I remember a college teacher telling the class that the 300 Spartans in this elite unit were all gay. Seriously. I know Cissy will not take my word for any of this until Brandi verifies it (just like I've never cooked gumbo before. But again, I digress.....) even though this is EXACTLY the kind of trivial tidbit that I'm famous for remembering. So, all of that really has nothing to do with the subject of my blog, which is.....     Lately, I've been having this weird recurring dream!     The details vary slightly, but the constant theme deals with a haunted house. The house is always a large white woodframe, 3 or 4 stories tall, deserted, and in varying stages of ruin (sometimes almost wrecked to the point of condemnation, sometimes only peeling paint and saggy roof). In the dream, for whatever reason, I'm always having to enter the house. Something horrible has happened inside the house, and I always pick up the vibes from that. Strangely, I never actually see anything......only the feeling that I get from being in there is intense.....and bad. I've had this dream enough to wonder if I will have to actually enter this house in real life. Usually I can easily dismiss dreams as the firing of random neurons in a chemical bath......but now I'm not so sure. So.....anybody wanna play Freud and interpret this dream for me?
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MySpace blog 12.19.06

She's gynecologi-riffic ! Current mood:steely Category: Blogging In all of history, there are certain events that are so important, so vital to world culture that they are universally celebrated. I'm speaking of things that have the power to change the course of history, such as the creation of the Magna Carta, the re-unification of Germany, and of course, the unveiling of Britany Spears' labia. Of the 3, by far the more revelant topic has to be the showing of the hoo-hoo. Now don't get me wrong.....I love most vaginas....I just don't want to see the ugly ones. Britany Spears was an underage sexual icon throughout most of the 90's, and the Earth-shaking revelation that her downstairs is akin to a Salvadore Dali painting (you know the one...that one with the droopy clocks hanging over the tree branches).....well....that just sucks all the joy out of being a man. Because I tend to be benevolent, I have decided to write an open letter to Ms. Spears' privates:   Dear Twatty, Ever since I saw you on the internet, my life has not been the same. And I don't mean that in a good way, either. The truth is, the sight of you glaring out so bare is a little disturbing. So what's the deal? Did Brit have a really bad bicycle accident? Was she in a fire that resulted in a vaginal skin graft? And don't give me the old stanby arguement that she just had two children.....We both know that those kids were delivered via C-section ( I know because I'm all stalker-y like that. And also because the scar was showing). Whatever the reason, let me offer a few suggestions: 1) - The bare look is not a good look for you. In fact, you may want to grow out the pubic hair as long as possible, and then attempt a combover to cover up a lil' bit (Hey, whatever.....it works for Donald Trump). If , like myself, you have trouble cultivating a proper pubic thatch, then I would suggest looking into buying a merkin. 2) - Do not underestimate the importance of a good distraction. Perhaps if you affixed a pair of "truck nuts" to your mommy parts, it would draw the eye away from your chaotic goodies ( "Chaotic".....get it? Here I'm attempting to link the name of her reality show to a disparaging adjective. Pretty funny huh? No? Oh, never mind....). 3) - Maybe start hanging around with chicks that have even uglier "down below's" than you, thereby making yours look better by comparison. You could befriend Lohan and Paris Hilton and....what's that? Ok, nevermind. The path you take, Beev, is not as important as the act of taking action. Just recently, I had to caution my teen son not to look at your pictures, lest he be scared of all women. respectfully, Trey     As a postscript, lest I be viewed as misogynistic, I have decided to offer my female friends a service. If you are concerned that your clamster may not be lookin' so sharp, I will gladly inspect. Just call me, set up an appointment, and place your feet in the stirups. I'll even numb it for you, if you want.........
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MySpace blog 12.15.06

piss-poor state of the union Current mood:twaddle-prone Category: Blogging So.....the weather has turned a little cooler, Halloween and Thanksgiving have gone tits up, and my hospital has started playing festive music continually (but softly) over the PA. Each event is pretty innocuous by itself, but add them up and what do you get? The nearing of Christmas! And nothing says "Happy birthday, Lord Jesus" like another Rocky movie coming down the pike. In order to promote his new movie, Sly Stallone has been making the late-night talk shows. This brings me to my main point, namely, What in the name of organized fisticuffs has happened to Sylvester Stallone?!? I happened to look up at the TV and......wow. If you haven't seen him lately, apparently he's had a bit o' plastic surgery. And when I say a little bit, I mean an assload. His eyebrows are fixed in this weird double arch pattern, and it makes him look surprised all the time. Also, his eyes are looking a little asian (not that there's anything wrong with a little asian. In fact, I've hired one to ride on the back of my Newfie, but I digress.....) from the extreme and unnatural tautness of his facial skin. Don't feel too bad though for Sly, though. He's still pretty ripped. He looks like a boxer. I look like a Buddha who's put a moratorium on the whole "cessation of desire" thing and has decided to eat buffet. I guess if there's a lesson to be learned in all of this it would be 1) Don't mock my American Indian heritage, or I will put a curse on you, and 2) We are all going to grow old together, friends (Um, I hope we are, anyways.....the alternative to that is pretty grim, eh?) so let's just accept the inevitable with some dignity, ok?   I'll get the ball rolling.......right after I have my mid-life crisis.
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MySpace blog 11.20.06

Quality Assurance can lead to Romance! Current mood:kinda glum..... Category: Blogging So.....I haven't blogged in awhile. To be perfectly honest, I've had some personal issues......setbacks, really.....that have left me kind of depressed. No, no.....don't cry for me, Argentina. Supreme Pizza and Family Guy have proven to be very effective balms. So, as I sit here at work scratching my beard (3+ weeks without shaving! I look like a more manly version of Grizzly Adams!) it occurs to me that I do, in fact, have a story to share. And with that shitty segway, here it is:   Not so long ago, the powers that be in the sleep lab (that's me and my supervisor) decided to implement a patient satisfaction survey in our patients' morning discharge paperwork ( the story behind our decision is a doozy, but kinda lenghty....). Anywho, flash forward to last week. I'm reading the patient responses.....and I'm stunned to read the following:   Tracy is very nice, and cute! and a little farther down the page:   Tracy is a very funny man!   Yes, the exclamation mark dots were in the shape of little hearts. But here's where the plot thickens....The note could have been written by any of my last 3 patients. Could the author be the aging (she was 30, but looked like she was 50), rough-living former stripper with the fan-freaking-tastic boob job? Or could it have been the spicy Latina attorney (here for the preliminary work-up for the lap-band surgery) with a mustache and arms that I could comb? Or perhaps it was my third patient......the guy who had just recently been released from prison! In all likelyhood, I will probably never solve this particular mystery. And I'm not sure that I want to.
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MySpace blog 9.22.08

Fouke Monster.....That Funky Monster.... Current mood:curmudgeonly Category: Blogging Well, I've just seen the "teases" for the local news channel. As it turns out, police are raiding a religious compound in Fouke, Arkansas. It is being alleged that minors were forced into sexual situations by the "prophet". Mormons everywhere will breathe easier knowing that this isn't a FLDS compound. That's the good news. The bad news is that the leader of the compound is none other than Tony Alamo (On a side note, let me just interject this: He pronounces his name "uh-LAH-mo" when the word is clearly "AL-uh-mow". I'm not sure exactly why, but this irritates me greatly. Perhaps I keep imagining Sam Houston shouting "Remember the uh-LAH-mo!". Also, I think I can safely say that this parenthetical aside has gone on for far too long). If you don't know who Tony Alamo is, he's the leader of the church that distributed those cool comic book leaflets that assured the reader that they were probably going to hell. Back in the day, after a rock concert at the Hirsh, (didn't matter who was headlining.....Queensryche probably opened for them), an attendee could count on a little comic book under the car windshield.   The comic was usually a morality tale involving some good-hearted, all-American teens that went to see a rock concert....usually over the protestations of their saintly old mothers. The teens go to the show anyway, where one realizes that the seductive music is only a lure...and that everybody in the arena had been tricked into worshiping satan!! Sadly, this realization comes a little late, as there is a car wreck on the journey home. All the good-hearted teens are killed and go directly to hell, where satan laughs and laughs.   Alternately, there was another comic involving the celebration of Halloween (aka "Celebrate Halloween and Make Jesus Cry") that was sometimes distributed, but the rock concert tragedy was usually the 1 fave of the uh-LAH-mow crowd.   I'm not sure how this whole Alamo thing will work out. I WAS glad to see that Tony faced the arresting officers with dignity, wearing his very best tie-dyed shirt and oversized Jim Jones sunglasses. I'm sure this matter will be settled by a jury of his peers....as soon as the court can find 12 nutjob cult leaders not currently doing time in jail (As another aside, I don't have any grudge against weird cult leaders....Cissy and I were married by one! Hey, does that invalidate our marriage?).   As I watched the news story, I was struck by the tone. It was, like, 10% Alamo.....90% residents saying how that Fouke had really, really good things going for it, and how it was a really, really good town, and how they hoped that Alamo hadn't sullied the good reputation of Fouke. Incidentally, Fouke is the small town in Arkansas known for a bigfoot-like monster that some residents have seen running around. Also, Fouke was the town that had a charming little sign at the city limits that read "N*gger, don't let the sun set on you in this town". Also, Fouke is where the residents refer to "Martin Luther King, Jr day" as "Deer Hunting day". Also, Fouke has the dubious honor of having had 2 residents convicted for burning a cross in view of the lone black residents of the town. I sure hope that this whole Alamo thing doesn't ruin the really, really good reputation of Fouke.
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MySpace blog 08.22.08

Be still my heart....uh, not literally Current mood:febrile Category: Blogging Welp, here it is at the very end of August. I have been very busy lately, which cuts down on my blogging time. After receiving many, many heartbreaking letters begging me to write more "zany articles of rib-tickling delight", I have a new goal....to blog at least once a month. Cissy would probably appreciate it more if my new goal was to double my income...but i am a man of my word, so 1 blog / month it is.     After vacationing in Florida earlier this month, I am reluctantly recanting my previous blog. You see, i have decided again that (should the circumstances align just right) Brandi will indeed be my next wife. What follows is a list of the reasons why:   10) - Awesome rack. Oh, I forgot...she likes me to call them "titties" 9) - She makes purty kids 8) - Has a no-nonsense approach to teaching her kids the correct anatomical names for parts of the body, like "Yum-yums", "Tooterbug", and "Penis" 7) - B makes a baked penne dish that will make you murder several people in an attempt to incite a race war. At least, that's how Chuck Manson described it... 6) - She can play foozball like a savant 5) - Has a decent shot at becoming a poker professional. I bet you expected me to make a cheap pun using the word "poker", didn't you? Well I'm a master of the unexpected, baby! 4) - Not afraid to get burned by a stoogie. I can't say any more about that 3) - She knows she can't *CHANGE ME* 2) - Shes ready to turn in by 9:00 PM, leaving me plenty of time to fight crime as a costumed superhero 1) One word: Beva (all I'm gonna say is that it's NOT what you're thinking, ya sickos!)  
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MySpace blog 6.13.08

My future ex wife? Category: Blogging Brandi and I have a running joke about how, later in life, I'd try to marry her (because she's hot, she can cook like crazy, and she's one of the few people I feel comfortable with). Well, as amusing as this little joke is, I was suddenly struck by the fact that it will probably never come to pass. Why? I glad you asked, dear reader. Without further ado, here are the top 10 reasons B & I would never last as a couple:   10) - Ches and Cissy will probably live to be 120, whereas I only have, like, 60-70 days until that massive coronary hits.   9) - B is not a music lover. That, my friends, is blasphemy. BTW, I don't consider Flo Rider music.   8) - "Heart O' Stone" Liles is unaffected by my romantic poetry.   7) - The time it takes to go from being amused by my weird trivia recall to being weirded out by it is approximately 14.7 hours   6) - B is a social butterfly....I'm as social as the unibomber.   5) - I don't have any qualities that B would consider attractive (ie, I'm not rich, short, dark, or gay).   4) - Although I intensely dislike Chris Simms, that whole "Chris Simms is a p*ssy" shout kinda weirds me out. This leads me directly to:   3) - B can drink me under the table   2) - She has weird cousins (totally unlike mine)   And the number one reason why Brandi and I would never last as a couple...   1) - I know sexual techniques that would blow her Lutherian mind, and might possibly cause her to be excommunicated.   So, as much as it saddens me, I have to be realistic about these things. Ladies, I'm now taking applications (yes, you're gonna need references).
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MySpace blog 03.06.08

Tragedy! Even beyond what the Bee-Gees sing about! Current mood:despairing Category: Blogging My friends, it is with a very heavy heart that I bring you some sad news: Gary Gygax is dead. He passed into the realm of the storm giants on March 4th. No confirmation on the rumor that he was buried in a cloak of invisibility +4. To be honest, experts aren't sure how, exactly, Gary's passing might affect the economy. It is likely that the majority of Americans will take off work Friday (which will henceforth be known as Gyday) to mourn by being celibate and rolling 20-sided dice.   On a personal note, let me subtly understate Gary's impact on my young life by declaring him the greatest American that ever lived. Cissy cruelly said that he didn't die; He only "leveled up". Cissy also laughed and did a little dance when Ronald Reagan died.   My association with Gary Gygax's product, Dungeons and Dragons, began when I was around 10 or 11 years old. I was living in Benton, Arkansas (right outside of Little Rock). Some of the more popular kids in the Salem Elementary school played and invited me to join the group. My parents were good enough to procure me a rulebook (it's called "The Dungeonmaster's Guide, for those who want to improve themselves). Thusly armed, I dove right into the game. We would get together on the weekends and play a little D&D (that's cool-speak for "dungeons and dragons", for those of you not hip enough to know). We had a pretty good run for a couple of years, until my dad broke the news that we would be moving to Atlanta, Texas. I'm pretty sure the guys were heartbroken at the prospect of losing the best player ever. Of course, nobody ever said anything to that effect, but I'm pretty sure they were thinking it.......I could tell by that apathetic look in their eyes.   I'm pretty sure my parents weren't all that jazzed about the game. Once, they made a big point of watching a TV movie with me that depicted a group of college kids involved in a fantasy game. Only one of the kids was SO into the game that he had trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality, and began killing people......thinking they were mythical creatures (The name of that TV movie? "Mazes and Monsters", starring a young Tommy Hanks). Peppered throughout the movie were parental comments like:   "Wow, imagine that. He couldn't tell what was real anymore..."(forced, awkward laugh) "Guess that's what happens when you play TOO much" "Can't give your imagination free reign all the time" "If it could happen to a college kid, watch out it doesn't happen to you"   I'm fairly sure that not being able to tell reality from fantasy is called schizophrenia. And I'm also fairly sure that you cant catch the schizophrenia from pretending once in a while. But I didn't know that back then. Also, I though too much masturbation might gradually weaken my eyes, rendering me sightless (but that's fodder for another blog).   Imagine my surprise when, upon moving to Atlanta, I found a group of kids that played D&D. Then imagine my surprise when I found out that the kids in Atlanta that played D&D were the social outcasts. In Atlanta, Texas, one could EITHER play football and be cool, OR play D&D and be in the band (um, no offense band guys that are reading this). I was forced to make my choice......and I made it. From then on out, I was a closeted D&D fan.   The only mis-step that Gary Gygax made was the adaption of his game into a Saturday morning cartoon. I've mentioned in past blogs my disdain for the cartoon "Dungeons and Dragons". When I looked up the cartoon on IMDB (because I'm a nerd like that......guess you can take the boy out of D&D, but......well, you know) I found out that the two main characters were voiced by Willie Aames, and Donny Most (better known as Ralph "the mouth" from Happy Days). Are you now beginning to see the foulness of this cartoon?   Ah well......as with most people, the good things that Gary Gygax did made up for the mistakes. I'm sad to see Gary go. Mostly because I need a rule clarification on how to advance my lawful-neutral thief/assassin.     And if the above weren't depressing enough, I found out that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer. That sucks. I guess my longtime dream of seeing "Roadhouse 2" isn't going to be happening anytime soon.
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