KERTWAAAANGGGG!!1! And Alkie Toos: Blithering Idiot

Reader, imagine — assuming for the nonce you have sufficient imagination to do so¹ — my shock and/or surprise and/or awe when I logged onto the Interwebs early this morning all innocent and Dum-de-dum-de-deeee ... O, lookee here! Teh Loose Moose has a Fresh Post; let's do a little clicky-wicky and see what she has to say ... and then 7 minutes later when my home dial-up connection finally brings up the page because L. Moose included f*cking graphics and WTF, Moose?!1!?, and imagine, as I was saying, my shock/surprise/awe when I encounter this vicious and unprovoked and defamatory KERTWANG aimed squarely and unmistakably at yours truly, which aforementioned kertwang was, viz., i.e., L. Moose referring to me as ...

"Some people".

That's right. Me: "some people"².

Now, calling a Privileged Middle Class White Man³ "some people" is pretty out there, offense-giving-wise, especially since I have NEVER done ANYTHING remotely untoward ... uh ... toward L. Moose other than take an unwelcome and prurient and creepy interest in her sex life, frequently offering her some unsolicited and most assuredly unwanted advice on sex-positions and -combinations and which animals are the most pliant and "fit" best and the like while encouraging her to be more open with poor Mister Moose and yes, L. Moose, by "more open" I mean exactly what you think I do.

You know: In short, the kind of behavior that perhaps — perhaps — warrants the taking out of a restraining order.

But to be called "some people" ...!1! Is it just me, or does that seem just a little beyond the pale?

That is beneath you, Moose! And by "beneath", I mean "behind". And by "behind" I mean ... well, you figure it out.

Anyroad, I'm going to forgive this kertwang because I know Teh LoMo is kinda frustrated because she spent her recent vacation being c*ckblocked by a Canuck who couldn't take such subtle hints as, "Hey! Mckenzie Brother! Could you get lost for like 20 minutes? Mister Moose and I want to f*ck make lurve f*ck."

That's what you get for being subtle, Moose. Canadians don't get subtle because you know that soft spot that babies have in the middle of their head? In Canadians, that never hardens. (That's what she said.) So that's like a guaranteed brain injury right there, at least one per Canuck, which works for them because who else but the brain injured would live in the frozen tundra of Teh Great Caucasian North⁴?
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It has become my custom, after a race, to treat myself to a nice, store-bought beer. I specify "store-bought" because, as many of you may already know, most of the beer I drink these days is beer that I myself have brewed⁵.

My last few races have been in areas that led me, on my homeward journey, past this really good likker store that I pass everyday on the way home from work. In fact, I don't really know how it stacks up as a likker store; but as a beer store, it stacks up well, having seemingly every beer known to man and then some.

After my 10k on the Fourth, I'm coming up to the store and thinking, Hey, it's Independence Day and it's not even 11 a.m. so even if these guys are open today, I bet they're not open yet.

But they were open, which I took as a sign from Sweet Baby J that I should buy some Barley Wine because I like to think that SBJ has pretty much the same tastes as me and that when He turned water into wine at the wedding at Cana, I like to think it was barley wine and that the only reason the Bible doesn't say that explicitly is that there is no Aramaic word for "barley" and there is at least as much textual evidence for this in the Bible as there is for the Catholic Doctrine of Teh Immaculate Conception, which, by the way, has zero to do with how Jesus was conceived, because that doctrine is the Doctrine of the Virgin Birth which is totally different from Teh IC and if you don't believe me look it up, I'll wait.

See? Told you.

So this is what I got:

(Except mine was a 4-pack.)

Blithering Idiot is like 11% ABV which is pretty kick-@$$ for a beer. It poured a nice reddish-brown color into a pint glass and I was intelligent enough with the first bottle to pour it into a glass I took from the cabinet, not a frosted glass, because this barley wine really tastes better served not-too-cold. And, unusual for me, it took me like over an hour to drink that first 12-oz bottle because I could tell from the first sip that this stuff was the shiznit and that it would kick some serious Heisen@$$ if I drank it too quickly.

And so for like the second time in my life, I think, I actually paced myself. And I could feel myself getting a buzz off this stuff after 15 minutes.

It's called "barley wine" for a good reason: Because a strong taste of barley - sweet, but not too - was all I could taste. I have read others' description of this beer and some of them claim to have experienced a strong taste of hops, but I barely tasted any hops. Just barley, barley and more barley.

Maybe next time I'll taste the hops because I would definitely buy this barley wine again. I chose it not because I had heard anything specific about it; but merely because of its name: Blithering Idiot. It's as though it were calling out to me with a subtle zymurgical kertwang, saying: "Hey G! Yeah, sure, you're an idiot ... but how'd you like to blither?"

Reader, I enjoyed blithering.

Perhaps you would, too?
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Yeterday: Ran 6.21 miles in 56 minutes for a 9-min pace .

Today: 1.02 mile sprint in 7:15 for 7:05 pace; also did 3.3 miles on Morrissey in 10 min for a 20 mph pace. Did exercise and yoga as well.
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¹ KERTWAAAANGGGG!1!! Yeah. I'm in that kinda mood today.

² At least this time she successfully linked back to my blog, which, for Teh Loose M'se, is quite a victory.

³ Full Disclosure: With An Extremely Large And Facile P*nis.

⁴ Hey Canadians! KERTWANGGGG-GUH-GUH!1!1!

No, I'm sorry, Canadians: That was uncalled for and what's more I didn't really mean it and I'm sorry and furthermore if you're buying even one word of this bogus apology you really ARE soft in the head so KERTWANGGG!1!1! Hahahahaha!

No, not really. I'm sorry.

Or are I? Kertwang??

⁵ I've been a home brewer now for I guess more than a decade - I've lost track of how long exactly - and though I certainly enjoy my own brews, I find I miss being able to sample the myriad beers out there. There aren't very many restaurants in our area that serve anything much more exotic than Samuel Adams, which, though an excellent beer, is ubiquitous; and Teh 'Bride and I tend for the most part to go to BYOB places - which means more of my stuff. So now I'm trying to get a taste of what's out there every once in a while. Variety: It's the spice of Blithering Idiots.

Monday Morning Data Dump

It occurs to me I never got around to posting my June stats so without further (or any) ado, here you go:

Total miles (walks; runs; Giving It to Morrissey): 160.7
Walks: 36.9
Reaming Morrissey: 34.3
Runs: 89.5

In May I ran 86.17 and my only goal for June was to top that so MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!1! But I did do a total of 169.57 miles in May, so there was a net loss of nearly 9 miles this month which I attribute mostly to our Long Weekend Vay-kay at Rocking Horse Ranch, which I haven't even blogged about yet so here goes:

We were there from Thursday, June 25 to Sunday, June 28, and for me, the best (and, subsequently, worst) day (though they were all good) was Saturday. And that's because I woke up Saturday morning and got the day's schedule of events and saw — Woo-hoo!1! — both Beer Softball and Beer Volleyball were on the day's list of activities so I knew what I'd be doing from 2:30 p.m. till ???? Because this year it was better than last year when we went there because this year we trusted Ian to go off on his own, which he did, spending most of his time fishing in what he and Teh 'Bride insisted on calling "the lake" but I've horked up and spat bigger "lakes" than the "lake" at RHR, but whenever I called it a "pond" — which is what it is — they'd both be all, "NO, Daddy, it's a LAKE!" so whatev.

But anyroad, there was no need to worry about Ian, who ended up catching like 30 fish in total as opposed to the like zero he caught last year when he also spent all of his time fishing and I had to watch him and all he did was complain about the stupid fish that didn't like jump out of the pond lake and into his hands, the b*tches.

Ian with one of his smaller catches

I knew I also had to get at least one run in on the treadmill and I hadn't done it Friday and I knew I wouldn't on Sunday so I knew it had to be Saturday.

But Saturday was also the only day they had yoga, so Teh 'Bride and I took the hour-long yoga class at 8 a.m. and it had been a year since I had done an hour-long session of yoga so I was pretty sweaty and worn out after it.

But I knew I had to run.

So after breakfast, I got in a 5.8-mile run, and I felt okay after.

But the weather was iffy that day and I was just hoping it would clear up by Beer Softball time. Because it rained from like 12:30 till past 2 and I knew the field would be wet but really, people, it's not about the Softball because there's a reason the word "beer" comes first¹ in Beer Softball and Beer Volleyball.

But anyroad, when I got to the field at like 2:25, there were maybe 4 or 5 other dudes kinda loitering around, mostly even fatter and more out of shape than I am so I knew These Were Teh Softball Elite. But then there were never more than like 7 players who showed up at any one time so all we did was kinda have batting practice. For about an hour and a half.

And that was okay because I was running all over the place shagging flies² and it was a really good workout and was all kinds of fun.

But no staff person ever showed up so that meant the BEER never did.

And one guy who joined in at about the halfway point was all, "Isn't this supposed to be BEER Softball?" and I said, "Well, the rain canceled family softball, so I guess they decided to make this Family Softball and all I can say is the beer better show up for volleyball because softball, yeah, I'll play THAT for Teh Lurve of Teh Game ... but Volleyball? Pffftttt! There had just better be beer, is all."

And it turned out there was beer at the volleyball game. But there are some people who don't realize that the Game Is About The Beer and when you go to refill your cup between points, they f*cking SERVE the ball and you like miss a whole point³.

But with enough beer in you, you start to kinda care about winning, even in a lame and slightly gay game like volleyball; and way more people showed up for beer volleyball so we had actual full teams and the other team won the first game but we crushed them in the second and we were in the middle of the rubber game⁴ of the match when up the hill from the Volleyball court I see Ian and Teh 'Bride and Teh 'Bride is motioning me to "Come ON!" and I'm like "WHAT?" and she's like, "Dinner!" and I'm like "Dinner's at 5:30! It's only 10 after!" and she's like "YOU HAVE TO SHOWER!" and at this point I'm noticing that the rest of the my team and the whole other team are all looking at me with that "Pfffttt! P*ssy!" look on their faces and so I gesture toward Teh 'Bride and say, "Ladies and gentleman, Teh Ball-and-Chain!"

Which didn't garner me any points from Teh 'Bride.

So anyway, yeah, I left and took a shower and went to dinner and all-in-all managed to drink beer for MAYBE an hour and a half, but I made that hour-and-a-half count.

And even though when you're a runner you think you're kinda in shape, you really use different muscles in V-ball and softball than you do in running. And so my legs and back and @$$ and such were sore for DAYS and I made myself run on Tuesday and Thursday but for a while there I was thinking "Did I just royally f*ck up my chances at posting a decent time in my first 10k on the 4th?"

But turns out I was okay by the 4th and I didn't post a particularly good time but it wasn't the V-ball or s-ball's fault.
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¹ Well ... sorta first. because it was a keg of Coors Light. And on any given Saturday morning, my first p*ss of the day is darker than Coors Light and has a higher ABV content.

² Not in the Austin Powers sense because I'd have to be drunk on something stronger than Coors Light before I'd knowingly f*ck a fly.

³ This obviously never happens in Beer Softball because when your side is up it's like "How many beers can I gulp down while we're up?" And you really pray for a good rally so that your side is up for a while so you can down a few and you eventually stumble back onto the playing field not quite remembering what position you were playing ("Hey man, what position are you?" "Well, I prefer doggy-style, but straight missionary is okay too, but anyway, Dude, you're really not my type but thanks for asking").

⁴ In v-ball it's traditional for the deciding game of the match to wear a condom. it's just common courtesy.

Weekend Edition #69*: Lazy Man's PR, Take Two

I ran my first 10k race today¹, the 29th Annual Revolutionary Run at Washington's Crossing Historic Park in Pennsylvania. This is the point at which Washington and his troops got on boats and crossed the Delaware to surprise the Hessians² in Trenton on Christmas, thus giving the ragtag Continental Army a big victory in the Revolutionary War, which is now the second most momentous thing that happened in that park because f*cking pay attention, I just told you I ran a 10k there and that's a bigger deal around THIS blog, anyway, than some stupid drunken Hessian-tipping.

There were actually three races at Teh 29th Annual Rev. Run: a one-miler; a 5k; and a 10k. I decided to run the 10k because I've never run one before and I wanted a guaranteed PR because I'm lazy and drunk, like a Hessian on Christmas about to have his @$$ handed to him by a bedraggled rebel army.

So even though I got there like an hour early AND I was pre-registered, I barely got to the starting line in time for the start of the race because the lines to pick up the chips and swag were loooong and the township had made us park in a field like a mile away and so by the time I got my swag back to my car and hustled back to the start of the race, it was just about to get started. I guess that's kinda inevitable when you try to organize 3 different races and have one start at 8, the next at 8:15 and the last (mine) start at 8:30, which, according to my calculations, is like almost exactly 15-minute intervals but I was an English major with a severe math phobia so don't hold me to that.

FYI: None of the races started on time.

FYI II: Teh FYI-ening: Though chip timed, the race had no starting mat, which had me more puzzled than a drunken Hessian on Christmas. No, wait. Not that puzzled. More like: More puzzled than a drunken Howard Hessman as Dr. Johnny Fever on, like, Chanukah, I guess.

So anyroad, the race course itself was kinda interesting because it was mostly along the (PA side of the) Delaware river and the view was pretty sweet because we've had a ton of rain lately³ and the Delaware was brown and angry and in constant motion and all flux-y⁴.

Having never run a 10k race before — and being thereby pert-near guaranteed a PR unless I DNF'd (which, at the beginning of every race, I always consider to be a distinct possibility) — I set myself two goals: one VERY modest; the other RIDONKULOUSLY modest:

The Ridonkulously Modest Goal: Finish Teh Race.

The Very Modest Goal: Do It⁵ In Under An Hour.

I managed to accomplish both of these goals, unless something changes RADICALLY when they post the official results, which are not up yet⁶; because the printout said I finished in 55:14 and that mine was an 8:53 pace and that I was 365th in a field of (last time I looked) 599 10k racers.

And even though I had only those two goals above (i.e., the VERY Modest one; andthe  RIDONKULOUSLY Modest one), I found myself, nevertheless, slightly disappointed in my performance because I really think I can do significantly better than an 8:53 pace over a 10k course ... but, obviously, I didn't today.

And I know all of you are saying, But G, you accomplished BOTH of your Very Lame Goals, and, moreover, you have that Ridonkulously Large P*nis to console you, so big that people⁷ call it Teh Crowd-Pleaser and you can f*ck for like hours at a time and thereby drive women wild so really you should really be pretty well-chuffed.

Reader, you are right and you are also kinda turning me on with all this talk about my p*nis⁸! But I'm happily married, so I'm going to have to insist that you stop. Yes, who knows what might have been? But thinking those kinds of thoughts will only drive you insane with desire so, trust me, it's really better for all involved that you just go back to your {*snicker*} average-penis-sized husbands and boyfriend and their 5-minute-long (if you're lucky) sexytimes.

It's not you. It's me.

Okay, it's mostly you.

But I don't mean that in a judgmental way...
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*[Title Footnote]; Since Teh Marcy is dead (blogospherically speaking, anyway), I decided to keep her memory alive by continuing her "Weekend Edition" posts without so much as a by-your-leave-milady because there's NO WAY I'm paying her royalties since she, as far as I know, never paid any to SNL. NB: My title is slightly different, though, because mine will ALWAY be "Weekened Edition #69 colon-Subtitle" because 69 is my favorite number and IT'S NOT ALWAYS AND ONLY ABOUT YOU, THE MARCY!1! And also it's another reason, this slight difference in title, I don't have to pay her royalties.

Another way of keeping Teh M.'s memory alive would be to PUNCH A KID IN TEH FACE, but let's face it, that's been done to death already.

Another way would be, when you see a bush, to pull your junk out of your pants and waggle it at Teh Bush and say, "Miss ya, Teh Marcy!" which might sound like a psychotic thing to do at first glance but then remember that her maiden name is "Bush". Plus she likes it when people waggle their junk at her in public, is what I hear, especially if you waggle it in a hypnotic clockwise motion.

¹ "Today" being, at the moment, Saturday, July 4, 2009, as I begin this race report. Not sure if it'll be posted, or even finished, today, so the definition of "today" within the main text above may end up being fluid and flux-y, which (flux-y) sounds like it might be a portmanteau word combining "sexy", "lovely" and "f*ck", but it's not; it just means in a state of flux, you fluxtard.

² Fourth o' July Historical Footnote: Did you know ...? ... that Hessians are just Russians with a lisp? It's a true historical fact! That means Geo. Washington kicked Russky @$$ long before Ronald Reagan single-handedly brought down the Evil Soviet Empire, as we all know happened thanx to Faux News and Rush ("Will Bloviate For Oxycontin") Limbaugh.

³ Though today, Race Day, was not at all rainy; it was perfect running weather: sunny, not too hot, and lightly breezy. And the course itself was ridonkulously well-shaded, so attributing bad performance to heat stroke was not an option.

⁴ By which, this time, I mean it was sexy and lovely and f*ck.

⁵ By "Do It", here, I mean "finish the race" not the traditional meaning of "do it", i.e., "f*ck", because, ladies, I just can't do THAT in under an hour. I'm sorry. I need at least two.

Am I turning you on?

⁶ "Yet" = 12:40 p.m., Saturday, July 4, 2009.

⁷ Okay, really just me.

⁸ It talks about you, too, when you're not around. Just FYI.

MIA

Does anyone know what happened to tfh? Her blog is just ... gone!

Come back, sister!

I Did Not Intend to Post Today ...

... But Young Warrior Archæologist Xenia has been reduced to blogging about the f*cking WEATHER, so consider this a virtual intervention.

Because she said to me a few days ago something like "Hey, G, thanks for not blogging lately because that frees up like two hours a day for me to do more important stuff."

So I kept on not blogging so she could get on with getting her PhD¹.

And now she's blogging about the f*cking weather?

What's next, Xenia? "People, the food at the local commissary isn't that great, but Oy! The portions! You could plotz!"²

Man, I was expecting a post in which she auctioned off all that hair from her bikini wax³.

But NO!1! WEATHER!1!

Come ON, Xenia! Was all your creativity in your (late, lamented) groinal hair?!1!?

Okay. Back to lurking mode.
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¹ Geez, X, take the easy route: Just give your sponsor that bj already! Back when she was blogging, Teh Marcy used to hand out "verbal" bjs like candy, and no one ever called her a whoo-wer<sup>1a

1a</sup> Though I myself took every opportunity I could to imply she was a whoo-wer ... especially vis-à-vis her inexplicable Dr. Nic obsession. (Dr. Nic, by the way, IS a whoo-wer.)

² This is how Old Greeks speak, I'm told.

³ She's Greek, you know, so the aftermath of that waxing probably looked like an explosion in a mattress-stuffing factory. Oy-vey! (<---As they say in Athens.)

Today On "The View" ...

Teh Lurvely Michelle — over yondah at Runnin' Down a Dream — either not knowing or not giving a flying f*ck what this would do to her rep, asked me to write a guest post for her blog.

Which I gladly did because if she doesn't care about her rep, why the f*ck should I? 

Personally, I think this will earn her some much-needed street cred — more than if she'd gotten shot outside a Rap radio station, yo. But not as much as if she'd been stabbed outside an Easy Listening station by an Angry Gladys¹.

But anyroad, the guest blog spot is here and you have GOT to check it out because you won't BELIEVE what an @$$hole this guy is till you read what he sez.

If @$$holes had their own @$$holes, he'd be that.

Now I'm off on vak-kay, biatches! See you on the flip side!
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¹ Rumor has it, both have happened to her^1a. But did the Liberal Media cover it? Pfffttt! And so she yet toils in anonymity. Well. Meesh, if my guest post works, prepare for INFAMY!1!

^1a By "her", here, I mean Meesh, not Gladys. Gladys is more what they called in her day a "Gun Moll" and far more likely to be the one inflicting the damage than receiving it. That Gladys is a baaaad mutha- SHUT YOUR MOUTH!1! But 'm just talkin bout Gladys!

Best of Luck!

This weekend, two of my favorite bloggers will be running Grandma's Marathon: My Favorite ex-Carny and Grifter, Lil Sis Carrie; and Doctor Super Runner. Dr. Nic will be trying for a sub-3-hour time, which, frankly, I think is in the bag; and Lil Sis will be running so that she can come back to work and tell Gladys all about it only to have Gladys say something like, "In my day, dear, ladies didn't run marathons. We had our Gentleman Friends carry us." And then forget Carrie ever told her about it.

Hahahaha!

And Carrie's Gentleman Friend (aka, her hubby) could carry her, because he's BQ'd multiple times, so what's one more challenge?

Stop by their blogs (Nic's; Carrie's) and wish them luck, if you haven't already!

Best of luck, also, to anyone with a race this weekend!
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ZOMG!1!

toyBuNz is SHAKING HER MONEY-MAKER over at her blog this morning and you should go over there and check it out before she comes to her senses and takes that picture down because RRrrRRRRR!1!! HAWT!1! Slip a little something into her G-string, too ... but NO TOUCHING THE GOODIES!1! She's an "exotic dancer" NOT a whoo-wer¹!1!

Full Disclosure: She's not actually shaking it, but if you hold your PC monitor in both hands and wiggle it up and down and back and forth, like I did, it'll look like she is.

Plus, everything is labeled so you'll know what's what.

All I can say is ... it BETTER NOT turn out that that's really a picture of some dude's @$$!1!

Because if it IS ...

... what club does HE dance at?
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Today: Exercise, yoga and 4.3 miles on Morrissey in 12:25.
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Over the weekend, I was wearing one of my tech shirts when Teh 'Bride walks by me, goes sniff sniff and sez, "Uh, G, that shirt is stinky."

I of course denied that because I had just taken it out of the basket marked "freshly-laundered".

So Teh 'B. appeals to Ian and he sniffs me:

"Yeah, Daddy. You're stinky."

F*cking "wicking" material! Let go of the stench, already!

So this here is for all of you with the same problem with your running duds:


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¹ Difference: Exotic dancers take "donations"; whoo-wers charge a fee and must pay taxes.