Tammi's World

Short Timer

That’d be me ‘bout now. I want to thank everybody, that took time out of their own blogs, and lives, to come over here and he’p me enjoy winnin’ a bet, and he’p Tammi apreciate losin’ a bet. The “credits” are down below, just like in the movies… There’s a song to listen to if you want, while you’re scrollin’ the credits by, I’ll put both the song, and the gratuities in the extended section for brevity’s sake…, hell, I can’t understand half of what he’s singin’ in that song but I understand the, “I know I know, I don’t want to stay” part. She’s gonna be pissed off in 3 shades of mad when she gets back in here.

I’ve got a few things left to do before I go, but hell, we all know cleanin’ up ain’t one of ‘em on my list… I’ll save that for tomorrow, after work, like a ‘Neck does. Not that I’m gonna work all day or anything like that. I’ll be done workin' in a hour or so, but I’ll hit a beer store, or a tavern on the way home. That means, the mess will still be here Monday unless a woman comes behind me and calls bullshit and a few other choice expletives of her own choosin’ and does it herself. ;)

There was another bet made on the game that won me the keys to this resort… Chris Spielman(OSU grad.) bet Mike Golic(Notre Dame grad.) on the same game. Of course, Spielman won, as I was fortunate enough to do as well. I got a blog for 3 days for me and my buddies, Golic got a Jersey. Speilman’s. I wouldn’t trade. (Did I just write that?) It’s been a damned blast. And Golic had to sing the Buckeye Fight song, which he did, I might add, very enthusiastically. He handled the loss of the bet with absolute class. Somebody else lost that bet and handled the loss with as much, or more class. Tammi. I’m bettin’ she won’t take that same bet again, but hell, I’m not bettin’, she just might, no more bettin' for me(‘til later this year, you hear me comin' Marcus?). I’ve seen what can happen when you bet wrong. ;)

Anyway… enough, mushy stuff. You can find Golic’s picture wearnin’ a real jersey here, and you can hear the Buckeye Fight song here, and if you’re an “espn insider”, you can hear Golic wailin’ it out. My dogs ran under the bed on that one. I ain’t an “insider”, but the AM station here’s been playin’ it. For free. Don’t spend the 39 to be an insider. Duh. Hell, get some Scotch.

It’s a sad time for me, ‘bout now. I gotta go back to the shack. Yeah, I’ve missed my dogs, but hell., surprisingly, I ain’t stepped in any shit in the last 3 days. Well, none that come from “my” dogs. The mercenary dogs I recruited, well, that’s a different story now. There’s been a plenty to step in around here in the last 72 hours. It’s been damned near like havin’ a blog meet without actually meetin’ in person, instead meetin’ in Tammi’s World.

At least I didn’t see any cats while I was here. I did see some pussy though.

Gonzo rocked. Reminded me of one of my lady killer uncles. Thanks Key, now I know what was so special about him, and how he got all those wimmen’, and why he was one of my role model’s.

A’fore I step out, I plan to grab that can of Zippo lighter fluid over there in the corner behind the Mason Jar, squirt some in the corner’s of this place Much like Eric, and Bitterman did, but not from ‘tween my cheeks … And light a match as I walk out. I’ve got a match somewhere. Velociman stole my Zippo. Hell, if my match fails, I see Yabu tote’s his own fire… I’ll call him again…

Yeah, times up. I’m gonna burn this blog down. On my way out to the truck, I’ll drop the tail gate, climb up in the bed of the truck, unfold the collapsible chair I got from the Bass Pro Shop for Christmas, drag the cooler over, think about the dogs, smile my toothless, grinnin’ ass off and admire one of the best damned Vikin’ funerals I’ve ever witnessed.

Tunage, for Credit scrollin’, it’s somethin’ Ledbetter, but I don’t think it’s Marcel singin…

Credits…

Tammi, for takin’ the bet to start with.
T1G, for showin’ me the sucker.
Yabu, for blowin’ shit up. People residin’ in Norf’ Calina are your worst nightmare. They talk nice now, but they don’t fuck ‘round. (See Camp LeJeune)
Eric, The Red, The Blade, for knowin’ I’m and idjit(Hammerhead) and still wantin’ to see me survive in here.
Key, well, again, Gonzodo’s a beast.
Bitterman, ‘cause I would’ve bet my bottom dollar I was readin’ somebody else.
Velociman, hell, I’m like him, I can’t pass up a train wreck, and neither can he. For some reason’ I didn’t post a picture of him pimpin’ with his “red hatter” lid in tact.
Catfish for puttin’ up an original, like only Cat’ can.
Jimbo, ‘cause I needed some style points. Joisey Jim came through.
Harvey, for the boobs that Contagion so desired(Contagion is askeered of Tammi).
Matt, for checkin’ in, and for the perforation. This place breathes better now.

Hell, I did forget...
Zonker showed up with his idea of a Christmas present. Some damned kind of Ion thingymabob. Ion's? I thought they was little cars. Buddy, they don't make no kind of Ions that'll take the stink off this, but, they do make enough Moron's to put it on.. ;)

Sorry Zman.. my bad.

Hell, I almost forgot…

Tammi, Here’s my partin’ gift. I hope they're your color. I thought Brass was fittin', even though I'm a chrome fan. When you putt'em on, Contagion is gonna druel with envy. He's want's a pair of his own BAD...

I'm guessin' a pair on each ear would look stunnin'. Hell, you might even make the cover of National Geopgraphic...

Thanks for the time, the space, and the lovely Northern’ Illinois weather. There are some Vikin' funerals that can warm your heart.

;)

‘Neck out…

PS, Thanks for the leftovers in the fridge. Saved me a ton on Pizza man money. Every thing got gone 'cept the Sausage and the tater's... The dishes are on the porch...

Don't look Ethel!

Catfish told me to never tell a woman she couldn't cook...

when you're out of Shlitz, you're out of beer.

I'm outta here, and I'm outta beer.

Screw brevity, I'm outta time and the beer store closes soon...

Be back in a couple... prolly NOT. ;)

Posted by Redneck at January 6, 2006 08:38 PM