Saturday, December 28, 2013

“Jersey Shore” star J-Wow, Jenny Farley, is pregnant. No word on whether she is expecting a guido or a guidette.

Target was attacked by computer hackers. Gosh, I wonder why Target would be the target of hackers who target potential hacking targets?


Update on Wally's nicknames:

Dingus Doo

Totes McGoat



The Couch Monkey

The Cuddle Bunny

Wally Two Biscuits

The Chicken Dog (he is afraid of his own bark and Ann Caroline's uke) 

Little Walter

Wally the P.

Winkus McGoots

Weasel Beans

Seperated at birth? 

Chrissie Hynde and the "Star Wars" scary Emperor Palpatine guy

Here are the top: 

Pop/Schlock/Lounge Acts pretending to be rock bands

Some of these groups are great and may have several great songs. But they aren’t real rock bands, now are they?
Journey (Talented as all hell, just not rock and roll)
Kiss (Tops my list as most overrated)
Styx (Dennis DeYoung is a cornball lounge singer. Don’t make me say it. OK, “Mr. Roboto”)
Chicago (“25 Or 6 To 4” is a great song, but they also did “If You Leave Me Now” possibly the worst song that I have to admit I like)
Heart (Great music, but two sisters is a schtick and a schtick is an act and an act is not rock and roll)
Blondie (A cleaned-up punk act)
Talking Heads (A gay cleaned-up punk band) 
The Pretenders (Aptly named. A lesbian, gay, cleaned-up punk band. Again, some great songs even if Chrissie Hind-end is a world class beyatch)

Genesis (Peter Gabriel on his own? Great)

Sex Pistols (by angrily railing and thrashing against commercial success thus becoming a commercial success makes them - and most punk bands - the ultimate snotty hypocrites. Oh, and the music truly sucked)

Cheap Trick
Jefferson Starship (Google the lyrics to “Miracles” possibly the worst lyrics ever)
Billy Joel (A lounge singer albeit a great one)
Neil Diamond (“Hot August Nights” was one of my favorite albums as a young sprite, but, come on, he is more than a bit Vegas)
Elvis Presley (Again, great and a legend. Not rock) 
Tower of Power
Oingo Boingo
Queen (This one hurts because Freddie was awesome and Brian May is one of the underrated guitarists of all time. But an act – even a great one – is not a rock band)
The Go-Gos

Poison (Was there ever really enough cocaine to make them sound good?)
Twisted Sister
Foghat (Sorry, Ray)

Depeche Mode (You can’t spell douche without Depeche Mode. Well, you can, but you shouldn’t be able to)

Friday, December 27, 2013

 Jamba Juice II

Like a lot of folks, I have vowed to eat healthier and lighter in 2014, so this has found me making more trips to Jamba Juice. To be fair, I don’t hate Jamba Juice with the red-hot intensity that I hate Starbucks, but I still hate it.
90% of the youngins who work there are fine. But the workers who actually work are in back making the smoothies. That leaves the newbie to deal with the public. Granted, that has to sort of suck when you consider so many of the people around Carmel Valley are so wildly entitled, rude and consider themselves far more important than they are.
But why not at least try and interact and have a little fun?
So this clearly-does-not-want-to-be-there 18 something guy named Cooper is mechanically reading his routine from the computer. As annoying as it is to hear young women speak in Valley-girl-speak, it is even worse when it is a guy. Especially a guy named Cooper.
Regardless of their response, Cooper shoots through his five questions:
Can I take your order?
What size would you like? (Only Cooper, in his valley-speak, says Wuuuhhhhat ssssssssiiiuuuze whuuuuould you liiiiiike?)
Would you like a boost with that?
Would you care for any of our delicious baked goods (Their baked goods take pretension to a new level. No, I do not want a rosemary and nutmeg cherry biscuit-pretzel, thanks)
Would you care for our hot steel-cut oatmeal?
What is your name?
Oh. It is so on. From Cooper’s first question I say;
“Surf-rider, original size, vitamin boost, nothing else and my name is Alex.” That should take care of the five questions, right? 
After I repeat this phrase three more times, the fourth time, when Cooper asks if I want any delicious baked goods, like their acorn, bird seed and cinnamon scones, as friendly as possible, I say;

“No, that is why I have said nothing else the three times I have also said Surf-rider, original, vitamin boost and my name is Alex.”

By this time the girl making the smoothies has been following this amusing routine and we exchange bemused; "Can you believe this guy?" looks. I'm not mad, it's funny. 

Cooper now looks at me, truly annoyed and says with a straight face:

“Caaaaaahhhhhhn I get yourrrrrrrrrrr naaaaaaaaaame?”

Now the girl making the smoothies has had it, she threw her scooper into the sink with a clang and yells;

"Dude. Are you serious? He has told you his name is Alex four times."

Poor Cooper had the most shocked and hurt look on his face. He had no idea I had said my name four times. 

Thursday, December 26, 2013

To my British friends, Happy Boxing Day

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Have a Wally, Wally Christmas

Santa SUP Surfing Good Harbor Beach Gloucester, MA

Tuesday, December 24, 2013


Plus this

Plus this

Equals this
Brang the ruckus with that tuchus, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

The Eagles-Please Come Home for Christmas

Although I like this song, this marked the beginning of the end of the Eagles

We up and done got our hair did in an up-'do, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

They say you get the face you deserve. What did Phil Robertson do to deserve getting the face of an old Yak's scrotum?

Denver Bronco, QB, Peyton Manning broke the single season record for touchdowns at 51; Manning is a lock to be the league’s MVP. In fact, the only thing Manning did wrong this year was make a commercial for the only lousy pizza maker, Papa John’s.

“I want to re-purpose this locally grown, seasonal, organic kale so I can win for my life-partner on the anniversary of my tenth tattoo celebrating my five years sober.” 

– Every freaking contestant on every effing cooking contest show. 

In honor of Riley O'Connor, the only joke my mother, bless her soul, could tell:

An American covert CIA agent is dispatched to a quaint cobblestone-road town in Ireland. His mission is on a need-to-know basis and all he knows is he is to find his contact named Riley and give him the secret code to signal the start of a mission.

Upon arriving he sees several people walking on the sidewalk and stops an older dapper gentlemen in tweed and says;

"Excuse me, I am looking for a man named Riley."

The grizzled Irish codger strokes his chin for a second and says;

"Well, the butcher across the street is named Riley."

"Thanks, I'll go see him," says the impatient American.

"Not so fast," says the Irishman, "The druggist is also named Riley."

Now the American looks confused.

"In fact, me name is also Riley."

"Your name is Riley?"

"That it is, me boy."

The American looks at the Irishman closely, squints his eyes and says;

"The moon travels over the dark and silent meadow."

"Oh," says the Irishman, "You'll be wantin' Riley the spy."