… trolling through the internet jungle with pith helmet in hand so you don’t have to, people… it’s just what I do….

… finding little tidbits like this, for instance…

(CBS/AP) CENTRAL ISLIP, N.Y. A former bodybuilder who sued for the right to sunbathe nude with his dog at his side has dropped the lawsuit, citing poor health.

… boy, I sure hope Jimbo gets internet access real soon…. as I’m sure you guys do too….

…. wow… just color me amazed, folks… I was happily reading this article after enjoying a nice, quiet lunch… and quite frankly, I could hardly believe my eyes…

… did you people know that Trojan makes a condom with a vibrating ring at the base?… I sure didn’t…. evidently, it is part of their Elexa line… a line specifically designed for maximizing a woman’s pleasure during coitus…. how amazing… honestly, I had no idea.…

… I really need to get out more….

… greetings, Jimbo’s readers…. It appears as if everyone’s favorite Joiseyboy is enjoying a blog-sabbatical courtesy of Comcast….

… rest assured that he is fine and well… and doing exactly as he always does… namely, well, holding down Mr. Recliner, hobnobbing with The Usual Suspects, folding laundry, sipping bourbon….. he just ain’t writing about it…

… word has it that he’s pretty pissed too…. after all, he WANTS to write about folding laundry, sipping bourbon, and such….

… anyway, I’ll keep y’all in the proverbial loop as to his non-blogging status as I get updates….

… damn, I’m such a nice guy sometimes… I tell ya, I just love me…

drink, drank, drunk

sink, sank, sunk

pink, pank, punk

dink, dank, dunk

link, lank, lunk

shrink, shrank, shrunk

fink, fank, funk

jink, jank, junk

mink, mank, munk

blink, blank, blunk

rink, rank, runk

stink, stank, stunk

hink, hank, hunk

tink, tank, tunk

brink, brank, brunk

trink, trank, trunk

wink, wank, wunk

slink, slank, slunk
…………..
Discuss, discass, discunk.

I’m guessing that, on the average, about once per week a driver hails me during my morning walk to ask for directions. I know that many joggers and exercise walkers resent being asked to stop their workout to give directions, and some go so far as to ignore the lost motorist. Being one who spends a good deal of time being lost, I always stop and try to help.

The problem is that the poor bastard asking directions has no idea that he or she is dealing with someone whose brain is not properly wired to give good directions.

As I’ve mentioned on several occasions, I know how to get from Point A (almost always my house) to Point B, from Point A to Points C, D, and E. However, if someone asks me how to get from point B to point E, my brain seizes.

The result, of course, is that the unsuspecting sorry-ass, lost motorist (who is at Point B but who wants to get to Point E) sees only the catatonic expression on my face, attributing it, surely, to the sweat and accelerated heart rate that comes from exercise. Little does he or she know that a klaxon is going off inside my head signifying a neurological meltdown as I try to mentally connect Point B to Point E.

Still, I do the best I can, and I dispense the requested directions. The hapless motorist drives away secure in the knowledge that, by following my directions, he or she will arrive at Point E.

Invariably, about a minute or two after the thankful driver leaves the scene, I realize (in the best case) that I gave the trusting soul roundabout directions born of my inadequate directional brain chemistry and (in the worst case) I sent the poor bastard in the wrong direction. On many occasions, I have feared that a now-more-than-ever-lost driver will circle back to kick my ass.

Hell, I mean well.

I think what I need is a shirt on which appears (front and back). “I GIVE SHITTY DIRECTIONS. ASK AT YOUR OWN RISK.”

It’s sad (and telling of our priorities) that a drunken actor’s ravings are such big goddamned news, particularly at a time when there are frighteningly important things going on in the world.

That is all

Yes, it was hot as hell today.

When I went out early in the morning for my walk, it was already a steamy 84 degrees. I made the best of it by trying to take mental snapshots of portions of the walk so that I can remember them when I strut my shit down the same streets in about six months when the temperature is about 80 degrees lower and my face is frozen.

Sure, it was uncomfortable, but if you listened to radio reports (I avoid watching local news on television), you’d think that we were all being exposed to deadly radioactive fallout rather than a hot, summer day. Just about every report contained useful “tips” for dealing with the heat:

Stay indoors, preferably in an air-conditioned space, if possible. Ya think?

Wear loose, lightweight, comfortable clothes. Upon hearing that, I immediately decided against wearing a parka and woolen hat.

Drink plenty of fluids. I’ll definitely keep that in mind the next time I get thirsty in 100 degree heat.

Seek out shade, when possible. Christ, even cows and dogs know this.

Finally, as we are all bitching about the heat, it would serve us well to remember that there are troops on the ground in Iraq where it is often 15 degrees hotter, and they are spending their days dressed in full battle gear (including body armor and helmet) chasing bad guys.