Our pal, Bitterman, lost his friend Mikey recently. Rather than writing a rambling eulogy, Bitterman posted a couple videos of him and his friend doing their thing. Check them out HERE and HERE.

Note: Watch the speedometer, which often appears in the lower right corner. It registers 140 mph at times. Damn! Bitterman tells me that it’s way more dangerous riding a motorcycle on the streets and highways at posted speed limits than it is doing 140 mph on a track (nothing to hit on a track).

Watching these videos inspired me to write a post about once having had a motorcycle and why I don’t have one now. Stay tuned.

Thanks to Yabu for the pointers.

The Ultimate Sacrifice.

May they never be forgotten.

Oh, was I speaking about flying? I believe I was.

I figure that there’s only a handful of people who know the system by which air fares are priced. Hell, for all I know, maybe it’s controlled by one evil genius, or purely by computer bots. What I do know is that I paid a very “frilled” price to fly on a “no frills” airline. The real fun begins after you buy a ticket.

Want to check a bag? (Can you imagine? People traveling actually might have a suitcase?) It’ll cost you.

Want to carry on a bag? It will cost you even more than a checked bag?

Does your bag weigh more than forty pounds? If so, it’ll cost you an additional $25. If more than fifty pounds, the additional bag fare will set you back $50. Because the return flight was delayed, I had the opportunity to watch several people forced to make the choice between forking over their credit cards for the additional charge or going through their luggage on the terminal floor in front of everyone in order to either move their stuff into another suitcase or toss it.

Want to choose a seat? It will cost you, even for an “economy” seat, which provides sufficient room for the average four-year old.

Want a soda? A beer? A glass of juice? Bag of pretzels? It will cost you. (No cash; credit card only)

Want a farookin’ drink of water? Yep, it’ll cost you. (Three bucks – credit card only)

If you happened to place your credit card in your one “permitted personal item,” you can forget about trying to get it out from under the seat in front of you, unless, of course, you are three-feet tall and a contortionist. Even if you were a three-feet-tall contortionist you wouldn’t be able to get at your “permitted personal item” if the INCONSIDERATE PRICK in front of you reclined his seat.

No movie, no music, no magazine – not even one of those cheesy airline magazines. No frills, baby.

None of this bothered the lady sitting three seats away from me, because she had paid NINE DOLLARS for her seat. It bothered me quite a bit, having paid roughly twenty times that amount for my seat. Hell, I paid more airfare for my suitcase than that lady paid for her seat.

The good news is the plane didn’t crash. That’s something.

Still, three bucks for a drink of water? Can’t get to your credit card? Like the guy in the beer commercials says, “Stay thirsty, my friend.”

Back home in the GAHden State after two weeks of Florida sunshine. I’ve got a fair amount of post-vacation stuff to take care of, but I wanted to say something while my travel experience is still fresh in my mind.

As noted above, I certainly hope that none of youse guys fit this description, but sometimes a thing just has to be said, so here goes:

If you are flying coach with someone sitting in the seat behind you, and you decide to recline your seat, you are an INCONSIDERATE PRICK.

There, now I feel better.

Later.

Well, for just about two weeks, I have been frolicking in the sun (lots of sun), eating calorie bombs and keeping my liver in high gear processing adult beverages. I will be returning to the GAHden state in a day or so, so here is a quick wrap-up:

There were two gorilla-stompin’ storms, which, although thankfully brief, served to remind me that being here during a hurricane would be a real stinkeroo. Otherwise, the weather was terrific.

I did not see any alligators, but that isn’t surprising, given that I avoid all fresh water that isn’t chlorinated and surrounded by a sturdy fence. I did, however, see about a gazillion little shits called “skinks” (pictured above). Can’t fool me: those little bastards are nothing but micro-gators. Hate ‘em.

Oh, and one night a farookin’ BOBCAT walzed through the property. I only saw it for a couple seconds, but I could see that it was as big as a damned dog, but it wasn’t a dog; it was a farookin’ cat! I immediately went to the computer to pull up a picture and then confirmed that bobcats are all over Florida. Yeef! This place is a regular Wild Kingdom, and I sure as shit ain’t Marlin Perkins.

I did manage to avoid much of the news, which is good for my blood pressure, and at the hour when the world was supposed to come to an end, I was in the pool with the Usual Suspects doing cocktails. We all figured that if the world was going to end, we were in a good place, and we’d all go down together.

As we now know, the world didn’t end, but the vacation is coming to an end. Yeah, I know. Yo, Jimbo, you’re retired. Vacation? Vacation from what?

See youse guys soon.

Every year, at about this time, the Usual Suspects descend upon our little corner of the Sunshine State, and this year is no exception. I’m sure that the guy in the local liquor store is looking forward to our visit, as I figure that we probably put one of his kids through college. Yes, there will be an abundance of adult beverages, lots of pool lounging and merciless kidding (a Jersey thing — e.g. “Yo, Shitstain!”).

Unfortunately, if one wants to enjoy the Florida sun and fun, one must remain aware that Florida is not only the Sunshine State; it is also the farookin’ ALLIGATOR state. My morbid fear of these prehistoric, man-eating beasts is known to all who come here, except perhaps recent visitors.

Because my fear and loathing of alligators is known, my “pals” in the blogosphere cannot help themselves from sending me bowel-loosening links. Here are a few samples of what I’ve been receiving:

Catfish thought it was important that I see that sitting around a pool is no guarantee of being free from a visit by alligators.

LeeAnn wanted to make sure that I don’t even feel safe indoors.

Bou and Jean took great delight is showing me an alligator that attacked a car.

As if worrying about alligators isn’t enough, El Capitan had to remind me that there are also crocodiles in Florida, but not to worry; they don’t eat people. Ha!

To all you rat bastards pals who feel compelled to send me this stuff, I wish you a serious wedgie. Other than the chlorinated, fenced-in pool, I shall avoid any body of fresh water larger than the average pancake.

I plan on bringing Mr. Computer with me, and I may even do a post or two while I’m down there doing cocktails and keeping my eye out for large, green, pre-historic, man-eating things. If not, play nice while I’m gone.

Michelle Obama has invited rapper “Common” to the White House to participate in a poetry event. Perhaps Mr. “Common” will perform his piece called “A Song for Assata,” which glorifies Joanne Chesimard a/k/a “Assata Shakur,” the piece of shit who was convicted of murdering New Jersey State Trooper, Werner Foerster in 1973. She escaped from prison where she was serving a life sentence and fled to Cuba, where she resides as a fugitive today.

Of course, the Administration thinks the invitation of this crud to the White House is just fine, thank you.

The thought that this guy will perform in the White House positively sickens me.

You can hear “A Song for Assata,” here, if you have the stomach for it.

Linked by Doug Ross. Thanks!

This cracked me up.

Enjoy.

Thanks to the Stardust Shrink for the link

This is something I wrote about my mother in 2004, which, I believe, captures her essence. I suspect that many of have already read it, but perhaps a few have not.

I think about her every day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there.

Osama bin Laden is still dead.

The country is still going down the toilet.

Otherwise, a slow news day.

That is all.