Matt-Man: Yeah, I Like That...

Last week, I posted a partial list of things I hate. Today?

I am writing about things that I like, things that bring me joy.

My dad, in his book Credo, wrote a poem about things that were pleasing to him. It was titled, Personal Choices and one of the verses went like this…

I like

the serenity of old battlefields
short sermons,
and chores well done.

©1981 Jack Mahoney

I decided to list some of the things that I like, using the same poetic form that Dad used in that very poem…

I like,

Fernleaf Buckthorns, brash, red geraniums,
white Dogwoods anchored in black mulch,
and the delicate, pink blooms on Scottish Heather.

I like,

the pre-dawn aria of the mourning dove,
the clickity-clack of an archaic timepiece,
and the seductive sadness in the voice of Chrissie Hynde.

I like,

footlong chili dogs, cheeseburgers rare,
lima beans and scalloped corn,
and BLTs heavy on the bacon.

I like,

the warmth and closeness of my son’s embrace,
a cool breeze in August, the January thaw,
and goosebumps germinated by the heat and moisture of a loved one’s kiss.

I like,

the smell of a backyard cookout,
the scent of fresh cut Christmas trees,
and the aroma of basil on pizza fresh from the oven.

I like,

poems by Tennyson, Donne, and Dylan Thomas,
the honest comedy of Chris Rock,
and drinking Wild Irish Rose from a knowing, old, beer glass.

©2010 Matt-Man

Yeah, I like that, and I hope you liked it too.

Happy Hump Day, all.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man: Things I Hate

Things I hate…

Brussels Sprouts.

Writer’s block.

Overcooked scrambled eggs. Undercooked, I can deal with…overcooked? Not so much.

Seeing little kids without parental supervision or love. Makes me sick to my stomach.

Football and Baseball announcers who never shut the fuck up and are compelled to point out the obvious.

Sean Hannity.

Rudeness.

Dirty ashtrays. I smoke. Schmoop smokes. But…I am constantly emptying the ashtrays. Can you say, OCD?

Those who say that people on unemployment just want benefits; they don’t want a job.

When the chain on the toilet handle breaks. That fucking irritates me to no end.

Keith Olbermann.

Arrogance.

Assholes who express racism, bigotry, or a general dislike for a group or groups of minorities.

Minorities who claim racism and bigotry because they are somehow dissed “by the man” when the reason is not because of race, but because they are an asshole.

Constipation. I can deal with diarrhea ‘cause I’m getting rid of shit. Shit stuck up in me, makes me angry…and uncomfortable.

Brussels Sprouts.

Writer’s Block.

Oh, one other thing…

I hate it when I repeat myself. It reminds me that I am aging.

Cheers!!

Questions ala David

As part of my post this past Wednesday, I asked readers to ask me anything they’d like…things that perhaps that they didn’t know about me.

I answered the majority of them in the comments section, but one chucklehead decided to ask me a myriad of questions that would require more than a brief comment.

David, a frequent Bagwine commenter and man of ambiguous sexual orientation, posed several inquiries.

Since I find David to be a funny guy and wonderful addition to the discussions that take place here, I thought I would take some time to answer his questions…

Did you have typing classes as a formal introduction to the qwerty keyboard, or are you self-taught or are you a hunt-and-pecker?

I took typing for two grading periods during my freshman year of High School. I sat next to Susan Heeg, who had the most incredible breasts I had ever seen up to that point. Today, I type using a combination of knowing where the keys are but still peck now and then. Kinda like I do when having sex.

When writing, how often do you use a dictionary or thesaurus either on-line or paper?

I use a Thesaurus once in awhile typically to find words that offer me alliteration. I deeply dig alliteration. The Dictionary? Not often…but maybe I knead to use one moor often.

How often do you use the googles or other search engine queries to fact-check or research a blog post and do you have a preference?

I actually do research my topics as thoroughly as time allows. Even if I am poking fun of something, I want to know the actual history and facts behind what I am talking about. I am a Google user almost exclusively.

Other than Schmoop, who is the hottest chick you ever actually boinked (fake names accepted) and why is she the hottest?

Now that’s a fun question!! Other than Schmoop, it had to be a chick named Tiffany.

We only had sex a few times, but man it was always loud, proud, and sassy. And it all began the first time I met her sitting with mutual friends in a bar. As the night went on, she put her hand on my thigh…then rubbed…and finally ended up giving me a hand job in said bar. What’s not to like?

Other than myself, of course, for whom would you go gay? Living now or formerly living…if you go for “living or dead” people, I don’t think I’m up for that info just yet.

It would have to be a “chick” that comes through the Beer Mine. Oddly enough, “her” name is Tiffany as well, although my co-workers refer to “her” as, Timmy. I guess I’m taken in by her cute face, her man hands, and the lilt in “her” voice when “she” bellows:

“Marlboro Reds in a Box, Matt. I know, I had quit smoking, but I just found out that the guy I am dating is my father.” What say you, Pizza Bill?

David had a few more questions, but I shall save those for another day. I want to thank David for his morbid curiosity about me.

It’s friends like him, who make life interesting…and in way, disturbing.

I am spending some time with Ryno this morning and then back to the digs to woop it up.

Have a wonderful Saturday all. May you all find a girl like Tiffany, be she a she, or a he, or whatever.

Cheers!!

Numbers Can Add Up To Introspection

Well folks…

I discovered that yesterday’s discussion about my e-mails to a trio of FOX News celebrities marked my 1,300th post on Bagwine Ruminations. Holy Cow.

1,300 posts over nearly three and a half years. And what if anything, have we learned about the man known as Matt, Matty, Mateo, That Bagwine Drinking Dickhead in Ohio…The Matt-Man?

Let’s re-cap, shall we?

I like to drink Wild Irish Rose, Milwaukee’s Best Light, and once in awhile, King Cobra Malt Liquor, better known as, Snake in a Bottle. Yum.

We know through photographic evidence that I have yet to achieve my life’s dream of having a sex change and becoming a Lesbian Porn Star. That fact sticks in my crawl, and it sticks in my crawl because I still have no vagina in which to put it.

Politically, I am a blend of Liberalism and Libertarianism…In fact, in a post some time back, I coined the phrase, Liberaltarian. I am so damn cool that way.

We know that my life would be far less without my son, Schmoop, her brother Dave, my family, and all of you lovable, sometimes brilliant, and usually laugh out loud funny degenerates.

I have a pretty damn good command of the English language, and yet some of my favorite words remain fuck, fucktard, pussy, and asshole.

I enjoy a heated debate, trading insulting barbs, and making fun of ideas and people with which and whom I disagree. Biting my tongue and keeping my mouth shut has never been in my DNA. And yet, at times, I can be quite diplomatic. Odd.

I guess at times, I am riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside of a brown paper bag. I can dig that.

When I fantasize about sex…it involves a hot chick such as this…

On the rare occasion that I have real sex, it involves a hot chick like this…

Mmmmmmmmm. It’s good to know that.

If you have read me for any length of time you know that while I haven’t had the time of late, I enjoy making videos such as this classic I did to John R. Butler’s, “Old Time God”.

Ha. Classic.

Anyhoo…

I really have no idea why I am writing this or where if anywhere, I am going with it. I guess we are a people who are taken with big, round numbers such as 1,300.

Numbers like that act as milestones, and oft times create a time of reflection and introspection.

I guess I saw that number and started to think about things. I have much optimism that something will come of the things I write, but at the same time, I spend my days worrying about things in the here and now.

I guess I was due for a little catharsis, and I thank you for listening.

So as not to end this post on a melancholy note, I will attempt to lighten things up by asking you to do something…

This post was primarily a self-absorbed post about what we have learned about me through the existence of Bagwine Ruminations; what is it that you don’t know?

Bring it on Bitches…Ask me anything you want. I’ll answer it right here, right now. I am certain that YOU guys can come up with some pretty damn funny questions.

Cheers!!

It's Okay...I'm Gay!!

Folks…I have decided that I need to have more women in life. You know…

Spice things up sexually. It would make my life more exciting, and would afford Schmoop the opportunity to relax more.

If I am otherwise occupied, she would not have to constantly look over her shoulder to see if I am getting ready once again to grab her hot, little ass and/or grope her boobs.

Of course, not too many other women really want to have sex with yours truly. So Sad. However…

I think I have come up with a solution to that problem.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now officially GAY!!

That’s right. I have come out of my incredibly messy closet and converted to Gay-Ism. I have trimmed my goatee. Shaved my chest.

And, even switched from Wild Irish Rose to Bartles and Jaymes Strawberry Daiquiri wine coolers.

I have become one, major league flamer….a raging, homo love machine.

How in the hell does my new found gayness help me if it is my desire to sleep with women, you ask?

Allow me to ‘splain…

Me being gay gets me into the women’s club. I can hang out with them without being a threat to them. They’ll be relaxed around me if I am gay.

If I am dishing and drinking spritzers with a group of women and Tiffany says, “Gee girls, do my tits look and feel saggy. Would men still like to suck these puppies?”

In unison the other women would respond, “Why not have Matty try them out; it’s okay Tiff…He’s Gay!!”

After sucking and groping Tiff and giving my approval, the other chicks will certainly want to know how theirs stack up. They’ll all want gay Matty-Boy to try theirs out.

Let’s say I’m at a lingerie and sex toy party, and Tammy Schneider is unsure if she should purchase a pair of sexy, crotchless panties.

She voices her ambivalence to the other ladies, “I really like them, but I think my husband thinks my hoo-ha smells and tastes funny. I wonder if it does.”

The response from her peers…"Why don’t you have Matty give you a thorough taste test. It’s okay, Tammy…He’s Gay!!"

And dig it…With all of the lunches and spa sessions I’ll be doing with the babes, I’ll become involved in their personal lives.

At some point, there will be heartache for many of them due to an inattentive husband, an angry boyfriend…an unexpected weight gain.

Who will be there to pick up the pieces and console them? That’s right. Gay Matt.

I’ll have every one of them over for dinner in their time of need. We’ll talk, drink wine, and paint each other’s toenails.

And when the woman begins to sob uncontrollably from her situation and too much alcohol, I will say…

“I hate to see you like this. You can stay with me tonight if you’d like. You really shouldn’t be alone.

Hell if you’d like, you can sleep with me, and as much as I won’t enjoy it, I will even have sex with you. It‘s okay…I'm Gay.”

The forlorned chick will respond…

“You would do that for me? You are so sweet, Matty. Let’s go my BFF, I’ll ride you all night, my pretty.”

I will let her take me by my supple hand, lead me to the bedroom, and giggling like a little schoolgirl, I will say…

“And don’t you worry about what’s going to happen being made public. After all, I’d never tell any of my gay friends about this.”

I think I am on to something. Oh yeah, I am one smooth chested, wine cooler drinkin’, gay genius.

Cheers!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Cat-tholicism

It’s going to rain cats and dogs on this Sunday in Bagwine.

This may mean my eight hours working the Beer Mines may be a little slow today.

Praise Jeebus, ‘cause Friday night, I had more people coming in and out of the place than Paris Hilton’s hoo-ha.

And…speaking of raining cats and dogs…as you probably know, we have a cat named, Corky.

I was recently asked by a reader, as to how we came to name our precious, furry friend, Corky.

It has nothing to do with a wine bottle…It’s not because she is a brownish, tan color...which she is not.

It is all because from the moment we rescued her from the gas chamber, we immediately recognized that she was “special”.

Not special in a, “worshipped by the Egyptians” kinda way, rather she is special in a, “Corky, As Life Goes On” kinda way.

She runs into things. Falls down a lot. Stares at the ceiling often...

Makes best friends with inanimate objects such as empty boxes and my HP Printer.

Oh yeah, she’s wayyyyyyy special.

In fact...

Schmoop was thrilled the other day when she went to the store and finally found a scoopable litter that is worthy of Corky's name and condition…


I’m sorry the picture is a little blurred, but it was taken through the eyes of our beloved Corky.

Life in the Bagwine digs is finally complete, as life goes on.

Amen and Amen…

That’s it for today for I must get ready for the work day. I hope you enjoy your Sunday, and tomorrow I have a very special announcement.

That’s right folks…I will be letting you in on a major change in the lifestyle of the Matt-Man.

I hope you can join me and share with me my life altering announcement. Until then…

Cheers!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Seven Deadly Sins

It is a sunny, yet blustery and cold Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio.

So, does that mean that March is coming in like a lion or lamb? No matter which, since it’s Lent, I can’t eat either one.

My meatlessness started only four days ago and it has already resulted in me going from 187 lbs. to 184 lbs. Praise Jeebus, and pass me another plate of chili beans.

I have seen that some folks on the internets have been doing a meme series based upon the Seven Deadly Sins.

I thought today would be a good time for me to take inventory of my wayward ways.

Lust…Oh Baby!! Do I ever lust. I do love the ladies. Fortunately in my adult life, I have been able to confine my lust to flirtations, thoughts, and an occasional quickie with myself and a picture of my desire within the confines of my bathroom.

Gluttony…I shouldn’t smoke and shouldn’t enjoy beer and Bagwine as much as I do, but other than that I live a fairly Spartan existence. Minus the gay sex with other oiled up Greek soldiers.

Greed…I’d like to have plenty of money as much as the next person, but I certainly don’t dwell on it. And when I do have money, boy do I spread it around. Hence the reason…that I have none.

Sloth…I have always been a hard worker no matter where I have been employed. However, in other areas of my life...

I procrastinate. I start things and don’t finish them. I lose focus. So, I’m not a full bore sloth; I am more of a three-toed sloth.

Wrath…One of my few virtues is my patience. While I am never one to back down or shy away from taking down anyone, I really have to be pushed and my anger is slow to rise.

Envy…I envy but one thing. If a person has nice teeth, I will sinfully yearn to have their choppers instead of mine. Father, forgive me.

Pride…Me? What ego? Yeah, when it comes to what I write, my humor, and my expert skills in going south on a woman, I am uber-proud.

However, I am also quite self-deprecating, quick to compliment, and enjoy seeing and aiding in the success of others. I can live with that.

Amen, and Amen…

It’s going to be a long day today…11-7 in the beer mines and then off to see my Sweetman. But, before I go…

I’d like to say Godspeed to Paul Harvey and his family. Mr. Harvey passed away late yesterday at the age of 90.

While I was never a fan of his radio show or his political commentary, I admire anyone who can build and maintain a successful career in broadcasting that spanned 50 years.

Enjoy the rest of your story, Mr. Harvey. And to all of you…

Cheers!!

"For Ryan"

WARNING: What follows is a boring personalized rant in order to get things off of my chest in attempt to help myself feel better.

Keep in mind, what I am about to say is a rant about Mom de la Ryno and while accurate, is completely one-sided.

I have always felt that 98% of people who are involved in a failed marriage or relationship and put the blame entirely on the other person are one of two things…

A liar…or uber-delusional.

However, this is my site and my rant, so here’s what’s bugging me…

I went over to the house to pick up Ryno yesterday and take him to school. He was in the shower getting ready when I arrived.

While I waited on him, his mom, asked if I had any extra money for her because she has to pay $800.00 on Thursday for her and Ryno’s school trip to D.C. in March.

I said, “no.”

But my how the mood and atmosphere quickly changed. Kinda like if Dick Cheney showed up on your doorstep during a birthday party or...

If you found out that the sprinkles on your delicious cake were extricated from Rosie O'Donnell's last pap smear.

That's how the mood changed

She told me that I knew all about this. Ha. I didn’t know she had to pay that amount of money on Thursday.

I had mentioned awhile back that if I had any money from my tax return I would give them some of it to have while on their trip.

Well, knowing her as I do, I know that PMS sets in this time of month.

And no, I am not generalizing. She has always had profound PMS issues and has refused to do anything about it.

Well, anyhow, her change in demeanor made me feel like shit once again. Not because I want to help because of her, but because of the two magic words she used…

“For Ryan.”

Ah, yes…For Ryan. Works nearly every time.

This incident comes on the heels of Ryno’s last grade card. He got really good grades but did tank a Science final exam.

Whose fault was that, you ask? That’s right…Mine!!

In fact, she told him upon seeing his Science exam grade…

“Ryan you are smart like your Dad, and you flunked it. Do you want to end up working at a Drive-Thru like your Dad?”

That’s so warm…so encouraging. I am sure that Ryno felt the same way. A year ago or so, she also told him the following…

“Ryan, I would like to be a family again as well, but your Dad has stolen that from us. He took that away from us.”

I was sitting right there, and Ryan was bawling. She’s a sweetheart alright, in a Leona Helmsley kinda way.

Y’know? She has the house when I could have made her sell it and split the dough.

She has Ryan nearly 24/7. She has it all. The only thing she doesn’t have and what she really wants…
My…fucking…soul.

In spite of her telling me that I’m no good, literally spitting in my face, and other fun abuses over the years...

I have rarely said an ill-word about her to my friends, let alone never saying one about her to my son.

And what do I get? Pretty much this… Ryan, your Dad is a loser.

I tell her about my writing and how it will in one way or another, eventually pay off. She tells me that it won’t, and laughs in her condescending way.

Why would she say that? Because, well, I haven't made any money from writing yet.

But folks, hear me now, and listen to me later, this is what she will say when it finally does pay off…

“I knew you would make it. You’re so smart. Now how about sending Ryan and I on a cruise? Not for me mind you…For Ryan.”

Uh-huh…Leave Ryno at home sweetie, and I’ll buy a cruise ticket for you aboard the S.S Poseidon; enjoy the buffet and tell Shelley Winters I said Hi.

Cheers!!

Somebody Uncork Me, Dammit!!

Folks, I am starting to get worried.

I have been in a funk for nearly two weeks.

Not an emotional funk…

In fact, in spite of Ryno’s recent academic problems, I have been in a pretty good mood for a few days.

I am talking a creative funk. I gots nuffin’.

My mind is blank. We’re talking a tabula rasa with no frickin’ cranial chalk anywhere near.

I think I have avoided traipsing ’round the blogosphere or sitting down to write, because I don’t want to be once again frustrated.

I’ve had many ideas of late but they seem to go nowhere. I know I talked about burn out around prior to New Year’s Eve, but it’s hanging on.

My in ability to write is like a yeast infection inside of Jessica Alba’s hoo-ha. It just doesn’t want to leave.

See? That was a contrived joke that I forced myself to write. Things just aren’t spontaneously poppin’ into my head like they normally have.

I thought today, maybe I would once again talk about my prowess in the sack. But seriously…

How many times can I discuss my mad bedroom skillz? After all, my M.O. with the ladies is the ability to produce MO’s.

Schmoop had an idea yesterday. She suggested that I write something about how much I love her.

But of course, I do like to be able to squeeze more than 100 words out of a post. Kidding…no, really.

Maybe I am out of sorts because we only have George Dubya around for 8 more days. I’m going to miss him.

He’s been like a big bucket of chum for a satirical shark such as myself.

There are a couple of videos I’d like to shoot.

One involves Schmoop taping me as I order at the McDonald’s down the street, and as I am placing my order I start peeing down my pants.

I’d just like to get the counter chick’s reaction, and to see what she says upon me asking for extra napkins.

Sigh…No? I bet Jay would like to see that video. Thank you in advance Jay.

Well folks, that’s where my mind is right now. If you have any ideas for me pass them along…

Pleeeeeeease!!!

Cheers!!

Hurt

“A million miles our vagabond heels
Clocked up beneath the clouds
They're counting down to show time
When we do it for real with the crowds
Air miles are owing
But they don't come for free
And they don't give you any for pain

But if it's all for nothing
All the roadrunning's
Been in vain…”

--Mark Knopfler

Something changed Thursday. In me. (I apologize for the Hemmingway-esque opening, Starr.)

Friday morning I woke up and things had changed. I had an epiphany; only this time it wasn’t from a dream.

It was a lightning strike of reality followed by a thunderclap of absoluteness…a cannonade of stark tangibility that echoed on exponentially.

I have a stupid, little blog. That’s it. That’s what all of this is.

Up until late Thursday, I was still under the delusion that somehow, even as I approach 44 years of age, I was going to make an impact on this world.

But, no…I know I won’t. My words are not going to change lives, instill a purpose, or lead to great things. They will just be a footnote on how to write third rate dick jokes.

My post yesterday was not an attempt to create some middle school type drama, or a gotcha post.

I was very close to deleting this blog from the internets. I allowed myself to feel that it wasn’t important.

And really, it’s not.

But then, I realized…This is the only thing that I can claim to be mine, and mine alone.

I gave up my house a few years ago. I own no property. Hell, even most of the clothes that I have were picked out by the ex years ago.

Bagwine Ruminations is the only thing that I can honestly say belongs to me. Sad?

Eh, yeah. But it’s mine, and I have to keep it going, because it’s what I do and who I am.

I am not offering this explanation in the hopes of eliciting maudlin comments. I am doing this because, well, frankly, I wanted to get it off my chest.

You see, around here I am a monolith and testament to cool, calm serenity. Anger and whininess from me is frowned upon.

Well, sometimes it gets bottled up, and hurts. And so, I guess you guys get to be the recipient of it.

I feel better now, except for one last thing.

Prior to Friday morning I was of course my same ol’ cynical, sarcastic self, but now?

I feel a bit jaded as well. I don’t like that.

Cheers!!

Sitting By The Reflecting Gene Pool

I mentioned briefly in a comment to someone the other day that I hadn’t been able to get ‘round to some of my fave reads of late.

It’s because I have been not only spending more time with my kid, but of late I can’t seem to get him off of my mind when I am home during the day.

Ryno just turned 14 last month, and he is in a word, a hoot. The boy kills me. He’s a burgeoning comedic genius.

He can spot the humor in the smallest everyday things, in other people, and most importantly, in himself.

He has troubles in school. Not because he isn’t smart as hell, which he is, he just would rather socialize and well, not feel the need to turn things in from time to time.

Irritating? Incredibly. But, it is a cross that his mom and I have to bear and deal with from time to time…and school year to school year.

And we do.

Other than that major annoyance along with his inability to remember or relay messages that don’t directly affect him, he’s the best.

The one thing that he does focus upon with the acuteness of a laser beam, is basketball.

He was named one of two captains, and will be the starting small forward for his 8th grade team.

All 5’7”, 125 pounds of him will be the go to scorer for his team this season. The boy can flat out shoot.

His coach, unfortunately did unto me a disservice of sorts. He nicknamed Ryno, “The Masterpiece.”

I asked the R-Man why his coach calls him that and he said…

“Coach told me the other day, that my stroke (shot delivery) was the best he has ever seen. Like a painter painting a masterpiece.”

The name, “The Masterpiece” stuck, and now what am I stuck with?

A 14 year old ego that has become larger than all the heads on Mt. Rushmore combined. My answer to that?

I play him one-on-one and he still can’t beat me…yet.

I guess I would worry about him getting an annoyingly huge head, but he always reassures me with his finely tuned sense of self-deprecating humor.

When I see those things in him, I smile, because I know that he gets both his ego and his ability to bring himself back down to earth through humor, from me.

As I mentioned, he has been on my mind quite a bit of late. I think it’s because, as he gets older, I can see more and more of me in him.

It's as though I am staring into a reflecting pool. I see his youthful face and the ripples in the water all wash back to me.

And, I love it, except for one thing.

He is starting to develop a bit of a formidable and strong willed feeling of independence, just as I did at his age…

Dear God, help us all.

Cheers!!

Here's to Ya, Bagwine Readers...

I want to thank all of you who prayed for my penis yesterday.

In spite of the cold environs in which I worked yesterday, it didn’t freeze and fall off.

The best thing? I tried it out on a real, live girl last night when I got home, and guess what?

It worked!!

My manic member thawed out…its capillaries burst wide open, and Matt-Manna spewed forth from it’s angry opening.

I think the other party involved actually enjoyed it.

Perhaps Schmoop (are ya listenin’, Schmoop) will be kind enough to critique my performance in a comment today.

Ahhhhhh. I had a different topic scheduled for today, but I changed my mind after my scintillating, Sunday night sexcapade.

In case you wanted to know, there’s a bright, red hand print on Schmoop’s left ass cheek as of the typing of this.

Does this post have a meaning other than to let the world know that I got laid last night, you ask?

Of course not…Ha, kidding, of course it does.

I find something funny. Even though I am trusting, fly-by-the-seat of my pants kinda guy, I am still somewhat surprised by the stuff in my life that I reveal to all of you.

I have never been one to hide my feelings, thoughts, or my desire to become a lesbian porn star, but with you guys, it’s even easier to bounce those things off of than with most folks in my life.

I dig it. And for a couple of reasons, I just wanted to let you all know that you make it incredibly easy for me to be me when I write a new entry onto Bagwine Ruminations.

I’m a bit run down, and didn’t have time to do what I wanted to do on here today, so I thought this was a good time to just say thanks.

Thanks to all of you for taking the time out of your day to listen to me over these 2+ years and 963 posts that I have made.

For me, and you as well, I hope the Bagwine digs continue to be a place where anyone and everyone can open up and be themselves.

With that being said…I want to let you know that I have 20 requests for a Christmas Card from the Matt-Man.

I appreciate all of you that I have emailed me with your address. Rest assured that I will only peep into the bedrooms of some of you will guard it with my life.

If you haven’t requested your card, email me at neshobadude @ yahoo.com and I’ll send a homemade card your way shortly after Thanksgiving.

Until tomorrow, and the post that I intended to make today…

Cheers!!

Happy Birthday Marty!!

I’m not sure that I have regained my humor, but today’s post is incredibly easy to write.

Today is Birthday number 47 for my brother, Martin…or as many call him, either Marty or Marte’.

Now Marty is the eighth of the nine kids in our family, me being number nine.

He is the closest in age to me, as well as the closest to me in every other way.

He has always been there for me, always sends cards and gifts to Ryno, and well, he’s just an all-around good egg.

Marty is a bit of an oddball. I don’t mean that in a bad way. More of a conundrum of sorts.

He graduated from college with a degree in Poly Sci and a minor in History. What does he do today?

He’s a salesman for a local heat treating plant and a certified metallurgist. Go fucking figure, he’s a Vulcan.

His wife is one helluva sweet woman who is President of a large, local vending machine company.

You might say, she was the "exact change" he needed in his life. Bada Bing!!

Sure, over the years growing up, Marty and I fought, but more often than not, we have had some great times together.

No other time better sums up this love/difficulty relationship than the wheels we set in motion in the late fall of 1996.

Marty and I were huddled around a hibachi in his backyard, swilling beer, when I pointed out that three seats were up for election on the City Commission in 1997.

I said that he should run. He said that I should run.

Well, leave it to fate, a happy accident, or life’s flip of a coin, we decided that he would run and I would manage his campaign.

The next night, after some liquid courage, I made a few phone calls to people I knew and before the 12-Pack was gone, we had raised a few hundred dollars (which ultimately became a few thousand) for the campaign.

While the next months leading up to the election led to some fights, we had a blast because we had fun with it.

Our brochure? Most candidates have their pretentious, picture prominently displayed on the front cover. We opted for a "of the people" caricature drawing instead…



Inside, in addition to brief text blurbs, we had a picture of him with his cute, All-American kid sitting inside of a Radio Flyer wagon. The thing is, that is my kid, Ryno, when he was but not quite 3 years old. Hey, the flier never said it was his kid.

Showing his Christian faith, he proudly stands in front of a church…This picture was actually taken while lining up for a parade. The church and the cross on the wall just happened to be in the background so we used it. Take that, Mr. Huckabee!!

During the parade, our young volunteers walked along side his float passing out his 5x7 cards with flower seed packets stapled to them. Some campaigns hand out candy, but hey, kids don't vote...gardeners do.

We had a massive billboard campaign, and we literally screwed the other candidate with our yard signs.

While the others had the typical, 2x3 foot signs, Marty's had just his last name on it and they stood 4½ inches wide by nearly 4 feet tall. Marty was the potent, phallic candidate.

It was one of the best 10 months of my life, and I admired his discipline in walking door-to-door for months...All the while, giving me the finger when he saw me drive by as he was walking in the bone chilling rain.

Marty won, and went on to serve a second term as well before deciding not to run again.

And, he served admiralbly, and with diligence.

I just want to thank him for that time, and on his Birthday, I want to say “I love you, and thanks for all of the good times, and everything else."

Cheers to all of you, and especially to Marty, Happy Birthday!!

All and then Nothing

I tell ya. Wednesday, for me, was productive as far as writing goes.

I wrote parts to several posts, but they are seasonal, so they will have to wait until the holidays kick in.

And so, it was with extreme duress that I sat staring at my computer Wednesday night thinking of what to write for today.

And stare I did.

It started after work, at about 9:30 P.M. and the catatonic gaze lasted until almost 11.

I was trying to think of something amusing, because I don’t think my stuff has been very funny of late.

But, because I worked on three or four other posts for Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa during the day, it was as if my humor for the day had been used up.

When I cogitated upon that thought, a cold chill overcame me. I asked myself, “Is it possible to at some point, use up all the humor that is inside of me?”

Yeah, I know some of you are thinking that I used it all up months or even years ago, and to you I say, “Maybe so” “Bite Me.”

Trying to assuage that chilling thought and looking for some inspiration, I turned on the Christmas lights around our living room window.

And some of you, may ask as to why my lights are already up. I never take them down. You see, I have a theory about Christmas lights.

If you take down your lights after Christmas and stow them away, when you put them back up the following year, they never frickin’ work.

I leave mine up all year, and when I go to plug them in as the holidays draw near…Voila!! They work just fine. I’m a genius.

But of course, that’s not really the point here, is it? No, it’s not. And the lights while pretty, never yielded any inspiration.

I was thinking I could write about taking Ryno to the Dentist today, but what’s funny about a dental appointment?

Not a damn thing, especially when he likes his dentist and any made up horror stories by me on the way there would have no effect on him.

Y'know...Damn...I mean....

Damn, sometimes being funny is hard work. In fact, one could say, “Only through the salty sweat of art and labor can the sweet tears of unbridled laughter be tasted.”

But why would one say that? It’s a stupid saying that I just created in desperation. It may have been the most inane thing I have ever said.

Oh dear God, make me funny again. I beseech thee!!

Okay it’s late now, and I have to have this up soon, so this is it for today. My post for today, as my buddy Jeff would say, is nothing more than a, big puddle of spilled fuck.

Well, that is certainly true, and I hope to be able to swim out of it soon.

Cheers!!

Note: NINE people have already emailed me and said, “Yes” to a Matt-Man Christmas Card!!

If you’d like a personalized, handmade Christmas card mailed from me to you, email me (neshobadude @ yahoo.com) and give me your address.

They will be mailed out shortly after Thanksgiving!!

What a Weekend

Wow…

What a wacky couple of days it has been.

Micky-T shared a thousand and one stories with me between cans of beer, shots of Rose, and Cassano’s Pizza.

He also shared a crew hat that he wore aboard a ship he served with Ryno. In his graciousness, he passed it on to Ryno as a birthday gift.


Mick, that was very nice of you, and he had it on when I called him this morning. Thanks again for that, and for the “made with skill and care by Bic” glass stocking.

I, Ryno, and Schmoop appreciated you taking the time to come up here. However, the bill I received in your name today from Tanya’s Hot House of Healing Hands, that read, “Charge it to Matt-Man, Bitch.”, took me aback.

We should discuss that financial matter soon. We should also discuss what services that you received that came to a total of $732.58. That’s a helluva lot of “healing”.

I hope that everyone is enjoying their weekend.

I must go now and get ready for a day with Ryno.

Ryno and I are going to pick up a couple of pumpkins for his Mom…Grab some lunch, and then catch the 1:30 viewing of the movie, “W”.

Good times…good times.

So with that, I will bid you all a lovely Saturday and a sexually satisfying weekend. My sexually satisfying weekend began last night.

Rowrrrrrrr. Schmoop, who knew at the age of 42, you could still move that way? Yum.

Cheers!!

The Wedding is Off!!

I won’t be around much today, but I hope you take the time to help me out, and give me your advice.

There is a serious disturbance in the Bagwine Force.

Schmoop has dropped a bombshell of cataclysmic proportions upon me.

It may put any chances of a wedding taking place on hold indefinitely.

Is she in love with another? No, at least not admittedly.

Is she a lesbian? No, although if she was drunk enough, I know damn well she would have sex with Kim Kardashian. (And really, to me, that’s a plus.)

Political viewpoint? Noooo. She’s voting for the O-Man, and mainly because much like me, she is a Joe Biden fan.

Snoring, whoring, or boring? No, no, and no. It is much more sinister than that.

It has been revealed to me, in a weak and drunken moment of hers over this past weekend, that she is a devout, almost maniacal fan of…

The Bay City Rollers.

Yes folks, Saturday night during our usual, You Tube Music Video/Beer Fest, I was subjected to listening to half a dozen of the Bay City Rollers…um…“greatest” hits.

Even while anesthetized with a good Bagwine buzz, my ears began to bleed and I was overcome with an urge to redecorate the interior of the apartment. Plaid, anyone?

As the band’s syrupy sounds of Yesterday’s Hero, I Only Wanna be with You, and Rock N Roll Love Letter blared, I was praying to the Holy Baby Jeebus that he would bring S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night to a screeching halt.

Oh dear God. She danced about the digs, as the Scottish train wreck sang. I sat with the look of horror of all horrors upon my face as she shouted, “It’s all about the tartan.”

Yes, Schmoop is a HUGE fan of Derek, Alan, Eric, Leslie, and Woody. The Bay City Frickin’ Rollers. And this?…Is not acceptable.

I put up with her addiction to watching Clean House…I overlook her innate ability to leave a layer of crumbs and cheese on the kitchen floor when she cooks. I turn a deaf ear when while having sex, she refers to me as Gustav.

But this my friends, is a major, negative blow to how I feel about her.

If you can offer any advice, a word of solace, or the ability to erase the Bay City Roller's history from any and all media, I would appreciate it.

As I said, I’ll be gone most of today, but if I haven’t killed myself, I hope to see you all tomorrow.

Cheers!!

Matt-Man Recharged!!

Ahhhhhhhhh I slept...nearly 10 hours. I had Black Bean Burgers...I had, um... Schmoop!! And...

I have proof. Just ignore Schmoop's buzz. Zowie!!



It's funny how much she loves me when she's buzzed.

Cheers!!

Good News, Bad News...

Hey I figured out how to make my VLOGs much clearer.

It always help to read the camera instruction book. (even if it is a year after purchase.)

The following VLOG explains our Friday Morning maladies.

Have a great weekend.

Cheers!!

Crockpots and Cable Boxes

This is it…That’s all there is…There isn’t anymore.

Today is my only day off between this past Sunday and NEXT Thursday.

“Big” doings going on ‘round here today.

Schmoop took the day off and...

Sometime between 8 A.M. and 11 A.M. the cable guy is coming over to fix our digital channel box, which bustimacated during Ike’s visit.

Doesn’t that sound exciting!?

After the cable guy fixes the channel box and leaves, I am going to throw Schmoop on the floor in front of the TV with pay-per-view porn on the screen and fix her box.

Okay, in all likelihood, we will drink beer and listen to the radio once the guy leaves…but man, that’s pretty edgy in itself.

After that, noon time wackiness will ensue when I begin to cook. Ahhhhhh, my only chance until next Thursday. How I love to cook.

What’s on the menu, you ask? And why cooking so early?

Well, with fall quickly approaching, I have been demanded requested by Schmoop to make some crockpot chili. She loves it.

Here’s what Crockpot Chili ala Matt-Man entails…

Tomatoes, Tomato Paste, Kidney, Northern, and Black Beans...I may add another can of Black Beans as well, since SOMEBODY won't let me use Limas. Dirty Lima Bean Hater!!

Not too many spices...Chili Powder, Paprika, Oregano, Garlic, and a secret one which is not shown, that replaces Cumin...

These are da bomb!! Frozen, already diced onions and bell peppers. Fresh may be best, but too often we end up wasting them . So this, for the Bagwine kitchen, is the way to go.

The MEAT!! Two pounds of ground beef, and one pound of sausage which I will slightly brown off with What's-This-Here Sauce prior to crocking it. I also add real bacon pieces.

I cannot bring myself to use sliced bacon for this. Sliced bacon stands on its own and should be consumed that way!!

The cookery...or, is that, crockery? Anyhoo. This is my newest crockpot. Isn't she sexy and voluptuous?

I call her, Samantha. Samantha came with a 2, 4, and 6 quart bowl. I'm am going to use the 4 quart today.

The 2 is too small, and the 6 quart bowl I only use when cooking up meth, so it may have toxic residue in it.

There you have it. After eight hours of simmering, Samantha will be ready to yield her juicy, meaty, and delicious wares.

Yum-Oh!!

And maybe, just maybe, after Schmoop eats it, and provided she doesn't lose too much of her buzz, ol' Matt-Man will be sampling some of Schmoop's wares.

Have a great day all. I may videotape the highlights of this incredibly over-the-top and living on the edge kinda day and post it tomorrow.

Cheers!!

Good or Evil? Either Way, I'm Gonna Be Famous!!

A reader left the following comment on my post from Monday ,which dealt with how the remnants of Ike played havoc on the Bagwine community…

“I quote part of your post from Jay's blog last week that I felt was rather sad when I read it.

"Anything that Ike does to Texas can only be an improvement."

I guess it came back to bite you in the ass. Hmmm...doesn't surprise me.

Would you like some cheese with that "whine"?

Sorry, but you tend to have no regards to how impacting your words can be. Have you watched the devistation of Galviston?”

It’s funny, I predicted only moderate damage for Galveston and little to none for Bagwine, Ohio. In both cases, the opposite happened.

This comment and the results, gave me pause to ponder. It made me question whether or not my moral compass needs to be re-calibrated.

It made me wonder what type of person dwells deep within my inner-core…or something like that.

I have narrowed down who I am, to two distinct beings. Please, follow me, if you will…

I have, for most of my life been drawn towards women who were older than me…women who were on the voluptuous side.

Women who also had medium to long dark hair, and wore more than an average amount of make-up, and well…had really big boobs.

Then, nearly eight years ago, I shacked up in sin with a slightly younger woman…a thin-ish woman. A woman who had blondish hair (it’s red now).

A woman who wears very little make-up, and well…her boobs are pretty big.

I mean, I must have access to a nice set of fun bags. But, other than her ample milk mounds, she is yet another opposite happening in my life.

I love Champagne. I could drink it everyday, brush my teeth with it, and bathe in it. And yet, in opposite Matt-Man fashion, the libation I purchase is, Wild Irish Rose.

I told many that a McCain/Palin ticket was a joke.

Now, the opposite has happened. Their numbers are rising, and the ticket, for all practical purposes is actually, a Palin/McCain ticket.

I said to Schmoop prior to the game this past Saturday, that even though Michigan isn’t very good this year, our beloved Notre Dame will lose to them, at home, 35-17.

What happened? Notre Dame won, 35-17. My words and actions are a series of opposite effects.

Lastly, my favorite number and one that I find lucky is, 999. And what is the opposite of that? That’s right… Turn it upside down and it is 666.

Holy Baby Jeebus!! I am the fricking Anti-Christ...!!

Jeebus, being the all-powerful Son of God, wills and thinks exactly what he wants to be done. My thoughts and desires elicit the opposite effect.

Also…

He had long hair; I have little. He was Jewish; I love bacon.

He was the product of an immaculate conception; I was born due to my mom and dad trying to sneak one in while their other eight kids were asleep.

The only thing that we have in common is height. Purportedly, Jeebus was exactly 6 feet tall. I am exactly 6 feet tall as well.

Which, makes me ponder beyond my initial conclusion.

Am I the Anti-Christ? Or, because I think that I am, I am actually the opposite?

Am I actually Christ himself, and after years of watching stupid people fuck things up, I have returned to Earth with a Messiah-Sized sense of scorn and sarcasm ?

I just don’t know…or do I?

Cheers!!