The simple joys of being poor

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2009

You Rich People just don't get it.  There are primitive simple joys to being without money that you just could not appreciate...After my divorce in 2005 my wife and her lawyer conspired to take %95 of my income, and in 2006 I literally lived on $2000 for a whole year. Believe me, I was painfully poor... First let me define what I mean by Rich...if you have gasoline to get back and forth to work...your wealthy...if you have a roof over your head, and food on the table each night...your Rich! Hell, in my world if you can afford that table to put the food on...your wealthy beyond my wildest dreams...now, on to the joys of being poor... The first time you get the water turned back on....and you feel that hot shower....after like three weeks...ahhhhh...and you let it wash over you, and think, "If I could only afford soap!" Or, that first can of re-fried beans that you scrimped and saved for...after three weeks with no food...it is a delight!! I used to put used birthday candles in it to celebrate...Or, Having the HEAT turned back on in the winter...or, my personal favorite...AIR CONDITIONING during the Florida summer....oh, the simple joys! I once had a hot shower, I broke into someone's house and stole soap and shampoo (try explaining that to the cops!), and I had found someone's wallet, so I had...AIR CONDITIONING....oh, blessed AIR CONDITIONING....I still don't have it in my car...but, I HAVE a car now!!! No gas, and no radio...but, I sing show tunes at the top of my lungs...while sitting in my driveway...(did you notice I HAVE A DRIVEWAY?) No house mind you...just a driveway....Oh, the simple joys of being poor... Or, when they turn the WATER back on... in the heat of the summer and you take your first DRINK of the rancid stuff they call tap water....ohhhhhh....it's heaven! You literally gain weight as your cells re-hydrate...I remember,in November of 2007, I went on a date, and the lady took me to her house and fed me STEAK SALAD...and gave me a glass of WINE! OMG! I still remember that meal...nearly two years later...Ah, the simple joys of being poor... You Rich People...you should try being Painfully Poor for a couple of years...it would completely change your perspective on what THE GOOD LIFE is...for the rest of your life...it makes you appreciate what is REALLY important!! So, the next time you pass a poor wretch on the street, tip your hat...(assuming you have one), because they know how to enjoy the SIMPLE JOYS of being poor...

Me, the silent film comedian

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2009

I always liked to say about Satan's Sister that she was so dumb that she couldn't pour water out of a boot, even if the instructions were on the heel... But, that doesn't really half cover it...So, I want to see if I can "Quantify" her stupidity level...here assaninity (is that a word?) quotient if you will, and give you a small taste, a hint, just a breath of an idea...of her gargantuan retardedness, and colossal moronicness (I know that's not a word!), and the insanity it has caused me in the past 20 years...in other words, this is therapy... The reason Satan's Sister couldn't pour the proverbial water out of the proverbial boot, goes like this: First of all, it would never occur to her that there were instructions down there... Secondly, she never reads directions...she just makes shit up as she goes... Thirdly, unless is was monosyllabic words written in 3rd grade english she wouldn't understand any of it... Fourthly, she is belligerent on general principles, and doesn't like others telling her what to do...and she wouldn't follow the directs IF she understood them... Instead, she would do something really, really...I mean really stupid, and some poor schmo like me would get his pants caught in the clockwork so to speak (a la Charlie Chaplin), prior to that of course we would have a nonsensical conversation about the merits of her actions much like Abott and Costello's "Who's on first!", and suddenly I would become Buster Keaton...running through the streets with the whole world after me, armed and angry... No, what she would do, is get frustrated with the water in the boot, and decide it was a good idea to put it in A SHREDDER...I would walk in and at the last moment, and see what she was about to do, and say "No! Don't do that!" which would of course be the final impetuous to make her do just that... The wet boot in the shredder would then cause an ELECTRICAL FIRE...which in turn would burn the whole house down...and that would ignite the GASOLINE BARRELS in the garage...which would definitely heat up the stack of GRENADES in our neighbors house (did I mention we would be living in a condominium complex with a string of 10 homes strung together with common walls?), not to mention his neighbors stockpile of THERMONUCLEAR WEAPONS, and HIS neighbors WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!!! ...and I would be forced to put it all out with a wet hanky... ...cause the fire department was busy getting a cat out of a tree down the street... The only thing left standing in 5 city blocks would be the small circle of carpet that SHE was standing on (because it had magically been sprayed with asbestos)...the cops would show up, and she would then finger ME as the arsonist who started the whole thing, and I am off and running...invariably the FBI, the CIA, the FDA and the IRS would get involved somehow...and the manhunt for me would take months... The other day a pretty little blonde said sweetly, "What did she DO to you to make you SO angry?" ...I had to shove both fists in my mouth and bite my knuckles to keep from grabbing her by the neck with one hand, and slapping her silly...

Knocking Around Hollywood

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2009

When I was at the tender age of 18, I moved from Minneapolis, Minnesota to Hollywood, California...To, I thought, become the next big star...I was born in LA, and raised in Southern California...So I longed to return to the sand, surf ,and sunscreen...(There is a reason they call California the "Land of the Fruits and Nuts")... While I was in Hollywood, I met some people...who knew people...who didn't know anyone as it turned out...But, I managed to get a manager, and an agent...and a bad rash...(My lips got infected from kissing so many asses). I met with tons of casting directors, writers, and producers, and finally decided I didn't have what it took to do student films...So, I decided to pick up work as a stunt man, but the auditions were killing me. I put together this awesome audition piece where I lit myself on fire...it was real impressive...until one day, I was in such a hurry, I forgot to wear my asbestos suit...THAT was a bad day... LA has a bad gang problem...and traffic is so bad in LA during rush hour they do sit-by-shootings...I joined this pot head gang called the "Crippies". While I was in Hollywood, I worked for a short time as a doormat for casting directors. They'd yell at me and wipe their feet on me...I took the job because I was hoping to get noticed...then, after a while I was hoping NOT to get noticed...After a couple of days I quit... During that time I had the opportunity to try out for "Cat People" with Natassia Kinski...First of all, I kept calling her Natassia Kinky..and unfortunately I misheard the guy and thought I was reading for a film called "Catty People"...Needless to say my audition didn't go very well... I worked briefly as a Production Assistant on a film with Patty Duke and Richard Hatch (from Battlestar Galactica)...it was a pilot for a TV show called "Patty the Space Cadet"...It never caught on...Plus, they fired me...The producer accused me of coming back from lunch smelling like pot...I told him I was just trying to hide the smell of the gin...He said, "You'll never work in this town again!" And I said "Hah! I haven't gotten a job yet!"... So, I decided to become a writer...I wrote for television...they were coming out with a retro show for gay men called "Leave It, It's Beaver"...I also wrote some screenplays using popular films as a guide (maybe you've heard of some of them). I wrote "Backside to the future", "Close Encounters with a Transvestite" (based on a real experience in the Home Depot bathroom), "Desperately Seeking Susan's Sister", "The Breakfast Sex Club" (About a 90 yr old nudist couple), and "Teen Wolf Naked!" (Which was an adaptation of the hit musical Hair!)...Nothing was working... I even tried all kinds of different genre's and styles...for instance, I wrote one just for potheads called "Indiana Jonesin'"... And all the while, I was still auditioning around town as an actor...I had worked up a new monologue by re-writing two parts of a scene into one (The love scene from "Brokeback Mountain")...but, I still couldn't get hired, and I was running out of money. Out of desperation I got a job working nights as a caddy for a miniature golf course...Then, this casting director at Universal Studios told me that I needed to get my teeth fixed...so, I popped him in the mouth, and now he does too. Then I ran into this short, fat, blonde guy who dressed up like Superman, and hung out at Venice Beach. He had been an extra in alot of movies...And, he said he could help me get my career started...I told him that he didn't look anything like Superman, and he said "That's the gag!"...I still don't get it....Anyway, he did get me an agent...Steven's Grey Agency, and he did get me some work as an extra in some movies. It looked like my acting career was finally off and running. Then, one day he's over my apartment telling me to change my name to Warren Gregory or something...and he says "Hey, let's go down to the corner porn shop and get ourselves real horny" (I look around and there was no one there but us two guys). I said "What for?" "Ah, come on...it'll be fun!" he says. We go to the corner porn shop (in Hollywood there's one on every corner), and he buys this liquid that's supposed to get you really horny. We go back up to my third floor apartment...I didn't want to take the stuff, so I went in the bathroom and dumped it down the toilet....When I come back out, he's laying on my bed buck naked except for a red cape and Superman boots...I said "What the fuck are you doing?" And he says "Just come lay down beside me, it'll be okay"... Now imagine your driving down Supelveda Blvd and you see this naked fat blonde guy with a red cape and superman boots go flying out of a third story window, and he bounces a few times across the roadway...What do you do? Nothing....Weird shit like that happens every day in Hollywood... That was the last straw for me though...I immediately packed my bags and headed home. A month later, I found myself on the bus from Minneapolis, Minnesota to Fort Benning Georgia to become a bullet catcher for the U.S. Army...

"The Loser" - (The beginning)

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2009

How I became "The Loser" (A three-part series)

See, I had moved to Orlando, Florida in the hopes of working for Walt Disney World and getting back into the world of professional entertainment. After the fiasco with the dinner theater in Lexington, Kentucky (Thanks to Satan's Sister), I had spent about ten years licking my wounds in the wonderful world of retail home improvement at both Lowes and Home Depot, and I had frankly had my fill of it...

Unfortunately for me, I moved to Orlando merely one month after 9/11 and since the tourist market had taken a dive into the toilet, they informed me at Disney that they had just let about 400 equity actors go, and jobs were hard to come by...I auditioned anyway, and to my credit, I managed to land temporary holiday gig playing one of the Three Kings (aka Wise Men) at Epcot that winter.

At the time, I did not realize the extent of the gay communities infiltration of my beloved Disney, or the entertainment market as a whole here in Orlando, but after spending a winter locked up in a small trailer with the other two "Flaming" kings...I got the idea... That winter, I watched hours and hours of gay porn, and learned all sorts of useless information about gay kink, (like what snowballs were...and, if you don't know, don't ask!). But, after watching the other two kings goose each others hinnies, and play tongue mambo on the way to tell stories to kids about the birth of Jesus, I was ready for something else anyway...Whew! What an induction into the underbelly of Orlando Entertainment...

After a short gig at Mark II Dinner Theatre as the Indian Cheif in Annie Get Your Gun with the "Director from Hell", I was again looking for work...So, I decided to do what alot of professional actors do between jobs, namely wait tables...So, I found myself working at a local steak house schlepping tables for a bunch of ungreatfull schmose...What to do? What to do?

So, I decided to focus my attention on the local dinner theatre market...I had owned one once upon a time, so I figured that I could at least find out what was going on in the "Biz"...What I didn't realize at the time, was that I was about to embarque on a quest, a journey, an Odyssy that would be the basis for a film script, roughly patterned after "The Jerk", using my Resume as the plotline...

My first stop was Medieval Times...I managed to pass the interview, got myself a nice pair of black tights, black ballet shoes, and a brown tunic and was ready to rock and roll...Well, it was a complete dissaster...The tights, always got bunched up sideways, I kept getting yelled at for entering the kitchen through the wrong door, the other servers were downright cruel, and my job was extremely dangerous...

See, they give the new guys the nosebleed seats as far away from kitchen as possible, and being a little overweight....You can imagine the fat guy with the bunched up tights, running frantically up and 15 flights of stairs, spilling hot soup on everyone...the other servers had a betting pool that I wouldn't last a week...Ha! I bet on myself, and won when I last 2 weeks! (I showed them!)

One time I entered the arena just as a knight on a charging horse threw a javelin at a target which happened to be inches from my head...(Woops, wrong door!) Another time, I found myself ducking a mace that swung inches from my face....And, some chinese guy got hot soup down his pants....It wasn't MY row...So, what the hell, I was still getting tipped that night...But, the other server was waiting for me in the parking lot with his buddies that night...(But that's another story...)

You know...They had told me emphatically not to be in the arena when they released the Hawk...And I got the fact that a standing waiter amoungst 3000 seated patrons becomes instant prey...But, I was too busy schlepping hot chicken and broccoli (Which always ran out), to notice until the Hawk dug his claws into my right shoulder...Hitting me at about 400 miles per hour...(Did you know that they break their preys back when they hit? That is how they kill...FYI, just thought you should know...)

Some lady got a bunch of hot chickens down her top...She was a double D, and I think she got about 12 scalding chickens in with her boobs...So, yada, yada, yada...I got fired...But, ever the optimist, I figured that "Now, I have some experience" so I offered my services to Pirate's Dinner Adventure....What a disaster THAT was...

At Pirate's I was happy to be out of black tights, and into black pants, but this time I was about the only server who spoke English....And, I really shouldn't have made friends with the alcoholic who was secretly hitting the Sangria every night...

I really don't remember much about working there...Because I was wacked out of my mind most of the time...But, I have a faint memory of sweating servers running around frantically in the dark, loud music (Painfully loud), clashing swords, explosions (Did I cause a fire to break out? Not sure...), spilling hot gravy from the Salisbury Steak on some ladies nylons....(I tripped on the stairs when I was trying to look up her dress...) Oh and, walking past the cannon just as it went off...I think that's how I lost the hearing in my left ear for about six months...I'm not sure...It's all a drunken blur...

So, I dried out, sobered up and got a job at Dine With Shamu at Seaworld...It's a budwieser park you know...Anyway, the upshot is, they had to evacuate Shamu stadium when I accidentally set off the fire alarm while smoking in the men's bathroom...And, I popped a top off a beer bottle that landed in the water, and was immediately sucked into Shamu's blowhole...So, they had to drain the pool and get Shamu out with a huge crane....I managed to escape without the local news media finding out who I was...

At about that time, I got a job at Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede...I had finally mastered the whole schlepping tables thing...I was in the original crew that was hired...And, none of us knew what we were doing, so it was a level playing field... I even worked up two funny characters to serv in....A "Yankee" if I was serving for the north, and a "Reb" if I was serving for the south...I was battle hardend in the trenches of the underbelly of Orlando dinner theatre, I got to march in the show, I was making killer tips....and basically, I had arrived...

About six months into it, the were looking to replace the comedian in the show, so since I knew the lines by heart at this point (since I heard them three times a night), I auditioned for the part, and was immediately put in the show...Life was good!

Here I was, doing five shows a day in front of crowds of 3000+ people from all over the world...I got to ride horses every day...Chase Chickens...Guide Ostriches into their pens...Handle baby pigs...Open the door for the stampeding buffalo...I was the MC's sidekick...I signed autographs after the show...During Christmas I even got to ride with Santa in his sleigh for the big fanale...

I felt like a regular cowboy...and, it seemed like the perfect gig for me...But, little did I realize at the time...That this would be the beginning of the end for me in the underbelly of Orlando
entertainment...

(Stay tuned for the next installment in this story)

How I became "The Loser" (Part 2)

MONDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2009

My days at Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede were idyllic...I met Dolly, and she was a real nice lady...Her face was stretched as tight as a drum, and the edges of her mouth were getting dangerously close to her ears, and no one has boobs that big and a waist that small without implants and liposuction...But, I liked her personality, and she was real nice to me...

I would come to work at the Dixie Stampede, go past a giant picture of me and the talking horse in the lobby (Where I would be signing autographs later that night), go under the stadium to the 'cast' dressing rooms...Where I had my own locker, chair, and spot for my costumes...

It was much better than changing in the server locker room...Which was the size of a small walk-in closet...Where all the gay servers would ogle you while you changed...(They used to tease me because I went into the shitter and closed the door to change)..."Hey Greggy, why don't you change out here with us girls....So we can see you...Are you a shy little boy?"

I usually got there a little early so I could ride horses...I'd put on my boots,and go out to the stables, and saddle up the grey gelding...They had picked this horse out specifically for me...He was short, so I could hop into the saddle in one leap, and yet stout so that he could carry my weight....Best of all, this horse was not going to run away from me (he was lazy), you had to give him the spurs just to get him to trot...

I would take him out into the arena and practice the horse riding tips they had shown the riders at the last training session. Holding the reins in my left hand, the other on my hip, directing him with my knees and heels...Cantering around in a circle...I felt like a real cowboy...

The rest of the cast would begin to show up and come out to warm up their horses...And I would put mine away, and chill out back for awhile...Maybe go up and see my server friends on their porch on the second floor...

Most of the riders where gay boys, but they also had some cowboys mixed in...kind of a weird combination...One cowboy in particular, "Roy", was one of those super-macho extra-hetrosexual rodeo guys...He made it known that you didn't touch his stuff, or sit in 'his' spot...He'd come in and read his "Cowboy Bible" before the show...To fuck with him, I'd take the bolts out of his chair so it collapsed when he sat down...

One time during a show, one of the "flamers" was walking around eating Doritos Corn Chips, and while Roy and Flame Boy were out in the stadium riding, I crushed up a handful, and sprinkled them in Roy's spot, and all over his chair...I had to protect Flame Boy from getting killed for a week...And, Flame Boy had no idea why Roy was so furious at him...What a kick!

I'd listen to conversations backstage, and because of the mixture of different people, it was pretty interesting...One day I heard Flame Boy say, "Just 'cause you like to suck dick, doesn't mean your gay..." (What?!?) Roy was out of his seat in a flash to argue with him...

We had a real heated discussion about the origins of Christmas with Roy...Apparently he still thought Christmas started with the birth of Jesus Christ...I tried to tell him that it was originally a pagan holiday and he offered to kick my ass out back if I ever said that again...

Roy, and some of the cowboys could kill a fly on a saddle with a 15 foot whip, so I used to practice with them out back between shows...All in all, it was a great time in my life...I had a place in the scheme of things...I belonged to something bigger than myself...I made thousands of people laugh every day...The rest of the cast admired my verbal skills...I had fans...I signed autographs...I thought it was all leading up to something fantastic...I was wrong...

Now, when I drive by the empty building (The silent monument to their stupidity) along Interstate 4, I wonder if we would all still be there, if they had listened to me...Probably not, but they might have...Had they listened...Instead I got in trouble for improvising too much...For saying things off the top of my head that made the crowd roar with approval...

And, after the show lines of people would tell me how brilliant I was, and how they liked my character the best...How they had a cousin or an uncle who was just like that...And, how I was the best part of the show...The Director and the General Manager hated me for that...(I think they were jealous)...

I brought my kids to see the show several times and made sure they were picked to chase chickens and toss toilet seats in the horse shoe competition...My 5 yr old Michelle still talks about when I cam out dressed like I was riding an Ostrich...(With fake legs on either side, and my legs in the Ostrich outfit)...

One day the bolts on the Ostrich neck came loose and the Ostrich face fell into the dirt...I said he needed "Niagra" (I didn't even say Viagra)...The crowd roared so loud the MC couldn't continue...The next day I was in the General Managers office discussing my performance, and the "No Improvising" rule...

I guess the pinnacle of the whole experience was the day the head horse trainer came down from Brandon, Missouri...The male and female MC's were alternating shows, and during the second show the male MC forgot to tighten the saddle on his horse so I could get on...We got to the part where I hopped on his horse back wards, and the saddle slipped off to one side when I put my foot in the stirrups...

The MC and I had to improvise, because we couldn't say our scripted lines until the saddle got back on top of the horse...After we both tried to right the saddle about three times (While I was doing my job and providing banter), I finally grabbed the reins and walked the horse out...The trainer told me later "That was the funniest damn thing he'd ever seen!"

A buffalo got loose backstage one day, while the horses where all tied up to Milk Wagons, Covered Wagons, and such...The horses went nuts, started rearing up and beating their hooves in the air, and the cowboys started shouting and running around...I guess it's real dangerous for humans in that situation because a buffalo will gore a horse with his horns, and the horses know it...

I saw them put down an Ostrich that broke it's leg...That was a bit shocking...

But, all in all, it was a unique experience that enriched my life, and I wouldn't trade it for the world...I guess it was the pinnacle of my success as an entertainer...Next time I'll tell you how it all went bad, and came unraveled...For them, and for me...And I became, "The Loser"...

(Part 2 of a 3 part series)

How I became the loser (Part 3)

MONDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2009

The MC at Dixie Stampede was a young handsome, charismatic christian guy who had been the MC and stage manager up in Branson, Missouri for many years. He had apparently also worked at each of the other locations, because he knew all the comedians and their material. So, ever few days he would come to me and say, "Hey, I've got a joke for you." and he would describe a gag that one of the comedians in another location were doing, and how to do it. In some cases, he would even bring me into the Stage Managers office and play a tape of the show in question. Plus, I was an old improv guy, having taught the subject at the University of Minnesota, and having made a study of theater games while running my own theater. So, when something odd went wrong with the show, I was right on top of it, with quips and wisecracks to get the crowd laughing. I thought we were doing pretty good, and the crowd thought so...The cast was impressed...I was a big hero to all the waiters and waitresses, 'cause I had been one of them.... And, I knew from running my own dinner theater that, if you wanted to really build a fan base, go out and glad hand with the crowd after the show...So, I did just that in the gift shop after every show. One night I was signing autographs and taking pictures with customers, and I had a long line of people waiting to see me, when I noticed the Director and the General Manager standing off to one side...And from the looks on their faces, they didn't like what I was doing...That's when I knew my days at the Dixie Stampede were numbered.... Not long after that, the same MC that was giving me jokes came to me, and told me that the General Manager had hired the guy I replaced back....And would I mind terribly working backstage while he did the show...And, then when he couldn't do a show, I could go in...I think I did a grand total of one more show after that... Now, my job was to open the door for the riders to go out and close it behind them. Real glamorous...And and it was so boring that I invariably missed my cue and got yelled at by the riders...I was quickly gaining a reputation as a shit head... So, for about two months I scooped horse manure, wrangled pigs and Ostrich shoots, hooked up wagons and missed all my cues to open the friggin door... Finally, I just walked out, and never went back...Then, the fighting with Satan's sister got really bad...I finally developed a burning desire to hack her up into little pieces...So, six months after leaving the Dixie Stampede, I parked my van in the Target parking lot along Hwy 50, tossed in my cell phone and the keys, grabbed a bag with two pairs of underwear, two t-shirts and a pair of shorts, and walked away from my marriage... I left behind three little kids that I was pretty certain would be abused in my absence, and didn't see or speak to them again for 8 months. Three days later a detective from Missing Persons found me in Bakersfield, California...at my parents house. Satan's Sister ran right out and got a court order for $630 a month in child support, and I didn't even have a job. She offered to get rid of it if I'd just give up all my parental rights...And, the War was on... I had to return to Florida to fight for my kids...So, 8 months later, I visited their school during lunch hour, so I could talk to them...Satan's Sister told them "If you see your Daddy, don't be nice to him, so he'll go away." For the next three years I would walk alone through the "Valley of the Shadow Of Death"...Without any friends, no girlfriend, my parents 3000 miles away, rarely seeing my kids for just a few short hours...I was homeless for about 6 months, until my Dad paid for me to get a tiny little apartment, so I'd have a place to visit with my kids...I didn't sleep much, and when I did I had nightmares of hacking Satan's Sister up into pieces...I had anxiety attacks where I'd fall down and be paralyzed for 20 minutes...But, mostly I just stared at the noose on my porch... In one short year I went from star of the big show, to alone with a noose....and that's how I became "The Loser"... I'm no quitter though, and I'm proud to say that things are much better now...As I sit here, in a large house, with two dogs and a family...I have tons of friends...and, tonight I go to get my kids for the weekend...Next Wednesday we go back to court for the umpteenth time over whether or not I have the right to see and talk to my kids... The sun is shining, and life is good again! - THE END -

The Fruit Fly Conpiracy

MONDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2009

This will be like one of those intelligent tests where you look at the paragraph and see if you can count the F's...Then, later you find out that only dorks register the word of and that's why you counted two when there are really six...Or, if your really stupid, like my ex wife the retard...This will be a test if you can count to six without using your left hand... Count the digressions in this blog...The subject matter is fruit flies...(That was ONE and it's a gimmee...) For the benefit of people like my ex wife (Satan's Sister, who was a window-licker from the short bus by the way...), talking about digressions IS itself a digression from the subject at hand...Never mind....She doesn't know what the word digression means...I forgot...3 word vocabulary...Too many syllables...(And that's another word she doesn't know). We have in our kitchen a landing strip of small, black ninja fruit flies...And, for the last several months every time you walk into the kitchen, a cloud of small fighter jet fruit flies fly up and get in your eyes and nose and ears in their panic to escape from the fly swatter...And, I am a bad mama jamma with the fly swatter baby! The other day I unfortunately had a fork in my right hand, and when a fruit fly landed on my eyelid...Well, you get the picture... We have tried everything to get rid of them...Flypaper, Raid (Which tastes a bit like mercury...why is that? Oh, and it's highly flammable if you should be lighting a cigarette while your spraying...Just FYI...), the aforementioned flyswatter, chemical bombs, fly traps...I even had Kimmie talk to them using reverse psychology...Nothing worked... They have now infested the cupboards and have several landing strips established there (Which of course you cannot see, because of the dark wood, until you go to get a glass for water)... Wait! I just had a thought! I should walk into the kitchen buck naked...That should send them screaming into the night...It works for everyone else... This all started the day the Buccaneers played the Chargers...Lori had gotten free tickets to the game, and we parked in Daytona Beach, and walked to the stadium in Tampa...(That was a joke...Never mind...Why do I try?) So, we took Rusty and Kimmiee to their first live professional football game... Now, I was dressed, as always, in full Gator regalia...So all the drunks wanted to talk to me about Tebow, and whether or not Harvin would be around for next year...We sat in the nosebleed section with some a party of gator fans who were half Buccaneer fans and half Charger fans (Based on their jersey's they were wearing), the host of this party (Who was lit up like a homeless guy who found a case of Jack Daniels on Christmas morning), apparently wanted to sleep with Tebow (BIG suprise...You and most of North America!) and the Pursy twins (Presumably at the same time) from the offensive front line... She was nice at first, and quite good looking, but got more and more obnoxious as the day wore on, as her speech became more and more unintelligible...(What was she drinking?) Every time I walked through her field of vision, she would yell out loudly "Hey Gator Boy! Comere...over here....with the nice tits...yeah...I meant me...not her..." and, I'd have to listen to her drivel about what she would do with Tebow under the stadium... Since I was from California, and had lived in San Diego for about a decade...(The same decade that the Chargers played a pathetic game in the Superbowl with the 49ers by the way), I was able to converse with the blue and gold shirts, as well as the black and red shirts...and all the drunk Gator fans (who were all apparently undercover...and drinking heavily). All in all, I had a blast... But, on the way back from the game, we stopped in Plant City for some fruit. And, I made the mistake of buying some magic Apricots...Now, I love Apricots...I used to pick them fresh off the trees in Gilroy, California during preparations for the Cult Conventions for "The Truth" (Which turned out to be a big lie), with a guy named Ruban Matta (Who turned out to be a serial pedophile). And, when I think of all those days up in the Apricot trees, passing Apricots down to Ruben....He liked Apricots so much he would be drooling...(I just threw up into my mouth a little bit...Damned acid re-flux!) Anyway, I find that when I look at an Apricot I only see a child's butt...Instead of the sweet nectar of the favored fruit of my youth...(There goes that acid re-flux again!). And, during all that time I spent with Ruben...Why wasn't I molested? Wasn't I good enough? Wasn't I tender, or pubescent enough for him?...I'm almost offended! (There is goes again!)...To make a long story short, the Apricots sat on the kitchen counter way too long... So, the spoiled Apricots, along with the two Pumpkins I put by the door leading up to Halloween...Which during January slowly became shorter and shorter...(Did you know that Pumpkins actually will become an orange lake full of fruit flies if left there long enough?) ...May have contributed to the fruit fly problem... Now, my theory is that fruit flies can see humans, and know where they are at all times, and they definitely know what a fly swatter is! (Which is why they disapear when you get it out) Believing otherwise is a bit like saying that humans wouldn't notice a T-Rex hovering outside your house... Which is why I had the giant fruit fly costume (with built in fly swatters) made. Now, imagine if you will...I am in the fruit fly costume, trying to blend in...Stalking a squadron of covert fruit flies who have built an air strip on the cooking supply cabinets...When the doorbell rings (It's the Jehova Witnesses again...I made the mistake of discussing the Garden of Eden and Original Sin with them, and they don't realize that I was being sarcastic...). So, I answer the door in the fruit fly costume, fly swatter in hand, and tell them that "No, Greg is not here at the moment." and "Sure, I'll tell him you stopped by...But, I'm right in the middle of eating dog shit for breakfast, so if you don't mind..." (God I love fucking with religious people!) Wait till they report THAT little visit to their pastor!...(he he he..) In the fruit fly world I am akin to Adolph Hitler, I practice genocide, and I definitely DO have weapons of mass destruction. Why just this morning you can see that I went mad with the fly swatter...Evidenced by the broken coffee pot, the spilled wine bottles, the broken dishes strewn all over the floor...and the dead fruit flies lying all over the battlefield... Tomorrow, I'm going to infiltrate their home base of operations! I just have to figure out how to squeeze myself into a rotten Pumpkin... (How many did you get?)