Shake Hands With Beef!
by lakrfool
May 15, 2006
Sorry for the long delay between updates, but I've been mentally shitting the bed in an explosive manner outside of my usual daily routine (work, commute, family…and as much precious, precious SLEEP as I can squeeze in.) I'm just not as clever as people such as Jeff Kay that keep a portable notebook and pen on their person at all times, so when 'the funny' strikes them, be it at a grocery store, barbershop, or ethnically themed dildo factory managed by retards and handicapped people, I would be armed and easily able to transcribe and share with others my crippling witticisms.
Nope, I've just been holding down the fort and wasting sweet comedy on unappreciative audiences in lines at 7-11, stoplights, on the DART rail to and from work, or with my immediate nuclear family. A total waste. In defense of mine however, they are either too young or too offended (or both) to give me some love, but still I persevere.
Speaking of immediate family, the Lakrfool family unit made the pilgrimage back to "The Heart O' Texas" for Easter to see my Mom and the rest of the family. My 'momz' (for those in ATL) is an old-school Southern Baptist lady of the highest order. This is both sweet, nostalgic, and somewhat annoying all at the same time. There are certain constants with her that exist, just as the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, and we got a sampler platter over a couple of days, and I have gleaned a few Easter stories to share.
I honestly can't think of a time in ages (save Thanksgiving when turkey rules the roost) when I went with the assembled LF unit to visit my Mom, and we weren't greeted at the front door with warm hugs, kisses, and the smell of seared porcine flesh hanging heavy in the background. Ham. Always ham. And whenever we get inside the house, she asks if we are hungry, because she "just cooked a 'hay-um'," (the way she says "h-a-m", more than one syllable, but less than two, smothered in a sweet glaze with a hint of a pineapple drawl, is truly a conundrum ) Without fail, there is a ham, some sort of jello (or 'congealed') salad, and if not incorporated into the jello salad, another concoction with cream cheese. I'm not complaining though…I grew up with these items as a staple of my diet, so it's comfort food for me, and the he-cret loves him some hay-um. The missus gives the whole affair the Spock eyebrow, which is fair…not every person can warm up to Mom's idea of a righteous spread.She got the jello salad gene from my grandmother, a very reserved 2nd generation German immigrant who lived her entire life on a farm, and never lived more than a 10 mile radius from where she was born (sort of like a deer.) Whenever we would visit the farm, "Memo" would have made a lime jello salad that incorporated fruit cocktail, pecans, and tiny marshmallows. This was a constant even years before I was born. Once my older sisters were enjoying the salad for dessert before my time, and the elder of them made the younger (about 8 or 9 at the time) laugh in such a manner, that jello salad was forced through her nose, which in itself is fantastic comedy (green jello out the nostrils is pure gold) but it didn't end there. A couple of days later on the 3 hour trek home, the younger sister kept inquiring "what smells??" No one else was able to detect anything, and after they had been home for a couple of days and the questions didn't cease about the smell, Mom took her to the doctor. After a few questions and a probe of her sinuses, the doctor got out some tweezers and extracted a rotting pecan half wedged in her nostril. Thus ended the mystery of "what smells."

I'm going to switch gears from the "Momz"/Easter talk (more to come on that front) and transfer venue to the NBA. My Lakers choked on a fat Molson Golden, backbacon, and kruller turd squeezed down their throat courtesy of that fantastic Canadian asshole MVP Steve Nash (I actually love him). After the Lakers were up 3-1 in the opening series, they rolled over like bitches to receive their destiny most heartily up the wazoo. Jeezus that hurt to watch that ragged out chump Tim Thomas be suddenly blessed and steal a victory from the jaws of defeat in Game 6, but the Lakers weren't supposed to be there anyway, so I will make a feeble attempt to consider the season "a success." (That's like considering every day that you go to work and manage not to shit yourself "a success.") I pine for the Laker leadership of WV Favorite Son Jerry West and his dynastic championship ways. Current Lakers GM Mitch Kupchak just discovered the wonder of his thumbs, and will draft/sign the first player he sees with comparable opposable digit phenomenon (Kwame Brown not included.)
And speaking of LA basketball, check this shit out!! This is either what is commonly referred to as "dirty pool" against Clipp center Chris Kaman, or Sonic Reggie Evans needs to find a more subtle way to overcome his latent homosexual desires he had as a child during the holidays for the Abominable Snowman and not claw away at the junk of the biggest, hairiest, whitest cracker he can find. What the fuck was that impromptu neutering all about?? So much for the "Win A Dream Date With Reggie Evans" promotion Denver was going to have. It also gives new meaning to the phrase "Reggie Evans plays with the Nuggets." Whatever the case, Reg is watching Kaman in the playoffs from his DTV at home, so justice gets served to that dirty package groper.
That will have to do for now, but there is more to come.
Stay tuned.
Cheers,
Hercules Rockefeller Esq.
Lakrfool32@gmail.com