We Be Loyal Scouts

Keep reading, and you'll know what I mean.

At work, before our lunchroom discussion typically gets out of hand, we generally talk about funny, goofy stuff that each of us have lived through. We have a handful of good storytellers, and this is always interesting. Today, we talked about scouting, and how, at least for the guys, it was all extremely fond memories, especially since none of us got molested by our scoutmaster.

I was a Cub Scout, and a Weblos Scout. We had a freaking blast, too. We did the Pinewood Derby; we whittled crap out of large hunks of wood; we went camping. We took a trip to southeastern Kentucky and rode our dirt bikes on a mammoth, oval-shaped dirt track. I could ramble on incessantly for hours about all our shenanigans and adventures, but there is one tale that stands like a tall weed above all else; one story that would be the pinnacle of our young, scouting lives; one event that I fondly remember like no other. It is a story that I have dreamed about as an adult. If I had to choose a handful of stories concerning my youth, this one would be up at the top:

I remember once, back when my twin bro and I were 11 or 12, we took a trip to Lake Cumberland in southern Kentucky and stayed at a resort/campsite for several days. Being the mischievous lot, a group of us scouts went out one day in search for some femalians to torment.

It was approaching dusk. While we were outside wandering the lovely area, we came upon a building and heard laughter. Not just any laughter, mind you, but squeaky, high-pitched, girly laughter. We also heard showers running. We quizzically looked at each other, and collectively had the same thought: We have struck gold.

We quietly moved in unison toward the corner of the building, our curiosity having a full and inescapable grasp on all of us. We inched closer.

By the time we made it to the wall, the volume of the voices and laughter and water running increased tenfold. Then, we all realized the reason why we could hear the girls’ hyena-like laughter: There was a hole in the wall, a hole that in actual size was smaller than a ping-pong ball, but figuratively it could have been a cave opening. We began scrambling for position, our boyish levels of testosterone kicking in like a backfiring old car with a distributor problem. My brother and I were larger than the rest, but we were also more polite, so we hung over the short kids’ shoulders trying to get a peek into the obvious man-made hole until it was officially our time to view. It felt like an eternity, waiting there behind them, listening to their gasps and snorts.

When it was my time to perv, it was even better than I could imagine. There they were - a gaggle of unbelievably cute, young, teenage girls, corralled together by streams of hot water. They were glistening under the fluorescence of the flood lamps overhead. I wished to God I could be transformed into a bar of soap; into that bar of soap. Never before in my life had I wished for anything more.

I cannot remember what we said to each other during our show, and, the weird part is that it makes no difference at all. It was damn near impossible to remain calm and quiet, but we did, and over the course of the several days while were at Conley Bottom Resort we tried like hell to relive the glory of that initial day to no avail.

If I had a chance to relive that day over I would respectfully decline, because to tarnish my recollection of it in any way would be a disservice to myself I would not want to bear. I have rarely told this story because selfishly I wish to keep it to myself, and, as I told my co-workers at lunch, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t trade anything for what that day and those memories hold for me. It was a rite of passage. It was about a group of boys growing up in a hurry. I smile every time I think of this story. I’m sure the rest of the boys in the group do as well. I’d go out on a limb and say that if those girls found out today what was going on behind their backs some twenty odd years ago, I 'd bet they would smile too.

Favorite Artist Meme

Favorite Artist Meme:

Choose a band or artist and answer the questions using only titles of their songs.

Sweet Lord, this looks like a challenge! Well, since I am a huge Paul McCartney fan, I’ll select him. Plus, he has written a million songs.

1. Are you male or female? Magneto and Titanium Man
2. Describe yourself: No Words
3. How do some people feel about you: Dear Boy
4. How do you feel about yourself: Country Dreamer
5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: The Lovers That Never Were
6. Describe your current significant other: Warm and Beautiful
7. Describe where you want to be: Here, There, and Everywhere
8. Describe how you live: Heart of the Country
9. Dexcribe how you love: No More Lonely Nights
10. What would you ask for if you had just one wish: Another Day
11. Share a few words of wisdom: Ram On
12. Now say goodbye: Good Night Princess

Thanks, janestarr, that was a hoot!

I hereby tag sonya, lil bit, and mack!

Thank you

Upon reading steph’s blog a few days ago, I figured it was high time to discuss something more personal. Of course, I try and do just that on here a lot, but for the most part, I tend to shy away from the serious banter and focus more and light-hearted, funny posts, because I am a funny guy. When I say funny, I do not mean funny-looking, either, although some of you might disagree. I have read on some of your posts that it is hard to be “on” all the time; I try not to worry about that too much, simply because I am flattered that even one of you will read my posts. I am even more flattered to see your response in the publication of my book. I am very grateful, and I hope you enjoy it. Even if you don’t, I will freely accept all reviews from you. There are quite a few excellent writers out there in the blog world, and I am lucky to have found such a good group of people to associate myself and my own blog with. Do I have a favorite? Not really. I like tons of them, though. Loads.

I get busy at work sometimes and while it is good for my career and all, I would like to have a few minutes a day to read all of your posts. It is a little community where there seems to have a core around each blogger, then another ring of friends around the periphery of the inner circle. I am pretty happy with the people I have met on here. It was completely unexpected! I thought I would get on here and post about my book or random things associated with it, or, at the very least, post a few pictures of my ex-girlfriends with funny-looking mustaches drawn on them, but in reality I have posted on so much more! Aside from posting on vomiting and urine, I have completed almost all blogging goals!

I even gain inspiration from reading others’ posts. Who’d have thunk it? Me learning from others.

In a way, it would be nice to meet a lot of you in person, but on the other hand, what if we met and didn’t like each other? Call me crazy, I would hate to be thought of as a douchebag from all you kind folk. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I doubt you would think THAT, but you never know. It would hurt, you know, in the chest area, if you gave me the finger every time you saw me. :(

So, with all that said, I want to thank you all – to those who are reading this, and to those who have read any of my posts. I want to especially thank those who have left a comment of any sort on my blog. You are good people, no matter what everyone else says (sorry, I had to throw a bad joke in here somewhere …).

"Um, yeah, I got $20 on pump 4...a pack of gum, and some Pot Tarts"

Just when you think criminals are dumb-as-a-box-of-hair, uncreative nincompoops, along comes a feel good story such as this one. I read this on The Smoking Gun, a high-quality site for information on notorious, infamous, careless, and stupid criminals. Check it out if you haven’t been there before. They have a laundry list of mug shots that is guaranteed to please (see Yasmine Bleeth and Nick Nolte for serious amusement).

Personally, after you read the story below, you might feel the same way as I. It is genius. “It’d illegal, though!” Illegal schmeagel, I say to you. Look at the packaging! I had to do a couple double-takes to make sure I read the m correctly. I would think this could have grown into a massive output had it not been for their carelessness. I mean, seriously, for those who know what the “munchies” are (not me, mom, in case you are reading this…heh heh heh), one could fing themselves in quite the pickle when chowing down on a Rasta Reese's for the purpose of hashish consumption, only to get hungry and keep eating more candy to curb the cravings only to get more THC in your system. It is an unending and vicious cycle. Well, enough of me rambling…onto the story. As the old saying goes, “Eat ‘em if you got ‘em!”

Later Dudes.

Drug Ring Sold Pot-Laced Candy, Soda

Pot Tarts, Toka-Cola, Munchy Ways seized in DEA raids

MARCH 17--A California drug operation manufactured marijuana-laced candy and soft drinks that were packaged to resemble popular products like Jolly Ranchers, Milky Way, and Pop Tarts. The pot ring, busted yesterday by Drug Enforcement Administration agents, was headquartered in Oakland and allegedly headed by Kenneth Affolter, 39, who was one of 12 alleged dealers nabbed. DEA raids at indoor pot-growing facilities turned up the marijuana-infused products, which carried labels such as Toka-Cola, Pot Tarts, Puff-A-Mint Pattie, Stoney Ranchers, Munchy Way, and Buddahfinger. A DEA spokesperson told TSG that the pot was baked into chocolate bars and hard candies and that the soda contained concentrated hash oil. A label on the ring's Nestle Crunch knockoff describes the item's ingredients as "milk chocolate with crisped rice dipped in hash oil rich chocolate." Some of the seized items can be seen in the evidence photos on the following pages. In a statement, DEA agent Javier Pena noted that Affolter's pot ring, which operated under the name Beyond Bomb, was "not only illegal, but potentially tragic," since "innocent children will somehow get their hands on these products and think they are just normal candy or soft drinks."

Don't mind me,I'm just crawling for help.

Daisy and Monty looking at the biggest dog treat in the world (er, me).

________________________

Well, well, well, ‘tis another St. Patrick’s Day. Another excuse to drink ourselves to near-coma levels; another excuse to stuff ourselves with Irish food at unbelievably crowded Irish pubs; another excuse to pinch that cute co-worker or unsuspecting passerby who is not wearing green; another excuse to contaminate a defenseless light beer with green food coloring. I think there is a little bit of Irish in all of us, and why not use today to let it out and be merry? Hell, I even watched Walker, Texas Ranger this morning and lo and behold, in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, my boy was kicking the shit out of some IRA thugs. So, if Chuck Norris, All-American badass, can do it, there is no reason we cannot either. Sure, it is one of those holidays where only
1% of the population knows the meaning of St. Patrick’s Day (myself not included), but that doesn’t stop us from getting our drink on. The Irish know and love their beer. We should consider them role models in this affair.

Aside from St. Pat’s, I am smack dab in the middle of a 5-day stretch off work. The only exercise I plan on doing is showering. Maybe fixing food, too, if I cannot reach the phone to order delivery. To prove the extent of relazation mode I am in, I went to get a bagel for breakfast as well as shopping for a few groceries at Wal-Mart this morning while wearing pajamas and my UK house slippers. I didn't even notice until I was in the store.

________________________

It has truly been quite the interesting and packed week. I got published, I attended a funeral, and we acquired a new puppy. My wife is crazy. Yes, I’ll say it here. But, I must be just as nuts (if not more so) because she gave me the final word for a change. It is hard to say no to her sometimes. I know how much of a dog-lover she is, and if a new puppy will keep her off the streets and out of trouble, I suppose it is my civic duty to oblige. I would say no to her if she asked me to do something psychotic, like murder, or take out the trash during a Kentucky Wildcat game, but I think she knows better to ask me to do such things anyway.

________________________

Puppies are some of the cutest things on the planet, even when they are pooping on the hardwood floor. Case in point: I looked over yesterday to check on him and sure as I’m sitting here, he was crouched and grunting. I had to laugh, because if I were in his position (which I may be if we get another dog someday) I would just drop trou and do my business, too. I know what the little brat is thinking, because I can see it in his cute, little, beady eyes:

Why bother going out in the cold and wet weather to poop when I can stay in here, where it’s nice and cozy, and this big lummox is gonna clean it up after me anyway?

And they say we are the master. Yeah, right.

After the little one gets bored with defecating on the floor he’ll move up to destruction of property. Oh wait, he’s already done that.

I followed him into the living room and he stopped in mid-stride and began to gnaw on the corner of the coffee table. I better watch my alcohol and food intake today; otherwise, I may pass out and become a chew toy. It would make for an interesting blog post, though! If that happens, I promise I’ll learn how to type again with my mangled appendages and write better than ever.

The brats are chewing up the rug right now as we speak. and they are looking at me kind of funny. Gotta go.

See ya on the flipside, Kids.

Queens and Crescents is now available

Yes, you read correctly. My book, Queens and Crescents, is now available to purchase on the publisher's website:

http://www.PublishAmerica.com

You can purchase it from several online booksellers, which can be found via my website:

http://www.barrysouthers.com/links.html

I have a link to barrysouthers.com to the right as well.

We are partying like rock stars over here! This is extremely exciting news, and, with the NCAA basketball tournament coming up as well, I am on Cloud Nine.

Thanks in advance if you decide to purchase a copy!

Have a great day.

Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son...

...on second thought, maybe it is!

Well, here it is, Thursday and closing in on another weekend. For some reason today I have been busier than a one-armed paper hanger and I don’t like it. I enjoy the more peaceful, tranquil work days where I get to lounge more. I have the overwhelming urge to drink myself into a vegetative state over the weekend, yet responsibilities loom overhead, so I doubt that will happen. Damn you, adulthood! Damn you straight to hell.

All this deep thought was brought on by the fact that Spring Break is coming up very soon.
Ahh, what thoughts and visions those two little words conjure up! Spring Break – where good looks are beneficial to hooking up - yet still optional; where you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a drunken frat guy with a coral choker necklace; where thongs and beer bongs and pot and sex with strangers is the norm. If not the norm, it is at least an accepted practice. It is like living a girls Gone Wild Video. Why? Because that is where they tape that crap!

Spring Break - that early spring, rite of passage, where all your cares and inhibitions and even your skivvies are left at home. Where alcohol is the Soup D’Jour, those in t-shirts are overdressed, and Trojan stock goes through the roof. Mexico, Arizona, Myrtle Beach, Florida – hell, even Put-In-Bay – it doesn’t matter. You don’t need a lot of money or even good looks; just access to a lot of alcamahol (thanks, Steph, for letting me use your phrase), a floor to sleep on or car to sleep in, and directions to the nearest White Castle.

To have fun on Spring Break is almost a given, so long as you don’t get rohypnol in your Red-headed Slut (the kind of drink, that is), you vomit just enough to avoid hospitalization, you are incarcerated, or your hook-up partner(s) manage(s) to locate your real identity and proceed to stalk you.

I live vicariously though MTV during this time of year, for you see, I never managed to go to Spring Break when I was in college, particularly due to my lack of testicles. I did manage to go to New Orleans several years AFTER graduation and it was crazed, but still I wish I took a “college Spring Break” trip.

I so wish me and some buddies had driven through the night, drinking a palate’s worth of Pabst Blue Ribbon or The Beast and hanging out with wild college girls with questionable morals.

Please, in this time of national partying, have a heart and remember your ol’ buddy Barry who missed out on all the fun back in the day by telling me some of your stories!

Supercuts hairstylists are a different breed

Be honest, does this haircut make me look fugly?

I don’t know about you but when I get a haircut I am on edge. It is an exciting yet scary time. Why? Well, for starters, some of the hair stylists I have encountered are crazy as shithouse rats. I know I am generalizing here, but I even had a normal hair stylist validate my point and totally agree with me. So, if you are one of the few normal, sane hairstylists in the population you are excluded.

I hate to dump on an entire work force, especially when they perform a vital service and, well, they carry the equivalent of a lethal weapon in their hands at all times. Now over the past week you all have seen how I have been known to mistreat my hair, but that is in the past. I am now a once-a-month haircut kind of fella, and until it starts falling out in mass quantities or fails to grow much anymore, I will stick with this schedule.

I am a friendly guy as most of you might realize by reading my posts, so naturally when I go to get my hair cut I begin by saying “hello” and sitting down, then proceed to small talk to feel the stylist out. My last haircut notwithstanding, I had a string of six or seven psychopaths cutting my hair. Once, I managed to get a twentysomething girl whose “old man” ran up thousands of dollars in Internet and phone-sex porn on HER card. She kicked him out and now he is harassing her. I realize it is not her fault, and while I can see why she left him, I don’t understand why she had to take it out on my poor, defenseless hair follicles. During the porn story she began to jab and poke and use very abrupt movements with her scissors. When it was all said and done, I looked like an idiot. I looked a lot like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. Seriously, I could have placed a cereal bowl on my noggin and managed better myself.

The next nutter was a white gay man who wore one of those colorful African tribal shirts. I was chatting it up and all was cool until I made a fatal error: I mentioned how I was glad smoking was banned in a lot of restaurants nowadays. His gay nostrils flared, his gay voice shrieked, and his gay spittle flew all over me and the back of my head.

“It’s people like YOU who give smokers all the grief! It’s people like YOU who should be banned from restaurants – not us!” I kid you not. Needless to say, it was quiet and nerve-racking the rest of the cut. To top it off, I failed to tip him, which no doubt sent him into a rage afterwards. I had to go to another place to fix the mess he created with my hair.

I have had stylists start to cry hysterically. I have had them hit on me. I have had them so upset they literally turn different colors.

I guess it is human nature to talk to strangers and all, but for the life of me I cannot figure out why people blabber on ad nauseum about horrible stories from their personal lives. I hate to sound snobby or elitist, but all I want it an effen haircut. I should learn to just keep my mouth shut and get it over with. I mean, I don’t have that much hair! Minus the maniacal interruptions, it could only take 5-7 minutes to cut my hair. But, just like the stylists who tell me about their child custody battles or boyfriends who gave them herpes, I am a talker, and, I suppose for good or for bad, I will continue to do so.

The book cover is ready...

Things are ramping up, kids! Start telling your friends, family, co-workers - even weird looking people on the street!

Below is the official book cover from the publisher. I still have no word on the official release date; probably another couple of weeks - or maybe longer.

What do you all think? Personally, I like it a lot.