I don’t follow professional football any more. I don’t give a shit about watching a bunch of overly paid, mostly almost illiterate and definitely arrogant, people who think they are so important bashing into each other. When does Money make you smart? Does (the most) money make your opinions true? I think not. Football and politics are all about perceived power. I don’t give a shit about someone who makes millions a year and believes he or she has answers. They believe they know everything. They believe they are entitled, they believe money makes them right. I call bullshit.

Having said that…I did watch the game last night. I didn’t have a dog in the hunt, and could care less which team won…I just wanted to see a good game…and a good game it was. I watched it from start to finish, and it was a great contest. I was on the edge of my seat many times.

Does more money make you right?

Hell if I know, I guess we should defer to the actors in Hollywood and elsewhere to explain exactly why that is. Athletes as well.

Great game though, I enjoyed it. I guess I’m a hypocrite.

There will be a few initial changes / modifications. These are just the first round, but they will be effective immediately. More to follow.

No more repeating the same story every five minutes. I do not give a shit about continuous reruns because we will be more fair and balanced for the intelligent public.

Bill O’Reilly…your pithy arrogant ass is fired. My dog is smarter than you. Opine that!

Shepard Smith…you’re fired…go get some grits.

Bill Hemmer…you’re fired, but might be able to work the parking lot.

Jon Scott…you’re fired, plain and simple, but you might be able to work with Hemmer.

Bob Beckel…you’re fired…go eat some more cheesecake.

Sean Hannity…you can stay, after a good talking too. You need to ease up a little bit. Plus, I’m taking away your private jet.

Alan Colmes…your ass is done…you are a rude hypocritical left coast kiesh eater. I will not let you wash cars in the garage. Go occupy something.

Juan Williams…your ass is done…go back to NPR. When I need a liberal for counterpoints, I’ll hire someone that can at least make a point.

Steve Doocy, Gretchen Carlson, Brian Kilmeade, Greta Van Susteren, Neil Cavuto, Bret Baier, Greg Gutfeld, Eric Bolling, Andrea Tantaros, Dana Perino, Kimberly Guilfoyle…you still have a job.

Peter Doocy…you get a promotion if you’ll take my good looking, smart ass niece to dinner. Fair warning, she’s probably more than you can handle.

Megyn Kelly…stays.

Harris Faulkner…you get a promotion.

Lauren Green…you get a promotion.

This is round one of the Juju reorganization. I’ll keep you posted on other developments.

Stay tuned.

All in all, he is a good dog, but he is as mischievous as can be.

The other evening, the Juju Woman and I were gone for a couple of hours. She’d just bought a huge bag of fresh cherries to make pies with, and put them on the dining room table. We’re pretty good about Stretch-Proofing the house when we’re away…move the chairs away from the tables, or slide ‘em in all the way. Anyway, I have no idea how he did it, but somehow someway, he managed to get the bag down. He ate them all, the whole damn bag. Enough for about four pies. About four the next morning, he was sick as a dog, no pun intended. We didn’t realize the cherries were missing until we looked at his “stuff”. Seriously, we have no idea how he got ‘em, but he did. It is a mystery. I realize he can jump really high for his breed, and he can almost climb stuff…but not my dining room table…I don’t think. Anyway, he is a hound, and when he gets on the scent of anything he’s interested in, he is in relentless pursuit. He will not relent. It’s in his genes.

Many years ago, a good friend of mine moved to Boston. Obviously, moving from the South, to Boston, was guaranteed to be traumatic. And it was, but that’s another story.

He had an old Southern home with an extraordinary upstairs bathroom that had a tub with feet, and a sink with one leg, which had a foot with toes. The hot and cold faucet controls were left and right hands. It was, without a doubt, the most interesting bathroom I’d ever used. We did some crazy things in there. I mean, come on, a sink with hands, and a leg and toes. The girls use to paint ‘em foo foo colors…the fingers and toes that is. We even put a cast on that leg one night, and we all signed it. Sick, don’t you think?

My friend had already moved, house was sold, so we decided to break on in to the other side and, basically, pinch the sink, and ship it to him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The house was locked, but we had a key. We entered through the back door. Duh!

The next thing I knew, we were upstairs in the bathroom, with flashlights beaming, laughing our asses off, and yanking that damn sink out. I’ll admit I’d never stolen a sink before.

We now have a freestanding sink, but never thought about how to get it down the stairs. No problem…all we need is a 4X4 foot piece of plywood, and we’ll be good to go. I’m not going to tell you where we got that, but suffice to say, we had to break out the toolbox.

We’re standing at the top of the stairs, doing the math, and dumbass me volunteered to “ride it down”. Stupid.

The plan was: for me to sit in the sink, hold the ropes that we’d attached to everything, and guide it as I was being lowered to the first floor by my faithful buddies.

Break: This damn sink weighed about a thousand pounds.

So: My ass is in the sink…they move me to the top stair…and shit happens.

They: Let go of the lines.

Next: My young ass is riding the sink down the damn stairs on this board, and it only took a couple of seconds before I was unconscious, I think.

Me and the Sink: Crashed through the front door, which was closed and locked with a deadbolt, breaking all the windows and glass panes, in the door and front windows in two rooms, and down five steps into the front yard. Man…that hurt.

Knocked the shit out of me.

Next: I was cut and bruised, laying in the damn front yard with a sink, while my friends were laughing so hard they couldn’t come to my aid. Damn!

We had some good times. Damn good times! We had to tear the front door off its hinges one time, and I can tell you that really pissed off our neighbors. It was four in the morning, and we woke up the whole floor. I’m telling you, if you lock your keys inside, you must take drastic action. Fuck the neighbors.

After a couple of months, we got our asses kicked out…evicted were asked to leave. Too many naked women in the pool, and drinking of tequila on the roof, and other things that single boys do, I guess. No problem, we were always on 10, we had it coming.

We had a 20-pound chunk of Deer in the freezer.

So…

We took that slab of deer, removed the top panels on the roof of the elevator, climbed up and secured it. Bolted everything down, back in place, and broke for cover.

This was is August, and it had to be 187 million degrees inside the elevator shaft.

Obviously, you can guess the rest. The elevator went from the parking garage to the top floor (18th) all day and night long, for days, and basically fumigated the whole building. I’m talking some MAJOR STINK. Rotten Deer is some Bad Bad Juju.

Damn – I think we got ‘em, ya think?. We sent a recon team in about a week later and they said our mission was successful…they said it smelled so bad they had to break for cover.

Do you think we felt guilty?

Not Really!…but we did have to put an attorney on retainer, just in case. We were never charged or caught, but we were under suspicion. The eyes were looking in our direction, but there was no proof. By the way, our attorney and friend was also enjoying everything, especially the naked girls. I talked to him last night, and we were laughing so hard about this particular incident, I had to sit down. You have to admit, a chunk of venison on top of an elevator is creative thinking. Hey, nobody got hurt.

Oh shit – Well, my uncle Ted was flying over Viet Nam and all he had with him was a .50 caliber machine gun with 50 rounds of ammunition, a bayonet, and a case of beer. He was hit by a surface to air missile and had to bail out.

On the way down – he drank the beer.

When he landed, 150 enemy soldiers surrounded him. He killed the first 50 with his gun, and when he ran out of ammo, he gutted another 50 with his bayonet. When the bayonet broke, he killed the rest with his bare hands.

The teacher asked, “what could possibly be the moral of this story?”

He said: “Don’t Fuck with Uncle Ted when he’s been Drinking”

HAHAHA! Always makes me laugh.