Welcome back Naked Cowboy!

Thanks, Fatnathan.

Man you are welcome on my blog anytime. Can I ask you a few questions?

Certainly, Shoot! I mean, draw!

Why do the chicks love you so much?

Well Fatboy, for a variety of reasons. First there is my Euro-Jesus hair. Then there is my voice of pure testosterone. Also, you might not realize this, but Naked Cowboy works up quite a sweat singing ballads of the western prairie and Slow Ride for the sweet ladies of New York City, and the Naked Cowboy’s sweat sends out pheromones that are an aphrodisiac on a par with pure rhinoceros horn.

Wow that is great! So when you get the ladies all turned on, do you take them back to the old Cowboy shack for a little private performance?

Don’t be ridiculous, Fatso. I’ve got the Naked Cowgirl waiting for me back home. When the ladies get all turned on and out of control, I just encourage them to turn their love into money and place it in the Naked Cowboy Boots. That is how I make my living.

Is it a good living?

I do alright. I certainly ain’t complaining. I am able to work in New York and make ends meet without having to rustle up money with my naked six gun.

You mean to tell me that you are packing heat?

Why do you think that the Naked Cowboy keeps his tighty whities on?

Modesty, I assumed

Don’t be ridiculous. Want to hear some Blue Oyster Cult?

Nah, How about some Marty Robbins?

Who the hell is that? Some kind of queer cowboy poseur?

Let’s change the subject.

No problem. Let's talk about why you are ripping off Tony Pierce.

Let's talk about how he has no link for me, even though I have him linked right at the top of my blog!

Let's go get some beer with this stinky boot money of mine and get tore up!

Let's not. Goodbye Convertible Cowboy/Star Guy

Later Lunchbox

Ray-Ray just admitted that the Mimes dream was not his at all . . .

I just got the following email from my old buddy Ray-Ray "Dr. Earl" Baser. Grad school must be more stressful than I had imagined.

I had a dream last night; it was about mimes. I saw myself surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of mimes. All of them pointing and laughing at me. Mocking me. Pretending to sip tea. With their smug grins and painted faces. WHO ARE THEY TO LAUGH AT ME? Suddenly it started to rain knives from the sky. The mimes got pierced and maimed. Blood was everywhere. One of the mimes caught a knife in the side of his head. He screamed and cried, but all the other mimes were being impaled and couldn't help him. He looked at me and exploded. It seemed the hell I was in was turning into heaven. After it stopped raining, only pieces of the mimes remained. They could no longer torment me. I was free from hell. Or so I thought. I don't remember what happened next, but suddenly that bitch was there. I hate her. Then I was at a park, with more mimes. This time they were juggling and balancing chainsaws. I ran over to one of the mimes and took his chainsaw, saying "Oh, it seems I have your chainsaw. How do you like that, bitch?" The mime shrugged, so I chopped off his legs. Then I woke up.

Mimes are worthless. If they'd get real jobs, we wouldn't be harassed by them everywhere we go. I'm sure there are mimes in hell. Mimes and all things shitty. What the hell is wrong with people when mimes can still make a living?? Don't they understand that mimes are evil and should be shot? Greedy bastards, always stealing my candy and throwing rocks at me. Throw rocks at me will you? I'll burn your house down. HAHAH. I'll laugh and laugh like you did so many times before. And then it will be my turn to not invite you to my birthday party. How do you like that, asshole? HAHAH.

Mimes torture me with their existence

Look out because I will rock you. Stand still and I will rock you. Move and I will rock you. I am the Naked Cowboy and I am here for one reason, heavy freaking rock. Heavy Metal. Hard rock. Acid Rock. Naked Cowboy R-O-C-K! My guitar is like a laser beam. My hair is like the golden locks of Euro-Jesus. My voice is like a beautiful kitten that has been thrown into a food processor. That’s right, a food processor. That is how rock-and-freaking-roll I am. I will throw your kittens into the blender. I will steal your girlfriend. I will outrun your fastest car. I will break your momma’s heart. But I will not mess with your boyfriend if you are gay, because I ain’t like that. The Naked Cowboy is NOT gay. Get it. I am rock and roll in the Aerosmith way, not the Boy George way. I am rock and roll in the Foghat way, not the Pet Shop Boys way. I will rock you up one side and down the other. Do you see this guitar? Don’t look too closely because it is a lethal weapon. Do you see these boots? They are for stomping weaklings like you. Do you see this hat? Is it too much, because my ex girlfriend said that it made my nose look big. I like it. Do you? When you see the Naked Cowboy coming, better step aside. Hide the booze, cause I will drink it. Hide the drugs, cause I will take them. Hide the women, cause they will be mine. Don’t worry about hiding the dice, because the Naked Cowboy does not gamble. I don’t gamble because I am a sure bet. Put your money on me, because I am going places. The Naked Cowboy is going places fast. Right now, I am going inside, because it is as cold as a mother out here! But first, do you have some spare change or something, because the Naked Cowboy is hungry and the naked cattledriving business just ain't what it used to be.

This is Canadia writer David Warren's take on Christian/Muslim relations and attitudes. (Via David Frum)

“It is a commonplace today that Christians in the West have lost their faith, whereas Muslims in the East are still believers; that what we now have is a confrontation between decadent post-Christian secularists, and sincere if possibly misguided Muslims. The first part of this proposition often seems true enough, especially of contemporary Europe. But I really think the second proposition is false. I think one of the reasons Islamism has erupted with such gale force in the Muslim world is indeed the very loss of faith, and the fear that comes from this. ...

“It is in moments of doubt that one often makes the wildest, most desperate, professions of faith; and in a way Osama bin Laden is doing this within his own person, and calling to fellow Muslims who are experiencing the same dark night of the soul. It is as if they were confronting not us, but instead Allah, and saying, ‘Show us! Prove to us you still exist; because, if you don't, we will give up on you entirely.’

“At the edges of that Muslim world today, there is much, chiefly anti-Christian violence: in the Philippines, Indonesia, in Nigeria, Sudan, and across Africa, in the Trans-Caucasus and elsewhere. But part of the reason for this, I have come to realize, is the very success of the new Christian missionaries. They are coming today not from Europe and America as they once did, but from churches now indigenous to Africa and Asia. For in the grand statistical overview of the present day world, Islam is expanding by its birth-rate alone, it is not making many converts; whereas, paradoxically, it is Christianity that is now spreading like wildfires from many different centres in the Third World, both by birth-rate and by conversion.”

Just when I thought that my job could not be any more insufferable, there has been a sewer leak on the floor above my office and now the air is rife with the nose hair singeing bouquet of poopoo. The walls must be flowing with crap. My eyes are watering and my chest burns. Yuck! To top it all off, time appears to be standing still.

Wow man, you people really know how to dress a soldier here in India. You really know how to dress a soldier and you know something about curry too. Yep, curry is one of your specialties here on the old subcontinent. I love curry. Do you put the saffron in it? Because that saffron stuff is kind of expensive, but it is yummy. I know that you grow the saffron. I also know about you growing the poppies, huh. Yeah you grow the poppies in a clever and covert manner here in India. That is the spice that Columbus was looking for, saffron and curry and smack. Also you got that chi tea stuff. Man, I love that chi tea. It is so tasty with the nutmeg and the cinnamon and the sugar and the milk. Of course, I guess that you don’t use cow’s milk here in the subcontinent. You know, since you think cows are your dead granny or something. You probably use goat milk or something weird like that, huh. Oh well, I still love that chi tea. Chi tea and Gandhi. Man that Gandhi sure was a sharp cat. He really knew what was up. He could have used a cheeseburger or something though, because he was so thin. Oh, wait, no cheeseburgers. Maybe a goatcheeseburger. Or some curry! Anyway, that Gandhi guy was really something and I liked him the Searching for Bobby Fisherman movie also. That was a great move, with Joe Montana and that kid who really knew how to play checkers. Oh yeah, Larry Fishbone was in Bobby Fisherman also. Man he is a good actor. I really liked him in that Matriarch movie with Bill or Ted. I forget which one it was. You have to respect Bill or Ted though, because they went from being in movies with George Carlin to being a real dramatist. At least one of them did. Bill or Ted. The other was never really seen from again, was he. But The Matriarch had cool special effects like they do on Monday Night Football. But I guess you don’t get Monday Night Football here on the old subcontinent. Or if you did it would just have soccer, because I heard that you call soccer football and football something else. Man, what a strange place. I’m going back home!

Dave Barry has ruined christmas for everyone.

Speaking of the wise men: How many of you readers, when you hear the words ''We three kings of Orient are,'' even if you are attending a somber worship service, find that your brain automatically responds with, ''smoking on a rubber cigar''? Me, too. It's like at weddings, when the organist plays ''Here comes the bride,'' and everybody's brain, including the groom's, automatically responds: ``Big, fat and wide.''

This morning Dan reminded me of a limerick I wrote when I quit my job as a cook at Smitty's Bar to go to work for a tile contractor. I had been hoping to get a job with a law firm as a title researcher, but it did not work out.

There once was a man named Nathan
Who worked for a company ran by Satan
He had hoped to with haste
Move into real estate
Instead he became a tile mason

The place that he worked was called Smitty's
The scent of this dive was truly shitty
People go there to drink
They pick up the stink
Then say, "Smitty's shitty is truly a pity"

Now Nate won't have to stink
And it didn't drive him to drink
But methinks looking back
He would rather have been a hack
But you know heinsight's 20/20

He'll miss the artwork that hung on the wall
And the pay per view days of football
But what he'll miss the most
Later on when'st he'll boast
Will most certainly be the pinball