Sunday

Taking a break from drawing Heir Burgermeister. Just threw the kids outside to play. The egg that is me has multiple hairline cracks all over. The entire planet is laughing at me(or with me?).............I just added some more value to Heir Burgermeister's cheek bone. Not sure if that's how you spell his name. He won't mind. He must be dead by now. All of them. Dead. Oh. Where was I? How can someone's nose be perfectly round?

Cinnamon and The D.O.M.

Me and my last remaining bantam hen

Saturday Night: Out Dancing with Friends

The first thing I do is scan the crowd and pick out the most dangerous looking people. Then I visualize myself attacking them. For some reason this relaxes me. Then some freak will come into view and will become my study. I watch it's every move trying to get into it's mind. All this goes on while seated at a table full of my friends, laughing and having a grand old time. Of course my back is to my table of friends and my laughing worries them. If I lose sight of my freak I get hit with what feels like a taser full of rage. Like a gorilla that just broke off the head of the doll(or human baby)that he's been playing with. I turn and snap at Mrs D.O.M. "lets get the hell out of here". "No, I'm having fun" is her reply. I pick up a table and smash her to bits with it(in my mind),then run off to find my broken dolly.

Friday Night

Friday night and Im sitting on the couch enraged. Tremendous urge to shoot my television(even though its not on). Bored. Sherlock Holmes had heroin for his boredom. What do I have. Fucking ice cream. Now Mrs D.O.M. wants her spot on the couch. Fine! I'll go sit out in the woods.

Cheesecake Run

I'm walking into the local supermarket. Thoughts of what's the greatest song to kick some one's ass to are going thru my mind. My mission is cheesecake. I grab a basket even though I'm only getting one item,this embarrasses me and throws me off balance mentally. At the cheesecake section there are a bunch of different ones. I know for a fact that whichever I choose will be wrong and most likely result in it being mashed in my face for not knowing what she likes. Anyway, I find a sampler cheesecake. No way to go wrong with this choice(in your face!). I couldn't find the price so for some reason instead of raising the cake up to see the bottom(still holding the empty red basket in the other hand) I held the cake at waist level and just crouched below it and looked up to see the price. I didn't realize I did this until I was driving home. I absolutely thought that the only way to see the price was to get under the cake. Not raise it or tilt it. Weird. I was also wearing slippers that I hadn't noticed I'd been wearing all day. But you know what? I got the friggin cheesecake.

Trapped

No way possible to make it though today. I'm stuck in this wretched house. The girl flipped my truck on its side. She pulled away from a stop sign and it just rolled on its side, all by itself. Weird? Not weird at all you loser, happens everyday. Bottom line is Im stuck here. "Danny's not here right now Mrs Torrence" It's almost time for my afternoon coffee. That'll help temporarilly, then it will kick in more nervousness. Urge to punch cement coming back. OK, Im going to get some coffee and head out into my workshop and turn up some Johnny Cash.

Just Thinking....

Why is it that whenever I'm behind someone in line I want to slap them out of my way. The backs of people's heads enrage me for some reason. Maybe because they are so innocent and defenseless. If I could have any superpower I wanted, just one wish to be granted, it would be to have the ability to morph my right hand into Andre The Giant's hand. Whenever I get the urge my hand just turns into the big freaks hand and I wallop the person in front of me upside the head. No harm intended. I don't dislike you per se, it's just that your head annoys me.

Darkness

Sitting in the darkness listening to old school country music wondering if there is a point to any of "this". We're all on borrowed time. Cinnamon(my last surviving bantam hen) is out there all alone waiting for the fox to come and get her. All of us have a "fox" out there that's making its way toward us. I guess the best attitude to have is the "duct tape a meat cleaver to each hand and sprint in the direction of the "fox" laughing all the way" attitude.

My Grandfather's Bar

Mrs D.O.M.s latest assignment for me is to paint all the furniture in the dining room white. I hate painting and I hate when it's given to me as a chore. Anyway, one of the pieces in the dining room is a bar that my grandfather made about 50 years ago. I've been putting off "re-doing" this for years. To me it's a holy item. My grandfather was a carpenter/casket maker and the bar was made from mahogany that was used to make caskets. I'm sure, the project of making the bar, was and excuse of his to escape from his family. Something ALL real men do. "What honey? You want me to make a bar? Sure thing, I'll be out in my workshop every night for a week. I'll need to get some supplies(Vodka and cigarettes) first". What's really cool about this piece is some of his writing on the underside of the shelves in the back. There are a couple of scribbled notes and some measurements written down(that I never knew were there until today)and to me it makes the bar even more special. It's like part of his spirit resides there. And don't think that I don't know how wrong it is to paint over beautiful wood like mahaogany. Norm Abram would have my head, but I see it as a way to keep it part of the family. Adapt and you survive. To honor my Dad and his Dad I really should be drinking Vodka while I do this. It is a bar after all. I'll do the final coat of paint while drinking a shooter and smoking a camel non filter.

Saturday Morning

I'm setting up Mrs D.O.M.'s tent at the Concord Art Market in the freezing cold frigid October morning(it snowed yesterday morning Mr Gore) I'm not cold everybody but else is. They're babies and they're not built for extremeness like me. Anyway I'm walking by a woman who was setting up her tent

Missy is Gone

I went to let my hens out this morning and instead of seeing two of my little sweethearts, only one greeted me. The late Ruben's old lady Missy didn't make it back into the coop last night. It means only one thing. She's in the belly of some animal. How the hell can anyone eat a chicken? She was a wonderful friend. The last remaining chicken, Cinnamon, has always gone into a state of hysteria whenever she lost sight of Missy. This is going to be hard on her. Tenderhearted Mrs D.O.M. said I should just snap Cinnamon's neck to put her out of her misery.

Saturday NIght

So I'm in the "Dress Barn" with Mrs D.O.M. We're loaded. Dresses? What's not to like. But when your Doc "Friggin" Manly you got no business being in a dress store with a bunch of dames. They don't even have a bloomer section. I'm trying to get Vicki to steal a dress but she's having none of it. What the hell are we doin in Kittery anyway? I wonder if any one of these broads wants me to take my shirt off and show them my new tattoo. Vicki stops me. I giggle like a school girl and do my "Duke Wayne" saunter to a rack of skirts over by the dressing room. After about five minutes of pretending to thumb through the rack I notice Mrs D.O.M. has left the store. That bitch!

Friday Night

Coffee. Tom Jones cranking. Working on Don Knotts drawing. Taylor on an ice cream run. Verde on loon patrol down in Lowell. Feel like I've got a grip. Recent local heinous crime got me thinking about more firepower. Booby traps? Clown suit? How cool would this be. Someone breaking into my house and I come running out of the woods in a Spongebob costume with a .45 in each hand. Just riddling my house with bullets. I smash the would be home invaders out of my way and break my own door down... Anyway... I can't wait for Taylor to get back, she's supposed to surprise me with a new ice cream flavor.

A Day at Jim's Tattoo

Lots of stress lately, raging arguments in my head with no end in sight and no foreseeable solution. No solution until The Smoke Eater(famous Boston Firefighter) calls me and says "When we gettin some more ink". That's it! An afternoon among the manly is what's needed. Nothing better for the soul than to spend the day at Jim's Tattoo shop and having a tattoo legend dig a hole in your arm with a needle attached to an old dentist drill for two hours. This to me is the equivalent of when "normal people" go get a massage or spend the day at the spa having a relaxing mud bath. Getting a tattoo is an almost zen-like meditative experience(which may be addictive). Sitting in a chair for hours, focused on breathing, trash talking our "old ladies", the game on, pain blood and ink in abundant supply. Like modern day vikings. I mean, have you ever had a stressful day at work or stuck home with the family and wanted to empty a revolver in your head or taser yourself? A tattoo scratches that itch.