DANNY CZEKALINSKI

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datingI don’t date and I do it by choice.  The last time I was on a date was October 23, 2011.  The world is one big bowl of nuts and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m probably the walnut but I have figured out there are three types of women that I would avoid at all costs.  In no particular order here are the signs:

YOU KNOW THE NAME OF AT LEAST ONE “REAL HOUSEWIFE”:  There is nothing “real” about any of these whack jobs.  Watching this show is like making a visit to the local mental ward to observe the patients to feel good about yourself.  If ya wanna live in fantasy land then dress up like Captain America and go to a comic book convention.

YOU THINK FISH ARE PETS:  Let me break the news to ya Moby Dick….anything you can eat is NOT a pet.  Fish are a meal.  Ya can’t train them and ya can’t pet them.  If you actually believe that you are a pet owner because you have a tank on display in your den then ya might wanna consider cooking some pasta and weaving me a basket.

YOU HAVE  STUFFED ANIMALS ON YOUR BED:  Unless you work at the dime toss booth at the fair and your bedroom is a closet for the prizes you need to be on some sort of medication.  You are an adult so start acting like one.  Do ya scream for mommy when ya have a bad dream and still play with your Lite Brite when Amanda Bynes won’t answer your tweet?  I hope not.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest….I’m going back to posting pictures on facebook of food I’m about to eat and writing various celebrities to ask for autographed pictures.  THAT’S normal!

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KEVIN WARE

You’re not gonna like what you are going to read and I know that already but it’s the truth.  Kevin Ware of Louisville suffered a horrific broken leg in yesterdays college basketball game.  His lower leg broke in half and the bone actually pierced the skin.  People across the country have actually tweeted their monetary support to a man that they don’t even know.  Seriously?  Let’s be honest.  The guy didn’t die…. he broke his freaking leg.  He doesn’t have a life threatening disease and he didn’t lose a loved one.  He broke his leg.

When you walk on a sporting field of any kind under you own free will you understand that you are taking a risk of physical injury.  Don’t get me wrong I wish he didn’t break his leg BUT he knew was putting himself at risk.  His teammates and his coach were visibly upset and some were even crying.  Would they have reacted the same way had they not SEEN the injury?  If Kevin Ware fell down the stairs at his dorm and suffered the same injury would they break down in tears upon hearing the news?  I think not.  They walked away in tears because they had witnessed a HORRIFIC injury and that’s actually kind of selfish.

As far as these clowns that want to send money to help out a guy they don’t even know here’s a suggestion for ya:  Look around you.  There are many local organizations that can use your help in fighting abuse of animals, domestic violence, hunger, poverty or your favorite cause.  Visit a relative you have not seen lately or take the time to reestablish a connection with a lost friend.  If any of these things would happen then I think Kevin Ware would appreciate that more than anything else.  Kevin Ware broke his leg.  He wasn’t killed by a drunk driver.  Let’s keep this in perspective.

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NECK TATTOO

 

Every day we are confronted with decisions.  Sometimes we make good ones and sometimes we make bad ones.  That’s just the way of life.  I have made MANY mistakes in my time on earth but I can honestly tell you I never woke up and declared “today is the day  will finally get my neck tattoo.”  If I need open heart surgery and Dr. Feelgood has a neck tattoo saying “Delicious” I’m gonna make sure someone else cuts me open.  If I need someone to stand up for me in the court of law I don’t think the guy with “Judge This” on his neck is gonna have any pull with the man in the black robe.

If ya wanna get back in the stupidity line for extra credit then by all means feel free to add a tat on your forehead and maybe a few tear drops beneath your eyes.  See how well that goes over on your interview at a Fortune 500 company.   There are times when these tattoos are actually beneficial.  If I was running a chop shop or was in the market for an arsonist then the guy at the left would be at the top of my list.  Unless you are a porn star then you really should care about what ends up on your face.  I have a lot more to say about this but I’m late for my tongue piercing.

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POST OFFICE ANGER

I live in a gated community where no one has a mailbox at the end of their driveway.  We all have a central area where everyone has their own box and a key to open the box and retrieve their mail.   This would seem like a great gig for anyone that works for the Postal Service since they stay in one central area, don’t have to drive door to door and basically just stay in an air-conditioned building and sort through the mail and stick the contents in their specific slot.  Well this is not the case with Delores.

Delores has yelled…yes I do mean yelled….at me because I don’t stop by to pick up my mail every day.   Look….I don’t subscribe to any magazines so the only mail I receive is my bills and junk mail that I don’t want to get anyhow.  I was pretty sick about two weeks ago and didn’t stop to get my mail for one week.  I was expecting to get yelled at again but I wasn’t prepared for what Delores had done.  I opened my mail box and nothing was there except a neon yellow slip marked “VACANT.”  I was confused.  I didn’t know what that meant.  I knocked on the door where the postal workers are and fully expected Delores to come at me with a spear but it was her day off and she wasn’t there.  When I explained my ongoing problem with Delores to one of her co-workers and showed him my neon yellow slip all he could mutter was “That’s not good.”

I was informed that “VACANT” tells anyone that is sending me something in the mail that I have LEFT my house and did not supply a forwarding address.  That means I had to go home and call ALL of my services….satellite TV, cable, phone company, water etc. to let them know I hadn’t skipped town.  Anyone that has called any of these services knows that you don’t get right through…there is a tremendous amount of time on hold listening to a long oboe solo.  To say I’m angry is an understatement.  I want my justifiable revenge but this is a government agency and I almost feel helpless.

Any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated.  In the meantime….I’m afraid as the customer….I am about to go POSTAL!

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vicksFor the past four days I have been fighting a pretty bad cold.  Mom has been all over me to “go see a doctor.”  This comes from a woman who is losing sight in her left eye and doesn’t have a primary care physician because “I need one to be close to the house.”  Evidently that means for her to have one living in the spare bedroom but I digress….

The next question from her was “Are you using Vicks?”  If your mother is like my mother than Vicks is the greatest medical invention of all time.  I remember as a child that at the first sign of a sniffle she would reach for that bottle, grab a spatula, and lap that stuff on my chest like she was frosting a cake.  Then she would wrap me up like a mummy, grab a safety-pin to secure the gauze that she had affixed to my person to insure that all that “vapo rub” was absorbed into my entire being.  When I would fart I would automatically clear the room of all bacteria.  She would put so much Vicks on my body that it would affect my taste buds.  I could stick out my tongue and it would glow like ET’s finger.

When I was in my motorcycle accident that resulted in six broken ribs, a broken nose, broken collar-bone, dislocated shoulder and a ruptured sinus cavity the first thing she asked the doctor was “How many times a day does he need Vicks?”  Some may argue that Michael Jordan is the greatest commercial pitchman of all time but I would put my mother and a bottle of Vicks up against anyone.

I’d go on but the UPS man is at my door asking me to sign for a 55 gallon drum of Vicks my mother just sent me.

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presidents day

So today is President’s Day.  How are ya supposed to celebrate it?  I even know that on Arbor Day you are supposed to plant a tree but it doesn’t seem to make any sense to go out and buy a mattress on Presidents Day.  My parents spent a fortune on braces so I don’t have the need for wooden teeth and I don’t think it would be a good idea to go to the theater today and sit in the balcony and wait for a disgruntled actor to pop off a round in my direction.

I could honor Gerald Ford by falling down the stairs but I currently don’t have medical coverage and I can break a bone just by sneezing so that’s not a good idea either.  I could make the Bill Clinton fans happy by grabbing a cigar and throwing an intern under my desk but I live alone and spend most of my free time looking for work so that’s not gonna happen either.

I considered honoring that liar Richard Nixon by walking up to random women here in West Palm Beach and telling them I am a millionaire and a super model in Europe but that would entail me leaving the house and traveling more than my safe haven of three miles.  I think the only thing I really can do is wash my bedding and maybe throw in a few extra dryer sheets.  Happy President’s Day.

 

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ImageGun control to me is the same as idiot control.  There really isn’t a way to control either.  The secret is keeping the guns out of the hands of idiots or avoiding idiots all together.  Neither is a realistic situation because it just won’t happen.  Look at the war on drugs.  We aren’t winning.  We are guarding the borders and prosecuting people for what is already legal in three states.  Where is the logic there?

I have five guns.  I ‘m also a responsible gun owner.  I don’t think it’s correct to penalize the rights of the many for the actions of the few.  If some idiot is gonna break into my home at night I want to at least have a level playing field.  I’m also not a registered marksman so I’m not sure how many shots I’ll need to insure my safety but you can rest assure I won’t stop pulling that trigger until the clip is empty.

Those that favor gun control usually don’t have guns.  I understand why you would be in favor of banning something that doesn’t matter to you.  I feel the same way about cauliflower.  If you put some of that crap on my plate I probably would wait at least five days to eat it.  Instead of taking away from those that obey the law let’s concentrate on stopping those that break the law.

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I saw an article recently where baby alligators are the hottest thing at pool parties.  Read article HERE.  I know the kids may be getting sick of the water slide and the bounce house but what the hell are people thinking?  These poor gators have their mouths duck taped shut and these rug rats are dragging them around the pool like a floatie.  I assume the little gator has a memory and if I were him I couldn’t wait until I put on a few pounds and was able to even the score with little Suzy.

This is the thought process that leads to adults thinking they can walk into the bear cage at the zoo and become Dr. Doolittle.  It has to suck being the bear all day having a bunch of people with the mentality of a flat-tire trying to get the bear to sit on his hind legs and wave  for a few peanuts.  I always cheer for the bear and the lions when someone thinks they need to be a little closer to nature.  There is a reason for the fence there Einstein.  We have a population problem on this planet and I do believe those that venture into cages with lions and bears are truly doing their part in making a little more room for all of us.

Getting back to the gators…in Florida we have a one in twenty-four million chance of being attacked by a gator.  Those odds will go up if ya swim where they swim and if ya bring them into the pool…I’d say the odds even get better.  Parents….kids make enough bad decisions on their own so please don’t agree to having baby gators swim at your next pool party.  The only exception would be if you hired a clown.  It’s fine by me if ya feed HIM to the gators.

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ImageSo i see this article where Lindsay Lohan has encouraged others to start tweeting their dreams.  I don’t know if that is a good idea.  Dreams are in the subconscious for a reason:  If you ever shared these thoughts in the conscious world chances are you’d be taken away by a bunch of guys in white hawking some butterfly nets.

For instance I just woke up from a nap and here are the highlights of my dream.  I was back in high school and late for football practice.  I was forty-eight years old but still trying out for the varsity team.  George Clooney was on the team as well but he wasn’t going to practice.  I tried to run to the practice field but I couldn’t’ because my legs were heavy.  I decided to go to class instead and when I was in the band room It had turned into a pizza parlor and I got an Italian meat ball sub.  All of a sudden I notice the food and beverage director from when I was a bartender at the Holiday Inn was now the principal.  He said I had to leave the school because he knew I was serving the kids drinks.  I went to the student parking lot and couldn’t find my car.  All of a sudden the rent-a-cop turned into a giant cobra and started hissing at me.  It was at this point that I woke up.

Now imagine if I picked up a bull horn and read the above paragraph aloud in the middle of a shopping mall.  How long before ya think I would be weaving baskets out of cooked spaghetti?

The lesson here is simple:  sometimes it’s good to keep your thoughts to yourself.