We (I) Are (Am) the Champions!(Champion!)

After almost two years of grueling copy writing (any copy writer will tell you what that’s all about. I mean, shit! It grueling!) I was finally rewarded with 3 individual Northern Ireland Advertising Awards ranging from Bronze to Gold.

That in itself was pretty cool but that didn’t take into account that I had my hand in every single one of our 11 wins.

This means I rock.

Unfortunately, I am also a dumb ass.

You see, I have a problem with public nudity, in that whenever I have a few belts under my belt (especially when I’m wearing a rented tux) I like to strut my completely disgusting stuff (lordy, why does my wife love me?) in a very public forum. In fact, I once (perhaps twice, or even thrice) walked home along the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, Colorado completely and utterly naked, nekkid, free ballin’, nude.

That’s just the type o’ guy I am.

Anyway, last night (for reasons I won’t go into at the moment) the act of “Extreme Ironing” came up and I volunteered to take my shirt off in front of 400 people and pretend to iron it in front of them.

I have never ironed a shirt so I’m thinking that maybe that’s why everybody was laughing the way they were because my technique was so pedestrian and not chuckling at the Bear Skin rug I wear on my chest.

The moral of the story is: even though I got home at 5 this morning and went back to work at 9 I’m still dumb/young/retarded enough to vent out some steam now and again and still suffer UNIMAGINABLE HANGOVERS.

(But luckily I didn’t drop trou and wag my willy in front of a crowd of strangers like somebody I could mention. (Oh, and yes. There are pics. I shall publish them tomorrow. (Geez, I’m a dumb ass. (But the pics are still better than the video someone captured. (I’m going to hell)))))))))))))) (You get the gag)))).

Full of Character

furry-ferret.jpg

I’m not feeling too smart ass-y.

Sorry to disappoint.

I’m trying to figure out my life at the moment.

It makes me tired.

Thank God for the “Fursty Ferret”.

Amen.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

horny-bears2-008.jpg

Today’s the day that everybody, including the Pope and Osama Bin Ladin (sp?) is Irish. God knows my hair turned ginger today in celebration of the day that some imaginary missionary scared/lead/poisoned all the snakes in Ireland. I will attest to the fact that there are no snakes here and if there were I would’ve stomped them to death my very own self. I’m freaky that way. I hate anything phallic slithering across the grass…

Anyway, Jett and I went to the big ass celebratory celebrations in good ol’ Belfast today and here are my shitty pics. (My digital cam is super slow on the uptake and there’s a good 2 second lag time between my pressing the snap button and the time the piece of lardo actually takes the picture. This is my excuse. And I stand by it.)

st-paddys-day-001.jpg

They were expecting something around 5,000 people to enjoy the aural delights of such world smashing hit makers Samantha Mumba, BoySkinz, some gay boy band and Sandi Thom. We didn’t hang around that long. I had to go to the bathroom. Maybe more people showed up. I don’t know.

st-paddys-day-003.jpg

st-paddys-day-025.jpg

st-paddys-day-016.jpg

Wow. Pretty exciting hey?

Tune into Letter to America and hear all about our crazy adventures.

(Trust me. Our adventures are better than my pics. I promise.)

Home Again Home Again Jiggedy Jig (or whatever)

sparky-rules-019.jpg

Well, we thought that Crack Weasel might actually miss us since we were away for a good solid four days (almost two weeks in the case of my wife) but as soon as we got home with the Shit Head he went to sleep almost instantaneously the moment we walked through the door.

Is this a new era in the Sparky Universe? One where he behaves and relaxes and takes time to smell the roses?

“Fuck No!” is my prediction. But I’ll take it as it comes tonight.

And here are some pics from Cornwall. (Thanks to all who sent their regards. The world can be sad sometimes but there is always beauty…)sparky-rules-005.jpg

sparky-rules-001.jpg

See Ya On Thursday (Or Therabouts…)

kerry-october-06-131.jpg

OK.

I’m leaving tomorrow at an ungodly hour to catch a ferry (God, I hate ferrys!!) to Scotland and then a 500 mile drive to Cornwall (look it up. I’m too lazy to link).

I miss my wife and there’s a better way we could’ve gone to where we need to be. I have my suspicions that this dumb ass journey has something to do with IKEA. If it does I will let you know.

Also, be aware that I took Sparky to his ‘cousin’s’ house today so this is the first time in a good long while that I haven’t had to worry about getting up at 5.30 so he can piss/shit. Now it’ll just be me that needs to do the same.

I’ll see you all on Thursday.

Wish us luck.

Peace.

You’re Kidding Me. Right?

After being married to a Norn’ Iron’ gal for the better part of 9 (or is it 10) years and after living in said Norn’ Iron’ for the better part of 3 1/2 years I like to think that I’m fairly culturally aware.

I mean, I know the slang you wee git.

I know that an egg soda isn’t something you drink.

Granted I still don’t get their fucked up half Imperial (or is it Empirical) and half metric measurements. They measure distance in miles, height in centimeters (centimetres (???)) and weight in ‘stones’. I can deal with that. People are different.

But today my fellow American and copywriter BG brought in microwave popcorn which you can obviously buy over here (Fun Fact: At the supermarket we shop at it’s next to the dog food. And by ‘next to’ I mean there’s Iams dog food on the same shelf).

My colleagues were AMAZED.

“Is this butter flavored?”

“Is it salty or sweet?” (They like to put sugar on their popcorn in the movie theaters.)

“You made this in the microwave? IN A BAG????

Now, I’ve made an effort to adjust to these foreigners. I just thought it was funny how the people I work with who think they are American Cultural Experts had never heard of Microwave Popcorn.

Sheeesh!

(Special Sparky Update: He chewed off the ear piece on my glasses last night while I was dozing in front of the Mel Gibson cheese feast “The Patriot”. I am now in constant danger of gouging out my eye (a true fear of mine- it’s why I never rub my optics while I’m in a car, whether I’m driving or not) every time I put me specs on me noggin. Also, his breath smells like cloves. Beats me why that is.)

I Promise Things Will Be Happier

I’m gonna shut down for a couple of days cuz I’m heading to England for a funeral. Should be back by Thursday (and will probably post in the next couple of days. There’s a few things to take care of here before I take the (God help me… I can’t believe I’m writing this after swearing off all forms of water travel…) ferry over to Scotland on Sunday and then for a five hundred mile drive to Cornwall).

The intense part of my psychotic ramblings is over.

Death happens.

Oh, and have you ever driven 500 miles in the UK? It’s like a billion miles in normal American Interstate travel. This is gonna be a loooooooooooooong weekend.