I'm just another lush who has had one too many...

My favourite thing aboot the spring and summer months is the BBQ. There is nothing more relaxing than being in someone's backyard, with a pile of meat on the grill, a ton of alcoholic beverages, and your nearest and dearest shooting the shit. Even when they aren't near or dear, strangers are always good for a few yucks as well. A friend of mine took bratwurst, let them soak in beer for a day, and then threw them on the grill with a few onions and some butter. They were delightful.


When I had kibitzed aboot the Sunday morning show last week, Meet the Press being a must watch goes without saying. One of the Presidential candidates was on yesterday and it's amazing how much more you can learn aboot them, where they stand, and what they think when they are talking for sixty minutes instead of sixty seconds. Some issues require a degree of nuance that you can't get in a sound byte. Plus, Tim Russert is the best interview on television. Hopefully he doesn't say anything to piss off Rev. Sharpton that will get him fired.


The funniest line of the week so far: "We need to send her brother whey protein. Apparently they don't have GNC's in Baghdad.


I wake up every Sunday morning so I can go to church and pray, but after some of my Saturday nights things just don't turn out that way. I think even the Good Lord; He understands that I'm at that point in my career. I don't sell a lot of records, but they sure sell a lot of beer. Hey, hey, what's your favorite song? Hey, hey, everybody sing along. We're just one big redneck family, at least while we're in here. I don't sell a lot of records but I sure sell a lot of beer.


My hair is just long enough to where I can enjoy having the wind blow through it, but not so long that it's blowing in my face. I like to drive fast down a stretch of open road, with the radio and the wind loud enough that I can't hear myself singing, so I can't hear how bad I am. I was belting out Toby Keith yesterday, and it was good.


Speaking of BBQing, nothing beats the smell of burgers grilling over charcoal.


Eighteen percent approval rating? I'll give you eighteen percent of my foot in your ass.