Catfight: Clete Thomas vs. Don Kelly


In the battle for the final roster spot for a position player on your Detroit Tigers, it seems that Don Kelly has beaten out Clete Thomas to be this year’s token untalented white guy off the bench. While it is no secret that Your Party Host wishes that both men had been aborted by their mothers, it is only fair that I do a complete breakdown on them to try and see if the team made the right decision. Let’s take a look in a bit that I’m going to start calling “Catfight”.

Given Name
Clete: Mike Thomas
Kelly: Don Kelly
Advantage: Push. You don’t get much more boring than those names.

Hitting Ability
Clete: Hahahahahahaha…
Kelly: Bwaaaaaaaaa, hahahahahaha…
Advantage: Clete. Slightly. Nothing to be proud of…did you ever see the South Park when they are choosing between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich to be the school mascot? It’s kind of like that.

College
Clete: Auburn
Kelly: Point Park College, a liberal arts college in Pennsylvania
Advantage: Clete. Don Kelly is a hippie…who knew?

Age
Clete: 26
Kelly: 30
Advantage: Clete. After 30, it’s not cool to nail 19 year olds anymore. It becomes creepy. I don’t agree or understand it either, but that’s what everyone tells me. Oh, plus it is better to be younger in baseball or something.

Memorable Tiger Moment
Clete: Walk off homer against Baltimore in August, 2009.
Kelly: Losing a fly ball in the ceiling of the Metrodome contributing to us losing the 2009 AL Central title.
Advantage: Clete. F-ck you, Don Kelly.

Famous Namesake
Clete: Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel
Kelly: Don Johnson
Advantage: Kelly. Sonny Crockett was the man back in the day.

Can Play
Clete: Outfield
Kelly: Anywhere…will possibly be available for birthdays and bat mitzvahs if you throw in a free hot dog.
Advantage: Kelly

Coolest Name of a Minor League Team He Played For
Clete: Erie SeaWolves
Kelly: Tuscon Sidewinders
Advantage: Kelly…only because he also played for the SeaWolves. And both played for the Mud Hens and Whitecaps.

Got First Shot In Detroit Replacing…

Clete: Curtis Granderson (due to injury)
Kelly: Clete Thomas (due to Clete being terrible)
Advantage: Clete. C’mon. Grandy is still loved here at the DNR.

Career Stats

Clete: .253 Avg, 8 HR, 48 RBI, .336 OBP, 89 OPS+ in 443 plate appearances.
Kelly: .217 Avg, 0 HR, 3 RBI, .301 OBP, 53 OPS+ in 94 plate appearances.
Advantage: Clete. Holy hell, I cannot believe that so many of you want Don Kelly to make this team. Sure he can play a lot of positions. But he is horrible. Horrible! The PITTSBURGH FRICKIN’ PIRATES RELEASED HIM, FOR CRISSAKES!

Survey Says:
And by a score of 6-3 (with one tie), Clete Thomas is your winner! Congrats, Clete. But sadly, Your Party Host is not in charge of this team. Ryan Raburn can play anywhere as poorly at defense as Kelly, so I think Thomas should have got the spot. Who cares if Kelly doesn’t have any options left? Would anyone want him? And wait…am I defending Clete Thomas? Man, this whole Nate being traded thing has me off my rocker…

Good luck in 2010, gentlemen. I honestly cannot wait to make fun of you both for another season.

Nate Traded For Magic Beans


Good night, sweet prince.

Really? I come back early only to see Our Hero shipped off to the Marlins with cash for, wait for it...ANOTHER lefty reliever? This is not how things were supposed to go down. So much comic material...wasted!

The Tigers sent Nate and his tender groin to Florida with cash considerations in return for Jay Voss, who was ranked by Baseball America as the Fish's 23rd best prospect. He is projected as being a lefty specialist out of the pen. One can only imagine the erection that Dave Dombrowski had while acquiring yet another left handed reliever. Really, Dave? W...T...F? You, sir, have a fetish problem with these lefties.

Voss split time between A ball and AA ball last year with a 2.72 ERA, 8.3 K/9, and 3.3 BB/9 according to mlbtraderumors.com. Welcome to Detroit, kid. Try not to piss me off.

In seven years with the Tigers, Nate went 51-68 with a 4.87 ERA. In 1042.2 innings pitched, he allowed 1149 hits, 145 homers, walked 374, and struck out 709. In other words, he sucked. And he is namesake of this blog due to being so terrible, yet almost universally loved by Tiger fans along with Brandon Inge and Clete Thomas.

However, Robertson was capable of eating innings and at times showed signs of being a decent middle-of-the-rotation starter. Nate was always described as a great guy off and on the field. I'm sure the Marlins are going to be happy with his presence in the clubhouse. And moving to the National League and playing for a new contract might just propel Nate into having a decent year in 2010.

So, that's it. Ding dong, Our Hero's dead.

And Nate, no hard feelings. I hope you win the NL Cy Young.

Do I need to change the blog name, now? Is deathtodonkelly.com taken?

Funnies ......

Happy Easter ......


This funny is a bit of an oldie but I think it's quite funny so I hope you will enjoy it...

After three weeks in the Garden of Eden,
God came to visit Eve. 'So, how is everything going?' inquired God. 'Oh God, It is all so beautiful, ' she replied. ' The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking, the smells, the sights, everything is just so wonderful, but I have just one problem. It's these breasts you have given me. The middle one pushes the other two out and I am constantly knocking them with my arms, catching them on branches and snagging them on bushes. They're a real pain.' And Eve went on to tell God that since many other parts of her body came in pairs, such as her limbs, eyes, ears, etc. She felt that having only two breasts might leave her body more 'symmetrically balanced'.

'That's a fair point,' replied God, 'But it was my first shot at this, you know. I gave the animals six breasts, so I figured that you needed only half of those, but I see that you are right. I will fix it up right away.'
And God reached down, removed the middle breast and tossed it into the bushes. Three weeks passed and God once again visited Eve in the Garden of Eden. ' Well, Eve, how is my favourite creation?' 'Just fantastic,' she replied, 'But for one oversight. You see, all the animals are paired off. The ewe has a ram and the cow has her bull. All the animals have a mate except me. I feel so alone.' God thought for a moment and said, 'You know, Eve, you are right. How could I have overlooked this? You do need a mate and I will immediately create a man from a part of you. Let's see....where did I put that useless Tit?'
Now doesn't 'THAT' make more sense than the story about the rib?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Team Building Exercise ......



~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Man's goodness is a flame,
which can be hidden
- but never extinguished.
Nelson Mandela ...





Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love Kate xxx.

Funnies and Blethers ...





Hi Folks,



A married couple were on holiday in Jamaica . They were touring around the market-place looking at the goods and when they passed a small sandal shop. From inside they heard the shopkeeper with a Jamaican accent say, 'You foreigners? Come in. Come into my humble shop.'

So the married couple walked in. The Jamaican said to them, 'I 'ave some special sandals I tink you would be interested in. Dey makes you wild at sex.'
Well, the wife was really interested in buying the sandals after what the man claimed, but her husband felt he really didn't need them, being the Sex God that he was. The husband asked the man, 'How could sandals make you a sex freak?'

The Jamaican replied, 'Just try dem on, Mon.'
Well, the husband, after some badgering from his wife, finally gave in and tried them on. As soon as he slipped them onto his feet, he got this wild look in his eyes, something his wife hadn't ever seen before !

In the blink of an eye, the husband grabbed the Jamaican, bent him over the table, yanked down his pants, ripped down his own pants, and grabbed a firm hold of the Jamaican's thighs.


The Jamaican began screaming: ' Nooo! You got dem on de wrong feet! '


~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

I found this next item in another blog and when I came across it, it reminded me of my first house after I got married and left my parents home it was a tiny flat, we had a small living room and bedroom and a wee hallway, what we didn't have' was a bathroom (blimey never mind a bathroom, we didn't even have a toilet). We had to go out of the flat into the main passageway of the building and in order to use the toilet which was at the end of the closemouth at the back of the building. (The only good point about it was that at least we were the only people to use it and didn't have to share it with other families).... When I read this poem it brought back a lot of memories .....

That Little House Out Back ...

There's been a lot of landmarks victimized by passing years.
For one though , nearly obsolete, there's been no rush of tears.
It played its part in history, it was a friend in need to all mankind,
both rich and poor who did his daily deed.
For an endangered species there has been a lack, To save it for posterity -
That little house out back.

Now some were built with just one seat, others three or four of different sizes.
Some for kids were built close to the floor. It was a place to smoke or think,
Or dream at close of day, while looking through the catalogue, At what was on display.
But icy winds of winter that would whistle through a crack,Discouraged one to loiter
In that little house out back.

They were all alike in some respect, yet differed one and all
Construction didn't matter much at times when nature'd called
some were fancy, some were plain, some painted red or white,
All had a well - used beaten trail that led there day or night.
Though some were open to the wind, of privacy a lack,
It served its useful purpose ~ it did
That little house out back.

Preserved now in museums, you 'll find it on display,
The artifacts of pioneers, used in an early day. From furniture to farming tools,
And rigs for thrashing grain, and shoes of oxen pulling,
Covered wagons' cross the plain.
And logging gear, and ancient locomotives on the track.
Yet, how often have we seen preserved,
That little house out back?

(Author Unknown).

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Friendship is like a china cup
once broken - it can be mended
but the crack is always there."

Nozipho Buthelezi...





Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love, Kate xxx.

6 Fake Advertisements Based on Real Products







A Strange Visitor From the East


For those of you too young to remember (d-bags), Carnac the Magnificent was a character played by the late, great Johnny Carson on the old “Tonight Show”, back before Jay Leno ruined the program. (Sorry, I’m with Coco.) Carnac was a psychic that held envelopes to his head and would give the answer to a question written on a piece of paper sealed in the envelope. He would then open the envelope and read the question. The also late, not-as-great, Ed McMahon was Carson’s sidekick throughout the skits. It was much funnier than it sounds…check it out on youtube if you’re still lost. David Letterman has also done the schtick in the past.

Anyways, in later years, a guy who used to write on the net named Chris Hyatte would rip off the bit and I always got a laugh out of it. And since the only original bone in my body is neglected and unwanted by any female I come into contact with, I’m going to rip off everyone in my attempt at applying Carnac to the Detroit Tigers.

I give you “Rogo-nac, The Tremendous”. Brace yourself.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for a visit from a great stranger from the East. It is the all-seeing, all-knowing, sage, soothsayer, the man who taught Don Kelly how to hit…I give you Rogo-nac, The Tremendous!

/Rogo-nac enters and trips on the stage.

Are you okay, Great One?

Fine, you twit. Let’s get going with this.

Yes, sir. I hold in my hand a pile of envelopes. A child of four can see that they are hermetically sealed and have been kept hidden deep in Lloyd McClendon’s scouting reports of opposing pitchers, where no one would possibly look for or find them. We now ask you, great Rogo-nac, to use your divine powers to give the answer before opening the envelope and reading the question. Are you ready?

Indeed.

Hermetically sealed…

Yup.

In Lloyd McClendon’s scouting reports…

If such things exist. Give me the first envelope.

Ladies and gentlemen, the first envelope!

Rogo-nac must have complete silence.

Most times, Rogo-nac gets nothing but complete silence.

May you come home drunk to Miguel Cabrera’s wife.

Ha, ha, ha, ho!

/puts envelope to forehead

Made in Taiwan.

Made…in Taiwan, okay.

/rip…poof

Who did Fu-Te Ni lose his virginity to?

HO, HO, HO, a maid in Taiwan! Brilliant!

/puts envelope to forehead

Spic and span.

/rip…poof

What was the centerfield platoon of the Twins last year?

HA HA HA…you’ve used that one before, oh seemingly racist one.

May Lynn Henning criticize your personal life. Next one.

/puts envelope to forehead

Coke, Washburn, and Grilli

/rip…poof

Name a pop, a flop, and a wop.

Ho, ho, ho, Jason Grilli was terrible, sir.

/puts envelope to forehead

An ugly orangutan.

/rip…poof

What do you get if you cross Gerald Laird with an orangutan?

Heh, heh…not a great effort, mighty one.

May a fellow blogger want to set you up on a blind date with her friend.

/puts envelope to forehead

Brandon Lyon

Brandon…Lyon. Yes, sir.

/rip…poof

What was Inge doing when he blamed his knees for his production dropping in the second half?

HO, HO…that lying little bastard can’t hit, can he, Great One?

May your general manager commit over $30 million to three washed up starters.

/puts envelope to forehead

Nate Robertson, a slider, and Kevin Youkilis.

/rip…poof

What is filthy rich, Bondo’s pitch, and Porcello’s bitch?

HA, HA, HA…YES! So witty!


/puts envelope to head


Johnny Damon’s contract and Dontrelle Willis’ welcome.

/rip…poof

What is overpaid and what is overstayed?

Heh, heh…preach on, evil one.

May you attend a basketball game with Gerald Laird’s grandfather.

Ho, ho…that perverted, old fart.


May you be stuck in an elevator with Rod Allen. Next envelope, please.

/puts envelope to head


Jacob Turner, Randy Smith, and Fu-Te Ni.

Turner, Smith, and Ni…


/rip…poof

Name a hope, a dope, and a slope.

Oooooooh…resorting to racism again, are we? You’re better than that, sir!

May Dane Sardinha meet your girlfriend while you are at work.

May your home city be not cosmopolitan enough for an ex-stripper.

May your personal life be ruined by blowing a .09.

Ho, ho, nice trifecta there, oh mighty one. Your next one.

/puts envelope to head

Sweet and sour shrimp.

/rip…poof

What do you call a moody Will Rhymes?

Har, har…he is tiny and untalented, Great Rogo-nac. Scrappy, he is!

May you discover your closet full of Dombrowski’s sweaters.

/puts envelope to head

Section 204 at US Cellular Field.

Ooh…

/rip…poof

What is 40 feet long, has 10 teeth, and smells like dog piss?

HO, HO, HO! Filthy Sox fans, yes, sir. Good one.

/puts envelope to head


Buzzsaw Craig Monroe.

Buzzsaw…Craig Monroe?

/rip…poof

Who did Buzz see working the grill at McDonalds the other day?

HEYOOO…low blow, my friend. Poor Craig…

May Joel Zumaya show up to your keg party.

/puts envelope to head


Jim Leyland’s lungs.

/rip…poof


What were the only black things not traded or released from the Tigers in the
offseason?

Yikes! Ho, ho…maybe too far, Rogo-nac.

May your team count on Aubrey Huff to ignite the offense.

Ugh…

May you be told that you resemble Bobby Seay or Jason Kubel.

/puts envelope to head


Justin Credible

/rip…poof


What does Rick Knapp say if JV makes it through six innings at under a hundred pitches?

Ooh…I think you’re beginning to lose steam, sir. We should finish up.

May your number one fan call himself “schwangfoo”.

/puts envelope to head


Magglio Ordonez, Avila’s glove, and Samuelsen’s blog.

Uh oh…

/rip…poof

What is looking fit, a catcher’s mitt, and a pile of sh-t.

YOWZA! Ho, ho, ho…genius!


May your posts be heavily edited by The Bleacher Report.

/puts envelope to head

Back, crack, and sack.

/rip…poof

What are problems for Carlos Guillen, Josh Hamilton, and Nate Robertson?

Ho, ho…poor Nate and his groin. Can’t you leave him alone?


Shut up. May you be forced to teach Bondo a third pitch.

/puts envelope to head


Ozzieball.

Haha…Ozzieball.

/rip…poof

Who do I despise and where do I want to kick him?

Ho, ho…kick Ozzie Guillen in the nuts, oh awesome one.

/puts envelope to head


Ernie Harwell, Bondo in the 1st, and Jen from Old English D.

Bracing myself, sir…

/rip…poof

Name the all-time best, a frustrating test, and an annoying pest.

HEYOOOO, HO, HO! YES! You are the greatest, Rogo-nac!


May your manager leave the closer in for a fourth inning of relief.

Ouch. Game 163 still hurts, sir.

May you get stuck teaching spoiled brats in Connecticut.

Heh, heh, poor Blake. Oh, Great One, I hold in my hands the last envelope!


(audience roars)


Finally!


May Lloyd McClendon try to teach you to hit left-handers.

Ho, ho…

May your city’s prized NFL free agent be Pacman Jones.

Ewww…


May Clete Thomas bat third for your baseball team in a pennant race.

Please, Great One. The envelope.

May your untalented third basemen be worshipped by thousands of fat, white girls.

/holds envelope to forehead


Ajax’s skill, Gibby’s hobby, and Damon’s wife.

/rip…poof

What is to bunt, to hunt, and a c-nt. Seeya.

HYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! HO, HO…thank you, Rogo-nac the Tremendous! Visit us again, oh Great One!

Well, Look What The Cat Dragged In

Yup. I’m back already. Just call me the Casey Fien of the Tiger blogosphere. You can’t get rid of me that easily.

So, I thought it would be for the best to take some time away from my soapbox of Nate-Hate to take care of the issues that have recently wrecked havoc on my personal life. As it turns out, things aren’t going to be as time consuming (at least right now) as I thought they would be. Sure, down the line I’m going to have to serve some jail time take a small break again, but for now, I can see no reason why we can’t continue to have fun with the Tigers at the good ‘ol DNR.

But to do this, we need to establish some new ground rules around here. Let a brother explain.

While I was being truthful in thinking I needed a break from writing on here due to the personal stuff, there was another reason that I stopped, as well. The thing is, I just wasn’t happy writing about the Tigers anymore. I actually started to hate it. And as soon as I felt that I had an out, I took it.

I started this little blog to entertain myself and some friends of mine. Over time, I felt the need to be more like the other Tiger blogs out there and occasionally get away from the humor stuff that I enjoy doing. And while reporting news and doing serious analysis is fine for other blogs (and the vast majority of them do a fine job) it’s just not for me. The DNR 25 thing that I was doing, quite frankly, bored the crap out of me. The Tiger Droppings, while funny in my opinion, put a weekly deadline on myself that became a burden. So, I’m done with all of that. Baseball is a game, people. It shouldn’t be taken as seriously as so many people do.

And let’s be honest, kids. If you’re coming to a blog called “DesigNate Robertson” and you’re looking for news, you probably should stick a lawn dart in your eye and save us all some trouble.

Basically, I’m going to stick with what I do best. And I’m going to stick with what I enjoy:

I’m going to make fun of Brandon Inge.

I’m going to second guess every decision that Jim Leyland makes.

I’m not going to be politically correct.

I’m going to call it as I see it, no matter how unpopular it is.

I’m going to make fun of Clete Thomas.

I’m going to make fun of stupid things written about the Tigers.

I’m going to keep pointing out that Don Kelly is horrible at baseball.

I’m going to do the “Keeping Score” thing that I did last season from time to time.

I will occasionally try to write something to make you think. (maybe)

I’m going to wish death by fire on Nate Robertson while maybe secretly pulling for him at the same time.

And I’m going to try to come up with some new ways to keep you kids entertained during the 162 game trek we call the baseball season. Let’s have some fun.

If anyone out there reading this has a problem with any of that, piss off. Stick to tigers.com and the freep. This blog is not for you.

Let me end on this. To those of you that texted me, left a kind word here on the blog, or emailed me your thanks and support, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart. While “Rogo, Your Party Host” may be a prick and may say goofy things from time to time, Scott Rogowski, the person, appreciates every nice comment and all the support you have sent. You guys rule. Thank you for reading and caring.

To those of you that quietly lurk out there and check out this blog from time to time, I thank you, too.  I hope you get some entertainment out of it and welcome you here anytime.

As for the rest of you, crawl up a bear’s ass and die.

We’re going to have some fun around here from now on.  I'll do my best.  Stay tuned.

Childhood Stories of Rob ...

Oor Wullie from the 'Sunday Post' Newspaper - This is how I picture Rob (full of mischief) in his childhood days ......



Hi Folks,


This morning I was treated to a couple of tall tales from my better half (Rob) I say tall tales but in actual fact these stories (according to Rob) are true - and to be honest I do believe they are. Rob is now in his mid-seventies and like most folk who are older he remembers things a lot clearer from 'way back when' than 'what happened yesterday' ... seriously, it's true!

But anyway...... He was telling me about what he and his pals did when he was about 10/11 years old, now if I had been his mother I would have been pulling out my hair in panic, but his mum too had of course been brought up in a totally different age (in the days before kids had to wear all sorts of headgear and padded leggings to comply with safety rules ) she took most of his and his brother's escapades as sort of normal - though she could, and did, a number of times according to Rob, give them an occasional wallop with anything she had handy, mind you - knowing Rob she would have had to - that's not to say that he would not have continued to do what 'he wanted to' regardless.

He lived on the east side of the city of Glasgow with his parents and most of the rest of his 8 brothers and sisters in a 2 bedroomed flat - it was nearby a railway bridge which was approximately 30 feet up from the ground and from the age of 10 he and his compatriots used to climb up to the underside of the railway bridge and then manage to manoevour their way along underneath the bridge .... having great fun swinging like monkeys .

As I said they would be 30 feet up and hanging upside down, traffic was flowing across the roads below them and they were climbing between the spaces, some as small as a couple of feet then eventually when they had managed that, they would climb upwards to daylight again to cadge lifts on a slowly passing train or maybe just rake through any treasure they found up at the top ... they could wander along the railway lines checking out where there were any pieces of black gold (coal) which they could then carry back home with them in sacks which they carried with them well ...... Scotland can be a really cold place at times and no doubt his mum would be appreciative of some free coal to put on the fire...

I could just picture him getting up to this and many more exploits he has told me about. Thinking about it I wonder how he and his many pals managed to survive to adulthood. It was definitely a different world back then and although there were a lot of kids who got up to devilment as Rob says most of them did survive.

Me? well...... I 'did' climb on the top of the dustbin houses at flats we used to live at when I was young and jump from the top of one dustbin house to the other - but that, apart from sailing on a piece of wood with my brother across a water pond in the grounds of the Cleansing Department land is the extent of my wildness...... I was too much of a coward you see !



Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love Kate xxx.

How a Fish Almost Destroyed My Childhood

When I was seven, my family moved from suburban California to rural Idaho.   In an effort to embrace Northern Idaho culture, my dad took me fishing at a lake near our house.   I was really excited.


Mostly because I thought that I would get to keep the fish I caught as a pet.  


My dad spent all day showing me how to thread a worm and cast a line.  


Every second, I expected to feel a pull on my hook and reel in my new best friend.  It never happened.  


I was heartbroken.  Even though I never got to meet my fish friend, it felt like he had been forcibly taken from me.  My hopes were crushed.  As my dad was desperately trying to console me, a kindly fisherman took note and offered to let me have one of the fish he had in his bucket. 


I was ecstatic!  My mind immediately composed a vivid montage of all the fun times I would have with my new friend. 

The fisherman set his bucket on the dock and let me pick out my fish.  I chose the cutest fish I could find and lovingly transferred it to my own bucket.   "Hi," I whispered; "My name is Allie.  I'm your new best friend."   

Once we got home, my dad went to take a nap and I carried my fish's bucket out into our backyard.   I set the bucket down and ran as fast as my excited little legs could carry me to fetch a shovel.  


  

I set my friend free in his new home and watched him swim around for awhile.  I felt so pleased with myself for transporting this humble little fish from his old life of poverty and hardship to a new life with his very own pond and all the bread pieces he could eat.  

After making sure that my fish was comfortable and happy, I went inside to make toys and furniture for him.  I glued toothpicks and popsicle sticks together to form miniature chairs and tables.  My fish was going to love his new home!  I was so excited for him.  

An hour or so later, I proudly carried the things I made outside to give to my fish.  


As I got closer to the pond, I could already sense that there was something wrong.  There were no happy splashing sounds.  I couldn't see the water over the top of hole I'd dug.  I dropped the fish furniture I had made and broke into a run.  

When I reached the pond, I was horrified to discover that most of the water had been absorbed into the ground.  My fish was lying on its side, flopping around in about a half-inch of mud-water.  


WHAT HAD I DONE????  I immediately got the hose and started spraying my fish with a stream of cold water.  


I filled up the hole and waited.  My fish floated belly-up in the murky water.  Every now and then he would thrash around and try to turn himself over unsuccessfully.  I tried to help him stay right-side up by holding him in the correct orientation and then releasing him gently, but he always flopped back over lifelessly.  It became clear that he wasn't going to make it.  

I knew what I had to do.  

I went inside and got my mom's butcher knife.  


I didn't want my fish to suffer.  I had to be brave for him.  I had to do the right thing and finish what I started.  I drug the fish over to our brick patio and prepared to end its life as quickly and painlessly as I could. 


I held the blade high over my head.  It glinted in the sunlight as I tried to steady my nerves.   


I took a deep breath and brought the knife down as hard as I could. 


 I barely dented my fish.  It flopped around as urgently as a half-dead fish can, as if to say "OHMYGODI'MBLEEDING!!!!!! WHAT THE F*CKING F*CK ARE YOU DOING???? IF YOU'RE GOING TO DECAPITATE ME, DO IT!!! KIIIIIIIIIILLLLL MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

I began to frantically hack at it, over and over, like a berserk war machine.  

 

I couldn't kill it.  My pathetic 7-year-old muscles could not sever the fish's head.  I needed help. 

I ran inside and woke up my dad.  

Imagine, for a second, that you are peacefully slumbering after a nice day of bonding with your young daughter - who you think is playing peacefully out in the yard.  You are warm and comfortable and feeling secure about your life.  And then you are abruptly woken up by this:


Upon discovering that his daughter was crying and covered in blood, my dad became visibly distressed.  He asked me what was wrong and if I was okay and where did all the blood come from? But all he could get out of me were half-sentences interrupted by hyperventilation and random screaming.  

I was eventually able to drag him out to the patio where the fish was still flopping around heroically, spattering blood all over our new brickwork.  My dad told me to go inside.  

From under the covers of my parent's bed, I could hear metal strike brick.  Just once.  Then my dad came back inside and sat down on the bed next to me.  He patted me on the head and asked me if I wanted fish tacos for dinner.   

Dreams and Memories ...


Dreams and Memories .........


Hi There,


When I visited lom's site earlier I saw that she had related a dream she had had, this gave me a bit of a shake as it caused my memory to click in... Now I don't normally remember what I dream about but the one I had last week was special. In the dream was my sister Dorien, who died nearly a year ago and the morning after my dream I wakened with the certain feeling that I had just been visiting her (or she had visited me). The dream didn't bother me in fact I felt comforted by it, Dorien had actually seemed really relaxed and happy in the dream. This is where some folk will now be convinced that I am doolally but Hey ...... too bad, it's the truth !

Now before Dorien died our sister in law 'P' took Dorien's dog to live with her and our brother as Dorien could no longer cope with her pet due to all the treatments and hospital visits she had to attend but she knew that her dog would be happy in her new home as they are doggy folk too and the dog did soon settle down with my Brother and Sister in law and their dogs.

In the dream Dorien and I were wandering around a seaside place and with us was a dog (as I said Dorien loved dogs so this was not unusual) we walked around and Dorien was showing me around. As I said already the dream relaxed me and I felt more settled than I had since she had died. I had been thinking about the dream since and was wondering what, apart from settling my mind, the dream meant... That was last week!

A few days ago I had a telephone call unexpectedly and totally out of the blue from my other brother who told me that my sister in law who with my youngest brother was looking after Dorien's dog had died. My sister in law was someone who would do anything for anyone and she was one of life's MacGives and not a MacTake if you know what I mean and I know she will be missed dreadfully by everyone she came into contact with.

It was only this morning that I made any connection with the dream... Dorien and our sister in law were quite close and - I know I am possibly adding 2 and 3 and making 12 but as I said I don't normally remember my dreams as a rule and have now made the connection between Dorien and my poor sister in law - taking the dream as a kind of forewarning that something was about to happen but at the same time kind of letting me know that all would be OK......

I know that it's said that 'the good folk are taken early' and I do accept that our ' clan numbers' will need to be reduced as time passes - but could I please take this opportunity to put in a request to the 'Big Man' upstairs :

" Please God, try to put a hold on the numbers meantime - I know that you may have need of them up there but please .... may we have a wee bit more time together before their appointments with you are due. "



Cheers from the land of the Tartan, Love Kate xxx.

The Awkward Situation Survival Guide



Awkward silence

You are talking to an acquaintance or having dinner with your coworkers.  The conversation suddenly comes to a crossroads and no one knows where to steer it.  The silence has extended past the 6-second mark and the awkwardness is increasing exponentially.  Worst of all, you were the last person to speak, so everyone thinks the awkwardness is your fault.

The Solution:  Sudden, loud noise


Foot-in-mouth

You are having a great time, talking loudly, feeling like the life of the party.  You are soaring on wings of confidence.  You get a little too bold.  Something offensive slips out.  


Now everyone is staring at you and your confidence implodes like a punctured balloon.  Suddenly you can't find anything to say.  You are nothing.  You are dirt.  Your soul is soaking up shame like a sponge and you are beginning to weigh the value of your friendships against the magnitude of your embarrassment.  

The Solution: Confuse... 


... or redirect... 


Getting caught staring

Sometimes you are ogling a pretty girl, sometimes you are trying to get a better look at a horribly misshapen person and sometimes you are just spacing out and your eyes happen to be pointing directly at someone.  


Whatever the case, when you are caught, you will feel shame.  Lots and lots of shame. 

The Solution:


Encounters with close talkers

Conversations with close-talkers are usually only awkward on your end. They could be telling you about how they found ten miniature unicorns in their backyard and all you are thinking about is whether your breath stinks and exactly how to angle your head so that you aren't breathing on them, but it still kind of looks like you are paying attention.

The Solution:


Unwanted conversation 

I am painfully bad at avoiding/extricating myself from this one.  I get sucked into all sorts of unwanted conversations about crazy political conspiracy theories, the annual budget for sports teams I don't care about, advanced scientific debates that I am woefully underprepared for and probing discussions about my breast health.  One time, on a Greyhound bus ride to Seattle, I talked to a woman I didn't know for 7 hours about her divorce because I couldn't figure out how to end the conversation.  

Generally, unwanted conversations happen unexpectedly, so there is very little you can do to avoid them. 



The Solution:  I have no idea; you tell me. 

Responding to someone who isn't talking to you 


The Solution:  You have several options