Shot Down

I was reading through the Violent Farmer blog the other day, and I decided it needed a bit of historical perspective. I figured I needed to tell some stories from back when Paul drank a lot. I guess that doesn't make it much different than today though. Instead, I think I'll tell stories about when I used to drink a lot and laugh at Paul's drunken misfortune. My favorite times with Paul were when we were drinking and he'd fire on the women.

One night we were at a bar. Drinking and ogling women. And you know, that's what Paul does best. Drinks and ogles women. He'd probably be better off if he were better at something more practical like sex or fantasy baseball. But he's a helluva woman ogler.

Anyway, we were ogling women at this bar when we noticed a hot woman dancing like crazy. So we ordered up three more pitchers and watched some more. She was dancing like crazy. She was dancing with a bunch of different guys, some chicks, all by herself, and even took a pool cue for a spin. She danced for a long time, six or seven pitchers I'd guess, before she finally took a break. She sat down just a few tables away and downed some ice water in that strange, sexy way that only drunk guys can see. So Paul worked up his courage (by worked up his courage, I mean, slammed a couple glasses of beer) and sauntered (by sauntered, I mean staggered) over to her table.

He put his hand on the table and asked in his smoothest voice, "Would you like to dance?"

The incredibly hot, dancing woman finished her water, looked deep in Paul's eyes and replied, "I don't dance."

Now this might seem like the low point, and Paulie was inconsolable. But it could get worse.

A few days later we ventured out to another bar. Of course we decided we should have a few pitchers and ogle the women. We noticed a particularly hot chick sitting at the bar talking to her friends.

After seven or eight more pitchers, Paulie was making his move. He was chatting up her friends trying to get a little something going with her. Finally, he put on the full court press.

He asked her, "Hey, what's your name?"

She looked up and coolly replied, "I don't have a name."

Scared of Running Out

I've been drinking so I've decided to do another "Ask a Violent Farmer"



Scared of Running Out said...
Every time I take a bottle down and pass it around, there is always one less bottle on the wall. I have a phobia of running out, but can't quit taking them down. What should I do?


Dear Scared,

Why do you keep your beer on the wall? Maybe it's just me, but last time I checked Wall Beer is not up on most peoples popular list. I took a poll in the office and apparently the preferred place to store your beer is in a "Cooler". You should try this. I think it could make your whole beer passing experience much more enjoyable, but I digress.

In an effort to better advise you, I decided to do some hands on investigative research. I knew I was going to have to take down some very technical data, so I armed myself with a notebook, a pencil, and a t-shirt that said "Lookin for Booty".
Pre-beer passing experimentation, I took two shots of tequila (work was really pissing me off that day, plus I just like tequila). Much to my surprise none of the pubs that I visited kept their beer on the wall, so I settled for one out of the "Cooler". I passed around the first beer (the bar patrons were more than happy to pass beer with me in the name of science), and when it got back I saw that it was half full (I'm an optimist). I ordered two more shots of tequila and used the half full glass of beer as a chaser.
I repeated this whole process two more times then headed to the strip club.

The next morning I woke up in a tree wearing only my socks.
It took about an hour and a half for the Fire Department to get me down, and another twenty minutes to find my pants. It's all in a nights work for a scientific researcher.

I am proud to report that in spite of the harrowing experiences of the night, I was able to record some very interesting observations. Apparently, even though I was in a drunken stooper the entire night, I was able to write "I like boobies" on every page of my notebook.

So there you have it Scared:
a) keep your beer in a "Cooler", and
b) I like boobies

consider yourself advised


Sincerely,
Paul & the Violent Farmers

The Hung & I.
The only man with a head bigger than mine.

The Elvis Parade

As some of you may know last year I was coerced into dressing up as Elvis and riding on a float in the annual Elvis parade here in Kansas City. As expected, once my costume was completely donned I looked like a 12 year old Asian Elvis. I thank the lord that I can't find any pictures to share with you of that particular experience.

Well its Elvis parade time again, and (sorry ladies) I am not participating this year. I vowed never to go on a float dressed as Elvis again. Have you ever tried to stand up drunk on a moving float while doing Kung Fu kicks? The reason I'm bringing the parade to your attention is because of this years grand master. Usually they will get some local yokel to kick off the float fest, but not this year. No this year they nabbed an A-list talent to get it going. And who is this A-lister you ask? Let me give you a hint "She Bang She Bang". That's right guys this years Elvis parade grand master is none other than the great-

William Hung

The bad boy of American Idol himself. The Hungster.
Are you one of the lucky people that got one of the many "Hung for the Holidays" CD's that I gave out for Christmas last year?

I was supposed to go on a float trip tomorrow, but I'm going to have to make a slight detour now that I know that William Hung is going to be in town.


ps- check out Skeeter Masters blog to see more of the Hung

Ask a Violent Farmer

Last night I was drunk and browsing through my e-mail, when I came across an anonymous message. Like I said I was drunk so there's a good chance it wasn't even my e-mail. The message was sent by someone who was in desperate need of advice, and after reading it I thought that this must be a sign that I should start an advice column right here on the blog. So if you are in need of advice just leave me something in the comment section.
Here's my first crack at advising the unadvised:

Dear Violent Farmers,

I have a dead end job. I'm stuck and I work
for an idiot. Do you have any advice?

help me
"Grouchy in the Midwest"


Dear Grouchy,

I'm glad you contacted me. I'm very familiar with this problem, and
thus am the perfect person to ask for advice (oh man did I just say thus? Ha).

First get your butt up out of that cubicle and march straight to your car. Drive to the corner of Oak street and Main. There is a large brick building on the corner, and I need you to go into the parking lot and go around to the back of the building. When you get there look up. There should be a Taco Bell like right there. I need you to grab three Gorditas and a Choco Taco. Bring those back to me, because dude I'm freakin trashed and I gotta get some grub or I will be one hurtin puppy in the morning if you know what I mean.

Oh yeah the job thing. Sorry.

A wise man once told me ( I think his name was Bud- ha, get it Bud-wise like the beer if you put an r on the end and spell it different- ha).
Any way, I was at a bar and this old wise man says,

"Whipper Snapper (he was really old), do you know how women and dog crap are alike?
The older they get the easier they are to pick up."

That advice has stuck with me ever since, and this my friend Grouchy is the advice that I'm bestowing upon you now. Go straight down to the local bar after work, find an old chick that looks really rich, and make her your sugar momma. Quit your job and live happily ever after. All you'll have to do is have sex with the old broad once in a while, and scrape the corns off her feet every three weeks or so.

Sincerely,
Paul & the Violent Farmers

ps- don't forget the Gorditas
pps- and the Choco Taco

This is Sue. Doesn't she looks like someone's sweet old grandma? What could she be sitting there waiting for? Is it:
A) for some of her world famous chocolate chip cookies to come out of the oven.
B) taking a break from knitting some knitty things.
C) getting ready to go down to the Piggly Wiggly and get some evaporated milk.
or
D) waiting anxiously at the Bingo table with her lucky doll hoping the guy yells out I-19 next.

And the answer is...E) none of the above

Sue isn't waiting for any of these grandmotherly things to happen. She is actually waiting for the timer on the dishwasher to go off so she can grab all the dildos she just got done washing and show everyone on TV how bendable and easy to clean they are.

Sue is the host of "The Sunday Night Sex Show". I can't tell you what channel or time the show comes on (I'm assuming Sunday because of the name), because I keep forgetting things due to the electro shock therapy treatments I've been getting to try and burn the shows image out of my mind. On the fateful night that I came upon this frightful show I was drunk, and there was absolutely nothing else on worth watching. My interest was immediately peaked when I read the title. Usually anything to do with sex I'm willing to give a chance. When I read the little show synopsis that my cable company gives me, there was no mention of an eighty year old woman what so ever. Maybe it's just me, but I would think that this would be a key point to elaborate on when describing what your sex show is about.
Now I consider myself pretty open minded, but when I saw that old woman come out my jaw dropped and my expression was frozen. The first thing she did was start talking about bum sex, and I don't mean sex with homeless people. She was saying bum sex this, and bum sex that, and she just wouldn't shut up. I tried with all my might to look away but it was like watching a horrible train wreck and I didn't know weather to cry or cower in the corner. As if this wasn't enough she then proceeded to pull out a huge black dildo and starts telling every in TV land how versatile and great feeling it was as she waved it carelessly around in the air. Then she started to do some kind of try it before you buy it segment where she has these new products that she tries out on herself so we the consumes know which freakin toy works the best on eighty year old women without having to actually purchase it. This particular programs new toy was a mechanical mouth with a huge vibrating tongue that she starts pulling on with one of her old wrinkly hands right before she gets to talking about bum sex again. Thank God a commercial came on when it did, or I may have been frozen in that position with my eyes bugged out of my head forever.
I immediately ran upstairs and took a shower, because I knew that something very dirt had just happened.

And that my friends is my warning to you to go cautiously into watching new programs because they never tell you when there is going to be an eighty year old woman with a dildo taking about the joys of bum sex.

Odd Habit

For my birthday this last weekend I went with some friends to an amusement park.
It was hot.
I mean really hot.
Africa hot.
Anyway due to the heat I had to pull over at various times to go in the bathroom and splash some water on myself. It was during one of these splash sessions that I noticed an odd habit that one of the fellow amusement park visitors had.
Usually when I use the urinal I'll step up unbutton my fly and let'er rip. This particular odd habited guy was standing at the urinal with his pants and underwear all the way down at his feet. Now I'm not one to go looking at dudes while their peeing, but I couldn't miss this particular guy because his white ass was just hanging there out of place with everyone else's covered asses. I was a bit taken back that none of the others guys there were freeked out or even seemed to notice this guy standing in the middle of the urinal row with his ass just out there shining like he's leading Santas sleigh or something.

Is it just me or does anyone else find this weird and disturbing? Are there more guys out there that just drop their pants and let their ass blow in the wind while they pee? Shouldn't there be some kind of "NO SHOWING YOUR ASS TO THE OTHER DUDES" sign?

From that moment on I started just walking around hot instead of venturing into the bathroom and getting an unwanted surprise.