Deadly Deadly Max Tyson

Monday, Dec. 15th. It began as most things do, with a phone call. This particular phone call was Jami calling from the driveway to tell me she was ready to leave. I missed it. I was pooping. After successfully completing my bathroom transaction I grabbed my bag and headed down. The snow was still falling heavily, as it had been for the past three days. Luckily Jami Lee was giving me a ride to the Redmond airport, for my trip south to slightly more temperate climes.

My first flight was the regular hop to portland, and it was delayed significantly by the snow. It was neat though because it was in the OSU Beavers athletics plane. By the time I arrived in the terminal my next flight was already boarding. Luckily I pack like the manly man I am, and I had only a carry on so I was able to board without worrying about the fate of my luggage. This flight was from Portland to San Jose International in the great state of CA. It was not pleasant. Sitting right behind me was a fat white woman wearing muslim head scarves, which annoyed me to begin with. How dare she be fat. To add injury to insult, she had a fat LOUD son with her. He had never heard of indoor voices, and he liked to talk. Mostly asinine questions and imperious demands. I told the gentleman sitting next to me that it was going to be a long flight. He agreed wholeheartedly. I suppose the flight crew were of a like mind too, because they made the unprecedented move of offering complimentary beer and wine for the entire flight. When I arrived in CA my blinding rage was partially satiated, but I was also 3 sheets to the wind.

Uncle Rob picked me up at the airport and brought me to his ranch for the night. Let me tell you a bit about uncle Rob. He is my godfather, and was my dad's roomate in the airforce academy until he was kicked out. "Unadaptable to a military environment" I believe. He graduated from a civilian university and became an underwater engineer and diving surveyor. During his career he made his fortune and broke his neck. He dated many foxy ladies until his hair turned white and his belly grew large, and then he retired and settled down alone on his families ancient ranch. When I say ancient, I mean it was built before electricity. It still has no shower, just an old bathtub. While I was there not even that worked because his water main had exploded. What it does have his hundreds of acres of wilderness, and many many many dead stuffed animal heads and pelts. Bro-cave.

After sleeping in my alaska grade sleeping bag (no heat in ranch either) I woke up and we began our trip. Rob and my dad's old friend and academy classmate Scotty picked us up and we started driving south. We went through hills and valleys, through a town that smelled strongly of garlic and oil fields that smelled strongly of petroleum anus. Once we were far enough south we cut across the Mojave desert on the old rt 66, which we followed or paralleled across the colorado river into the mountains of arizona. Due to a nighttime snowstorm we got stuck in the mountains somewhere for the night. In the morning we cut through to new mexico and on to colorado Springs.

In C-springs I met 2 more of my dad's old academy classmates, and they treated us to drinks and dinner. The things they told me about my dad were a revelation. He was.....me. That is to say, he was an iconic pillar of garbage in his community and he loved adventures, women, and jokes. Im proud to say that the acorn did not fall far from the tree, and I had never even known he was such an esteemed gentleman. Thursday morning we got up and went to visit the air force academy, so they could reminisce about the terrible things they did and I could see a bit of history. Then Rob, Scotty and I bid fairwell to Colorado and went back to New Mexico.

We went to the T.O Ranch, a famous working cattle ranch that also provides guided hunts for various big game on its 300,000 plus acres. Already arrived were 4 other friends of Rob who would join us on our hunts, and the guides that would help us. Since I grow weary, I will tell you about our hunt another day. Goodnight.

Poopstain.

I feel compelled to explain something to you America, as I sit eating my meager bread-based suppertime treats. Allow me to put it into perspective first.

Central Oregon received its first noticable snowfall last night. Winter has finally come to Bend. Being a gainfully employed gentleman (barely) I had to rise from my nest early and drive across town. Oregonians have the strange habit of not plowing the roads. Not even main roads. If you're lucky you get a little bit of sand in the intersection, but more often than not its just fluffy powder or tightpacked ice sheet depending on how busy the roadway is. I guess they assume that people have 4 wheel drive, studded tires, and marginal winter driving ability. In practice this is most often not the case. Fortuitously I drive like a fox and was able to keep minitruck II dancing like a dervish in time to some throbbing bass lines on the Fm receiver.

Here is where my complaint comes in. The eclectic grooves of Earth Wind and Fire gave way and were replaced by the bane of all music lovers the world over. Christmas tunes.

Stay with me America. Let me explain. I love Santa Claws and the baby jesus just as much as the next guy. I long for the holidays, Christmas most of all. But the music, if it can really be called that is SO bad.

Lets break it down.

The lyrics: Outdated and overdone. There is only so much you can say about Santa and snowflakes and peace on earth America. What the fuck is a bough of holly? Who really cares about massacred pine trees dying a lingering death above some inadequate parents best attempt to buy the love of their snot nosed brat monsters?

The "artists": Just because Jessica Simpson decides to cover Jingle Bells doesn't mean that the song magically becomes cool. It just means that she somehow becomes even less so. Most legitimate artists understand this, which is why worthless no name artists proliferate in this ravenous QVC market. It seems like any person who's 4th grade music teacher said they really nailed that recorder concert way back in the day suddenly has delusions of talent, producing endless clone CDs of tone deaf caterwaulling. The sick part is that people buy them and radios play them. Why must we suddenly suspend all taste and good judgment as soon as something is labelled a "christmas song"? I've heard better noises listening in on unfriendly badgers screwing vigorously.

The music: I must have missed the memo the rest of you all seem to have received explaining that random bells and melodies a deaf inbred downs baby can write are actually enjoyable to listen to over and over and over and over and over and over and over.

12 days of christmas? No, there's one day. So shut up.
Little Drummer boy? Hes no John Bonham or Travis Barker, which means hes nobody at all.
Oh come let us adore him? Adore him silently before I karate chop you both in the throat bones.
Silent Night? Please yes.
Do you hear what I hear? Yeah. Shit.
Gloria in Excelsis Deo? Gloria can like my scrotum.
Nut Cracker, Nut March, Nut Overture, Nut Fair, Nut Trip, Nuts for you, Nuts, Nut Waltz, More Nuts, Chestnuts roast on an open fire? What the FUCK?
Here comes Santa Claus? Not if you don't can it and go to bed.
I'm dreaming of a white christmas? How about I'm dreaming about good music and its not this.

You get the picture. There are at least 30002 Christmas songs out there, and for some reason we are forced to listen to all of them every single year time and again. Personally I HATE it. And I hate you for allowing it to happen America.

Yesterday I went shopping, and it has taken me this long to recover enough to share my experience with you. My journey began and ended at a little shop in town. I think it's one of those family run businesses, or maybe a smaller local chain. 'Twas called Walmart.

The store was underwhelming, I was just there to get some competetively priced work boots. But the PEOPLE. Ohh the people. I was grossly out of place. You could tell I wasn't a regular for a few reasons.

I was not morbidly obese.
(Or if not obese then auschwitz victim/meth addict thin)
I was not wearing sweatpants.
Or a camoflage jacket.
I did not have between 2 and 4 dozen children with me
I had all my teeth.
I did not have scraggly gross facial hair.
Neither did my knuckles drag on the ground nor did my forehead protrude dramatically nor did I become offended at geico commercials.

Surrounded on all sides by these slack-jawed cow-eyed yokels I thanked the gods profusely for having been given an fully functioning set of human DNA, an east coast education, and the fashion sense to wear clothing that neither proclaimed my nascar loyalties nor type of animal I enjoy slaughtering and eating.

Like zombies hungering for my vastly superior brain they shuffled toward me. I was only able to escape by outwitting them. By turning into the electronics aisle I lost them, knowing that their primitive culture shun such technology as sinful witchcraft. As they knelt screaming and tearing what little hairs they still had out of their skulls, or if they were female their chests I made my escape, my sexy new Brahma boots and dignity intact.

I am NOT doing any Christmas shopping. Maybe Online. Next year. After I recover some more.

Cooking is tricky

I think my toaster oven got hotter. Recently I keep burning my toast.

Just so you know.

Big things in the life of Max Tyson. Potentially.

- Nerd novel part 1 has been compiled. Part 2 claims it is better. Siblings.
- I got invited to meet with the president of TBD advertising again. My interview is next wednesday.
- For funny haha's I applied for an open news anchor position at the local fox affiliate a few days ago. Today I received an email from them asking for more information. I could be the man that is the person on the TV who is the one who tells the news to the people that watch.
- Completely depleting my bank account I bought tickets for plane flights that eventually lead me home to connecticut. I will be in the Bury Dec 22-28. Play with me.
- I'm fairly certain I'm moving out of the fortress of solitude into a house in town. Rent will be cheaper, I'll be living with friends, and I can act like a 23 year old, not an imprisoned desert hermit.
- I refuse to go grocery shopping again before my trip. I will surely starve.

That is all.

The True Story of Christmas

As you know I recently returned from an archeological expedition to the egyptian desert. While there my crew found a previously unknown pyramid. Within the sarcophagus no body lay, just some stone tablets covered in a hitherto untranslated ancient language. Back in my lab I was able to obtain the little known twin to the rosetta stone, the evil rosetta stone. On it are inscribed the worlds most evil languages. Since two of those are southern redneck and latin, and one was the language of the pyramid stones translation became a relatively simple affair. The stones contain a fantasmagorical story of irrefutable truth. The actual story of Christmas.

The stones speak of an ancient alien culture that once existed here on earth, the lost civilization of Atlantis. The Atlanteans were an advanced people, yet they were prone to greedy squabbles. Chief among the Atlanteans was a great inventor by the name of Santa Claws. As one of the foremost minds of his time, Santa Claws warned his people to change their errant ways but he was ignored. Fearing the consequences of the activities of his proud race, Santa fled the island with his wife Misses Claws. It was lucky they did, for soon after their flight, Atlantis became embroiled in a brief but bitter civil war. The results of this conflict were many and varied. Atlantis was lost beneath the waves, along with their science and philosophy. Ohh and the dinosaurs died.

Now Santa and his wife were justifiably upset to be the last of their kind, doomed to live among the barbaric human race, but their grief was tempered by a small blessing. Misses Claws was pregnant. She soon gave birth to a beloved son, Jesus Claws. Due to translation issues over time his name has been bastardized to read as Jesus Christ.

Now as an advanced species, Santa and Misses soon became rulers of this world, maintaining many estates and residences across the continents. These are the worlds ancient pyramids. They remained benevolent yet aloof towards their human neighbors, who in their childish ingnorance had begun worshipping them as Gods. Jesus, being a rebellious youth, began consorting with humanity against his parents wishes. For a time all was well, as humanity enjoyed the use of his sorcerous teknologies and knowledge. Soon we became jealous of his gifts however, and after a night of heavy drinking and partying brutally murdered Jesus Claws/Christ.

Overwhelmed with grief and rage about his only son's death Santa Claws' mind was lost. Using his most arcane teknologies Santa forged an enormous space sleigh. Imbued with the chained essences of eight great horned demons the sleigh can travel the miasma of the warp between worlds, giving Santa power over both space and time. With his loyal wife and an army of genetically bred miniscule servants he left the world of man for the frozen wastes of the North pole. Here he remains to this day, planning and plotting his terrible vengeance on mankind. Once a year on the anniversary of his son's birth Santa releases his dreaded Grinch, and using the vile powers of his demon sleigh leaves his icy fortress to present the innocent children of man with diabolical gifts, in the hopes that they might choke on the small parts or become murderous with rage over ill-fitting and unattractive clothing.

So read the stones, and so it was. Now you know the actual story of Christmas.

Don't worry about it

I did the math, and it turns out I watched eleven hours of cartoons yesterday. I thought you should know.