Talking Monkey Reveals Preference for Fez Hats over Pants

In the spirit of annoyance and irony in which I constantly dwell, I'd just to say F!%^ YOU!! to edited albums.

Currently reading Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Complete Sherlock Holmes". If any of you out there haven't read this fantastic collection of stories yet, consider yourself chastised and get your behinds to a bookstore.

I've come into possesion of a 1910 World's Fair shot-glass. The only striking feature about it is that it seems to be pieced together, the upper portion made of red glass and the base of clear. It's neat but, like most neat things, has no practical use.

I only have one good story about my Uncle Crazy, thus the stalling above (this whole blog is one big reminder of how bloody boring my life is).

It starts out on a typical day and I'm gonna guess here that my Uncle is about 10 which puts my Dad at about 8. Because it's your typical day my Uncle is throwing rocks at my Dad (as the older brother I typically used pinecones, but you set about picking on your sibblings with the projectiles you have, not those you desire). Having had a good deal of experience at being hit by rocks, my Dad seeks an immediate close by standing in front of the large picture window in front of the house. Displaying the lack of judgement that would later play a major role in his nickname, my Uncle threw another rock, breaking the picture window. My dad says he heard, as he was sprinting off the porch, my Uncle say to my Grandfather, "It's his fault! He moved!"