In six days the Domestic Despot and I will travel north to Dayton to watch Hank Williams, Jr. I am just as excited to see Ashley McBryde.

She really blows my dress up.

What is not to want about a whiskey-drinkin’, ass-kickin’, redheaded woman who sings like a bird?

I’ll take two, please.

Alas and alack, although the thought of the appetite remains, the truth of the here and now is not as scintillating.

The idle thoughts of an aging lothario.

I get excited when other people get excited.

It’s contagious.

It is good for the soul to put that kind of energy through your body, and playing music, and going to concerts and sporting events fill that void for me. We all have our channels for our energies.

Whatever gets you going, I don’t care what it is (just as long as it is not totally fucking gross and unholy), do it.

Do it now.

When you’re done, do it again.

I have pretty much lived my life doing what I wanted, travelled where I wanted, and found the one person amidst the milieu that I love more than myself.

Thanks again, God.

I am making a trip up to the Humane Society of Greater Dayton tomorrow to drop off some donation monies I have collected at gigs where I represent them. After three shows, I have close to two-hundred smackers to give them.

Pretty cool.

I saw a story on my phone where they just took in a litter of beagles. I better not

see them.

Karen would kill me.

My voice is starting to recover from the stress and small cold I caught last week.

Just in time for my show on Wednesday. As always, I have sent an email to the HLN Helpdesk to ask Robin Meade if she would like to show up at one of my nursing home gigs. Or any gig, for that matter.

So far, my entreaties have borne no fruit.

A nice shout out to the nice young lady at the dispensary today for the recommendation.


Blasting out of the bong and the pipe with 31.10 THC potency.


Definitely something I want to enjoy in the privacy of our home and patio rather than risk doing something stupid and shameful in public, like getting arrested and murdered in some small town where The Children of the Corn get their groceries.

Think about that for a second.

What would they buy?

Don’t be ridiculous.

I have been watching the British Open and missing my Dad something fierce. Throughout the year we were in each other’s ears with our commentary, and when every major would come around. We were there from Thursday to Sunday.

I hope Tiger isn’t done, but then again, I am a self-admitted romantic if ever there was one.

I guess as long as he can still stay in good enough shape to compete with today’s fields, head on.

Just my two cents, but I think it is Rory’s to lose.

What do you think, pops?

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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