DON'T WORRY, BRYAN'S GOT THE CABOOSE
Please everyone save the following words from Hoff of, well, poignant scincerity for a time when you can sit back, open a fine bottle of Cabernet, and have a good cry because my boy really opens up.
August 30, 2006
Last night was a sad night indeed when we lost possibly my all-time favorite Eagles superstar due to the vagaries of the production parameters of this fragmenting of the audience to the cable television, carnivals, water parks...well, let's face it, Koy got canned b/c he didn't move his arms when he danced!
I tried (unsuccessfully I might add) to explain to my Eagles fan coworkers how and why Captain Neckbeard was my all-time favorite Eagle. Even the anecdote about his travelling/hygiene habits didn't sway them. You know, come to think of it, I'm starting to doubt whether you could squeeze even one ounce of human deceny from the whole lot of em. Let's just move on.
On a lighter note, the one guy w/ legs the same size as mine will finally no longer be wearing an Eagles jersey(Todd Pinkston). Let's face it, I love the Eagles more than almost anyone you'll ever meet and I don't want legs like mine playing for my squad. That is all. Pell, fix your misspellings on your damn blog.
Jeff "Hey Alonzo, I heard you suck almost as much as your blog" Evans
(The preceding was edited by Hells Pells Media Inc.)

A bowl of gazpacho at a restaurant on Mallory Square in Key West, Fla.























The Bob deep in thought
How can you not love this guy? I mean, you know he's going to say something that knocks you on your ass the second he opens his eyes. This is probably the last stages of a thought he's been batting around since he saw X Men two years ago. Here's a fact, Bob Norris is the name of the New Garden Township supervisor. New Garden is in southern Chester County. Bob has a great name for politics, not like me. I may change my name to Max Powers.























THE PRIDE OF IRELAND
I can't believe the idiots in charge of this fly-by-night operation haven't put up a picture of this guy, Michael "R" Kelly. This is a picture of him at his home in Clairton, Pa. During the day he leads a normal life, making coke to melt steel, but he moonlights as the commander of the Irish Death Watch Guards Brigade. He and his Irish companions rabble rouse around the country attempting to keep the spirirt of Ireland alive in all he encounters.





















Cool drinks?
Professor Verde in a picture from a book we co-wrote entitled, "Booze Where You Are: How to Sneak Drinks into Your Favorite Places." This is chapter Three, "The Beach, Why Swim Sober?" We detail how if you just tell the security guard there's nothing in your cooler but fruit juice and lemonade he'll be too lazy and overcome with heat to possibly search you.

Here are a few more background shots for all ya. Up top is a photo I took at Yankee Stadium. These kids that sat in front of us cracked me up. They fought constantly and jeered Arod like only true Yankee fans could.
The seconf photo down is the one and only Col. Andrew Pell. He just got back from a mission to the spice islands of Antille for the U.S. Foreign Trade Advisory Committee. This is the first delegation he's ever lead solo (by the way he's the youngest person to hold such a post since John Quincy Adams was sent to St. Petersburg in 1809.)
Then we have Adam and Katie in West Chester.
The photos I've been posting have been kind of a historical record of the last year, so that way we can put it down for the record and move on to the present, or actually what will be the present once it's here. I think the last photo sums up our time in Copenhagen rather nicely. It's D$ and Kayote, my cousin J.T.'s wife posing right before a stand off with some of our neighbors. Good times.

The first image up there is of Dianna and myself at a Japanese restaurant in West Chester. We went there with Adam and his girl Katie, who is bad ass even though she punched me in the kidney and I spent hours pissing out clotted blood.

Then there are some shots from Key West. Ben Green and Leigh Stewart, Ben's girl on the side, made the trip to the southern most point in the United States with Dianna and myself in July. Good times all around.

Matt Dunn ladies and gentlemen.
I have it on good authority that Matt Dunn, my friend and your favorite, authorized the following statement.
Effective immediately I am suspending all Fun Factory activities and am stepping down from the post of Big Daddy. This move has nothing to do with any ongoing investigations by any federal authorities. I have nothing but respect for the fun factory and its mission, the build fun, but I am afraid my leadership could be more of a distraction than a positive in the months to come. I have nothing more to say at this time.
--30--
Shocking words from a shocking man. (Oh, and I love the little --30-- that his staff included at the end. It looks so official, like a real piece of news written by a real reporter and not just a cheap press release conned together by idiot PR lackies.) We will keep our readers, both of you (Bryan Hoffman and Bob Norris) informed of latest events.

Bryan following a nice evening drive to the north country, former home of Dianna and myself. The evening dumped about 13 inches of fresh snow on us, not an unusual occurrence.

One feature on this "blog" will be outside commentary. Today we have the inspirational words of one Bryan Hoffman. Don't let the name fool you, he's French.
A Human Hoffstrocity
Pell you shitheel! I'm a semester away from finishing up my doctorate so you better get on that "degree" of yours touts sweet. (Pell here for an explanation: Hoff and myself have a standing bet, $25 million and two Hawaiian islands to the first man to earn a doctorate in journalism. I'm enrolled at the University of Missouri masters program and he's taking online courses.)
There's no shot in hell someone in Missoura is giving you a haircut that can hide the fact that you're a deformed parabola headed loser. (Sorry for all of the explanations, but I don't pay him enough for coherency. Anyway the preceding sentence is just a general pot shot at me. He often side tracks in this direction. Oh, and he doesn't even know what a parabola is.)
Your blog made me laugh...and cry. Laugh b/c it's funny and cry b/c you're a blogger now. I might have to add my own posts to your blog, mostly berating you and everything you stand for. Plus, if my name shows up on that damn site you'll hear from my attorney. (His attorney was deported three months ago, so good luck with that.)
As for the Birds. I had them pegged at a 16-0 regular season followed by a steamrolling/asspounding of everyone in the playoffs to go the distance undefeated, mostly led by Captain Koy Detmer. That is until Evans told me I might not be able to watch opening day at his house. Something stinks and if you ask me, that stink is coming from the Ho-Train. I'm now going to return to "looking at" my shirtless Jeremy Bloom poster.

Hoff is pictured above. The "Birds" in reference are the Philadelphia Eagles. Hoff and I share only two things, a love of the Birds and a intense dislike of eachother.

Breakfast log:
It's an exciting day and I'll need plenty of energy, not so much because I'm attending class today for the first time in five years, but because it takes a lot of energy to keep blood flowing to all extremities while walking around on campus.
I made up a bowl of oatmeal and mixed in some bananas and local honey. My Kroeger's brand orange juice, which actually causes scurvy rather than preventing it, complimented the meal perfectly.

So it's early in the afternoon, a Saturday, and the cicadas hum in Columbia, Missouri. This is the calm before the academic shit-storm. To keep up morale, I've been running the old engine on high.
A good friend of mine, Sir Rodney Knowno, a good man in a pinch with a sort of suave Inspector Gadgetesque manner, sat me down earlier this month before leaving the east coast for the Midwest.
He said, "Pell, a man like you needs to take advantage of modern mediums." Rodney paused here and leveled a fixed gaze across the room, forming just the right words in his mind's eye before continuing. "You've...got things to say -- a lot of things to say. I think you make sense for the most part. I'll be perfectly honest, I like where you're going. You get down to the truth...pretty quickly and well, the world needs more of that."
"Really?" I said.
"Mmmm, yeah. Take advantage of this electronic age and you could be the next Thomas Paine."
"No."
"Uhh, yeah."
And here we are. After a few fun household chores, I got to it this evening and started my very own Online Log. The air up here in the logosphere is very fine indeed.
But then my bitchy wife, dianna, started up with her "rules" and "regulations," always trying to hold me down.
"Basically, if anything you did with me/to me would get an NC-17 rating...you can't talk about it in your blog," she said after much deliberation.
Ahhhh...it's just like that time I was trying to make my own black powder and she told the saltpeter distributor that I didn't have state approval to conduct the transaction. He was hot for the deal and his boss knew it was the right thing to do, a nod and a hand shake would have served those two just fine, but Dianna has to put what we all know out in the open and queer the deal. No, matter now though.
I'll have to find out just would get a NC-17 rating, really walk a fine line. Let's face it, she'll never check this site anyway.
To cover the business end of this whole thing, well, the picture above and to the right is Julia, my dog. We had a photo shoot last March. It was the first real warm day and Julia strode forth to survey her domain. Her lands are considerably smaller here in Columbia. But on the plus side, she does have access to many dog parks, like the one pictured in the upper left. Yeah, that other dog's sniffing her ass.
Keep checking, we'll have some good shit up here.