BUSTED!

After a couple months of sparring with my somewhat pretentious English Professor my moment(s) of extreme vindication finally arrived.
He is and was the most conflicted liberal I've ever met.
Professor I-Know-More-Than-You continuously espoused his firm belief that President Obama would ascend to soaring Presidential heights in order to solve all of the world's ills. A Presidential Messiah, if you will.
This would be acceptable in a Government class. However, his breathy exaltations proved annoying when in the context of an English course.
Yet, he and his wife are also extreme Catholic pro-life activists who protested outside of Houston's new Planned Parenthood headquarters where Nancy Pelosi was on hand for the festivities.
He labeled my essay decrying the Obama administration repeal of the Mexico City Act which will funnel taxpayer money into the funding of abortion on an international scale as "bombastic" and "incendiary."
Conflicted, for sure.
Anyway, in a futile attempt to tug at our heartstrings and manipulate our emotions into compassion for struggling students on the campus he always tried to tell us the worst hard luck stories he could muster up.....he could have saved his breath.
Our class was comprised of students working several jobs, going to school and juggling family responsibilities.
We all know that attending college is a choice in which some sacrifices must be made. Therefore, his stories about his students in other classes teetering on the brink of starvation because of their tuition expense or working so hard they found themselves in near fatal car accidents just made most of us roll our eyes.
If those stories are true I think Professor Know-It-All was getting played for a fool by some calculating kids who knew they could milk him for vending machine money and/or an assignment extension.
So, one class period he fires up his propaganda machine and starts telling us the gut-wrenching story of one particularly unfortunate student of his who has been bounced around from foster home to foster home her entire life because her hippie mom abandoned her. She eventually goes to live with her grandma who arranges a much-anticipated reunion with the girl's mom who does show up but lets it slip within the girl's earshot that she only came because the grandma paid her to.
Sound familiar?
It should, because it's the main plot line of the classic book "The Great Gilly Hopkins."
Never one to restrain my thoughts I blurted out to Professor Know-It-All "Hey, by any chance is this girl named Gilly Hopkins?"
I won. I actually transformed a relatively shameless man into a state of embarrassed sheepishness as he strained to immediately change the subject to something else.
Awesome.
I'm positive Professor Know-It-All had previously enraptured countless classes with his harrowing tale of human misery that turned out to be completely fictional.
The moral of the story is to teach your kids not to be beholden to any one person and elevate them to an impossibly high status because for the most part people lie.
People do lie, but I hereby solemnly swear that this post is the honest truth. :)

Now I Know How The "Hard Core" Peoples In H-Town Roll!

While traversing the neighborhood last week, I spotted a young, pimped-out, pierced, tattooed, fried-and-dyed Mohawk-wearing punk standing in his driveway.....I know, big freakin deal, right? Wrong.
So, was this poster child for "Extreme Body Makeover" outside listening to some thrashin' death metal music? Or perhaps perfecting his vandalism techniques while training his beloved Pit Bull, "Lucifer's Beast" how to kill on command?
The correct answer is: None of the Above.
I witnessed this proud member of Hell's Army meticulously cleaning his midnight black T-shirt, that featured a big white pentagram on the front, with a lint brush. 
Yeah, I actually circled back around just to catch another amusing glimpse of this obsessively fastidious devil worshipper in the middle of some serious grooming action. 
T-shirt fuzz......the leading strategy in taking down OCD-afflicted minions of darkness.  
It's common knowledge that cleanliness is next to godliness but who knew that cleanliness is also next to satanliness?
Got an avowed devil worshipper on your gift-giving list? Buy a super-duper lint roller for them! Keeping the forces of darkness clean and aesthetically pleasing.......that's how they roll!

I Would Have Preferred A Kosher-Observant Stimulus Bill......

Despite Obama's virulent rhetoric on the campaign trail decrying the use of earmarks, he just passed a stimulus bill with close to 9,000 of the bloated little darlings.

I firmly believe that all omnibus bills, TARP, or whatever the flying fart they're calling it by today, should be examined by a Rabbi or a Muslim Imam beforehand. We can implement our own style of a Jewish/Muslim peace pact as they diligently work together to make sure that the government's massive spending bills at least adhere to Kosher and Halal regulations.

This would also serve as a great concept for an inventive new T.V. series in the vein of the odd couple crime-fighting partnership genre.
"Habib Ali dazzles with his pearlescent white teeth and award-winning beard that has taken him to certain victory in the ZZ Top Look-A-Like Contest, 3 years in a row. He's also a mild-mannered Imam who enjoyed crocheting festively patterned skull caps for the poor and engaging in marathon prayer sessions. Hezekiah Sharon is a Torah-loving Testament of righteous manliness; living big matzoh ball dreams and driving the local ishas crazy with his boisterous blonde curls that descend from his yarmulke like effulgent rays of sunshine. Together they'll join forces to storm the corridors of Washington D.C. and ensure that all unhealthy fat and hamminess is rooted out and expunged forever to save the American taxpayers. We admiringly call them "Heroes".........but the crusading duo chooses to refer to themselves as "The Pork Patrol!" (The Pork Patrol: A new comedy about an American tragedy; debuting this fall on the Fed Up With Feds Channel)

I'm offering up this sage little bit of whimsy free of charge for any bacon-slashing politician running for re-election in the next few years: "I'm not a vegetarian.....but I play one whenever government pork is shoved in my face."

In 2010 Vegetarian Conservatives Will Rise Again!

P.S. My beloved fellow citizens: I tried so hard to protect you from the truth that your newly anointed class of effete leaders (both left and right) despise, disdain, and harbor the most insidious contempt for you lowly "commoners." Anyways, it's time that you see for yourself in this :16 second clip how Senator Chuck Schumer of New York really feels about you and me. To him we're "the chattering class" who doesn't really care what Obama does, says, or signs. Is he right Americans?

P.P.S. Is anyone else getting a pay raise in these turbulent times of economic moan&groan? Are you being rewarded for abysmal job performance and low approval scores? Well, the United States Congress is. Congratulations American suckers.....as of last week we are now being coerced through our tax dollars to pay even more to our Congressional leaders for their deplorable 18% satisfaction rating. Yes, they voted themselves a fat pay raise. It's good to be the Kings and Queens in a royal dictatorship, isn't it?

Once Upon A Mattress (Store).........

Yeah, this post is entirely too long but it's really funny, completely factual, and has the potential to be turned into a very special Mattress Movie Of The Week.

So last week, the youngest Infidel son decided to cast himself in the starring role of a new reality show called I'm A Little PEEPOT! Yep, he's a little PEEPOT, alright, short and stout; he tipped himself over (onto my bed) and poured it all out.
My son, the mattress assassin.
I suppose it's only fitting that Senor Pissalot himself brought about the final demise of our long-suffering mattress since he was birthed into this mortal coil on that very same mattress seven years ago. It's akin to a mattress version of The Circle Of Life.
R.I.P Marital Mattress. For 14 years your creaky spring coils and saggy padding endured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.......and crumbs.
All of a sudden, I feel like mournfully singing a verse or two of Sunrise/Sunset.
Up until last week I was still a mattress-buying virgin, pure and mild.
Nothing in my lifetime could have prepared me for the bed-hunting odyssey that came to pass.
The three oldest mini-Infidels and I wandered into a snooty furniture store to browse and found ourselves getting stalked by this unbelievably geeky, bespectacled salesman in a rousing game of mattress showroom hide-and-seek.
That was fun, especially when we ducked into the next display and watched the salesman devolve into a total state of confusion as he spun his reed-thin neck around Exorcist-style in a futile effort to scan the demo furniture landscape in search of his escaped quarry.
So then we sauntered off next door to the Mattress Expo store where I quickly located a Mattress Queen suitable for an Infidel Queen like myself and at a fairly reasonable price, too.
I sat across from the fusty and abrasive salesman as he wrote up the receipt and arranged a pick-up time for the next day.
At that moment, the other sales guy-who'd been content to passively plop himself down on one of the mattresses during the whole purchase process-seized upon the opportunity to unexpectedly lean over and growl into my ear: "Tomorrow, when you come to pick up your mattress, it'll be just YOU and ME because your kids will be back in school."
And then he sniffed my hair.
I'm very disappointed in Head&Shoulders anti-flake formula shampoo. That stuff should have been like Kryptonite to this flakey guy.
Thoroughly creeped out but too startled to speak, I glared over at this younger version of Jerry Stiller clad in a tacky olive green-hued bowling shirt while he simply smirked lecherously back at me.
I would have liked to christen him with an apropos nickname like "Pillowtop Pushing Perv" but I found out that he actually goes by "Scoobie."
Yes, Scoobie.
Old Scoobie going around sniffing for a Scoobie Snack but the only thing he'll ever get from me is a gigantic Scoobie SMACK!
The oldest Infidel son, Buster, puffed out his chest and curtly told Scoobie that he would be accompanying me to the store the next day and that he takes Kung-Fu.
Scoobie looked disappointed but that didn't stop him from jiggling his paunchy belly in our faces as he showed us his nerdy Ninja moves while singing "Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting" off-key.
Upon leaving the store, Scoobie sent my personal Creep-O-Meter soaring through the stratosphere. As we hurriedly stampeded towards the exit, he bellowed out: "Ma'am, don't forget that mattress has a 10-year warranty on it......but don't let ten years pass before you come in and see me again......"
Ewwwww.
I started to wonder if I'd inadvertently stumbled into someplace other than Mattress Expo. Could it be that some of their outside lettering either shorted out or fell off?
I mean, Scoobie acted as though he'd be more comfortable employed at a store called Mattress EXXXpo or Mattress Exposed.
Poor Scoobie is too short to work at Mattress Giant because he's a Mattress (Mental) Midget. Mattress King is also out of the question. The only regal title Scoobie qualifies for is Royal Pain In The Ash.
Mattress Firm? Ummm, no. Fuggedaboutit.
Later in the day, as I relayed the shocking events to my mom, she started laughing and told me that James, the surly salesguy who'd attended us, had hit on her when she'd gone in to pick up her mattress a few months ago.
According to my mom, James loaded the mattress up and then breathily told her that she couldn't possibly handle the mattress without help and that he'd just come home with her and set it up in her bedroom, free of charge.
She declined the offer.
I think Scoobie and James are suffering from a severe onset of delusions; likely a residual effect of inhaling way too many noxious mattress factory fumes during the course of their careers.
I mean, really, has any woman in history given in to these cheesy come-ons? Do these guys think that any lady, anywhere, will suddenly turn to them and sultrily say "Sure, let's go put some mileage on one of these mattress floor samples, right now!"
I bet there's some sort of Mattress Man Monthly publication that James and Scoobie are just dying to write a letter to that starts out with the ubiquitous line: "Dear Mattress Man Monthly: I never thought something like this would happen to me, but........."
Well, I don't happen to know anyone of the female persuasion willing to give them fodder for their steamy story swaps over at the annual Mattress Man convention.
Needless to say, the prospect of another Scoobie encounter didn't thrill me so I forced Papi to sign up for mattress retrieval duties.
I'm happy to report that Scoobie did not make a move on Papi even though he wore his most sexiest, butt-hugging pair of Levi jeans.
Scoobie must subscribe to the "It's 2009 and any lady, any at all, is just FINE!" philosophy.

*By the way, I do LOVE, LOVE, LOVE our new mattress set. It's like a Silent Springs 2000 model; necessary when you have children lingering only a thin wall away from you. We're still debating a proper use for our retired mattress. Here's what we've come up with so far:
A Really Ghetto Trampoline.
Placing the mattress in a corner of the backyard and surrounding it with scented candles so it can function as a specialized Suburban Animal Mating Center.
Donating it to the Princess And The Pea foundation.
Transforming the coils into homemade Moon Boots or Po' Folks Pogo Sticks.
Building our very own Mattress Stonehenge.....until the uptight HOA directors makes us take it down.
I'm open to outside input and ideas. :)*

Kohl's Will Sell You A Fine Jew......But Only At Retail Prices

On Saturday I spied with my little eye this sign posted on the side of a rolling clothes rack at Kohl's department store.
The message is clear: If you want a Not Fine Jew on clearance with an additional 25% off, you'll have to go to the Woody Allen bin over on the Barry Manilow aisle.
I, however, opted to pony up a purse-load of shekels to pay full price for a Fine Jew over in the Adam Sandler section. I saw Ben Stiller and Jon Stewart hanging out over there, too.
Of course, a true Jew would be aghast at the thought of compliantly paying retail without any haggling or dickering.
And now I can't stop singing Madonna's peppy pop anthem 'True Blue' as "True Jew, Baby, I Love You......"
The main point is: One should never cheap out when it comes to the quality of Matzoh Balls. Never.

*Poor Barry. I actually feel bad making fun of him since he has been alive forever and he wrote the very first song....it was the song that makes the whole world sing......the song of love and special things!*

Spectacularly Stupid Things I've Done: Watch Where You're Walking Edition

I whole-heartedly embrace the bare-footing movement. Yes, that's right, my feet are unabashed nudists. Shocking, no? My fat little tootsies are like wild horses-they refuse to be tamed and made prisoner inside some hellishly sweaty footwear prison. On occasion though, my feet do have to endure a few short stints inside a shoe-shaped holding cell.

You all know my dear Vitamin-A enriched bloggy friend, Carrot Jello, right? Well, she's so kind she would give you the shirt right off her back. When I met her last summer we happened to be wearing the exact same shirt so she instead gave me the shoes right off her feet. Really, she did!

Everytime I wear those black and rubbery Croc-knockoff shoes I think of Carrot Jello and delight in the fact that while we don't live close to another at least our foot sweat can co-mingle inside the same pair of shoes.

As most fellow and former Houstonians know, Houston maintains a stifling 100 percent humidity level even during the night hours.

I wouldn't describe myself as having a "lead foot" but a "hot foot" would be wholly accurate.

So as I was toiling away during the pre-dawn hours the salty perspiration dripped from my every pore. Yes, the sweat just rolled off my Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes, and likely from my Eyes, Ears, Mouth, and Nose, too!

Looking for relief I kicked the Carrot Jello Croc shoes off as I got out of my truck to load up some more newspaper bundles from the back.

Humongous curbside piles of discarded pine needles is a pretty common sight around here so I thought nothing of it when I parked next to one such Pine Needle Welcome Mat blanketing the street.

Blithely I walked barefoot to and fro from the back of the truck to the front of the truck each time stepping on the oddly squishable pine needle pile.

It took about the fifth round trip for the neurons in my brain to communicate with the neurons in my feet and in one startling moment they both realized, "Heeeeyyyy, these pine needles aren't crunchy when we step on them. Where's the familiar stabby sensation they usually make on our bare feet?"

So I squatted down to have a closer look at what I perceived as a friendly Pine-A-Palooza Party..........and then I started screaming, for there, lying in the gutter, was a completely flattened one-dimensional squirrel carcass that I'd been traipsing across as though it were a Squirrel Skin Rug.

The poor Mammalian rodent was so steamrolled it could have been used to write stuff on and then rolled up and secured with a whimsical piece of ribbon. The Dead Squirrel Scrolls.

How I wished that I had a private nurse so at that moment I could turn and bark at her, "Nurse, sterilize these, STAT!" as I held out my festering feet.

If squirrel guts hold some sort of mystical power that'll transform dull, crusty skin into a thing of radiantly flawless beauty, then I shall have the most prettiest feet ever.

*This post won Runner-Up in the essay contest, 'The Roadkill And I Joined Together And Became One......'. Elastic was rewarded a beautiful new squirrel skin cap and squirrel nut ear muffs. Congratulations Elastic!!!*

I Wish I Had A Moose. I'd Name Him Dr. Seuss. And Turn Him Loose With My Goose To Cause Terror On A Caboose.

I'd like to welcome you to a very special edition of The Smiling Infidel! It's tailor-made to cater to the easy-reading needs of your inner pre-schooler. I've got rhymes! No big words! And pictures! Lots of pretty pictures! In color!

On Saturday, as my truck got severely hit and folded like a MAP, I felt my tender red neck SNAP and I still sort of feel like......

Says I, this is teh SUCK! Only 18 more payments until I own my beloved Infidel TRUCK! Those dreams vanished with the WTF? hit-and-run chick gone AMOK. (It does rhyme. Quit picking on me)
Wow, what LUCK, Progressive insurance paid off my old TRUCK and I still managed to make a decent BUCK! So, I immediately set forth to buy a new.....(Oddly enough, both these pictures detail the same color and style as my before and after Infidel trucks)
Did I take my new truck to go SHIRK and LURK with Captain KIRK while eating Jamaican JERK? No! I went immediately to WORK! (I have never in my life sung and danced while throwing papers. I do have a Cabbie Cap like the Newsies boys do, though.)
Sometimes I just want to POUT as I throw my paper ROUTE (II need my truck to work. I need to work to pay for my truck.*sigh*) I'm dorky like URKEL and hopelessly trapped in a.........
Like a Donut that needs DUNKIN and a Bronco that's BUCKIN, still I continue to....


Well, I do keep on truckin, except on that fateful day that was CRUMMY, when a girl who's downright SCUMMY made me into a real live .......
I'm going to break in my new truck just like a Smiling Infidel SHOULD- by only putting on high heels and my State Farting Champion T-shirt and rolling around on the HOOD. Be cool like me? Coked-up, man-beating, OJ-dating Tawny, only wishes she COULD!

Hey, Who Put The 'Hit Me!' Sign On The Back Of My Truck?

NOT The Official Truck Of The Smiling Infidel--------> My F-150 is crumpled and slated to be picked up by a salvage crew tomorrow.
This morning I proved how 'HARDCORE' and 'BAD ASH'(badder ash than jean knee, anyway) I really am because a random stranger wanted to hit it with me. And they did too, taking me by surprise from the rear. Yeah, I'm a big hit. A really big hit.

While blithely driving down the road this morning, a full sized GMC truck slammed into me going between 50-60 miles per hour. We weren't at a red light. I didn't have my brakes on. There wasn't any other traffic at 5:15 A.M. except us. The force of the impact knocked the sandals right off my feet. She hit me so hard that:
1. The XM Satellite Radio display dislodged from the dashboard.
2. The tailgate of my truck got pushed all the way up into the rear tires.
3. The front bench seat of the truck completely broke and flopped backwards.
And then, as I lost control of my truck on the rain-slicked road, and finally managed to stomp on the brake, the little beyotch who hit me jumped out of her completely demolished truck, apologized, blamed the accident on her brakes failing, and then ran off. Yes, she freakin ran off under the pretense of searching for a pay phone and never came back to the scene of the accident.

So, what does that mean for me and my Infidel truck? It means that:
1. I assume she doesn't have any insurance and my insurance will have to absorb the cost.
2. I refused medical treatment because I don't have health insurance and I'm scared to death of how much ambulance and medical bills could amount to.
3. I have a huge bump on the back of my head and bruises running the entire length of my left leg along with a stiff neck.
4.My boss came over with his truck and I had to go and throw the rest of my route with a splitting headache because I criss-cross back and forth and nobody could finish it but me.
5. My beloved truck, so very close to being paid off in 18 months, is likely totalled and I'll have to start all over again. (I got the call this afternoon. It IS totalled.)
Luckily, my officer friend who looks the other way when I run stop signs on my route, came within 3 minutes of me calling him and worked the accident scene, saving me from having to pay a tow truck fee by telling the guy to charge it as a county tow.

I walked away from a really bad accident relatively unscathed even though I wasn't wearing a seatbelt. The wrecker guy told me the newspaper bundles absorbed a lot of the force, thus saving me from further damage. I didn't have any of my mini-Infidels with me. I didn't injure my golden, money-making, paper-throwing arm. I have really good insurance with Progressive who got me a rental vehicle and claims adjuster within a couple hours. I was able to save my cherished butt towel before it got towed away. Yep, I be one blessed Bad Ash Infidel, alright.