As happens round these parts every few moons or so, I will rummage around my recent additions to the spanky sketchbook and report. For the uninitiated this means spanky will write one of his loony jolts of brilliance and then comment if necessary. Ending abrubtly most likely. Brace thyself.

Ambuscade - a place to ambush. Been aching to whip out that vocabulary boner. That and immunoblot - a blot in which a radioactively labelled antibody is used as the molecular probe. A lofty ambuscade was quickly formed above Mount Gorbor Crevasse, in hopes of protecting the holy immunoblot from the viscious Chanchan raiders.

Holly from Land Of The Lost crush. I was crunching on Holly hard as a Saturday morning lad. I think it was a combination of the pigtails and always having a desperate look on her face. Danger face, on her at least, was downright ticklish. Like you wouldn't squirt in Holly's exasperated face.

David Beckham - the global sports celebrity sensation that no one cares about. Dastardly yankicentric point of view there. I ain't no blind johnny apple pie. When it comes to athlete harvesting, I think the States superiority on collecting the best talent to play in it's house is on a shelf you other adorable nations just can't reach, no matter how much ya tippy toe.

"What? You wanted to fuck me more than one time?" I remembered this personal quote gem. Had a one nighter with a barfly. She saddled up on the stool next to me at Doc Hollidays days later. Started sincerly flirting. Influential power of vodka produced the spank response above.

Ambrosia is a complete misnomer. The ubiquitous jello and cottage cheese neon green or fuscia wiggling desert hell. Often gilded with a food coloring spiked Cool Whip. I recall crunchy bits of celery and other vegetal matter immersed in suspension. It should be called Magical Manure or Smurf Souflee. I believe it is the Bible Belt's response to the haggis.

Ever notice how nobody's toilet works properly? Jiggle this, shift that. Huddled masses emigrate to this country for the plumbing for PVC's sake. Where's the milk fed pride in American tolietry gone? I have encountered porcelain altars that actually functioned like a, ahem, well oiled machine. Great christ crackers I run into too many faulty toilets though. Including my own.

Deutsch bag. C'mon that's fucking clever. Next time you run into a German asswipe, call the bastard a Deutsch bag.

Folks would send Lash in to wake me up. After a few excited nuzzles and slurps, he was burrowing under the covers to snuggle. Awww. Damn fine pooch that Lash. He was a cuddle hound. His short vizlah hair was extra comfy and warm fuzzy on the bare sleeping skin. Didn't matter how long I stayed away from St. Louis, homie was always down for the morning snuggle. Miss the rascal terribly.

Can't arrest ya for your thoughts just yet. When they can I am in deep kimchee. On the run from the thought police.

Retaliate a suicide bomb? I still have been unable to wrap myself around the logic of this. So, some maniac straps plastique and gasoline to their torso, runs into a strip mall and detonates themselves in hopes of taking others to the far shoal. In response, tanks thunder down streets, curfews are ordered, and missles strike. All to punish a person who turned themself into rhubarb jam. To which more respond by strapping plastique to themselves and continue the drain flush.

"C'mon coach!" And then swatting the shit out of him. I have zero clue where I was going with that one. Fleeting stoner brilliance to be sure.

"D'oh!" would obviously be included sportscaster dialogue during a telecast of professional dodgeball. This would be an edict commanded from on spanky high. How high? Sooooooo high. As commissioner of the ADL, I would insist, with severe penalties if unheeded, that the play by play include some muthastankin "D'oh!"'s. Who's name is on your paycheck bitch? Dats what I thought.

Without the modern world I'd be one dead freak. Possibly, I wouldn't suffer from severe sight problems without the nuclear age influences and trappings. More than likely I'd be a blind scratcher lucky to have gristle scraps tossed my way.

Your god forbade all kinds of humanity's practices, you sure you wanna go down that path? Some news blurb was invading my senses. Holy book salesman was condemning gays from exploring each other's backyards. I figure you've got some tallying up to do if you constantly point out the sins of others, and personally condemn them to perdition. I'm convinced we all head towards a decomposed void, perfectly peaceful nothingness. No room in my bank account for afterlife savings. But since you are all crackerjack for a golden harp and a set of alabaster wings, you sure you wanna jump all on your god's nuts like that and presume to have the omnipotent chops to decide what sends people where? That's not even friendly, much less reverential. Might wanna build up some callouses. Easier to break brimstone, shackled to a perpetual inferno, with calloused hands.

Bush is giving bush a bad name. Worst crime little lord dorkleroy has committed yet. Acting all tarded up, making people think of his malapropic dunderings when the word bush is uttered. I want my version of bush back. I wanna love bush again!

I am off the rack, never tailorated.