Back Off Mustache

Before Twenty-Twelve Slips Me a Roofy

2012-01-03T07:04:00.000-08:00

Holy Peter, Paul and Mary - I had better fit one last entry into the Operation Decompression archives before twenty-twelve slips a roofy into my tonic water and wipes out my twenty-eleven memories.

Quick refresher: I took a soul searching adventure from Chicago to Des Moines to Omaha to Denver to Cheyenne and back - successfully found my soul, my sobriety, my mind, my marriage and my love for two-lane highways.

In my last post I left off with a visit to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs, CO with my old pal Cousin Brian.

After feeding our eyeballs with the Garden of the Gods we were off to the Shrine of the Miracle Rose Lady. This dim bulb was perched atop an eroded gravel driveway at the corner of 36th Street and Pikes Peak Avenue.

The first thing you spot is a sign warning visitors of alarms and guard dogs.
There were no attack dogs or sounding alarms, just creepy overgrown shrubs
and broken lights that once illuminated a sculpture garden.

One of several stately marble sculptures from the booming days of the late 1960s
when the Shrine was a popular Catholic pilgrimage destination.

A folk art painting of Rose Averson dominates the ramshackle enclosure
that houses the shrine, bundles of artificial roses and piles of paper
containing correspondence to the miracle maker.

Faux marble painted onto rotting plywood sets the tone of this odd and neglected space.
In 1963 Rose posthumously brought life to six roses atop her casket. Her daughters built
the shrine to spread the word of said roses' ability to cure sickness. Oddly enough the shrine
only housed the filthiest of artificial roses.

All marble statues aside, this primitive sad sack was the best part of the shrine. Nothing better than a weathered anthropomorphic mass fashioned from cheap cement and exposed rebar.

After sliding down the loose gravel driveway that lead to redemption we hopped into the ATM and set course for Magic Town. Our destination was across the street from Colorado Springs' Town Square in a shop that artist Michael Garman has filled with a cartoonish universe of one-sixth scale vignettes.

The shop itself housed resin reproductions of Garman's little people (not midgets) for exorbitant prices. Attention to detail was the best part of the displays, perfect scaled down radios, filthy street trash, a dirty bird bartender grabbing his crotch, high riding Daisy Dukes on a 1950's sexpot.

After snapping photos of the "gift shop" displays for Magic Town we went to enter the exhibit itself and were greeted by a sign demanding a $7 fee for admittance and complimentary popcorn. I reminded Cousin Brian of my rule of not paying to see any of the attractions on Operation Decompression. As we exited the shop to grab some coffee at the delightful java spot next door I spotted a lard ass on a couch, positioned in front of a continuous loop of a documentary featuring Garman, with a jumbo sack of popcorn. That fat bastard was eating $7 worth of popcorn to make his tour worth it.

I made an effort to strike small talk with the purveyors of coffee houses, diners and shops along my routes. More often than not it ended in amazing tips on local oddities, but this stop at Jive Cafe produced a doozy of a lead. I am quite certain that the barista took a shining to me after telling of my Operation Decompression adventures and disbelief in discovering a Magic Town admission fee. She said, "I can take you in back." My mind went right to its dirty place. I asked, "Take me in back?" She motioned to a hallway leading to the bathrooms, "The back entrance to the museum is just pass the bathrooms."

The hallway was sure as shit a Bat-Cave entrance to Magic Town.

We slid around the red rope and into the world of magic town. It was really wonderful, but not $7 wonderful. Again the attention to detail was more than one could hope for in one-sixth scale replicas of life in a world of yesteryear.

Amazing coffee drinks were had on our way back through along with a game of over sized checkers. Upon further research of the rules of checkers it is quite evident that Cousin Brian cheated his way through several king me's and wins.

If my lazy Jimmy Dean sausage fingers can make their way to a keyboard I plan on completing my Colorado leg this week. Until then, may your new year be filled with fond memories, adventures and naked one-sixth scale ladies.

Mountain Thieving Honkeys

2011-11-07T15:18:00.000-08:00

An entire day dedicated to the exploration of Colorado Springs’ oddities was an easy itinerary addition for two unemployed fellas like Brian and me. We gassed up the ATM and headed due south for Garden of the Gods, a pocket full of natural wonders. Before we approached the official entrance it was quite apparent as to the beauty in which we were to be exposed. Monoliths jetting from scrub brush were painted with perfect shades of my favorite color, rust. We cruised in and around the chunks of rock winding our way to the gem attraction of Balanced Rock.

In the 1920s the jumbo boulder was owned by a fella who fenced it off and charged to be photographed in front of it while donning sombreros and smiling from the saddles of donkeys. According to my own personal theory after the city of Colorado Springs purchased the land surrounding the Balanced Rock in 1932 for $25,000, they knocked it off of its perch during restoration. Knowing that the chunk of stone was a guaranteed money making tourist trap they lifted it back up and cemented it in place. Sure, you can laugh and call this a crazy conspiracy theory, but the “stone” on its underside is a completely different color than any of the surrounding sediment.

After completion of this post I discovered an article from the 1960s that reported cement being used to stabilized the rock after and evening of college hijinks went awry.

I kept trying to snap a pic of the Balanced Behemoth but a slutty single gal looking for a good time kept leaning against the rock and sticking her ass out. She would shout to her elderly mother, “Did you get it that time? How’s it look?” After the third attempt she climbed off of the shelf to give her mom a tutorial on how to use her camera and tried posing again. I am quite certain that a dozen or so Japanese families have a photo in their album of this moron.

Brian and Sara Joy are seasoned rock climbers with a training course built in Allen House Denver’s one stall garage. I followed Brian the ring tailed lemur up onto a pile of granite only to have my breath taken by my being a fat man combined with the eye orgy panorama. From our tippy top observatory Brian completed a successful “Northern Pike”, a yoga-like pose that our Grandpa Jack used as test for determining if he was sober enough to drive home from the tavern.

After a perfect Northern Pike dismount Brian pointed to the tallest of the surrounding mountains as Pikes Peak. Before the area was settled by honkeys the glorious crag was named “Trava” meaning “Sun” by the indigenous Ute. After being snatched from the nomadic peoples it was named after the first cracker who spotted it, Zebulon Pike. It must have been difficult to spot amongst the godless savages’ teepees and casinos.

I wanted to drive the ATM to the summit of Pikes Peak but changed direction once I learned of the $12 per rider in the car admission fee. The cog railroad would have been a grander route if tickets would have been cheaper than $34. At this point I was second guessing my strict policy of paying for attractions. I stuck to my caulk guns and rerouted our day to the Rose Lady Shrine.

George W Sporting Chaps with a Blue Bear

2011-11-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

Instant scenery change blew through the ATM’s windshield as I crossed the imaginary dividing line between Nebraska and Colorado; from bare ditches and Great Plains that weren’t so great to ditches filled with wildflowers and a backdrop painted with real live mountains. Serendipitous timing cast me as voyeur to a good fifteen minute peep show of hardcore love making between Sun and Rockies.

I snapped this by holding my trusty Canon 40D out my sunroof while cruising down I-80.

Scents rarely found outside a naturist’s apothecary accompanied Cousin Brian’s welcoming embrace. Lucile Vanderbilt and Sir Winston Woo were introduced to Brian, his fantastic lover (fantastic as in an amazing person, not fantastic as in great lay, you fucking pervert) turned wife Sara Joy and their newly rescued hounds Juke (owner of the home) and Hops (statuesque shiba inu).

Staying at Allen House Denver feels as if you are part of an experiment of better living by way of intellectual exchange, non-processed consumables and a greater sense of the world around you. Yeah, I know this is some heavy shit, but these cats are operating on a plane in which the rest of the world should envy. Each night Brian pokes around in his stash of loose leaf teas and steeps a blend that magically represents the day’s events. We would sit in the portico with hounds to breathe in the Denver sky and absorb one another’s eccentricities.

Christ this is getting deeper. Pull up, pull the fuck up. Whew, that was a close one.

My first night made its way onto the list of best B&Bs via dandy tray. This orange beauty contained a bottle of mineral water, a horny Kama Sutra tumbler, Allen House harvested champagne grapes, dates, almonds, ginger candies, sprigs of sage poking from a water filled mason jar and a wooden bowl of dried lavender flowers. Further exploration of Allen House Denver revealed more bowls of lavender strategically placed throughout for finger pinching and oil releasing. Brian set a bowl on my nightstand and instructed me to rub its contents between my fingers before climbing into bed. Needless to say, that shit knocked me out.

I am more of a missionary with the lights dimmed kind of guy.
A position that is missing from this glass.

Day two started with yard time for four hounds followed by a swell haircut from Brittany at the hip Aveda salon that Brian recommended. Post trim, Brian readied a pair of bicycles for a lunchtime rendezvous with Sara Joy. I can now say that I peddled my chub through the streets of Denver on a one speed hipster beach cruiser. After lunch we stopped at a hound shop and were talked into buying what was described to us as the new rage for dog gnawing, ostrich knuckles.

Sir Winston Woo

Lucile Vanderbilt

Being the fancy fella that he is, Brian had a reading to attend for a production that he is managing. Sara Joy and I took this downtime as a chance to fit in some of my two-lane Denver attractions. Our first stop was a Bunion sized milk can, 2620 16th St, which housed a grand ice cream and gelato shop. I recommend sticking with tried and true malt and not ordering what Sara Joy described as a “meh” gelato. Don’t fret, the line moves much faster than you would ever anticipate.

No more than a tossed honey pot away at the Colorado Convention Center (700 14th St) lives a forty foot tall blue bear. He is sniffing around for Linda from Atlanta that he met at a heating and air conditioning convention last fall. They got their hump on after tossing back one too many at the Holiday Inn’s leisure lounge.

Who would have thought that our last stop would put us at the base of a larger than life George W lookalike in chaps? This tall drink of water used to protect a filling station and is now all by his lonesome at a trailer park entrance on Federal Boulevard. I really wanted there to be a telephone pole high horse peaking from behind the gas station across the street, but the only thing peaking at us was a hooker in a phone booth.

We returned home to another amazing meal prepared by chef Brian; a salad assembled from couscous, roasted eggplant and zucchini, boiled eggs, autumn greens, tomatoes and balsamic vinegar followed by tea and fresh fruit topped cheesecake that I bought from a mean lesbian earlier in the day.

I am not sure if I ever truly got used to the lack of oxygen at life on what felt like a mile high rock in the sky. As the trip progressed more symptoms joined the list of what could only be explained as side effects attributed to the altitude:

· Shortness of breath

· Random erections

· Minor headaches

· Metallic tasting saliva

· Affinity for hemp based fabrics

· General malaise

· Urge to punch pony and puppy faces

Next week I will cover my daytrip to the Rose Lady Shrine, Magic Town and explain why I no longer consume soy based products.

Allen House Chicago’s Celebración Día de los Muertos

2011-11-01T17:27:00.000-07:00

Reporting on Operation Decompression has slowed to a dribble in the toilet bowl that is the Back Off Mustache Blog. To make up for disrupting your ability to live vicariously through me I present to you (trumpets and kazoos playing the Drifters’ “Up on the Roof”) Allen House Chicago’s Celebración Día de los Muertos.

Margot looks swell, I am looking older and older in each photo.

The National Museum of Mexican Art’s (at 1852 W 19th St, Chicago, IL) Day of the Dead exhibits have had the definite pleasure of entertaining the Red Head for the past ten years. I joined in on the fun around year two. Back in the old days you would be lucky if there were three other people wandering about the galleries. With each year came more visitors, tighter spaces and less air to breathe. This is the only place in the world in which we are happy for the increased crowds.

Margot is Allen House Chicago's Docent at seven different Chicago institutions.
Here she is sharing the glory that is NMMA with Tory, Leslie and Roy.

Being complete museum junkies we have a shortlist of our favorite spots in the city, the NMMA is second only to the Chicago History Museum (1601 N Clark St) so its growing popularity is bittersweet. There were times that we wondered if they were even making enough money through donations and gift shop sales and thought that they would soon start charging admission. Thankfully it is still the free part of our annual adventure through Chicago’s Pilsen Neighborhood (Little Mexico).

This fun sculpture was a real downer. It represented some heavy subject
like overbearing government surveillance or some bull shit.
Nonetheless Margot and Tory looked like they were having fun.

Our day usually begins with meeting friends at one of the traditional restaurants within walking distance of the NMMA. On recommendation from Dr. Crapple’s cop friend we tried Cuernavaca. To begin the meal we were served bowls of corn flour noodles simmering in tomato broth joined iced orxata (a traditional nonalcoholic drink made of ground almonds, sesame seeds, rice, barley and chufas), fishbowls filled with margaritas and the customary chips with salsa. Be sure to try the salsa that can only be described as spicy Ranch dressing. Burritos are in jumbo pairs like those fat twins riding little motorcycles in the Guinness Book of World Records.

Corn flour noodles simmering in tomato broth.
An upscale version of Campbell's chicken noodle and tomato soups mixed.

Two sexy gals and their fishbowls filled with ritas.

Tory and his twin Mexican logs of wonderment.

I ordered a bowl of the seafood stew that was filled with crab legs, a clam, beautifully fatty fish steak, loads of shrimp, a ridiculously big clam and at least a colander full of vegetables with a side of rice and tortillas.

We ended the dandy meal peppered by mediocre service with an amazing plate of fried dough generously tossed in sugar and cinnamon.

Our favorite part of the annual Allen House Field Trip is introducing the absolutely fucking amazing Día de los Muertos exhibit to newbies. We like to think that they quickly go from assuming the Day of the Dead is a weird and creepy celebration to seeing its beauty and relevance in keeping fresh the memories of loved ones who have passed. It should not be scary, rather it is time to share funny stories, happy memories and what you truly loved about the departed.

This year we assembled our eighth Allen House Día de los Muertos altar complete with chalkware saints that I have hoarded, ten years’ worth of the Red Head’s NMMA gift shop purchases, photos of the expired (I am totally running out of words for dead people), objects that they owned or made, sugar skulls, our grandparents’ favorite snacks and drinks all bathed in the glow of candles lighting the way.

Dale Phelps (1940-2009), Chris Harden (1954-2009), Viola Schwaman (1908-1998)

Jack Allen (1923-2006), Jay Allen (1888-1959), Myrtle G Allen (1888-1958),

Carol Billings (1933-2007), Leonard Thomas (1898-1976), Jerri Thomas,

Hazel Thomas (1931-1952) and Jerry Billings (1929-1979).

Sod House Architects Hunting Rusted Indians

2011-10-28T19:46:00.000-07:00

I woke early enough to rouse a herd of tree rats from their feeding post in the Compound’s courtyard, but not early enough to catch Rooster and Hen before they headed off to the Isles of Friendly Smiles. After loading Lucile Vanderbilt, Sir Winston Woo and enough luggage to satisfy the dandiest of African safari dandies into the ATM, I set course for Allen House Denver in Colorado.

As a teenager my pal Mike Moran from Brooklyn helped his dad train for the New York City Marathon by roller skating next to him as he ran. Mike still roller skates (NOT rollerblades) every now and again on his lunch breaks through downtown Chicago and along the lakefront. His love of the skates prompted a stop at the National Museum of Roller Skating, 4730 South Street in Lincoln, Nebraska. These people are serious about their shit and display skates dating back to the early 19th century as well as two centuries worth of documentation, photographs and artwork.

Somewhere in 1985 is a towheaded brown, eyed lad who loves red Kool-Aid more than any other drink in the world. Even more than glass bottles of Mountain Dew with fruit chunks in the bottom. He is lucky enough to have just finished off the last slosh and yells from his usual perch of yellow Formica countertop, “MOM! Kool-Aid’s gone,” with the hopes of a thumbs up to make the next batch. He knows damn well that the packet calls for one cup of sugar, but loses control as soon as he unseals the canister of crystals – scooping two heaping cups into the pitcher. An orange Tupperware pitcher with a red buttoned lid that has seen nothing more than colored sugar water in five years. He loves dumping the packet of mix real quick like with hopes of inhaling the delicious clouds of flavor as they roll from the pitcher. Using a wooden spoon as pestle to the Tupperware mortar, he is melds crystal and powder into an alchemist’s wet dream. Once he is certain that the two have become one he adds water from the tap that has been running during this entire process, ensuring that it is as cold as possible. He can still hear the granules of sugar being drug along the bottom of the pitcher no matter how much he stirs.

My love affair with Kool-Aid was supposed to have been rewarded at 518 1st Street (Hastings) in the form of a spectacular historical marker dedicated to the birth of a DIY beverage. Sadly the only items worth noting at this sacred site were a couple of plaques on a nondescript building. A local informed me that an exhibit honoring Nebraska’s official drink was housed in the Hastings Museum at 1330 N Burlington Street. Being an underwhelmed fatty I jumped at the chance to actually learn its history and buy a tote bag full of merchandise. The one bit of information that the local failed to mention was that on Mondays the museum was closed, making this 90 minute detour all the more special.

To make up for lost time I bypassed the two-lane route and set course for Interstate-80. Now one would think that the spiky wreck of the Odyssey was already four too many monstrosities straddling the great American thoroughfare that is I-80, but they would be wrong. The $60 million longhouse style sweat lodge turned hovering eyesore is 200 miles and a crappy rivet’s width west of the Spiky Towers. A bureaucrat jealous of St. Louis’ Gateway to the West decided that Nebraska could also house a gateway of sorts. The Great Platte River Road Archway is nothing more than a double-wide trailer on steroids.

In need of some gas I stopped pulled off a few clicks down the four-lane on EXIT 211. Behind the gas station rests a life size buffalo being hunted down by a life size Indian riding a life size horse, all of which are constructed from life size barbed wire. Rust being my favorite color and all, I had to get closer to this lockjaw inducing vignette. I leashed the hounds and walked around the gas station to discover the world’s largest plow marking the entrance to a red barn labeled Sod House Museum.

As if everyone received the memo except for me, the museum was closed. To deter lookie loos from approaching a real life sod house and barbed sculptures the curators erected a split rail fence from one end to the other. Being a cunning chub I spotted a break in the fence hidden in the tree line. The hounds and I traversed the rugged terrain and found ourselves face to face with a swell prairie sod house surrounded by natural grasses and vegetation.

We circled each sculpture and the structure several times to soak in the history and craftsmanship. Once I was satisfied with the photos taken we headed for the ATM. Just as I opened the rear passenger door for Lou and Win I spotted the hundreds of sandburs imbedded in their silky hair. Thirty minutes and a couple hundred expletives later we were headed into Gothenburg to carve our names into an original Pony Express outpost. Keep your fingers crossed that ponies of the Shetland variety were involved.

Coffee with a Lot Lizard and a Sapp Brother

2011-10-14T23:14:00.000-07:00

Jumbo art silos caught me off guard on my return from Boys Town. Vinyl condoms printed with digital farmland images clung to the side of the shaft exposed to freeway bound commuters. The other side of these abandoned grain bins have been transformed into an extreme climbing wall for prairie dwellers. A fun fact to those of you traveling in my footsteps, recreating your own version of this adventure: don't slow down to 35mph on this particular stretch of highway - other drivers will honk at you, ride your ass and make ghastly hand motions. I'm still trying to figure out what it means when someone grabs their right wrist with their left hand, sliding it up and down their forearm while hanging out their window screaming, "I ruin your hole!"

After drowning in Olive Garden slop courtesy Leo, I rolled my chub into the ATM and headed out for one last photo-op before my time at the Compound came to an end. Being that I love me some coffee, the Sapp Brothers' water tower turned percolating coffee pot became my final destination. You can smell the 24 million cups of piping hot java from I-80 Exit 440. As sun hits horizon the percolator flashes red letting all passing semitrailers and motorists know that they are approaching a world of wonderment.

The Sapp brothers operate hundreds of truck stops throughout the Midwest. It just so happens that truck stops are the natural habitat for the elusive Lot Lizard. What is a Lot Lizard you may ask? Well friends, a Lot Lizard is a special type of woman who trolls parking lots looking to make a buck. A nocturnal bunch that communicate with truckers via window knocks; 1 tap for handies, 2 for a mouthful and 3 for anything goes. After an encounter with a Lizard one usually ends up at either a health clinic or 24 hour cafe, those below the Sapp Brothers' coffee pot don't have far to walk.

You have had some lovin' and some grub but there seems to be something missing that you can't quite put you finger on - then it hits you, the good Lord Jesus Christ. Sapp Brothers have you covered there too. No more than a Lot Lizard's panty toss from the cab of your truck is the Mobile Chapel.

To bid me a fond farewell Rooster and Hen pulled together a swell sendoff parade that started in their wing of the Compound and ended in my guest room. You should have seen old Hen wrapped in chicken wire stuffed with red, white and blue napkins. She looked like a glorious Ms. 4th of July with sparklers in each hand. Rooster's head was topped off with one of those fuzzy tubes found on members of the Irish Guard while humming Steam's Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye. The next morning I packed the ATM once more for what I thought would be the longest leg of the race, but ended up being second - right behind my 14 hour ass burner from Wyoming to Leo's place in Griswold, IA.

A Black Italian Angel with a Goiter Made of Stamps

2011-10-12T19:10:00.000-07:00

Before I get started a gratuitous plug for my NEW website BACKOFFMUSTACHE.com

Now on with the show already.

My last post was not convoluted due to subject matter, rather it clogged the pipeline with lack of thought flow. This load of travel memories is geared toward those of you who prefer pictures in their reading, pretty pictures to chop the endless rambling into digestible chunks.

Two black angels can be found in Iowa, both of which reside in bone yards wrapped in lore stoked by school children like Cousin Sara's sweet daughter Ellie. As a chubby high school shit my friends and I would sneak up to the Iowa City black angel in hopes of seeing the slightest bit of movement. Sadly the only movement was in our bowels as we ran screaming back to our car. Iowa City's angel is creepy both in sun and moonlight, Council Bluffs' black angel can be found on the opposite end of the spectrum. Little Ellie's nine year old smile grew when I said that the black angel was on my list of stops. She told me, "The lady under the angel saw it in three dreams and died after the last time. At night the angel flies around and goes into other people's dreams. If you see her fly you are going to die." Ellie's account of a swooping angel of death provided as much research as I needed. Her story left a macabre image in my gullible brain nugget, when in reality the Council Bluffs' black angel was an elegant turn of the century fountain built as an ode to a loving mother.

While soaking the black angel in from one of the handful of granite benches I popped open my treasured sketchbook to select my next stop. The closest oddity was home to presidential golf clubs, the Gerald Ford Mini Museum. I need not remind you that my only research into each attraction is by word of mouth or google maps as not to taint my initial reaction. My blackened mind imagined a shack with a Plexiglas enclosure protecting Mr. Ford's golf clubs from the greasy grasp of all ten annual visitors. The ATM never truly stopped at the museum, rather cruised by in disappointment that this was not a lame layover. Presidential grandeur screamed at me from the Young Republican sponsored rose garden.

In need of bronzed tackiness I made like a fat lady on Black Friday and waddled as fast as my kankles could carry me to Omaha. There I discovered a Franco-American god, Chef Boyardee. He stands watch over the intersection of south 10th and Farnam. After lighting a candle fashioned from an old SpaghettiOs can I swung by the insane asylum grotto.

Why not end the day with a belly full of warm dryer lint? I mean fuzzies, with warm fuzzies in the form of Father Flanagan. He was a swell priest who swam against the grain of Catholic pedorasses. This fella founded a home for boys in 1912 that prepared its residents for the real world rather than turning them out into the cold after becoming of age. The home quickly grew into a 900 acre village with its own zip code, police force, self sustaining farm, schools and loads of dormitories known as Boys Town.

Without television or pads of i the inhabitants of Boys Town kept busy with wholesome fun like stamp collecting. So much so that an entire hall has been dedicated to the adhesive little slips of paper. Consuming the center of the hall are 4.65 million canceled stamps.

Weighing in at 600 pounds this solid jumbo sphere is the World's Largest Ball of Stamps.

The Hall of History at the end of Flanagan Drive contains a chronological self guided tour of all things Boys Town. What may very well be the most impressive artifact is Spencer Tracy's Academy Award for portraying Father Flanagan in the 1938 movie Boys Town.

Be sure to bring your travel mug, tomorrow we will visit a percolating coffee pot big enough to brew 24 million cups of joe.

Forgive Me for this Convoluted Turd of a Post

2011-10-11T19:27:00.000-07:00

A waft of what turned out to be a swell shrimp Étouffée lured us from the ATM and into the Compound's kitchen. Catching up with Rooster and Hen made for a nice breather and wind down from being on the road for over eight hours. A night cap of Millstream root beer around a fire that was built from the Rooster's blood and sweat soaked timber made for a splendid second pyrotechnic dream. My near cosmic twin Cousin Sara (birth date of 17 AUG 82 vs. my 17 AUG 80) long her current lover / future husband Mike rounded out the brigade. Not seeing a near cosmic twin for nearly two years only to pick up exactly where you left off is a grand gift. So grand that they may request that you be an usher in their spring 2012 wedding and you respond with, "Am I able to pinch asses? If so, may I be assigned to the groom's family?"

While in the greater Omaha region I was invited to attend a fete in which all in attendance were to celebrate a live telecast of a football match. Rather than sitting on my hands in anticipation of the off kicking of swine hyde - Cousin Sara, her lover and I decided to search for the Golden Spike Monument. We found the fifty-six foot tall obelisk across the street from a trailer park that had definitely seen better days. This promotional gimmick for the 1939 film Union Pacific is 533 miles northeast from the true Transcontinental Railroad splice in Strasburg, Colorado.

Later that afternoon I added Vlasic dill pickle halves and a jumbo box of strawberry Pop-Tarts to the already bountiful game day smorgasbord. Cousins, aunts and uncles that I have not seen in years were all hugged with proper crotch proximity. Stories of times past were swapped with plans of the future. Before my sliding out the front door I noticed something that just wasn't right with Uncle Stan's hat, it was then that the white polka dots on the underside of its bill shouted, "I'm a lady hat!" I announced this to the group then crawled on top of old Stanley to give him a good dry hump goodbye.

I promise that tomorrow will be filled with vulgar anecdotes and loads of pics. Hang in there Sally.

A Rooster, a Fat Man and Two Hounds Walk into a Brothel

2011-10-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

I broke my two-lane pact with the EPA to ensure a timely arrival at the Rooster and Hen's Compound. As I pulled into the gated bluff top fortress I spotted the nearly seven foot tall graying Ginger chopping wood faster than any Chattahoochee River beaver. The second my clod hit the pavement Rooster shot out a hoot, a holler and a big, "Chaddy Baby!" Hugs with proper crotch proximity were exchanged before we headed toward the first of five Rooster approved attractions. To offset my carbon footprint I hitched the old ATM to the hounds and had them pull us through the bluffs.

Not only is Rooster one of the funniest some bitches that ever shot shit, he has a gunny sack filled with historical gems specialized in Lewis and Clark mixed with the West. Just a hare under four miles from the safety of the Compound is the Lewis and Clark Monument Park. Nestled at the end of a winding hilltop lane are two semicircular monoliths etched with crisp text on the front and a swell relief on the reverse depicting Louie and Clarkster's introduction to the Otoe and Missouria Indians.

Are you still looking at those chunks of rock? Turn around Sally and fix those peepers on the Missouri River technicolor panorama behind you. I suggest standing next to the Rooster and having him describe points of interest: remnants of ravaging flood waters, a still submerged Lakeview Park, Eppley Airfield, Omaha's skyline, Union Pacific (UP) Rail Yard and a few horned owls.

Council Bluffs' love affair with UP is so steamy that they have conceived a museum with one another in an old Carnegie library. Two stories crammed full of goods that would make the Ames' brothers happier than the foreman of a freshly completed rail tunnel through the Rockies. More on the Ames' brothers and their pyramid in the middle of a Wyoming wasteland next week.

I only snapped two pics at the UP Museum, both of which would make the curator a bit pissy. Image UPM no.1 is of a ticket window with a sign taped to the security grate, "OUR TICKET AGENT WAS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING AND IS HOSPITALIZED, WE HOPE TO GET HIM BACK SOON." Image UPM no.2 is of Bob Hope having a white ribbon pulled from his ass by a Hollywood starlet. Both items made the UP Museum well worth the free admission. Well, Rooster's commentary made every hilarious minute worth the price.

Image UPM no.1

Image UPM no.2

Council Bluffs' decommissioned rotary county jail with the killer moniker of Squirrel Cage is an acorn toss away from the UPM. The three story cylinder would rotate until the needed cell lined up with the jailer's platform. When the Rooster and I peaked our heads through the door a nice woman leaned from her office chair and asked if we would like to tour the jail. We gave an enthusiastic YES. She replied with, "That will be $14." After pushing my eyes back into their sockets and picking up my jaw we returned with a, "No thank you," while exiting the building. The Rooster and I agreed that for the $14 admission we surely would have received at the very least a handjob.

As we tooled around the bluffs four terrible images tore their way into the Rooster's brain and luckily for us all of them reside on the 24th Street Bridge above I-80. Odyssey is a $3.5 million tetraptych which was designed under the guise of welcoming travelers to Council Bluffs.

The only thing that these four atrocities succeed at is creating a sense of confusion, an air of negativity and misleading Midwesterners into thinking that all public art is shit.

Our final stop was at Omaha's famed Lauritzen Gardens to experience a magical land filled with model trains that zip between miniature specimen trees. Sadly this attraction forced me to break my one and only Operation Decompression rule; I PAID $7.

Each of the 100 acres are as manicured as the finest of a green thumbed OCD sufferer. A low flying crop duster must have been loaded with work by Omaha based artist Jun Kaneko, the remnants of a Berlin style airlift were left throughout in the form of bronze heads and Dangos (jumbo ceramic pieces). The sculptures compliment their surroundings in a wonderful "One of these these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong" type of way.

UP loves to create attractions with their logos plastered on every surface. If they didn't pour wheelbarrows of cash into them it would be annoying. In comparison the immense size of the gardens this postage stamp attraction was by far the most amazing. The Rooster and I could have spent the rest of the day watching the trains and trolleys zip through the trees past replicas of famous Omahanian landmarks of past and present.

Every structure is constructed of sticks, twigs, branches, twist ties and other natural materials.

If you were to say that these amazing models weren't amazing you would be a damn liar. The only thing missing was my blue and white striped conductor hat. Rooster let me sit on his shoulders to get this shot up in the trees.

Our final vignette contained a replica of the Japanese Sunpu Castle Gate and of Mt. Fuji. Since my rotund chub will likely never climb the real Fuji, I scurried up this mound of earth while the Rooster stood guard at its foot to keep watch and make a crow call when the fuzz approached.

This will be the last post for this week since the two-lanes are calling. I plan on returning next week with more goods for your pleasure.

Shacking at the Compound with Rooster and the Hen

2011-10-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

As I popped the ATM's trunk to load my matching orange luggage a burst of gravel dust billowed out and revealed just enough rocks to fill a chubby toddler paw. The seal of the trunk had been compromised in one of the two major accidents a couple years back allowing easy access to the rocks from my previous day's gravel road travel. If I would have had more time I would have driven to a quarter carwash and vacuumed the mess before loading, but my schedule did not afford me such luxuries. Hell, time was never a consideration - it was the fact that Leo was on his way to meet me at the Farmer's Kitchen for a farewell lunch.

One would think that the morsels to be absorbed first in the morning should have some semblance of a balanced meal like those Total cereal commercials in the 90s. Thinking that way is a load of horse shit.

I ordered and enjoyed an open face meatloaf sandwich smothered in what can only be described as salted liquid lard, a cup of thick coffee and a slice of the finest apple pie with a side of cheddar cheese. Leo ordered half of a chef salad.

One thing that caught my eye on my waddle back to the ATM was the fact that several handicap spots were assigned to specific citizens. Barb had a spacious corner spot with a dandy view of a mural funded by the National Endowment for the Arts.

Before the motley caravan of two hounds and my chubby self were to arrive at Uncle Rooster and Aunt Hen's compound located high above Council Bluffs, IA, there were two must sees.

Elk Horn, IA is home to the United States' only authentic functioning Danish Windmill. This fine replica of windmills seen throughout elderly women's gardens was built in 1848 over in the land of Danes, brought to Elk Horn in 1975 and opened to the public in 1976. I snapped pics of this mill of wind from afar, adhering to my promise of not paying for access.

A tourist attraction the folks of Elk Horn did make. No more than a pillagers leap away was this swell home of a viking smithy circa 900CE. Who knew that vikings designed LEED structures with green roofs and repurposed materials?

My last stop was the front yard of a swell couple in the town of Avoca, IA to see their VW Bug turned arachnid at the intersection of Chestnut and Washington. This masterpiece is the perfect keeper of the property, waking at dusk to patrol the property and ward off evil doers. I especially love the shadows that this beast throws off.

Forty minutes later I pulled into the driveway of the Compound to begin my adventures with uncle Rooster. NOTE: the Compound is not in anyway involved in a sect or does it house lunatics preparing for the end of days, rather it is the quirky home of my aunt and uncle who have housed numerous family members at the same time making it more of a commune than a compound - but compound is so much less of a hippy term.

Since I have been promising you the insane asylum grotto I will skip ahead a half dozen attractions and dive into the creepy cavern, returning to the previously scheduled program tomorrow. The thirteen or so Omahanians that I queried regarding the grotto had absolutely no clue what I was talking about, although they were aware of the old St. Joseph's Hospital.

Post shoot I poked around Creighton University's online library and stumbled upon a detail of an early 20th century St. Joseph addition complete with the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes. Vines now choke out the structure located on the edge of a parking whose entrance is on Dorcus St. between 8th and 9th.

I am quite certain that it did not look nearly as disturbing during its dedication ceremony in the summer of 1910. A screen door straight out of Deliverance is permanently ajar and hard to locate amongst the foliage. Chunks of calcite and reclaimed stones from decommissioned buildings frame the portal.

Only the tiniest patch of light is able to fight its way though the muddy film covered windows, making for a dank and eerie room. Once my catlike eyes adjusted they focused in on the intricately placed stones forming arches, altars and columns. An empty niche flanked by two yellow slits of stained glass pressed into the stone wall anchored the room. A relatively new prayer bar and railing cordoned off the area as if the Lady of Lourdes' reliquary was on display.

Long exposure photos turned what looked like an abandoned dungeon into a peaceful hidden sanctuary peppered with tea lights to allow for prayer and vigil. A lighter, pen, paper and a vessel in which to deposit your prayers and requests all rest on a stone table built into the wall. I lit one of the candles and was surprised at the amount of light that it cast through the darkness.

I am sorry to report that there wasn't a sociopath escapee from the asylum seeking shelter in the grotto. It was nothing more than a structure at first glance was engulfed by the stigma of the word asylum combined with a sense of neglect. I made a completely off base judgement of what turned out to be a location that was just as amazing as my previous stop at the Grotto of the Redemption in West Bend, IA.

Fear not - tomorrow I will start at the beginning of my two days spent with a seven foot tall ginger named uncle Rooster.

Au Revoir, Au Revoir Pee-Wee. Au Revoir Central Iowa

2011-10-02T19:06:00.000-07:00

Sweet Moses, I misjudged the number of photos that I captured between Central and Western Iowa. Now you have to wait until tomorrow before you are given goose skin from the Insane Asylum Grotto.

Keeping the speedometer at or below Richard Nixon's limit of fifty-five allowed for a physical and mental down shift from my normal Chicago tollway bob and weaves. My slow motion instant play of a day wound through both paved and gravel paths cutting hundreds of thousand of nearly harvest ready countryside. After my stop and chat with the retired Ohio couple near the tree in the road I headed forty-five miles south to the Pizza Ranch server's recommendation of the Vallisca Axe Murder House.

A delightful little pig welcomed me into what was a medium village with a creepy vibe that I couldn't put my sausage finger on. When I created the Max Allan Collins Film Expo in Waterloo, IA a swell team of filmmakers entered a documentary to be screened about a ninety-five year unsolved axe murder.

On 9 June, 1912 eight people were bludgeoned to death in their beds with the family axe. Several men were accused, one was acquitted and none were found guilty - leaving the case unsolved. The garage is a three dimensional guestbook for visitors who take the day and overnight tours are available through the official Vallisca Axe Murder website. The image above is a rendering of the home as it was that bloody night along with disturbing portraits of the victims.

Since my first mile into Operation Decompression I promised myself that no admission fees would be paid, all experiences were to be free as the pollen filled air running through my wheezy lungs. Sadly the axe house tours were $10, so I ended up circling the house and garage with an overwhelming sense dark weight on my shoulders. Yeah, yeah, I know that it sounds ridiculous, but this place was just that fucking creepy.

After punching the ATM's pedal to the fifty-five mile per hour metal I got the hell out of Vallisca to meet Leo at Atlantic's Mexican restaurant, the one with free WiFi and hot wings. While I was scarfing deep fried chimichangas drowned in queso, Patrick Kolts texted me about joining him and his friends Casey, Molly and Carolyne for a bonfire and tour of 400 sq ft tree house perched thirty feet above a lake. Before my treetop experience Leo and I skipped the fried ice cream and decided to search for the world's largest bicycle in Lewis, IA.

RAGBRAI is an insane bike ride across Iowa that begins with a back tire dip in the Missouri River and ends at the mighty Mississippi River. Each year the route changes allowing for different batches of towns to reap the monetary benefits of hosting 23,000 drunken two-wheel party hounds.

This year the lucky burg of Lewis commemorated the onslaught with a sixteen foot tall,
thirty-two foot wide one speed hipster dream bike. The only thing missing was a sixty-four foot tall
douche sporting size 170 skinny jeans with sixty-two inch cuffs.

With my last Central Iowa oddities in the hopper I was off to experience the grandest treehouse in the Midwest and matching hardwood fire. Pitch dark peppered with vertigo inducing constellations made the winding hike through meadows and timber all the better. The view of mist rolling in on the lake's surface from the treehouse would have made any thriller film's cinematographer jealous.

After a full evening of campfire songs, peach pockets (fresh peaches, brown sugar and marshmallows wrapped in foil - tossed onto the coals) and crazy nordic folktales the girls headed back to the warmth of home. An hour or so later the fellas and I jumped into a wide aluminum canoe and returned to shore. Patrick sat in the bow with a lantern raised high, Captain Casey paddled in the stern and I in the amidship without being able to see anything beyond the oars. My fear of water mixed with the freezing air and butterfly excitement reminded me of sitting at the top of a killer water slide as a husky eleven year old.

I could not have imagined a grander way of ending my time in Central Iowa. It was nearly three in the morning when I pulled up to Leo's and around four when I was packed and prepped for my morning commute to Western Iowa / Eastern Nebraska.

Coffee with Harriet Tubman Near the Tree in the Road

2011-10-01T10:46:00.000-07:00

The hounds and I settled quite nicely at Leo's after having read his thirty page list of house rules. My favorite of the rules was that the fringe on his area rug had to be spaced exactly 3mm apart at any given time throughout the day. In honor of his handsome little museum celebrating the life of a bachelor, Griswold has installed cellular signal jammers to ensure that all who enter are as lonely as he.

Upon Leo's java recommendation I jumped into the ATM and set course for the Sweet Joy Shoppe. Patrick Kolts' (the Brooklyn transplant) text message about being in Atlantic arrived as I was tipping back a much needed redeye (coffee with a shot of espresso). We caught up through a mix of texts that ended with him joining me for my third. After a swell hour of coffee talk I was given and accepted an invite to dinner at his parents' farmstead the next night.

No matter the distance traveled a sense of being beat down with a penny filled sock leaves me rendered useless. Luckily this feeling swept me to the Shoppe's outdoor bistro table for a five hour stint of swigging bean infused hot water. While stationed near the entrance it soon became clear that I was becoming something of a small town celebrity with questions of, "Are you the writer? When can I see your blog? Have you contacted the local paper, they would love to interview you? Could you illustrate my children's book? Are you from Europe?"

Dinner with the Kolts' was a spectacular mix of beef, potatoes, Dorothy Lynch salad dressing and best of all - truly amazing people. The theme of the evening was travel. We heard of Patrick's parents' time at the Louvre, his friend Carolyne's adventures in Guatemala and of his tour of the world as a photography assistant. It was nice to have a home cooked meal around a dinning room table that lasted into the early hours of morning.

I woke with the need to cram two days worth of photos into one since I took the day off. Leo and I met for a salad that he raved about at the Pizza Ranch. Our waitress spotted Google Maps on the iPad and said, "Oooo, maps. Where ya headin'?" I layed out my two-lane adventure and she recommended the Villisca Axe Murder House. Locals are key to finding the truly unique goods in an area.

On my way out of town I swung by the Hitchcock House, on the word of Leo that it was the boyhood home of the infamous director. Turns out is had no ties to the Vertigo King, rather it was a safe house on the Underground Railroad.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't disappointed to find the Hitchcock House had not inspired a world in which birds attack. Although this was a swell time capsule that included a safe house for slaves escaping from Nebraska and Kansas on their way to Detroit with a final destination of Canada.

A cupboard in the basement swung open to conceal the fugitive slaves during a
time that offering aid or shield to them was a federal offense.

After such a solemn stop I was in need of a lighthearted oddity and what could be better than a plow absorbed into an oak tree?

A farmer was tending to his plow when a battalion of Union Soldiers marched past this very field.
A wind of patriotic revelry swept the farmer up and tossed him into rank, leaving his plow against a bur oak.
Sadly the farmer never returned from war and the plow was swallowed whole by the tree.

You can only see a few pieces of the plow:
above - moldboard is the fancy word for the sharp end that gouges the soil

The clevis or what is commonly called brass knuckles.

Lucile Vanderbilt and Sir Winston Woo in the split trunk of a monster oak.
Take number four. Ms. Vanderbilt does not enjoy the lens of a camera.

If you ever wake from a heavy night of drinking near Exira, be sure to crawl your way to this ninth wonder of the modern world.

Keeping with my dendrophiliac fantasies I pushed forward and found another rare tree, one that has grown in the intersection of 350th and Nighthawk just outside of Brayton, IA. This 100 foot tall cottonwood was nothing more than a switch that could have just as likely been used to swat the ass of a mouthy farm kid, but it was destined to take root. Local lore says that a land surveyor jammed a cottonwood branch into the prairie to aid in his marking of Audubon and Cass counties.

The fellas who lay gravel were on a union break when they came upon the sapling. After a discussion
over olive loaf and sour milk they decided to plot the roads around it rather than getting off of their
equipment to cut it down. (I may have fabricated the whole union worker thing, it is a mystery
as to why it was never cut down to make way for the roads).

The ATM did not like being parked half in a ditch and almost refused to clear her way out.
As I lurched forward into the road I almost sideswiped a Buick from Ohio that held a nice
retired couple in town for Atlantic's Coca-Cola days.

Tomorrow I will complete this day's stops and prepare you for western Iowa and Omaha, both of which had more visual treasures than you could ever imagine. Dare I say Insane Asylum Grotto?

Here is the Nice Indian Woman I was Talking About

2011-09-28T18:43:00.000-07:00

What I thought to be as a short leg of three plus hours turned into a nine hour jaunt peppered with a couple of dandies. The final two stops made for a spiritual experience balanced by an ultra jumbo gal in moccasins.

West Bend, IA is nothing more than a gas station mashed into a smattering of ticky-tacky little boxes wrapped around the opus of an inspired manic priest.

Like many of the locations captured by my handy fish-eye lens,
the Grotto of the Redemption has the distinguished honor of being the "World's Largest" grotto.
Father Dobberstein activated the Catholic Phone Tree (yes, they have such a thing)
and requested that all parishioners load railcars headed for West Bend with
precious stones; geodes, coral, petrified wood, calcite and a whole sack of other geological oddities.

Fr. Dobberstein spent forty-two years constructing this wonder beginning in 1912.
He had only two assistants toward the end of his life, Matt Szerensce and Father Greving,
who eventually completed the project after Dobberstein's death.

Even the stations of the cross are constructed entirely of only the grandest stones that
a Catholic could find. No matter where you stand in the Grotto a sense of calm surrounds you.

Exquisite Italian marble sculptures of Christ, his Disciples, angels, Mary and Joseph
are placed chronologically throughout the Grotto. Here is Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane.
A creepy looking Judas was hidden around the corner with his sack of gold
coins for pointing Christ out in the Roman lineup.

I could have spent hours pining over the placement and beauty of each gem.
Even with the intensity of subject matter there was an ever present sense of whimsical folk art.

I know that you will never be "just in the neighborhood" of the Grotto of the Redemption,
but make the trip whether you are religious or not. Father Dobberstein's creation that was built
to fulfill the promise made to the Blessed Mary for curing him of pneumonia.

Walking out of the Grotto renewed the purpose behind Operation Decompression and pumped me full of curiosity for the remainder of my adventure. With just enough time for one more stop before bunking at Little Leo's Griswold manse, I again hit the two-lanes.

One of the best parts of foregoing any tollways or freeways is the lackadaisical feel of meandering among the crops ready for harvest. My colorblind eyes work best when the surrounding colors are earth tones, making for a gem of a view.

Twenty-seven miles southwest of the Grotto in the small town of Pocahontas, IA stands a lady who was forced to accompany a Brit named John Smith and his singing dog in their canoe out west.

If it were not for this brave twenty-five foot maiden Mr. Smith would
have been executed by her tribe for duping them into selling
Manhattan for a bucket of Mardis Gras beads.

Pocahontas, IA is named "The Princess City", yet Pocahontas was never a princess.
It was only after her death that a fictitious title was bestowed upon her.
P.S. She married a fella who invented a better strain of tobacco, became wealthy, had a son, moved to England, was the toast of the Court and ended up dying of an unknown illness at the age of twenty-two on a river bank in Virginia.

I will make the rest of this lengthy novella quick and to the point through the magic of bullet points:

I had to pass through Atlantic, IA on my way to Leo's.
Atlantic is sixteen miles north of Griswold.
Julie and I have a friend named Patrick Kolts who lives in Brooklyn, NY.
Patrick's Parents live near Atlantic.
On my way through I voice texted Patrick, "Chad Allen reporting from Atlantic, IA, all is well"
The next day he texted, "What?! I'm in Atlantic, IA"

More on Brooklyn via Atlantic tomorrow along with an Underground Railroad House, an axe murder house and my becoming a local celebrity in Atlantic.

A Giant Cock, Cone and a Dash of Pocahontas

2011-09-25T21:15:00.000-07:00

After a dandy of an day and evening at my mother-in-law's bungalow it was time to pack the hounds and head south to my dad's miniature bachelor pad (it's small because he is really little) in Griswold, IA. As the wind whipped the hell out the hounds with their heads popping out both passenger side windows, I kept my eyes open for the next two-lane attraction. Our first photo-op came in the form of a large cock and cone on the outskirts of Clear Lake, on the north of US HWY18. Both fiberglass megaliths were exactly what I needed to get the handy Canon primed for the next few weeks.

Clear Lake Cock

Two of my favorite things as a kid:
Wonder Bread and a TWIST cone


I can honestly say that I have never seen the underside of a cone's lip before.

As a young chub my Grandpa Jack used to take us fishing and actually let us talk, unlike Leo who demanded silence while trying not to stick his whole finger into the stink bait jar. If old Grandpa wanted us to really feel like we were hot shit he would take us out to snag a couple buckets full of bullheads (a nasty little fish that lives in and eats the crap at the bottom of the lake). Those slimy guys never grew much larger than a hoagie bun, unless you were to find yourself in Crystal Lake, IA where the World's Largest Bullhead resides.


Swell Fella on the Jetty: You want me to move my truck from in front of that? Sweaty Fat Man from Chicago: It's not in the way, thanks though. SFotJ: Isn't that thing goofy looking? SFMfC: Yes it is. I;m traveling throughout Iowa snapping photos of big weird stuff. SFotJ: That's not the biggest weirdest thing in Iowa, this guy is (gesturing to the old man in the boat).

We used to catch enough bullheads to fill the cleaning table in Grandpa Jack's yard.
They would be piled so high that it was nothing more than a floppy, sloppy table top.

In a yard across from the Bullhead was an old Rock Island Railroad dining car. I bet that poor car never in a million years would have thought that it was going to end up as the centerpiece to a half ass hosta garden in small town Iowa.

This was more than a big day, it was the plunge that I needed to clear the steel wool from between my ears and realize that fresh air was supposed to make my nipples hard - not my eyes run and nose itchy. The only thing that could have followed such an amazing stop was the World's Largest Cheeto in Algona, IA. As I closed in on this the most illusive of the World's Largest snacks I spotted a billboard for a Louis Sullivan Jewel Box Bank only a mile from the Cheeto.

A few year back the city of Algona raised $180 to purchase the World's Largest Cheeto as a tourist draw. Once the seller found out about how his Cheeto brought an entire dozen of people together he donated it to the city. Rather than display their haul in a public place for all to see, it is kept behind locked doors at Emerald's Restaurant. Sadly they are closed between lunch and dinner leaving my memory card short an image of that sweet little nugget of orange goodness.

If it were not for that Jewel Box Bank billboard this stop would have been a wash. Louis Sullivan was the mentor and teacher to a pampas ass named Frank Lloyd Wright. Without Sullivan, there would not have been a Wright. Later in life Sullivan became a dead broke drunk. Much of the world had written him off, thankfully a bank director wasn't one of them. He designed and completed nine banks in total, all of which are still standing.

You can definitely see where Wright pulled some design elements.
Henry Adams Building
123 Main Street - Algona, IA

He loved placing intricate patterns on mundane surfaces. What a grand sill.

Only two more stops to go and at this point the hounds were a bit peckish and in need of some major leg stretched. It just so happened to be their luck that a swanky dog bakery occupied a storefront two doors down from the bank. Pet Kingdom's proprietors were two swell gals that absolutely loved the hounds and insisted that they taste the pastries before I even considered buying. We left with $4 of pastries in the sack, $10 in their bellies and an ear full of great places in which to photograph.

Buddy, the Bopper and Ritchie's Wild Ride

2011-09-24T22:35:00.000-07:00

After roughing it at the five acre Parecki Estate I decided to take my mother-in-law up on her offer of staying in her swell Mason City bungalow. It just so happens that music died no more than thirteen miles from the coazy guest room in which I slept.

Before I made the trek into a cornfield to pay my respects, a visit to Buddy, the Bopper and Ritchie's last venue was in order.

460 North Shore Drive Avenue - Clear Lake, IA
Winter Dance Party Tour - 2 FEB 1959

All three fellas and their pilot boarded a puddle jumper at 0255 on 3 FEB 1959. A novice pilot disoriented by weather flew the plane into a farm field killing everyone on board as well as the music. Before you head north to the crash site be sure to bring a little tchotchke to add to the already overwhelming pile of junk.

Take Buddy Holly Place out of town and shag right on 310, weave left on Gull Avenue.
Keep your eye out for the biggest pair of horn rimmed beauties, they
mark the field. Hike your chub a little over a half mile while
following the fence line and you can't miss the shrine.

Weird doesn't even begin to explain the crap that people have left for the fellas.

This guy pasted Buddy's face over his father's, left a library card,
a blank check and a photo of Buddy Holly just in case
is ghost who haunts the site every February forgot what he looked like.

Hundreds of guitar picks litter the area, but my favorite piece left for the spirits
is a federal penitentiary identification card - CLASSY.

This broad attached her nearly thirty year old drivers license attached to the stems of fake roses.
She wrote the name of a Buddy Holly song on each petal.

I was winded after my walk to the site,
I'm not sure how these two handicapable folks made it.


Even soccer hooligans pay their respect.

Enough of the Fuzzies

2011-09-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

I started this adventure with a need to experience an introspective awakening and found that my spiritual identity is tied to a cheeky sense of potty humor. To hell with the Kuraltian journey and a giant HELLO NURSE to a quintessential Chad Allen tour that is Operation Decompression.

Castle Parecki, Iowa's finest pueblo style Argentine villa.

2011-09-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

The Red Head and I were both born and raised in the Hawkeye State, a dandy Midwestern dream. A professor introduced us to each other; we became the best of friends, lovers and then a happily married cornfed couple. Every time that the tires of the ATM cross that magical line cutting through the Mississippi, a warm fuzzy fills my belly. My recent forging of the muddy river was not much different from those of the past, other than the empty passenger seat. Having added over 110,000 miles to the ATM's 240,112, patterns of toilet breaks have emerged. Please keep all judgement in your wallet with that condom you have been saving for the "right" time since your sophomore year of high school - without my Red Head copilot I was able to implement a handy pee cup, saving 15 minutes per piss. This valuable savings afforded a streamline shot from Allen House Chicago to Castle Parecki.

Each of the five acres that form Castle Parecki's immaculate grounds and gardens is an adventure for the hounds, Lucile Vanderbilt and Sir Winston Woo. The instant I open the ATM's door they are on the hunt for smells that could never be found on Chicago's north side; fresh air, cow shit, sweet smoke billowing from combines, industrial hog confinements and a doe eyed optimism for the brighter side.

Fine food from mom's catering repertoire is forced upon arrival, departure and even more for the road. A perpetually full coffee carafe resides on the counter next to the half dozen plastic cups branded with each of the daycare kids' names. Two nights and three days where food became a culinary blur and the hounds slept out of necessity rather than boredom made for a swell jump into the adventure canoe.

It all started on the 4th day.

2011-09-20T14:52:00.000-07:00

39 days sober and into my fourth week of rehab with a five day stint in Chicago's finest psychiatric ward, I decided to take a break from the stress of a fruitless job hunt. I hopped into my ATM, a 2001 Honda Accord that I paid $3000 for and have received over $6000 in insurance checks for other people's mistakes, and hit the ground running with two trusty hounds by my side.

At first the adventure was no more than a weekend with family in north central Iowa. Somewhere on a two-lane highway near the Field of Dreams it hit me, the Grand Plan. Why restrict Operation Decompression to a three day stretch? What about a three week - four state tour of photographic exploration and development of a long overdue children's book?

Upon my arrival at Castle Parecki, the stately home of Mario and Roxanna Radina Parecki (my parents), the kaiser roll to the ham salad that was to be Operation Decompression began to rise. I logged onto roadsideamerica.com to become familiar with as many of Iowa's oddities that a trip funded by donations could handle. After scratching a list that filled two pages in my 24th sketchbook I realized that this was more than a leisurely Sunday stroll through the countryside, this was a true American adventure.

Facebook Updates

2010-07-20T14:53:00.000-07:00

I am well aware of the fact that keeping a list of my Fecebook status updates since 16 October, 2008 makes me a complete pampas ass. I present them to you now for your entertainment.

Chad just used the creepy public restroom outside his office. While he was using the urinal the person in the stall next to him asked in an almost inaudible tone, “Sir, (INSERT long pause) would you like to?” He did not finish the question. Do you think that he was going to ask, “Sir would you like to give me directions to the nearest masturbatarium?” (Tue, 20 Jul 2010 18:01:41 GMT)

Chad would prefer Lucile Vanderbilt not sleep in the laundry basket containing freshly folded garment – yet she does. (Tue, 20 Jul 2010 13:20:37 GMT)
Chad would like everyone in NorthCenter to know what a crapfest the Piggery is. Mediocre does not begin to describe the help or the food. Best quote from the dirty girl server, “I grabbed you some butter and put it in my pocket, but gave it to someone else - sorry.” (Mon, 19 Jul 2010 14:26:14 GMT)

Chad thinks that he may wear his rubber assless chaps to the gallery opening tomorrow evening. It’s that or his corduroy culottes. (Thu, 15 Jul 2010 12:57:13 GMT)

Chad had a memory surface during his commute; during little league tryouts he was hit in the ass three times by the pitching machine – the skin tight white baseball pants may have worsened the bruising. (Wed, 14 Jul 2010 12:07:48 GMT)

Chad has officially tendered his resignation with the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics – starts work at Rush University Medical Center next month – starts his MFA program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in September. (Tue, 13 Jul 2010 13:52:43 GMT)

Chad swipes dentures from bedside tables while unsuspecting retirement community residents sleep. (Mon, 12 Jul 2010 16:34:22 GMT)

Chad is giddy at just the thought of eating Sushi with the Red Head tonight. Watch out lady, the chubb is on his way. (Thu, 08 Jul 2010 15:52:45 GMT)

Chad would like to share his Grandpa Jack’s Sunday morning hangover cure; go down to the local hardware store’s paint department, wait in line and when it’s your turn stick your head into the paint mixer. He said that it worked like a charm and he was never late to Sunday mass. (Wed, 07 Jul 2010 14:19:14 GMT)

Chad needs one of those creepy mad scientist types to invent a method in which he can produce his source of superpowers without all the hassle (his powers come from the tears of others). (Tue, 06 Jul 2010 16:57:58 GMT)

Chad is celebrating this, the day in which our Nation was born at work. God Bless ‘Merika and the internet. (Mon, 05 Jul 2010 17:36:30 GMT)

Chad is perturbed about two items; his dogs are afraid of the Independence Day fireworks making them communists, the Chicago fireworks’ extravaganza was synced to some grand tunes – tunes that were missing one Mr. Bruce Springsteen – the man shits American flags for Pete’s sake! (Mon, 05 Jul 2010 02:41:17 GMT)

Chad would like to thank that Lexington drunk with an itchy trigger finger for allowing him to enjoy Allen House Chicago Summer Shandy in celebration of ‘Merika. (Sat, 03 Jul 2010 15:55:23 GMT)

Chad loves watching Wipeout with the Red Head, nothing better than people ramming their faces into cushioned posts. (Sat, 03 Jul 2010 03:07:29 GMT)

Chad is ready to blow a finger or two off this weekend to celebrate the birth of this fine nation. (Thu, 01 Jul 2010 13:05:04 GMT)

Chad passed out at 2015 last night and woke up to the sound of an annoying bird trying to break through the screen with fists full of chapstick around 0615. (Wed, 30 Jun 2010 13:17:29 GMT)

Chad gives his open door policy a second guess each and every time the corduroy lady with tiny legs mixed with a short gate swishes by. Good lord woman – place a less friction prone fabric between those thighs. (Tue, 29 Jun 2010 20:45:20 GMT)

Chad and Lucile Vanderbilt are packed and ready to depart for Chicago, making our total distance traveled to see the Red Head 5,664 miles (the distance from Iowa to Moscow, Russia). (Fri, 25 Jun 2010 13:42:53 GMT)

Chad would like to thank the foot washing physician for an encore performance in the men’s room sink this morning. Brava! Brava my good doctor! (Thu, 24 Jun 2010 14:27:37 GMT)

Chad spent a nauseous day in bed and is just now waking, what did he miss? (Wed, 23 Jun 2010 22:38:24 GMT)

Chad is attempting to chisel a profile of Abraham Lincoln into his Rushmore sized cheek zit. (Tue, 22 Jun 2010 14:20:54 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to the impending 50 m.p.h. winds that will whip around his chubby culotte clad body this afternoon. (Fri, 18 Jun 2010 15:30:25 GMT)

Chad put the finishing touches on his beaver wheels, Allen House Chicago is now off the grid and completely self-sustaining. Go Green! (Thu, 17 Jun 2010 13:18:00 GMT)

Chad dug through his dresser drawers this morning, pulled out a pair of the Red Head’s cashmere socks, put them on his hands and chased Lucile Vanderbilt around the house. (Wed, 16 Jun 2010 14:25:34 GMT)

Chad wants nothing more than to eat beef Wellington with the Red Head while strolling through Lincoln Square on a tandem bike with a basket full of Cuckoos. (Tue, 15 Jun 2010 15:04:31 GMT)

Chad is quite certain that vuvuzelas are made from harvested demon horns. (Mon, 14 Jun 2010 13:34:27 GMT)

Chad booked his first solo show tonight for December, 2010. This is great for three reasons: he doesn't sweat as much in winter, he can wear a wool fidora and it's an EFFING solo exhibit. Stay tuned for details. (Sat, 12 Jun 2010 05:10:06 GMT)

Chad has butterflies taking flight from his gullet with capsules of nervous energy in tow. (Fri, 11 Jun 2010 14:43:18 GMT)

Chad punctured holes through two #10 cans of creamed corn, fished rope in and out of the holes and used the cans as stilts – lifting them via creamed rope with each step. Clop – clop. (Thu, 10 Jun 2010 04:59:32 GMT)

Chad dreamt that his beard crawled three inches up his face so that his mustache was a uni-brow and the beard fit snug under his nose like a strap to hold his hair on in the wind of Chicago. (Wed, 09 Jun 2010 13:44:51 GMT)

Chad withdrew all of his money from the credit union, stuffed it into Ziploc baggies and buried all of it in five gallon buckets of fermenting sauerkraut. (Tue, 08 Jun 2010 13:30:56 GMT)

Chad went to bed in Chicago and woke in Iowa. He is trying to remember what he drank yesterday. (Mon, 07 Jun 2010 18:10:46 GMT)

Chad just bought a bumper sticker - "New COUCH, New CHAIR - TUESDAY"! (Sat, 05 Jun 2010 23:32:19 GMT)

Chad uses the weirdest bathroom at work; he passed a guy who walked in eating a doughnut – talking to himself upon urinal approach. (Fri, 04 Jun 2010 19:31:09 GMT)

Chad wants nothing more than to be in bed drinking his triple grande soy latte while watching CBS Sunday Morning with the red head ( Julie Allen ). (Fri, 04 Jun 2010 14:15:35 GMT)

Chad just gave directions to a guy drinking straight from a ½ gallon carton of chocolate milk wearing an alcohol monitor on his ankle. This hospital sure brings in the best of the best. (Thu, 03 Jun 2010 20:19:18 GMT)

Chad will be purchasing a couch with the red head (Julie Allen) this weekend, no more tingle bottom from sitting on the hardwood. (Thu, 03 Jun 2010 15:17:44 GMT)

Chad would like to thank Queen Elizabeth II for knighting him while he was naked in his dream last night. God Save the Queen. (Wed, 02 Jun 2010 15:19:06 GMT)

Chad is creeped out by sinkholes. (Tue, 01 Jun 2010 19:33:32 GMT)

Chad and his work have been accepted into three juried shows as of this morning. Whoever said that hoarding was a bad thing can kiss this sun dappled ass. (Tue, 01 Jun 2010 15:38:29 GMT)

Chad spent the afternoon hunting for dragonflies at Weed Park in Muscatine with his nephew (Isaiah Allen). Summer is officially here. (Mon, 31 May 2010 23:14:21 GMT)

Chad has been informed by the local constable that a sexy redhead ( Julie Allen ) has been spotted this side of the Mississippi with a racist cocker spaniel (Sir Winston Woo). (Thu, 27 May 2010 14:13:52 GMT)

Chad received a call from the City of Chicago this morning asking him if he would be driving his average 8 hours on I-88 this weekend. For the first time in nearly eight weeks he was able to answer, “NO – the red head is coming to Iowa!” (Wed, 26 May 2010 16:04:56 GMT)

Chad climbed into an extra bulky zebra mascot costume and chased people through the alleys of Iowa City today on his lunch break. (Tue, 25 May 2010 20:27:21 GMT)

Chad just witnessed a doctor washing his bare feet in the sink of a public bathroom at the University of Iowa Hospital. (Mon, 24 May 2010 20:51:42 GMT)

Chad wants to be in Iowa City as much as he wants to be smacked in the buffalo head with a burlap sack that was soaked in tuna brine and filled with pennies. Good day sir! (Mon, 24 May 2010 14:17:57 GMT)

Chad is off to Chicago. (Fri, 21 May 2010 20:56:45 GMT)

Chad just watched a crow eat a half-dead, still flapping, pigeon. (Fri, 21 May 2010 14:28:01 GMT)

Chad has a secret room upstairs. Like Letterman. (Fri, 21 May 2010 02:57:02 GMT)

Chad is job hunting for any position in a Chicago haberdashery, distillery, countinghouse, foundation, repository, livery stable, brewery, museum, bodega, atelier, slaughter house or cooper shop. Assistance in said hunt is greatly appreciated and will be handsomely rewarded. (Thu, 20 May 2010 15:14:34 GMT)

Chad feels as if Mary Todd Lincoln is holding a séance in his head. (Wed, 19 May 2010 15:43:28 GMT)

Chad heard that Wal-Mart is giving away free sweatpants to the first 15,000 people who buy pickled pigs feet by noon today. (Thu, 13 May 2010 13:14:20 GMT)

Chad would rather hammer another hole into his head with a rock than be at work today. Why does Friday always take so effing long to show its fine ass? (Wed, 12 May 2010 17:51:30 GMT)

Chad walked into work this morning behind a guy in capris jeans with black tube socks and black sneakers. (Tue, 11 May 2010 13:05:42 GMT)

Chad thinks that Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan is Kevin James' long lost twin tranny. (Mon, 10 May 2010 14:49:36 GMT)

Chad is filling burlap sacks with prairie dogs and shipping them back to North Dakota. He was totally duped into buying them off eBay as the “Perfect Pets”. The only thing perfect about them was how they ripped the shit out of his couch. (Mon, 10 May 2010 13:38:16 GMT)

Chad would like to wish all of his mother-type friends on the old social network a happy day in celebration of your ability to put up with so much crap: Julie Allen Roxanna Wagner-parecki Kimberly Chamberlin Pam Chamberlin Dorothy Rose Allen and the other 40 on his firend list. (Sun, 09 May 2010 14:03:38 GMT)

Chad hosted yet another successful garage sale at Castle Parecki, doubling his goal and selling enough to buy a pygmy goat for Allen House Chicago. His Uncle Gary Derifield thinks that he needs to sell used cars at the rate he was peddling shit today. (Sat, 08 May 2010 18:44:01 GMT)

Chad cannot believe how much has already sold from the garage sale before the damn thing even opens on Saturday. Remember that if you leave your children unattended at the sale they WILL be sent home with a kitten and or old sock filled with dog crap. Good Day! (Fri, 07 May 2010 13:26:38 GMT)

Chad is putting his haggling boots on in preparation for his garage sale at Castle Parecki in Denver, IA this weekend. Come on out to Chubby Chad’s Cornucopia of Really Good Shit for Sale. The presale begins at 1800 Friday night. (Wed, 05 May 2010 12:38:44 GMT)

Chad is happy to say that Allen House Williamsburg is NO more, it was a swell 23 months. A rotund thank you to Mom, Carol, Julie, Glenda, Justin and Lucile Vanderbilt. (Fri, 30 Apr 2010 07:22:32 GMT)

Chad is excited about the closing of Allen House Williamsburg tomorrow. Now only if he could get someone to unload and haul all of the garage sale shit from Allen House Williamsburg to Castle Parecki in Denver, IA. He would not wish a move of this magnitude upon his arch nemesis the Cheeseburger Chub. (Thu, 29 Apr 2010 13:34:01 GMT)

Chad is burning both ends of the whale fat; emptying the last bits of rubbish from Allen House, trying to keep Lucile Vanderbilt out of the scotch, not to making eye contact with the neighbors, failing miserably at feigning interest when said neighbors descend for a farewell hug, living on Chicken Pot Pies and Miller Lite. (Wed, 28 Apr 2010 13:02:20 GMT)

Chad is spending his four day weekend in Chicago with Margot in one arm and a pint of beer in the other. (Tue, 27 Apr 2010 20:03:30 GMT)

Chad would like to move to Chicago with his wife. (Tue, 27 Apr 2010 17:26:13 GMT)

Chad busted out his entire collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and He-Man action figures. Who knew that being the weird kid who kept all of his toys organized in Ziploc baggies would turn out to be such an effing awesome uncle? P.S. There were also several hundred Micro Machines involved in the madness. (Mon, 26 Apr 2010 13:22:56 GMT)

Chad wants to be at work like he wants to be asphyxiated in a #10 can of butterscotch pudding. (Fri, 23 Apr 2010 13:43:46 GMT)

Chad would like to remind everyone that the day in which we celebrate our womb of origin is coming up. Feel free to purchase gifts from backoffmustache.com. (Fri, 23 Apr 2010 03:13:54 GMT)

Chad thinks that his dog stuck her tongue in his mouth while he was sleeping, because he woke up with breath that could have anesthetized a Shetland pony. (Thu, 22 Apr 2010 13:42:01 GMT)

Chad would like to list all of yesterday’s events: his Honda was the 2nd car in a five car pile up, during the accident his coffee splashed onto his shirt, he knocked his second coffee over onto his desk, repairs to the car in Chicago will run $300 (approximately $190 more than it is worth) and he fell down the hill leading to the fire pit while destroying all financial documents linking Allen House to the Goldman Sachs. (Wed, 21 Apr 2010 14:29:45 GMT)

Chad was rear-ended in a five car accident this morning and spilt his mother effing coffee, at least it was not a Monday morning. (Tue, 20 Apr 2010 14:22:31 GMT)

Chad is proud to announce that Allen House Chicago is booking quickly: May is booked solid, a couple weekends are left in June, the 1st, 2nd & 3rd weekends in July are open and sprinklings of dates in August are available. Remember that Allen House is a bed and breakfast that is free of charge – other than being polite enough to book at least three weeks in advance. Updated brochures will be in the mail next month. (Mon, 19 Apr 2010 13:35:30 GMT)

Chad woke up to Lucile Vanderbilt curled up in the space behind his knees when they are bent. (Mon, 19 Apr 2010 13:25:02 GMT)

Chad sold the Washer and Dryer to a lovely lady from Waverly, so now it is just down to the brand new padded hammock and stand $200, 1y.o. Troy Bilt lawnmower with Honda engine and bagger $175, a microfiber 2-peice sectional sofa $475 and plenty of empty boxes. (Fri, 16 Apr 2010 15:32:41 GMT)

Chad is selling the following items; 2y.o. Whirlpool Duet Front Load Washer / Dryer with the ability to stack, a brand new padded hammock and stand, 1y.o. Troy Bilt lawnmower with a Honda engine and bagger, a microfiber 2-peice sectional sofa and plenty of empty boxes. (Fri, 16 Apr 2010 02:41:25 GMT)

Chad would like to welcome SPRING to Williamsburg, especially the swarm of mosquitoes that ate him alive while mowing the lawn last night. (Thu, 15 Apr 2010 13:22:50 GMT)

Chad woke this morning feeling as if a lumberjack had slapped the hell out of him for eating his hotcakes, sleeping with his lady all the while riding his ox. Damn lumberjacks. (Fri, 09 Apr 2010 14:45:29 GMT)

Chad spent thirty minutes this morning looking for his Honda keys; transferred kitchen garbage form one bag to another, burrowed through the hamper, fished through Lucile Vanderbilt’s back garden droppings with a stick, dug into his belly button with a wire coat hanger, emptied two boxes of cereal only to find them in the front door. (Thu, 08 Apr 2010 14:05:06 GMT)

Chad stuffed three pounds of processed deer meat down Lucile Vanderbilt’s gullet last night and is quite certain that she can now go from “sitting” to “down” with the twitch of a finger. (Wed, 07 Apr 2010 16:21:04 GMT)

Chad took a flexeril, went to bed at 2100 and slept like a baby – but woke up naked at the top of his hibiscus tree in the dinning room. (Tue, 06 Apr 2010 13:03:22 GMT)

Chad unloaded a litle over 100 Facebook "friends" and feels like a million bucks, now if only the Cubs would kick come Atlanta ass. (Mon, 05 Apr 2010 20:43:44 GMT)

Chad has opening day fuzziness in his belly and is looking forward to weekday afternoon games this season in the newly renovated Wrigley. Good luck fellas. (Mon, 05 Apr 2010 16:50:04 GMT)

Chad is not looking forward to his last day with the BHS bitches. (Thu, 01 Apr 2010 15:51:17 GMT)

Chad has been making lists all morning; tin foil, triple soy latte crème, white dog poop in the front garden, garish drapes, a wine cork filled lock box, hand sanitizer, the Ottoman Empire’s demise, nipples and nail clippings. (Wed, 31 Mar 2010 13:21:37 GMT)

Chad Status quote compliments of Patrick Harvey who wtole from Rebecca Bandy: "Obama is not a brown-skinned anti-war socialist who gives away free healthcare. You're thinking of Jesus." - John Fugelsang (Wed, 31 Mar 2010 00:55:49 GMT)

Chad is suffering from a Capgras delusion. (Tue, 30 Mar 2010 16:06:56 GMT)

Chad thinks that if it weren't for that little Lucious fella we would have done just a tad bit better - and he would care a bit more if he were not drunk and packing the house up. (Sat, 27 Mar 2010 03:45:23 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to seeing a bunch of MSU losers cry tears that only losers can cry. There is nothing better than a bunch of green and white douche bags upset. (Fri, 26 Mar 2010 12:35:08 GMT)

Chad would like to know if anyone else’s tonsils feel as if tiny people are shaving them down with wood rasps. (Tue, 23 Mar 2010 12:18:10 GMT)

Chad enjoys drinking the hypocritical tears of rotten republican douche bags – it’s the source of his superpowers. (Mon, 22 Mar 2010 15:16:04 GMT)

Chad has enjoyed a splendid morning; snorted a fistful of minced clovers, drank a pint of 1938 Linkwood Whiskey, danced a naked jig and tossed darts at a photo of Roisin Hughes . Happy Day of Saint Patrick everyone. P.S. Only two days until the Washington, D.C. Marathon. (Wed, 17 Mar 2010 13:21:27 GMT)

Chad feels like a hooker being prodded by rusty heroin needles. It has nothing to do with being loose you filthy animals. (Mon, 15 Mar 2010 12:25:50 GMT)

Chad has a tote bag filled to the brim with mustaches, four red BINGO dabbers, a pair of aviator glasses, three sticks of venison jerky and a one-way ticket to Delaware. (Fri, 12 Mar 2010 21:11:21 GMT)

Chad woke up this morning to take what he thought was a Saturday morning pee, but quickly realized that it was just another disappointing weekday. (Fri, 12 Mar 2010 16:55:04 GMT)

Chad put the finishing touches on BackOffMustache.com, his portfolio / art website. Enjoy you fools, ENJOY. Be sure to email him any mistakes that you find. (Tue, 09 Mar 2010 01:21:46 GMT)

Chad just received official word that he and the red head are going on the White House tour next week. (Tue, 09 Mar 2010 00:11:05 GMT)

Chad thinks that Mondays feel just as bad as pulling fish scales from between your teeth and gums with rusted pliers. (Mon, 08 Mar 2010 14:57:42 GMT)

Chad + La Fin du Monde + Moroccan tagine (polenta + handjob) / (chocolate ice cream + Modern Family) = spectacular night last night. (Fri, 05 Mar 2010 13:33:25 GMT)

Chad feels like hopping into a 50 gallon barrel of butterscotch pudding, rolling in a pile of dryer lint and giving people on the street hugs of appreciation. (Thu, 04 Mar 2010 13:26:17 GMT)

Chad just ran 20 miles without chaffing, wheezing, passing out or flashing a neighbor. Only fourteen days until Washington, D.C. (Thu, 04 Mar 2010 04:52:09 GMT)

Chad has been feverously working on his website that will be launched on Friday. Hurray for fat artists and their narcissistic need to have websites about themselves! (Wed, 03 Mar 2010 16:02:42 GMT)

Chad Dearest Ro, It tickles the deepest cockles of my tuna to know that you are making false commitments to see me let alone hit on my lover the next time your lazy ass finds its way to Iowa. By the blessings of baby Jesus we will have the honor of seeing your moon-pie, but will not hold our breath. Best, Chad Allen (Tue, 02 Mar 2010 22:13:33 GMT)

Chad wishes that he was with his wife and her lover rather than being trapped under this pile of crumbling excrement. (Tue, 02 Mar 2010 18:50:43 GMT)

Chad is still recovering from the bacon overload that he experienced Saturday in Des Moines, and is looking forward to BaconFest 2011. (Mon, 01 Mar 2010 13:53:39 GMT)

Chad declined a piece of cake that this lady brought to work today due to his phobia of food being prepared in people’s kitchen in which he has not been. Who in the hell knows whether their cat jumps upon the counter after digging in the litter box? – or – Whether or not they cook in the nude with a high probability of pubic hair in the batter. (Fri, 26 Feb 2010 16:19:58 GMT)

Chad donned a panda bear mascot costume and beat an effigy of Sarah Palin with bamboo canes in his front garden last evening. (Thu, 25 Feb 2010 16:12:52 GMT)

Chad enjoys the lovely marriage of patchouli stink and over-ripened honey crisp apples. (Wed, 24 Feb 2010 15:27:23 GMT)

Chad loves his Sunday mornings covered in bacon grease and toast leavens. (Sun, 21 Feb 2010 18:26:44 GMT)

Chad is enjoying some hot water infused with beans while watching his fat neighbors haul the seventh truckload of firewood out of their basement window. Who keeps a forest’s worth of wood and two tons of sugar in their basement? The Jellies - that's who! (Sat, 20 Feb 2010 18:59:38 GMT)

Chad just shaved his chest, sprinkled the hair onto a glue pad and nailed it to a fence post to keep the beavers at bay. (Fri, 19 Feb 2010 21:34:02 GMT)

Chad feels likes he scarfed down a dozen nursing home cookies (sugar cookies with so much butter and lard in them that only people in a nursing home close to the edge should eat them) and then was beat down with a dirty sock full of ball bearings – it’s going to be a great day. (Fri, 19 Feb 2010 13:30:00 GMT)

Chad is eating a bowl of soggy Cheerios after his four mile run before 7am and is looking forward to his 18 mile run on Sunday. (Thu, 18 Feb 2010 13:00:27 GMT)

Chad enjoys sweeping up all of the Allen House dust bunnies and tossing them along with rancid chicken livers into a five gallon bucket of water, placing said bucket on the deck, letting said contents freeze solid and then sliding the dusty-liversicle out into the backseat of a neighbor’s unlocked car. Hurray for the drive-by dusty-liversicle. (Tue, 16 Feb 2010 18:46:45 GMT)

Chad is enjoying his Triple Karmeliet while his neighbor stares at his fine bare ass through the living room window. Hey everybody. (Fri, 12 Feb 2010 02:50:06 GMT)

Chad was addressed as “the devil in an argyle sweater” by a coworker. (Thu, 11 Feb 2010 19:17:43 GMT)

Chad is ready to jump in a ramshackle handsome cab and let the wild beast take him off into the horizon while eating double-fried eggplant. (Thu, 11 Feb 2010 14:30:03 GMT)

Chad loves snow days that include studio time, snuggling dogs, sexy red heads, a bottle or two of wine and a full length mirror to admire one’s svelte naked self. (Wed, 10 Feb 2010 01:38:16 GMT)

Chad ran 16 miles through the snowy hills of Williamsburg while you lazy bastards ate spicy chicken fat and watched commercials. (Mon, 08 Feb 2010 03:08:35 GMT)

Chad dreamed that he and the wife were living in a shack and heard a ruckus in the disturbingly rusted out bathroom. When he entered he noticed that the vanity light had fallen into the wall, hopped onto the counter to pull it back and spotted an attic full of white bats. He pulled the light back into place just as they were trying to enter the room. (Sun, 07 Feb 2010 17:55:49 GMT)

Chad is excited to be a contributing member of cheeseburgerenterprises.tumblr.com. Go look and love. (Fri, 05 Feb 2010 18:09:08 GMT)

Chad hopes that Punxsutawney Phil gets groundhog leukemia while buried in his hole for those six weeks, rotten son of a bitch. (Tue, 02 Feb 2010 15:10:45 GMT)

Chad and his chubby chub are officially registered for the 2010 Chicago Marathon. Watch out you silly Second City bastards, the fat man is back and ready to piss in your alleys again. (Mon, 01 Feb 2010 17:01:02 GMT)

Chad and his beefy haunches are ready for the National Marathon in forty-eight days. He has only gone through three sticks of anti-chafe rub, four cases of energy gels and two “little people” (God rest their souls). (Mon, 01 Feb 2010 14:36:56 GMT)

Chad thinks that his status yesterday about JD Salinger was a bit too serious and would to announce the fact that JD Salinger drank his own urine out of an old Folger's can. (Fri, 29 Jan 2010 12:01:24 GMT)

Chad thinks that now JD Salinger is dead his daughter should publish everything that he has written since he lost his mind. Just think of the possibilities. (Thu, 28 Jan 2010 18:58:32 GMT)

Chad and the red head woman he lives with are leaving a mound of top shelf dog food on the kitchen floor this afternoon and will be in a third world Caribbean nation this time tomorrow. If someone wants three dogs and a renovated house in BFE feel free to swing by – the keys are under the doormat. (Thu, 28 Jan 2010 15:32:53 GMT)

Chad is suffering from a little PTSD after his run in with a large breasted homeless man who tried to put corn beef hash in his pockets while walking to work today. What about his pocket says,” Put your beef in here.” (Wed, 27 Jan 2010 18:06:57 GMT)

Chad is still a bit shaken over the giant spiders made of palm leaves that wove hemp rope webs on his hotel ceiling in his dream last night. To top it all off his dead great-aunt and uncle came into the room and were attacked by said spiders. (Tue, 26 Jan 2010 17:45:07 GMT)

Chad would like to know if he should fill Mary’s box with discarded pharmacy bottles from the late nineteenth century, rusted square nails, a loaf of sourdough or any combination of aforementioned goods. (Mon, 25 Jan 2010 14:48:57 GMT)

Chad is sad to admit that Avatar in 3D was a great film. Bravo James Cameron you creepy, awkward albino. (Mon, 25 Jan 2010 02:44:51 GMT)

Chad doesn't know if he will last seven months without CoCo. (Sat, 23 Jan 2010 06:04:21 GMT)

Chad would like to welcome that sausage fingered dwarf named Danny Devito back - creepy bastard rides in a baby bjorn and beats him in the head with socks full of old clementines while he trains for the D.C. Marathon. That little fella almost made it impossible to run 10 miles tonight. (Fri, 22 Jan 2010 03:51:21 GMT)

Chad fell again on his way into work this morning. Luckily he has perfected the “curl into a ball” method of skidding out due to lazy ass people not salting their sidewalks. (Thu, 21 Jan 2010 14:00:25 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to skimming across the ice slick known as I-80 tonight after work. (Wed, 20 Jan 2010 14:56:33 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to one more flexeril induced day. (Sun, 17 Jan 2010 17:35:59 GMT)

Chad wants to know if he is a loser for being giddy about the tickets from Senator Harkin to tour the Capitol Building, possibly meeting him and going on a White House tour. (Fri, 15 Jan 2010 00:07:05 GMT)

Chad is looking for a sturdy three legged stool and a table to match for his Irishmen’s shanty. Sadly the women are scarce but luckily the whiskey is a plenty. (Thu, 14 Jan 2010 15:12:48 GMT)

Chad wishes that his dogs were able to speak in English accents instead of those stupid southern drawls. (Thu, 14 Jan 2010 02:42:57 GMT)

Chad is headed to the gym for a run and sniff (six miles on the track while cutting through the clouds of Avon stink the blue hairs douche in). (Wed, 13 Jan 2010 01:06:11 GMT)

Chad and his nipples are recovering from another AMAZING Allen Festivus. Stay tuned for an official debriefing. (Sun, 10 Jan 2010 18:42:36 GMT)

Chad is hiding in a snow drift that he fashioned into a tunnel fort so that he can sweep the neighbor lady’s feet out from under her when she passes by. (Fri, 08 Jan 2010 16:38:20 GMT)

Chad wants the lady who lives with him to drive extra careful on her way to work this afternoon. (Thu, 07 Jan 2010 19:31:05 GMT)

Chad has a snow day permagrin; except for the shoveling, Christmas decorations take-down and Festivus preparations. So much for sledding, boozing it up with Baileys and masturbating in front of a crackling fire. (Thu, 07 Jan 2010 16:14:00 GMT)

Chad has developed a feats of strength gauntlet the likes of which have never been seen for Saturday’s Festivus celebration. (Tue, 05 Jan 2010 14:30:07 GMT)

Chad would like to let the year twenty-ten in on a little secret, “You can be as shitty of a year as you would like and will still be better than that loser brother of yours, 2009” (Mon, 04 Jan 2010 14:43:05 GMT)

Chad already broke one of his resolutions; first thing this morning he found a pair of his dirty underwear under the driver’s seat of the Honda. Not a good way to bring in twenty-ten. (Fri, 01 Jan 2010 15:02:45 GMT)

Chad ’s resolutions for 2010: stop putting turkey necks through the zipper hole of his trousers, follow through with trying black tar heroin every time someone leaves disparaging remarks to his Facebook posts, stop leaving his dirty underwear underneath the driver’s seat, start masturbating in the privacy of his home rather than in public bathrooms and FINALLY ensure that Back Off Mustache! is even better in the new year. (Thu, 31 Dec 2009 19:18:29 GMT)

Chad chiseled frozen dog pee from the deck last night in preparation for the Festivus smokers. Nobody wants to slip on dog pee, nobody. (Wed, 30 Dec 2009 13:34:18 GMT)

Chad is investing in a Baby Björn to haul Lucile Vanderbilt in – then she may stop her incessant barking at the wind. (Tue, 29 Dec 2009 14:25:15 GMT)

Chad can barely handle lukewarm dishwater and wonders how in the hell grandmas can suds the dirties up in boiling water without screaming like a little girl. God bless grandma hands. (Mon, 28 Dec 2009 12:20:24 GMT)

Chad is preparing Allen House for Festivus by completing the first floor bathroom only seventeen months after gutting it. (Sun, 27 Dec 2009 23:58:25 GMT)

Chad is quite certain that with that last load of white on his shovel an o-ring was blown. (Sun, 27 Dec 2009 17:07:26 GMT)

Chad is happy that he left Santa a hooker and a glass of milk, the tree was crushed under the weight of gifts. Merry Christmas to all hookers, and to all hookers a good night. (Sat, 26 Dec 2009 01:17:11 GMT)

Chad left a glass of ice cold milk and a hooker named Hand job Hannah out for Santa tonight. (Fri, 25 Dec 2009 05:13:46 GMT)

Chad is feverishly salting the roof so that Santa’s big fat ass doesn’t slip and then try to sue Allen House for damages. (Thu, 24 Dec 2009 15:00:24 GMT)

Chad is greasing his Festivus pole, tossing a Hoover ball around to build strength and making a list of why you pissed him off this year. (Wed, 23 Dec 2009 16:26:57 GMT)

Chad shouted,”Thank you!” to the Iowa City street department as he fell for the third time on his way into work. (Wed, 23 Dec 2009 14:22:41 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to the 333.5 miles left of training before he runs the longest self-guided tour of Washington, D.C. (Wed, 23 Dec 2009 03:03:34 GMT)

Chad is ready for some Christmas Day Chinese take-out. (Tue, 22 Dec 2009 12:07:47 GMT)

Chad feels a change in the space-time continuum – yes – a vagina in Ireland is receiving some extra attention. (Mon, 21 Dec 2009 13:23:01 GMT)

Chad baked a cheddar cheese apple pie last night wearing nothing but his assless chaps and a fezz. (Fri, 18 Dec 2009 16:27:32 GMT)

Chad would like someone to explain to him why women wear perfume while they use the rec-center track? What smells are they exactly trying to cover up? Baked goods? Hamsalad? Havarti? Pork rinds? (Thu, 17 Dec 2009 20:24:51 GMT)

Chad gave the mailman a hernia today with the thirty pounds of Christmachannukwanzetivus cards and forty pounds of reindeer shit that he crammed into the big blue frog on the corner. (Wed, 16 Dec 2009 18:07:59 GMT)

Chad would like to think of Chris applying a fake mustache to her upper lip, hopping onto a supersized motorcycle and racing off into the sunset shouting, “See you later bitches.” You madam will be missed. (Tue, 15 Dec 2009 04:15:29 GMT)

Chad ran six miles at the Center for Obese Housewives Who Bathe in Cheap Avon Perfume, or as the locals call it – the Williamsburg Community Recreation Center. (Sun, 13 Dec 2009 23:15:51 GMT)

Chad spent most of yesterday so buzzed off of coffee and second hand smoke that he now feels like a midget hit him in the head with a mannequin leg and used a wet/dry vac in his mouth. (Sun, 13 Dec 2009 14:57:02 GMT)

Chad would like Mother Nature to know how much he loved his snow day with the wife, the hounds, the Wii, the beer, the leftover Chinese food and the hand-jobs. (Wed, 09 Dec 2009 23:51:30 GMT)

Chad is making out with Mother Nature, thanks bitch this is what we have been waiting for – SNOW DAY. (Wed, 09 Dec 2009 12:21:14 GMT)

Chad had to fight blue hairs at the supermarket last night for the last loaf of bread in Williamsburg, and if this is all Mother Nature can dish out she is a bigger pussy that he had originally thought. Let's go bitch, dump it heavy and dump it deep (Tue, 08 Dec 2009 11:43:43 GMT)

Chad hopes that Mother Nature does take a 16” dump on Iowa City over the next couple of days. (Mon, 07 Dec 2009 17:53:46 GMT)

Chad is officially an old man, went to bed at 1730 and woke up at 0500. (Mon, 07 Dec 2009 12:54:01 GMT)

Chad and Jack Fitzgerald Allen Kennedy Onassis tested the Under Armour Cold Gear body condom during their blistery run, needless to say Chad is sweatier than his usual self. (Sun, 06 Dec 2009 20:24:39 GMT)

Chad opened his new Under Armour cold gear and looks like a paunchy scuba diver on the hunt for a monster clam. (Fri, 04 Dec 2009 00:39:21 GMT)

Chad is in the mood for a stack of vintage Saturday Evening Post magazines and jumbo bottle of Johnsons and Johnson’s baby oil. (Thu, 03 Dec 2009 13:43:26 GMT)

Chad enjoys nothing more than dipping his hand into the bosom of a chub to retrieve a Susan B. Anthony silver dollar while shouting, “Found everyone, no worries – I found it.” (Wed, 02 Dec 2009 14:05:52 GMT)

Chad is curious as to why the Salvation Army has stationed a bell ringer outside the Dollar General, it must be a withdrawal only kettle. (Tue, 01 Dec 2009 14:35:48 GMT)

Chad would like to announce that turkeys are not the only trotters today, and would like to give thanks for warm quilted tufts courtesy Charmin. (Thu, 26 Nov 2009 18:28:45 GMT)

Chad just finished shampooing the couch so that all of the Thanksgivings asses have a clean landing pad. (Wed, 25 Nov 2009 00:40:23 GMT)

Chad would like all of his literate Facebook acquaintances to share his schoolgirl three day work week giddiness. (Tue, 24 Nov 2009 04:20:23 GMT)

Chad believes that Disney’s Christmas Carol staring Jim Carrey was the creepiest effing Christmas movie that he has ever experienced. Why in the name of Moses with roses would anyone think that a floppy jawless ghost with exposed tongue represents the holiday spirit? Thanks for the schizophrenic hallucinations Disney, you are the best. (Mon, 23 Nov 2009 14:37:21 GMT)

Chad discovered his forgotten schematics for the Tampoon, that’s correct sir, a flotation device that doubles as leak protection. (Fri, 20 Nov 2009 16:21:30 GMT)

Chad and his fat white ass officially begin training for the National Marathon in Washington, D.C. on 23 November. Steer clear of the obese asthmatic and his dumb golden retriever running the streets of Williamsburg, IA (Thu, 19 Nov 2009 04:11:37 GMT)

Chad would like to thank the man that walked in front of him on the way to work this morning for hiking his pants to his nipples, sporting extra white tube socks with even whiter sneakers and walking like there was three pounds of excrement in the pouch. You sir made the day a happy one. P.S. He was not mentally handicapped you p.c. bastards. (Wed, 18 Nov 2009 14:25:49 GMT)

Chad has finalized the Back Off Mustache! Pub Run Number Two t-shirt design for January. The only thing keeping you warm in the dead ass of winter is a mustache made from the hair of a Chinese baby and toxic adhesive. (Mon, 16 Nov 2009 13:16:58 GMT)

Chad is happy that the Inaugural Back Off Mustache! Pub Run was a hit. Two of George’s cheeseburgers, one triple grilled-cheese and seven mustaches later all is well. (Sun, 15 Nov 2009 14:25:30 GMT)

Chad sees nothing but mustaches and toasted cheese sandwiches on the horizon. (Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:34:39 GMT)

Chad is quite giddy concerning the Back Off Mustache! Inaugural Pub Run tomorrow night. Nothing says fun like mustaches on everyone. (Fri, 13 Nov 2009 14:37:21 GMT)

Chad is looking at weekends for a Waterloo OG reunion. Any suggestions? (Thu, 12 Nov 2009 19:12:53 GMT)

Chad DO THIS NOW! 1) Scroll to the bottom of your Facebook page. 2) On the bottom left corner, click English: US. 3) When the language selection appears, click English: Pirate. (Thu, 12 Nov 2009 01:19:22 GMT)

Chad is thankful for all of those protecting his right to be a crazy fuck who offends 95% of the population and disgusts the other 5%. (Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:22:10 GMT)

Chad picked up his new glasses this morning and cannot decide if he looks like Keith Olbermann when he switches out the black specs for the clear ones. (Tue, 10 Nov 2009 14:24:42 GMT)

Chad would like to express his appreciation for Monday by holding its head in a bucket of Vaseline. (Mon, 09 Nov 2009 13:14:32 GMT)

Chad is running on paint fumes, or is that the smell of his half dead ass telling him to crawl into bed with the redheaded lady who is always pawning at him? (Mon, 09 Nov 2009 05:16:37 GMT)

Chad finally received funding to perform his study of what happens to chickens when released onto a frozen lake without the aid of traction cleats. (Fri, 06 Nov 2009 14:30:22 GMT)

Chad is enjoying the banter being tossed between him and a hairy lipped woman at work who has a helmet looking coiffe atop her bubble head. (Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:32:26 GMT)

Chad Dear Morgan Freeman, Your voice makes the back of my neck tingle with delight. Thank you for reading me articles from Art in America before bedtime, and then spooning with me until I fall asleep. Best,Chad Allen (Wed, 04 Nov 2009 14:28:48 GMT)

Chad would like to know why old ladies even consider writing a check at the supermarket, knowing that it will take them thirteen minutes to fill it out and another two minutes to mark it in their ledger. (Tue, 03 Nov 2009 18:57:41 GMT)

Chad is HAMSALAD (Tue, 03 Nov 2009 17:28:00 GMT)

Chad You, a bunch of people we don't like and me at Rudy Tacos around 1900 and then the Lava Lounge this Saturday, be there you silly ass fool. (Tue, 03 Nov 2009 15:53:39 GMT)

Chad is Hamsalad (Tue, 03 Nov 2009 14:18:22 GMT)

Chad is loving this light savings enough to parade in the street with nothing more than a tube top and short shorts on. (Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:54:45 GMT)

Chad would like to make an announcement in Howard Cosell’s voice, “A fat man the likes of which many have seen will be running the National Marathon in Washington, D.C. on 20 March. Sports is human life in microcosm.” This quote is better than when Cosell said, “Look at that little monkey run!” (Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:11:21 GMT)

Chad would like to thank all that made this fifth year of marriage possible: former president George W Bush, Julia Childs’ hump, Sir Winston Woo's cheeseburger wrapper loving, arch support insoles, Lucile Vanderbilt's belly dragging carpet tricks, Morgan Freeman’s voice, homeless people of the Chicagoland area AND of course the lovely redhead that has shacked up with him through his fattest. P.S. She is a chubby chaser. (Thu, 29 Oct 2009 11:52:51 GMT)

Chad finally posted Disney photos in no particular order, with captions a bit behind. (Thu, 29 Oct 2009 02:05:20 GMT)

Chad was making squirrel sausage at home this evening when the whole process was ruined by a telephone call from the fat neighbor man, Mr. Jelly demanding to know where his cat was. (Wed, 28 Oct 2009 02:08:03 GMT)

Chad is giddy at the thought of sitting in a baby pool filled with tapioca pudding sans pants. (Mon, 26 Oct 2009 11:10:47 GMT)

Chad enjoyed showing everyone the naked picture that Julie took of him on the secutriy camera in the kitchen. (Sun, 25 Oct 2009 17:18:33 GMT)

Chad is excited for the festivities to begin, wait - they already HAVE! (Sat, 24 Oct 2009 16:41:32 GMT)

Chad already hates life sans lesbian Irish woman and she hasn’t even left the country yet. Oh Papa Bear how you will be missed. Who will put up with thrice daily vulgar texts? (Fri, 23 Oct 2009 15:30:24 GMT)

Chad wants to know what is wrong with standing on a neighbor’s deck while gazing in their sliding glass doors while they are eating dinner. It’s not like his pants were off or anything. (Fri, 23 Oct 2009 13:40:24 GMT)

Chad and Jack Fitzgerald Allen Kennedy Onassis just completed 3.17 miles at an 8m32s pace without any injuries. Training has begun for the next marathon, now to select the right one; the IMS Arizona Marathon on 14 February, the Napa Valley Marathon on 7 March OR the Washington, D.C. Sun Trust Marathon on 20 March. Don’t forget the Dublin Marathon in October. Only 19 marathons to go until 17 August, 2020. (Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:14:21 GMT)

Chad just served his first roast of the season to a lovely red head, and the drippings to the hounds and that homeless man that lives on our deck. (Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:24:41 GMT)

Chad is telling his fat ass dogs about the half marathon that he ran today in Des Moines. Stupid dogs can't run more than four miles. (Mon, 19 Oct 2009 00:03:22 GMT)

Chad wants to know how four good looking people cannot take a descent photo of themselves while enjoying a 1980’s Yahtzee! Party staple, Ruffles and French onion chip dip. (Sat, 17 Oct 2009 13:27:46 GMT)

Chad and his knees are doing well, and looking for a spring marathon. (Tue, 13 Oct 2009 11:46:17 GMT)

Chad woke up this morning feeling great, other than a little tightness in the knees – nothing that ibuprofen can’t fix. Is it possible that marathons make your man boobs smaller and your dong longer? (Mon, 12 Oct 2009 15:03:57 GMT)

Chad finished his marathon in grsnd style and feels like a million fucking dollars. Bring on the next one in February! (Mon, 12 Oct 2009 01:28:11 GMT)

Chad is off to run a marathon. bitches. (Sun, 11 Oct 2009 10:21:25 GMT)

Chad is on his way to the 37th floor of Hotel 71 to run a couple of miles on a treadmill, then off to bed for panic dreams throughout the night about oversleeping for the Marathon. (Sat, 10 Oct 2009 03:30:22 GMT)

Chad would like to thank President Obama for stealing a bit of his thunder, now everyone will talk about the Nobel and not the chubby guy running the Chicago Marathon. (Fri, 09 Oct 2009 12:04:21 GMT)

Chad is ingesting 300 extra grams of carbohydrates and 125 grams of protein daily until Sunday, hopefully preventing any loss of life during the marathon this Sunday. (Thu, 08 Oct 2009 13:16:17 GMT)

Chad and his man breasts only have five days until they cross the Chicago Marathon’s finish line. (Tue, 06 Oct 2009 04:20:37 GMT)

Chad knows that the IOC is a whole slough a fucking idiots. (Fri, 02 Oct 2009 15:26:29 GMT)

Chad is waiting for the IOC to announce Chicago as the 2016 hosts. (Fri, 02 Oct 2009 15:18:05 GMT)

Chad is excited to be an uncle for the third time. (Sun, 27 Sep 2009 16:52:20 GMT)

Chad successfully pulled a toilet without splashing a single droplet of shit water, no need for applause, just thanks that your next Allen House visit will be sans shit droplets. (Sat, 26 Sep 2009 13:03:09 GMT)

Chad would like to reiterate the fact that he is a handy fellow that does more than masturbate in his free time. This evening he will be pulling a toilet from the 2nd floor bathroom and installing two mini chandeliers above the vanity all while wearing nothing more than boots. (Fri, 25 Sep 2009 20:51:28 GMT)

Chad intentionally drove through a puddle to douche sidewalk fools. (Fri, 25 Sep 2009 13:40:36 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to slapping the homeless with tuna filets this weekend. (Thu, 24 Sep 2009 14:09:38 GMT)

Chad is watching fat people on TV while he eats a banana split and drinks Michelob Ultra. (Wed, 23 Sep 2009 00:39:17 GMT)

Chad shuffled his fat ass through 20 miles of Williamsburg hills without needing the services of the volunteer fire department. (Mon, 21 Sep 2009 02:17:35 GMT)

Chad tossed a saddle on Jack Fitzgerald Kennedy Onassis Allen this morning, rode him into town and purchased flowers for Margot from a paraplegic midget named Rolph. (Sun, 20 Sep 2009 19:31:06 GMT)

Chad rolled from bed this morning with great joy knowing that his friend the sweater vest has returned. (Thu, 17 Sep 2009 14:03:29 GMT)

Chad would just like to point out that the whore was already dead when he found her while dumpster diving behind the Olive Garden. He could not leave a perfectly fresh alfredo covered whore to waste, so in the trunk she went. (Mon, 14 Sep 2009 11:54:35 GMT)

Chad just ran 18 miles and could eat the dead whore in his trunk. (Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:31:46 GMT)

Chad Chad Allen was just handed the new campaign for Allen House from his guy at Sterling Cooper Advertising Agency, “Our Iowa doors are closing, but our Chicago doors are wide open.” (Fri, 11 Sep 2009 02:48:05 GMT)

Chad successfully escaped the hands of a cryogenically frozen Walt Disney with minimal brainwashing. (Wed, 09 Sep 2009 16:29:46 GMT)

Chad is ready to give his jumbo baked potatoes perched atop his beach ball some much needed sun. (Tue, 01 Sep 2009 14:08:39 GMT)

Chad applied nearly thirty ounces of Body Glide anti-chafe balm on his armpits, genitals and nipples then successfully ran 17.35 miles of Williamsburg hills. (Mon, 31 Aug 2009 02:30:47 GMT)

Chad enjoyed yet another grand Chicago jaunt. (Sun, 30 Aug 2009 19:47:15 GMT)

Chad completed his first true rain run this evening, only 202.75 miles left until the Big Run. (Thu, 27 Aug 2009 02:44:48 GMT)

Chad has succumbed to the Iowa City lesbian craze and joined a roller derby league and needs help selecting a name for his jersey – either “Glad I Ate Her” or “Pat McRotch”. (Tue, 25 Aug 2009 14:37:38 GMT)

Chad would like to thank all of those that took time out of their day to wish him a happy 29th year of life. He hopes that everyone who didn’t take the time will get attacked by the neighbor lady who smells like moth balls and tuna fish sandwiches. (Tue, 18 Aug 2009 02:22:23 GMT)

Chad had a Groulxtastic weekend. (Mon, 17 Aug 2009 03:02:33 GMT)

Chad wants to know if they make Midol for calf muscles. (Wed, 12 Aug 2009 13:09:42 GMT)

Chad woke early enough this morning to spot the little man who plants weeds in his flower beds each night immediately releasing the hounds with an attack command. (Tue, 11 Aug 2009 12:39:21 GMT)

Chad is currently juggling kittens while humming Build Me Up Buttercup by the Temptations. (Mon, 10 Aug 2009 23:25:35 GMT)

Chad Just received a call from Jesus and he said that he supports nationalized healthcare because he wants even the meanest conservatives to live long and healthy lives. (Sun, 09 Aug 2009 19:57:29 GMT)

Chad is upset that summer has finally emerged from the swampy depths of Mephistopheles’ ass. He is not looking forward to the next six weeks of chaffing raw pain. (Sun, 09 Aug 2009 02:35:58 GMT)

Chad is gearing up for his 1/3 Marathon tomorrow morning and hopes that everyone is okay with him running in thong panties – he swears that he won’t wear them backwards this time around. (Fri, 07 Aug 2009 13:01:49 GMT)

Chad is happier than a monkey with a can of tuna about all of the donations received daily for his Chicago Marathon sponsor, only $360 to go. The first batch of thank you art will be hitting the post this weekend so keep an out. (Thu, 06 Aug 2009 19:15:22 GMT)

Chad thinks that it has been entirely too long since the last Allen Invasion of Minnesota and is looking forward to the twenty-ten excursion. (Tue, 04 Aug 2009 15:41:53 GMT)

Chad wants to know what he did to deserve the world’s worst neighbors. New people moved across the street and the lady of the house has already won the award for most passive aggressive neighbor on the block. (Tue, 04 Aug 2009 00:49:33 GMT)

Chad just completed calculations from his 6.58 mile run last night and found to his surprise that 15 seconds have been shaved off of his pace. That’s right bitches, Mootz is one speedy tub. (Mon, 03 Aug 2009 03:21:39 GMT)

Chad is heartbroken to hear that Keith can no longer make fun of Douche O’Reilly. What has this world come to when a man who performs unsolicited luffa loving is off limits? (Sun, 02 Aug 2009 05:35:02 GMT)

Chad thinks that Sir Winston Woo may or may not have eaten his pot cookie, either way his pupils are effing HUGE. (Sat, 01 Aug 2009 04:51:02 GMT)

Chad thinks that we should form a group that demands a birth certificate authenticating George Washington’s natural birth in Westmoreland County, Virginia. Without the certificate he is not a true American and should be reflected as such in history books acr (Fri, 31 Jul 2009 17:50:21 GMT)

Chad only has $575 left to raise for the charity that he is running the big race for, or $1.97 for every training mile that he has. Keep sending those checks, bitches. (Thu, 30 Jul 2009 04:28:42 GMT)

Chad failed to mention that while in Chicago he stayed at The James while Jack White was there with the rest of his new band. That’s right bitches, Chad and Margot rub drunken elbows with world class indie rockers. (Wed, 29 Jul 2009 17:34:26 GMT)

Chad misses Chicago, again. Margot - when are we moving? (Tue, 28 Jul 2009 23:32:47 GMT)

Chad drank too much at Wrigley Field and may have made an ass out of himself. (Tue, 28 Jul 2009 13:30:32 GMT)

Chad punched an old woman and tripped a chubby man while running up Brady Street hill in the Bix. After more than a half dozen altercations with people that should have been in physical therapy rather than running a race he finished with a strong ten minute mi (Sun, 26 Jul 2009 03:24:55 GMT)

Chad FYI: Facebook has agreed to let third party advertisers use your posted pictures without your permission. Click on "Settings" up at the top where you see the "Logout" link. Select "Privacy". Then select "News Feed and Wall". Next, select the tab that read (Fri, 24 Jul 2009 17:24:18 GMT)

Chad Shrinking man breasts, check. Taught thighs, check. An ass you could bounce quarters off, check. Enough sweat to drown a small dog, check. Compression pants stuffed with a grape fruit, check. A penis that gains one inch for every thirty-five pounds lost, (Thu, 23 Jul 2009 16:02:26 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to the Bix this weekend, seven miles of hills and hoards of sweaty bodies scrambling up them. Would he be held accountable if he were to slip and grab ass while falling? Only 322.81 miles until the big run. (Wed, 22 Jul 2009 17:08:38 GMT)

Chad would like to admit an addiction, an addiction to looking in people’s windows during his runs. No he is not a Peeping Tom rather a Galloping Glimpser. The 328.12 miles left of training should prove to be quite interesting. Glimpse Wish List: naked elder (Sun, 19 Jul 2009 03:38:36 GMT)

Chad has officially reclaimed the space where his fat used to touch near the middle of his thighs. Do not get overly giddy, it still rubs together toward the upper thigh - it’s progress people. Only 338.14 miles until the big run giving him 86 days to lose t (Fri, 17 Jul 2009 03:26:40 GMT)

Chad is looking forward Julie spreading babaghanoush on his falafels tonight. Nothing better than a little Middle Eastern lovin’. (Thu, 16 Jul 2009 17:02:30 GMT)

Chad would like everyone to know that he posts his daily mileage countdown not because he thinks that you are the least bit interested, rather he is rubbing your fat face in it. By the way fatty, he only has 342.71 miles to go until the big run – and he is n (Wed, 15 Jul 2009 03:15:09 GMT)

Chad and his new manzier have only 349.05 miles until the big run. Hopefully the extra support will prevent any eye injuries. (Tue, 14 Jul 2009 03:03:09 GMT)

Chad is window shopping for a spandex body condom to wear in the big run, only 369.25 miles to go. He is wondering if he should go for the banana hammock look or with the catcher’s mitt support look. (Tue, 07 Jul 2009 03:14:55 GMT)

Chad wants to be in Chicago with the woman who lives with him. (Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:08:19 GMT)

Chad will be departing for Chicago in T-Minus 4 hours and counting. (Thu, 02 Jul 2009 16:36:57 GMT)

Chad has only 877.24 miles left until the big run and his thighs are no longer rubbing together like a cub scout's fire sticks. (Thu, 02 Jul 2009 02:56:36 GMT)

Chad has only 881.25 miles left until the big run. Sadly all of the neighborhood children on are summer holiday, so he hired a crew from the retirement home to chase him on their Rascals while lobbing half-full colostomy bags his way. A much richer form a moti (Mon, 29 Jun 2009 15:26:09 GMT)

Chad is searching for his missing flabby belly. Worry not, it is a friendly furry creature and comes to those who hymn the theme song to the popular 1970’s sitcom – The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Once captured please toss into the closest blue frog, postage is (Fri, 26 Jun 2009 20:59:46 GMT)

Chad has only 392.25 miles left until the big run, mostly due to the pee filled balloons. It worked, it really worked. (Fri, 26 Jun 2009 00:45:57 GMT)

Chad has hired one of the neighborhood kids to ride their bike behind him while he runs tonight. He paid extra to have them yell obscenities while tossing pee filled balloons his way. Everyone needs a little motivation in life. (Thu, 25 Jun 2009 13:11:42 GMT)

Chad is not feeling well at all. What is the deal with summer illness? (Wed, 24 Jun 2009 13:30:42 GMT)

Chad has 396.25 miles left until the big run. (Wed, 24 Jun 2009 00:39:46 GMT)

Chad has 401.25 miles left until the big run, and has to say for the record that Iowa heat waves suck it hard. (Tue, 23 Jun 2009 00:56:33 GMT)

Chad has 404.25 miles left until the big run, and would have run more if it were not for the fucking tornadoes. (Mon, 22 Jun 2009 01:44:25 GMT)

Chad has 406 miles left until the big run (Thu, 18 Jun 2009 01:19:41 GMT)

Chad has 410 miles left until the big run. (Wed, 17 Jun 2009 02:15:03 GMT)

Chad would like everyone to know that running has now consumed his life. The fat man with the nickname Mootz, for mootzerella ball breasts, has passed away. We hope that you come to love the smaller Chad just as much as you loved him fat. PostScript Fear not, (Mon, 15 Jun 2009 20:29:52 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to running the Chicago Marathon in October. (Sun, 14 Jun 2009 14:20:28 GMT)

Chad just ran 5 miles and is actually able to feel his breasts shrink. (Thu, 11 Jun 2009 02:00:40 GMT)

Chad just ran four miles and feels like a virile retiree in Boca. (Wed, 10 Jun 2009 01:35:13 GMT)

Chad thinks that he caught hen fever at the Runge Urban Farm. Look out Margot, the chicken and honey bees are on their way. (Mon, 08 Jun 2009 02:50:10 GMT)

Chad is saddened by the death of David Carradine, and now wonders who will play him in his kung-fu biopic. (Thu, 04 Jun 2009 14:24:34 GMT)

Chad wants nothing more than to indulge in a barrel of blue bell nectar while spooning with a grizzly bear wearing a fez. (Wed, 03 Jun 2009 14:51:28 GMT)

Chad is a bit concerned that the UIHC is starting to lay off employees this month. I may be posting an ad in July; Two spacious rooms for rent in Williamsburg, IA. (Tue, 02 Jun 2009 20:27:21 GMT)

Chad is proud to say that he planted even more perennials this evening. Allen House gardens now contain over two hundred-fifty different varieties of metaphyta. (Mon, 01 Jun 2009 01:50:50 GMT)

Chad had a splendid time last evening, just splendid. (Sun, 31 May 2009 16:23:38 GMT)

Chad just got back from watching THE Joel McHale live and in person! He is cooler than a scarecrow living with a band of Armenian gypsies. (Sat, 30 May 2009 04:13:54 GMT)

Chad just ran 3 miles; 1 with Sir Winston Woo and 2 with Jack Fitzgerald Allen Kennedy Onassis. (Thu, 28 May 2009 01:50:04 GMT)

Chad is researching the possibility of retiring the third quarter of FY2010. (Wed, 27 May 2009 16:21:08 GMT)

Chad is petitioning his senator to introduce the “Make Memorial Day a two day holiday in 2010” bill to congress. (Tue, 26 May 2009 15:40:14 GMT)

Chad lost eight pounds in two days from working in the yard. You too could lose the weight if you were to sweat for seven hours straight through the day. (Mon, 25 May 2009 02:33:41 GMT)

Chad is on grounds duty. (Sat, 23 May 2009 15:51:12 GMT)

Chad is thinking that it was stupid to come into work at 0630. So tired, want to touch the heiney. (Tue, 19 May 2009 12:34:56 GMT)

Chad failed to suit up in proper spelunking gear while traversing the hill in his back garden. As a result his right wrist is tender as your momma’s chicken. (Mon, 18 May 2009 14:43:08 GMT)

Chad has been named the Allen House Handyman of the Year. Thank you to the three dogs and red head who cast ballots. (Sat, 16 May 2009 21:14:22 GMT)

Chad and the red head who shares his bed slept ten and one half hours. (Sat, 16 May 2009 16:09:35 GMT)

Chad is hoping that his vet figures out what is wrong with baby Jack's eye. (Fri, 15 May 2009 16:07:12 GMT)

Chad finds that following through with commitments is a task that is rarely attainable. Please forward your “dirty rotten bastard” remarks his way. Thanks, Management (Thu, 14 May 2009 19:14:52 GMT)

Chad was douched by sideways rain last night. (Thu, 14 May 2009 15:44:56 GMT)

Chad is excited that rain has finally made its way to Allen House. (Tue, 12 May 2009 23:49:12 GMT)

Chad has never been so proud to be an Allen. A feeling based solely on Kimmie’s wedding celebration. ¡Viva la Wild Thing! (Mon, 11 May 2009 16:02:49 GMT)

Chad is ready for a Mother's Day weekend wedding. Omaha here we come. (Fri, 08 May 2009 15:41:16 GMT)

Chad was prescribed a sedative to alleviate facebook envy induced anxiety. (Thu, 07 May 2009 18:53:47 GMT)

Chad will dig holes at 1230. (Fri, 01 May 2009 13:07:29 GMT)

Chad is excited to hear about the advances in swine technology. Damn dirty H1-N1. (Thu, 30 Apr 2009 21:19:00 GMT)

Chad is ready to start placing fence posts on the fat man's property line. (Thu, 30 Apr 2009 13:10:16 GMT)

Chad is perturbed with his obese neighbor who requested that he move the hostas that were planted over the weekend. Now he has to hire a surveyor to retrace his property lines and prove the chub wrong. (Wed, 29 Apr 2009 14:22:57 GMT)

Chad is on the verge of bitch slapping Excel. (Tue, 28 Apr 2009 16:18:14 GMT)

Chad would appreciate whoever is sewing all of the weed seeds in his flower beds to immediately cease and desist. (Tue, 28 Apr 2009 13:22:03 GMT)

Chad planted enough hostas yesterday to choke a llama in heat. (Mon, 27 Apr 2009 13:53:04 GMT)

Chad thinks that world is a sad place without Bea Arthur's cock. (Sun, 26 Apr 2009 04:20:44 GMT)

Chad There once was an Irish shanty, where women were scarce and the whiskey was plenty. A three legged stool and a table to match with a door that opened and closed with a latch. (Sat, 25 Apr 2009 18:17:47 GMT)

Chad woke up in Grundy Center four and one half hours past his usual wake-up time. (Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:51:34 GMT)

Chad would like to know how much water it would take to board him. Once boarded, what information would he spill before being boarded again? (Thu, 23 Apr 2009 14:02:21 GMT)

Chad is trying to develop a studio in the Orange Room, but the damn squatters won’t leave no matter how many times they are hit with a broom handle. (Wed, 22 Apr 2009 13:23:24 GMT)

Chad was astonished at the amount of wine and beer bottles in his recycling bin this week. He hopes that all of those homeless fellas roaming the streets of Williamsburg will thank him by brushing their teeth. (Tue, 21 Apr 2009 13:00:03 GMT)

Chad is wondering why Jack has loose stool. (Mon, 20 Apr 2009 12:56:29 GMT)

Chad thinks that Oliver may have been the first to beat Jack in a cutest baby contest. (Sun, 19 Apr 2009 02:06:46 GMT)

Chad and his bride spent the evening drinking beer on the front porch with the three hounds. (Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:04:57 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to city wide garage sales in Williamsburg this weekend. There is nothing better than buying other peoples’ useless junk and elbowing fat ladies for the good stuff. (Fri, 17 Apr 2009 13:55:01 GMT)

Chad is fashioning a scooner out of empty Diet Coke bottles and will soon be off to bag some pirates near the coast of Somalia. (Thu, 16 Apr 2009 13:55:46 GMT)

Chad enjoys the cat calls from construction workers during his nightly runs while wearing a tube top and cut-off jean shorts. (Wed, 15 Apr 2009 13:16:07 GMT)

Chad is buying a pellet gun this afternoon to thin out the neighborhood feral clowder. (Tue, 14 Apr 2009 13:45:55 GMT)

Chad is developing a backup plan that consists of two strawberry rhubarb jam jars, three Susan B. Anthony silver dollars, a wad of steal wool and a whole lot of safety pins. (Mon, 13 Apr 2009 21:02:00 GMT)

Chad is suffering from ham withdrawals, and is trying to choke down a rocks glass spilling over with gravy. Hurray Easter. (Mon, 13 Apr 2009 00:47:58 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to watching everyone eat his ham tomorrow. (Sun, 12 Apr 2009 01:27:12 GMT)

Chad just finished a jog with Sir Winston Woo, and he kept up the whole way. His rotund middle section is all a ruse. (Sat, 11 Apr 2009 01:37:45 GMT)

Chad wishes all of you rotten heathen bastards a good Good Friday full of joy and hard boiled dyed eggs. (Fri, 10 Apr 2009 15:54:05 GMT)

Chad is running again. Let the flubber fly. (Fri, 10 Apr 2009 03:08:26 GMT)

Chad wishes that the going rate for dog feces were $50/lb. so that he could retire next year. Three hounds equals a whole ton of duke. (Thu, 09 Apr 2009 17:12:46 GMT)

Chad just discovered that as of today he is the son of an elderly man. Happy birthday Leo, be sure to increase your life insurance policy now that you are one step closer to kicking that bucket. (Tue, 07 Apr 2009 15:14:01 GMT)

Chad heard that Houston is going to have their asses spanked tonight. (Mon, 06 Apr 2009 15:04:10 GMT)

Chad still cannot believe that he built a double gate on the front porch to keep all hounds at bay. (Mon, 06 Apr 2009 01:06:42 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to shoveling snow tomorrow, hurray for bipolar mother nature. (Sat, 04 Apr 2009 15:40:20 GMT)

Chad is excited that his dad’s marriage will finally be recognized by the state of Iowa. (Fri, 03 Apr 2009 19:34:16 GMT)

Chad is excited to attend Kris and Ro's wedding. (Fri, 03 Apr 2009 17:09:27 GMT)

Chad shaved his head in belated vernal equinox celebration. (Thu, 02 Apr 2009 14:55:39 GMT)

Chad was running late with the commute this morning and feels bad for not stopping to make sure the cat he hit was okay. (Wed, 01 Apr 2009 14:58:40 GMT)

Chad just purged 16 friends – spring cleaning sister, you should try it. (Tue, 31 Mar 2009 18:55:58 GMT)

Chad is excited to eat lunch outside with his red head sex kitten and baby monkey dog. (Mon, 30 Mar 2009 16:57:31 GMT)

Chad is tossing a few back wondering why in the hell mother nature is such a bipolar bitch. (Sun, 29 Mar 2009 02:24:33 GMT)

Chad JERRY: Catnap? KRAMER: No, no, no, no. This is evolutionary. I been reading this book, on Leonardo de Vinci. See, that means 'from Vinci', d'you know that? JERRY: (deadpan) That must be some book. KRAMER: Yeah, well, turns out that the master slept only t (Sat, 28 Mar 2009 13:36:01 GMT)

Chad now knows what Kramer felt like during his cat nap episode; sleep two hours, take a puppy out, sleep two hours, take a puppy out, sleep two hours, take the puppy out. (Sat, 28 Mar 2009 13:35:04 GMT)

Chad is watching his three monkey dogs take naps. Lucky little bastards. (Fri, 27 Mar 2009 19:01:16 GMT)

Chad drugged Julie and forced her to sign a check for a new monkey dog named Jack. (Fri, 27 Mar 2009 02:23:16 GMT)

Chad and Julie just bought three brand new copies of F C Ware’s Acme Novelty Library at $4.98 each and has them listed on Amazon for $135. You have got to love hospital book sales. (Thu, 26 Mar 2009 17:39:54 GMT)

Chad wants to know if dark matter tastes like pecan pie. (Thu, 26 Mar 2009 14:23:23 GMT)

Chad wants to know if he is the only person who hates the sound of birds in the wee hours of the morn. (Tue, 24 Mar 2009 11:38:33 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to converting the Orange Room into a studio this week. It's time to redirect the insanity. (Mon, 23 Mar 2009 13:47:58 GMT)

Chad just pulled a wad of lint from his belly button and is using it as kindling, you know - fire starter. (Sun, 22 Mar 2009 14:35:12 GMT)

Chad and Julie are watching the Cubbies spank the Sox (Sat, 21 Mar 2009 23:18:54 GMT)

Chad is celebrating the inaugural lighting of the charcoal, thank you Prometheus. (Sat, 21 Mar 2009 20:48:45 GMT)

Chad opened every window in the house and is chasing the winter monkeys from the house. (Sat, 21 Mar 2009 16:42:05 GMT)

Chad is worried that his bulbs are a bit waterlogged, stunting any growth. (Fri, 20 Mar 2009 15:33:19 GMT)

Chad wants to know what this madness about March is. Why all the fuss over an orange rubber ball? (Thu, 19 Mar 2009 18:27:11 GMT)

Chad wants to be at the Ben Folds concert right now. (Thu, 19 Mar 2009 00:46:41 GMT)

Chad enjoyed every drop of his Smithwick's, double fried fish and chips last night. (Wed, 18 Mar 2009 13:49:37 GMT)

Chad says, “Oh luck of the Irish, I found a leprechaun in my pants this morning.” (Tue, 17 Mar 2009 13:46:50 GMT)

Chad wants to live in a world where his cold shower obsession is accepted by all. (Tue, 17 Mar 2009 10:29:32 GMT)

Chad is so excited to try out his new dental floss after having a corn seed stuck in his molar for three years. (Sun, 15 Mar 2009 22:30:52 GMT)

Chad found a golden coffee basket for $2 at the winery, no more crappy paper filters. (Sun, 15 Mar 2009 00:28:28 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to buying coffee filters. (Sat, 14 Mar 2009 14:15:19 GMT)

Chad wants to train his hippopotamus to grind beans and make coffee in the morning. (Thu, 12 Mar 2009 11:38:31 GMT)

Chad wants the gnomes in his head to quit hammering away. (Wed, 11 Mar 2009 20:26:09 GMT)

Chad cannot find his clogs, if anyone finds them I will reimburse for next day air. (Tue, 10 Mar 2009 13:31:26 GMT)

Chad is looking forward to having his seamstress sew him a custom cod piece this weekend. (Mon, 09 Mar 2009 21:11:36 GMT)

Chad misses the stink of Chicago. (Mon, 09 Mar 2009 16:21:43 GMT)

Chad wants Mark spelled with a “k” to know that he wants see his show. (Fri, 06 Mar 2009 17:05:34 GMT)

Chad heard it's supposed to be sixty out today and is wearing his cutt-off jean shorts to work. (Thu, 05 Mar 2009 13:07:02 GMT)

Chad wants the folks at McDonald's to spill hot coffee on his crotch. Jackpot. (Wed, 04 Mar 2009 12:26:45 GMT)

Chad wants to eat a gallon of pickled eggs and feel great in the morning. (Wed, 04 Mar 2009 04:22:15 GMT)

Chad is skimming through life at ramming speed. (Tue, 03 Mar 2009 19:27:01 GMT)

Chad wants to saddled up a Shetland pony and ride it through the town square wearing nothing but red cowboy boots. (Mon, 02 Mar 2009 16:09:54 GMT)

Chad is ready for his Sunday afternoon nap. (Sun, 01 Mar 2009 16:08:22 GMT)

Chad wants to know what it's like to hunt wildebeests with lawn darts. (Thu, 26 Feb 2009 15:22:37 GMT)

Chad is accepting resumes for the position of Personal Assistant to keep him on task and prepare vegetarian patty melts served with jalapeños. (Tue, 24 Feb 2009 21:34:04 GMT)

Chad wants to thank all those who did not attend the EOS film screening, leaving more popcorn and tater tots for the rest of us. See you in April, hosers. (Mon, 23 Feb 2009 14:32:01 GMT)

Chad says that Morgan Freeman is tops. (Sat, 21 Feb 2009 22:16:29 GMT)

Chad is upping his meds in preparation for the Esoteric Opossum Society film screening of Holy Mountain. Put your crazy hats on and we will see you tomorrow evening (Fri, 20 Feb 2009 21:10:34 GMT)

Chad is nannerpuss, nannerpuss. (Fri, 20 Feb 2009 05:50:01 GMT)

Chad is wondering why he and the wife didn’t buy a house that was three times what they could afford, and then have the loan wiped out. I am ashamed of my party. (Fri, 20 Feb 2009 05:00:14 GMT)

Chad should stop drinking hand sanitizer and stick to the gin. (Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:30:38 GMT)

Chad is should stop drinking hand sanitizer and stick to the gin. (Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:21:40 GMT)

Chad overheard Julie talking about vasectomies on the phone. I sure hope that she was talking about removing Winston’s other testicle now that we can afford it. (Tue, 17 Feb 2009 17:13:48 GMT)

Chad is spooning with the drifter that has been living under the veranda. Julie said that we could keep him, so we named him Sparkles. (Mon, 16 Feb 2009 04:44:11 GMT)

Chad is celebrating St. Valentine’s Day feeding all the out-of-work cherubs in the city, damn this recession. (Sat, 14 Feb 2009 18:01:17 GMT)

Chad loves the Daily Beast more than his own children. (Fri, 13 Feb 2009 16:36:48 GMT)

Chad just watched