Rantings of the Reckmonster Latest Inductee; Will Sexing Soon Follow?


So. This is post number two wherein I disclose another of my favorite blogger buddies and carefully explain why they are a favorite. Many of you might think that I name this next lady to my list because she is lobbying hard to become wife number twelve on my wife list. Some of you might think that I’m putting her name in lights because she has the hots for me.

But you would be wrong for the most part, and obviously have never read Rantings of the Reckmonster, my good buddy, and future twelfth wife-to-be. And would you look at that word “twelfth” for just a fucking minute. Is that not one of the most awkward words you have ever seen? Fuck it, I’m writing it 12th for now on.

Which reminds me of the Texas Aggies and their 12th Man dealie, which in turn, reminds me of the short Texas governor and shitball supreme, Rick Perry. See, little Prick Perry was a yell leader at Texas A&M since he was too scared to go out for a sport, or ROTC.

Any grown man who is so frightened of snakes– and the skinny coyote population traveling the greenbelt of his $10,000-a-month rented governor’s mansion here in drought-stricken Texas, that he carries a lady’s pistol when he jogs with a two-man bodyguard detail, is a pussy. Silly little fucker struts around like a rooster and shooting off his mouth about how tough he is about shit, and he carries a lady’s gun when he jogs in the company of trained assassins.

When you get a chance, go to one of the websites on Aggie yell leaders and take a peek at the little Prick Perry want-a-bees. Ask yourself this question after you have gotten the gist of what a yell leader actually is. Ask yourself, “Self, do I want to trust my country/state to a man who would be proud that he did this shit?”

Anyway, my future 12th wife is Michelle, a diminutive mostly Philipina (Filipina?) psycho therapist working in the same area of Tennessee as my first-listed favorite, Squatlo. Since both she and Squatlo use the word “rant” in their title names, you can guess that The Reckmonster rants. I call her Reck and she’s a Daily Checker. Eagerly, I click over there to see just whatthefuck she’s going off on today.

Sometimes she makes me laugh my ass off with her acerbic wit and humor, and other times she posts stories about the American Service veterans treated in the VA hospital where she works, which make me cry. Oh for shit sakes. Should that be “wherein she works”? Maybe “wherein, at which she works, at”.

Whatever, it’s curious that she and Squat are in the same town and are both former Catholics. Which is an interesting concept to me, that is to say former Catholic. See, I was raised a Baptist and they believe that once you are saved– you are ALWAYS saved. That’s right, walk to the front of the church, whisper in the preacher’s ear that you love Jesus and accept him as your Saviour, then get dipped in the nasty, fetid water of the Baptist bathtub that sits behind the pulpit of every Baptist church– and you are saved forever. That’s right forfuckingever, as in ETERNALLY!

Since I was baptized twice, I am saved for forever-and-a-day. Hoo-fucking rah!

My ADHD is acting up something awful. The Reckmonster does that to me. She is a terrible tease, dangling her womanly charms in front of me with the promise of unheard of pleasures if I’ll just marry, and divorce, wife number 11. My only potential to become number 11 is SAC Ellen, a gun-toting special agent for US Department of Homeland Security. I fear that any marriage to SAC Ellen would be my last. I’ll either find a way to stay married, or I’ll end up in a body bag and buried so deep I’ll never be found.

Which reminds me. Why does a woman have only a “bosom” and not “bosoms”? That one confuses the shit out of me.

Reck stands tall for her veterans and stands up for them as well. I named the cat who adopted Squirt and me “Honor” to recognize the sacrifices our service men and women make for me. I think that maybe Honor the cat displays some of the Reck’s personality. She’s frisky and sparky, she’ll spit and hiss at any transgression, and she’s got a purr machine that will melt your heart.

I’m dying to get close to the Reckmonster’s purr machine.

Reck lives daily the consequences of budget cuts to social support services which are the backbone of the budget-balancing act of the spineless right-wing Christian conservatives who are running our country. She sees what happens when vets return from active duty and cannot get the mental and health benefits they so rightly deserve.

Mostly, she cracks me up. So, one more once, hoist your Carta Blanca beers and click on my Blog Roll to the Rantings of the Reckmonster. Manana, y’all.

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4 Responses to “Rantings of the Reckmonster Latest Inductee; Will Sexing Soon Follow?”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Reckem’s a worthy choice, to be sure. But you might want to reconsider this death wish you have for tempermental women, Mooner. You’re already a marked man, just for having a gun-toting woman in your romantic scheme of things. Women with guns and badges scare the shit outta me…

    Michelle’s a keeper, though. I’ll go over there and come back changed every time. Either she’s tearing someone a new asshole or she’s ready to weep because they’re cutting back funding for the vets, or she’s posted some kick-ass video of herself belittling some poor bastard who’s dared to share a darkened porch with her for a smoke. She’s fearless, funny as hell, and thoroughly dangerous in a spittin’ cobra ninja kind of way. I can understand your attraction.

    The fact that she’s migrated down here from Michigan and still waves that Maize and Blue nonsense shows she has no fear. Michigan fans are about as popular around here as liberals and atheists. I’m trying to talk her into seeing more of the state than her job site and her backyard, ’cause no one should live in Tennessee without visiting the Smokies or Fall Creek Falls State Park, or any of a dozen other places within driving distance. She’s resisting these entreaties to get out and look around, though. Maybe your endorsement here will make her so popular she can’t afford to hunker down and rant at home all the time.

    Great choice!

  2. Squat. Thanks for the confirmation. I am, however, concerned that after 24-hours I still haven’t heard from her on this. I fear I might have a butt kicking coming my way.

    But who gives a shit, right? Sometimes love hurts.

  3. NEVER FEAR! The Reckmonster is HERE!! There’s this little thing called “life” that sometimes interferes with my fucking blog reading ability. Mother bitch. Mooner, you romantic bastard…you put me on your non-existent blog roll! Thanks, man!! Meloveyoulongtime! But, the fact still remains…I do NOT fucking see any place to roll my mouse and see a blog roll. The shit is supposed to be on the side of your blog, Mooner…dammit, would you get OFF the fucking VISTA and jump into this millenium?!

    Still, that’s super sweet you said all of those supah fly things about me. That does NOT mean that I will forego you marrying and divorcing wife # 11 so that I can be # 12…I just can’t be an odd-numbered wife. I was wifey # 2 the first time around. That established the need to be an “even numbered wife.”

    And that Squat…even though he is a fellow liberal-minded, former catholic neighbor o mine – I can’t believe he thinks my Wolverines are not popular down here in SEC country! Wha???

    Oh, and I still need to go get myself a Carta Blanca, now that I know it’s not an imaginary beer…when I do, I’ll take a picture of myself (no, NOT naked!) toasting you with the Carta Blanca! You can whack off to the picture until we get married. BAHAHAHAHA! Oh, and give Honor a groovy scratch from me! Thanks again for the shout out…I don’t care WHAT those bastards say, you’re a pretty cool mother fucker!!!

  4. Reck. While I find your logic that “I must be number 12” excessively faulty, I will none the less adhere to your wishes, for now. Just know that without proper visuals, my nighttime imaginings during dreamy time will include select body parts and actions from your person.

    Left unfettered by a dose of reality, my fertile dream brain will conjure sometimes wild images of you, and your stuff. Just one pic is all I ask.

    Hugs and kisses.

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