Bloggie Tour Plans On A Roll; Doughnuts For Breakfast


So. I have only one week left before I head out on my road trip to visit Squatlo, BJ, the Reckmonster and TQ—fellow bloggers and buddies of mine. I’m starting the trip with a few days of poker at an Indian casino up to Oklahoma. I hear the poker rooms might be better over to Tunica, Mississippi, but I have an eighth Indian blood from Daddy’s side and I want to keep my action with family.

In my absence, my homie family and associates will provide you with a little entertainment. I have asked each of them to say a little something on any subject they choose. I have also asked them to do this after I’m gone so that they can write unbridled by my comments. OK, why aren’t they unbridled WITH my comments?

We just finished discussing it at breakfast. When I told them of my idea, you’d have thought I asked them to slit their own throats.

“Oh, dear, son,” Mother started. “You are too controversial and totally inappropriate. I cannot have my name associated with you.”


“But you’re my mother, for shitsakes, don’t forget that you’re my mother.”

Mother sighed her deepest martyr sigh and said to me, she said, “Oh, sweet Jesus knows I have tried to forget, Mooner. But God has determined that you and your grandmother are to be my bearfull burdens in this sinful life, and He wants us to remember our responsibilities. Sometimes it’s just too much to bear.”

Bearfull burdens? Whatinthefuck is a bearfull burden?

Before I could form the words in my mouth, Gram piped up. “I’mma bear yer ass full a this hot oatmealie if’n ya start up with that shit agin’.”

There was verbal silence for minutes as my Gram sat and stewed. Every thirty seconds or so she would look up from her oatmeal and snort at Mother, a cold and scary look in her eyes. Gram scraped the last of her oats into the big soup spoon and jammed the over-filled silver utensil into her mouth. “Ah thooda thoth Thigha tha mmathy Emthala Mahthathun.”

Uh-oh. Someone run grab the Kleenex.

It took a second for my mother to translate Gram’s mush-mouthed proclamation, but her cognizance showed as huge tears welled in her eyes. “How can you say that after everything I have done for you? How can you throw Emily Morrison into my face after all these years?”

My Gram had just told Mother that she wished she’d told Chigger, that’s what we called Daddy, that he should have married Emily Morrison. Emily was my Daddy’s high school sweetheart and first love. They separated, unmarried, when Daddy went off to war, and Daddy came home with Mother in tow.

OK, let me stop the presses. You need to go buy my book because the rest of our breakfast talk delved deep into stories contained in the fucking book. I can’t be spoiling book surprises here in the bloggie. So click onto this linkster:

What I can do here is summarize breakfast. Gnat, my personal assistant, will take dictation from each of the contributors after I leave town. Gnat will translate to computer speak, and publish the whole thing on Monday morning, November 7th. You can read one entry each day, or read the whole silly thing at once. I don’t really give a shit which.

Anyway, I’ve got a truckload of Carta Blanca arriving that needs to be unloaded, and I need to go wake SAC Ellen from her slumber. I did me some fine work last night, and she need a little extra time to recover. She’ll blame it on jet lag, but we all know better.

Manana, y’all.

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7 Responses to “Bloggie Tour Plans On A Roll; Doughnuts For Breakfast”

  1. melanie says:

    how in the hell did i not start reading your stuff sooner. i think i found me a new book to read!

  2. melanie says:

    and give reck a big hug from me!

  3. admin says:

    Melanie. Welcome to Loony Land, where the pigs are gay and the ostrich is glad of it. Anything besides a hug for the Reck? I’m looking for any excuse to grope her. I’ll go check your place when I get a chance. Thanks for stopping in.

  4. Mel – Just so you know – there are some things on Mooner’s blog that you can’t un-read once you let the words cross your eyeballs. Some things are disturbing…but you just kinda get used to them as “Moonerisms.” BAHAHAHA!

    Mooner – I do hope that you are planning to actually pee in the toilet when you come for Blog-Con 2011. Methinks that your hosts may have a problem with you pissing in their sinks…plus, Squat’s lovely (and dangerous) wife might be intervening if you think about trying to pee in sinks…just warnin’ you, is all.

  5. bj says:

    Went to Sam’s Club yesterday, Mooner and bought the LARGE package of Ivory Soap (144 bars). Will that be enough fer yer three to five (depending on how you read yer calendar) day visit …. or should I go back for another pack? I also bought 60 o’ them Blue Duck twa-LET cakes fer the sink. 20 or so fills the sink purty full so I hope I got enough. Pissin’ inna sink ain’t a ‘deal breaker’ over here to Johnsonville
    Sorry about yer Texican Ranger’s loss inna Werld Series ….. wern’t their fault they lost ….. I wuz rootin’ fer ’em’s why ……

  6. Squatlo says:

    Melanie (used to love your music when I was younger, by the way!) you have to put on protective gear before you settle in for Mooner reading. I’d advise hand sanitizer, latex gloves, and maybe something to wipe up the drinks you’ll likely spray on the computer monitor if you aren’t prepared for some of his mental u-turns. You were warned.

    Reck and BJ< since Mooner's stopping at Quincy's before he travels to the 'Boro, maybe we should each pay Q for a preview of coming attractions, just to get some idea of what we might need to expect in advance. For instance, if Mooner starts to miss the gay closet menagerie he left in Austin, are our pets safe from some kind of radical indoctrination where he Prays the Gay to Stay or something? Do we need to put plastic sheeting up around our toothbrushes on the back of the sink? Would Quincy tell us if Mooner were downloading cameltoe images to his computer after hours? Inquiring minds want to know…

    Hey, Mooner, bring that Don guy with you. He sounds like a hoot!

  7. admin says:

    Reck. OK, first, do I detect a touch of jealousy? Melanie sounds sweet as a late summer watermelon. I’m planning to stop over to her place to sample the goodies. As for my toilet habits–have pecker, will travel! “Peeing in Sinks” is my middle name.

    BJ. With the 288 bars I got from Costco, I think we’re good to go. I hope you kept the reciept for the Duck Cakes. Unless you’ve got a really deep sink, the cakes cause unneeded splattering. I was going to type “unnecesisary” but after five minutes couldn’t get it spelled right. I’ve got a trip to plan so I moved on. And as for the Strangers, they pissed that series away all by their lonesome selves.

    Squat. OK, first, it was all I could do to prevent myself from talking about my roller skates and keys. Ever since Melanie’s named popped up I’ve had that song in my head. Maybe I need to see if Melanie lives anywhere near the parade route of my impending tour. OK, here’s another of those fucking gramatical dealios. Is my parade impending or pending? A quick check over to Webster’s Best provides clear eveidence both ways.

    As for Quincy, he’s likely the smartest of the whole bunch. We’re meeting somewhere accross town from his house in a big bar/grill called The Bulldog. I only hope the name is in homage to a college mascot. He’s holding his wife behind scenes and gave me one of those, “She might be busy with family in the hospital out to Delaware,” thingies. I get that a lot.

    Lastly, fuck Don Legacy, the ungrateful sniveling cry-fucking-baby. I used him as my pen name for the soon-to-be-best-selling book, and all I get from him is, “You never take me anywhere with you. How about I start fighting your already weak impulse controls and convince you it’s a good idea to shit with the dogs?”

    Maybe I need an exorcism.

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