Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Monday, June 29, 2009

Getting ready for Pottahawk: step 2

Make sure you have wicked tunes, like this one, to blast out your speakers when you get to the point.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXVI

Colonel Grant spotted the flares from the air and guided the chopper in, nestling it on the asphalt divide between the two tree lines.

The response had come quicker than he had expected. A clean-up unit on its way to a decontamination area east of Glacier National Park, had called in an accident on a side road near Apgar Station involving two vehicles, one a late model 4x4. There had been no victims at the crash site, but judging by the state of the collision it had happened within minutes of the clean-up’s arrival. Suspects were most likely headed through the woods in a northerly direction, perhaps injured and moving at a slowed pace.

"So Sheppard’s taking them into the park. Nowhere else to go now and won’t be too hard to spot from the air."

Grant powered down the helicopter and jumped out to inspect the site. The flares burned with a bright intensity and columns of smoke rose into the air like twisting vines. The 4X4 was overturned onto its hood in the south gully with all the passengers walking away under their own ability; no sign of blood and no one appeared to be hurt. The tracks were easy enough to spot in the soft ground- two pair from adults and the others the youths including his precious Indigo. There was also a fifth set of tracks heading off with the group in a northeast direction into the tree line.

Grant figured it was the driver of the other vehicle- a Ranger truck from Apgar station with its driver-side door still ajar. The motorist had been headed east. From the assessment of the damage Grant deduced the driver had been traveling at high speed back to the station when he’d slammed into the Colonel’s fugitives.

He was becoming more than a little annoyed with Sheppard’s increasing assistance and the involvement of others.

One more fatality to add to the list, either by my hand, or the sickness.

Grant walked with a commanding swagger back to the chopper and climbed aboard. Time was still on his side. He quickly studied the GPS of the area and picked up the radio to relay his next instructions.

Not to worry. This will all soon be over. That elusive Sheppard will be dead and I’ll have the Bradley kid.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Great moments in Pottahawk history #7



1994: The gloved one, king of pop Michael Jackson, displays his vocal talents while a guest on a boat called "Young Buoys".

A gap to be minded



In preperation for their opening spot on tour with Private Sector's Disputin Rasputin Tour 09, Mind The Gap, or MTG for people who can't be bothered saying "Mind The Gap", will play a sold out gig at Jax Filling Station in Oshawa tonight.

Great moments in Pottahawk history #6



1978: Farah Fawcett shows up to party.

Getting ready for Pottahawk: step 1

Put the boat in the water.


Failed Launch Capsizes Yacht - Watch more Funny Videos

Great moments in Pottahawk history #5



2001 Ed McMahon gets his drunk on and eyes the ladies.

Friday, June 26, 2009

I've been remiss

Sorry my Pottahawk brethren, I seem to have let the week slip away without so much as a peep to the blessed day that is Pottahawk 2009.

I could blame it on any of a number of factors:

a) I'm distraught over the death of Ed McMahon
b) I'm distraught over the death of Farah Fawcett
c) I'm distraught over the death of Michael Jackson

However the truth is, the week just got away from me, that is all.

Tune in tomorrow and I'll try to have some juice.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXV

Sheppard managed to pull the rifle free and crawled out of the overturned truck through the passenger window. His first instinct was to protect the kids from this new threat, but the dizziness overtook him and he collapsed to his back with the Winchester still inside the vehicle. He could hear the footsteps fast approaching and the man was now above him. “Are you all right?”

Sheppard nodded as he looked up at the young Ranger who stood over him. “The kids,” he said weakly. “Help them.”

The Ranger knelt down and peered into the 4X4. He reached in and gently helped Amber and Rabbit pull free of the wreckage. Malcolm Buck kicked open his door and tumbled out. He fought to get to his feet but dropped to one knee and remained there as if in prayer. His cowboy hat lay beside him like he’d just been thrown by a bronco at the rodeo.

“I’m so sorry I hit you.” The Ranger said. “But you came out of nowhere. I mean who the hell drives through the forest?”

Sheppard grunted and turned to one side. Using his forearm he managed to hoist himself to his knees. He checked his head for signs of a contusion but saw no evidence of blood.

“I’m a National Park Ranger. Len Grimsby’s my name.”

“Excuse me for asking Mr. Len Grimsby, but how come you were traveling so damn fast? You could have killed us and yourself.”

“Everyone’s being asked to leave the area. The National Guard’s been called in to evacuate the park. Marshal Law’s been declared. There’s been a terrorist attack of some sort.” The Ranger seemed a little nervous as he said this, glancing periodically down the road.

“You weren’t paying attention to what was in front of you,” Sheppard said. “That’s not a man trying to get to safety. That’s a man running from something. And you were headed east toward the park not to a city center. What are you running from?”

Grimsby fidgeted and glanced down the road again.

Sheppard got to his feet. “Get the packs from the truck. We need to get off the road, now!”

Everyone regained their senses and dug the backpacks out of the truck. Buck helped the kids pull theirs on and slung his over his shoulder. Sheppard tossed one to the Ranger who looked at it dumb founded.

“Malcolm’s wife told him to pack it for you. Aren’t you lucky.”

Buck led the troop across the road to where the Ranger’s truck sat and they started to slide down the gully into the woods. Grimsby pulled open the door to the truck and started to crawl into it.

“What are you doing?”

“I need something.”

“Whatever you need to do, make it quick,” Sheppard hissed.

The Ranger retrieved a small, black, rectangular, plastic box from the glove compartment, before joining the group by the tree line. No sooner had they started to venture into the wilderness, the distant rumble of an engine could be heard thundering up the road. The five moved with stealth to a dense patch of wet green foliage where they could take refuge but still see the road.

The oncoming motor geared down and with a squeak of wheels ground to a halt. It was an Army truck of two-tone olive green and khaki camouflage. The scent of diesel emanated from the exhaust. As the engine idled four men in hazmat suits, armed with machine guns, jumped out and examined the wreckage. From where Sheppard and his companions hid, only the lower portion of the truck and the men from the hips down could be seen as they checked for bodies and related their findings via radio. Sheppard noticed the army truck seemed to be leaking gas, or oil, as a steady trickling, dripped from the under carriage.

After several minutes of indistinguishable conversation, one man struck a few flairs, leaving them by the roadside and the four climbed aboard and headed east.

Once they were gone from view, Grimsby breathed easier and turned to Sheppard. “Wonder what all that was about?”

Buck grabbed the Ranger from behind and swung him around pinning him next to a tree and holding the rifle under his chin. “You led them right to us. So don’t play dumb!”

“Whoa...Man...Put the gun down mister. I’m unarmed. OK! OK! You’re right. I was running, but only because of what I saw.”

Buck released his grip and Grimsby coughed as he rubbed his neck.

“What did you see?” Sheppard said.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange things today. People dead by the roadside, the sky full of vapour trails, and I couldn’t reach anyone on the shortwave at the other Ranger stations. Then I heard over the truck radio there’s been a biological attack and this whole area from Martin City to East of the park is under quarantine. They wanted everyone to go to the closest road block and let the National Guard take you out for decontamination. So I got in the truck and headed for the nearest check point I could find. That’s when I saw....I saw the Army truck at a house. People in hazmat suits were throwing bodies into the back of it. They were stacked, one on top of the other, like cord wood.”

That wasn’t gas or oil dripping from the truck. It was blood.

Grimsby continued, “It was surreal, like trash-men picking up recycling. But they also found a woman alive...and...and they shot her. They just shot her. She was pleading for her life and they gunned her down. I was afraid they’d seen me and would come after me too. So I swung the truck around and headed back toward the Apgar Station as fast as I could.”

“One thing’s for sure.” Sheppard said. “Those flairs are meant as signals not warnings. More will come and they’ll start searching the woods. We need to move.”

“Move? To where?” Grimsby asked.

“We’re headed to Hidden Lake near Logan Pass. There’s a place we can hide for a while.” Buck said.

“And you’re going to walk?”

“Since someone crashed into my truck.....yes.”

Grimsby insisted, “We should go to the Apgar Visitor Center. It’s not far from here.”

“I don’t think that’s a very wise choice. We may find those soldiers there to greet us,” Sheppard said.

“No, hear me out. There’s a boat at the dock at the base of Lake McDonald. We use it for extracting hikers lost in the wilderness. I can get you were you want to go quicker. At the north end of the lake there’s a place that rents all terrain vehicles and a trail that runs parallel to the Sun Road, so we can be at Packer’s Roost by tonight. Logan Pass is not far from there. ”

Sheppard looked at Rabbit for guidance. The boy seemed to have a knack of knowing when trouble was brewing. “What do you think Rabbit?”

“The boat’s a good idea.”

“Fine. Which way is it from here?”

Grimsby pointed north-east and Buck trudged off with the kids in tow. Sheppard looked at Grimsby and pointed to the small plastic box he still carried in his left hand. “What the hell was so important, you had to get from your truck anyway?”

Grimsby flipped open the box. Inside a small pistol nestled in gray foam was surrounded by six darts with red feather markers on their tails. “It’s a tranq gun.”

“What, in case we have trouble sleeping?”

“No, to protect us from wildlife- bears, wolves, elk, stuff like that.”

“You risked your life to get a tranquilizer gun in case we run into wildlife?”

“We’re not allowed to carry firearms. It was the next best thing.”

Sheppard started forward. “Come on, we need to catch up to the others.”

Grimsby grabbed his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Your ears are bleeding. You must have banged your head in the accident.”
Sheppard raised his hands slowly to the side of his head and lightly dabbed at wetness near his ear canal. He brought his fingers around to his face. They were smeared with blood.

It's a classic

I love this for Father's Day

Cool Father's Day gifts to set you apart from the rest





Or how about one of those rediculous canned burgers?

Father's Day by the numbers

Last week I blew my wad on the whole Father's Day thing beleiving it was indeed Father's Day. Then I'd found out I'd jumped the gun by a week. Shame on me.

So in restitution I'm posting a more Father's Day shit to make up for it. Enjoy.

10 things to get Kim Jong Il for Father's Day.

The 10 best dad moments in movies.

10 movies made better by Dumb and Dumber.

This time for sure

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Great moments in Pottahawk history #4



The first wedding ever to happen at Pottahawk was in 1901, or as the Old-timers called it 19 aught 1.

Graham Handcock and Edna Spunkmyre tied the knot on the shores of Pottahawk that fateful day in July. The infamous Handcock-Spunkmyre union lasted only 41 minutes when Mr. Handcock's new bride ran away with the photographer who took the photo Dr. Colonel "Tex" Obenhymen.

In between taking wedding photos, Obenhymen doubled as a traveling side show salesman selling homemade elixirs. Maybe you've heard of Dr. Bull Horn's Magic Tonic?

It was the turn of the century's answer to Viagra and penis enlargement.

The two set off in a row boat from Pottahawk Point and were never heard from again. Assumed drowned in the high waves, it is said their ghosts still wander the point and can be seen in the reflection of the waters...that is until they turn piss yellow and brown.

Pottahawk T-shirts we hope to see for 2009

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Great moments in Pottahawk history #3



Tragedy befalls the 1924 Pottahawk Piss-up festivities after the entire Hamilton Swim Club foolishly decide to try swimming the distance to Pottahawk......from Hamilton.

They drowned in the Welland Canal.

Also the weight of the beer they were carrying didn't help their buoyancy. It was noted the men were all very intoxicated.

The tearful mother of deceased captain Skip Peabody was quoted as saying, "At least my son died with a smile on his face doing what he loved best- serving his teammates."

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Amazing yard sale finds

Whew! It was a good weekend haul at the yard sales. I got some cool stuff. Check it out.


Pickin`On Creed: Cost $0.75



Used to be you had to pay a buck or two for a Creed album. Now you can get it for a song, (no pun intended), but bluegrass versions of Creed songs.....that is a rare find my friends.

Squirrel- stuffed and mounted: Cost $2.50



I`ll admit it was a little pricey, but with Father`s Day looming, I couldn`t afford not to.


Dead Pet: Cost $1.75



Sure I could get the same thing for free by the roadside as long as a have a shovel, but this one doesn`t smell. Boy, Dad is really going to love me on Sunday.

Amazing yard sale find of Amazing Spiderman costume: Cost $3.25



Originally the dude wanted $10.00 bucks for this sweet pick-up, but I was able to get him down because of the pit stains.

Hmmm, wonder what he wore at the yard sale after I left......

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXIV

Colonel Hayden Grant stirred in the dimness of the Vilgrain house, a throbbing pain bringing him out of his unconscious state. A wooden stake of shrapnel from the door-casing stuck out of his left shoulder surrounded by a dark stain of blood. He yanked the fragment out of his flesh and felt the searing flash of instant pain. The rip in his suit was substantial and had compromised him to the elements. With his good arm he pulled himself to his feet and scanned the room. There was no sign of Sheppard, the boy, or the driver of the back-ho, but Van Gogh was still there. His body was slumped over the loader, pinned by the crumbling brick. There would be no last minute daring rescue of his partner this time.

Grant collected his weapon and retrieved his fallen comrade’s microwave pulse gun as well. He hailed the chopper, but there was no response. Grant felt the anger percolate inside him and his hatred for Sheppard reach a fevered pitch. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch!”

Looking around, Grant ripped the cord off a set of blinds that had been torn down by the force of the crash. He tied the rope tightly around his upper shoulder in a makeshift tourniquet and headed back to the chopper. Finding the pilot dead only added fuel to his wrath.

Grant checked the area across the road where a set of tires led off through the field and onto a path by the tree line. Grant returned to the chopper and pulled the pilot from the controls, tossing the dead body on the ground. He picked up the radio to call in his findings while he fired up the helicopter to take it airborne.

“This is Colonel Grant. All units, be on the look-out for a late model 4X4 pickup, headed east. Report to me immediately on any vehicle matching that description.”

The blades of the chopper were now at full rotation and the engine roared in a high-pitched whine. Grant eased the stick back. The helicopter rose vertically and he propelled it forward in the direction of the tracks he’d found.

The helicopter sailed over the tree tops and headed east.

Unique gifts for Father's Day


How about a custom mounted squirrel After all, didn't you just hear him say, he has a hard time mounting anything these days?

Here's a great site that will keep Dad busy for a while. Guess her muff.

Or how about getting Dad a nice new or used grill? This is the grill he had in mind right?

Father's Day

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Great moments in Pottahawk history #1



January 8th, 1997

The attempts to stage a Pottahawk Piss-Up party in the middle of winter fail miserably.

Great moments in Pottahawk history #2



But later that same day the ice-sculpture making competition is a resounding success.

I've got two words for you

This is a new feature where I take two random words put them together and see if there are any sites out there that remotely fit the description.

Sadly today's two words do.

FART + CAKE

Know your anime

We haven't been there for a while so....

Let's see what our good friends, the Japanese have been up too.



What the fu.........

Are those two talking hunks of shit?

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Exercising for Pottahawk?



Get in line. There's already a bunch of people ahead of you.

Take a look at the drunk champions.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Pottahawk piss-up 2009....

By the numbers...

Disappointing really.

If you search "Pottahawk", you'll find old Strangedaze on page 4.

Add "2009" to that and I fare only slightly better moving up to page 2.

In fact, you have to add "Piss-up" before you find a first page ranking.

So I've decided to up the ante, since historically all my traffic seems to come in the window between June and August.

I will post something so shocking, so original, so exclusive to Pottahawk, that you'll have no recourse but to tune into Strangedaze on a regular bassis just to see what it is.

Numbers, numbers, numbers

The 10 most delicious miracles

So much for the oil stain of St. Sebastian in my driveway.

The top 10 failed McDonalds food products

Hey how about McChinese, or McTurducken?

The top 10 bizarre job-related illnesses.

I guess masturbators carpal-tunnel wouldn't count since it's not a job.

Sunday, June 07, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXIII

A growing hum filled the room overpowering the chatter from the television. It was followed closely by the thunder of splintering wood as the front door blew in, hitting Grant and sending him into the wall by the kitchen. He fell to the floor unconscious.

The raised yellow loader of Vilgrain’s back-ho came crashing into the living room as the hydraulic back digger tore through the ceiling raining down chunks of plaster and wood . The steel tines of the loader struck Van Gogh pushing him to the far brick wall and impaling him in the stomach. The force was significant and severed his spinal column at the small of his back. A shower of blood squirted out of the man’s mouth and covered the inside of his hazmat face-mask as the back-ho crashed and skidded to a sideways halt under the tumbling dominoes of brick.

Sheppard had yanked both kids backward and barely out of the way of the random back-ho’s massive rear wheels. The motor died on the machine and sent a shower of sparks, dust and debris into the room. Sheppard and the kids coughed as they rolled from their stomachs, pushing back detached puzzle pieces of drywall. Malcolm Buck climbed out of the back-ho’s driver seat. He held his cowboy hat to his head and thumped to the floor triumphantly, his ponytail swinging upward like a black noose as he did so. He quickly surveyed the damage and reached back up to the seat to remove his Winchester.

Sheppard looked at him. “Are you crazy?”

“ Thank you, would seem the more appropriate response.”

“You nearly killed us Malcolm!”

“I’m sorry, there was no time.” Buck said, as he helped the kids to their feet and brushed off the white dust. “I had to act fast. I saw the men in the chemical suits enter the house and I knew you were in here. You needed help.”

“How did you know we were here? I told you I was going to the Bradley house.”

“My wife told me.”

“How did she....never mind. We have to get out of here now.”

“My 4 x 4 is out on the lane beyond the driveway. If we hurry we can make it before others come.”

“Others?”

“The town is crawling with these guys, they’re rounding up anyone still left alive, but I know a way- a seldom used back road. We can get to the park and then hike in from there.”

“Let us get our supplies.”

“No time. I have stuff in the truck I took from the store. We’re good.”

Sheppard quickly checked Amber and Rabbit for injuries. They were unhurt. He then retrieved his weapons from the floor, tucking the gun back into his jeans and clutching Vilgrains shotgun. Led by Buck and his rifle, the three followed the big man through the rubble and out what was left of the front passageway. They moved quickly, coughing dust as they ran. Once at the end of Vilgrain’s driveway they turned to the right, down the lane. They could see Malcolm Buck’s truck, with its extended cab, just beyond the tree line on the edge of an open field. On the opposite side, the grasses had been flattened by the helicopter which stood dormant. The pilot lay slumped over the controls. His face-mask fogged up and sporting a single bullet hole.

“Jesus, Malcolm, who are you, the Terminator?”

“He shot at me first. Besides I couldn’t very well let him alert the others I was coming. Kind of spoils the element of surprise.”

The four reached the truck and Buck opened the doors motioning for the kids to climb aboard.

Sheppard looked in the vehicle. “Where’s your wife?”

Buck looked pained by the question. He shook his head slowly. “She didn’t make it. I wrapped her in her bed sheets and was going to take her to the hospital in Martin City, but she told me no. So I left her on the bed. I was there to watch her pass.”

"I'm sorry Malcolm."

"She's in a better place now.....away from this lunacy."

Sheppard looked at the supplies stacked in a corner of the back of the cab. “Malcolm you have five backpacks here.”

“She told me I’d need five. So I packed five.”

“She told you all this, including where to find us right before she died?”

“After. Not in words you understand. But it was like I could still hear her thoughts. That’s why I knew what to do. That’s why I know we have to head into the park. She was quite adamant about it.”

“She must have been a remarkable woman?”

“She was.”

Sheppard and Buck climbed into the front seats of the 4X4 with the kids safely in the back and Buck brought the engine to life as he jammed the Winchester next to the seat. He rubbed his hands together. “What the hell is this?”

“What?”

“My hands are all sticky, from the back-ho, I think.”

Rabbit was suddenly alarmed. “My friend Jeffery. He was playing on the back-ho earlier today. He got sick and died. He said his hands were sticky too.”

Amber corroborated Rabbit’s story.

Sheppard looked trouble now as well. “Malcolm, if what the kids say is true, perhaps I should drive? No offense, but I don’t want you dying behind the wheel at sixty miles an hour.”

“Forgive me Mr. Sheppard, but you aren’t as familiar with the back roads as I am. We don’t have time for this. If I start to feel sick, I’ll pull over and we can deal with it then.” Buck moved the stick into gear and punched the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward and rumbled over uneven ground to a pathway of two tire tracks cutting through the wood.

Sheppard looked back at Rabbit. "Watch him. Let me know if his aura changes."

Rabbit nodded to Sheppard’s thoughts and vigilantly focused on Malcolm Buck as he manoeuvred the truck with as much speed as he was able, down the pathway. They continued for several miles following scraps of road and little used trails, occasionally crossing a main route until they could find another lesser used roadway. All around them seemed deserted, with not a soul in sight.

“Where is it we’re going?”

“My father used to take me on hiking trips into the park when I was a child, trying to put me in touch with my heritage I guess- that whole vision quest thing. There’s a place, in a rock crevasse. It harbours a cave. We used to stay there and camp. It will give us enough shelter until we can decide what we’re going to do from there. But I suggest we keep moving north. Try to get to Canada. It’ll take several days but it is doable if you know the way.”

“How far is this cave?”

“Two days hiking.”

“Two days? Malcolm we’re not going to last two hours out in the open even with night coming. This is a suicide mission.”

“There is no other way. We try this, or we turn ourselves in. I wish we had more alternatives, but we don’t.My wife told me an angel would be sent to guide our way.”

The path ahead was coming to an end as it intersected another main road. Buck slowed as he approached the steep shoulder heading up to the road. The truck angled upward, climbing the gully and Buck gave it some gas to propel the front wheels onto the asphalt.

The impact was sudden and came out of nowhere. Crunching metal and a shower of glass with the initial force pushed the 4X4, spinning it sideways half into the gully off the shoulder of the road. The crash combined with the steep grade was enough to flip the vehicle and it rolled onto its roof sending Buck, Sheppard and the two kids tumbling in the truck interior.

The pickup truck that had hit them, rolled down the road to a lazy stop on the far shoulder, steaming like a locomotive, its front passenger-side obliterated in the accident.

Sheppard’s vision was fuzzy from the crash, but he was coming to and judging by the moans around him, his companions were shaken up, but not severely injured. Across the road he could see the driver of the other vehicle spring from the cab. Sheppard searched for Vilgrains shotgun but it must have been thrown clear as they tumbled down the embankment. He gazed up at the Winchester still wedged between the seats and struggled to dislodge it. The driver of the other truck was now running toward them. He was dressed in a uniform.

Saturday, June 06, 2009

Amazing yard sale finds

Last weekend I was down in the states. It gave me a chance to do some yard sale shopping south of the border. Seems the Americans are just as fucked up as we are.

Pee & Poo soft plush dolls Cost: $1.50



A little exorbitant I'll admit, but when am I ever going to have the chance to buy plush Pee & Poo dolls again?


Miniature babies Cost: Free



I was afraid to ask, but it was a throw in with the Pee and Poo purchase, so who am I to argue....


The Green Days of Christmas Cost : $2.50



A Christmas album of Green Day songs? Hook a brother up. Except now I have to try and find a turn table on my next yard sale foray.

Pottahawk 2009 warm up

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Once there was a time when this blog ranked right up at the top of Pottahawk searches.

Now, everyone and their mother are posting pics and vids of the blessed day.

Yet, I have faith I can rebuild my sullied reputation. Starting with this Pottahawk 2009 pre-post of T-shirts we'd like to see at this year's event.

Let's take a moment to thank...

The Founding father's of Pottahawk:
(Top row left to right)
Woodrow "Skippy" Martin, "Bean Counter" Bill Basco, Edward "Lovey" Jizrock, Fredrick "Headmaster" Gevensleeves III, William "grumbles" Portaper Sr.
(Front row left to right)
Willie "Bulldog, Buzzy" McGee, Jeremiah "AA" Johnson Jr., Richard "Pedophile" Gramblesbee.

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Pottahawk made simple

If you don't know, or have never heard of Pottahawk, let me show you in the simplest possible way.

Pottahawk made simple #1

Pottahawk made simple #2


Pottahawk made simple #3

Pottahawk made simple #4

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

You're on drugs

Here, let me prove it to you....

You're on drugs #1

You're on drugs #2

You're on drugs #3


You're on drugs #4



Fuuuuuuck! Now I'm hungry.

Monday, June 01, 2009

Only a matter of time

So it's June 1st and summer is on it's way. Although, it doesn't feel much like it some days. But it got me to thinking that Pottahawk is just around the corner.

Ah Pottahawk- the greatest day of the year: better than Christmas; better than a day off with pay; better than finding twenty bucks you forgot about in that sweater pocket; better than the ritualistic sex every Friday...on the last week of the month...before the winter solstice...on a leap year.

Yes-sir-ee....Pottahawk has been very,very good to me, not just in a, fun-drunk-I can see your vagina-way, either. Pottahawk means lots of hits for Strangedaze as people search for debauchery of one sort or another. And I aim to please in that category. With the lack of traffic in the past months as the recession even hits mt Blog, it will we a welcomed change.

This year I hope to be no different as all your favorite blogs should be back from: Where's Boo and Johnny Wad, to Pottahawk T-Shirts, to This Day in the History of Pottahawk.

And let us not forget the pics and vids.

So start cracking open those beers my friends, there is much training to do before the blessed day is upon us.