Archive for December, 2011

Why A Football Is Not A Very Good Christmas Present

December 30, 2011

What started out as a comment on a social networking site about a glorious decades-long Hayhurst family Christmas tradition has been twisted against me and turned into a blog post by certain sinister citizens of the nefarious net.

Fair enough. I bring it all on myself.

For those of you who know me (and yes, I still hold out one shining ember of hope that there are people who read this blog for enjoyment, not just because they are my friends whom I have paid heftily to keep post views up), you know that I am not a football fan.

Yes, I’ve been to a couple of WVU games in my day. My dad and his brothers took me to one when I was five or six. A couple years later, they showed me Star Wars.

I think we know which of those two won.

Aside from that, my football experience extends to a Morgantown game to which my ex-girlfriend’s mother purchased a ticket for me so her daughter would have someone to go with her and countless lazy Sunday afternoons spent on my laptop in the family room while everyone else fussed and fought over the small ball and the bad calls.

I don’t like watching football. I really don’t like talking about football. I absolutely don’t like playing football.

Ergo, for me and anyone else out there with the slight misfortune of being like me, a football is not a very good Christmas present.

Also, for any nine-year-old with glasses who is wrapped completely up in a society-included bout of BB gun mania, a football isn’t a good choice.

Of course I had to go there. That’s the whole reason that this post happened.

Honestly, a football is not good for birthdays, graduations, weddings or any occasion.

That being said, if someone did buy me a football, I would accept it graciously and thank the giver heartily. Nothing drives me crazier than ungrateful people.

But you know, that doesn’t mean that some other kid may not want a football. I’m sure there are plenty who would love to have one so they could emulate their athletic role models.

That just means that I don’t want one.

Plus, I don’t have any athletic role models, another fact that I assume most of you already knew.

I realize I’m presenting you with quite a few ‘duh’ statements, with bear with me.

All in all, a football would probably make a great Christmas present to most any young boy who needed an excuse to roughhouse, any young girl who showed an interest in football or any rabid football fan in existence.

But, again, since I am none of those, I’ll just take my dice bags, deck holders and a couple bottles of Mountain Dew and slide on down the stairs to my friend’s parent’s basement for a few hours of dragon slaying in a dark dungeon.





This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Bethany Rosser for this one. I don’t know if she took me seriously or she is just a fan of “A Christmas Story” and wanted to see what I could do with this, but here it is.

Either way, she can put it promptly into her pipe and commence to smoke it.


Truly ghjr


January 1st

December 26, 2011

The first of January is somewhat of a special day.

We stay up late the night before, drinking cheap champagne and counting the few remaining moments of the old, dying year.

As we make our final countdown, the calendar year breathes its last breaths and, at midnight on the dot, it expires. Of course, the death of an old year always brings a new, fresh year that each person can mold and shape into what they want.

At midnight, we celebrate the passing of an old day, month, year, decade or millennium and usher in a new measurement of time that call our own.

Some have more reason to celebrate on the day in question.

These people will always live with the easiest birthday to remember.

These “New Year’s Babies,” as they are called, will never need to remind their friends of their birthdays. Seriously. My cousin is a New Year’s Baby.

He’s the only one of my cousins whose birthday I can ever remember.

Of course, I know others. Diane comes to mind, but mainly because she suggested this topic.

However, in recent years, January 1st has taken on another connotation for me.

Yes, it’s probably going to get a little heavy in here, but bare with me.

Howard and Edna Pyles (herein refered to as “Pap and Nan” since that is what I have always known them as) were married on January 1, 1949.

If Pap hadn’t passed last March, they would have celebrated 53 years together this coming Sunday.

Now, some of this year’s holidays have been a little easier than I had expected. Pap’s birthday came and went with few tears. The same for Nan’s birthday and Thanksgiving, when my uncle take over turkey deep frying duties.

Christmas was a bit tougher on us all, and the entirety of the West Virginia Lottery.

Pap played scratch-offs the whole year to fund Christmas in the Pyles household. Some people may not like the idea, but the cornucopia of grandchildren had plenty of presents under the tree every year, so none of us can complain at all.

And without him around this January 1st, things might be a little hairy. As I type, I can feel the want for tears burning just behind my eyes. It’s not a tired burn, mind you. It’s an active, vehicular sting that I can’t stop.

To think, he was just my grandfather. I can’t imagine what his widow will feel that day.
Nonetheless, we will assemble like every year, sharing hopes and dreams for the new year, but this time, we’ll all do our best to fight back tears th whole time.

Of course, I’ll make sure to celebrate with friends and family even more the night before, making sure to take none of them granted in the short, precious time we all have with each other

Regardless of your reasons, I urge you to do the same.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Diane Petraitis for this Monday challenge.

And sorry if it got a bit too heavy for some of you. It needed to be said.

Also, I’m doing this from my new Touchpad, and formatting is tough. Bear with me.

Truly ghjr

Anal Leakage

December 23, 2011

In my life, I have had quite a few run-ins with illness and disease.

I’ve had the flu plenty of times. I’ve had hundreds of bouts with 24 hour bugs and the common cold.

I’ve even suffered through food poisoning…


In my difference, one of those was from some sort of Russian water-borne virus.

The other… well, let’s just say that I’m pretty leery about eating any more McGriddles in my life.

And through my travels, I have had to consume countless types of medicines and prescriptions to calm my ailments and cure my maladies.

Rheumatoid arthritis medicine for tendinitis.

Dimetapp for childhood colds.

Codeine for broken bones.

Bags of IV fluid during various surgeries.

Tons and tons and tons.

Some have some pretty nasty side effects.

Dry mouth. Headaches. Dizziness.

Thankfully… I haven’t had to take anything with what is possibly the second worst side effect ever:

anal leakage.

Truly second only to death.

Listen. I enjoy a good poop just as much as the next guy. Maybe even more. I haven’t really delved into that in my writing much, but for those of you that know me personally (and all both of you reading this definitely do), you know how much I enjoy using the bathroom.

But, the thing about pooping is…. I like to say when I drop a deuce.

I don’t like having to drop everything to make certain that I get onto a toilet before something comes out.

But if (for ANY reason) I do have to run to the toilet, I will. That’s the only time I let the shits call the shots. (Pardon that. It was too good to pass up.)

Of course, I’ve never had to deal with anal leakage.

And frankly, I feel crappy for anyone who has. (Again, these puns are too easy. They practically make themselves.)

Anal leakage is just when… well…

poop comes out without you knowing or making it come out.

And not just medicines cause it. Believe me, I looked it up for the post. I needed some information since I’ve never experienced it myself.

Being old can bring the poop right out of you. Loose stools can slip right through from time to time.

Anal trauma from… ::AHEM:: let’s just say “extended time in prison” can be a big culprit.

What I found most interesting was that consume certain foods could cause an increased chance of experiencing anal leakage.

Pringles and juices cause leakage.

The worst, however, is diet drug Olestra.

Olestra works by blocking fats from being absorbed into your body. Now, if you pound down a dozen Big Macs and take a few capsules of Olestra, the nauseating amount of fat has to go somewhere.

Your ass. Not the hips, the rectum.

It squirts straight out, causing a horrible grease-poo mess in your panties that I really don’t want to talk about and I’m sure you don’t want to read about.

Be careful. The poo can turn on you. You’ve been warned.





This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Ashton Cutright for making me write about this.

It really wasn’t painful to write. I could take about poop all day.

I hope it wasn’t painful to read. At least, not as painful as dealing with the subject matter in real life.


Truly ghjr