Shaman Hammer

Guys, something isn’t right. After returning from my recent vacation I checked the balances in my bank accounts. I realized that taking the whole tribe to Florida had cost more than I expected (expect a blog about Jackhammer’s vacation to be posted soon). Therefore, I concluded that it was time to “economize” for a little while and recover financially. So around lunch time I headed down to the local Harris Teeter grocery store to partake of their latest special deal – a six-inch sub sandwich from the deli counter for only $2.99. I didn’t pull out a tape measure or anything, but the sandwich looked a little small. So I absentmindedly grabbed a bag of chips and a can of Chunky soup to go along with it. Imagine my horror at the checkout register when my lunch purchases totaled $10.87 – and I didn’t even buy a drink to go with it !! WTF is going on here??!! Now I will admit that I never paid much attention to the cost of groceries up to this point. I have developed a bad habit of tossing s...

When I heard that Leroy was stopping in North Carolina to collect a few things on the way to his mother’s house, I was very excited. I immediately started taking mental notes on the location of nearby porta-jons, rows of unguarded traffic cones, big-hair heavy metal rock bands, local auto races, and other sources of amusement. I wanted Leroy to have a good time while he was in town. But when we arrived at Leroy’s storage unit, it turned out that the task at hand amounted to more than “throwing a few things in the back of the rental truck.” Leroy is the proud owner of the 1934 Old Italian Car. Well, as I should say, the remains of a 1934 Old Italian Car. The kind of car that can only be moved by jacking its ass up in the air and sliding furniture dollies under the crumbling tires. So how do you move a car like that onto the trailer? One inch at time. How do you secure it so it doesn’t fall off? With steel come-along cables. And ropes. And nylon straps. And chains. And duct tape. Why hoi...

I hate to think that this posting may join the legions of the “does size matter” opinion columns. But I’m afraid I cannot make my point without addressing this eternal issue. Let me begin by saying that, under most circumstances, size does matter. But just because your motorcycle engine is smaller than your friends’ doesn’t mean that you can’t have any fun. My first motorcycle was a used 250cc Honda Rebel. I wanted to buy a motorcycle and join the two-wheeled community, and was able to do so for only $300 because I was willing to accept that fact that I was going to own something smaller than almost everyone else. Sure, I could have deferred the purchase and saved up more money for a bigger motorcycle. But at the time my poverty status was so acute there was no telling how long that was going to take. Looking back, I see that I made the right decision. I bought the little Honda Rebel and began having fantastic two-wheeled adventures right away. I rode through the mountains. I rode to t...

I was nine years old when Jimmy Carter was elected president, but nobody in my family voted for him. I remember his election vividly because even at that young age I was fascinated with politics and world events. I watched the news every chance I got and, believe it or not, often read the newspaper. My friends will readily affirm that I have always been overly-sensitive and prone to drama. Even today the issues clouding my mind quickly grow out of proportion, becoming larger and more important than they really are. Yet my lack of relativity was exponentially greater when I was a timid, insecure, fearful child trying to make sense of the world for the first time. I wanted more than anything to understand how everything fit together… I wanted reassurance that I was living in a logical, interconnected paradigm and that our American society was the safest possible place for me to learn and grow. Unfortunately, nothing that happened during the Carter administration made me feel in any way s...

The Most Politically Correct Toy Ever! If you’ve been following my blog, you already know that I almost purchased a Barack Obama chia pet. So I would like to redeem myself by featuring the most politically correct toy ever manufactured by Medline products. If these pictures look a little fuzzy to you, just click on them and you can check them out more clearly. Forget G.I. Joe. Forget Nick Fury. Forget all those other macho, testosterone-riddled, violence-prone army sergeants we idolized as kids. Meet Scip – the “Combat Nurse.” According to the box, Scip is tough enough to endure the “chaotic offloading of wounded comrades and back-to-back lifesaving surgeries.” He is also rugged enough to have his “stamina challenged every day with long hours and tense shifts.” If you’re confused, don’t worry. The back of the box explains how you’re supposed to fit Scip’s character into your pre-existing paradigm. Scip works in the center of the war zone, “prepping the patient and operating room for a ...

To Chia or Not to Chia... that is the question. I have always been a big fan of Chia pets – the pottery that grows! This is a picture of my first Chia pet. I’ve had it for over ten years, and have planted and re-planted it many times. I think it’s supposed to be either a dog or a cow. As you will readily notice, my Chia is bald. That is because I have an amazing talent for offending people. Let me tell what I did this time that was so horrible. When I first started working as an administrative intern, I “seeded” my Chia pet and had it growing on the windowsill of my office. My supervising administrator promptly declared the Chia an aberration, and insisted that I get rid of it. When I refused, she went into my office when I wasn’t there and poured it full of bleach. The clay readily absorbed this toxic substance and it hasn’t been able to grow anything since (despite repeated soakings in clean water). To this day I have never understood why she couldn’t endure the sight of it. So imagi...

There’s a New Babe in Town… Britney Spears used to be so hot. Remember when she was first starting out? Her handlers would release pictures of young Britney dressed in short-skirted Catholic schoolgirl uniforms, sucking her fingers, posing provocatively in her bedroom with teddy bears… so innocent and yet so naughty. She was every pervert’s dream. Oh, yeah, she could sing too. All of Britney’s handlers, managers, producers, songwriters, dance choreographers, publicists, etc., were the best in the business. She surrounded herself with people who knew what they were doing. She listened to them and took their advice. Britney just kept getting hotter and hotter. Eventually she publically admitted that she was no longer a virgin; Britney declared that she liked sex, and even added that she was “good at it.” Her overheated sexuality culminated in her Los Vegas performance, a concert I will never forget. Then the bubble burst. Britney, like all girls, was programmed fr...