Blog Archives

Unfounded Courage – The secret mission of Lewis & Clark, or: If the 50 States were named by their shape

NOTE: If you choose to participate after reading, then submit your “comment” including your made-up imaginary state name for the state of your birth and/or your current residency…or Puerto Rico.

The United Plates of America

This past summer, I took a across a significant slice of the United States with my oldest son. Along the way we played a game called “Collect the State License Plates”. However, since we didn’t properly equip ourselves with a high speed bucket truck, night vision goggles and a screwdriver we were unable to actually “collect” the plates (we tried with incident) and instead merely wrote them down in a running log. During our seven day journey, we spotted 40 different U.S. state plates (if you count Saskatchewan) and we had a blast doing so. I also found it to be an especially effective intervention tool for my son’s serious Nintendo DS addiction.

So the other day I was reminiscing about our fantastic concrete voyage and as I was examining the travel atlas it dawned upon me that a lot of the states were shaped similarly. And I started thinking that if the states had been named by their SHAPE, instead of a U.S. President, world explorer or vanquished inhabitants, then a majority of them would have been called either “Malformed Rectangle” or, I don’t know, let’s say…“Directional Genitalia”.

The United States of Genitalia

So as I thumbed through the atlas, I tossed back several cans of battery acid along with some “vitamins” and just before I stumbled upon unconsciousness, I recalled the adventurous and historical passages of Stephen Ambrose’s “Undaunted Courage”. The vision of undiscovered America provided me with comfort, as if it were an awaiting quilted blanket and goose down pillow inside my cardboard box. And then I slept. And in my sleep I had a dream.

Lewis and Clark (circa 1950s)

A dream in which Thomas Jefferson summoned me to the White House (or Monticello…it was large and white) and commanded me to officially rename all the States (as well as ALL the ones that hadn’t been discovered yet) based upon their geographic boundaries or anything randomly interesting that came to mind. I accepted TJ’s assignment and then humbly inquired if I would be accompanying Lewis and Clark on their upcoming expedition. His answer was an emphatic “YES!” and before I could speak he continued, “However, you do realize that you forgot to study for the final exam and you’re buck naked”.

C-R-A-P, not again!

Regardless, I took my directives, met up with Lewis & Clark and went to work.


  1. Alabama                       Hornlabia
  2. Alaska                          Doubleanchorplug

    The United Key Rings of America

  3. Arizona                        Analleakioh
  4. Arkansas                      Hemorrhoidias
  5. California                     Brokebackenstein
  6. Colorado                      Parallelaville
  7. Connecticut                 Dickslavia
  8. Delaware                     Frenchtickula
  9. Florida                         Flacidong
  10. Georgia                       Whamalamadingleberry
  11. Hawaii                         Islandalot
  12. Idaho                           Penistato
  13. Illinois                          Fistobuttopia
  14. Indiana                        Toejamalick
  15. Iowa                            Tumorbadowang
  16. Kansas                         Crotchcornavakia
  17. Kentucky                     Rectalsaw
  18. Louisiana                     Bungbooty
  19. Maine                          Shrivelnut
  20. Maryland                     Hangbalacock
  21. Massachusetts             Cape Vagina
  22. Michigan                      Asscrackastan
  23. Minnesota                   Bellnipple
  24. Mississippi                  Bonerabulge
  25. Missouri                      Clipendula

    The United gmail Passwords of America

  26. Montana                     Wrectanguland
  27. Nebraska                    Meltochoclomesia
  28. Nevada                       Paperjamitdam
  29. New Hampshire          Newfoundphallus
  30. New Jersey                 Fartempleshore
  31. New Mexico                Simexadobe
  32. New York                    Yosuckenapple
  33. North Carolina            Circumciseika
  34. North Dakota               North Notasquare
  35. Ohio                            Skintagewan
  36. Oklahoma                   Potmeltingham
  37. Oregon                       Duckwannapee
  38. Pennsylvania              Squirtmonkeehole
  39. Rhode Island               Foreskinalot
  40. South Carolina            South Intrauterine
  41. South Dakota              Notasquareagain
  42. Tennessee                  Tittyrhombushire
  43. Texas                         Texmexticle
  44. Utah                           Mendooacoconut
  45. Vermont                     Piledrivendille
  46. Virginia                       New Hamnotch
  47. Washington                Seayaktacospokymia
  48. West Virginia              West Incestagas
  49. Wisconsin                   Forkoshkoshmagoo
  50. Wyoming                    Queefesliceacheese

Several dream years later upon completion of our journey, I sent my report to T.J. Efferson (my secret code name for the President) by FEDPEX (Federal Pony Express, of course) and then relaxed with my nightly companion in the glory of the west coast sunset.

I miss my "G-wea"

As I gradually emerged from my dream, I could still feel the lingering tingle of my feet dangling in the Columbia River and it was fulfilling. I had accomplished my directive, achieved my quest, hit a homerun…so it was natural that I also felt great pride in my one additional, unsolicited contribution (my gift to America) of renaming  the Pacific Ocean…“Climaximass”…in honor of my passionate companion and our travel guide, Sacagawea (i.e. “Nice Rack, Talks Too Much”).

Submit your “comment” below if you choose. If you’re game, include your made-up imaginary state name for the state of your birth and/or current residency…or Guam. Thanks for playing!


I was a Teenage Terrorist or: How I Survived Tijuana Jail – Part II of III.

To read Part I of this blog serial – highly recommended – click here (Part I).

This is a True Story. ..Continued.

Part II of III (2 of 3)


So I hear this thunderous “clip, clop, clap” and a “whoosh” and I’m waking up face first in the sand and a man is running right at me and leaping OVER me. WTF! Seriously, what just happened? Why did he do that? Did he not see me? Was it a jailbreak? Was he being pursued by an ex-wife or possibly training for the Warrior Dash? Anyway, it startled me awake and after spitting tiny rocks and what appeared to be hermit crab afterbirth out of my mouth, I looked around and was thinking, “Where the HOLY HELL am I?” I collected myself and quickly assessed that I was on a beach. Genius. But there were no signs of life, other than the escapee jogger and something that looked eerily like a UFO on the cliff behind me.

Artist's rendering

As I roused Coolio-G it started to come back to me. We had traveled several miles, on foot, up the beach, around pointy pieces of land, in the twilight and once we were a safe distance from the local authorities, we passed out. It sounded totally plausible in my head…but two things remained unclear…where was the beer and why was there a flying saucer hovering above me?

What's wrong with this picture?

It’s an understatement to say that things weren’t going as planned. But we were young and brave and stupid and just knew that better days laid ahead for us. And then Coolio-G realized we weren’t crazy for being optimistic. He remembered why our lives were about to become super awesome again! Why? We were at “Black’s Beach” is why, the world renowned gathering spot for clothing optional, buck naked sun worshippers and a few hippies. That’s right…fantastic and freaky, let it fly, fabric-free frolicking for all! We had front row seats to a daily carnivale of bare boobs, butts and bush. How sweeeeeet is that? Free porn for FOUR DAYS! Four days later, we packed up our stuff and walked back down the beach to La Jolla. Black’s wasn’t a nude beach, it wasn’t even popular. There were no breasts, no bums, no beavers and no aliens. A total rip-off! Honestly, after Day 3, I was praying that a prison fugitive would leap over me again. But I got NOTHING! And you know what; I don’t think we were at Black’s Beach.

Life's Ambition; Anal Probe Administration

Upon returning to Oasis-Oasis, I was determined to jump into the public fountain/shower but the beach park was filled with a bunch of mouth breathing non extraterrestrial nose blowers. And it totally registered in my head that what I wanted to do would draw considerable attention and not the good kind. But it was so tempting. I mean really, I figured so long as I could resist my stomach’s constant cry to “eat the koi, “eat the koi”, I would be in and out in a few seconds. I was really hungry, so I didn’t risk it.

Sushi anyone?

So we got in the car and got the hell out of there. Wait a second…where did the fucking car go? Oh, sorry…correction, we hitched a ride and picked up Coolio-G’s car at the shop. Needless to say, we were stoked! Who the shit did we think we were, not needing a car? Cars are what give you real freedom, not anal probes, congress, city buses or…feet. So as we sat in the newly repaired, totally badass Coolio-G mobile, it was immediately apparent what we had to do next. Take a bath. I kid; we were so ripe I think we had come full circle to freshly scented again. But you could almost smell what we were thinking and Coolio-G had this look on his face that I had seen before. As I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw myself (or the homeless, street dweller version of myself) staring back at me, I had the same look on my face too.

Tijuana or bust?

Forget the past, live for the future; we were born to be wild! We still had five fucking days left in California and it was time to party like a runaway jackhammer…in TIJUANA! (it’s in Mexico).

What could possibly go wrong?

To be continued…(Part III)

I was a Teenage Terrorist or: How I Survived Tijuana Jail – Part I of III.

This is a True Story.

I was greatly saddened the other day when I found out that the infamous Tijuana Jail, “La Ocho”, was being closed down. How could they do that? There were hit songs written about it, including Adele’s latest release, “Chasing Pavements”, I think. It’s mere existence supported an entire industry of T-shirts, bumper stickers, beer bongs, vomit bags and other typical tourist crap. Couldn’t the Mexican Government designate it as a historical landmark or at least a coffee shop? But alas no, according to my crack research team (me), it’s gone. Regardless, I’m confident that it forever holds a special place in the clouded memories of its former guests, the mass of intoxicated civil dissidents who celebrated its sanctuary…and me, the terrorist.

But I get ahead of myself.

It all began when two law abiding, young men decided to travel to California, cruise up and down the coast and surf. We had recently graduated from high school and felt infused with maturity, adventure and freedom.  So we packed our surfboards, board shorts, a t-shirt, an ice chest, jam box and a tent and headed West.  And if my parents end up reading this I just want to emphasize that the cooler was filled with milk and lemonade and we definitely didn’t have any illegal substances because that would be, well, illegal. So this buddy of mine, we’ll call him “Coolio-G”, and I drove 26 straight (“consecutive” might be a better choice of words) hours from Houston to San Diego. We didn’t want to waste a minute on the road that we could otherwise spend on the beach. As we passed the “You are now entering the city of San Diego” sign, our pulses quickened, we cranked “the Doors” and our engine caught on fire.

Our car is on the left

OK, I never actually saw any flames but there was lots of smoke. So we raced to the nearest gas station and a few hours later were unloading the car and looking to hitch a ride to the ocean. We found a dude from La Jolla who offered to drop us off in that area. PERFECT! La Jolla was radical awesome. We were surf bums who wanted nothing but to taste the salt and sand and live among the waves. So fuck the car, it was just holding us back!

We arrived in La Jolla, thanked the driver dude, collected our stuff and headed to the water. On the way, we passed by a motel with its “vacancy” sign on. After traveling across the country non-stop we needed a shower and a good night’s rest. We checked the place out, but the rates were ridiculous. California was fucking expensive and we only brought Texas money. So we kept on walking and passed through a nice beachside park with soft, green grass, swaying palm trees and a fountain. A virtual oasis within an oasis. Coolio-G enthusiastically exclaimed “Let’s sleep here…under those palm trees!” “Brilliant” I thought. “Let’s get drunk on the beach first!”

We got a buzz and hung out at the beach. It started getting dark so we headed back to the oasis to crash for the night. We were just about to clean up and zonk out on the grass, when a police officer walked up and sternly said, “You know you’re not allowed in the park after dark. It’s against the law. Same goes for the beach.” We must have looked like vagrants (OK, we were vagrants) but at the time I was just thinking, “Officer, can I at least take a bath in the fountain before the sun sets?” I was about to get more stupid, when he kicked us to the curb. CRAP, CRAP, CRAP…now what?

The fun was just beginning.
To be continued…(Part II)


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 406 other followers