11:37AM
We drive out of Stovepipe Wells with the “Amelie Waltz”. I make a note: no more alcohol with military personnel.
Both Shalon and I are a little quieter today.
The air is dancing in the heat and there are dips in the road that send my stomach up into my mouth.
We drive peacefully down the same road. I attempt making a sketch of the road while driving (not successfully).

There is neither a funnier nor friendlier living animal than the free and silly monkey, all inquisitive and full of life. But once a monkey is cut loose from the mortal coil, all that goes down the shitter, my friend. A sick and twisted, angry and violent creature emerges once the specter of death takes a monkey from life. Gone is that lovable, curious monkey. It is replaced by a mean motherfucker that wants nothing more than to use its opposable thumb to grasp a big ol' crowbar and start some shit-- mainly with humans, because we think we're better than them! Putting them in zoos and shit!

(EVEN IF YOU'RE WEARING A JEDI OUTFIT.)
For those of you who find your tighty-whiteys all bunched up when we crack on the George Lucas Empire in these fine, folded pages, let me just say "who cares." Yeah, I saw Star Wars when I was little. And yeah, I liked it. I'm not ragging on that. I'm ragging on the fact that, in a world that offers up such wondrous (and inexpensive!) pleasures as conversation and booty, there is a large tribe of you who insist on forgoing those pleasures for a good game of saber fight, in full Obi-Wan Shinobi gear, in public.

Gather ‘round the fire, boys and girls. Ol' Uncle Furter will spin ya some yarns about the most ghastly and horrific time of the year: Labor Day. It all started back around the turn of the 20th Century, when Ol' Upton Sinclair started telling good folks why they called them there meaty sandwiches a “Manwich”. Things were a-heading in the wrong direction, and there was only one man who could do something about it: Teddy Roosevelt.

1) THE LOW KEYS ON A PIANO: Man,.. creepy!
2) BARBIE’S FIGURE
3) SPREADABLE MEAT: Also known as “liverwurst.”
4) HIGH SCHOOL WRESTLING
5) THE OAK RIDGE BOYS
6) EVEN NUMBERS
7) MY TEETH

This month I got to sit down with the weakest link (also known as GEORGE GRAY).
Darby: What's your Halloween costume this year?
George: I'm tempted to go as Anne Robinson.
D: Candy corn or candy apple?
G: John Candy. Not as tasty, but a whole lot funnier.
D: Rodeo clowns, party clowns, or mimes?
G: I'd have to pick rodeo clowns. Those bastards are tough as nails, and work for no money. Party clowns scare me, and mimes make me want to hurt something. If you haven't already, watch Shakes the Clown.

WHERE OUR MADCAP MAN OF THE HOUR GOES POSTAL AND GETS FRANK WITH KNUCKLEHEADS IN HIGH PLACES.
This month Frank wrote to the candy men at BRACH'S.
Dear Brach's,
Your candy corn is the devil! That's right-- the devil! You rotten sons of bitches took away what’s left of my hearing! How, you may ask?

OCTOBER'S FUN FACT:
When the Dawbersville High School Alumni Committee called Daniel, requesting information for their Alumni Newsletter’s "What Are They Up to Now?" section, Daniel simply told them he was expressin' with his full capabilities, and now he's livin' in correctional facilities. Cause some don't agree with how he does this-- he gets straight, meditates like a Buddhist. He's droppin' flava. His behavior is hereditary, but his technique is very necessary.

That’s right! You can now damn your soul for all eternity from the comfort of your recliner! Just print out the form below, fill it out, and mail it to the address below! It is that simple!*
Doubt our damning expertise? Get a load of these testimonials:
“I loved it. It was so fast and easy, even I could read the agreement. I can’t wait to burn in hell forever.”
- GEORGE W. BUSH, PRESIDENT
“Ouch! Fuck! It burns! It burns so badly! Help!”
- TIMOTHY MCVEIGH, MASS MURDERER


NAME: __________________________________

I love Fall. The leaves turn all sorts of beautiful colors; football fills my Sunday afternoons; and most important of all, hunting season begins. Although, if you're as dedicated to the craft as I am, hunting season never really ends.
As a family rule, no Duchenbacher male shall wield a righteous hunting firearm until his sixth birthday. It's a rite of passage, I swear to you. And tomorrow, Junior and I will be heading out on our first outing as father and son.
So let this article be a warning to all woodland creatures: