The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States

One Word: UNSTOPPABLE AWESOMENESS!!!

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Tip Your 40's

R.I.P Mustache July 31 -August 4

The Mustache Monologue


It had to be done. Do you remember the episode of The Family Guy in which Chris gets a pimple? Then the pimple slowly begins to grow and grow. Eventually it becomes this hideous growth on the side of his face and it tells him what to do. Well, my mustache was beginning to tell me what to do. Teddy, that was the name of my mustache, was telling me to do bad things. It was as though I had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on my lip. The thin little hairs seemed to move my lips so that I would say stupid things, which I never do when I have a clean shaven upper lip.

It all began when it started to itch. I went in the bathroom and washed it a few times. Ahhh, much better. But then it felt as though the 65 hairs in my mustache, oh yeah I counted them, had been replaced by some sort of strange mixture of steel wool and cayenne pepper. All I could feel was itching a burning. After another good washing, it finally subsided.

The kicker was when I was watching Talladega Nights. I laughed so hard that I actually shot Dr. Pepper through both nostrils. The Dr. Pepper was not very therapeutic to my sinus cavities, but it really messed up my mustache. Sticky little hairs were everywhere, man.

So after the movie, I came home took a good long look in the mirror. The mustache was telling me no. With trembling hands, I picked up my razor. I lathered my face up with soap.

My mustache screamed as the first blade cut the first third (approximately 22 hairs) of my mustache. The sounds was horrific. It sounded like being in slaughterhouse.

And then it was over. The great mustache experiment was finished. In the end, I can say that my mustache and Pepsi Clear had a lot of things in common. You could see through both of them, and they were both terrible ideas.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

An Open Letter To My 2 Day Old Mustache




Hey there Buddy!

I know right now you are still a growing mustache. But you are going to grow up to be a strong and mighty mustache. You are only two days old right now, and you look like a little bit of dirt on my upper lip. But don't you worry.

One day you will grow thick and bushy. We can drive around the South in a 1977 Trans-am. Or maybe we can put on a Hawaiian shirt and Detroit Tigers hat and fight crime. Won't that be fun? But right now you are going to be picked on. It is going to be hard to be my mustache. Mel Gibson might even come along and ask some nasty questions and demand that I cut off all my mustache except the part underneath my nose. (Sorry, blantant cheap shot.)

But don't worry, I will defend you. Sure, you don't know exactly which color to grow out as. Blonde maybe. Who knows, maybe even a light red. Who cares if right now it looks as though ebola has infected my upper lip? Not me. We will get through these hard times. Other mustaches will look down at you. They will make fun of you. But your day will come. You will command respect. You will scream out and say, "Look at me, I am a mustache! Love me!"

I promise I will brush you as much as necessary. I will go out an my mustache shampoo. I will shave the rest of my face every day. I will make sure you are symetrical. Don't worry, I will take care of all the work. You just grow. Cause you know what you are cool. And you will protect me from a sweaty upper lip. And you will be my friend...

Here For You As Always,
Lafe

Straight Outta Fleming Park



My hometown is a nice place. A little bit boring, yes, but I think that is what people like about it. It is a charming and sleepy little town nestled on the Ohio. It is the hometown of me, Kent Hodskins, a reality TV star/country singer, Johnny Depp, numerous NASCAR drivers, and the world's largest sassafras tree. There is a bar-b-q festival every May. And you can't forget Bluegrass Hall of Fame. Oh yeah, we pop our collars, we pull out of gats (or our nines, whatever seems to be handy), blast our middle fingas in the air, and we repre F'n sent!!!

I was messing around on the internet a few days ago when I found a rap song about Owensboro. At first, I thought, wow this is a really funny parody of my hometown. But then the rapper began to rhyme about Harold Taylor, the former jailer in Owensboro, who got in a horrible motorcycle accident. Wow, I thought, these guys are serious.

I immediately called my best friend, John, and told him watch it. We laughed a few times. And at the end, we both came to the same conclusions. Even though we did not share these guys views about Owensboro, we thought it was a really catchy song and they rapped pretty well. But the fact remains, that it is hard to believe that anyone would have an axe to grind with the 'Boro. Sure it is small. Sure it can be kind of boring. But to compose a song about how much you hate Owensboro seems a bit silly. So I have decided to write a little rap about my hometown, to stick up for it.

Then I remember, I can't rap. And honestly, a rap about sitting out on the swing in the front yard and inviting the neighbor over for supper isn't very interesting. Neither is having the mayor deliver your newspaper. Going to the mall isn't very riveting either. Eating at Moonlite Bar-B-Q or Old Hickory Bar-B-Q (And just for the record, the real people to trust from Owensboro know that Old Hickory Bar-B-Q is much better than Moonlite) isn't very ghetto. Having the United States's highest per capita ratio of fast food restaurants to people doesn't win you any street cred.


(BTW--A viewer's guide to this video)

1. There is a drive-by shot of the County jail. It actually costs money to stay in jail. Weird, huh?

2. Maybe my favorite line in the entire song is "Put me on TV with Jerry Burg!" Jerry Burg is a local TV and radio guy that does cable shows and what not. He also calls the local Division II college's basketball games and I think the Owensboro High School Red Devils sporting events. Go Red Devils! Also, back when I used to go to church with my dad, Jerry Burg always seemed to sit right in front of me. And his head was the size of a sleeper sofa, so I could never see the priest.

3. My second favorite line deals with Owensboro's strange love of Bar-B-Q mutton. I never have understood why people in Owensboro love mutton. But the really strange thing, I have never, and I mean never, never, see any lambs around Owensboro. I guess we import lambs. Who knows?

4. I also like it When the guy gets out of the car in the parking garage. The parking garage is for the local arts center. Seriously, it is kind of odd to see a guy pull out a gun in the middle of a parking garage where I have parked during a Broadway show, prom, and a church service.

5. There is a church in Owensboro with upside down crosses. I never have understood why. But it has always been a rumor that people that go to that church are Satanists. It is total B.S. My mom teaches a Sunday School class there for an Autistic boy. And I don't think my mom is a Satanist. If she is, well, she has fooled me.

Congrats To My Cuz



Congrats to my cousin, Wes and Lindsay's new baby boy. No name as of yet, though I have heard a few rumors.

Everyone has that one relative that can just flash a grin and just get away with almost anything. That's Wes. He was a good cousin to get in trouble with. One of my earliest memories in life is Wes pushing me into a swimming pool even though I told him I couldn't swim. Aunt Linda dove into the pool and saved me. I don't remember how old we were, but I remember it pretty clearly.

Anyway, Wes, you are a lucky man indeed. Good luck.