If you met Lissa in public, she would give you what we call “The June Cleaver Treatment”. She would have impeccable manners and be very polite and proper. However, she was the perfect wife;
“A Lady in the parlor. A chef in the kitchen and a whore in bed”.
She was my soul mate. It’s a pity that she was psychotic.

I’m quoting Jerry Hall.

Jerry Hall was married to Mick Jagger (of the Rolling Stones) and is,
perhaps, the most famous Texas model. She came a long way from the woman who once worked at a Dairy Queen in Mesquite, Texas.

Hall said she had this advice on keeping a man like Mick: “My mother said it
was simple to keep a man; you must be a maid in the living room, a cook in
the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom.” Hall then added her personal touch to
that advice.


When we were dating, I took Lissa to The Beach. It was a huge disco on Paradise Blvd. in Las Vegas. It was featured on MTV. You can drink shots off of the waitresses’ (or waiter’s) belly. The dance floor was huge and encircled by the second-floor balcony.

I also took a friend of mine. So, I had not one, but two blondes in little black dresses. It was my friend’s birthday and her dirt bag husband didn’t want to celebrate. When they both went to the Little Girl’s Room like women do, a guy walked up to our table. “Are you with both of them?”, he asked.
“Yeah, you can dance with them. But I’m taking them home.”
He sent a pitcher of beer to our table and danced with them all night long.


When they got alone in the bathroom Lissa said;
“Back off Bitch, I’m on a Meat Hunt.”
“No worries”.
It was then they recognized each other. They were both born and raised in Vegas and their Dads were both in the Mob. Lissa’s Dad was part of Tony “The Ant” Spilotro’s “Wrecking Crew”. He was working the jack hammer when they got busted trying to break into Jarrad’s Jewelers on Charleston Blvd.

It was then that some chick walked in and asked them if either was “banging that guy they were with.” They grabbed her and gave her a swirly in the toilet. I’ve always tried to picture that moment. Two hot blondes in cocktail dresses holding another upside down into the toilet with one of them working the handle with their foot. In heels.

Later, my friend said, “Marry her. She’s you in a dress.”

CASINO- The Movie

Shortly after marrying a Vegas Girl, I rented Casino. I popped the tape in and we started watching.  Lissa didn’t say a word through the whole thing.  Well, except for once.  It was the scene where Robert DeNiro and Sharon Stone are arguing at home.
Lissa said:

“They had that big ass white fireplace, but they didn’t have a golf course in the backyard.  Just grass and a pool like the rest of us.”


“That kid they’re fighting about, she continued, “she never got her shit together.  Now she’s a Crake Whore on Fremont Street with five welfare kids.’

Growing up in Vegas, Lissa called Frank Sinatra, “That Lounge Singer”.  Jerry Lewis was “a drunk and not very funny.”  She knew that the Black Chip could buy any dress in the casino and she was supposed to get a job at the Sands.  But then they blew up it.



The Top Ten Reasons the Thunderbirds Suck

10. They don’t do anything without being told to first.

9.  It’s hard to maintain a tight formation while puking on yourself.

8.  They wear G-Suits.

7. Inverted formation in these shoes? No way.

6. Nobody on Base talks to them.

5.  They steal tools and equipment. 

4. All their wives have boyfriends.

3.  They couldn’t drop a bomb if their life depended on it.

2.  They refuse to fly jets that are not surgically clean.

1.  All the GOOD Viper pilots are deployed.

A U.S. Air Force F-16 Fighting Falcon flies away from a KC-135 Stratotanker from the 340th Expeditionary Air Refueling Squadron after receiving fuel while flying over Iraq in support of Operation New Dawn, Nov. 18, 2010. (U.S. Air Force Photo/Staff Sgt. Eric Harris) (RELEASED)


That’s me riding brakes.

Ran out of gas.

Click here for a surprise.

My Ex Gets a Driver’s License

She was 28 and didn’t have a license. We would drive around in my Nissan pick-up. Yeah it was dating.


She already knew how to drive and these daily outing was an opportunity for her to practice for her driving test. One day I picked her up at work. Our six-foot friend Andy came along. She jumped behinds the wheel.
“Where are we going today?”
“We’re going home by road you never have been on.”

We would usually drive the length of Flamingo Boulevard to go home. As she crested the I15 overpass I said, “Hang a left”. She was doing good until we came closer to our exit and had to merge left. A cement truck driver was fucking with her. He was checking out the Babe in the tank top and shorts so when she speeded up to pass, he’d speed up. She’d slow down to slip behind and he’d slow down.



At this point you have to know that Melissa would do exactly what you said.

She kept trying to slip behind him. Every time she tried, he’d hit the brakes and make her swerve right back into the right lane. She hit the brakes and try again. On about the third or fourth attempt Nevada High Patrol came up behind us with lights and sirens. I thought he was going to pass us, so I yelled, ” GO RIGHT! RIGHT! RIGHT!

That’s exactly what she did. Right into the middle lane, right into the right lane and… …. right into the should at 70mph. Highway Patrol was on her ass the whole way.

I yelled, “STOP!”, and she did. 70mph to zero.

[TRIVIAL PURUIT] The big highway lights have a clamp at their base and the clamp is held by a four-inch nut and bolt.

I was staring at this big assed nut when I snapped into “ejection position” and pissed my pants. We were going to hit this light post and it would be GAME OVER.  Needless to say, she stopped the car before we hit.

The Trooper came up to the window and looked at her learner’s permit. “Who’s the licensed driver in there?” I raised my hand.
“Get out.”
He pointed to her skid marks, bubbling in the hot desert sun and said, “You see this shit?” I pointing to my uncontrollably, shaking hand and said, “No shit, do you see this. Obviously she’s not driving home today.”
“Why do you have her out on the highway?”
“Where else is she going to learn?”
“Good point. Go home, safely.”

She pass her driving test with flying colors.  We went to lunch and she was driving down Carey pass the DMV we had just left.  As we waited at the light, I saw that there had been a wreck right in front of the DMV.

I said, “Somebody REALLY failed their driving test.”

There were three Metro squad cars, the fire department, the coroner and a Metro motorcycle cop in front directing traffic with one hand and sipping a 7-11 Big Gulp in the other.  I wish I took that picture.  I big ass land yacht was spun out on the left and a little car spun out to the right.  It had a severed arm laying on the hood.

“DON’T LOOK RIGHT!”   She does of course and sees the arm.  She screamed and floored the gas.  With rubber burning she left the scene at 70mph.  Metro didn’t even say, “Hey?”

We got a shiny new Toyota Corolla for her. When we went home I took the freeway to get home first and she took the side streets. When I got home she was in the drive way. “How fast were you driving?” “I dunno, but I was passing a lot of slow assed cars.”

During the Summer she worked at the School kitchens getting them deep cleaned and ready for the school year.  She was coming home when Metro pulled her over for speeding.  He looked at her license and said, “Did you just get this?”

“Yes sir, just this Summer.”

“Where were you coming from?”

“The school.”

“Where are you going?”


“Well, you know young lady, driving is a privilege.”

When I got home, I was met with my slippers, a lit cigarette and the History Channel on the TV.  My favorite dinner was on the stove.  “What gives?”, I asked.  She told me about being stopped and thought that since the car was registered in my name, the cops would call me.

“No, that doesn’t happen.  You got off with a warning because the cop thought you were 16.”

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