So here’s another daily entry for the award winning, internationally acclaimed feature that we call Blonde Tracks, because they are music tracks by blondes.  Deal with it.  We use this feature to get through the universally recognized worst time of the year, the time after the Super Bowl and before the ice on the sidewalk thaws out so you can go outside and throw a ball around without the risk of a slip and fall where you crack your head open on the pavement.  If you held a gun to my head and demanded that that I name a worse time of year, you better have the nutsack to pull the trigger, because I couldn’t name one. Continue reading →

Welcome back to the internationally acclaimed Monkey With a Gun daily feature called Blonde Tracks, and by daily feature I mean the days I post something.  The Blonde Tracks help us get through the worst time of the year after the Super Bowl and before Pi Day, which is 3-14 if you are a mathematical idiot.  You could deny me access to a bathroom until I named a worse time of year and I would end up in a situation not unlike Fergie in this picture: Continue reading →

Welcome back to the world famous daily blog we call Blonde Tracks, which used to be called Lost Tracks, but now is called Blonde Tracks.  These Blonde Tracks help us to get through what everyone recognizes is the absolute worst time of the year–that time of the year after the Super Bowl and before March Madness starts when there is no excuse whatsoever to drink, but you drink anyway, so you look like a damn alcoholic.  You could withhold the Bud Light and only allow me to drink warm cucumber beer until I named a worse time of year, and although I would certainly cite the Reinheitsgebot in protest, I’d be drinking cucumber beer, I guess. Continue reading →

Welcome back to our award winning new feature that I invented this week that used to be called “Lost Tracks” and had to be renamed “Blonde Tracks” because all of the lost tracks were about blondes.  I came up with this feature to get us through the worst time of the year, that time when post-NFL depression sets in and there are no sports to watch that don’t totally suck.  The time of the year when the temperature rarely gets above negative 40 degrees on either the Fahrenheit or Celsius scale, which is of course the same at negative 40 degrees.  I could lick a frozen flag pole and you could stand next to me with a pot of warm water offering to pour it on my tongue if I named a worse time of year, but I couldn’t do it because there isn’t a worse time of year and because you can’t really talk with your tongue frozen to a flag pole.  Continue reading →

Welcome back to our new feature that I invented yesterday to help us get through the next couple weeks, that time of year after the Super Bowl that is recognized throughout the world as the absolute worst time of year.  The time of year when the days just keep getting shorter, and everyone stresses about their March Madness picks, but can’t do anything about it because the bracket isn’t even determined yet.  The time of year when the stock of the companies that sell anti-depressants skyrockets at least 35%, and everyone stockpiles gold, bullets and gasoline in preparation for the coming apocalypse.  You could hold me underwater until I thought of something good to say about this time of year, but I would just thrash around like a fish out of water, except the opposite, because fish breathe water and I breathe air. Continue reading →