Tuesday, February 28, 2006

A Bit About My Past

Years ago I was born in a small town which is now known as Calablcata, in Europe. I can not give to many details because I left in a hurry.
In my early tweens (I was eleven) I started to buy, fix up and sell old homes, this enterprise was semi lucrative for the first six months until I was given an old apartment building to renovate, well as the photo illustrates I clearly fucked up the job.
I could have stuck around paid damages and learned from my mistakes. I chose not to take the high road, I hopped a freighter for America ,changed my name, learned the American language and (hell I can't remember hardly any European) adopted a family. I am now an American with a strong distaste for the idea of fixer uppers. I try to make my living as a tangential book reviewer, a hard row to hoe but it has its rewards...I keep telling myself.
Thank you come again

JWW formally know as ha! Not a chance, that was the past and I am doing quite well hiding from the little devil.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Moto Heros Party 2/18/06

"Super Hunkey" "Mr. Know it All" and "Paul Clipper" the originals from the first real dirt bike magazine.Stand up guys...standing up. Just moments before the beer storm and then...They reamained standing. Strong work, and great sea legs. True gents with sea legs. Best to Them

John Penton on the left my buddy Frank Haines on the right. Just Google John Penton, I'm not wasting my time telling you who he is, just google and lets move on...Both of them are the true definition of "stand up guys".

Chuck Sun , former World Champion Moto-Cross Champion and Chuck my brother, former world class Pecan Sandys eater. You can read about their Mexico adventure at www.trailrider.com...neither one of them is quite right. As we say in the South, "them boys aint right".

Frank Haines and Jeff Fredette pose with pre-autographed picture for charity. Jeff has raced in the International Six Day Enduro 25 times. I talked to Drew Smith from Wer.com and he has raced 20 times in the ISDE and would only sign his name not his stats. He said "I can't compete with Jeff I'm just to old, hell I cant even remember how I got here"
The ISDE is to off road motorcyles what the Tour de France is to bicycling. Keep in mind he has qualified , raced and medaled for the past twenty five years... Drew we forgive you for only racing twenty years in a row for the US team. Drew and his brother Chis, the kind of guys you want representing the US to a bunch of forigners. Me? I'm a puss. JW

As a host I probably rank in the upper percentile, meaning most of the time I am not a control freak, tyrant arsehole. This weekend I had friends and family visit from all over the country for some sort of after market trade show for motorcycle freaks, my guests I insisted would practice good personal hygiene. "Only floss the ones you want to keep boys".
This year I had five staying in me casa and we being mature men , discussed gas (methane) and chicks. The principle visitors hosted a party with my help Trail Rider Magazine and Repairmanual.com . (The fuckers are helpless without me) The party was in a semi-safe neighborhood just South on the center of Downtown Indianapolis, Fountain Square, the party took place at a Duck Pen bowling alley which helped keep the adrenaline junkies in the cycle field at bay.
I took a number of photos with my point and shoot digital Nikon and most of them turned out dreadfully. I will post a handful just so you can see how young I am compared to my friends. They are so old, older than the word old, in fact I have a sneaking suspicion they were born before the written word.
I did mat a photo I took while myself and brother Charlie where in the Kenya in 01 on a motorcycle safari, we gathered autographs of all the notables at the party and Paul Clipper from Trail Rider took it to an auction for charity the next day and it sold for $200.00 large. So you can bet I am writing that donation off! Not to mention I just care, maybe to much, but dammit I care! I heart you all ...JWW

Friday, February 17, 2006

Flood Hits Eire, My People!

I am part Irish, please donate to the cause. For every dollar sent , I am that much closer to the pint of no pain.
My charity will accept cash check and paypal.
Thank you in advance.

Josh Kelley McNellis W Williams

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

One of My all Time Favorite Movie Quotes

Evil: Oh, Benson... Dear Benson, you are so mercifully free of the ravages of intelligence.
Benson: Oh, you say such nice things, Master.
Evil: Yes I know, I'm sorry!

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Guest Posting on Ferret Legging

You all thought I was crazy when I shared my tale of Ferret Legging, I began to doubt myself. I googled and found this gem of an article.Not only did I to need prove to myself I was not a nut, I really felt compelled to share this knowledge, knowledge is good as you may well know. JW

King of the Ferret-Leggers

-- by Don Katz, from November 1992 Harper's.

Mr. Reg Mellor, the "king of the ferret-leggers," paced across his tiny Yorkshire miner's cottage as he explained the rules of the English sport that he has come to dominate rather late in life. "Ay, lad," said the seventy-two-year-old champion, "no jockstraps allowed. No underpants -- nothin` whatsoever. And it's nogood with tight trousers, mind ye. Little bah-stards have to be able to move around inside there from ankle to ankle."

Basically, ferret-legging involves the tying of a competitor's trousers at the ankles and the insertion into those trousers of a couple of peculiarly vicious fur-coated, foot-long carnivores called ferrets. The brave contestant's belt is then pulled tight, and he proceeds to stand there in front of the judges as long as he can, while animals with claws like hypodermic needles and teeth like number 16 carpet tacks try their damnedest to get out.

From a dark and obscure past, the sport has made an astonishing comeback in recent years. When I first heard about ferret-legging, in 1972, the world record stood at forty painful seconds of "keepin' 'em down," as they say in ferret-legging circles. A few years later the dreaded one-minute mark was finally surpassed. The current record -- implausible as it may seem -- now stands at an awesome five hours and twenty-six minutes, a mark reached last year by the gaudily tattooed little Yorkshireman with the waxed military mustache who now stood two feet away from me explaining the technicalities of this burgeoning sport.

"The ferrets must have a full mouth o' teeth," Reg Mellor said as he fiddled with his belt., "No filing of the teeth; no clipping. No dope for you or the ferrets. You must be sober, and the ferrets must be hungry -- though any ferret'll eat yer eyes out even if he isn't hungry. So then, lad. Any more questions 'fore I poot a few down for ye?"

"Yes, Reg."

"Ay, whoot then?"

"Well, Reg," I said. "I think people in America will want to know. Well -- since you don't wear any protection -- and, well, I've heard a ferret can bite your thumb off. Do they ever -- you know?"

Reg's stiff mustache arched toward the ceiling under a sly grin. "You really want to know what they get up to down there, eh?" Reg said, looking for all the world like some workingman's Long John Silver. "Well, take a good look." Then Reg Mellor let his trousers fall around his ankles.

A short digression: a word is in order concerning ferrets, a weasel-like animal well known to Europeans but, because of the near extinction of the black-footed variety in the American West, not widely known in the United States. Alternatively referred to by professional ferret handlers as "shark-of-the-land," a "piranha with feet," "fur-coated evil," and "the only four-legged creature in existence that kills just for kicks," the common domesticated ferret -- Mustela putorius -- has the spinal flexibility of a snake and the jaw musculature of a pit bull.

Rabbits, rats, and even frogs run screaming from hiding places when confronted by a ferret.

Ferreters -- those who hunt with ferrets, as opposed to putting them in their pants -- tell tales of rabbits running toward hunters to surrender after gazing into the torch-red eyes of an oncoming ferret.

Loyal to nothing that lives, the ferret has only one characteristic that might be deemed positive -- a tenacious, single-minded belief in finishing whatever it starts. That usually entails biting off whatever it bites. The rules of ferret-legging do allow the leggers to try to knock the ferret off a spot it's biting (from outside the trousers only), but that is no small matter, as ferrets never let go. No less a source than the Encyclopedia Britannica suggests that you can get a ferret to let go by pressing a certain spot over its eye, but Mellor and the other ferret specialists I talked to say that is absurd. Reg favors a large screwdriver to get a ferret off his finger. Another ferret legger told me that a ferret that had almost dislodged his left thumb let go only after the ferret and the man's thumb were held under scalding tap water -- for ten minutes.

Reg Mellor, a man who has been more intimate with ferrets than many men have been with their wives, calls ferrets "cannibals, things that live only to kill, that'll eat your eyes out to get at your brain" at their worst and "untrustworthy" at their very best.

Reg says he observed with wonder the growing popularity of ferret-legging throughout the '70s. He had been hunting with ferrets in the verdant moors and dales outside of Barnsley for much of a century. Since a cold and wet ferret exterminates with a little less enthusiasm than a dry one, Reg used to keep his ferrets in his pants for hours when he hunted in the rain -- and it always rained where he hunted.

"The world record was sixty seconds. Sixty seconds! I can stick a ferret up me ass for longer than that."

So, at age sixty-nine, Reg Mellor found his game. As he stood in front of me now, naked from the waist down, Reg looked every bit a champion.

"So look close," he said again.

I did look, at an incredible tattoo of a zaftig woman on Reg's thigh. His legs appeared crosshatched with scars. But I refused to "look close."

"Come on, Reg," I said. "Do they bite your -- you know?"

"Do they!" he thundered with irritation as he pulled up his pants. "Why, I've had 'em hangin' from me tool for hours an' hours an' hours! Two at a time -- one on each side. I been swelled up big as that!" Reg pointed to a five-pound can of instant coffee.

I then made the mistake of asking Reg Mellor if his age allowed him the impunity to be the most daring ferret legger in the world. "And what do ye mean by that?" he said.

"Well, I thought since you probably aren't going to have any more children --"

"Are you sayin' I ain't pokin' 'em no more?" Reg growled with menace. "Is that your meaning? 'Cause I am pokin' 'em for sure."

A small red hut sits in an overgrown yard outside Reg Mellor's door. "Come outta there, ye bah-stards," Reg yelled as he flailed around the inside of the hut looking for some ferrets that had just arrived a few hours earlier. He emerged with two dirty white animals, which he held quite firmly by their necks. They both had fearsome unblinking eyes as hard and red as rubies.

A young man named Malcolm, with a punk haircut, came into the yard on a motorcycle. "You puttin' 'em down again, Reg?" Malcolm asked.

Reg took one of the ferrets and stuck the beasts head deep into his mouth.

"Oh yuk, Reg," said Malcolm.

Reg pulled the now quite embittered-looking ferret out of his mouth and stuffed it and another ferret into his pants. He cinched his belt tight, clenched his fists at his sides, and gazed up into the gray Yorkshire firmament in what I guessed could only be a gesture of prayer. Claws and teeth now protruded all over Reg's hyperactive trousers. The two bulges circled round and round one leg, getting higher and higher, and finally...they went up over to the other leg.

"Thank God, " I said.

"Yuk, Reg," said Malcolm.

"The claws," I managed. "Aren't they sharp, Reg?"

"Ay," said Reg, laconically. "Ay."

Facts:The black-footed ferret (Mustela nigripes) is the most endangered mammal in North America. It is a member of a large group of mammals known as mustelids, or musk-producing animals. Sixty-four species of mustelids live throughout the world (except on the continents of Australia and Antarctica) and range in size from the least weasel, which weighs barely 1-2 ounces, to the sea otter, which may weigh over 100 pounds. Most mustelids have long bodies and short legs, well-developed claws, short, rounded ears, and scent glands under the tail. Their large skulls and strong jaws and teeth are adapted for eating meat. Some well-known members of the mustelid family include mink, skunks, badgers, martens, fishers, weasels, stoats, polecats, wolverines, and the European, or domestic ferret, sold in pet stores.

The black-footed ferret is 18 to 24 inches long, including a 5 to 6 inch tail. It weighs only one-and-a-half to two-and-a-half pounds, with males slightly larger than females. The black-footed ferret is well adapted to its prairie environment. Its color and markings blend so well with grassland soils and plants, that it is hard to detect until it moves. It is a slender, wiry animal with a black face mask, black feet, and a black-tipped tail. The rest of its short, sleek fur is a yellow-buff color, lighter on the belly and nearly white on the forehead, muzzle, and throat. It has short legs with large front paws and claws developed for digging. The ferret's large ears and eyes suggest it has acute hearing and sight, but smell is probably its most important sense for hunting prey underground in the dark.
Black-footed Ferrets. Loss of habitat is the primary reason black-footed ferrets remain near the brink of extinction. Conversion of grasslands to agricultural uses, widespread prairie dog eradication programs and plague have reduced ferret habitat to less than 2 percent of what once existed. Remaining habitat is now fragmented, with prairie dog towns separated by great expanses of cropland and human development. Many other sensitive species such as burrowing owls, mountain plovers, golden eagles, swift fox, and ferruginous hawks are strongly linked to this habitat for their survival. Many of these species are following the ferret's fate, and may soon require further conservation efforts to ensure their survival.

I Found the Silver Bullet!

Uh, I forgot what I was talking about. Silver bullet? Whats going on here?

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Bonobos Eunuchs and Mole People

Well after countless hours of watching digital recordings of milk duds being flushed (via remote, triggered by Roscoe) down identical toilets under identical lighting in identical water..zzzzz Well I decided to hire twenty Bonobo Chimpanzees to watch the recordings for me, report their findings and I could finally work on getting some badly needed rest.
Well this turned out to be a bad idea, whenever the Bonobos saw the milk dud dropped into the toilet they went crazy and started a scat fight, much like a food fight just post digestion. So all my monitors are covered with Bonobo scat ruined cause I aint cleaning the things. I’ll set them around my house to scare away prowlers. The only conclusions I have drawn is that you flush enough toilets at the same time around the circumference of the globe and you piss off the mole people, remember I did not push the button. As for the flushing from what I saw, no clear conclusions and after the Bonobo debacle, nothing is clear at all.
I took the Bonobo’s on a little helicopter trip out to our cruise ship which the woman were still seething cause I had stuck them on this luxury cruise ship with two hundred handsome Eunuchs. I figured the little minkees would cheer them up and I would be rid of them.
My best intentions that would benefit everyone, were soon dashed and turned to ruin when I got a distress signal from Jungle Roxi and ing. It seems that one of the woman had come up with the idea of transplanting the two little engines of the daddy glands from the bonobos to the Eunuchs and finally "gettin’ some". They all signed donor cards I heard over the scatchy radio, I started to reply but decided not to. Donor cards are usually for the deceased and everyone knows monkeys cant read let alone sign a donor card.
It seems that transplants went all to well, the Eunuchs were hyper active and there was much rejoicing, but finally the woman had enough, "we just want our fat ole lazy slobs back" I heard through the radio. Apparently the head Eunuch, Fletcher was tired of the woman playing coy and threw them in a life boat and set them adrift, "no put out now get out"! Was what he is reported to have said, as the poor women drifted with few provisions. Only a mile from Tahiti, they motored ashore and their radio signal was coming from a tiki hut on the beach as they drank fufu drinks and laughed at their good fortune at my expense.
Ladies you laugh but you also told them where Mole Island is and now we have twenty former Eunuchs with bonobo testicles steering straight for Mole Island to have a little party with the mole people. Will they reproduce? Will we have some sort of hybrid mole/ bonobo /human master race to contend with? Drink your boat drinks ladies I’ll take care of everything. Remember I am not the one who pushed the button! I think its time "Mom! I blogged the toilet" tok a mor proactive role for the cause! Mole Island is 50 nautical miles 3% degrees NNW of Skull island, we need to do something, someone stand up to the plate, I did not push the button! Help me! Help human kind before we are overrun with a bunch of randy monkey moles.
From the desk of
Reformed Serious Scientists JW