The Consolidated Entries 2001



7 April 2001

IHOS 2001 got off to a resounding start this evening. We were expecting a slow night because the decision to kick off the year was only made yesterday, but folks came crawling out of the woodwork.

We spent most of the day working to get IHOS ready to open. There was much weeding that needed to be performed just to get the garden in shape. Not that I was really concerned about what the garden looked like; I was concerned that there was vermin lurking in there which would carry me off if I wasn't completely attentive. In the process of replacing the many rocks in our garden, Val managed to create this year's shrine -- the Hedge Henge. It is truly amazing and will be certain to attract multiple bimbos as the summer progresses. We have not yet obtained our representative cow, though, this being the Year Of The Cow at IHOS. We will send Jaq out in the next several weeks to steal, uh, procure one of those cow billboards from Chick-Fil-A. Of course, we will disavow all knowledge of all actions.

It started off with Dave and his lovely bride, Kim, showing up first. Kim was radiant in her tight t-shirt and pants, with a healthy portion of cleavage showing. Dave was Dave.

Then we had some surprise visitors pop over from Washington, DC. Gabriel and his wife, Sue, stopped by after attending a wedding in Charlotte. Well, it actually wasn't a wedding, but rather a celebration of a Vegas elopement in which the bride and groom ere obviously looking to scarf presents after the fact. Tacky, but very financially productive. Sue, by the way, underwent an amazing transformation as the night progressed. She started out looking very much like the average middle-class housewife/accountant type and by the end of the evening, had donned a leather jacket while pulling down her long, blond hair. Definitely a major-league, biker-type babe. Gabriel was somewhat subdued during the evening probably because he gorged himself on the inaugural IHOS feast of hamburgers, hot dogs, potato chips, and crab legs followed by peanuts-in-the-shell, cookies, and the remains of a Terry's Raspberry wacking thing which Kim wacked on the wrong side, crushing it almost beyond recognition.

Jim then wandered in with an assortment of stuff including several large, military-grade smoke bombs of which we deny all knowledge. Jim's wife, Leigh, was not present due to the elder of Jim's spawns involved in some sort of projectile vomiting. Someone had to stay and take care of Dawson during his infirmity and it may as well have been his mother since Jim is in no way prepared for such things as that. At least not with the normal power tools he owns.

Phillip, aka Phi, showed up for no particular reason than to scarf some food at which he excelled. He was surprisingly quiet and non-animate this evening, limiting his discussion to more banal topics such as sheep and cheezy bar bands.

Rick and his lovely bride, Teresa, were next to arrive. They were the ones who brought the cookies for which we are all thankful. By this time we were getting a bit concerned because so many people were arriving. It is lucky that Val went out earlier and bought some new chairs. Val also made a good decision as to the type of chairs to purchase -- those with a sturdy support and wide seat -- given Teresa's ever-expanding butt. We were also lucky that Teresa showed up on the same night as Dave since their butt's cancelled each other out. If it had been just Dave, aka, He With No Ass, we would have had a potentially anti-ass convergence with everyone sucked into the negative ass zone.

Andy then came by sans donuts. We let him live this time, but chastised him for the future. Liz, his lovely live-in primary squeeze, was also a no-show since she was having some kind of girl's-night-in over at their house. Just as good that Andy came over here since his patience with a roomful of cackling chickens is limited.

Once Andy showed up, we made subtle inquiries as to the whereabouts of Jaq who has not been heard from in ages. It turned out that Jaq, for the first time in decades, actually had a date this evening. And it turned out that his date was some woman from somewhere in South America who is on the verge of deportation. It didn't take us long for us to figure out the game here what with the babe needing to get married in order to stay in the US and with Jaq a potential willing target since Jaq would hook up with a warthog if there was an outside opportunity for him to get laid. As such, we kept calling them from time to time in order to check up on the progress of their relationship. As of about one AM, Jaq STILL had not scored. That lent ourselves to but two conclusions. One, our initial assessment of the illegal alien was in error such that she did not need marital support or two, that Jaq is simply never gonna get laid no matter how desperate the circumstances.

Paul showed up for a bit looking much out of place. He was actually wearing fine casual clothing looking like something that just stepped out of GQ. His lovely bride and tree-hugging, eco-wacko, plant-munching, liberal weenie significant other, Rachael, was not in attendance having stayed home to take care of the Spawn of Paul, Emily. As far as we know, Emily was not involved in any projectile vomiting.

At some point, Billy Bob, aka Thumper, showed up, though we really don't know exactly in what sequence. He has a tendency to flow in very quietly and you are not really aware of his presence until he starts farting. It apparently was some time before he started farting since folks had a vague memory of his presence well before his grand entrance.

One of the Two Guys Who Live Upstairs, and of whom we can not utter their names in the outside event that the federal marshals read this on a regular basis, dropped in very late with two of his friends in tow. At least one of his friends was from Rockingham which caused some concern on the part of many people at IHOS since the chairs in which we were seated in had slats on the seats. Not to say that all folks from Rockingham get carried away from time to time, it's just that there are enough of them so as to keep everyone on their toes, or rather, firmly planted in their chairs; it's better to be safe than sorry. I'm just lucky that I didn't drop anything while they were here, though I really don't think that we had much to worry about since they all had what appeared to be a full compliment of teeth.

So, upon assembly, we kicked off the evening in fine style. We played the IHOS anthem, Flashlight, plugged in the bug zapper, raised our fists in a Power To The People salute, and lit a smoke bomb. Though we were missing the American Flag (the pole broke in a wind storm and Home Depot was out of flag poles) and the Tiki torches were not lit (no one had Tiki torch juice yet) it was an amazing start of the season. We were hoping for a blood moon, but hey, you can't have everything. We had to settle for Thumper's Moon this time, but the summer is young.

Jim Report: One Jim
Babe Report: Many babes roaming the neighborhood including one whose center of gravity was significantly up towards her chin.
Slug Report: No slugs

The following are reports from some of those who visited IHOS this week.

jim (as in jim report)'s version of the evening: jim (as in jim report) originates from township of wake forest (not a city)

Open to some conversation, Leigh and I with

Spawn of Jim (hereon refered to as SOJ)

treked across the vast wastelands of Wake County

only to appear before the coveted table

of the IHOS.


Not much action had taken place by the time

we arrived at the holy grounds, however things

were amiss. IHOS virgins plagued the table

(gratuitous mention of chris and angie), one

of which has gun, will travel.


SOJ immediately took control of the coversation

by coyly turning up his cutie-field, collapsing

all other fields around him.. then steve reached

out and their index fingers touched-- reminisent

of the Sistine Chapel painting of The Creation

of Adam--- however, references to Steven Spielburg

were duly noted.


Leigh meanwhile had seated herself in the chair

of instability. *BAD CHOICE* During the novalike

effect of the cutie-field failure, one of the legs

on her chair chose to fail. Only her cat-like reflexes (she is a Leo) prevented disaster and



The rest of the night for us consisted of

praise for the almighty mountian dew,

more speculation into the sleepless thriller

sequal Spawn of Jim II (oh shi* not again!),

and the future acting/football career of SOJ.


We ended the night with SOJ having drunk too

much and soiling his diaper. Having no other

choice (no diapers) we wimped out swearing

to return another time.


May 18, 2001

jak's version of the evening: jak originates from raleigh

look I wasn't actually there but I need to clairfy a few things.


me and the fore mentioned woman are going out because we like each others company. It is not some type of ploy on my part to get laid and my credit card didn't go through and I can't come up with enough cash for her to marry me. The credit card thing is also a big part of the not getting laid thing, when did hookers start charging so damn much.


P.S. If I would have been there there would have been donughts

jim report: no jim's were seen but one talked to. He told me, and I quote, "why don't you come on over to IHOS, you know you'll get laid if I'm here." And that should be enough to keep any sane person away.

Gabriel's version of the evening: Gabriel originates from Washington, DC

First virgin fist into the franker fires of the International House of Steve, Gabriel in tow. Okay, this was indeed a slow flickering Carolina night, even for a first timer. A real yawner methinks, and since it's not polite to borrow dough or heckle the hosts without a q-basted parachute to offer as collateral, my wife Suzy Q, the aforementioned biker babe in disguise and I were decidedly groping to a lower key than usual this fine august pre-summer evening. Our snickering apologies to all in attendance. Of course the absence of beer kept us in that docile state known as unabashed wallflowerism the entire night, but at least we stayed in uniform. That said, there were no regrets that we drove all the way in from Charlotte for the occasion. It was the drive back that killed the moose. But here's the small print lurking in the breeze. Reckoning there's no need to parrot the reports of Steve and Dave here, since I presume they were sitting while they wrote, I however, must complain that there were several key elements of hokey hilarity and good ole IHOS fun that they seem to have ever so casually omitted. Motive for these raw omissions should be carefully investigated by the IHOS Internal Affairs Division, but my hunch is that the arachniphobic nature of early chatter had nicked a few memory slats in the soft underbelly of perfection where plenty of short hairy gulps were still hibernating, so it's probably not worth a full-figured investigation. But, it cannot be easily denied that the passions of the night were tempered with the graham cracker touches (pronounced TOO-CHAISE) of Kim the Blooming Masseuse, that is to say, Kim, the honey-dipped bra-filling puffy-lipped young spouse of Master Dave, the same Kim who massaged the battle-tense necks and shoulders, flapping arms and fingers, whaffling minds and nimbus clouds of each and every IHOS soldier who demanded her services. This was a special treat for us first timers, but I have to admit that I for one was a mite jealous when Gentleman Jim demanded seconds around the head and shoulders of his calling. Of course I had the same chance when Kim the Blooming offered the identical to anyone else with the gall to accept another round of hands, but again, bowing to the lawn-tested age-old protocols of strangers in a strange land, I choked back my greed and began calculating the distance to the sun in base four just to get my brainiacs off the whole massage therapy issue. I mean, Steve was the only one then present who abstained the first time around, claiming that even his shirt hurt his skin hurt from all the gardening he'd accomplished earlier in the day. Wait a minute, I seem to recall that Val stepped up for seconds, but hey, I was still busy counting, so I could have been hallucinating. Meanwhile, another discussion took high "face value" marks in my book of the dead and dying when Steve roared in his Ode to a Skunk. I agreed with the gusto only an original olfactory lad can muster that polecat odor was indeed a godsend made for long lonesome country roads and jersey-walled sniffers like ours. The tour of the shop was awesome! Thanks Val! The hospitality blue is yours. Twas half past midnight when we scooted off, still another three hours away from our squat in Charlotte, but suffice it to say, it was an honor just making the rounds. And I survived without tumble the Chair of Instability. Life is good and the moon was full and anything else was surely lost in translation. Oh yeah, two fellow Nixonites revealed themselves, stunning me with another bout of speechlessness since I'd long thought I was the only Tricky Dick fan still alive who hadn't defected to that Ronnie with the light brown curl in his hair, but I'll save those details for some rainy day in the on again off again future.

Bimbo Report: Unfortunately, there were no free range bimbos spotted or exploited for their natural bounty during my watch, just some epoxy troll pasting the Sunday funny papers on the fender of his would-be might-be hot rod, but then again, why mix metaphors? As a followup to Dave's fungus report, I offered to expose Steve's foot fungus for the bush league pretension that it must surely be when laid foot to foot in comparison to Suzy Q's fine feast of bedeviled toes and nails, but I don't think anyone heard me, or rather, I was probably innocently enough ignored because somebody else was surely speaking in tongues of more far important and thus louder issues by the time I finished my newbie-challenged mouthful.

Dave's version of the evening: Dave originates from Somewhere in the middle of NC


Okay, since no one has ventured to do this yet, I thought I might. Though not as eloquently put as Steve, I'll give my recount of the evening.

The evening began with great promise. Lots of folks sitting around the IHOS table, temperatures well into the 80s, welfare weekend, full moon and the students were in town. What more could you ask for? With the exception of a couple of yahoos yelling incoherent musings through drunken slovenness and a few people wondering where the smoke was coming from (allegedly from a few alleged military smoke bombs, said to have been present), but I have no knowledge directly of this. Several IHOS virgins were present, although we didn't get the typical virgin response from any of them (disappointing). The Babes across the Street have vacated the premises, replaced with imitation frat boy types (not even good imitations at that). We finally decided that the 280Z parked on the street had been there for at least 8 months (after heated debate) and thought it might be fun to place an alleged smoke bomb under the car, though this never came to fruition. Steve was his usual self, though I think his memory is fading. We listened to the same CD at least 3 times. Once before the IHOS anthem, Flashlight (Power to the People), and at least twice after. Either that, or the good folks at Rhino Recordshaven't sent him a new CD to play yet. BTW, where's our spotlight and banner we've heard Steve speak of over the years.

All it all it was a wonderful opening night. The virgins behaved themselves (I don't think anyone broke the IHOS bathroom rule) and there were several new faces to get to know. Hopefully, we'll get to see them again soon. However, opening night could have been better considering the perfect circumstances mentioned above with the heat, students, welfare, and moon.

That's my report for now ;'d

Foot Fungus Report:

I believe the fungus under Steve's toes has become a symbiont with his feet. If he were to ever treat it, he'd probably die due to the lack of some rare chemical produced during the photosynthesis in the spring when he's out in the garden that's keep him alive. Probably akin to tryptophan or something similar.

8 April 2001

Sunday evening IHOS. All was quiet. 9PM Eastern. We sat down in front of the surround sound to watch the weekly episode of The Sopranos (new official television show of IHOS, BTW). We just know somebody is gonna get whacked this week! The Sopranos anthem starts (woke up this morning....) and we hear sirens. Sirens are not particularly unusual in the IHOS community so we turn on the fire scanner just to see what's going on. The Sopranos is starting while the first fire truck rolls in front of IHOS. Now we're interested, but not enough to give up the first showing of the new Sopranos! 10 minutes in, Carmella is crying to Dr. Melfi about Tony and then the call comes - there's a fire just around the corner that can't be put out.

Now we've got a real dilemma - The Sopranos or The Fire. Figuring that we can catch The Sopranos on the midnight west coast showing, we choose the fire. Good choice. Smack in the middle of the Brent Road neighborhood around the corner (where thousands of student congregate in the fall for the infamous Brent Road Party) a tri-plex is really on fire. Flames shooting off the roof, 2 sections of the roof caving in, blond college chicks with no renter's insurance going hysterical with daddy on the cell phone - GREAT FIRE! One of the best we've ever seen. We watched while the ladder truck was used to spray the roof and stayed long enough to watch most of the fire be contained and to make sure one of the firemen wasn't killed climbing down the ladder truck.

After the flames are gone, the scene becomes boring so we hike back up Mount Brent to the car and head back home for an easy-going evening of hamburgers and Sopranos.

Jim Report: No Jims.
Babe Report: Many babes wandering around at the fire scene, but nothing that took our attention off the fire.
Slug Report: No slugs

10 April 2001

Jaq finally recovered from his "date" and showed up to give us his rationalizations for why he still hasn't gotten laid. Apparently we were right, she just wasn't desperate enough yet.

On another note, Jaq has kept busy checking rat balls in the morning, heading off to Al-Mart into early evening and trying to set up at least 3 different bands during the rest of his daily existence. If you know two psychotic drummers, two psychotic lead guitarists, and a psychotic lead singer in the Raleigh area, give them Jaq's number.

Jaq is also following in Jim's ill-fated footsteps by purchasing a money pit where he plans to re-wire, re-do the kitchen, finish the basement, add new concrete to the driveway and paint, all of which Jaq believes "should be no problem". We will begin accepting donations for Jaqs recovery fund to care for him after he dislocates every bone in his body on the first day after closing. And once again, we will not be able to visit Jaq until all work is complete so that we do not get suckered into "helping with this one little thing".

Jim Report: No Jims.
Babe Report: No Babes.
Slug Report: No slugs

11 April 2001

Alright, this isn't funny! After Jaq's visit last evening, we retired to the apartment for some rest. The front door was shut at approximately 1 AM. Sometime between 1 AM and 5 AM, the sacred, white IHOS table disappearred. No chairs, tiki torches, cow stones, the umbrella for the table, the pink flamingo, the grill - Nothing else. Just the IHOS table.

Now, if the perpetrator of this crime wishes to live to see his or her next birthday, they will return the table as quietly as it was taken. If the table hasn't returned before I have time to purchase a new table, then 1) any person found to be involved in the table crime will be slaughtered in the front yard as a sacrifice to the IHOS gods, 2) the new security cameras will be installed (oh, yes!) and 3) evening IHOS will look like an outdoor prison after I get done securing all objects to their nearest immobile object or to other objects such that one would need an 18-wheeler to take anything from our front yard. I can't tell you about the fourth thing we would have to do, but it involves electricity and pain. That's all I can say right now.

Jim Report: No Jims, yet
Babe Report: No Babes.
Slug Report: No slugs


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