An astounding collection of idiotic thoughts and ideas extracted from the beer encrusted cranium of  S. Lyle OConnor
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Many of you may not know this, but I am a proud father of three impossibly cute children.  Weston, Avery and Cossette.  Ages 11, 9 and 8 respectively.  Also affectionately called son #1 son, #2 son and girlie.  Anyway, the folks at Lambeau Field  had a Fit Kids event this past Saturday at the Atrium.  It sounded like a plan, so we loaded up the wagon and pointed it towards Lombardi Ave.  It was a first class event; tons of inflatable bouncy, climbing thingies, really cool stilt walkers, and a rock-climbing wall.  All of it for free.  Hey, nice job gang!    

The wall
The first thing to catch my eye was the rock-climbing wall.  You've seen it.  That climbing wall.   It gets around; it's often located at the Bay Park Square Mall.  Basically it's a faux rock tower with a few hundred plastic rock nibs protruding out of it.  The idea is to use the nibs for a hand/foot hold as you scale the beastly cliff.  A safety cable system keeps the patrons from becoming the subjects of tedious accident reports. 

Well, it was calling out my name!  So, I pushed the kids aside and got to the front of the line.  At the base of the wall, the first order of business was to remove that wimpy safety cable.  That's for sissies.  While I am definitely not known for my physical prowess, my habit of incessantly hoisting 40oz malt liquors has produced powerful hands with a vice-like grip.  So it was a simple matter of clamping my grippers around those plastic rock nubs... and step, step, step.  Within 30 seconds, I'm on the top.  Yep, king of the world!  Always an irrepressible showoff, I glance down to wave to the cheering crowd below.  Hell, no body even noticed.  But just then, I noticed something...  Hey, I'm like high up in the air.  But that's cool.  You see, I keep a somewhat light grip on the harsh practicalities of life.  So, I'm not really afraid of heights.  And I'm not afraid of falling, nor am I particularly concerned with the often-mentioned "sudden stop" that frequently concludes a fall.  No, something else was bothering me.  A profound fear that grabbed hold of my psyche, leaving me paralyzed with anxiety.  A dread I've never before encountered.  It turns out; I've suddenly developed this irrational fear of being dragged vertically (Or for that matter, horizontally!) along an extensive wall of hard rock-like nubs.  Nubs that are strategically sized so that they would surely impact an, oh so tender, part of my boyish anatomy.  That my friend was the issue at hand.  That's what was troubling me so. 

So, I did what any man in my position would do; I froze up like a little kitten stuck high up on a telephone pole.  

And there I sat, with no safety cable, at the summit of a wall-o-rocks I conservatively* estimated to be about 175 feet high.  Or, at the very least a good twenty feet in the air.    The worst part was the constant parade of little brats who scaled up the rock(s) next to me.  -Mocking me with, "Cluck, cluck!"  "Waaa, I'm frightened!"   Even #2 son did it.  Just wait till he falls asleep tonight...    (*Am I subconsciously suggesting that conservatives lie???)  

After about 45 minutes, the cute 18-foot stilt lady came over and tried to talk me down.  I'm tellin' ya, even when in perilous danger, I'm always on the make!   I asked her "Do you ever date shorter men"  (I crack myself up!)  I'll guarantee she's never heard that line before.  By then we had ourselves a full-blown situation. The paramedics below were setting up their gear.  A fire truck was summoned and extending its ladder into the spacious atrium.  All the kids were yelling; JUMP, JUMP! 

Man, I needed some liquid courage; I reached for my handy 53 oz pocket decanter.  This action set off a sequence of other actions; I'll list 'em in short order as they occurred:  Glug. Glug. Glug.  Oops, spill!  -Slick-  Slip.  Gravity!!!  Acceleration: 32 ft per second, per second.  Ouch, ouch, ouch!  (My hunch about the geometry of the rock nubs was depressingly accurate.)  ...Ouch, ouch!!   Ouch!!!   OUCH!!!  Christ, I didn't miss a single one.  The whole regretful sequenced ended with my noggin impacting the durable Parazzio (That be... rock!) floor of the Lambeau Atrium.  It was a refreshing change of pace to feel pain someplace other then my groin, I'm telling you that. The crushing agony that swelled thought my head and neck actually felt pretty damn good! The floor?  Well, it endured the collision effortlessly, with nary a shudder.  

I picked my self up, leered back at the jeering crowd, and did what any man in, my position would do.  I gathered up the kids and we headed to Curly's Pub.  Like for... ah, you know, lunch.

Poetry inside the Pub... 
I tapped loudly on the bar.  A short, pale feller named Dale came over and I placed my order.  "Cool" he said, somewhat loudly, and in short order, he tapped my beer and handed me my cool glass of pale ale.  I said, "Thanks Dale, your looking kind of pale, but that sure is good pale ale"

Later at our table... Amanda, a cute little tart with lemon yellow hair and a piercing stare,
wedged through the crowd to serve my kids tart lemonades with cute little swizzle sticks pierced though lemon wedges.  My lemonade was extra stiff, just how I like it, so I was extra sure not to stiff her on the tip.

What's this I see???  A table chock full of beautiful women!
Despite all my charm and the awesome amount of ah, witty-full-ness that I am of, ah, full of, I am a really shy sort who doesn't often interact with the ladies.  All jokes aside, I basically keep to myself, and no one gets hurt. 

But, back at Curly’s Pub there was this table with four beautiful ladies sitting there.  Just about as pretty a collection of women as you're going to find.  And they invited me over for a drink!  So, I'm like, lov'in it.  And then, get this!  One of 'em gave my kids a ten spot so they could feed the game machines while we all enjoyed our drink.  I though that was an awesome act of kindness and generosity.  I don't have a way to make it into super huge deal, or a funny situation, because I refuse to add fake drama to my stories you well know, everything I write is 100 % truth.  As it actually happens, without embellishment or dramatic enhancement of any kind.  But I just wanted to give them a public thank you, because they were so very super cool.  And they were going to check in on this website!   

Low–impact Stalking.      One reader at a time.
Which, I hope they do, because this site is linked up with a satellite transponder and it’ll  show me where they live.  So, then I can stalk them.  Kind of.  It’s more like low-impact stalking.  I’ll park exactly six blocks from their house, and sit in my car listening to talk radio, and then later… I’ll go home.  Ever single reader gets stalked sooner then later.  Which is another stellar example why IDIOTOCITY is so special.  Other less caring, less involved famous people GET stalked by THIER public.  But I, S. Lyle OConnor take the extra time to stalk YOU, my beloved fan and loyal (…right???) reader.  It’s all worth it.  I’ll just betcha it is.       

Yeah, baby.  S. Lyle OConnor is out there.  And you know where to find him.  Six blocks from your house, more, no less!  Or you could try...