Just Evyl and me

Evyl and I have decided to offer our services to all the gentlemen types currently surfing the web looking for something interesting to read, watch or do.
We’ve started something of a manblog to be sure but it has so much more to offer than that.
At Evyl and Smoke there will be no syrupy sweet posts, no sentimentality and a no holds barred policy; a very different place than here at Smoke and Mirrors.
Oh, and absolutely ‘no bullshit’.
This is a place where I can let my hair down
(funny, so to speak, even though we’re two guys with cueball noggins)
Women, cigars, sports, beer, booze, good eats, guy gripes and chili recipes will rule the roost.
Both of us aren’t quite sure where this thing will go but it’s been a blast so far and we’ve decided to finally go public with it.
We’ll leave it up to you as far as linking to us.
We are, first and foremost, gentlemen. 😉
BTW- We decided on an anonymous system in terms of posting and commenting thinking it might offer a bit of devious fun because you’ll never really know who is who.
I’m honored beyond belief to team up with the likes of Evyl.
He pulls no punches yet you always know where you stand.
For now, I’ll just welcome you to our new abode: Evyl and Smoke
Stop by and at least say hi.
And yes, it’s most definitely a guy thing.
And that’s alright by me . . .



Sometimes days off are busier than days at work.
I didn’t stop all day.
So, it’s video time people.
Hard to believe this is Cuba Gooding, Jr.
Don’t look like no “junior” to me {:0)
I’m off to Downtown Snoozville.
Catch you all tomorrow . . .


Wrong Number


“Hi honey. This is Daddy. Is Mommy near the phone?”

“No Daddy. She’s upstairs in the bedroom with Uncle Paul.”

After a brief pause,

Daddy says,

“But honey, you haven’t got an Uncle Paul.”

“Oh yes I do, and he’s upstairs in the room with Mommy, right now.”

Brief Pause.

“Uh, okay then, this is what I want you to do. Put the phone down on the table, run upstairs and knock on the bedroom door and shout to Mommy that Daddy’s car just pulled into the driveway.”

“Okay Daddy, just a minute.”

A few minutes later the little girl comes back to the phone.

“I did it Daddy.”

“And what happened honey?” he asked.

“Well, Mommy got all scared, jumped out of bed with no
clothes on and ran around screaming.
Then she tripped over the rug, hit her head on the dresser and now she isn’t moving at all!”

“Oh my God!!! What about your Uncle Paul?”

“He jumped out of the bed with no clothes on, too.
He was all scared and he jumped out of the back window and into the swimming
pool. But I guess he didn’t know that you took out the water last week
to clean it. He hit the bottom of the pool and I think he’s dead.”

***Long Pause***

***Longer Pause***

****Even Longer Pause****

Then Daddy says,

“Swimming pool? Is this 486-5731?”



I go to a particular place for lunch several times a week.
While I’m not on a first name basis with the manager, he feels he knows me well enough to chat me up sometimes.

The other day he said, “Hey, you’re a good looking married guy judging from the wedding ring on your finger. You have a lot of women hittin’ on ya?”

I turned around to see who he was talking to when I realized he was talking to me.

He said, “I’ll tell ya man, this wedding ring is a freekin’ babe magnet! They won’t leave me alone! How about you?”

What you need to understand is this guy is somewhat geeky and has roughly 60lbs. on me, never mind the fact that he dresses like a slob with flecks of todays’ special all over his shirt.
He’s what you would call ‘a tad rough around the edges’.

Now, I’m no slave to fashion but I usually wear a nice ironed Polo shirt, khakis and a Harris Tweed suit coat, I’m not Rockefeller mind you but I look decent enough.
Never have I ever been ‘hit on’ like this guy.

In my mind, I gave a perfunctory whiff of my underarms and general body aroma (I say ‘aroma’ because I usually smell like whatever cologne I’m wearing that day. Truth be told, I had a flamboyantly gay customer tell me one day that I smelled ‘delicious’. Now if that’s not a compliment, I don’t know what is. I was wearing Paul Sebastian cologne) and there was nothing negative in terms of overall fragrance, albeit a hint of cigar smoke.
I aromatically ripen after five o’clock.


“No.” I said, “No hits today.”

“Man,” he said, “I’ve had like three women asking around today! Three!

”They must love you for your massive Columbo, “ I laughed, nodding in the direction of the frozen yogurt machine.

“Oh, yeah man!” he said, chuckling as I walked away with my lunch.

My pheromones must be on sabbatical or something.
All I seem to attract are guys that think I smell delicious, squirrels that want me solely for my food and bible toting assclowns that want to talk to me about Jesus.
Maybe it’s time for some new cologne.
I’ll have to ask my buddy in the Food Court what he wears because I hear the women are all over him like graffiti on an abandoned freight train.



My wife selected the picture.
I was emotionally torn between pics of Jack Palance and Harry Dean Stanton