July 31, 2005
a damn good recipe
I agree, just from looking at the fish when I've gaffed one.
there he goes again
The more this guy opens his mouth, the lower my opinion becomes of him. BEJUS! The man HAD the chance to lead the greatest superpower in the world and he fucked up the job.
NOW, we're supposed to respect that clown? I don't.
"What has happened at Guantanamo Bay ... does not represent the will of the American people," Carter said Saturday. "I'm embarrassed about it, I think its wrong. I think it does give terrorists an unwarranted excuse to use the despicable means to hurt innocent people."
So.... Jimmah, what are you saying? If we shut down GITMO the terrorist attacks will stop? Farking idiot.
I am a fortunate man. I will die knowing that I NEVER voted for that peanut-head, not EVER, for ANY office.
If you ever DID, you should be ashamed of yourself.
a matter of taste--- or touch...
I am not a big fan of super-sized titties. I'm just not, and I never have been. Some wimmen who have bodacious racks just stir me to look at them and make "moooo!" sounds. Those aren't TITS! THOSE are UDDERS!!!
I especially don't like the gravity-defying storebought versions. I don't know why any woman would want that kind of self-mutilation. I suppose that they read too many fashion magazines and start to believe that without big tits, they are nothing.
They read propaganda, examine their breasts and KNOW! Men won't date them. They'll never turn heads when they walk into a room. They'll never get laid. Life sucks because I don't have big tits.
So, they run off and BUY some tits from a plastic surgeon.
Ladies, I'm here to tell you that it's a big waste of money, and if you DO attract somebody with your new tits, you'll end up with someone EXACTLY like the author of that post, and he'll just use you like a Kleenex and throw you away, telling you to "put some ice on that," as he pulls up his zipper and exits laughing, leaving some horrible venereal disease in his wake. Trust me. I know the guy.
I prefer REAL tits, and I don't like 'em too big. Anything over a handful is wasted. Besides, it's perky nipples that light MY fire, and they usually come on smaller breasts.
So, for you members of the "Itty-Bitty-Tittie Club," do not despair. You're fine just the way you are. I am not alone, either, in my opinion. If you've got a nice ass, that's all some guys look at.
Work with the tools you have.
Of course, who am I to judge? I bought a Bionic Dick.
makes perfect sense to me
I call this nothing more than of the result of the "Once Burnt, Twice Learnt" syndrome. Especially for men. You can bet your sweet ass that I'll never get married again.
I can't afford another ex-wife.
She sent me an email, and I'm going to give her a link, which she bet that I wouldn't do, and I'm also going to answer the questions--- although I think she could have probed deeper into the Acidman psyche if she had tried.
I think she just recycles the same questions, but here are MINE:
5 questions for Acidman
"The Cracker Chronicles." You'd need at least THREE actors to play me. Jerry Mathers as a boy, Geraldo Rivera as a young man and Ken Curtis as an old fart.
Pussy, and a Shiner Bock beer. If I'm about to die, I want to go out with a smile on my face.
3) Which 3 fictional people would you most like to talk to over a beer?
Dorian Gray. Jack Crabb. Yossarian.
4) List 10 words that describe how you would like others to define you.
That's not a good question, because I know a lot of people who I want to think well of me, and a lot of others that I could give a shit about. I'll give you ten words that I think describe me.
5) If you could travel back through time, where would you go and why?
I'd go back to the day Jennifer gave me her phone number and I'd throw that piece of paper into the Savannah River. Calling HER was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life. But I don't think I WANT to go back in time.
Have you ever seen the movie The Butterfly Effect? If not, I'll tell you this--- a guy learns that he CAN travel through time, so he goes back over and over again to "correct" mistakes he made in the past. Every time he tries that, he comes back to the present with a more fucked-up situation than the one he went to correct. He didn't "fix" anything. He just made it worse by meddling.
Now, if I could just go back and live as a frontiersman in the 19th century, I'd go for that. But I'm not interested in changing the past.
See? I'll answer interview questions.
July 30, 2005
quote of the day
The weather cooled off some around the Crackerbox today. It was a relief. We've had a couple of weeks of absolutely scorching days.
That's one reason I liked this quote:
"Right now, it is hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire here in Oregon. I like to imagine Spotted Owls bursting into spontaneous combution all over our forests."
Read that entire post. It's not all about combusting Spotted Owls.
go right ahead
Her comments ban me and chastise me for have a "spam" email address. I may be a lot of evil things, but a spammer isn't one of them. So, if she reads this post and wants to interview me, I'll answer her questions. I LIKE being interviewed. Just send the questions to my NON-SPAM email address.
In fact ANYBODY who wants to interview me can go right ahead. It'll give me something to write about.
do not do this!
Badgers are not native to where I live, but I've seen them elsewhere, and also watched a lot of wildlife programs on TV. I believe that pound-for-pound, a badger is just about the meanest critter around (except for maybe a wolverine, which is KIN to a badger). I read this post and just imagined the scene.
Mr. Supertroop is fortunate that he still has his balls. Of course, if he'd had more brains than balls, he never would have fucked with a badger. The writer is correct--- a badger will fight a full-grown grizzly bear.
I hope Supertroop learned a valuable lesson.
I've caught a lot of amberjack while fishing off the Georgia coast (including one 40-pounder that put up a hell of a fight), but I've never tried to eat one. I always gave the fish away when I got back to the dock.
Now, this guy writes that amberjack tastes good.
I always heard that they were wormy and not worth eating. I know that they BLEED as bad as a tuna when you gaff one. But this guy knows more about cooking than I do, so maybe he's correct.
Have YOU ever eaten amberjack?
Stories such as this one disturb me a great deal. I don't understand anyone and I don't want to KNOW anyone who could do such a thing.
Here's the most disturbing part of all:
The girl was the fifth baby abandoned in Brooklyn this year, but only the second to survive. Police had yet to locate the child's parents.
Is this kind of thing part of "a woman's right to choose?" We allow partial birth abortions, don't we? The "mother" was just two weeks late on performing this one herself.
Well.... never mind. Five abandoned infants in Brooklyn alone this year, with three of them ending up dead, has nothing to do with abortion, or how blithely we accept it today.
I found this question on her blog and thought of several ways to answer it, all of which are true.
"So tell me - how do you react when you screw up?"
#1) Feel like an ass and become very contrite. Apologize to everyone affected by my screw up. Try to remember NEVER to screw up like that again.
#2) Take it like a man. I did the dance, so now I pay the band. Accept the consequences. Try to remember NEVER to screw up like that again.
#3) Become angry. Even though I KNOW it was my fault, get pissed at the world in general and pitch a hissy-fit. Stew and fret for a while, then try to remember NEVER to screw up like that again.
#4) Pout. Attempt to justify my screw-up by thinking that it wasn't ALL my fault, and people do worse things every day. Whine on my blog. Then, try to remember NEVER to screw up like that again.
How I react to a screw-up all depends on what kind of screw-up it was and my mood at the time. I don't handle such things the same way every time.
But I DO try to remember never to screw up like that again.
name that team
I liked the idea behind this post. We have a perfect example of a sports team with a fitting name here where I live. The "Savannah Sand Gnats" are the local minor-league baseball team.
That's appropriate. If you go watch them play early in the season at old Grayson Stadium, you'll notice the distinct aroma of beer, popcorn and Skin-So-Soft all blended together in the air. As any native of southeast Georgia knows, Skin-So-Soft is the ONLY effective sand gnat repellent on the market.
I can think of a few other good names:
* The Buffalo Snowbanks
* The Los Angeles Lunatics
* The Atlanta Assholes (just drive I-85 during rush-hour)
* The Seattle Smoking-Bans
* The Boston Bad Drivers
If you feel really clever today, submit your ideas in GUYK's comments.
I offer you conclusive proof that Only The Good Die Young.
Today is his birthday.
I may take a while to recover from seeing this. It is disgusting. It is hideous. It is obscene. But... it's Berkeley, so what do you expect?
I stole the link from here, and HE stole it from somewhere else. We ALL should be dragged off and shot for posting it.
July 29, 2005
"err on the side of caution"
Somebody barfed that line in my comments. I thought about it for a while. The more I thought about it, the more disgusted I became.
"Err on the side of caution."
Damn! Doesn't that sound like profound philosophy until you think about what it really means? It's LUDDITE thinking.
Little Org runs into the cave to see his father. He is proud of himself. "Look, Daddy!" he says. "I have found a rock that makes FIRE if you strike it with another rock!"
Org's daddy takes the stone away and throws it as far as he can. "No, little Org. Fire can be dangerous. Now, shut up and eat your food raw in the dark. We must err on the side of caution."
Yeah. The same thinking would have demanded that we destroy ANYTHING new. After Little Org was told not to build a fire, he invented a wheel.
"Look, Mama! If we use this, we can ROLL things around instead of dragging them! Do you like it?" And mama said, "Throw that away!!! You'll hurt yourself or put your eye out. We don't need such dangerous things as wheels. We must err on the side of caution!"
Bejus. That's the thinking of sheep, cowards and idiots.
true to his word-- and a gun post!
Quinton called me again tonight, and I have a question for any paintball afficiandos out there. What the hell is:
"The Psycho-Ballistic, Silver Bullet, LCD Electronic Chrome" paintball gun? It sounds like a real bad-ass to me. Hell, his mama is rich, so I know Quinton has top-o-the line stuff, but that description is more exotic than any REAL gun I ever heard of.
Anybody ever heard of one before?
a bet I lost
When I was about 18 years old, I had a friend named Keith. He was tall and skinny, but he could eat like a horse. Looking back now, I'm pretty sure he must have had a serious tapeworm or a stomach that should be donated to medical science.
We went to a Burger King one day and he bet that he could eat five Whoppers (with cheese), a large order of fries and drink the biggest milkshake they had in the place. And he could do it in 30 minutes.
The bet was $5.00 and the loser picked up the tab for his meal. My buddies and I pooled our resources and scrounged up enough money to call Keith on that dare.
The sumbitch did it. He ate FIVE Whoppers, scarfed the french fries, drank the milk shake and then took his winnings to buy TWO fried apple pies, which he ALSO ate, ALL within 30 minutes. I've never seen another episode of such gluttony in my life.
Bejus! I don't know how he did it, but he did. And this is a TRUE story!
scum of the earth
My daughter is getting a lot of shit from this post, and some of the comments brought Stacey to tears. I'm not surprised. Trolls are built that way, sick fucks that they are.
Sam wanted to take down the post because of what some people wrote. I told her NOT to. I told her that if she surrenders to the sick fucks, they WIN and she loses. That's exactly what they want.
You can read this and decide for yourself. I just have one question---
Why would ANYBODY feel the desire to torment someone else in a time of grief?
You've gotta be a sick fuck to do that.
a simple question
I've gotten a LOT of comments from people who say that CBS News showed how military recruiters lie, deceive, plot, scheme and even fake drug tests to boost enlistment in the service. I just read that crap and shake my head.
CBS News has been lying since AT LEAST 1968 and they've been caught red-handed several times. EVERY ONE of those cases involved attacking the military or a Republican President. If you think I'm making this shit up, go back a LOOOONG way and read the news twisters, by Edith Efron.
In MY humble opinion, that's been the agenda of that network for most of my life. I do NOT understand why. Power? Money? Sex? That's usually what motivates people to do illicit things, but I really don't see why CBS chose the role it decided to play.
But I do know one thing. They shit all over the idea of the Fourth Estate as a watchdog of government, and anybody who quotes a CBS news report to me as "fact" can kiss my Cracker ass. "Fake, but accurate," has been their motto for years.
The real problem is, their news wasn't even "accurate." But some of you sheeple still eat it up, because it's what you WANT to hear.
That's "POWER," isn't it?
it must be true
Shit like this is what makes me wonder about people today. It's like the "expert" commenters who quote CBS news as fact. I quit believing anything CBS news had to say in 1968 when I watched sweet grandaddy Walter Cronkite lie through his teeth to the country about the Vietnam war. But some people just never wake up.
What's this I hear about your daughter got murdered? Or murdered somebody? What's up with taht?
What, "Grandmaw?" You pulled your head out of the liquor bottle and woke up long enough to THINK you read something? And it was a story about my daughter being murdered or... maybe her murdering somebody else? Forget those insignificant details. YOU read it (or imagined that you did) on the internet, so it must be true.
And you want to know "what's up with taht" now?
Go back to sleep, asshole.
i'd like to sample
I haven't traveled all that far in my life, but I've been far enough to know a good hamburger when I taste one. I ate a regular McDonald's hamburger the other day, and I would have enjoyed sawdust more. That burger SUCKED!
Here are supposedly the best 20 hamburgers in America. I've never tasted one of them. Piss on that list--- I'll give you the top five of my own.
1) "The Congress," from the Exchange Tavern on River Street in Savannah. That is a two-fisted burger-eater's burger that has all the essential elements--- grease, meat, fixin's, and juice that runs off your elbows. Get extra napkins when you eat one of those. Absolutely delicious, and they'll still cook it bloody in the middle, unlike some other wussie places.
2) "The Monsterburger" from Chips Drive-in in Savannah. That place is closed now, but they made a burger with THREE side-by-side meat patties on a hoagie bun, dressed with everything and soaked in a "secret sauce" that made you sweat and say "YUM!" at the same time. You had to sit down to eat a Monsterburger, and then rest afterward.
3) "The Rodeo" from Billy Bob's Restaurant in Savannah. That thing weighed a POUND and it had chili, cheese and even refried beans on the side. I used to order one cut in half to feed me and Jennifer both. We usually still couldn't eat it all.
4) "The Bison Burger" that I ate at some diner in Montana. HOLY BEJUS! That waitress need a fork-lift to deliver it to my table, and I needed four hands to eat it right. It was bison meat, about 2" thick, covered with lettuce, tomato, onions and with some genuine Idaho home-fries on the side. I almost killed myself gnawing on that thing.
5) "A Krystal." Call me Southern. Call me provincial. Call me anything you want to call me and I don't care. A sack full of hot Krystal burgers is STILL a taste-treat for me today. I've eaten those little burgers all my life and I still like 'em today. They are the best "gut-nuggets" I ever shoved down my throat at 3:00 in the morning when I was really hungry. And drunk.
Besides--- anybody who thinks he can judge the best hamburger in America has his nerve. It all depends on what you like.
this is environmental shit
I dealt with hyperventilating environmentalists for a long time at work. I made a logical conclusion after meeting such people. THESE ARE CULTISTS!!!! They don't usually know what they're talking about, and if I hear another one of them use the word "toxic" around me, I'm going to choke them like a chicken.
I was involved in handling a big PCB cleanup at work. That waste of manpower and money cost my company several million dollars. Somebody at the EPA had a massive brain-fart and decided that PCBs had to GO, although they didn't have then and STILL have no evidence that PCBs are TERRIBLE carcinogens. Like Ceaser, they just said, "make it so," and it was.
The environmentalists didn't like freon, either. We have several dead astonauts to show for that, but that's just a small price to pay for saving planet Earth.
See? PCB was the best electric coolant insulator ever invented. Getting rid of it cost billions of dollars and hundreds of HUMAN lives, but that's okay.
Freon replaced SO2 and Hydrogen gas as a coolant and it made refrigeration SAFE. But some dingbat discovered a "hole
Don't even get me started on the number of people who die of malaria today (and the number is in the MILLIONS) because environmentalists don't like DDT.
My biggest complaint about environmentalist is the fact that they claim to "love" the planet, but they don't care how many people they kill.
I'm just trying to get the facts of this "case" straight in my mind. A woman was skateboarding down a hot street, she fell off her skateboard and landed on a sizzling-hot manhole cover. She was "branded" by the hot manhole cover.
Hmmm.... I know some wimmen who pay good money to have that crap done to them. I think Con-Ed should counter-sue for AT LEAST local tattoo rates.
The lawsuit, filed in Manhattan's state Supreme Court, accused Con Ed of "negligence, carelessness, recklessness and culpable conduct" related to Wallenberg's injuries.
Hmmm... let me sort through THIS information, too....
Okay, I've decided. The woman never saw a manhole cover before, she has NO thermostat to let her know that the street is hot and the dingbat was riding a skateboard instad of flying around on her broom, the way that bitchin' witch usually does. She's also clumsy enough to FALL DOWN, which isn't HER fault.
Yep. Con-Ed is guilty as hell in this case.
but it's so cute!
Recondo 32 owns a white Crown Vic. He likes driving it around because everybody thinks it's a cop car and they give him a wide, respectful bearth. I would, too. The damn thing LOOKS like a cop car.
I don't think this thing earns the same respect. A yellow BUG??? Yeah, that fucking rolling flower-pot is going to strike fear in MY heart.
I have some interesting comments on this post. I'm gonna give MY humble opinion on the matter.
I worked with a LOT of people who were in the National Guard or some military reserve unit. Most of 'em thought it was a gravy train. You get paid, you pile up more years for retirement, and you go to drill one weekend a month, then spend two weeks in the summer sleeping at Fort Stewart. Rough work.
Then, the gravy train derailed and they were asked to do what they were being paid to do, for all of those years that they did nothing. Go fight.
Got-Dam! That wasn't a free ride anymore and they couldn't smirk about drawing a "free" check every month for attending "duty" that involved no duty. Those fuckers are trying to bail out left and right now. I hope they do, beause we don't need those lazy bastards anyway.
I just have one question to ask: If you ENLIST in the National Guard or retain your reserve status when you exit the military, just what the fuck did you expect? Were you betting that you'd NEVER be called to active duty? Were you scamming the system for some bucks? Was the CHECK all you were in it for, and now that you're being asked to EARN the money, you don't want it anymore?
I don't buy that shit.
That's about as smart as saying, "I want to be a prize-fighter, I want to be paid for it, but I NEVER want to step into a ring." BEJUS! They all knew the job was dangerous when they took it. But it didn't SEEM dangerous at the time, and the checks just kept rolling in. Fat and happy, sucking the government tit. Life was good.
But now that it IS dangerous, they don't want the job. Good. We don't want that kind anyway, and the sooner they get their pussy asses out of the military, the better off the military will be.
Don't ever sign a check that your ass isn't willing to cash.
quote of the day
I disagree with a LOT of laws on the books today. I believe that they are unjust, intrusive, freedom-sucking, revenue-enhancing JOKES, forced on a witless public by power-hungry politicians and overly-zealous policemen. I really cannot do anything about those stupid laws once they are passed, except bitch about them on my blog and try not to get caught violating them, but every now and then, even the common citizen has the chance to call "BULLSHIT!"
"A common question I get from people disturbed by these kinds of cases is, "What can we do?" Well, here's one thing the average citizen can do: Serve when you're called to jury duty, and while there, refuse to enforce unjust laws. If a defendant is guilty of harming someone else, certainly, throw the book at him. But if he's guilty of violating a bad law, or if you feel the law has been unjustly applied to him, by all means, come back with "not guilty," no matter what the judge, the prosecutor, or the evidence says.
I haven't been called for jury duty in several years now, and the last couple of times I was, I was thrown off. Excluded. Sent home. My brother is an attorney and I have strong opinions about the law. I also have a college degree and I read the news. I AM NOT the ideal juror lawyers look for today.
But if you're ever called, don't duck the duty. Hell, they pay you $20 a day in Georgia and they'll feed you, too, if you serve on a jury. Take the money, eat the food, listen to the case... and THEN, if you see what you believe to be a miscarriage of justice, let the defendant walk, no matter WHAT the law says.
That's the best way we have now to change bad law.
I believe that this idea was taken overboard with O.J. Simpson, but in some ways I can understand why. As a noted philosopher friend of mine says, "I fear the LAPD a lot more than I fear O.J. Simpson."
When you start to FEAR the law more than you respect it, it's time for a change. That ain't the America the Founders dreamed of.
i did it again
Yes, I deleted all of JB's comments from a post below. I think he managed to spew out a mere 10,000 words this time.
At least PJ can make an ass out of himself with just a paragraph or two. JB always seems to be trying to beat my comments to death with QUANTITY, not quality. If you have to write that many words to make your point, you have no point to make.
Can you imagine the U.S. Constitution (which he claims to love so much) written by JB? The damn thing would be 5,000 pages long, single-spaced, with asides and digressions, and NOBODY would understand it.
Much like his comments.
this happens too often
My cousin Alan, the cop in Florida, is a fairly big man. He's about six feet tall and he weighs well over 200 pounds. He's also shown me a lot of tricks he uses to subdue rowdy suspects when he arrests them. He can grab your thumb and make you sing a hymn to Jesus as you sink to your knees to pray for forgiveness. And he can do it one-handed.
I cannot see ANY circumstance where he would need to taser a 67 year-old woman. I don't care how obnoxious the woman was. I just don't believe that the police needed to hit her with a taser.
I call that being trigger-happy, and you damn nearly read the same kind of story once a week now. Cops are firing tasers at children, old wimmen and whoever else incurs their wrath.
I know that a story always has two sides, and maybe the woman didn't use good sense in dealing with the cops. But I don't think they used good sense in dealing with her, either. And what is it about the taser? Do some cops just like to PLAY with them?
I don't think it's a toy. And if we have a PAIR OF COPS who can't control a 67 year-old woman, we need better cops. Something is just wrong with this picture.
That's MY humble opinion.
July 28, 2005
things I remember
#1) I showed up unannounced at my parents house one evening and discovered them skinny-dipping in the pool together when they were 60 years old. I was sorry I interrupted their fun.
#2) I found a small bag in Mama's cedar chest that had "ROB" written on it. Inside, I found every baby tooth I put under my pillow for the "Tooth Fairy" to find. She had another bag just like it with my brother's name on it. She saved every one of those teeth.
#3) I once dated a waitress who was willing to go to jail for a crime she DID NOT commit. I finally talked her out of confessing, and I'm glad that I did. But as she put it at the time, "I can handle jail better than she can. If they lock her up, she'll die. She's like my sister, Rob. I can't let that happen to her." The guilty party got off with a plea-bargain and nobody had to go to jail. But I damn sure saw somebody willing to do it for somebody else.
#4) I once saw my Uncle Gene get banned at a Turkey-Shoot. He was fresh out of the 82nd Airborne and a crack shot with a rifle. The guy running the show ran him off because he didn't want Gene to win ALL the prizes. He made us leave, but he let Gene keep everything he'd won up to then. Gene laughed all the way home.
#5) I once thought that I might die of hypothermia on a backbacking trip. The temperature was about 26 degrees and sleet was coming down from the sky. I was wet as a drowned duck, too. I couldn't stop walking because I started to shiver when I did that. I just kept going to the top of the mountain.
Once there, I managed to build a fire in the rain, strip nekkid, wrap myself in plastic garbage bags to stay warm, rig a clothesline to dry my clothes and even have my tarp and hammock pitched before the rest of my crew made it to the top of the mountain. By the next morning, I was warm and cozy, with dry clothes.
#5) I survived a T-Bone automobile collision on highway 278 in South Carolina where a friend and I TOTALLED his brand-new Chrystler LeBaron. It wasn't our fault (a dumbass did something stupid right in front of us), but we absolutely destroyed that car. Neither one of us was wearing a seat-belt. I put my head through the windshield and we both bounced around that car like ping-pong balls. We BOTH should be dead!
We walked away with sore heads and a few scratches. But I ALWAYS wear a seat belt now.
#6) Getting my driver's license--- the FIRST TIME!!! Weren't you proud of yourself when YOU did it?
#7) The who, what, when, where and how of the first time I ever got laid. And I also remember wondering why I didn't feel different after that happened.
#8) Hearing an older friend tell me about masturbation and me calling bullshit on that idea. That was a lotta crap and lies! So, I went home and tried it that night. HOLY BEJUS!!! He was telling the truth.
#9) The birth of both of my children. You talk about a RUSH??? You're worried. You have no control. You're scared shitless. Something is gonna go wrong. You want to DO SOMETHING, but there's nothing you can do. Then, everything works out fine and you smell the breath of a newborn baby. And you bubble inside with so many emotions that you spend the next 20 years trying to figure them out.
#10) My first new car. A 1982 Camaro. Swift and very evil-looking. It appeared to be speeding when it was stopped at a traffic light. I called it "The Silver Bullet," and I LOVED that car. I've owned several new vehicles since then, but there's nothing like that first one.
i'm not gonna declare victory
They may be back. They've done it before.
The ants got so bad around my house that I had to take extreme measures. I was smart enough to buy TWO 50-pound bags of Diazanon right after the tree-hugging EPA banned it. Even in this sweltering heat, I was pissed off enough to spread 90 pounds of it over my yard and around my house. I kept 10 pounds for emergency back-up.
BWHAHAHAHAAA!!! I don't have ants in my yard anymore, but my neighbors do. And THEY don't have any Diazanon. I hope I killed a gadzillion ants, but I really think I just ran them off and stuck my neighbors with them.
Tough shit. That's THEIR problem now--- not mine. I hope they do the wookie-dance the next time they're bitten and thank the EPA for banning Chlordane, too.
another quote of the day
JB (who is NOT the same person as PJ) and I had our first falling out several years ago when he went off on a rant about his sons being drafted and sent off to be cannon-fodder in Iraq. When I had the unmitigated gall to point out that we DON'T have a draft anymore, he went ape-shit on me. Somehow, his sons were going to be drafted anyway.
Evidently, the idea of all-volunteer armed forces still hasn't penetrated his pointy head.
I've written before that I believe the military is a GOOD thing for people who get out of high school and don't have a clue about what they intend to do in life. The pay may not be great, but you can learn some valuable skills if you're willing, (the best E&I guys I ever worked with learned their craft in the Navy) and it's a good way to fill in that gap between boyhood and manhood that is so confusing in western society.
I will not deny that some troops die young in a time of war. But SWEET BEJUS, people! How many "yoots" die every got-dam day in drive-by shootings and gang wars? Why aren't the leftists bitching about THAT waste of life?
I've seen those men and wimmen in uniform at airports all over this country, and they make me proud. They are there because they CHOSE to be there, and I admire them all. What they do takes courage and determination, which are qualities sorely lacking among leftists.
"What part of volunteer army do you cry babies not understand? I don't want someone who doesn't want to be here serving next to me. Truthfully, nobody really wants to be here. But some of us ( mostly the right ) understand that sacrifices sometimes have to be made. You sad sacks of shite on the left can't or refuse to understand this. Freedom is not a natural circumstance in this world, it must be fought for and maintained. For most of the left, there is nothing worth fighting for. That is why I believe freedom scares the left more than anything else."
I want to hear PJ and JB shoot THAT quote down. Oh... never mind. They think guns are evil and nothing is worth fighting for.
PJ will say the guy is brainwashed and JB will shriek something about the Constitution. Fuck 'em both.
Matterson, you have my respect and admiration.
i gotta laugh
You know... I really DO have some amusing posts in my archives. I'm gonna send some of that stuff that Adam, but I really think I might have a book of my own in there. I lack modesty, but that's some good writing. If I do say so myself.
Cruise around here and see what you find.
yeah. I'm proud of it
PJ is a typical leftist troll. Every now and then, the prick surprises me by actually having something rational to say, but those incidents are few and far between. Take this comment, for example:
Your grandfather planned to go out and KILL another human being with his gun. And this was something you were proud to tell about. What is respectable about that and how does that make for a bonding thing with a son? and WTF does wearing Old Spice have to do with shooting a fucking gun or killing another human being? If that is what you count on to get laid, I would hate to meet the women you attract Acidbrain. The only thing you are passing to the boy are insecurities you could never seem to make up for except to try your damndest to be some kind of Marlboro man...but I believe you have fallen a little short on that goal pardner.
My grandfather bought a pistol and FULLY INTENDED to kill somebody with it. He went looking for the man who tried to rape my grandmother, and only the fact that she was a mean-assed farm woman saved her from that fate when that bastard attacked her.
PJ obviously knows NOTHING about Harlan County, Kentucky back in those days (1935). You couldn't call 911, because nobody had a phone. Hell, my family lived so far up in the hollow that nobody could pump SUNSHINE into that place. You either took care of yourself and your own, or you were fucked.
Yeah. My grandfather WAS gonna kill that man if he found him. And I AM proud of the way he reacted. Pussies won't understand, but I do. In those times, the law wasn't always handy. A sheriff might take half a day to ride on horseback to your cabin, AFTER you sent somebody running or riding to report a crime.
If my grandfather HAD found that man and shot him dead in cold blood, no jury in Harlan would have convicted him for it. PJ will never understand what it means to take care of yourself, by whatever means necessary. The "Code of the Hills" is lost on a leftist asshole.
PJ, what would YOU do in those circumstances? Just say the rape was inevitable and my grandmother should have relaxed and enjoyed it? FORGIVE the escaped con and chalk it up as "shit happens?" Invite the bastard over for supper so you can "communicate" with him? Suggest some "anger management" classes?
Sit down and sing "Kum-Ba-Ya?" If that's what you believe, I should be able to rape your mama and receive nothing but "love" from you.
Fuck you. You wouldn't have survived a month in those hills thinking the way you do.
You are a perfect example of why America is becoming so pussified today.
it's your job
I got a little bit misted up reading this post. I almost threw in another "Quote of the Day" when I saw this:
"That is the most painful moment in a parent’s life - and the happiest. For as much as we want our children to be children forever, we also want them to be Fully Functional and Happy Adults, which means establishing their own lives and making their own way in the world. We did it, back in the day - and now it’s their turn."
I remember talking to mama and daddy long after my brother and I hopped from the nest and flew out on our own. They went through some serious readjustment blues when that happened. They had been PARENTS for 20-odd years, and suddenly they were just husband and wife again.
That took some getting used to.
But they finally realized that they had done a pretty good job raising two boys, and once we were out of college and gone, they had more money than they'd ever known before. (I've mentioned before that money was tight when I grew up. Feeding and clothing two grocery-eating, growing boys is an expensive proposition.)
I believe that my parents had about 10 really good years before my father died. They were a lot older, but I saw them behave like newlyweds, once my brother and I were out of their hair.
I always thought I might get to do the same thing. That plan didn't work out, but I damn sure know the feeling. Even the mockingbirds in my back yard know it.
Teach your children, then send them out to cope for themselves. If you did a good job, they'll be fine. After that, love the one you've been with through the hard times. Now is your chance to enjoy.
Not many people do that kind of thing anymore. And I think it's a crying shame.
a great title
I wish I had thought of this one. "Going nowhere fast." BEJUS! Ain't it true?
I remember an old joke about two guys riding in a car across the desert. One says to the other, "We're LOST! Do you know where we are? Do you know where we're going?"
The other guy says, "No--- but we're making damn good time!"
That's been the story of our space program for 30 years.
(And John Glenn was allowed to return to space because it was a pure political payback for him stonewalling the Chinagate investigation. That man once was my hero, but I lost all respect for that worthless hack after that.)
I promised this guy that I would contribute to his book about Southern Bloggers. (By the way--- that's an EXCELLENT post I linked to.) I haven't sent him anything yet. I need to be dragged off and shot.
I'm going to work on that project today. I have two problems to overcome: First, I don't know how to make sense of my archives anymore. This blog has been rebuilt FOUR TIMES since I started it, and the "search" feature doesn't work the way it should. I know I have some pretty good reads in there, but I don't know how to find them without doing a lot of plowing.
Second, I really don't like going back and reading stuff I wrote years ago, or even YESTERDAY for that matter. That's old news and when I DO go back and look at that stuff, I want to re-write it. I always believe that I could make it better, but if I try that idea, I usually fuck up the post because I'm thinking like an editor instead of a writer.
But I'm going to sort through my stuff today and send Adam some links to my archives. I like the book idea, and I want to be a part of it. Hell, if you're a Southern blogger, YOU should contribute, too.
Just send the links to Adam.
boys will be boys
This post is oh, so true. Little boys are genetically programmed to enjoy violent games, and they'll do it even when a "caring" parent tries to discourage it.
You can't change human nature.
Boys can't help themselves. They come out of the box wanting to climb trees, fall down, try idiotic stunts on a bicycle and bust their asses a lot. They ALSO like toy guns, and if you don't let 'em have one, they'll pick up a stick and PRETEND that it's a gun. That's just what boys do.
My advice is--- don't fight it. GUIDE IT.
a complete maroon
I do not like Jane Fonda. She's a good actress, and she was a hottie in her younger days. But she's about as bright as a 15-watt light bulb.
She stepped in shit once before with her anti-war politics. Did she learn anything from that traitorous behavior? OF COURSE NOT!!! She's a fucking DINGBAT!!!
So, now she's going to do it again. On a bus powered by vegetable oil. How appropriate.
She's been stir-fried from the neck up all of her life.
it's nice to be appreciated
I am flattered to be on this list.
I still want to tie her up and paint her toenails red.
quote of the day
Some thoughts on Iraqi prisoner abuse from Texas:
"If hooking up an Iraqi prisoner's scrotum to a car's battery cables will save one American GI's life, then I have just two things to say:
Bubba Bechtol, part time City Councilman from Midland, TX.
July 27, 2005
I am losing my mind
I went into the kitchen to re-heat my steak (It's a big 'un. I'm taking this one in two shifts) and I heard that horrible "beee-weee-WEEP! sound that you get when you dialed a wrong number on the telephone. I checked my phone, and it wasn't making that noise.
I checked my stove, where I was re-heating my supper. It wasn't making that noise, either. I knew damn well that the ice-maker didn't produce that sound, even on a very bad ice-maker day. I checked the refrigerator anyway. No, that wasn't it. I wondered if I had some sentient fungus calling for its mama from my sink.
Nope, nothing there but dirty dishes.
By this time, I had put myself into a "I need to piss" mode, so I went to the bathroom to relieve myself. The sound followed me into the bathroom. A horrible idea washed over me: "IT'S MY DICK!!! MY DICK IS MAKING THAT NOISE!!!"
Um... I have to admit that I over-reacted. Have you ever had a "whistling booger" stuck in your nose that you didn't realize was there? Did you walk around for damn near 30 minutes trying to find where the "beee-weee-WEEP!" sound was coming from, only to discover that it was coming out of your NOSE??? Did you blow your nose and solve the problem?
Good. That's never happened to ME, either.
the "zero hero"
I had a lot of entertainment talking to Quinton tonight. He's a troop in some paint-ball league that goes out and fights in the woods about twice every week. His nickname is "The Zero Hero" because he slays his enemies without mercy, ravishes their wimmen and sacks their villages, driving everything into complete panic before him as he cackles in glee and drinks mead from a ram-horn. My son is a barbarian.
I am proud of him.
Well... I'm kinda exaggerating here. Quinton is called the "Zero Hero" because he seldom gets "killed" on the battlefield, and he's the one who usually captures the enemy flag. As he told me tonight,
"Daddy, if I stay low and move fast, they never hit me. Well, sometimes they do. You oughta see the knot on the backa my head right now. I never saw that guy. He was dug in and he jumped up and shot me when I ran by.
I am certain that some "psychologists" will see all sorts of warning signs in what I just wrote. Quinton is a gun-loving maniac, just like his father!!! BEJUS!!! KILL THEM BOTH!!! THE ACORN NEVER FALLS FAR FROM THE TREE!!!
I just wish we'd had paintball games when I was Quinton's age. Damn! That's got to be a lot of fun.
You know what I thought about tonight when I talked to him? I thought about that single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle that
One round at a time. You have to learn to operate the gun. You have to think before every shot. I can't conceive of a better way to do it.
I taught 'em to shoot BB guns, and Quinton has fired my pellet rifle a few times, but he's old enough now to get GOOD at that stuff. And I don't care what some of you GFWs have to say about teaching a boy to shoot. That is one of the closest bonding experiences I ever had with my father and my grandfather.
They both wore Old Spice after-shave. TO THIS DAY, if I smell gunpowder and Old Spice at the same time, I get all misted up, and I remember plunking with that .22 rifle on the banks of the Cumberland river.
I want my son to have memories like that.
what did I do?
Maybe a better question is, "what has changed?"
This makes two nights in a row that Quinton called me just to talk. He said tonight that he's going to call every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, plus twice on the weekends from now on.
He doesn't know how happy he made me.
i am whipped
I did a lot of tooling around today. I didn't WANT to do it, but I did. Henry got planted and I went to the grocery store. I bought a nice-looking ribeye steak and a GIANT potato that I intend to eat this evening.
I also went by Randall's Liquor Store for a carton of cigarettes and a six-pack of Shiner Bock beer. I intend to dine well tonight.
But I'll tell you one thing--- it is as hot as the gates of hell outside. Nary a breeze stirring and the humidity is so thick that I believe that you could swim through the air if you tried. I was exhausted and covered in sweat just after hauling my groceries from my truck to the Crackerbox.
BEJUS! It's been a while since I saw weather like this. I think the last time was around 1995, when I played golf and had somebody pass out in our foresome from the heat. THAT was one hot summer, but Mother Nature seems to be doing it again this year.
Yes, I wish that I could take credit for this, but I didn't do it. The bastard got what he deserved, although I've had very rich fantasies about using Apache torture techniques on spammers before I killed them. The guy may have gotten off too easily.
Am I heartless and cruel for speaking so blithely about a man who was BEATEN TO DEATH??? No... I don't think so. He was a spammer.
Fuck him, the worthless bastard.
(Link stolen from here. And Jim, when I get my music studio, you need to come to Savannah. I'll introduce you to some damn fine musicians.)
music and beer
Music and beer go well together. I think I always played better once I quaffed a couple of good ales to relax myself and get rid of the butterflies and the inhibitions. You can't play when you're DRUNK (you THINK you can, but nobody listening to you does), but a little lubrication can be a good thing.
I read this post and I might argue with his music teacher. If you've played a lot for a long time, you CAN hear the key when you listen to a piece of music you've never heard before. It's just THERE, and your ear KNOWS it.
That is the difference between what I call MUSICIANS and PLAYERS. I know some people who are excellent musicians, as long as they have sheet music in front of them. I also know a lot of PLAYERS, who can jam with anything you want to fire up, any time you want to play it. Just tell 'em what key to start in and warn them of any modulations. Then, just cut loose.
I can read music, but I haven't bothered to do it in years. If I hear a song that I like and I want to learn it, I'll just sit down and pick it out. Yeah. I can HEAR it. And it's really not that difficult to do.
I once won a bet from a friend on River Street when we were sitting on the bank of the Savannah River and smoking a joint one night. We both had just finished playing a night in seperate bars.
A small power plant operates on the west end of the street and it emits a constant hum from the turbine generators. I had listened to it many a time, and I KNEW that it was playing concert "E" all the time. I could hear it.
My friend told me that I was full of shit, we bet a dollar and he whipped out a guitar tuner and pointed it at the power plant. Sure enough... it was a PERFECT concert "E." He paid me a dollar.
If you play long enough, that stuff isn't difficult to do.
timing is everything
When I die, I hope I do it in the fall when the weather is pleasant. It was too hot for a funeral today.
quote of the day
I'm not going to excerpt anything from this post. I'm just going to ask that you go read the whole thing.
We didn't build the United States of America by giving in or giving up when we were threatened. We FOUGHT! We WON, too! And any pussy who says otherwise now is an enemy of mine.
That's something simple that my daddy told me a long time ago and I am amazed by the number of people who don't see it as truth. "If you don't stand up for yourself, get used to being run over."
Damn! Why are so many people willing to lay down?
"to protect and to serve"
Unfortunately, we don't usually run laws through the ridiculousity test before gas-bag politicians pass them and cops who should be eating doughnuts at Krispy Kreme enforce them. Here is a perfect example of the world we live in today.
Kaylyn Kezy, 34, of Gary, was pushing the disabled car, while Melissa Fredenburg, 32, of Chesterton, steered from the passenger seat, police said. The two were moving the car into a parking lot at a nearby motel early Friday in the city about 10 miles east of Gary.
Yep. Those cops sure cleaned up the streets. Matt Dillon would be proud of them.
My aching ass. A Southern Gentleman would have helped them push the car and then made sure that they got back home safe and sound. They could sleep off the booze and fix the car the next day. They weren't threatening anybody's life or limb.
I remember when police used to DO THAT. But MADD, GLADD, SADD and a bunch of other fucktards and gas-bags took care of that. They sure made the world a better place.
The cop who arrested them should be dragged off and shot. What a fucking PRICK! I'll bet the bastard gets promoted, too.
(Thanks to Ruth for the link!)
Okay, this guy called me out and slam-dunked me right into the Spanish announcer's bench at ringside with his post. I can't argue with it.
But I still call it blind-assed luck.
(Plus... he REALLY knows how to smoke a cigar)
This is exactly the way I felt when the Space Shuttle took off again. I couldn't become excited about it. We should have left that piece of shit behind a long time ago.
The shuttle is nothing more than a glorified airplane designed to travel into space. We can do a LOT better than that today.
But we HAVEN'T for 30 got-dam years. We should be ashamed of ourselves.
NOBODY should ever nail our feet to this ground and bitch about the cost of a GOOD space program. Our future is in the stars, and people who don't realize that fact are fools. If THEY had their way, we'd still be living in caves and tossing virgins into volcanos to appease angry gods.
Just LOOK at the night sky. Don't YOU want to reach out and touch those stars? I do.
We CAN, and we SHOULD.
this is what i mean
Anybody who would do something like this is lower than pond scum. Being dragged off and shot is too merciful a fate for them.
But the mentality behind the act reminds me of some of my leftist commenters. That's how they think.
July 26, 2005
a beautiful casket
People remarked at my mama's funeral about what a lovely casket she had. My brother picked it out and I am certain that he did a good job, because he's good at everything he does.
I didn't care about it one way or the other. That box didn't hold my mama, any more than the box I bought for my father held him. We buried the shells they wore in life, and I don't care how much money was spent or how fine the coffin was. They were dead, and all that remained of them were the memories of how they lived.
I cherish those. I don't give a shit about a box in the ground.
We have a "family plot" at the cemetary, but I never go there to visit. I don't want to be buried there, either. When I finally fold my last hand, I want to be cremated, and I don't care if someone puts my ashes in a cigar box and flushes them down a commode in a Greyhound bus station. It won't make a damn bit of difference to me by then.
I just hope that some people remember me. That's all that really matters.
(Pardon me for being morbid. Henry's funeral is tomorrow and I don't want to go).
a star map
Did you ever have a star map when you were young? I did, and I got really clever with it. I punched strategic holes in the thing so that I could lie on my back at night, hold it up in front of me and match the constellations with the map by lining the holes up with the stars.
I wish I still had that thing. It stirred my imagination.
One of my favorite "Cult Classic" movies is Quest For Fire, which I've seen at least 20 or 30 times. I love the way the movie ends, with the hero and his lover looking at the stars.
To me, that scene captured EVERYTHING that brought man out of the cave all the way to the moon. Curiosity. Wonder. Ambition combined with well-reasoned fear. Boldness. The willingness to take a chance.
If you've never seen that movie, go rent it. Pay close attention, too. It's fucking GREAT!
Anybody who has read my blog for a while (or anyone willing to go back in the archives) knows that I whine here. I STARTED to blog as a place to whine because my other option was to blow my own brains out. Life was VERY rough for a while, and it really hasn't gotten much better over the past four years.
But I learned that if I vented HERE, I didn't grab that pistol and put it to my head in the morning when the alarm clock went off. I got out of bed and went to work.
Well, shit happens and my blog cost me my job. That really turned out to be a GOOD thing, because I was starting to hate that job anyway. Besides, I don't want to work for a bunch of pussies who would "retire" me rather than having the balls to FIRE ME over something like that. Nutless wonders.
So, I whine here. Poor, poor pitiful ME! WHAAAAHHH! My mama and daddy are dead! I can't see my son anymore! My ex-wife is a bloodless cunt! I PAY HER every month for being a bloodless cunt! My feet are swollen!! WHAAAHH!!!
I just have one thing to say: If you don't like what I write here, don't read it. Nobody FORCES you to come here. It ain't like paying child support, you fucking maroons. You ain't going to jail if you don't visit my site.
I was blogging when I had 30 visitors a day, and I'll keep it up if I go BACK to 30 visitors a day. Unlike a court order, I give you a choice about what you want to do. I don't REQUIRE that you read me.
So... DON'T, if I piss you off that badly.
I talked to Willy today and he says that he can outfit me with a good eight-track recording unit at a reasonable price. He said that I don't need sixteen tracks with the new digital technology (and the price DOUBLES from eight tracks to sixteen). You can compress eight tracks into one now without losing sound quality, so with an eight-track home studio, you have the capability of laying down 64 tracks if you're that ambitious.
He's going to Atlanta to shop next week, and I told him that I want one. I should have it before then end of next month.
I've done some recording in studios before, and a lot of the engineers pissed me off with the way they insisted I do things. I never liked that headphones-alone-in-a-padded-room shit. I enjoy doing ensemble recording.
Give me a bass player, a decent lead guitar and ME and we'll record it all at once, then dub whatever we want to on top of it. THAT'S the way I always played and that's the way I want to record. I'll be my OWN got-dam engineer.
I can't wait to get my hands on that baby.
see if I regret it
I've had enough of this rabbit-food diet. I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant today, I spoke Spanish and I had dos cervesas with my meal. I ate every goddam thing the the doctors told me to stay away from.
I had cheese, guacamole, fried something that I couldn't identify, meat, chicken, beans and rice. I ate every bit of it, too. It was delicious. I NEEDED that.
I think my feet swelled up because I've been eating shit that I wouldn't feed to a cow. Fuck that diet. If I don't die before tomorrow, I'm gonna eat some steak.
Now that my belly is full of forbidden food, I have something else to say. Read my comments. Do YOU notice that "compassionate" leftists are always the ones mentioning Quinton and my ex-wife? I've noticed. Why do they do that, when they have so much "love" in their hearts?
Leftists are the most hateful people on the face of this planet is why, but they don't have the balls to set off suicide bombs. They would much rather key your car or spray graffitti on a wall and run off giggling, leaving a trail of piss behind them. THAT'S their style.
In a way, what they do is pathetic. Do any of you assholes believe that you can SAY something to me that's gonna really hurt my feelings? I HAD my feelings hurt by someone who had the power to do it. That hurt bad. It still hurts.
But you pricks are like sand gnats. You buzz around my head, but you can't get any blood out of me. Why don't you get a job, save a whale or hug a tree?
And move out of your mama's house.
we are meant for more
I've been fascinated by the stars all of my life. I've read science fiction since I was a young boy and I stayed up all night to watch the first men walk on the moon. I don't know why we quit and lowered out sights the way we did with the space program. (No, that's not correct. I KNOW why, but I think it was a very poor decision.)
I believe that this is good news. It's about time, too.
Man has ALWAYS been an explorer. Only the pussies and the nay-sayers, the High Priests of DOOM and Luddites ever stood in the way of this instinct. Those pricks have been wrong every time.
What's out there? I'm gonna go see.
We've done it throughout history and we should do it again now, on the TRUE frontier. I may not get to go on the trip, but SOMEBODY should. That's what we're meant to do. The stars and planets don't just light up the night sky. They've always beckoned me.
And I know good and well that I'm not alone in feeling that way.
I just got a phone call from Recondo 32 and his lovely wife, Georgia. They survived their trip to Beliz and are back in Texas now, broken down on the road somewhere on South Padre Island. They dodged all the hurricanes and made the trip without getting their throats cut. Georgia even speaks some Spanish now.
I am delighted to hear that they are okay, and I can't wait to hear their tales of this great adventure.
i like it!
Hah! catfish got sucked into a meme! I agree with most of what he said. I'm just surprised that he did it.
I'm inspired to post my own. 10 turn-ons
1) Pretty red toenails
2) Dimples at the top of a fine female ass
3) A woman with sense of adventure
4) That beautiful crease down a fine woman's backbone when you see her nekkid for the first time
5) A woman who likes raw oysters
6) A good back-rub
7) A woman who can sing and likes it when I play guitar for her
8) A woman who isn't afraid of guns
9) A woman sexually uninhibited
10) A woman who enjoys camping in the woods
1) Fake tits
2) Grossly overweight wimmen.
3) Tattoos and piercings in the wrong places
4) Wimmen who lie.
5) Purple toenails. WTF motivated you to do THAT?
7) Internet beggars
8) Any woman with an ass bigger than the tailgate of my truck who wears day-glow orange stretch pants at Wal-Mart.
9) Dirty, unclipped toenails
10) A constant urge to bitch about whatever happens around you
That's MY humble opinion.
does it happen to you?
Did you ever Google something, find another interesting link there, follow that one to ANOTHER interesting link and suddenly discover, about an hour later, that you don't remember what you started searching for in the first place?
Good. I never do that, either.
i feel his pain
I'm a lot like this today, except for having a wife. I don't want one of those, but I sure do seem to have the symptoms of everything the drug companies advertise on television.
I don't think I have toenail fungus yet, but if I keep watching TV, I'm certain that I will. I'm pretty sure that I need medication for irritable bowels (hell--- I'm irritible ALL OVER anymore) and I want to be like that guy "Bob" who takes a pill and sprouts so much wood that it improves his golf game and makes HIS wife think he's a Greek God.
I might even try some of that "feminine hygene" stuff that's supposed to bring a breath of springtime into the user's life. It's hot as hell in Georgia now.
If a patent medicine wagon rolled by the Crackerbox right now, with songs playing through loudspeakers, I'd probably go chase it down like the ice cream trucks of my youth and buy one of everything he had on board. I would eat it, drink it, rub it on my belly or stick it up my ass. Whatever was supposed to work.
I'm just sick and tired of being sick and tired.
a lot like my dad
I got a real chuckle out of this post. My dad wasn't a BIG man, but he could damn sure fill up the room when I was a boy.
He also possessed every quality that I admire in a person today. He was a hard-worker, he loved my mama, he cared about his family and he did whatever it took to take care of his brood. I think one reason he died as young as he did was because he worked his ass off all of his life.
I was never slapped in the face or beaten as a child. I received my share of spankings (and YES... I was ordered to go pick the switch that was going to tattoo my ass and legs a few times), but I ALWAYS knew why, and I usually had it coming to me.
My daddy was stern, but fair. I wish that I was more like him than I am. He was one hell of a MAN, in the true sense of that word.
I read some of the comments on this post and shook my head in sorrow over a few. Most commenters had a similar experience with their fathers. Some people, maybe because of the way they were raised, were appalled, because they don't understand the difference between discipline and child abuse. And ANY fucking fool who says you never have ANY reason to spank a child is a complete loon.
I see kids who have never been spanked every day. Usually, they don't have a father in the home. They think the sun rises and sets right in their own asses. They are sassy, ill-behaved and obnoxious.
And every one of those nasty brats needs to be dragged off and shot, just as soon as we drag off and shoot the parent who made them that way.
July 25, 2005
words of wisdom
I like this quote:
"Shooting a 12-gauge one-handed is easy. Even nasty 3-1/2" magnum shells. So long as they're loaded with shot.
Even birdshot isn't that gentle if you do something stupid. I learned that lesson the hard way.
I went bird hunting one day with a double-barrel shotgun. I like watching the dogs work and we bagged a good mess of quail in a cornfield over in South Carolina. We were walking back out of the woods when the dogs scared up another covey. Those birds took off like fighter jets.
My shotgun was loaded, but I had it broken open. As soon as I saw those birds, I snapped it shut and fired both barrels with the gun in the crook of my arm. HOLY BEJUS!!! That sumbitch nearly took my arm off. I hit some birds, but I think that I hurt worse than they did at the end.
I had a got-dam bruise running from the inside of my elbow to my armpit the next day. DO NOT shoot a 12-gauge that way, especially not a double-barrel. It ain't a good idea. Just trust me on that piece of advice.
I wouldn't lie to you about that.
You never see that anymore. People don't beat rugs today. When I was a boy, however, wimmen dragged the rugs out of the houses, hung them on clotheslines and then beat the shit out of them with sticks. Dust flew in billowing clouds from them. I watched that happen many a time when I was young.
Once the dust was beat out of the rug, I was sometimes recruited to help haul it back inside and spread it out on the floor. We had a nice, clean rug. That's how it was done in those days.
I know that I'm an old fart now, because I remember that shit.
I like the guy, but after reading this, I kinda hope he pulls a Henry and drops dead on his sofa tonight.
Do I get to raid his liquor cabinet?
fuck you mununvians
What is it about your host? It won't remember my name in the comments and I can't even copy and paste something from there. Got-dam! I've got another "quote of the day" that I want to post, but it doesn't work, thanks to mu-nu. Piece of shit.
I'd rather have a rusted .22 pistol than that service. I AT LEAST know how to clean the pistol. Now, if I want to post the quote, I have to type the entire damned thing. There's no fucking excuse for that shit, but I'm going to do it because I am stubborn and I won't let a stupid computer program whip my ass.
"Sometimes I don't think that Mother Nature has a subtle bone in her body. We often think that we see it in sunrises or gentle breezes, but we are wrong. Subtlety is a MANMADE idea... we humans dreamt it up as a tool for civilizing each other. Mother Nature may abhor a vacuum, but she DESPISES a weakling."
That's the nature I know.
That's a great quote, and I'd give him all kinds of link-love if mu-nu wasn't such an asshole to deal with.
If you haven't gotten yours yet, keep your got-dam britches on. I'm sending out about 20 every day, and they'll get there when they get there. I'm just not going to spend all day addressing envelopes and sending off free shit to people I don't know.
I have better things to do. Like eat Granny Smith apples and worry about my swollen feet.
I wondered what it was
Last night, a real ruckus erupted outside my front door. TWO police cars and an EMS ambulance pulled up around 10:00 last night, with lights flashing and all kinds of panic going on. At first, I thought they were going to bust ME over my back-porch moonshine still.
But they all ran over to Henry's house, and emerged shortly thereafter with a body on a stretcher. They hauled that person into the ambulance and the vehicle stayed parked with the lights flashing for at least 30 minutes. People started pulling up in other cars and rubber-neckers came from houses all over the place to see what was going on.
I didn't go over there. It was none of my business, and I was worried that Young Jack may have broken something vital, being as clumsy as he is. I figured that I would find out sooner or later.
Henry dropped dead of a heart attack last night. Right on his living room sofa.
His daughter just came to tell me about it.
Henry was one of those half-crazy people that I seem to attract like a bug-light, but he wasn't a bad guy. I actually LIKED him. He was always ready to help me with anything I wanted to do around the house and he was pretty good at painting and carpentry. I've damn sure had worse neighbors in my life.
Adios, my friend. At least you went quickly.
Henry was one year older than I am.
When I first linked to his blog, his picture didn't come up. I went back to look at it again and I almost fell out of my chair! That sumbitch looks like ME, except for the glasses. Yep. Just another old fart with good fishing stories to tell.
By the way... I like the
I am afraid of snakes. I don't like high places anymore. I have vertigo and swollen feet. Hell... WIMMEN scare me today.
But an inantimate object does NOT. I hope I did this guy a favor, and after talking to him via email, I would like to take him shooting and show him just how simple most guns are.
It AIN'T rocket science, people.
I may have blogged this story before, but my archives are so tangled that I don't know for sure. That doesn't matter. The story is true and it's worth telling again.
I was sixteen years old. I was a weight-lifting linebacker on one of the best football teams in the state of Georgia and I thought I was bad news in two shoes. I mouthed off at my mama one day, and she whipped out that old Bo-lo paddle she used to spank me and my brother with for years.
She took a swing at me and I grabbed her arm. "Mama," I said, "I'm too big for YOU to spank anymore."
BEJUS! What a fuck-up THAT was!!! She did the last thing I ever expected her to do--- she busted out CRYING! She dropped that Bo-lo paddle on the floor and I slinked off to my room. I wasn't very happy with myself.
I was even LESS happy when my father came home from work. He KICKED open my bedroom door and ordered me outside. I don't believe that I ever saw him so angry again in my life. Veins were pulsing in his neck and forehead. He was coiled like a snake ready to strike.
He said: "All right, tough guy. If you want a fight, I'll give you one RIGHT NOW and I'LL FIGHT YOU LIKE A MAN! I'll beat you 'till you can't see straight for a week. I'm giving you that choice now.
"But if you EVER raise your hand to your mama again, it ain't gonna be your choice. It'll be MINE, and I'll beat you within an inch of your life."
My daddy MEANT what he said, and I knew it. I did not accept that challenge and I never raised my hand to my mama again.
If he had beat the shit out of me that day, it wouldn't have been child abuse and no asshole from government needed to be involved. It would have been a very direct lesson in discipline and respect.
One problem we have today is that not enough kids get that stuff.
a gun story
Many years ago at work, I met a guy who wanted to sell a sawed-off shotgun. He did a good job on that rascal, too--- he cut the stock and the barrel so that the 12-gauge Remington was about 18" long. He wanted $100 dollars for it.
I didn't buy it, because I didn't have $100 to throw away at the time. But another supervisor I worked with did. HE bought that illegal shotgun.
This guy was an avid shark fisherman and he thought that gun would be PERFECT for shark-hunting. So, the next long weekend we had, he loaded that shotgun with slugs on Saturday morning and went shark fishing.
He showed back up at work on Wednesday looking like he had been mugged. He had two black eyes, a bandage across his nose and several stitches in his head.
Here's what happened: He caught an eight-foot tiger shark and wrestled that mean fucker back to the boat. He KNEW better than to leave it alive, because the shark was still fighting, so he grabbed his new sawed-off shotgun and had hallucinations about being Dirty Harry.
He leaned over the side of the boat and fired that sucker one-handed at the shark's head. The shotgun kicked back right into his face, broke his nose and went flying out of his hand. It pinwheeled up in the air and came down to hit him in the head, which caused the wound requiring stitches.
The gun bounced off his head, he looked up to see where it went, and the sumbitch came down and hit him in the face AGAIN!!! The gun finally ended up in the bottom of the boat in a puddle of blood.
What makes the story even better is the fact the the first shot didn't kill the shark. That angry bastard was still fighting like hell alongside the boat. My friend had to reload that gun and shoot the shark again before he killed it and dragged it back to the dock. On the second shot, he used TWO HANDS.
He also sold that gun for $50 the first chance he got after that adventure.
a simple question
I know a lot of cops where I live. I knew a lot more back in my guitar-playing days (not because they ever arrested me--- I knew them because they patrolled River Street, where I did a lot of work). My cousin Alan is a Police Captain in Florida.
I read this comment and wanted someone dragged off and shot.
What ever happend to the commonsense days of shooting first a shot overhead to 'get attention?"
I know good and well that I have some policemen (and policewimmen), retired cops and military MPs who read this blog. Correct me if I'm wrong.
EVERY ONE of those people told me that a "domestic disturbance" call is one of the most frightening to answer, because you never know WHAT you may find there. I went to high school with Alex Hodgson. He became a cop. "Hodgson Memorial Drive" in Savannah is named after him today, because he answered a domestic disturbance call and some whacked-out fucker blew his head off with a shotgun when he knocked on the door.
People who say "What about a warning shot?" don't know WTF they're talking about. They also don't know much about shooting, either.
If I ever shoot a gun at a person, I'm aiming for the biggest target I can find. That's the torso. I have less chance of missing that way. And anybody who says that you can shoot to "wing" somebody with a handgun is full of shit.
That's MY humble opinion on this matter. And if I'm wrong, some of you cops and MPs correct me.
this history of fishing
This story sounds perfectly reasonable to me. I can see it all happening just that way.
I like to skinny-dip, and I've done it in the sea many times. But I'll admit--- I always have a little bit of fear that a hungry fish will mistake my dangling willie for a worm and bite it. That hasn't happened yet, but it could.
Fish will bite damn near anything when they're hungry.
quote of the day
I stick by what I wrote in this post. Someone else appears to agree (at least partially) with me.
"Is it not true that yesterday's sad mistake has already solved the problem it represents? In fact, a further good has been created: as ordinary persons change their behavior and drop the bulky clothing and unnecessary running, the real terrorists will stand out more. Indeed, if anyone ever behaves like Jean Charles de Menezes again, the presumption that he is a terrorist will be so overwhelmingly strong that the police really must kill him."
The guy was a blithering idiot. The cops did what they thought they had to do. The blithering idiot brought the entire thing on himself.
more non-news news
Why do people even bother to report stories such as this one? The headline is one of those "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!" grabbers (Hazy Cloud of Saharan Dust Nearing U.S.), but there's really no THERE there in the story.
Such dust clouds are not uncommon, especially at this time of year. They start when weather patterns called tropical waves pick up dust from the desert in North Africa, carry it a couple of miles into the atmosphere and drift westward.
Bejus! People must just enjoy being frightened anymore.
Just an exercise in playing with words.
Decorum and Debauchery
I believe that decorious debauchery is possible. In fact, I've done it many times. A woman can still be a lady, even when her inhibitions hit the floor with her clothes and you end up playing with garden vegetables and battery-powered vibrating devices until you both lie totally spent in sweaty sheets as the morning sunrise creeps in through the bedroom window.
Treasure and Temptation
Often, these are the same things. The idea of gaining TREASURE has always TEMPTED people to do foolish things. Bank robbers succumb to this lure. So do theives, rapists and newlywed husbands.
Science and Superstition
Science tells me that I'll see sunrise in the east tomorrow, and that if I drop a hammer from my hand, it will fall to the ground. Those things happen EVERY SINGLE DAY, every time you try them. Never fails. THAT'S science.
Superstition, on the other hand, is something you "feel." Plug Global Warming, Gun Control, Environmentalism, Voting Democrat and Bottled Water into that "equation" and you'll see what I mean. It ain't very scientific, but it sure is superstitious.
Welcome back to the Dark Ages.
See? Playing with words is fun. Now... will somebody send me some money? I'm broke, starving to death, my feet are swollen and I can't afford to go to the doctor. PLEASE HELP ME!!!
If you do, I'll tell you all about the new recording equipment I bought with
I'll do that just as soon as I return from my trip to Costa Rica.
July 24, 2005
My father once enjoyed building model ships. I'm talking about the ones that came in a box with a million wooden pieces and you had to buy your own glue to put them together. He would sit in the den and work on those things for hours. It drove me crazy to watch him do it.
When he was finished, he had something impressive, complete with sails and even tiny belaying pins stuck in the gunnels along the deck. I just never had the patience to do that kind of work.
I was looking at a couple of my guitars today and thinking about the craftsmanship that went into them. I admire anybody who can do that kind of work.
I am lucky enough to have this guy living not far away from me, and he's one of the best luthiers in the world. He's done a lot of work on my guitars in the past (including one repair on my Martin that I didn't believe was possible) and I need to go visit him next week, if I can make it. My banjo, my fiddle and my Papoose all need some repairs.
Randy is reasonable on his prices and he does excellent work. He's also doing something else that I think is great. The last time I was in his shop (Which is a WONDERFUL place---smells like fresh sawdust and old wood, with some varnish thrown in), I saw that he's training several apprentices to carry on his skill. That's in Bloomingdale, Georgia, by the way.
That's a good thing. I don't have the talent or the want-to to do that kind of work, but I'm all for others who do. And Randy is like a Jedi Master when it comes to guitars. He's built 'em from scratch for some very famous musicians.
I'm glad to know that his talent and skill won't vanish when he quits doing what he's been doing for a long, long time.
"shoot to disable"
How many people who own guns and do any shooting believe that shit? "Shoot to disable." Yeah. In a crisis situation when adrealin is pumping high-octane fuel through your veins, just "wing" the guy. Shoot him in the leg or in the shoulder.
I call bullshit on that idea.
I sometimes fire at silouette targets. I aim at the middle of the chest area and then try to throw a few head shots in at the end. But I am standing still, my target is not running away from me and it damn sure ain't shooting back.
Even THEN, I don't always hit where I aim. Even with a good pistol, and I'm a fairly good shot. This "shoot to disable" crap comes from people who watch too many movies. It ain't that easy to do in real life.
How many westerns did you see where the good guy shot a pistol out of a bad guy's hand? Plenty of 'em, right? That NEVER happened in reality. Guns and shooters don't operate that way, and if you believe any differently, you don't know much about shooting.
Or... you are one HELL of a lot better at it than I am.
I think Andrew Sullivan started this shit, but he's sure made some partners on the way. Do YOU ever read blogs written by people who can't buy food, can't pay their bills and are about to lose the house? They are SO BROKE that THEY NEED YOUR HELP!!! The baby may die! We have no electricity anymore!!!
Then, the next thing you know they're flying off to a blog-meet in New Orleans or Texas? What causes that?
Catfish and I talked about that yesterday.
I've BEEN broke twice in my life. I mean SERIOUSLY broke. So fucking far in debt that it was like an elephant sitting on my chest. I never asked for a hand-out, because I knew that I could dig my way out of that hole over time.
But I learned to keep gas in my car (because I needed my job) and I frequently made the choice between buying food or cigarettes. I bought cigarettes and went hungry.
I also RATIONED those cigarettes because I knew that I couldn't afford to buy any more when those were gone. I slept on a bare mattress in a got-dam boarding house for a while.
I DID NOT go ANYWHERE I didn't HAVE to go during those days. I was fucking BROKE. I needed every dollar I had to pay people I owed. And I payed them all, too.
So, the next time a blogger starts whining to YOU about needing money, stop and think. How the fuck do they manage to keep up a blog and pay to go to blog-meets if they're so fucking broke?
Their idea of being broke and mine must be a lot different. The internet is their tin cup, and I've fallen for that trick before.
But I'll never do it again.
boy! That stirred some!
Yeah, I got some people really in an uproar over this post. The ever-reliable JB was there with his usual comment that's twice as long as the post (long-winded bastard. I don't mind him commenting here, but brevity IS NOT his forte-- which is usually the case with people who don't really have much to say.)
I don't give a lovely fuck what some of you people think. The same ones raleing about shooting an "innocent" man would be raleing even LOUDER if the sumbitch had set off a bomb and killed a bunch of innocent people. I can hear them now. "WHERE WERE THE POLICE??? WHY DIDN'T THEY DO SOMETHING???
He LOOKED like a terrorist. He ACTED like a terrorist. He got shot dead. I wonder why?
That's because TERRORISTS STARTED THIS SHIT!!!
We're at WAR, people. Nice guys don't win wars.
this ain't good
I called my brother this morning and rescheduled our trip to mama's house. My feet are so swollen that I can't put on a pair of shoes. WTF caused THAT? I don't hurt, so I know it's not gout, but my feet feel cold to me but feverishly hot to the touch. They're also TWICE their normal size.
I can barely walk around the Crackerbox.
Got-dam!!! What ELSE can happen to me?
quote of the day
I met the guy at Sloppy Joe's in Key West. He just happened to be sitting on the stool next to mine when I bellied up to the bar. I didn't pay any attention to him at first, because he appeared to be a bum or a homeless person. Looked like he hadn't taken a bath in weeks.
But we struck up a conversation and I discovered that the fellow had been a merchant sailor for a while, then went broke trying to make a living with his own shrimp boat. (Or so he said--- it was a good story, whether it was true or not.) He said that he was living on a disability check from Social Security now. I bought the old fart a drink.
He appeared to be somewhere between 50 and 200 years old. You've seen people like that, haven't you? Weathered, beaten and wrinkled, with skin that's a combination of leather and old parchment. I could look at him and know for sure that he'd seen both fire and rain in his days.
He was a philosopher, too, and he said something that I really didn't appreciate at the time, but I do now. This may not be an exact quote, but it's as close as I can come.
"Everybody is born with a hole in their soul. That's where love is supposed to go. If you don't have love to fill that hole, you'll try to fill it with whiskey, drugs or money. Never works. The more of that shit you throw at the hole, the bigger the hole gets. Ain't nothing but true love can fill it, and if you don't have that, you'll always have a hole in your soul."
I thought the old bastard had thrown too much whiskey down his own hole at the time, but I've had a while to think about it since then.
I think he may be right.
blame the gun
Well, it's California, so what do you expect? Read this and puke.
It's NOT a "community tragedy." It's a case of a dumbfuck doing something really stupid, and I hope his ass fries for it.
Friends and family speculated that Hollis might have been attempting to frighten the men and accidentally shot his friend.
Yeah. That's the gun's fault.
Looks like they killed the wrong guy. Well, shit happens.
Let me give you people a good piece of advice. Don't EVER run from the cops, especially not nowdays, and especially when you are innocent of any crime. You're asking for trouble if you do that.
Police expressed regret for the death of the man at the Stockwell subway station, identified Saturday as Jean Charles de Menezes, 27. Witnesses said he was wearing a heavy, padded coat when plainclothes police chased him into a subway car, pinned him to the ground and shot him about five times in the head and torso.
If had stopped running, threw up his hands and surrendered, he might be alive today. But that's NOT what he did. Did the police over-react? Maybe so. But the dumbfuck brought that on himself.
I have no sympathy for him.
July 23, 2005
For several years, I tilled and planted 1/2 acre of land, where I grew all kinds of crops. If you don't know how much land 1/2 an acre is, go pace it off some fine day. It's bigger than a fucking football field.
I collected chicken-shit, goat-shit and cow-shit--- PLUS some horse-shit to till into my land and I STILL had to buy fertilizer to make the crops grow right. I worked my ass off doing it, while I still held a full-time job at the chemical plant, but I enjoyed seeing that sandy piece of shit land produce beans, corn, squash, peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, zuchinni, and almost anything else I stuck into the ground.
I hoed, I pulled weeds and I fought every kind of crop-eating pest you can name. I want to know how many "organic" food-eaters ever did that?
NONE is my guess. Most of those fuckers think produce grows in a grocery store. I'm here to tell you that it DOESN'T! Why do you think I'm on a first-name basis with the owners of the Seed & Feed store? I FARMED, that's why.
If YOU haven't (and I don't call growing a few tomato plants in pots "farming") then just shut the fuck up about something you know nothing about.
And I was small time compared to the REAL farmers. They plowed HUNDREDS of acres, and I went to them for advice. They had little use for environmentalists or "organic" farmers, either. They FOUGHT the land and mother nature. That's how they made their living.
I call bullshit on anyone who hasn't done it and doesn't live around people who have been doing it for generations. Drink your bottled water, eat your organic carrots and kiss my Cracker ass.
Farming is some of the most difficult work a person can do.
he should move to a better neighborhood
Or install a security system. Or join the Democrat Party. He just needs to get rid of those guns!!!.
Nobody needs a gun. We have politicians, Democrats and a 911 phone number to protect us. When you live in the middle of nowhere, they'll be there in about 30 minutes to haul your dead body off and search for your killer AFTER you're dead. What more could you ask for?
Guns are evil. If I had any, I'd keep them caged like wild animals just to make sure they didn't go running off and shooting people all by themselves. That happens all the time. Just read the news.
I live in a peaceful place because EVERY ONE of my neighbors is heavily armed. This ain't pussified yankee-land; it's Effingham County, Georgia. NOBODY tries to break into a house around here. If the homeowner doesn't shoot you, a neighbor will.
I don't need a security system. I already have one.
piece of shit
A reader sent me this picture and wanted to know how to unload this gun. He evidently inherited it from his brother and knows nothing about it, except for the fact that it's a .22. I believe that I would unload it in a garbage can, because the thing looks neglected as hell to me.
Notice the fucking duct tape on the grip? The rust on the hammer? The overall look of being hauled around in a salt-water tacklebox for years? I'd be afraid to shoot that sumbitch for fear that it might blow up in my hand. But I dunno. It might be old and worth keeping if somebody knew how to clean it up and repair it.
I like old guns. But this one looks like a very abused cheapie to me. I have no idea what make or model it is.
Do YOU think there's any hope for it?
(I DID tell the guy how to unload it, although he shouldn't listen to me. I don't own any guns.)
I've never believed that ANYTHING sexual between consenting adults was "naughty." I'm an adventurous man, and I like exploring new things with an adventurous woman. I'll try almost anything once, and keep doing it if I like it and my partner does, too.
I don't believe that I ever had a safe word other than, "No. I don't want to do that." That was good enough for me, although I am well aware that "NO" sometimes means "Yes, if you'll persuade me."
I never wanted to go through that charade. If you want to try it, SAY SO. If you don't, then say THAT, too. I'll take you at your word.
I've never raped a woman in my life. Never even CONSIDERED that idea. I may have "taken advantage" of a few, but they seemed perfectly willing at the time, and their protestations came later, when they sobered up and realized what they had done. That's why I always cast a skeptical eye on wimmen who cry "RAPE!"
Yeah, I know. I'm going to piss off a lot of wimmen here, but that shit always sounds to me like "sin in haste and repent at leisure" stuff to me.
My buddy catfish ain't doing very well. He's been in a lot of pain and hasn't even bothered to chase his big alligator around for the past couple of days, because he's been stuck in bed. I talked to him on the phone today and he sounded very depressed about his health.
I've known Joe for a long time now, and he's the ONLY person I worked with at the plant that I still stay in touch with. If you ever meet Cat for the first time, you will either like him, hate him or fear him right off the bat. Most people like him.
I do, too.
He's as full of shit as a Christmas goose, but he's a good guy. He likes guns, guitars and pussy--- and I'll be damned if I can find anything wrong with THAT!
Y'all do me a favor. Drop him a comment or an email and wish him well. There's not another person I know like the Cat.
things that chap my cracker ass
#1) Ted Kennedy. Especially when he starts spouting off about "morality." That alcoholic gas-bag should be in jail instead of in the United States Senate. I've never killed anybody in my life. He has.
#2) Gun-Fearing Assholes. A gun is NOT an inherently evil device. It is a simple tool that performs very efficiently--- much like a chainsaw or a lawn mower. I've never seen a gun jump up and shoot somebody all by itself. In fact, I'm willing to wager that more people bash themselves with a fucking HAMMER than shoot themselves with a gun.
#3) Democrats. What's it like to be a party, once powerful but now relegated to the back-burner, that is now eating itself? I personally believe that Democrats can thank Bill Clinton for the state they're in today, because they rallied around that bastard and proved just how purile and spineless they are. They have NO philosophy today, other than if Bush is FOR it, we're AGAINST it.
#4) Rap Music. That's the most disgusting shit I've ever heard. It AIN'T MUSIC.
#5) Organic Food. My aching ass. That stuff is fertilized with SHIT instead of chemicals you buy at the seed & feed store, it ain't nearly as good as regular crops and it costs twice the money. Yuppies buy it because the LOVE the "environment" and they don't even know that they're eating SHIT.
#6) Bottled Water. I don't give a damn if my daughter COULD tell the difference between my tap and her bottled water. I can't, and I won't pay $2.00 a bottle for that crap to wash down my organic food.
#7) Decaffinated Coffee. WTF? That's a pure abortion if I ever saw one. Whoever dreamed up THAT idea never worked midnight shifts.
#8) Anti-Smoking Laws. Show me ONE got-dam person who ever died from "second-hand smoke" and I just MIGHT think these laws are reasonable. But you can't do it, people have spent millions of dollars TRYING to do it, and nobody can. Still, we get the laws, most of which are based on the EPA's fraud.
#9) "Environmentalists." Did you ever notice that most of these people resemble John Lennon or burned-out hippie-chicks? I have. And most of them work in air-conditioned offices and drive air-conditioned cars and wouldn't know a spotted owl from a beaver. But they "know" that Gaia is "fragile" and they want to protect her. Fuck every one of them. Build a fire in the woods in the rain and I MAY think you have a clue what you're talking about.
#10) Lawyers. If I ever go back to divorce court, I'm not hiring a lawyer to represent me again. What for? That hanging judge is going to throw the book at me anyway, and that's a fact. I paid those fucks more than $10,000 over the past few years and I got screwed TWICE for my trouble. Then, I ended up paying BOTH lawyers, mine and my ex-wife's Fuck 'em. I won't do that again.
I shoulda been a cowboy. I was born 150 years too late.
Go visit this guy. I like what I see there, and anybody who works in the "natural gas/utility industry" can't be too bad in my book. We power guys always seem to have a lot in common. I believe that our brains become addled by the whine of turbine generators.
Did I ever tell you about the time I crawled into a boiler and almost got myself stuck in the superheater section? Tight places never bothered me, but I thought I might have to disrobe and grease up to get out of there.
I'll post about that incident some other time, but I've been in a LOT of boilers, and I've often thought that if push came to shove, I could become a licensed inspector. But I don't believe that my health would allow me to do that now.
I'm too old and decrepit to be crawling around in superheaters anymore.
quote of the day
The idea of "multiculturalism" has always seemed insane to me. All this hyphenated-American bullshit makes me bristle. You're either American or not, and if you immigrate here, YOU have the obligation to learn the language and play by OUR rules. If you're not willing to do that, then go back where you came from.
"For decades the supporters of multiculturalism have used tax money and government regulations to actively discourage assimilation of immigrants into the broader society, preferring to see communities develop which favour 'identity politics' better suited and more amenable to their own collectivist world views. And now we are paying the price for that. We will not be able to defend ourselves physically or preserve our liberal society unless we stop tolerating intolerance, and that includes not just fundamentalist Islam but also the anti-western bigotry of the multiculturalists."
I couldn't possibly have said that better myself.
I don't usually participate in these kinds of things, but enquiring minds just might want to know. My nightstand is an interesting place.
I have a telephone, an ashtray, a lamp and a half-read Forence King book. I also have a loaded Smith & Wesson .38 revolver there. I would post a picture, but I haven't figured out how to operate my new camera yet, and besides--- I don't own any guns.
If I DID own any guns, however, I might also have a Ruger Blackhawk .357 magnum in the top drawer of my nightstand, and it would be loaded, too--- IF I owned any guns. I keep my non-existent revolver in the open, within arm's reach because it is quick and simple to operate. It's also enough pistol and LOUD enough to discourage anybody who wants to fuck with me in my home at night. (or any other time.)
I think EVERYBODY should keep a pistol (or two) on the nightstand. I surely wish that I did, but I don't, because I don't own any guns.
I took a long nap this afternoon. That's one of the benefits of being a man of leisure nowdays, but I slept too long. I'm ready to work a midnight shift now.
How many of you people ever worked the "graveyard shift?" Mine ran from 11:00 at night until 7:00 in the morning, and it was my favorite shift to work. I always liked the plant at night, when all the bosses were home in bed and the place (at least my area) was my own oyster. I almost never became sleepy on the job.
I had four shift mechanics and a crew of 12 operators to supervise. Life was good. Without all the meddlers sticking their fingers in my oyster, I could run the show MY way and make pigment. I also liked climbing to the top of the baghouses and looking at the stars on a clear night.
Working shift is NOT conducive to a good family life. My daughter barely saw me in those days-- I was always at work or asleep when she was awake, and I pulled a LOT of overtime, too. Plus, I've read that doing shiftwork takes about five years off your life.
The truth is, I wouldn't have stayed married to my first wife for five years if I HAD NOT been working shifts. I stayed away from her so much that I could tolerate her. When I got my straight-day job, that marriage didn't last much longer.
Anyway, this post is for anyone pulling midnight shifts. I am a fellow vampire.
quote of the day
Piss on it. The same people who decry the "desecration" of the Koran have no problems wiping their asses on the U.S. Constitution. They are idiots.
The only way a Supreme Court nominee could win the approval of NARAL and Planned Parenthood would be to actually perform an abortion during his confirmation hearing, live, on camera, and preferably a partial-birth one.
July 22, 2005
i had a good reason
Okay. I confess. I did this.
But I had a damn good reason. I'm full of shit.
the green grass of home
I've gone barefoot for a BIG part of my life. I still don't like wearing shoes today. There's just something about walking barefoot through the grass that makes me feel young again. And NOTHING smells better to me than fresh-cut, green grass.
I like the picture on this post. I hope the guy takes off his shoes and stands barefoot in the grass when he's finished cutting it.
He deserves that kind of pleasure.
want some ugly?
I just couldn't help stealing this link. If one picture is worth 1,000 words, it says a LOT.
Ugly is as ugly does, too.
For anybody who wants to pick a ripe watermelon in the field, I'm gonna tell you something that not many people know. You don't need to "thump" the watermelon to tell whether it's ripe or not. (although that method works if you know the right sound.)
Look at the back end of the melon--- the part on the opposite side of the stem. You'll see a little green thingy growing out of there. (We call those "pig tails" in southeast Georgia.) It will be green and stiff until the melon is ripe, then it will shrivel and curl up--- like a pig's tail. Once you see that, the melon is ready to eat.
Most farmers knock those off before they haul their melons to market, so you won't see "pig tails" in the store. But I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP!!! Go look at watermelons growing, if you live anywhere around a farm. Look for the "pig-tail" and tell me I'm mistaken.
I'm NOT mistaken. I'm a country boy.
my kind of "compassion"
Everybody who reads this blog already knows that I am a cruel, heartless, cat-killing redneck. Therefore, you should understand why I liked this story.
"He half-tripped, was half-pushed to the floor,” Whitby said. "One of the police officers was holding a black automatic pistol in his left hand. They held it down to him and unloaded five shots into him. I saw it. He's dead, five shots, he's dead."
No trial. No endless appeals. No three squares a day. Just a dead motherfucker who deserved what he got. THAT'S what we ought to do to half of those assholes whining in luxurious captivity in GITMO now.
But I'm just a bloodthirsty redneck. Don't listen to me.
After talking with my friend Willy today.... I've been doing some thinking. For what I expected to spend on a trip to Costa Rica, he can sell me a 16-track, all-in-one home recording studio, including the microphones I want. I may buy that rig.
I ain't gettin' any younger. My voice isn't what it once was and I worry about arthritus stealing my fingers to the point where I can't play anymore. Plus, I've been wanting to record some of my music for a long time and I just never got off my ass and did it.
Time is running out.
If I get my own shit, I can sit down and play whenever I want to, and lay down extra tracks at my convienience. 16 tracks should be enough for me. If I need something I can't do myself, I know other musicians who would be happy to drop by and play just for some beer and a meal.
I want to do it. If nothing else, I'll leave some cassettes and CDs behind for Sam and Quinton to listen to when I'm long gone. They can play them for their friends and say, "Yeah. That's my daddy playing and singing everything you hear."
That's a damn fine legacy.
i call bullshit!
My ass. I am banned while another disgusting bastard with whom I will not link just skates through the I.T. gates as free as a breeze? Something just ain't right in this world.
That shit reminds me of every trip I take through Customs anymore.
the death of civilization
I gotta ask a few questions. I look around today and I see a lot of spoiled-assed people running around acting as if they know their asses from a hole in the ground when they don't. Life is just too soft anymore.
1) How many of you people know how to drive a vehicle with MANUAL TRANSMISSION?
2) How many of you people can make popcorn on the STOVE, in a POT, the old-fashioned way?
3) How many of you people ever saw a drive-in movie?
4) How many of you people know how to bake a potato without using a microwave oven?
5) How many of you people can build a fire, first time every time, in the woods? Even when it's raining?
6) How many of you people know how to skip a rock?
7) How many people know the way to tell when a watermelon is ripe without touching it in the field?
8) How many of you people ever handled a firearm and hit what you shot at, without being "afraid" of the gun?
9) How many of you people take care of yourselves without relying on government to do that job for you?
10) How many people ever stood up to a bully and never had to fight him again? Even when you lost the fight. How many people have balls enough to do that today?
I see this country becoming totally pussified. I refuse to be a part of it. I can live in the woods. I know how to fish, and I've never had "buck fever" when aiming a gun at a live animal. I can build a fire and skip a rock. I can grow my own food. I know how to make moonshine, too.
Can YOU do it? If not, how many people do you know who can?
'splain it to me, lucy!
I've read some blogs that I really don't like. I just wipe my ass of them and never go back. You won't find them on my blogroll and you won't find ME in their comments, either.
But I evidently have a considerable readership comprised of people who HATE MY GUTS and make it a point to visit every day, just to tell me how disgusting, purile, ignorant, juvenile, boring and offensive my blog is.
I LOVE an appreciative audience.
the lucky winner
My 2,000,000th visitor should receive her prize package in a couple of days. I finally got off my dead ass and mailed it today. It MAY come in two different shipments, because I had my friend willy send the guitar (because he ships a LOT of them) and I mailed the cigars and home-made wine myself.
Darlin'... I hope you enjoy the gifts.
Thank you for being a friend.
This post came from a special request in my comments.
Drive in movies were a staple of my young years. I went many times with my parents (drive-in movies were EVERYWHERE back then) and once I hit my teenage years, going to the drive-in was one of the cheapest and best dates you could do.
Admission was $1.00 and they usually showed a double feature. That meant about four hours of parking, where you could make out like hot minks and nobody bothered you. I went to a LOT of movies that I never saw back in those days. My date and I were too busy steaming up the windows.
You don't see many drive-ins still in operation today. Savannah once had five of them, but they're all gone now. The property became worth more money than the owner could make selling tickets to movies, so they all sold out to developers.
When Recondo 32 and I were driving across the country, we always noticed an operating drive-in theater. We didn't see many, but some are still out there. Very few, but some still operate.
I once got caught sneaking in to the Montgomery Drive-In when I was 16 years old. We had two people in the front seat (at a dollar a pop) and three people piled in the trunk of the car as we went through the gate. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Hell, we were gonna save $3.00!
We emerged from the trunk once the car was parked only to find a security guard waiting for us. The bastard scared the shit out of us, threated to call our parents, and then charged us $2.00 each for trying to sneak in.
We paid up and were allowed to stay and watch the movies. I'm certain today that the guard put that money in his pocket and walked away laughing. Bastid!
So NOW, if you commenters want to talk about drive-in movies, you'll be on topic.
it's not me!
I swear. I didn't do this. I am CAPABLE of committing such a crime, but I'd look for younger feet with pretty red toenails.
Besides--- This detail lets me off the hook:
Kirby said police know only that the suspect is white, thin and appears young.
Heh. I am white and thin, but even a half-blind woman over 60 wouldn't mistake ME for a "young" man. Father Time has taken his toll on me. Merciless bastard.
I think this guy needs to be caught, but at least he's not killing anybody. I like feminine feet, too.
July 21, 2005
Part of the fun (a BIG part of it) is reading the comments I receive on my posts. If I stir up a ruckus with what I write, I like it. That's what coments are for.
But today, I've gotten a BUNCH of comments on TWO posts that had not one got-damn thing to do with the post I wrote. It's nothing more than people playing chat-room in my comments again. I am sick and tired of that shit.
If YOU want to use my comments to chat, send me $10.00 every month. That'll help pay for my bandwidth that you're wasting. If you ARE NOT willing to send me $10.00 every month, I'm gonna ban the shit out of you the next time you start that crap.
As I've said before, (which is an old hillbilly truth) "If you don't believe me, TRY me."
It's YOUR choice.
red-headed irish wimmen
In my younger days, I found blondes very attractive. But after I bedded a few, I learned a few facts about most "blondes."
#1) Most of them are dingy.
#2) They aren't that special in bed.
#3) Most of them have something in common with a 747 jetliner--- they have a black box.
As I grew older, I fell into the clutches of a few red-headed Irish wimmen. They changed my mind about blondes. Lemme tell you about THOSE lovely ladies:
#1) They have very fair skin, almost translucent in the right light. Usually, they have a lot of freckles, too, which THEY find embarassing but I always found sexy.
#2) They are slow to warm, but if you ever get the heater just right, they are complete wildcats in bed.
#2-A) They burn easily in the sun, so why in the hell would you want to take a red-headed Irish woman to the BEACH? Take her to the mountains and rent a place with a good, sturdy bed.
#3) They all have hollow legs. They can drink like fishes and still walk when you're lying under the table in a puddle of your own puke. Be forewarned about that trait. But they are so kind that they will drag you out to your car, pour you in, drive you home and put you to bed. And she's not angry at you in the morning, either.
About the only thing bad I can say about ANY of those wimmen is that they all had big feet.
I had my chance to keep a good 'un, but I fucked that up. That's one of the biggest regrets of my life. If I had that part of my life to live over again...
Well, I don't, so that's that. But sometimes it pains me to think about it.
I left that red-headed Irish woman for Jennifer.
quote of the day
I sometimes watch the news and wonder which side reporters are on in the War Against Terror. They damn sure don't seem to be on OUR side.
"Translation: You're idiots, cowards, and political hacks. Yes! The preening, point-scoring irresponsibility of the press, which is if anything worse in Britain than in America, is one of the most striking things about this war, and it will be decades before it recovers. If it does."
I see it as the "Vietnam Syndrome," which is a very simple philosophy taught in Journalism School as Gospel today: War is bad. The military is bad. We can't possibly win. It's OUR job to make sure people understand these truths as well as we do. Go forth and spread the Gospel!!!
Watch mainstream reporters and tell me I'm wrong.
Today, I remembered the night of my Junior Prom in high school. I was 16 years old and just got my driver's license. I didn't have a fucking clue what I was doing behind the wheel of a car. I was absolute danger on four wheels.
But I asked a girl named Becky to be my date that night, she accepted, and I went to the "Men's Quality" store to buy my duds for that date. I spent two weeks of my own pay for my outfit, but it was worth every penny. I looked like James Bond.
I also bought a $5.00 orchad coursage for her. (That was a LOT of money back in those days.) When I came to pick her up for the dance, her mama answered the door and welcomed me inside. I was still frightened to death by wimmen in those days, and when Becky emerged in a long, flowing green dress, I almost shit my pants. SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL!!!
Plus, that dress had a plunging neckline and I had never noticed before that Becky was blessed with a set of bodacious ta-tas. Her mama wanted to take a picture of me pinning that flower on her dress.
I tried, but I chickened out. The closer I got to those lovely boobs, the more my hands started to shake and I knew good and well that I couldn't do it. I'd stick her in the tit and ruin the entire evening. I thought of an alternate plan. (It was those BOOBS, goddamit! I never knew that Becky was so stacked!)
I asked her mama to pin the flower on Becky. She did, and then we had our picture taken. I managed to drive us both to the dance and then to Shoney's afterward for some Hot Fudge Cake. I got her home safe and sound and got a really nice good-night kiss in the bargain.
Heh. The difference between then and now is amazing when I think about it.
A lot of pet owners claim to love their darlin' pets, but they don't take care of them. They ALSO seem to believe that because THEY love their pets, you should, too. Well--- I DON'T.
Sam and Stacey came home while they were here to see me sitting in the grass repairing my mailbox. (At first they were frightened. They thought I had fallen down and couldn't get up.) One of my asshole neighbors takes his dog for a "walk" (read: go shit and piss in somebody else's yard) every day and that dog had pissed on my mailbox so many times that the legs were rusting off of it.
I found an old pair of horse-shoe stakes in my garage and made a jackleg repair to my mailbox by hammering the stakes into the ground and attaching them as new legs for my box. It ain't pretty, but it'll at least keep the mailbox up for a while.
Two days ago, I came home from the store and CAUGHT that inconsiderate fucker AND his floppy-eared basset hound doing their thing. The dog had its leg cocked sideways and was pissing all over my new repair on my mailbox while the guy stood there acting as if nothing was happening. The dog was on a leash.
I jumped out of my car and confronted the asshole. I told him flat-out: "Mister, I like dogs as well as any man does. But you'd better be ready to buy me a new mailbox or haul a dead dog home if you EVER let that shitass piss in my yard again. It's YOUR dog, so let it piss and shit in YOUR yard. I've got no problem with that. But if I EVER see that dog pissing on my mailbox again, I'm going to shoot it. If you don't believe me, TRY ME."
He hauled ass, looking over his shoulder fearfully.
THAT'S what pisses me off about a lot of pet owners. It's not the PET that makes me angry--- it's the total disregard some pet-owners have for other people's property. Would you turn your CHILDREN out and tell them to go piss and shit in a neighbor's yard to save money because you didn't have to flush YOUR toilet so often? Some pet owners seem to think that way.
For those of you who want to know, Oddball went back to the pound from where she came. I couldn't break that dog from too many feral habits, and I wasn't going to inflict that failure on my neighbors. I hope to hell that chewing, shitting, disobedient, digging, barking-at-nothing, garbage-can-raiding animal ended up in the gas chamber. That's where she belonged.
If I sound harsh, that's because I am. Sam and Stacey found fossilized Oddball shit in the back of my CLOSETS when they were cleaning up my Crackerbox. That dog KNEW it would get in trouble if it shit in the house where I could find it, so it went off to hide it. Did a good job, too.
I got rid of that dog.
I damn sure never led it around on a leash and let it fuck up somebody else's stuff on PURPOSE. Too many pet "owners" do that.
learn something new every day
From the comments on this post I learned a few things I didn't know before.
First, if I get drunk in a bar with a woman who gets drunk WITH ME, she has the "right" to shoot me dead if I am so obnoxious as to say, "SUCK MY DICK!" to her delicate ass. Some deviates really liked that scene and rerun it over and over again for the chortles they get from it.
I didn't think it was amusing. If a drunken woman says, "Eat my pussy" I should shoot her? And be JUSTIFIED by doing it? My ass. I've HAD that line laid on me before. I didn't shoot. I usually ate her pussy and had a good time doing it.
No need for gunshots. Either accept the offer or walk away.
I also learned that wimmen are the "sweetest, most rational people out there." BWHAHAHAHAAAA!!! You stupid jerk. Your time is gonna come if you believe that shit.
Damn! I'm gonna have to review some more movies. Stirs up a lotta crap, which is what I like doing.
Blogging is weird. I've discussed this strange phenomenon with a lot of other bloggers and they've all had the same experience. You put a lot of thought and effort into a post, write your heart out, believe that it's a fricking MASTERPIECE.... and nobody pays a damn bit of attention to it. No comments. No trackbacks. No nothing.
Then, you just throw a piece of shit against the wall and discover, often to your total amazement, that you've touched a live wire. You see all the comments and the readers you've stirred and you wonder... WTF? How did THAT POST trigger so much interest when the one I thought was good didn't?
Stop wondering. If there's a logic to this process, I haven't found it yet. Just keep throwing shit at the wall. You never know what's gonna stick and what ain't. But if you DON'T throw it, nothing ever sticks.
As for myself, I still have a P-38 can opener that I believe is one of the most simple, yet efficient tools I've ever owned. I think I paid 50 cents for it and I've had it for almost 20 years now. I use a nice hand-crank model in my kitchen, but if I'm camping... the P-38 is what I take with me.
Fuck an electric can opener.
I mourn. scotty is dead.
growing up straight
Yeah, ya'll got me in the comments on a previous post about my daughter. Maybe that WAS a Freudian slip--- but that's not what I meant at all.
"Growing up straight" is a hillbilly and Southern term that has nothing to do with your sexual persuasion. It means growing up to be an honest person, with a backbone and no got-dam prison record. It means treating people the way YOU want to be treated. It means being able to walk tall because you earned that right.
It means being somebody a daddy can be proud of.
Mama's sister, my Aunt Jenetta, died in 1992, the same year my father made his exit from life. She sent me a card about two weeks before she died. It contained a very touching note, and I was moved to tears when I read it.
At the bottom, she said, "If you want to remember me, put up a bird feeder and kill a cat."
'Netta loved her birds and hated the cats that stalked and killed them. I've ALWAYS had bird feeders in my yard since then. I like my birds, too.
And I'll give any cat who comes around here on a bird-hunt a taste of something it won't like. If that makes me a potential serial killer, I certainly fit the profile. But it's about time I upgraded a bit. That pellet gun is just too merciful. "Beth" is correct. I shouldn't be shooting cats with a pellet gun.
I'm going with the silent .22s from now own. I'll NEVER have to shoot the same cat twice that way.
ice and desire
Wimmen are like a Rubik's Cube, or one of those logic puzzles I'm so good at solving, but the truth is... I STILL haven't figured wimmen out. That may be one puzzle I'm simply not meant to solve.
With my Southern upbringing, I was taught to put wimmen on a pedestal and worship them like goddesses. They were SPECIAL and PURE and something to be fought for and won, like a prize in a jousting contest. Yes, the idea of being a Knight in Shining Armor still lives in the South today.
I believed that shit until I came to know wimmen a little better. I'm going to give some of you guys a little advice about how wimmen REALLY are.
1) They are the most devious creatures in the world. GOT-DAM!!! They plan, scheme and manipulate all the time. That's their nature. They don't think in straight lines. But they see angles better than any man ever did.
2) Pussy is NOT a precious commodity, and if you, as a man, ever TREAT it that way, you are doomed. A woman's total goal in life is to use pussy-power to get her way. Once she has you convinced that giving you a lick at it makes you OBLIGATED to her, you're stuck like a bug in a spider's web.
3) Yeah, yeah. All men think with their dicks. I'm not going to argue that point, because it's true. But if you don't believe that wimmen think with their pussies, you're outta your mind.
4) If you think wimmen don't get together and talk about dicks and how good you are in bed, you're outta your mind again. They are just as horny as any man I've ever known, and they COMPARE NOTES when they get laid. I got laid a LOT by doing a good job on a woman who told her friends about it.
5) Don't take anything a woman does as personal. She'll cut ANYBODY's throat as fast as she cut yours. That's just the way most of 'em are built.
6) They are ALL crazy--- it's just a matter of degree. No man can ever win an argument by pointing out crazy behavior on the woman's part, because SHE doesn't think it's crazy. She just gets pissed off at YOU and gets crazier to prove her point, whatever the hell that was. Oh, yeah. That was to prove that she ISN'T crazy-- YOU are.
7) No woman I've ever know is happy with the way she looks. That insecurity breeds a very sensitive bunch of tentacles that spread out and detect insults, even when none are there. Don't EVER tell one that her ass looks fat in that dress. And you WILL be asked.
8) Forget teaching Ebonics in school. If some educator could set up a legitimate course in "Wimmentalk," I'd sign up and take it tomorrow. Wimmen speak in code. They expect a man to UNDERSTAND IT, too, even though they never bother to translate.
9) If pussy were so fricking precious, it wouldn't be available on the open market. You can buy it just like fresh watermelons off the back of a farmer's truck. And if you negotiate a good deal, you can buy it almost as cheaply. It ain't gold-plated, guys--- never forget that fact. And don't let a woman ever convince you otherwise, either.
10) DON'T EVER GET MARRIED!!!! I once worked with a guy who said, right before I married my first wife, "If you find the right one, there's nothing like it. Of course if you marry the WRONG one, there's nothing like THAT, either." He was correct, and in my dotage now, I say the risk isn't worth the cost.
Now. THAT post should piss some people off.
The young mockingbirds that grew up in my back yard are old enough now to start flying around and feeding on their own. Mama and Daddy mocks still hang around to teach the youngun's, but they're kinda backing off now to allow the little birds to fend for themselves.
I find that a beautiful sight to see.
I am called a "cat-killer" by certain trolls, but I've never killed a cat on purpose in my life. I've hit a few on the road, but I'll be damned if I'll put my car in a ditch and risk my own life to keep from hitting a fucking CAT in the road. If someone allegedly "loved" that cat, they wouldn't have allowed it to be standing in the road at night.
Those birds I see today would not be alive if I HAD NOT popped a cat out of that tree when I saw the sumbitch climbing to eat them. I didn't KILL the cat (I know now that I SHOULD have. If I'm going to be called a "cat-killer," I should at least EARN that reputation.), but I did run it out of that tree.
And I have birds to show for that action today. "Animal Cruelty" to ME, would have been letting that cat eat those young birds.
July 20, 2005
quote of the day
I'll let this one speak for itself:
"I sure hope I take after my dad's side of the family when I get older."
Those words may not mean anything to YOU, but they mean a lot to ME. For a long time, I thought that girl hated me. She doesn't anymore. I don't claim to be perfect (Bejus knows, I ain't) but I always wanted Sam to grow up straight and turn out well. For a while, I thought I was doomed to failure. I was ready to throw in the towel and give up.
But she's headed in the right direction now. Time heals a lot of old wounds.
And I am delighted that she doesn't hate me anymore.
one fucked-up movie
If I had to pick one of the most disgusting, addle-brained pieces of pure tripe I've seen on film in my life, Thelma and Louise would most assuredly rank in the Top Five. That movie has EVERYTHING that I hate about wimmen in it, and it slathers it on like syrup on pancakes, as if dingbattery, fuckwittery, criminality, assholery and all-around bitchiness are attributes to be ADMIRED instead of deplored.
Just watch that movie and think about the theme. I'll never understand why it was such a big hit. The two wimmen together don't have a brain between them, and every bit of trouble they have, they bring on themselves by being complete assholes.
But they are "heroes" somehow. Bejus! I know better heroes who work at the Waffle House in Guyton, Georgia. At least they show up for work and bring home a paycheck every week.
Plus, I REALLY like the scene where they shoot out the trucker's tires from 50 yards away and ignite his rig with a couple of pistols. Yeah, right. I am Woman; Hear me ROAR!
That's one hell of a shooting exhibition for a couple of winged dingbats who never held a pistol before. In reality, one of them probably would have shot the other (by "accident") after missing the entire truck with everything but the last bullet, at which time one turns to the other and asks, "What am I doing wrong?" with the pistol pointed at the other person's chest.
KAPOW!!! "Oh, Lordy, Louise! I didn't MEAN to do that! Are you okay?"
My aching ass. That movie makes me want to puke.
think it's worth anything?
Samantha and Stacey brought me something THEY picked up when they were sorting through my Mama's attic. It's the first guitar I ever owned.
It is a GENUINE, vintange 1955, Mickey Mouse "Mouseguitar." The decal of Mickey and his ears on the front peeled off long ago, and I believe that the thing once had a crank on the side to play some music-box tunes. That's gone, too, but otherwise that sucker is in pretty good shape.
You know what else is in that attic? A genunine Howdy-Doody doll, circa 1953. I decided to fist-fight Howdy one day when I was very young, and I musta won the fight, because his mouth isn't quite what it's supposed to be. But how often do you see THOSE things anymore?
I'm not looking forward to collecting those items, but I may actually bring back a lot of memories when I do it. And those are GOOD memories.
I always remember being happy as a child.
a true story
You can read something about it here, but I'll tell the the full story now. I went out to eat with my first ex-wife, Recondo 32 and Georgia. Everybody started drinking heavily and I had to go to work on day shift the next morning. I knew better than to hang around long with that crowd.
So, I gave the car keys to my darling wife (who NEVER held a job after Samantha was born) and told her that I was taking a cab home. I hopped one, went home and climbed into bed.
Sometime around midnight, I was awakened by the sound of shattering glass. I grabbed a rifle and ran to the living room fully intent on shooting the thief trying to break into my house.
But it wasn't a thief. It was my first ex-wife, drunk as a fucking worm, breaking windows with a broomstick she found on the front porch. She resembled a drug-crazed maniac at the time. Plus, she was breaking glass at the BOTTOM of the window, far away from where the lock was.
I opened the door and asked (as calmly as I could at the time) "Debbie, just what in the FUCK are you doing?" She looked at me stunned.
"You ran off and left me on River Street. I had to get a ride home with Rick and Georgia, and then you locked me out of the house!!! Your car wasn't here, so I thought you were still gone. How ELSE was I supposed to get inside???"
I suggested that she check her pockets. Sure enough, there were the car keys and a key to the house. She "forgot" that she had them. She ALSO forgot to bring my car home, so I had no way to get to work in the morning. I had to call a friend to get a ride to work and THEN a ride to River Street to retrieve my car the next afternoon.
Then, I had to replace all the window panes she broke.
Yeah. I was married to that dingbat for five years. I sure can pick 'em, can't I?
Where the hell did this link come from? I am stunned.
Any publicity is GOOD publicity, but I write about more than "ass" sometimes. I think this blogger is a sick fuck. Maybe he should clamp his mouth on MY Cracker ass.
What the hell. I'm the #1 link, so I suppose that's a good thing, in a perverted kind of way...
I don't know diddly-squat about this guy. I don't think many other people do, either.
I also believe that his "stealth" character is why Bush nominated him for the Supreme Court. Ever since Robert Bork, the problem with nominating a Supreme Court judge has NOT been about selecting the most qualified candidate--- it's about finding someone that Democrats can't roast on a slow-turning spit.
That bullshit really does a lot to make the country a better place. That's EXACTLY why David Souter is on the bench. If THAT'S the only kind of person who can be confirmed today, we're in deep shit as a nation. Thank you, politicians.
Bejus! This "confirmation" process is gonna be a complete circus, with all the usual clowns involved. Just wait and see.
this upsets me
Every time I read a story such as this one, I become depressed. I simply cannot understand it.
Don't get me wrong--- I KNOW that kids are sadistic little shits. Hell, I fired toads out of potato guns when I was young (very impressive to watch, but not so good for the toad) and I used fire-ant mounds as a torture device on many an occasion, when I caught something I just wanted to see the ants eat alive.
I also fought my brother tooth-and-nail, and he still has stitch-scars on his head from some of those battles. But I never intended to KILL him.
I've read East of Eden and I've seen the movie "The Bad Seed." I'm starting to realize that some people in this world are EVIL and SAVAGE from the day they are born. What kind of person does it take to whack an infant in the head with a two-by-four? It takes one sick fucker, that's what.
I don't believe we should make excuses for such people. They need to be removed from society and kept in a place where they cannot harm anyone else. Turn them loose again, and they'll kill somebody else. That's just how they are built.
I knew right from wrong when I was seven years old. Why didn't this little shitass?
July 19, 2005
I just sent my brother an email. I'll call him this evening just to make sure he's available. I want to pick up all the stuff from Mama's house this weekend, but I would like to have him with me when we do it.
My brother and I aren't "best friends," and we don't run in the same circles of company. He has his life and I have mine. It's always been that way. But there is NOBODY I trust more in this world than him, even if he IS an attorney.
Some of that stuff is marked with who is supposed to get it, but some of it isn't. My brother and I can decide, without fisticuffs or lawsuits, about what should go where. I want him there with me.
If I end up sitting on the floor and crying, he'll probably be right beside me, doing the same thing. That's okay.
One of the foods on my list of things I can eat as much of as I want anymore is watermelon. I've LOVED watermelon all my life, so I thought eating all I wanted was a good thing.
The first time I went to the grocery store, Kroger's had a bin full of "seedless" melons. I know you've seen them before. They don't even LOOK like a proper watermelon. They are round, slightly smaller than a basketball, and they may as well be packed with wet newspaper as watermelon meat.
They don't taste like ANYTHING. And they aren't "seedless," either. They are chock full of little white seeds that never grew up. They remind me of what you see when you slice an over-ripe cucumber. Some got-dam yankee must have created those things. They are an abomination.
I bought two REAL watermelons yesterday. I mean the elongated, Georgia-grown, field-ripened, seed-filled specimens I grew up eating. The guy selling them off the back of his truck wanted $3.00 apiece for them, and I asked for a taste before I bought one. He cut me a nice wedge and I ate it right there on the side of the road.
Juice ran down my forearms and the melon was delicious. I offered him $4.00 for TWO of them and we agreed on a deal. He helped me load my purchase in my car.
I cut one of 'em today, and it's as good as any melon I ever tasted. It's ripe to PERFECTION, so that when you start to slice it, the melon almost rips itself in half with a sound like somebody ripping up linoleum from an old kitchen floor. (And I cut it LENGTHWISE, too!) BEJUS! That's what a watermelon is supposed to be.
It's seedy, but it's also sweet, juicy and GOOD. I've decided something now. Keep your "seedless" watermelon, you damn yankee wimp.
Give me the real thing any day.
I started to blog about this incredibly idiotic story yesterday, but I never could get the link to load right. Maybe I needed an Ebonics password to make it work.
Without a doubt, everybody even REMOTELY connected with this gigantic brain-fart needs to be dragged off and shot.
Incorporating Ebonics into a new school policy that targets black students, the lowest-achieving group in the San Bernardino City Unified School District, may provide students a more well-rounded curriculum, said a local sociologist.
So... solve that problem by NOT teaching them to read and write. BRILLIANT!!! Unless these same
I've ranted on this subject more than once. The most precious gift you can give a child is a good education. AT LEAST teach them to read and write ENGLISH, fer Chrissake! What are these bullshit artists thinking?
"Ebonics is a different language, it's not slang as many believe,' Texeira said. "For many of these students Ebonics is their language, and it should be considered a foreign language. These students should be taught like other students who speak a foreign language.'
Yeah, right. They ALSO draw a much larger paycheck when they grow up knowing how to speak the language of business and industry, which is ENGLISH.
Sweet Bejus! Why don't you just tie a 50-pound anchor around a kid's neck, throw him into deep water and say that you're "teaching him to swim?" That's EXACTLY what these fools are doing.
When I worked at the chemical plant, I caught a lot of flack and snide comments from engineers and chemists who wondered why I made more money than they did, and why I told THEM what to do, when all I had was a lousy degree in English literature, while THEY were engineers and chemists. The answer was simple to me.
First, I had one hell of a lot more experience than they did. I knew my shit, and that stuff isn't taught in college. Second, I impressed a lot of people with the way I communicated.
In a business environment, especially today, you'll often NEVER see the person on the other end of a business letter or an email, and they'll never see YOU, either. The only impression they have of you comes from the words you put on paper.
Write like an uneducated idiot and that's the impression you make. Write well, and people think you just MIGHT have something on the ball. Write in Ebonics and NOBODY is going to give you the time of day.
Why would ANYBODY lay that kind of curse on children?
i noticed the same thing
It's nice to know that I wasn't the only one who saw a pattern in the Drudge Report today. Bejus! It's more of that "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!" bullshit.
(The post provides another good link to here, which has much in common with what I believe.)
Maybe it's because I've lived in the Deep South most of my life and I'm accustomed to hot weather. Maybe it's because I've read enough history to know that the climate is ALWAYS changing and "climate" is not the same thing as "weather." Maybe it's because I'm a natural skeptic and some of that global-warming nonsense just sets off my bullshit detector.
Maybe it's because I believe that man is a VERY adaptable creature and is able to cope with whatever "change" Mother Nature throws at him. Shit! Just look at where people live RIGHT NOW--- from the equator to the North Pole, and the climate certainly is different between those places.
I think the whole global warming thing is a crock.
I've been to Costa Rica three times now, and I've spent a grand total of 31 days there. I'm going back again next month for at least ten days and maybe longer, depending on how I feel and what I run into. I really like that place.
I received this email today:
On my trips to Costa Rica, I've been pretty much all over the country, from both coasts to both borders. I know what I like, but I hesitate to recommend anything to anybody I don't know. What I like might not please you.
My two favorite places in Costa Rica are Jaco Beach and La Fortuna. Jaco is pretty laid-back, with beautiful Pacific water and surf, and you can find some really good food there. Plus, Jaco is more of a "live cheap" destination than places such as Tamarindo or Manuel Antonio.
La Fortuna is beautiful, right at the foot of the Arenal volcano. That sumbitch shook me out of bed at 3:00 AM the first time I was there. That's ALSO where I was mugged by a mango in total darkness after a night of singing Spanish karioke in a local bar.
The difference between Jaco and La Fortuna is like the difference between south Georgia and north Georgia. One is the beach, and the other is up in the mountains. BOTH are wonderful places.
If you visit the Caribbean side, you're entering "hippie heaven." The beaches are okay and the people are great, but you might not have hot water in your motel room. Of course, you can find a place to stay that's clean and decent for $5.00 a night there. And if you want to buy any kind of dope known to man, that's the place to do it.
I recommend that everybody spend a day or so in San Jose, just to walk through the market area in the morning when it first opens. That's quite a sight to see, and the noise is glorious. But I wouldn't stay there long. Get out of there and see the rest of the country.
Almost every town I visited had Spanish classes offered. I don't want to spend my time in Costa Rica sitting in a classroom, so I bought a phrase book, refreshed some of the Spanish I learned in college and spent a lot of time taking "lessons" from cab-drivers and bartenders.
I suggest you ask this guy for more information. He knows more about Costa Rica than I do, although I am determined to catch up with him some day.
Just go. Wherever you end up, you won't regret it.
i've got a way with the ladies...
What can I say? wimmen love me! I think it's my animal magnetism, my sparkling personality and my bubbling wit, combined with pure ignorance on their part, but it's a fact.
Even the young ones feel it.
people call me a chauvinist pig
If she's got permalinks on her blog, I can't figure out how to find them. So, just visit and scroll down to Friday's post. Heh.
Yeah, I like Irish wimmen, too.
Recondo 32 and his lovely wife Georgia are somewhere between here and Beliz right now--- if they didn't get their throats cut by Mexican banditos and if the "Belizmobile" is still running. (That's another $500 vehicle that Recondo bought and "fixed up.") They picked a great time to drive through Mexico.
I'll wager that those Mexican roads are really nice after Hurricane Emily watered them down.
July 18, 2005
quote of the day
I don't need to elaborate on this one.
"Am I the only one who thinks watching the sad spectacle of the Democrats continuing to pimp the deflated Valerie Plame "scandal" is like watching a dog lick its own butt?
No, steve h., you're NOT the only one.
Hooray! I'm an official asshole and I have been named cruel site of the day!!!
Thank you. Thank you VERY much, ladies and gentlemen. I'll try to keep up the good work.
something I have to do
I've been putting it off for a while now, but it's time for me to act. Sometime this week, I'm taking my truck over to Mama's house and picking up all the stuff she left for me. I'm tired of my relatives telling me to come get it.
I'm a hard-ass about a lot of things, but I didn't trust myself to go through that stuff without breaking down. Mama KNEW that she was dying, and she got all her shit in one sock before she became too weak to do so. She divided up a lot of things and packed them in boxes and bags with my name, my brother's name, Samantha's name and even Quinton's name on them.
Most of that stuff is worthless to anyone else, but it meant a lot to Mama and it means a lot to me. I just have trouble looking at those things and wondering what Mama was thinking when she packed it all up for us.
I dunno. Maybe I'm thinking subconsciously that as long as I DON'T go get that stuff, she's not really dead.
One of the last things she said to me was that she had a GREAT life and she had no regrets. A lot of that great life is packed in those boxes and bags--- memories, more than anything else. She wanted me to have that stuff and I'm going to get it. I've put it off long enough.
I also have free range in my father's workshop. He owned a lot of really good tools that have been gathering dust since he died. My brother has no use for them, but I just might knock the dust off them some fine day. I KNOW how to work them (Dad FORCED me to learn how)and I don't want to give them away or see a bunch of garage-sale people walk off with them.
Hell--- he probably had $1,000 worth of nails, nuts, bolts and other hardware out there. Besides, you never can tell when I might want to use a good miter-saw one of these days. I guess I'll take that stuff, too.
But damn! It ain't something I'm anxious to do, and I feel almost ghoulish thinking about it. I also don't want anybody else around when I collect that "loot," either. If I want to sit down on the floor and cry while I'm doing it, I want to cry alone.
This isn't going to be easy for me.
violates my "kiss" theory
KISS--- "Keep It Simple, Stupid."
This is one of my favorite blogs and I read it every day. But I gave up on commenting a long time ago. I ain't registering with a password and opening an "account" to do that. I won't read a farking newspaper on-line if I have to register to do it. I don't LINK to anything that requires registration.
Call it a personal quirk, but that's the way I am.
Plus, this crap is WAAAAY too complicated for MY Cracker ass.
With the upgrade to the new version of Expression Engine, members can now upload avatars here. We’re displaying avatars (not signature pictures) and your custom signature below your comments on the Rant.
Huh? Once I hit that "upload" and "uncheck" crap, I quit right there. BEJUS!!! I'm not trying to storm your castle, plunder your wealth and kidnap your children. I just MIGHT like to leave a comment once in a while. I like the way BOTH of you write.
I shouldn't need a got-dam siege engine and a battering ram to do that.
With a little help from a few (very GOOD) friends, I got the spam out of my comments and I try to leave the door open for anyone who wants to come inside. (Including the trolls) Enter your name once, and my comments remember you. Come and go as you please.
Kim, you make my life difficult. I've got a lot of things I would like to discuss with you and Connie, (try guns, politics and Texas for starters) but I'm not going to crawl through barbed wire to do it.
I believe in the KISS theory.
damn good post
Too many people can't put a got-dam thing into perspective today. Shark attacks and hurricanes dominate the news and the "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!" mentality seems to make people piss their pants and quake in their boots. We're all becoming pussies. I'm sick of such crap.
Just go read this post. THERE'S your got-dam "risk" for you.
If you consider that there have been an average of 160,000 troops in the Iraq theater of operations during the last 22 months, and a total of about 2,000 deaths, that gives a firearm death rate of 60 per 100,000.
Obviously, the solution to THAT problem is MORE GUN CONTROL!!! It cuts down on "risk," don'tcha know.
My aching ass. When people run a lower risk of getting shot in WAR than they do on the streets of our nation's capitol, somebody needs to wake up and smell the coffee. But that ain't gonna happen.
It's too late for that now. Leftists NEVER admit that their ideas don't work. They always believe that the idea was GREAT--- they just didn't spend enough money or pass enough law to bring on the Grand Nirvana of their dreams.
riding on a plane
The first time I rode on an airplane, I enjoyed the hell out of it. I ended up with a flattened nose from looking out the window all the way from Savannah to St. Louis. I couldn't WAIT for the flight back home. I thought flying was fun, fun, fun.
I DO NOT think that way anymore. Since that day many years ago, I've hopped many an airplane, and today I call them "Greyhound Buses With Wings." That's about what they are.
The seats (at least in coach) are uncomfortable, the "food" isn't fit for a dog to eat and your "flight attendants" are as surly and rude as a got-dam bouncer in a cheap whorehouse. Plus, I always end up sitting next to some grossly overweight person who laps over into my seat and treats me with the aroma of too much cheap cologne and horrible flatulence. (But the "NO SMOKING" sign is always lit.)
Still... sometimes you've gotta travel that way. You just can't drive everywhere you need (or want) to go.
I have suffered this kind of misery before. I feel his pain. And he didn't even START on the ridiculous "security" shit you have to go through now to board an airplane, even when it IS running on time.
Airports suck. The bars serve overpriced drinks, most of the places are laid out as if the designer INTENDED to get you lost, and I'm sick and tired of taking my fucking shoes off to walk through the metal detector at the boarding gate.
The next time a 53 year-old Jawja Cracker named Rob Smith declares Jihad on the United States and commits a terrorist act, I'll start to believe that this shit is practical and necessary. Until then, I'll continue to call bullshit on it and resent like hell being treated that way. No wonder airlines are going bankrupt left and right.
I'm going back to Costa Rica next month. If I could swim that far, I swear to Bejus I WOULD, rather than ride another airplane.
This guy has a shitty attitude. I happen to LIKE shitty attitudes. I wish more people had them, especially around election time.
We wouldn't be the mewling sheelple we've become today if more people stayed pissed off all the time.
Mommie told me a good story that I never heard before yesterday. My grandfather, when he was a young rounder, decided that he was going to kill a man. (He had a good reason for that plan.) He owned shotguns and rifles, but he wanted a pistol--- something that he could stick in his pocket and carry without the bad guy seeing it.
He bought a .32 revolver from a fellow moonshiner, who demanded a CHECK for the sale of the gun. Not many people in the hollows of eastern Kentucky HAD checking accounts back then, but my grandfather did, although his balance was usually about $2.00 after his charges at the company store were deducted from his paycheck.
He wrote a check for that pistol, then went looking for the bad guy. (That was sometime around 1935--- no telling how old the gun is.)
The reason the seller wanted a check was because he KNEW what my grandfather intended to do, and he didn't want to be connected with a murder. He wanted proof that he SOLD the pistol if it were used to kill somebody.
Luckily for all concerned, the law caught the guy before my grandfather did. The bad guy was sent back to the "pen" (he was out on parole at the time) and my grandfather kept that pistol until the day he died. I don't think he ever shot at anybody with it, but I remember seeing it around Mommie and Papaw's house when I was a young boy.
Mommie gave that pistol to my cousin Alan, who is a cop in Florida. (He just made Captain, by the way!) I told Mommie yesterday that I wish she had given it to me, because I might have framed that sucker and hung it on my wall as a family heirloom. After all, I AM her first grandchild.
She said that she gave it to Alan because she knew that he collected guns and he might need it in his line of work. I doubt that Alan would EVER use an ancient .32 in a gunfight (he's got a SERIOUS arsenal), but the pistol is in good hands. He'll take care of it.
But I've already put out the word. If Alan ever wants to sell it, I get first dibs on it.
a different language
Wimmen often say one thing and mean another. It's some kind of hormonal thing and men really need to learn to translate what wimmen SAY into what they MEAN, or the dog-house of divorce court may be a future destination. Here's a good example:
1. Yes = No 2. No = Yes 3. Maybe = No 4. We need = I want... 5. I am sorry = You'll be sorry 6. We need to talk = You're in trouble. 7. Sure, go ahead = You'd better not. 8. Do what you want = You will pay for this later. 9. I am not upset = Of course I am upset, you moron! 10. You're certainly attentive tonight = Is sex all you ever think about?
I've learned to speak passable Spanish. But I'll NEVER become fluent in wimmentalk. It's a language men are not MEANT to understand.
(List shamlessly stolen from here.)
I LIKE to go fishing. Whether it be from the creekbank, in a boat or from the surf, it's something I enjoy doing. I don't consider myself to be an expert at it, but I've caught my fair share of fish.
Deep sea fishing is a real hoot. If you haul up a fish around the Snapper Banks off the coast of Georgia, you're gonna have something BIG on your line. I've hooked Red Snapper, Grouper, Trigger, Dolphin (the FISH--- not "Flipper), Tuna, Barracuda, Shark, Amberjack and all sorts of other intriguing critters out there.
Heh. Get a good-sized sting ray to bite and that bastard will wear you out before you drag him up to the boat. Feels like you've got Moby Dick on your line. I usually throw them back, but I kept one once and tried what somebody told me I could do. Skin him, and cut the meat into small cubes. Tastes just like scallops.
My friend was correct. That ray DID taste just like scallops.
I like fishing for bream, too. That's a good excuse to sit on the bank of a river, drink beer and snooze until you start getting a few hits. I've lucked-up and found them "bedding" before and caught fish as fast as I could re-bait my hook and get it back in the water. That's a lot of fun.
Bream are boney fish and some people I know don't like to eat them. I do. They are a pain in the ass to clean, but pan-fried, I think they are delicious. I like to eat fish.
If you have a young boy in your life, do him a big favor. Take him fishing. He'll never forget the lessons you teach him and it's something he can do for the rest of his life.
And it's a lot of fun, too.
(UPDATE: Black sea bass are as good as any fish I've ever tasted and if you ever get into a school of them, you can catch a BUNCH. I never much cared for salt-water trout. Flounder are more fun to catch if you gig them in a creek at night.)
i should be very healthy
I've never understood the wisdom in making up a bed every day. You're just going to mess it up again in about 16 hours. So, I take the logical approach and seldom make my bed.
Now, thanks to new scientific research, I discover that I am NOT an unkempt slob. I am health-conscious.
The average bed can be home to as many as 1.5 million house dust mites, and when a bed is made up, it traps moisture in the sheets and mattress--ideal conditions for those mites. But the bugs apparently have a harder time surviving in the drier conditions of an unmade bed, reports the BBC News.
Now, if another group of enterprising scientists can "prove" that having a sink full of dirty dishes is a healthy thing, I ought to live forever.
July 17, 2005
Evidently, I'm not the only one who occasionally feeds a troll. The lure is irresitable.
It's like watching a monkey fuck a football--- senseless, but amusing as hell.
How many of you people actually KNOW how to make genuine Southern iced tea? I do, and I'm thinking seriously about submitting my formula to next week's Carnival of the Recipes.
Lawd knows, a LOT of people DON'T know how.
why i pay cash
I chuckled when I read this post. Politicians always TALK about creating jobs and boosting the economy while they constantly pass laws to make that sort of success as difficult as possible.
Try to open a bar and see how many asses you have to kiss, how many licenses you have to buy and how many palms you have to grease just to get started. THEN see how many regulations you must comply with once you've jumped through THOSE hoops. It's ridiculous.
I am PART of the "underground ecomony" in this nation today, and I'm PROUD of that fact. I pay my neighbor's daughter to cut my grass. I pay her in cash and NO taxes are paid on what she earns.
I know a good shade-tree mechanic who occasionally does work on one of my vehicles that I don't have the tools to do. I pay HIM in cash, and the government never sees a dime in taxes on THAT, either.
I once had my house painted and paid cash for that, too. Government never got a finger in that pie.
Is that stuff illegal? Maybe so, by the rules of the federal government. But the guy who painted my house did a damn fine job for $1,500 (I bought the paint, so the total was about $2,000) but the lowest-bidding LICENCED contractor wanted $5,000 for the same job. Some of those guys wanted $10,000 to do it!
What was the difference? Federal regulation and taxes. I gave my painter fifteen $100 bills and he (and his helper) walked away happy men. I was happy with the job they did. Uncle Sam never got a cut of that action.
I'm all FOR the underground economy. If love of money is the root of all evil, then government is evil. That's just one more reason why I believe that John McCain is a flaming asshole.
You want to get money out of politics? Then get the government out of everything we do.
(By the way... if you work for the IRS, everything I just wrote is complete bullshit. I made it all up.)
She was feeling depressed today.
She's 94 years old and has already outlived her husband and two of her children. She worries about ME now. I wish that she wouldn't.
She's going blind from macular degeneration but she can still get around on her own. I went outside to smoke a cigarette today and she wanted to come outside with me, in the blistering Georgia heat. I told her to get back inside, that I'd be there in a minute, and she told me not to sass her.
That's my Mommie. She don't put up with NO sass, from NOBODY--- not even a copperhead snake. She insisted that I finish my cigarette before I went back inside, too. I put it out and told her that I was done with it. She couldn't see it anyway.
As we were talking, she said something that disturbed me. "I'm such a burden on everybody today. I can't go to the store, I can't go to the doctor, I can't do ANYTHING anymore without somebody's help. Sometimes I wish that I could just go to sleep and not wake up."
I grabbed her and hugged her (gently, because she is a small, frail woman now--- Bejus, but I remember when she was a BIG, strong farm-wife!) "Don't even think that way, Mommie," I told her. "Too many people love you."
And that's the truth. I am one of those people.
the southern test
I learned this lesson the hard way. I took a car trip from Tacoma, Washington to Savannah, Georgia. That trip was quite an education.
I rode with Recondo 32 and we stayed on the back roads and saw just about every small town on the map along the way. While out west and in the midwest, we ate at small diners when we saw a bunch of pickup trucks in the parking lot around lunchtime. The food usually was very good. But if you ordered iced tea, it sucked. Weak, watery cat-piss.
We didn't find a damn place that knew how to cook grits for breakfast, either. Washington State, at least around the Seattle-Tacoma area, is filled with yuppie, leftist pricks, by and large. They've got an espresso shop on every corner and "NO SMOKING" signs everywhere.
The eastern part of the state might be somewhere I could live. But they don't know how to make grits or iced tea there, either.
Montana is stunningly beautiful. I've never seen such wonderous landscape before in my life. The people are friendly (except for that funny accent they have) and they know how to cook a BIG steak. But they can't make grits or iced tea for shit.
You can lump Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri, Indiana and Illinois into one bowl. Lots of corn, but not much else. At least ONE hostile policeman we were unfortunate enough to encounter. And THEY don't know how to cook grits or make iced tea, either.
After five days on the road, we stopped in Lexington, Kentucky to spend the night. A Cracker Barrel Restaurant was right across the street from the motel. We went there to eat and ordered iced tea while we perused the menu.
The tea came Southern Style, in a glass big enough to drown a horse and sweet enough to kill a diabetic. Recondo took one sip and said, "GOT-DAM! We're back Down South again!" I echoed his comments.
It felt and tasted good to be back home. The iced tea (and the side order of grits I had with my meal of country-fried steak, okra and tomatoes and collard greens) made the difference. I wouldn't call Lexington a TRULY Southern town, but they know how to make iced tea and grits.
I am convinced that you can't find that stuff worth a damn outside the South.
quote of the day
Let's get one thing straight--- I LIKE Texas (and most Texans I've met). The people are friendly, the wimmen are beautiful and they have GREAT food. Hell, they probably know how to chicken-fry a dog turd and make it taste good.
I just don't believe that Texas is a truly Southern state. That's NOT an insult--- it's just an observation. Texas is... well, TEXAS... and there's not another place like it in the United States.
Yeah, a lot of Southerners migrated there and kicked Santa Anna's ass when he got too uppity. Texas joined the right side in the War of Northern Aggression and fought bravely. Did I already mention that the wimmen are BEAUTIFUL? Texas has Southern roots, but it evolved into its own self over time.
"Anyway, you Crackers can call yourselves whatever you want -- you'd still rather associate with Texans than with Noo Yawkers."
Damn right! In my several trips to Texas, I noticed two things (other than the BEAUTIFUL wimmen)--- #1) Texans look you in the eye when they speak to you. #2) If you're NOT from Texas, they don't treat you as if you had a contagious disease.
That's called GOOD MANNERS, which I've found to be sorely lacking in some parts of Yankee-land. Give me Texas (anywhere in Texas) over Cincinatti any day.
Texans appreciate firearms, too, which is a worthy Southern attribute. But it's NOT really a Southern state.
words that chap my cracker ass
I've ranted before about the Orwellian state of our language today. We've come to believe, like a bunch of sheeple, that it's not WHAT you say that matters--- it's HOW you say it. Try these:
1) "Insurgent." That's a got-dam terrorist who is at war with nothing else than civilization. Call his nasty ass what he (or she) really is.
2) "Pro-Choice." That's someone who wants abortion used as birth control. I think "Anti-Pregnancy" would be a better description.
3) "Pre-Owned Cars." Those are USED CARS, people.
4) "Diversity." That means losing your fucking mind, accepting reverse discrimination and believing (somehow) that Balkanizing the United States is a good thing.
5) "Moderate." That's a politician who lacks the balls or the spine to stand for ANYTHING except reelection. It's also any politician who isn't left of Ted Kennedy. Reporters love such people.
6) "Sexual Harassment." THAT was a brilliant idea to put into law. "The Right of Total Neurotics to Sue the Shit out of Somebody" is a more accurate description.
7) "Racism." That's probably the most abused word in the English language today. What it means now is, "I'm Black and you disagree with me."
8) "Profiling." What the hell is WRONG with that? The Savannah Morning News went through a spasm of Political Correctness a few years ago, when they wouldn't mention a crime perp's RACE for fear of offending the Black community. "The murderer, rapist and thief was a young man, about 6' tall and weighing approximately 200 pounds." You couldn't say that he was BLACK, even though everybody knew that he was. Sad but true: Black people commit most of the crimes in Savannah.
9) "Abuse." My aching ass. We have leftist shit-kabobs pissing all over themselves about Koran desecration and how we're mistreating prisoners at Gitmo. I'll guarantee that not a one of those whinebags ever played football for a tough coach. Plus, what a lot of government officials call "child abuse" today was called a good, old-fashioned ass-whuppin' when I was a boy. NOT being nice is NOT the same thing as "abuse."
10) "Compassion." Gag me. Then, feel MY pain. Compassion is the new code word government uses to take away more of your rights and turn you into a sheeple. They're doing it FOR YOUR OWN GOOD! Because they CARE! Taking MY money, which I worked for, and giving it away to someone else, who DIDN'T work for it is "compassion." Fuck me dead. I can do without that kind of help.
Okay, that's my morning rant. I'm going to visit my grandmother, who is 94 years old and still knows right from wrong.
July 16, 2005
my blog, my choice
I'm sending my box of fabulous prizes to someone who has been a faithful reader for a long time. Some crooks are trying to steal the purse and I won't have that. I don't care if she was #2,000,000 or not. She was close enough to suit me.
I'm not going to announce her name, but I'll let her know that she won. If she doesn't want the cigars, I hope she says so before I send them. I KNOW that she wants the guitar and some of my hootch. That's good enough for me.
She'll get a couple of bumper stickers, too.
SPEAKING OF WHICH--- I ran out of stamps today (I paid my bills and sent off about 30 bumper stickers) and forgot to get some more when I was out tooling around. (I DID buy a box of 9mm pistol ammo, but I didn't get any stamps. Shows you where MY priorities are.) I'll get stamps on Monday. Hell--- I may need to buy some more envelopes, too.
I still have more bumper stickers, and if you asked for one, I'll send you one until I run out. Just be patient. It ain't like I'm being PAID to do this.
I've said it before
Texas is NOT a Southern state. Texas is Texas, and that's entirely different.
Hell--- I agree with Recondo 32. "Anything north of Charleston and west of the Mississippi River ain't Southern."
Here's someone else who agrees.
She's back blogging again, this time with a decent host. Kelley, I don't think you will be disappointed.
And I like the way you write. Hell--- I like the way you LOOK and SING and DRINK and light up a room. If you ever get tired of your old man, let me know. I may come courting and sparking.
Welcome back, darlin.' You've GOT to show me more than just a glimpse of cleavage some fine day.
I wonder how often this happens. I had a friend who died in a car crash several years ago, and without knowing for certain, I would bet that he did it on purpose. He just ran off the road at very high speed and crashed into a tree.
All by himself. On a lonely road with nobody else around.
A lot of people who knew him said that he was probably drunk and fell asleep at the wheel. Maybe so. But I still think he knew exactly what he was doing.
At least he didn't take anybody else with him.
this is the difference
I am sick and tired of leftists who try to excuse the behavior of Islamist splodey-dopes. here is the difference between us and them. And if you can't see that, you are one fucked-up individual.
Yeah. Go after Karl Rove. And kiss my Cracker ass while you're at it.
my little leftist troll
I'm starting to like PJ. Did you ever go to a zoo and watch monkeys screech, masturbate and fling feces? It's an amusing show as long as you're standing behind a plate of plexiglass. PJ reminds me a lot of one of those monkeys.
"I've fired a lot of people in my life. In fact, I did it to one person while his wife went into labor in the company parking lot." -Acidman
That's an example of compassionate leftism for you. Plus, I like the way he describes the guy I fired that day as a "poor bastard." I'll tell you why that guy was fired. His attendance record sucked. He fucked off constantly on the job. I documented all of that stuff (wrote him up twice and suspended him once) and then caught him asleep at his desk at 6:00 in the evening. He had falsified his production log sheets all the way to the end of the shift. He also smelled strongly of liquor.
THAT'S why the "poor bastard" got fired. I would think that if he really gave a shit about his wife and child, he wouldn't have done such a thing. But I'm not a leftist. I'm just not that "compassionate." I fired his worthless ass and replaced him with someone who WANTED the job and did it the right way.
And PJ, if you think you sting me with bullshit about how I got "fired," you are sorely mistaken. I walked away with more money than I can ever spend. I'm 53 years old and I'll never have to work another day in my life unless I WANT to. EVERYBODY should get "fired" like that.
Oh, you've got me on the wife and son thing. But you're welcome to my bloodless cunt ex-wife. She's good-looking on the outside, but totally rotten on the inside. Vicious, cruel and a complete shitass.
The two of you have a lot in common.
looks like a winner
I had to shrink the picture to make it fit the page, but that's my 2,000,000th visitor right there.
If he'll send me his address, I'll send him a box full of fabulous prizes.
Recondo 32 and his lovely wife Georgia are DRIVING to Beliz right now. They picked a great time to go.
If the Mexican banditos don't get them, the hurricane might.
July 15, 2005
late night rant
I am a LIBERAL in the true sense of that word. I believe with all my heart in the freedom of the INDIVIDUAL to set his own course in life and to handle his own affairs. I also believe that with such freedom comes RESPONSIBILITY. If you fuck up, you pay for it.
I am NOT a leftist. Leftists do not believe that ANY individual is capable of running his own life without government control and "compassionate" help. I strongly disagree. Get out of MY yard. Take your village and stick it up your ass. I don't need YOU to take care of me.
Just read THIS bunch of tripe:
What is a liberal? Acidman doesn't know shit about liberals and wouldn't tell the truth about them even if he did.
See? Leftists can't even explain what they THINK they "believe" coherently.
I have a very solid position on one idea. This world doesn't owe me a got-dam thing. Nothing is free. I love and trust people who EARNED that respect from me. I don't run around handing those kind of feelings out like alms. People who do, from "empathy" or whatever, make their alleged "love" absolutely worthless.
If you GIVE IT AWAY, how important is it, really?
I catch a lot of flack from loving leftists who call me cruel and nasty because of what I write. Fuck 'em. I PAY for this space myself and I can write whatever I want. But I defy ANYBODY to read my blog from end to end and find ONE POST that's as "nasty" as what leftists have to say REGULARLY in my comments.
Yeah. Hold hands and sing "Kumbaya." But you'd better do it OUR way, or we'll call you a racist and burn down your house and cut your tires and call you all sorts of nasty names because our hearts are so filled with LOVE.
Yeah, right. Leftists are filled with love. Except for when they hate people who don't think the "correct" way.
My house is filled with GUNS. I like that a lot better than leftist thinking.
gettin' close now
Y'all go away and don't bother me until tomorrow. I'm 700 visitors short of 2,000,000 and I ain't staying up all night to see who wins all my fabulous prizes.
I need my beauty sleep.
Mother Nature has been lifting her skirt, dancing like a drunken slut and really kicking up her heels for the past few days where I live. The mornings are bright, with lots of sunshine and clear blue skies. But the evenings are different.
VIOLENT thunderstorms, with lots of rain and tremendous lightning have rolled over the Crackerbox for four straight days. I've had my power knocked out during two of those episodes and I see the clouds building off to the west again. I hear distant thunder.
I think I'm getting another BOHICA--- Bend Over, Here It Comes Again.
not my idea of joy
I've fired a lot of people in my life. In fact, I did it to one person while his wife went into labor in the company parking lot.
I never liked doing it. But that was my job, so I did what needed to be done. I also agree with this quote:
... Actually I believe that I’ve never fired anyone. They fire themselves. They quit but just don’t realize it. If you tell your boss to fuck himself, it ’s the same as saying “I quit.” If you don’t show up for work or show up late, it says, “I quit.” The moment someone steals, it’s as if they say, “I quit!” Being fired is having the boss tell you that you quit. You were just too damn dumb to say it yourself.
When I once trained new supervisors, I used Matt Dillon on "Gunsmoke" as an example of what they might have to do. You make your "rounds" on the street with a hog-leg strapped to your hip. You never WANT to pull that gun, but you'll be left with no choice sometimes.
If you ever have to draw it, shoot to kill.
I did it, I taught others to do it, but I never enjoyed that part of my duty. I never liked seeing someone lose a good job, but they always fired themselves. All I did was compile the paperwork and present the case. POOF! they were gone. I received no joy whatsoever from their misery.
Jennifer had to pick two people from her group to let go in the last "downsizing" I saw at work. She LOVED doing that. She fired the shit out of two people who had 20 years at the plant (not for poor job performance--- just for head-count) and came home HORNY after she did it. She was proud of her display of POWER and she wanted to fuck.
I didn't understand it at the time and I still don't. Hell--- she's done the same thing to ME and I still don't understand it.
A supervisor is paid to enforce discipline in the workplace. Sometimes, that means firing somebody. I just never liked that part of my job. It was "dirty work" to me. If you don't have the stomach to do it, you're in the wrong job.
If you ENJOY doing it, however, maybe you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror.
my kind of carnival
Who is hosting the hillbilly carnival next week? THAT'S a carnival I want to post something on.
Heh. I LIKE it. Maybe we'll show some people that hillbillies can read and write.
quote of the day
Leftists don't understand human nature. They must not have grown up on the same playgrounds or attended the same schools I did. You CANNOT appease a bully. You've got to fight him, or be bullied all your life.
Maxine, these people are opposed to what we believe in and what we stand for, far more than what we do. If you imagine that you can buy immunity from fanatics by curling yourself in a ball, apologising for the world - to the world - for who you are and what you stand for and what you believe in, not only is that morally bankrupt, but it's also ineffective. Because fanatics despise a lot of things and the things they despise most is weakness and timidity. There has been plenty of evidence through history that fanatics attack weakness and retreating people even more savagely than they do defiant people.
John Howard is just one more reason why I like Australia. He's got balls.
I was about to go to sleep when a music video came on my TV. I HAD to sit there and listen to it. It was Tina Turner singing "Proud Mary." GOT-DAM!!! Did she tear up that song, or what?
I saw her perform sometime around 1974 in Savannah. She was still married to Ike back then. I had nose-bleed seats in the arena and ended up sitting with a bunch of Black guys who all had half-pint bottles of liquor stashed in their pockets. I shared their wares. After about three songs, we all agreed that we should drag Ike off and shoot him and keep Tina for ourselves.
She's STILL a damn good-looking woman and she can sing her fine ass off. Bejus! She's got to be about 60 years old now. I hope I LIVE to see 60, let alone look the way she does.
Those legs... ohhhh... those legs....
Here is how you "gravel" potatoes:
What I think we called graveling potatoes was digging around the plant to get a few new potaoes without damaging the plant. Get a few off each vine and cover up where we had dug. In a well tilled plot this is easy but in Okla clay in the summer time damn near needed a pick ax to break through the dry soil.
That's IT!!! You just pick one or two new potatoes off every plant, cover up the hole and let the plants keep growing.
That's "graveling" potatoes!!!
July 14, 2005
I know that some of the coastal natives who read my blog have dealt with sharks before. But for all you flat-landers and know-nothings, I want to tell you something about sharks.
#1) They usually don't bite people. But they are VERY nearsighted, and they MIGHT mistake you for something else. That's when they bite people.
#2) If you ever catch a shark on a fishing rod, you'll think you've got a monster on your hook. The damn thing starts swimming in circles and fights like hell. If you managed to haul it in to the beach or your boat, you'd better be ready to kill it, usually by beating the life out of it with a sawed-off baseball bat, or that fucker will try its best to kill YOU.
#3) I was talking about three-footers in the previous line. If you hook anything bigger than THAT you need a shotgun on board to make him stop trying to bite you. I recommend TWO slugs to the head, too. (Do that BEFORE you put him in the boat.)
#4) Shark meat is very good grilled. Cut off the tail right below the asshole, cut the meat about 2" thick and it makes really good steaks. Tastes almost like swordfish if you cook it right.
#5) Did you know that a shark can't stop swimming? It's true. They are such primitive animals that they have to MOVE to keep water pumping through their gills. That's one reason why you never see a picture of a shark with its eyes closed. They don't sleep as we know it. Plus, they NEVER shut their eyes anyway.
#6) Wanna KNOW that you're safe from sharks in the water? Just get a bunch of dolphins swimming around you. They'll scare the shit out of YOU when they come up and bump you with their noses, but they are just curious, and a set of water skis must fascinate the hell out of them. They want to know what in the world you're doing and they'll chase you for miles down a salt-water river. But they run the sharks away.
#7) I am more afraid of jellyfish than I am of sharks. If you ever get a jellyfish sting, you'll FEEL it right away. I know only one remedy. Urine and wet sand. Piss on it and pack it. Then, suffer.
#8) Ain't salt water a wonderful thing?
It ain't what you say
It's how you say it that makes all the difference. Yep. Washington DC has the right idea about gun control.
My ass. NO suicides by handgun? Well, that's just great. How many gun MURDERS did you have in your gun-free city last year?
Banning guns is just as foolish as the War on (some) Drugs. Ban Viagra tomorrow and see what happens. Shit. We've been through this same posturing over and over again since Prohibition and some people just never learn.
You cannot LEGISLATE human nature to fit YOUR idea of how people should behave. That crap has NEVER worked, and it never will. But I'll be damned if we don't have assholes still trying. What did someone say about the definition of insanity?
Trying the same thing that didn't work before and hoping for different results THIS TIME.
another debate topic
I could argue with this guy for a long time over numerous beers. I agree with his basic point, but I think he (and his commenters) are taking a simplistic view of the situation.
I am FOR the death penalty for people who deserve it. But I also know that the judicial system is fucked-up and a lot of dishonest cops wear the uniform. I don't want to see an innocent person caught in that meat-grinder.
I won't mention the person who said it, but he has a lot of experience in such matters and I'd trust him with my life: "I fear the LAPD a lot more than I fear O.J. Simpson."
All this "cut his dick off and shove it up his ass" stuff sounds really good until you think... just suppose that he DIDN'T DO IT? Don't think it hasn't happened before. It has, and you people who want to go slicing off dicks are as crazy as Islamic splodey-dopes. Remind me to keep my dick in my pants around YOU.
Go google Caryl Chessman. Did HE deserve to die?
I believe that the death penalty should be reserved for people who are guilty as hell with no question about it. My perfect example is the alday killings that happened in Georgia. Every one of those cold-blooded murderers, who wiped out an entire family and then BRAGGED about doing it, should have been dragged off and shot immediately after their trial.
We fed and housed ONE of those fuckers for 30 years before we killed him and the rest of his merry band are free now. That ain't justice. That's a joke.
Read The Onion Field, by Joseph Wambaugh. Neither one of those criminal pricks died for what they did, and that case was cut-and-dried. THAT's what the death penalty is for. But they both walked free again.
But I don't buy that KILL 'EM ALL!!! or CUT OFF THEIR DICKS!!! shit. That's nothing but a mob mentality and I don't like that. Divorce court taught me what can happen to a person caught in a judicial meat-grinder, and trust me--- you don't EVER want to find yourself there.
All I'm saying is... it's really EASY to pass judgment without a second thought when your blood is up. Ain't no skin off YOUR ass. Just suppose YOU'RE the one being judged by a mob and you are innocent. THAT situation might change your mind.
No, hell no. I would rather let 20 guilty people go free than execute ONE innocent person.
i done good!
I have raised a genuine southern daughter, even if she does live in Texas now. She's got a recipe posted for Fried Green Tomatoes.
Hot dam, Sam! I am proud of you!!! You need to find the next Carnival of the Recipes and submit that one.
I'll give you a tip (you know me-- it ain't EVER just right unless I have a hand in it), try soaking the green tomatoes in slightly salty water for 30 minutes before you fry them. That gets rid of the bitter taste. Also, add just a dab (you know--- just enough to fill that little hollow in the palm of your hand) of Old Savannah Seafood Seasoning to your batter.
Also, I like 'em cut thinner than you cut them. But I want to try some that YOU cooked. You tasted my Low Country Boil and liked it, so now you need to return that favor!
Heh. I've raised a Southern girl!!!
Obvious to ME, obvious to YOU but politically incorrect to the touchy-feely asswipes in charge today. Damn! This stupid aversion to "profiling" really chaps my Cracker ass.
The next time an elderly Chinese woman becomes a suicide bomber and blows up a bunch of children, get back to me. Until then, get your head out of your ass. Profile the hell out of young male Muslims. Make life difficult for THEM ALL!!
THAT'S THE KIND OF PERSON WE SHOULD BE "PROFILING" BECAUSE THAT'S THE KIND OF PERSON WHO COMMITS THE CRIMES!!!!
I got into a heated debate with a couple of Black guys at a training seminar I attended in San Antonio. BOTH said that they had been pulled over and harassed by the police for the crime of "DWB:" Driving While Black.
I didn't doubt their stories. I know good and well that it happens. These guys had good jobs, drove nice cars and dressed well. I went into my "you need to clean up your own act" argument and I really pissed them off. I told them that I apologized for offending them, but sometimes the truth hurts.
If you're "not like that," be the first one to stand up and let the world know. Raise HELL because a few deviants in your race or religion make EVERYBODY look bad. REFUSE to be painted with a broad brush. But that's something that has to work from INSIDE the community, not from the outside.
Most Muslims and Blacks won't do that.
I'm slightly less than 4,500 visitors away from my TWO MILLION milestone. If traffic stays about the way it is now, I should hit that mark late Friday or early Saturday. I'm not kidding about the prizes I have to offer.
Don't try to lie your way into winning. I can find out who you are. I just hope it's not some Google-search looking for "Nekkid Costa Rican Wimmen."
I ain't awarding a prize to one of those perverts. All OTHER perverts will be considered. (because you must be at least slightly bent to read this blog.)
you just wait
I ain't giving out the answer to this question until tomorrow. But I want to weep after seeing some of the wild guesses I got from ignorant people who never saw potatoes growing in their lives.
Yeah. Just buy 'em at the grocery store.
I'm a weird throwback to a different time of life. I happen to ENJOY growing things and getting my hands in the dirt. Working the soil is in my blood, and I like it when what I plant grows tall and strong. Fuck a grocery store. My produce tastes better.
I don't do it anymore, because there's just ME here to feed. I gave away almost everything in grew in my last garden. But, by gawd, I know how to "gravel" potatoes and I never will forget, either.
I pity any poor, dumb sumbitch who has never done that.
it was a different world
Yes, sir. it was.
I was able to find this post in my archives. A lot of commenters mentioned the Hatfield-McCoy feud, but that one wasn't shit. It just got a lot of publicity.
MY FAMILY engaged in a REAL FEUD that lasted almost a generation. The odd thing now is that I'm related to both sides. Go figger.
Even to this day a lot of people in those mountain hollows won't talk about it.
scare me to death
Bejus! Here is another shark attack story. I don't understand the fascination reporters have with this crap (maybe the movie Jaws?) but it's all non-news to me.
Yeah, people get bitten by sharks in the ocean every year. Sometimes the people die, too. But the risk factor of swimming at the beach is a lot less than the chance you took DRIVING there. You're MUCH more likely to die in a car accident than you are to be bitten by a shark.
Hell... you're more likely to get struck by lightning.
I call this tripe another example of the pussification of a once-great country. Throw a little "risk" out there and scare the shit out of the wimmenfolk. It works, too. Wimmen don't like risky things, and they'll get all hormonal and start hyperventilating if somebody scares them well enough.
I call bullshit. I've been swimming in ocean waters for many years now. I've never been bitten by a shark. I've SEEN them in the water, and I've CAUGHT them surf-fishing, but WTF? They LIVE in that water. Usually, they're just as anxious to avoid YOU are your are to aviod them. You ain't a typical meal for a shark.
Anomolies occur, but that's just what they are. ANOMOLIES.
It AIN'T fucking news.
quote of the day
I read this comment and thought IMMEDIATELY of my grandmother:
People not born in farm country don't understand the life of the young people who grew up that way. We always managed to steal a watermelon or two every year and on our overnight fishing trips on the river we alway raided a potato patch and graveled a few spuds...scrapiron
Okay, I'm throwing down the gauntlet for you city-bred dipsticks. How do you "gravel" a few spuds?
i may be wrong
Okay, I haven't researched it at all and a lot of people say that I am mistaken about the way planes fly from Savannah, Georgia to Australia. But when I worked for Kerr McGee, we had a sister plant in a place called Kwinana (I think) and it's out somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Australia. They have a TiO2 mine right beside the plant, and Australia has a LOT of "middle of nowhere."
Jennifer was scheduled to go visit there for some kind of Black Belt Six Sigma crap, and I remember DISTINCTLY seeing her travel plans. She flew from the US to Europe (Germany, I think), then from there to Thailand, then from there to Australia.
The home-leg of the trip was west all the way. I remember that because we were thinking about combining business with pleasure at the time. I could buy a ticket for myself and Quinton, stay in Jennifer's lodging at company expense and take another week of vacation to see the country when her work was finished.
The trip was cancelled, so we never went, but I remember seeing those travel plans. At least I THINK I do. Maybe I was hallucinating.
Anybody ever gone that way?
i am not a crook
I re-thought this post last night before I went to sleep. I DESPISE thieves, the low-life bastards. But I did occasionally steal a watermelon when I was young.
I also picked a raw ear of corn out of a farmer's field and ate it right there, amid the acres of stalks sometimes. I raided a neighbor's pear tree when I knew she wasn't home. I trespassed on private property to pick berries. I knew every Japanese plum tree within five miles of where I lived and I used to go pick them, too.
I never considered that to be "stealing." I looked at it more as "foraging," or "living off the fat of the land." I NEVER walked into a store and stole a peach or a good-looking apple. THAT would be wrong. But hopping a fence and grabbing something growing in a field always seemed different to me.
Oh, farmers might shoot at you (usually with a LOUD shotgun loaded with rock-salt) and some people might sic a mean dog on you if you were discovered, but that element of risk is what made doing such things an ADVENTURE, rather than a crime.
Technically, I WAS a crook back in those days. But I didn't see it that way then, and I really don't see it that way now. Them were fun times. Any Southern boy who never did anything like that probably grew up to be a girly-man, in MY humble opinion.
Besides... I can confess now because the statute of limitations expired a long time ago.
I have requests for bumper stickers flooding in from all over the WORLD! I'm gonna send one to everybody who wants one until I run out. All I ask is that you be patient. If I sit down and address all these envelopes at once, I won't have any time to blog.
If you sent me your address, I'm sending you a sticker.
A REALLY good place to put one is on a guitar case. My old hard-shell is decorated with stickers from a lot of bars I played in and it looks cool--- like something that belongs to a real musician.
I just may take a few days to get all of 'em in the mail.
sick, sick, sick
This is the the kind of enemy we are facing in the Middle East. Barbarians. Nutless, blood-soaked barbarians.
They'd do the same thing here if they could.
July 13, 2005
a trip to australia
Some people giving me advice don't seem to know what they're talking about. I live on the southeast coast of the United States. Planes that leave from HERE to Australia don't fly west. They fly EAST, to take advantage of the earth's rotation. When I fly back home, planes go the opposite way, because of the wind.
In other words, if I leave Savannah, Georgia and go to Australia and back, I'll end up going all the way around the world. THAT'S a trip, isn't it?
I'm gonna do it.
I confess. I am a criminal.
In my younger days, I STOLE watermelons from a farmer's field. Those things dotted the landscape everywhere and I figured that he wouldn't miss JUST ONE, and I learned to grab my pick, tuck it under my arm like a football, run like hell and jump the fence before I got caught.
My friends and I weren't particular about how we sliced it, either. I usually had a pocket-knife, but if I didn't, we just bashed the melon on a piece of brick, broke it open and ate with our bare hands.
There is NO bigger treat for a bunch of young boys than a stolen watermelon on a hot summer day. Bejus, but I remember that.
The ones I buy today aren't nearly as sweet.
They are in the mail to TWO people who sent me their address. I farted around and didn't mail them until Monday, so they'll get there when they get there. Stop bitchin' at me.
For those of you who SAY you wanted one, I don't recall seeing a mailing address. I may have deleted you after one of my fantabulous SPAM attacks, so just try again. I've got about 200 of the fuckers, so I'm not hesitant about giving them away. A stamp doesn't cost much, either.
Email costs nothing and I'm not going to stalk you. Send me your mailing address and I'll send you a bumper sticker. FOR FREE!!!
You can't beat that deal.
insults and bitchin'
Evidently (judging from some of my comments) a lot of yankees don't understand that Southerners often talk rudely to their friends. Hell, you oughta hear me and catfish together. If you just transcribed our conversation on paper, you might think we were about to kill each other.
"GOT-DAM, bow-legs! You couldn't find your ass with both hands if you had a map!"
"Fuck YOU, Cat! If YOU had to haul ass, you'd have to make two trips."
"Aw... BITE ME!"
"I don't eat shit!"
See? That's how we talk. We might be shooting pistols or eating shrimp while this kind of conversation transpires, but we're not mad at each other. It's just a Southern thing. Good ole boy stuff.
Go to the Swamp Fox on Highway 30 and sit around the coffee pot with the old men who gather there every day. You wanna talk about insults and bitchin'? Those old farts are EXPERTS and they've been insulting and bitchin' at each other for 30 fucking years. I used to go there just to take notes.
I believe in studying at the feet of the masters.
So, if I tell you to bite me, or if I say that you need to be dragged off and shot, that's not necessarily a bad thing. And if I bark at you over the way you're cutting a watermelon, it JUST might be my way of starting a conversation and getting myself a piece of that melon.
You've gotta live Down South to understand.
quote of the day
I've always maintained that there is little excuse for failure in this country if you simply learn to read and write and you don't mind working. You may never get rich, but you won't starve, either. Opportunity is out there if you possess the wherewithall to take it.
If you don't have that wherewithall.... well.... this is no accident:
People in the U.S. who are illiterate represent: 75% of the unemployed, 33% of mothers receiving aid, 85% of juveniles who appear in court, 60% of prison inmates.
(Stolen from here.)
For a long time, I was in charge of vetting New Hires for the chemical plant. I could show you some job applications and some test results that would turn your head 360 degrees and make you puke green pea soup. Some of that shit I saw was unbelievable to me.
HOW can somebody grow up in this country today and NOT learn to read and write? BEJUS! Lay a fraction on most 18 year-olds today and they don't have a clue what you're talking about.
Give them a simple logic problem, such as "You make coffee pots in a factory. You can assemble the pieces and make a pot in six minutes. How many pots can you make in an hour?" You should have SEEN some of the answers I got to that question.
Both of my children could read and write before they ever STARTED school. I didn't rely on government schools to teach them EVERYTHING. I did a little "hands-on" training myself. Too many parents (maybe because they are semi-literate themselves) don't do that, and most teachers I've met lately aren't worth a shit at their jobs.
You want to doom a child to a life of poverty and frustration? DON'T teach him anything except how to whine for a hand-out. Let him grow up oblivious of the opportunity around him. Don't EVER feed him books or encourage him to THINK.
Oh, yes. You'll raise a fine child that way.
I'm still wecoming more comments on this question but LENGTHWISE seems to be winning over SIDEWAYS for how you slice a watermelon. That's always been MY humble opinion, too.
If you slice the melon the RIGHT way, you don't get stuck with two bowls on the end. You can eat the entire thing. And a good Southerner doesn't pick the seeds out of a watermelon. He (or she!) just takes a big ole bite and learns to eat the melon, then spit out the seeds, which is no problem once you get the hang of it.
And as far as having to "pick buckshot out of my ass," I don't worry about that problem when I debate with Henry. He's a friend of mine and he also gave me some watermelon to eat yesterday. I suspect that PJ has no friends like that. He's too easily moved to anger.
I also would LOVE to have him living next door to me. I'd teach him to be polite or I'd shoot back at his leftist ass.
Let's just see who ends up picking what out of where.
I enjoy reading posts such as this one. I like it when people show a deep appreciation for their ancestors.
Maybe that's a result of my Kentucky roots, where family was like a clan--- blood was always thicker than water and if somebody harmed one of your'n, they harmed YOU, too. We'd FIGHT over that kind of stuff. We still do, too.
I love talking with my grandmother. On her 90th birthday, somebody made a "family tree" and put it in a frame that hangs on Mommie's wall today. It shows an old, old picture of when she first married my Papaw, and then all the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-GREAT grandchildren who spawned from that original union.
Just damn! I sometimes look at those pictures and wonder... Mommie, you never were rich, you never were famous and you never even learned to drive a car. But you damn sure made an impact on this world. And you made an impact on ME, too.
I think the guy who wrote that post feels the same way.
Go welcome this newbie to blogdom. She has commented on my site frequently in the past and now she's writing her own posts. Good.
I think blogging is a lot like a nekkid hot-tub party. The more people who join the fun, the "funner" it is.
How can this be true? Just two days ago, Hillary Clinton was railing against Bush for bankrupting the American economy by giving "tax cuts to the rich." Surely, SHE wouldn't lie to you!
The big surprise has been in tax revenue, which is running nearly 15 percent higher than in 2004. Corporate tax revenue has soared about 40 percent, after languishing for four years, and individual tax revenue is up as well.
That's exactly what "tax cuts for the rich" do. It's worked every time a politician had the balls to do it (see Kennedy, Reagan AND Bush) and it always goes away when Democrats regain power and try to punish the very people who already PAY for running this country.
History doesn't lie. Politicians do.
I linked this post yesterday. I'm linking it again because I believe that you need to go read the comments, if you haven't already.
Good thinking there, a VERY lively debate, including the screeching asshole that you always find in every crowd.
I owe Denny a beer for that one.
July 12, 2005
I saw my neighbor, Henry, cutting a watermelon today. He wasn't doing it right. I called him a Yankee and he got all insulted. We barked at each other for a while until he told me to go pound seeds up my ass if I didn't like the way he cut watermelon.
I told him that I WOULD PROVE that I was right and he was wrong by taking a blog-poll. So, here is the question: How do YOU slice a watermelon?
cry me a river
I have no sympathy for this guy. Yeah, it's a manly-man thing to attack home-improvement projects, but when I do it, I usually end up working twice as long and doing half the job that a professional could do.
Plus, it usually costs me about the same amount of money.
Don't get me wrong--- I KNOW how to do most of this shit. My daddy tried to make me his carpenter's apprentice when I was a boy and I worked in a chemical plant for 24 years. I can fit pipe, lay brick, do elementary electrician work and operate everything in a good-sized tool box. I was well-trained. About the only thing I DON'T have at least a half-assed grip on is knowing how to make a good weld.
But I don't LIKE doing that stuff.
My father always LIKED working with his hands and he was good at everything he did. But he ENJOYED doing it. I think I was a big disappointment to him because I didn't share his enthusiasm over that crap. It was pure-assed WORK to me, and he always wanted to do it on Saturdays, AFTER I finished my newspaper route collections, so that I busted my ass all day, instead of having a chance to play with my friends.
I'll pick up the phone and call somebody rather than do that stuff myself today. If I can't solve the problem in 30 minutes, fuck it. Call a PRO.
That's what money is for, and I'm too old for that kind of aggravation.
ever seen one?
I'm talking about a red tide. Ever seen one? I have, twice along the Florida gulf coast, and it ain't a pretty sight. The water turns toxic, dead fish and creatures you can't identify wash up on the beach and jellyfish are EVERYWHERE. It really sucks.
my daughter caught a piece of one of those the last time she and Stacey went to Panama City Beach. They were grossed out by it and missed going swimming in what they remembered to be beautiful water. A Red Tide shows you just how capricious Mother Nature can be.
That's another reason I don't worship Gaia.
But the post I linked DOES contain something that I almost elected to be quote of the day:
This place is great. And the clientele are all Florida and Georgia Cracker white trash. More ink here than a Bic plant. The womens' idea of a beauty mark is a motorcycle muffler burn scar. I would much rather sit at the Ikki Woo Woo Tiki Bar and swap bullshit stories with a guy who is bragging about his 30 unit trailer park than talk to some stuffed shirt cocksucker at the Breakers about his currency speculation coup. And the difference is that Mr. Trailer Park will pull the last $20 out of his shirt pocket and buy me a drink.
Is THAT poetry, or what?
i want to go to australia
I've really been thinking about taking a trip to Oz. I have several readers on my blog who live there and I surely wouldn't mind hoisting a beer or more with them. Plus, I eat Vegemite, so I ought to fit right in.
I've heard, read and seen that the country is beautiful, and their heritage is a lot like that of the United States. (Rugged Individualism!) I believe that Aussies are a lot closer to Americans in mindset and history than the British are. I'd like to find out for myself.
I also hear that the wimmen are to die for. THAT might be an interesting treat I've never sampled before.
I have only one problem. If I fly there, I'm going to have to book First Class or make a lot of stop-overs on the way. My boney Cracker ass just won't tolerate a coach seat for that kind of flight. Hell, I get butt-cramps on a five-hour flight to Costa Rica. Going halfway around the world (without a cigarette, too!) would fucking kill me.
The stop-over idea isn't bad if you look at how airplanes get from where I live to Australia. I could see a lot of the world that way, including some of the Far East, which might give me some really good blog-fodder. Maybe I'll eat dog while I'm galavanting on my World Tour. I'll try almost anything once.
I can afford to do it, and I'm kicking that idea around in my mind. Anybody know when is the best time to go?
I wouldn't mind seeing this sentence handed out to some people who USE cell phones. If this guy stole one, he deserves to be dragged off and shot.
Yeah. I'm on a roll about cell phones today.
And I'll tell you something else, too. If I am EVER at another blog-meet and somebody gets a case of the happy fingers with a cell phone, DO NOT hand it to me and say "Talk to this person!" If you do that, you'll need somebody else with a cell phone to call 911 to summon paramedics to remove your cell phone from your ass.
I don't like to talk on the phone.
I kinda like the way a woman looks when she's pregnant. Her belly swells and she goes through all sorts of hormonal turmoil, but I saw my wives (both of them) as beautiful when they were bearing my children.
Okay, I made moo-cow noises at Jennifer when she was REALLY pregnant as I watched her trying to put on maternity clothes, but I also sang and talked to my son in her gut every day. And every night. I laid my head on her belly and felt my boy trying to start a fight. I knew that I had a real piss-cutter coming from the way he kicked and punched.
Wimmen change a lot after they have a child. THEY'LL deny it, because wimmen don't see ANYTHING they do as crazy, but I've seen it happen over and over again. It's that hormonal shit.
I've taken TWO wives to the hospital to have a baby and arrived back home with wimmen that were completely DIFFERENT both times.
The first one just didn't want to fuck anymore. ("That's the box the baby came in. YOU leave it alone!")
The second one became obsessed with being the Ultimate Mother, and saw me as an impediment in her way. She turned into a bloodless cunt (she damn sure didn't mind fucking like a wild mink, as long as she wasn't fucking ME!) and she ended up destroying my life as I knew it then.
From the day I brought her home, it wasn't Rob and Jennifer anymore. It was Jennifer and Quinton. I ought to be a real prick and post her phone number. Here's the message you'll hear (the same one I usually get when I try to talk to my son): "HI! This is Jennifer and Quinton! We can't come to the phone right now, but if you'll leave a message, we'll call you right back! Have a GREAT DAY!"
Yeah. I can tell you horror stories about the "Great Days" that woman gave me after Quinton was born.
When she had all her ducks in a row to leave me, I spent a sleepless night and took an emergency vacation from work. I was actually SICK from the heartbreak. Jennifer went to work.
When she came home, she had farmed Quinton out to someone else and asked me, "You haven't been to sleep?"
"No," I replied.
"You need some sleep. Let me get you a glass of wine." She brought me a glass of wine, then took me upstairs to the bedroom and gave me a blow-job. After that, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, she and Quinton BOTH were gone.
I never saw them in that house with me again. That's why I call her a bloodless cunt to this day. God-damn her.
NO MAN deserves to be treated that way.
maybe not so slow...
Now THIS is what I call a rant. Just damn! It's nice to know that SOMEBODY is awake today.
quote of the day
I think I resemble this remark.
"The Southern Man makes no secret of his antifeminist views; you can count on him to be dead set against any newfangled ideas that creep into your pretty little head. His "supportiveness" will usually run a short gamut between two statements:
Yep. That's a Southern man, all right.
i loved it
I've seen one person who knew how to take care of oblivious cell phone users. That's the Recorder's Court Judge in Savannah. If a cell phone rings in his courtroom, a baliff confiscates the phone and the brilliant cell phone user is immediately hauled off for contempt of court.
Signs are posted all over the place telling people to turn OFF the phones before they enter the courtroom, but I believe that more than half of cell phone users can't read anyway. Dumbasses.
Locking them up and taking their phones is a good idea, but I still think they should be dragged off and shot.
everybody seems "blah"
I woke up this morning with cobwebs in my eyes that wouldn't go away. I took a shower and almost decided to crawl back into bed. Instead, I checked the news and surfed a few of my favorite blogs. I didn't find a lot of fodder there.
I tried to kick the top off an anthill by writing that Black leaders should discourage their alleged followers from self-destruction by being more like Bill Cosby and less like Al Sharpton, but even that didn't get a rise out of anyone. It must be that kind of day.
So, I'm just going to ramble...
* I DO NOT believe that when 12.3% of this country's population accounts for almost 50% of the prison inmates, we have a healthy situation here.
* If Jesse Jackson wants to preach about "disenfranchisement," why doesn't he tell black men to stay the fuck out of jail?
* I saw more made-up "news" about hurricane Dennis than I have since the "Runaway Bride" was all the rage.
* I'm thinking about selling the Crackerbox. Now that it's clean, I could throw up some paint and a "FOR SALE" sign and make a killing off the place. With the equity I have and the rise in propery value here, I'd come out smelling like a rose. I've got no reason to stay here.
* I don't ever want to fall in love again. That crap hurts too bad when it goes wrong.
* Sometimes, when I'm in the twilight zone between consciouness and sleep, I think I still have a woman in my bed. When I realize that I'm just semi-dreaming, I occasionally feel disappointed. But usually I feel relieved that she's NOT there.
* I wish I had the body I did 25 years ago. Father Time is a merciless bastard.
* I was the first person in my family EVER to earn a college degree. My brother and my cousin Kevin did it right behind me, but I was the first. I was an English Lit major. My brother became an attorney and cousin Kevin became an engineer. That shows you where the ambition was.
* My cousin Kevin is the only person in my family still living in Harlan County, Kentucky. We all still refer to that place as "back home," even though none of us has lived there for many years.
* I have no desire to visit Europe. I can think of many other places I'd rather go than there.
* I've seen 37 of the United States. I would like to see all 50 before I die.
* I've never crossed the International Date Line. My father did, in the Navy, and I would like to do it, too.
* I believe that the happiest time in my life was when I was 26 years old and playing guitar for a living. I didn't have money, I didn't own much and I didn't have a care in the world. Every day was a new adventure. As I became older and more prosperous, life became work.
* See what happens on a slow news day?
my thoughts exactly
This is a damn good post. At the risk of being called a racist, I could say that the same principle applies to black people in the United States today.
You cannot condone uncivilized behavior and expect to be considered civilized. That's how race-baiters such as Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson make a really good living. As long as the slaves stay on the plantation, those guys are in high cotton. They don't WANT anything to change. And people who listen to them are doomed to remain on the plantation, or in the ghetto, or on a slab in a morgue.
The words "clean up your own act" never register in their minds.
cell phones, part II
When I was at the seafood market yesterday, I wanted to buy some fresh shrimp. I waited a long time to purchase my product, because the woman ahead of me in line was gabbing up a storm on a cell phone. She couldn't pay for what SHE wanted, because she was too busy talking. One thing at a time, don'tcha know?
I could tell that it was an IMPORTANT conversation, too. "Well... I never liked him anyway. I think Sue is better off without him.... you don't say!... I don't know... we don't really have any plans for next Sunday and that sounds nice... HAHAHAHAHAAA!!! No, I hadn't heard about that.... well, I probably ought to go now. I think I'm holding people up in line... Oh, I'm in the seafood market in Rincon... yes, they have some good-looking shrimp...I don't know... I'll make something good with them... two pounds, that's what I'm buying... really? I've never tried that before..."
THAT WOMAN I wanted to pistol-whip before I dragged her off and shot her.
Do ANY of you cell phone yakkers understand just how INCREDIBLY RUDE you are when you do shit like that in a store? Obviously you don't, or so many people wouldn't be doing it. Gag me. If the conversation I heard yesterday couldn't WAIT until the woman bought her shrimp and left the store, I might understand. But that wasn't the case. She was just bullshittin' with someone she knew.
I've conducted no "scientific" research of my own, but I'm a gambling man. I'll bet you even money that 99.9% of the cell phone calls made in the USA today are just people wanting to bullshit over the phone. I don't understand it. You wanna bullshit with a friend? GO HOME and do it!!!
Besides, nobody wants to hear a one-sided conversation YOU inflict on everyone around you when you pull such a stunt. Fucktard.
Cell phones are a wonderful tool when they are used properly. But I HATE the bastards now and I hate the people who abuse them.
Fuck a cell phone.
another "scientific" study
I believe that ANYBODY using a cell phone while driving a car should be dragged off and shot. I've seen people do some really stupid shit on the road while oblivious to their actions because they were yakking on the phone.
But I don't put much faith in this study. It doesn't "prove" a damn thing.
The team interviewed 456 drivers who owned mobile phones and had ended up in hospital after a crash.
That's one hell of a sample, isn't it?
Too many "scientific" studies (especially on environmental issues) are trumpeted as "fact" today by ignorant, scare-mongering reporters, when the study itself is a joke. I DO NOT LIKE people who talk on cell phones when they're driving. I KNOW, from watching them, that they don't pay proper attention to the road. And I think they ALL should be dragged off and shot.
But I ain't about to use this research to back up my opinion. It's a crock of shit.
July 11, 2005
I agree with this post. If celebrities are so anxious to send money to Africa, let them send some of their own money. If it's such a worthy cause, then YOU contribute.
I've refrained from writing a post about Zimbabwe. Where are Peter, Paul and Mary now? Where are all the "activists" who protested against apartheid now that Robert Mugabe is attempting to become the Pol Pot of Africa?
Yeah... listen to the sound of silence. I suppose that because Mugabe is a black dictator, he's okay in Africa. To oppose HIM might be considered "racist." You won't see a bleeding heart leftist touching Zimbabwe with a ten-foot pole. That's not their kind of cause. It's not murder, theft or corruption they oppose.
In their minds, blood shows up only on white hands.
i have ideas...
If I replied to this post the way I really WANT to, I'd probably alienate a few readers and get another Domestic Violence Order served against me. Oh, yeah. I have some VERY creative ideas about how to handle spammers.
But let's forget those. I want to talk about executions.
As a student of history, I've always been sickly fascinated by the ways that man has discovered to kill his fellow man. Go back a few centuries and you find crucifixion, breaking at the wheel, burning at the stake, drawing and quartering, evisceration, skinning alive, impalement, the Iron Mistress, the rack, and all other sorts of really sadistic ways to make a person suffer LONG during a painful death.
After a while, we became "civilized" and invented hanging. In theory, hanging should be a quick and merciful death. Hell, I saw my Aunt Chassie wring many a chicken's neck on the farm, and when she got through (in about 2 seconds), the chicken hit the ground dead as a doorknob.
But hanging didn't always work so well. If you didn't have the proper drop, the victim dangled there at the end of a rope and strangled. If you dropped him TOO FAR, his head popped right off. (which would be better than strangling in MY humble opinion.) Whatever the wisdom behind it (oh, it WORKED!), I just don't believe that hanging is a good way to die.
The guillotine was better, but sensitive sorts considered that form of execution too bloody after a while. I still say that it's better than hanging.
The Firing Squad wasn't a bad idea, as long as you get some good shots on the team. Get shot in the heart and you'll never know what hit you. But I've read MANY stories about firing squads that had to reload and shoot more than once before the condemned stopped breathing. That's pretty ugly, too.
So, some brilliant people came up with the idea of the electric chair. That was a fantastic idea, because it was quick, painless and merciful... except when it wasn't. Old Sparky didn't always get the job done on the first try, and some people ended up being barbecued before they died. Sometimes, dying that way made hanging look better.
Then came the gas chamber. That's another idea that looked good on paper but wasn't so good in reality.
A study of the execution records of 113 prisoners executed at San Quentin showed that the average time taken to kill them was 9.3 minutes. The prisoner will usually loose consciousness between one and three minutes after the gas hits their face and the doctor will pronounce them dead in around ten to twelve minutes later.
That's worse than a poor hanging, too. I have a question to ask about the gas chamber. Why use cyanide? Why not just pump some car exhaust or a tank of pure nitrogen in there? I've seen people pass out from both of those gases and they never felt better until they hit the ground unconscious. Take oxygen away and the brain stops functioning. You don't need cyanide to do that.
We've finally found the right way to do it, unless you're a really vindictive sadist who wants to see a condemned prisoner suffer before he dies. That's lethal injection.
Have you ever "gone under" before surgery? I have, several times. When that guy with the gas or the needle hits you, it's lights out. Pure and simple. You don't feel anything. You don't know or care WHAT happened to you until you wake up.
Give a big enough dose of the right stuff and the person simply goes lights out and doesn't wake up. I've put down a few dogs and that's how the vets do it. And it is quick and merciful.
Why did it take us, as an allegedly civilized society, so long to approve this method of execution? And why did inventors come up with electric chairs and gas chambers in the first place?
We're too fucking clever for our own good sometimes.
I told you so!!!! I knew that he would like it!!!!
Jimbo doesn't know how close he came to never seeing that guitar. I almost bought it myself.
I know my axes and I never steer my friends wrong. Plus, willy is my friend and he wouldn't be if he were a crook.
You want a good guitar at a reasonable price? No problem.
Willy grows damn good cantalopes, too. And Jim got himself a damn fine guitar.
vegemite, part III
Wanna know something else Vegemite tastes pretty good on? Try it with boiled shrimp. I went to the seafood market today and bought two pounds of fresh medium shrimp.
I was thinking about making a Low Country Boil, but I didn't know how my belly would handle the sausage, so I just boiled the shrimp with some good Old Savannah seasoning. When the shrimp were done, I made a cocktail sauce and sat down to eat them. After one bite, I thunk a thought....
You know--- Vegemite might taste good on these. So, I tried it. Just DAMN!
If you put a little dab of Vegemite on a boiled shrimp, it's like an entirely new taste experience. That dances on the tongue for a while. The only mistake I made was NOT buying some beer to go with this feast. Well-seasoned boiled shrimp, a dab of Vegemite and a good beer could be food for the Gods.
I'll do without the beer, but I HAVE discovered a new way to eat boiled shrimp.
refer to the post below
I cannot remember the times my friends and I were off playing in the woods when one of those Southeast Jawja squalls blew over and dropped rain in buckets on our pointy heads. Sometimes, we had a primitive shelter to retreat to, but those all leaked like a perking coffee pot, and sometimes we got caught with no where to go.
We all ran to the first house we saw and took shelter under the front porch. I was the biggest bullshitter of the bunch, so I was always elected to ring the doorbell or knock to let the people living there know what we were doing.
"Ma'am? We got caught out in the rain. Would you mind if we stayed here until it quits? We won't bother anything and we'll leave as soon as the rain stops."
We were NEVER turned down. In fact, sometimes the nice lady inside would bring us kool-aide and cookies to eat while we waited for the rain to stop (That's a Southern tradition, too. You FEED strangers who show up at your door, even if they are little boys.)
Those were the days. Try that now, and you'll probably get shot.
just when I thought I was over that crap
I believe that i am in love. Just damn! Something about a Southern woman with a bullwhip makes me tingle in my nether regions.
Where was she when I needed her?
we live in a dangerous world
I read this post and I almost upchucked all over my wounded right foot. Sweet Bejus on a bike.
"I vas only following orders!"
That crap didn't work during the Nuremberg Trials, but it seems to function PERFECTLY today when judges do idiotic things. My aching ass. If this guy is a "sex offender," I'm a got-dam brain surgeon.
Welcome to ANOTHER example of the pussification of America, brought to you by feminists who truly believe that every man on the face of this planet is an evil rapist, and judges who support that whacked-out philosophy. And it's another example of damn poor parenting.
Somewhere in my archives, you can find a post I wrote about rescuing a dog my slack-ass next-door neighbors brought home. It was a chiuahua, and they put it in a pen and then ran off for two days. I went out to do something in my yard and heard the dog yelping.
It wouldn't shut up, so I finally walked over to see what was wrong. The poor critter was CRAWLING WITH FIRE ANTS!!! That dog was eaten up from head to tail, including some ants biting its EYEBALLS and hanging by their manticles.
I grabbed the dog and took it over to my house. I turned on a water hose and tried to get all the ants off of it while it was squrming like a two possums in a burlap sack. I was still hand-picking ants off that dog (I sat it on the tailgate of my truck once I took care of most of the damage) when the little girl across the street showed up. She played with Quinton a lot.
"Whatcha doin,' Mr. Rob?" she asked.
"I'm trying to get the ants off of this dog," I replied.
"Can I help?"
"Sure. I need all the help I can get."
Together, we cleared the dog of all those varmits that were eating him alive and gave him a pretty good bath besides. About that time, the sky fell out and rain started falling in sheets. Katy and I ran into the Crackerbox with the dog.
I toweled the dog off and decided that it was going to live. It seemed quite happy with what I had done. That's when Katy asked me to get my guitar and play her a song. (I had done that MANY times before for the kids.)
Suddenly a stark fact occurred to me. I had a 12 year-old girl alone with me in my house. I had no intentions of molesting her, but my intentions wouldn't matter in today's world. This was a bad position for me to be in. I told her that she had to go home.
"But it's raining, Mr. Rob," she whined.
"I'll walk you home. We'll take my umbrella."
"What about the dog?"
"You can take him home with you if you want to. But you can't stay here."
"Just BECAUSE, that's why." (How do you explain the REAL answer to that question to a 12 year-old girl who trusts you? I wasn't willing to go there.)
I walked her home, under my umbrella, with her holding the dog.
That incident scared the shit out of me. NOT because I am a child molester, but because I could be ACCUSED of committing such a vile act and fed right into the politically-correct meat-grinder that is our court system today. This world has become a pathetic place when you're afraid to offer a child shelter from the rain.
But that's what we've made the world today.
another quote of the day
When I look at the "wisdom" of recent Supreme Court decisions, I find it difficult to argue...
"Since this is being flogged to death all over the web, I am going to make it short.
I hate to admit it, but he's right.
Recondo 32 got half of his face shot off in Vietnam. When he came home, people SPIT on him and called him a "baby killer" at the airport where he arrived with his face bandaged and anticipating more surgery. That was pretty much the way a LOT of leftist pricks treated troops in those days.
Got-dam! He went to Vietnam because he came from a mill-town in bumfuck South Carolina. When you grow up in a place like that (kinda like growing up in a coal mining camp) you have two choices when you get out of high school: #1) Join the service. #2) Go to work in the mill and wait to be drafted.
Recondo enlisted and went into Special Forces, for the extra $50 a month or so he could make for jumping out of airplanes and facing hazardous duty. He was a 17 year-old Southern boy. He didn't know any better.
By the time MY number came up, I already had friends coming home from "over there," guys that I played football with, who ALL told me that the war was complete bullshit. They all said the same thing: "We ain't playing to win."
I didn't want any part of it. I respect the men who served, but I HATE the politicians who got us in there in the first place. I hope that this country never does something so foolish again.
I DO NOT believe that we're repeating that mistake in Iraq.
have you done it?
Did YOU ever do something stupid and start screaming "Oy! Oy! SONOFABITCH!!!" before the pain you KNEW was coming ever hit you? I call that "anticipatory cussing" and I've done it frequently.
Last night, I headed to the kitchen to cut some more of the fresh cantalope Willy gave me when I visited his house the other day. That's about the best cantalope I ever tasted. But on the way to my refrigerator, I slammed my right foot into one of my kitchen chairs. I hit it good and solid, too.
I KNEW that I had stubbed a couple of toes and I started hopping up and down on one foot right away, as I screamed "Oy! Oy! SONOFABITCH!" But it didn't hurt when I did it.
No... it took a few seconds before my pain receptors in my foot transmitted that information to the pain receivers in my brain. But I KNEW that it was coming, so I started screaming before it got there. Kinda like heading it off at the pass, I thought.
Bejus! I accomplished no good. When the pain hit me, I was out of screams and hops. I sat down on my (newly-cleaned) kitchen floor and examined my toes to see whether I broke one of 'em or not. It hurt like hell.
If I had been a hormone-riddled woman, I might have dragged the chair outside, broke it to pieces and set it on fire, just to teach that chair not to fuck with ME. But I didn't do that. I'm a man.
I sat on my kitchen floor and whined for a while, then cut up the rest of that cantalope and ate it. My foot still hurts today, but it wasn't the chair's fault.
God did that to me.
quote of the day
I have been remiss in checking their site lately, but the boys are still up to no good, as always. Heh. For Yankees, they ain't bad.
"I absolutely can't believe this bullshit. Liberalism IS a mental disorder."
Via dog-snot Diaries, in a must-read post. I may have to check out that Hillary quote through Snopes (because I can't believe that even SHE is that crazy) but it wouldn't really suprise me if she said it.
That woman is out of her mind.
yada, yada, yada...
Bejus. I really don't expect anything else from hillary clinton, because she's preaching to the choir here and she knows what they want to hear. But I'll be damned if I don't find that woman more worthy of contempt every time she opens her mouth.
"I sometimes feel that Alfred E. Neuman is in charge in Washington," Clinton said referring to the freckle-faced Mad magazine character. She drew a laugh from crowd when she described Bush's attitude toward tough issues with Neuman's catchphrase: "What, me worry?"
Hillary, Bush is no Alfred E. Neuman and he's not a chimp, either. The fact that he won TWO Presidential elections in a row should demonstrate that fact quite clearly to any reasonable person, but YOU are not reasonable and neither are your adoring followers. I'll say THIS, too:
Given a choice between Hillary Clinton running the country and Alfred E. Neuman grinning like an idiot behind the desk in the Oval Office, I'd vote for Alfred. Hillary is a dangerous woman. She's convinced that she's SMARTER than anyone else on the planet and she's a bitch besides.
Put that kind of person in a position of real power and you're asking for serious trouble. If Hillary were as smart as she claims to be, she wouldn't have married a clown such as Bill Clinton. But she NEEDED him, affairs, adultery and all, to get where she wanted to be.
I'm not even going to bother to FISK the rest of her speech. It's the same spam in a can Democrats have been spouting for my entire life. The bottom line is that government can spend your money better than you can, so let's tax the shit out of everybody, and allow government to say where the money goes.
If you have your hand out, you may like those words. If you dealt recently with a civil service employee, you won't.
July 10, 2005
the war in vietnam
For the benefit of certain commenters and other people who call me a "chickenhawk," I have one thing to say: BITE MY ASS.
Damn right I avioded the war in Vietnam. I came close (at #353 in the first one) to WINNING the Draft Lottery. I didn't have to go, and I am damn glad that I didn't.
I have a lot of friends who fought there, and they all say the same thing about that experience. We never lost that war in the field. We lost it in Washington, DC. In battle, we kicked ass. But nobody supposedly RUNNING the war could make up their minds about how to win it. As a result of political ineptitude, a lot of troops died for no good reason.
Am I sorry that I missed THAT treat? No, I am not.
A LOT of people who wave VIETNAM as a bloody shirt when talking about the War on Terror weren't even BORN before that war ended. What they know about that era they learned from politically-correct teachers, who may STILL tell you, like Walter Cronkite did in 1968, that we lost the Tet Offensive.
The people who fucked-up that war were still covering their tracks until the day they died. I hope there's an afterlife and Robert MacNamara has a special place, impaled on the spits of hell, up close to the fire. THAT'S what I REMEMBER about Vietnam.
I see no connection between Vietnam and Iraq. We had no goal when we went in to Vietnam, we tip-toed when we should have gone full-tilt, and we got out because the same people who sent the troops in lost their nerve.
We can't afford to make that kind of mistake again. I seem to recall a very preachy commenter of mine saying long ago that if you intend to fight evil, you must "STRIKE THE ROOT!" I agree.
What are we doing in Iraq? Striking the root. The entire Middle East (except for the JOOOOOS) is a festering boil on the butt-cheeks of the world. Anyone who says, "Ignore it, and it'll go away," never had a boil on the ass or a clue about how the world works.
We're killing barbaric people before they kill us. The flea-bitten bastards aren't going down easy, but they ARE going down. It's a worthy cause.
And I were 18 years old today, the way I was when I received my 1-A draft notice during the height of the Vietnam War, I would enlist. This war is different. I see kids on school playgrounds and think that THEY might be targets for a mad suicide bomber, if we ever give those shits a chance to pull it off.
This fight is not about a "domino theory" or any leftover Red Scare crap about communism. This war is about keeping another 9/11 from happening.
That cause is worth fighting for.
if you blog, you know
I've had very few problems with my Comcast service, except for the fact that it takes about two days for a service rep to make it to my house and fix the problem if it can't be done over the phone. (I confess a dirty little secret here--- I STILL keep an AOL account for emergency back-up blogging.) But all in all, I'm not unhappy with Comcast service, especially considering where I live, way out in the boondocks.
But I certainly feel this woman's pain. BEJUS! Once you start blogging or reading a lot of blogs, you want to do it every day. It's like reading the newspaper--- you become pissed off when that bundle of type doesn't hit the driveway in the morning. It's an ADDICTION that must be FED, or you want to KILL someone with your bare hands because you're missing your fix.
I have dealt with a few "customer service" reps before who made me want to kill them over their don't-give-a-shit attitudes. I hope those calls ARE being "recorded for training and security purposes." FIRE those incompetent shits!!!
I suppose that I've just been lucky. My stuff all works most of the time, and when it quits, I've always managed to get it repaired with a minimum of hassle.
That's the main reason I don't plan on changing anything I have now.
quote of the day
From "Gunsmoke," as an old Texas geezer talks to Matt Dillon:
"If it's a gunfight they want, Marshall, don't call a tune without letting me know. I'm a dancing man."
By Gawd, most Americans are. At least Down South, they are. THAT'S where Osama Bin Laden and the rest of the Islamist splodey-dopes got their plans wrong. THEY thought that Bill Clinton was a typical American, more interested in blow-jobs and flattery than fighting.
They were wrong. Bill Clinton was a sorry anomoly in this country's history. As Americans, we've ALWAYS been good at waging war, as long as we didn't have a pussy in charge (and Bill Clinton IS a pussy--- never mistake a stiff dick for a set of balls).
Go ahead and throw down on us. We have PLENTY of men (and a lot of wimmen, too) who are eager to dance when you call the tune. I don't see a damn thing wrong with that mindset, either. It's kept us (fairly) free for almost 250 years.
A lot of people who didn't believe that fact ended up paying for the band.
maybe if i were really stoned...
I've never played any of these games and I don't think I have any desire to, either. They sound 'way too pussified and designed to make me sing out my FEEEEEEELINGS as I get in touch with my feminine side.
Fuck that. I'd rather bankrupt you at monopoly, destroy your armies and sieze your land at Risk (while I listen to the lamentations of your wimmen), take all your money at poker or sink your armada at Battleship. Playing old-fashioned, co-ed Twister, with everybody nekkid and greased-up with Wesson oil isn't bad, either. But "Moods?" I don't think so.
Hell... when I was young, "Operation" was too tame for me. I didn't give a shit whether I killed my patient or not.
Men, for all their macho posturing, really are delicate creatures. I blame that fact on western civilization. Men never actually KNOW when they step over that line from boyhood to manhood. It's a confusing experience.
I was in the Atlanta airport when I saw four of our troops eating hamburgers as they awaited their flight to the Middle East. I flagged a waitress and told her to put their meal on my tab and send a round of beers over to them, on me.
One of the guys, dressed in camo, walked over to thank me for buying their meal, but said that he was only 18, and he couldn't have a beer. He'd just stick with good old Southern iced tea. I told him that iced tea was fine with me. Whatever he wanted.
Then, I thought, WTF? We're going to train, arm and send this fine young man off to fight in a WAR, where he may be killed or have important body parts blown off by some idiot Islamist, and the poor bastard can't drink a BEER before he climbs aboard that plane? We'll give him an M-16 but NOT a Budweiser? Where's the logic in that?
THAT's how men have ALWAYS been treated in western society. I prefer the ways primitive people handle things. When a boy turns a certain age, you drag his ass into a tent, chant over him, burn some sacred smoke, send a concubine in to lay the hell out of him, and when he emerges from that tent in the morning, he is treated like a MAN instead of a boy, from then on.
We don't have similar rituals in the western world. I don't believe that I ever thought of myself as a man until I buried my father. I was 40 years old, I had a good job, I owned a home and I had a child. But... I never KNEW that I was a man, at least until I took care of getting my father planted in the ground.
I believe that a LOT of men feel that way.
That's one reason this article chapped my Cracker ass. And I'll also be totally politically incorrect by saying the Rise of Feminism has not helped things, either.
Yeah. Wimmen want it ALL today--- independence, abortion on demand, shrill screaming when they don't get their way, EQUAL treatment and "rights" that were invented by a hallucinating judge. Fine. Give 'em all that stuff.
But let's ALSO change the rules about alimony, child support, child custody and all the OTHER baggage still hanging over from the old days, when wimmen were delicate flowers instead of sniping, ball-cutting, STRONG bitches.
I don't believe that wimmen should have it both ways. You can't faint, develop the vapors and hyperventilate because you saw a Rigid Tool calender on an office wall and then sue for sexual harassment when you ALSO want to show how fucking "strong" you are.
Men ALWAYS had it rough in the western world, negotiating that twilight zone between boy and man. It's worse now. With all the pussification going on, men don't know WHERE they stand anymore.
I shoulda been born a woman. I could show Hillary Clinton a thing or two about getting what I wanted.
well... it happens
I notice that I'm not on this guy's blogroll anymore. Oh, well.
I don't know what I did to piss him off (I happen to really LIKE the guy) but it's his blog and he can do what he wants to do with it.
i hope they're okay
I haven't heard from Sam and Stacey yet. I was pretty sure that they left in plenty of time to avoid Hurricane Dennis, but I didn't stop to think about other people running, too. I know what the roads were like in Georgia when Floyd was bearing down--- it was a massive traffic jam EVERYWHERE.
I'll bet that they got caught in that same crap with people hauling ass away from the Gulf Coast. That 17-hour drive they were facing may turn out to be one hell of a lot longer this trip. And I'll ALSO bet that every motel room within 500 miles is booked.
Any crank smartmouth who wants to declare that I'm having a "pity party" can kiss my Cracker ass. I'm worried about my daughter.
(UPDATE: I just received this email: just wanted to let you know we made it home safe! Got home around midnight last night. It was good seeing you. Had a great time!!
Okay. I can relax now.)
(ANOTHER UPDATE: Sam posted some pictures, too. And I like the mention of my 94 year-old grandmother cutting a big fart while her picture was being taken. You can NOT embarass a 94 year-old woman. She'll fart any time she wants to and BRAG about it!)
We'll all be up to our asses in the "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!" news now that hurricane season appears to be in full swing. I've SEEN two hurricanes in my life, plus a whole lot of near-misses and tropical storms, and I've reached a logical conclusion.
Those are bad-ass events. If you've ever felt your entire HOUSE swaying in the wind and heard trees snapping with the sound of shotgun blasts all around you, you can become VERY uncomfortable. There is no "OFF" switch that you can throw when you've had enough of that crap. You just have to ride it out.
But... I'm still alive to talk about it. Most people who die in hurricanes either were in the wrong place at the wrong time (a tree fell on the house) or doing something stupid ("Let's get a case of beer and go to the BEACH!!")
If a hurricane is headed YOUR way, I recommend that you follow this advice. If you don't want to do that, just make sure that you DON'T go to the beach and have a good supply of candles and a propane grill.
The hurricane itself usually isn't all that bad. The aftermath sucks.
I read this post and I was inspired. I don't recall ever writing about it before, but I once owned two Crested Cockatoos (a male and a female) and they were really good companions. They were messy as hell in their cage, but they could talk and I SWEAR that one of them liked to read.
I've got several pictures of me lying on my couch with "Bingo" perched on my head while I was reading. He seemed to be studying the book, too. His only bad habit was the fact that he sometimes enjoyed the story so much that he shit in my hair. That's just one of the drawbacks you must accept if you like tropical birds.
"Bango" was the female, and she wasn't nearly as entertaining as Bingo (and not nearly as tame, either). Being a typical female, she'd bite the shit out of you when she went all hormonal. Plus, I turned her loose in my house one day and the dingbat flew into my chimney. I spent nearly an hour coaxing her out of there.
But she kept Bingo happy because she was a complete slut.
Have YOU ever watched a pair of cockatoos having sex? Bingo drilled Bango (where do you think she got her name?) all the time. If he wasn't hungry, sleepy or talking, Bingo wanted to get laid.
Lemme tell you how this works. Bingo takes a look at Bango's tail feathers and gets the urge. He LEAPS upon her, digs his beak into the back of her neck in a death-grip, and then commits brutal rape. It's all over in about 10 seconds.
After that, once the feathers stop flying, they sit on their perches, coo pleasantly at each other and smoke cigarettes in their afterglow.
That's a LOT more entertaining that owning a got-dam CAT!
July 09, 2005
hell... we all count
I first met this person early in my blogging days. She was part of "The Original Crew" that helped me through some difficult times in my life. She's
I agree with this statement:
Beneath the pretense that numbers matters lies one undisputable truth for me....from those who have stopped by this humble site, I have made some wonderful friends. Not everyone has ended up my new best buddy, but I have met incredible people through this medium. My life would be much less interesting without them. I'd be deprived of inspiration, frustration, comfort, irritation, and a host of other emotions. Each and every person who has stopped by this site and commented has influenced my life to some extent. For ill or for good, I'm different because of their presence.
Ah... cogent thought, darlin.' But has anyone from Australia sent you any genuine vegemite yet? THAT'S when I knew that I had truly arrived as a blogger. I've also eaten about half of that tube he sent, too. It's GOOD on frozen waffles once you adjust to the taste.
I am (at last count) a little more than 19,000 visitors away from the TWO MILLION MARK. I should collect that many in the next week or so. I fully intend to celebrate that milestone with lots of bells and whistles.
I'm giving away a Washburn Rover guitar, a jar of genuine Jawja "home-made wine," a few really good cigars and a GUT RUMBLES bumper sticker or two to the lucky winner. I'll even post their picture, if they don't mind. I've come a long way from here over the past few years.
It's been a lovely cruise.
I read about a lot of people switching hosts frequently and a lot of those people have recommended that I do the same. Well... maybe I'm just a stodgy old fart who is afraid of change, but I've used Hosting Matters ever since I got off of Blogger, and I've NEVER had a problem with them.
As my daddy always said--- "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Mine ain't never been broke.
I went to visit Catfish today and ended up ALMOST buying
I sure woulda liked to own that thing...
But I DID NOT buy it. Nosiree. I have enough toys already.
When I got back home, I found a yellow notice in my mailbox. I opened it and THIS is what it said:
Dear Senior Citizen. We are proud to announce a Senior Final Expense Program to help you pay for your final expenses. This Senior Plan will pay 100% of all funeral expenses up to $25,000.
I looked up to see if the buzzards were already circling over my head. BEJUS!!! I may be an old fart, but I ain't ready to kick the bucket yet. And who told THOSE PEOPLE that I am a "Dear Senior Citizen?"
Fuck 'em. I now am determined to live to piss on THEIR graves.
yeah. I kinda do.
Here's an interesting question from one of my commenters:
Do you classify your guitar playing to any certain era, or whether that music was "in the charts" when you decide what to play? I didn't think so.
The music I like to play now (since I don't do it for a living anymore) is heavily influenced by my old folk-music roots. I've played rock & roll, and I enjoy doing it, but even THEN, my bands stuck mostly to Golden Oldies and beach music. Lotta Beatles stuff.
I've just never been much into the head-banger shit.
To tell the truth, I've never even HEARD of "Rush." I never liked to do cover songs when I played by myself. I had to learn a bunch of them to do requests (if I had a dollar for every time a played a sappy John Denver song because somebody asked for it, I'd be... well, never mind. I'd be right where I am today because I usually GOT a dollar for doing it.) I preferred to play off-the-wall stuff that people never heard before. And I wrote a LOT of my own songs.
I play acoustic almost all the time now. My electrics and my amps have dust on them. I like old ballads and songs that tell a good story. I don't pay attention to what's "on the charts."
Gimme John Prine any day. Or old Gordon Lightfoot. THAT'S what I like to play now.
Sam and Stacey left around 9:00 this morning, headed back to Texas. Now, they've got to play beat the hurricane across Alabama and Mississippi to get back home. I hope they make it okay.
I'm really not worried about them, because they are young and dumb and this trip probably will be a great adventure they'll enjoy talking about for years. But rain started falling HERE less than ten minutes after they departed, so they may face a pretty miserable drive.
Plus, the truck they own is loaded to the gunnels with stuff Mama left for them. They return home with a lot more than they came with.
I was planning to drive down and see catfish today, but if the weather doesn't clear up, I may not go. Besides... I'm a little bit depressed right now.
I'm gonna miss them for a while.
Yeah, we have one of those. It was written by a bunch of great men, too. But it's been turned into a roll of butt-wipe by politicians over the years.
That's one reason why comment troll JB chaps my ass so badly. He behaves like Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments after Moses has spoken with the burning bush. (Think about THAT, too. Would an omnipotent God, who created ALL the earth and heavens, hung the stars in the sky and made water flow downhill communicate through a BURNING BUSH? I think Moses was smoking some burning bush of his own).
I'll tell you which President FIRST wiped his ass on the US Constitution. It was good old Abe Lincoln. If JB wants to argue THAT FACT with me, I won't argue back. I know what I know and I don't give a shit what he thinks. FDR did the same thing. Both men are REVERED today.
So, if JB wants to get all evangelical and preach about the Constitution, with a fire in his eyes, let him do so. Dumbfuck. He's only about 150 years too late.
Got-dam, you idiot. Wake up and smell the coffee.
(Betcha--- JB has a 5,000-word rant coming back on this one, repeating everything he ever said on this blog before, plus some more twisted ranting.)
Yeah, JB--- the door is open. PROVE what a deep thinker you are.
I could reply to this challenge in less than 30 words. YOU CAN'T!!! because you NEVER know when to shut up.
July 08, 2005
I LIKE dependability in a lot of what I own. I expect my car to start when I turn the ignition key. I want my microwave oven to cook my food the same way every time. When I had a dog, I expected him to come when I called him. If I write a check, I count on it being good for the money.
But some people are just TOO damned dependable. I don't even have to read the comments anymore. If I see something from "PJ" or "JB," I already KNOW what I'm getting before I read it.
Bejus! One-track minds, all the way. Check this kind of brilliance:
Hell Acidbrain, just last week you were bashing the Brits after Misty said something to piss you off, now you are putting them on a pedestal. Which is it?
Okay, forget the fact that this dip-shit calls me "Acidbrain." That's what I expect from feces-flinging leftists--- that's all they know how to do. When you have no argument, insult someone and run away laughing like a vandal painting graffitti on a wall. That's typical behavior for a raving moonbat.
Plus, I don't recall EVER writing that the attacks on London "vindicate" Bush. Vindicate WHAT? Where the hell did the prickwit come up with THAT idea? I've been FOR the invasion of Iraq from day one and I believe that I've made my reasons perfectly clear about why I think the way I do. But the bombings in London just reinforced what I've said all along. Bush doesn't NEED any vindication for having a full set of balls.
Never mind. The PJs of the world don't have ideas. They simply smear shit wherever they can.
Then I have the wonder-boy JB, the broken record who won't stop playing the same song over and over again.
The War on Abstraction (terrorism) is a miserable failure. If Gut were the thinker he imagines himself to be, he would start connecting the dots.
I was surprised by this comment, because JB did not use the word "UNCONSTITUTIONAL!!!" a single time and his comment was shorter than my post, which is a rarity. But it's still the same old shit he always has to say, which I am YET to figure out.
I just hope a good doctor manages to "connect the dots" on JB's shaved head some day, right before the lobotomy begins. Bejus knows that a lobotomy woundn't muddle HIS thinking any. It's muddled enough just the way he is now.
I like dependable cars, dependable appliances and dependable friends. But I'm getting kinda tired of a couple of my "dependable" trolls. Hey, assholes: why don't you try at least ONCE in your life to be original?
No can do, right? Feces-flinging monkeys is as high on the food chain as you'll ever climb.
history vs. hollywood
I watched a truly crappy movie today. It was Custer of the West, starring Robert Shaw as Custer. That movie really sucked.
I've visited the Little Big Horn battlefield and information is easy to find on the internet. Custer shat in his hat that day by underestimating the force facing him and compounding that error by splitting up his troops.
Plus, if you've ever seen the place, you'd know that Custer DID NOT pick the most defensible spot in the area. I think hubris led him astray. He did not know what he was up against.
The story makes a good movie, and half the places you see in Montana and South Dakota have something named after Custer. Hell--- he got wiped out and became a legend. And I KNOW that a "willing suspension of disbelief" is part of enjoying any book or movie, but gimme a break on this one.
One thing that doomed Custer (other than his arrogance and contempt for his foe) was the fact that his men were armed with what (I think) was the .303 Enfield breech-loading carbine. That's a nice rifle and you can still find a few around today--- but it fires only one shot at a time and you have to reload after every shot. I may have the rifle model wrong, but the troops DID carry single-shot breech-loaders.
A bunch of the Indians had Winchester repeating rifles. They not only had Custer outnumbered, but they had him out-gunned for that kind of battle. He didn't stand a chance.
But in the movie I saw today, Custer's men were firing lever-action Winchesters at the Indians as they all died bravely. My ass. Custer's men DID NOT HAVE repeating rifles.
That's a fact. I know that Hollywood is full of fantasy, but the rifles Custer's men carried had a lot to do with the outcome of that battle. Trust me. Even if you're NOT a good shot, you can fire six bullets from a repeater a LOT faster than you can shoot, reload, and shoot again from a single-shot breech-loader.
Why in the hell couldn't the movie get that part right?
is he dead?
What happened to this guy? Here one day and gone the next, I suppose.
Bejus! I had people crawling my ass for telling someone who blogged for FOUR MONTHS and started complaining about all his "hard work" that he should be bitch-slapped. Cruel me. I put up more posts in a single day than that guy did since he started. My sympathy violin just wasn't playing for him.
I've seen a bunch of bloggers burn out and vanish. Popular people, too. I have an opinion about that phenomenon (I have an opinion on EVERYTHING), and it's very simple to me.
Either you like blogging, or you don't. If it ever becomes WORK instead of something you WANT to do, then quit. The world isn't going to stop turning and in a week nobody will miss you anyway. Follow your heart. Very few other people give a damn.
Blogging is the ULTIMATE short-attention-span theater. If Kim quit, I'm certain that he had his reasons, and they are none of MY business.
At least he's not bitching about what "hard work" it was.
i'll try anything once
Yes, I am an adventuresome guy....
But, this woman frightens me.
She might not let me up when I cried "UNCLE!!!"
you meet good people when you blog
One thing I really like about blogging is having people I never heard of before just show up in my referrals or leave interesting comments on one of my posts. That's how I discovered this guy. That blog is well worth reading.
Plus, he gave me my trivia question for the day. Ever heard these words before?
"And the words of the prophets are written on subway walls..."
Who wrote that?
I have a pretty nice master bedroom in my house. It's got a big bed, two closets and a bathroom bigger than some apartments I've seen. Sam and Stacey fixed it up really nice.
They painted the room, put up borders, changed the shower curtain, laid down new rugs, installed blinds on the window (with a VERY GOOD black hangy-down thing--- it matches the Bulldawg Red on the border) cleaned the place from top to bottom and even installed a nice brass towel-rack/ utility shelf over in the corner where my spider once lived.
Just Damn! I've spent the night in worse places than that before.
Of course, they ALSO put some pink, flowered, feminine-looking sheets on my bed and bought some pillows that belong in a bordello. But I ain't gonna bitch. They cleaned my kitchen, cleaned my carpets and even wanted to paint all my walls before I ran them off to go do something FUN for a change. They spent a grand total of $220 on that project, which put them $20 over the budget I gave them. (I have the paint to do the walls myself.)
The extra $20 came from the painting and frame Stacey bought to hang in my bathroom. It's a series of three black-and-white photographs of old farmhouses with split-rail fences around them. I've blogged before about how much I like driving through North Georgia and seeing places that look EXACTLY like those photos. They are beautiful.
I've been sleeping in Quinton's old room ever since the girls were last here to visit. The single bed in there is fine for me. They cleaned up THAT room, too, so the Crackerbox looks pretty good now.
And I no longer have to fear guests wanting to spend the night at MY house. I can offer ANYBODY a big, clean bed, a FINE bathroom and no shit scattered all over the place (other than guitars and firearms).
It's been quite a while since I could say that honestly.
the wild bunch
I stole this picture from her site because she said that I could. From left-to-right, you have Husband Joey, Kellie, Stacey, me and my Darling Daughter, Sam. I think "Troll" took that picture for us.
Heh. We LOOK like we fit in quite well at "Bike Night," don't we?
When the dog-and-pony show begins, any nominee Bush picks for the Supreme Court will be grilled like a piece of steak about Roe v. Wade, as if that case is the most important issue in the country today. It's NOT, but it sure blows up the dresses of a lot of feminists and hyperventilating Democrats.
Here's a post that some people won't like. Hell... any time a person writes about abortion, that writer is gonna piss SOMEBODY off, no matter what he says. I believe that Assrot is too radical to suit MY humble opinion on the issue, but he's also correct in a lot of what he says.
I do not believe that Roe v. Wade will EVER be overturned by the Supreme Court. We've accepted abortion now, people are gonna do it whether it's legal or not, and anybody who claims that we're heading back to the back-alleys and coathanger days is lying to you.
I DO believe that abortion has become the "convenient" form of birth control that a LOT of wimmen use because they lack personal responsibility. Yeah. Get drunk, fuck a stranger, become pregnant and then have an abortion. Problem solved.
Bullshit. If you read the comments on that post, you'll see a Usual Suspect bringing up the fact that NO form of birth control is 100% reliable. I can't argue with that. It's true.
But how many wimmen have abortions because their birth control failed? Or they were "raped?" MILLIONS of them? C'mon. Gimme a break. That's the biggest Straw Man argument I ever heard.
Most wimmen have abortions because they lacked the self-control or good sense to KEEP from getting pregnant in the first place. Anybody who says anything different is being "politically correct" and has learned to see dog shit and call it a rose.
I've voiced my opinions on this issue before. Abortion should be legal, but discouraged. ANYTHING after the second trimester should be forbidden. Partial-birth abortion is an abomination, fit for something old Joe Mengala might have thought up during his experiments in Nazi Germany.
How having an abortion became a badge of PRIDE that some wimmen wear today is a mystery to me. That's a lot like saying "I went bankrupt and I'm DELIGHTED that I showed a complete lack of good sense and responsibility. Balancing a checkbook is foolish. I am WOMAN! Hear me ROAR! It's MY RIGHT to be foolish and irresponsible."
Yeah. It IS your right, as long as you affect only yourself.
But abortion doesn't do that.
snake tales (or tails?)
Okay, maybe this one is a lie because western diamondback rattlers aren't found east of the Mississippi River. But I've seen bigger snakes than that one.
I worked shiftwork for many years at the chemical plant. The plant ran 24-7 and it was lit up like a Christmas tree at night, a shining beacon in the middle of the marsh for every insect attracted to light. The bugs came to the light, the frogs came after the bugs, and the snakes came after the frogs.
People killed some really BIG rattlers out there.
The plant was encircled with a six-foot fence topped by three coils of barbed wire. I've seen snakes hanging from that top roll of wire that not only reached all the way to the ground but also had about 18" of slack to spare. The biggest one I ever saw was as thick as my thigh and had 16 rattles and a button on its tail.
I've watched those big bastards swim the Savannah River from Hutchinson Island, too. Anybody who tells you that a rattlesnake can't swim is full of shit. Some of them were big enough to kill and eat a small child.
Snakes make my skin crawl. I don't like 'em, they give me the willies and I don't care how many rats or mice they eat. If I see a rattlesnake, I'm gonna execute his ass, every time. I've killed some big 'uns, too.
Those guys didn't really need to fake that story. Just take a job where I once worked and YOU can find the real thing.
July 07, 2005
now... you know
Here's an example of the kind of people I make friends with in bars. Kellie called him "Biker Santa," but he called himself "Troll." I kinda liked Troll.
He reminds me of Catfish.
quote of the day
"Blog: The word “blog” is literally shorthand for “boring;” a vulgar, overused word that strikes your ear with the dull thud of a cudgel to the soft spot of a child. It’s an abbreviation used by journalism drop outs to give legitimacy to their shallow opinions and amateur photography that seems to be permanently stuck in first draft hell. Looking in the archives of the blogs, one would expect someone who has been at it for years to slowly hone their craft and improve their writing and photographs, since it’s usually safe to assume that if someone does something long enough, he or she will eventually not suck at it. Even with lowered expectations, you’ll get a shotgun blast of disappointment in your face."
Of course, the person who wrote THAT statement operates the best page in the universe. How am I supposed to argue with such a self-appointed, exhalted figure?
I shamelessly stole the link from here, where I can smoke cigarettes and bullshit all I want to. He isn't ashamed to wear a pimp hat and pass out on a hotel balcony after drinking "home-made wine." I have pictures to prove it.
Take a wild guess--- between the two, which site is MY favorite to visit?
it's all over the place
Yeah, I read about the bombings in London this morning, but I didn't post about it. There's plenty of other people who had better and more cogent things to say about it than I did. You can find a lot of them right here.
MY humble opinion? Whoever hatched this brilliant "terrorist" plan fucked up. The British are not like Spain--- they won't cave. They didn't during The Blitz of WWII and they won't do it now, either. They've got more than just a stiff upper lip. They have resolve and a set of real balls.
Plus, what does this kind of crap do to the screeching peace-monkeys who want GITMO shut down and all US troops out of Iraq? THOSE blithering idiots are the best friends the terorists have and what did the terrorists do? Shoot the legs out from under every Ted Kennedy, apologist asshole on THEIR side.
Yeah. Let's "appease" the "insurgents." Just tuck tail and run, and they won't hate us anymore. Right.
You don't kiss that kind of ass. You put a bullet right between the butt-cheeks. That's the only thing those troglodytes understand. What they did today was downright stupid. How can you argue FOR people like that?
9/11 was stupid, too. Look what THAT merry prank has cost them so far. But that's what you get when you DON'T deal with homicidal maniacs and leftist appeasers run the show. Thank you, Bill Clinton. (AND Jimmah Carter.)
I believe that a very serious strategic error occurred today. For every person killed or wounded in London, we'll kill 20 of THEM now. And we won't quit until they're ALL dead.
Brilliant idea. Way to go, you assholes.
(UPDATE: There's more here, including another Quote of the Day. "This is a war of civilization against barbarity..." Goddam right it is. And people who don't realize that fact are as guilty as the terrorists for every innocent civilian who dies.)
I WOULD say... drag all the appeasing, cowardly, nutless-wonder, ass-kissing, bloviating dickweeds off and shoot them. But THAT would be "barbaric." Let the terrorists have their way and they'll behead those asswipes.
I wouldn't describe her that way
I like Stacey a lot. Not only because she's been the best thing that ever happened to my daughter, but because Stacey has a heart of gold. She simply is a GOOD person. I disagree with this statement:
Stacy is awesome as hell. In the words of my husband, "She just don't give a shit, does she? I like that girl!"
That's wrong. Stacey gives a shit about a LOT of things, and my daughter is one of them. She has never been anything but kind to me and everybody in my family loves her.
Stacey grew up "different," and we've talked about that. She is intelligent, a hard-worker and one of the finest people I've ever met in my life.
Does Stacey "look" like a lesbian? I dunno. What does a lesbian look like? Is there a standard form that I don't know about?
When I first saw Sam and Stacey together, the relationship wasn't difficult for me to figure out, but it looked like a good one and I was happy for my daughter. She could have done a lot worse with her life than meet someone like Stacey.
Last night, Stacey and I set off the rest of my fireworks and put my neighbors to shame again. I had Shock and Awe in my driveway. We blew up some really impressive shit until we had nothing left. Then, we went inside and talked until almost 2:30 in the morning.
I'm taking the girls down to the catfish manor in about an hour or so. We're going to shoot some guns, do some fishing and eat a low-country boil. Samantha is willing to shoot, but she requires earplugs. She doesn't like loud noises.
Stacey wants to shoot any damn thing I bring with me. The bigger, the better. Heh. I want to check her out on my .357 magnum. Maybe I can talk Cat into letting her shoot his hog-leg .44. She'll DO IT, I can guarantee that fact.
I just have one thing to say about Stacey. If you say anything bad about HER, you're getting on my fighting side.
the links just keep growing
I met another blogger last night. I'm not certain that I agree with everything she had to say about the meeting (I didn't know that her husband almost got into a fight--- and I WAS NOT drunk when they showed up at the restaurant) but it's a fairly accurate piece.
Why in the hell they picked THAT PLACE to meet on "Biker Night" is a mystery to me, but I had a good time. "Troll" reminded me of some of the bikers I knew back in my guitar-playing days.
A BIG eruption almost exploded when some idiot left the parking lot and hit somebody's bike on the way out. For a minute or so, I thought that I might be witness to a lynching. But all that shit blew over when the bike cranked right up after it was PICKED UP.
That's why I prefer places like the Exchange Tavern or the Six-Pence Pub to meet. The food is good, the drinks are fine, and it's quiet enough to talk without screaming.
I ain't going back to that place. It just ain't my style.
still looking for the real killers
O.J. Simpson got away with brutally murdering TWO people. Even after cheating the hangman, he still can't keep his shit in one sock.
Thank you, Judge Ito, you idiot. Thank you, jurors who let this bastard go free. Most of all, thank you California, the certified nut-bowl of the United States.
Bejus! I pop a cat in the ass with a pellet gun and people start wishing me a horrible death. O.J. gets a free ride for cutting a couple of people up with a knife.
'Splain THAT to me.
well, he's right
I can't argue with this. If you read it on the internet, it must be true.
Same thing applies to the New York Times and Maureen Dowd.
July 06, 2005
Here's another non big-time blog that has a lot of personality. It's too "busy" in the sidebar for my tastes, but what the hell? Some people like all that decoration.
I don't--- but at least I'm on the blogroll.
When I went to visit my grandmother last Sunday, I almost got killed on the way home. I was driving down Highway 21 in Port Wentworth when a car in the left lane suddenly just cut into my lane (the RIGHT lane) and damn nearly took my front quarter-panel off, right there on the road.
I stood mama's Impala on its nose, swerved out of the way and barely avioded skidding into a deep ditch. The bastard who made that idiot move just kept going merrily down the road without a clue about what he'd just done.
He was driving a Ford Escort with duct tape wrapped all around both tail lights. The car appreared to have been hammered by a sixteen-pound sledge a few times in the past. In other words, it was a rolling piece of shit.
I caught up with the idiot in less than a mile. He stopped at a traffic light and I pulled up beside him. I rolled down my passenger window, honked my horn and YELLED at the prick. I received no response, even though his window was rolled down.
That little acne-faced jerk was WEARING HEADPHONES and rocking out to whatever he was listening to, with his baseball cap turned backward and a blissful look of PURE STUPIDITY on his face. Yeah, it was a white boy, too.
He doesn't know how close he came to having one of his front tires shot out from under him. I ALWAYS carry a pistol when I travel. He he made one damned tempting target.
I finally got the asshole's attention. He took the headphones off his ears and uttered something brilliant. "HUH?" he said.
"YOU PRICK!!! YOU ALMOST PUT ME IN THE DITCH BACK THERE!!!" I yelled.
"Huh?" he responded.
"YOU NEVER EVEN SAW ME, DID YOU, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE??!!" I yelled.
"Huh?" he said again.
That's someone who needs to be removed from the gene pool before he reproduces. I'll GUARANTEE you that he put the headphones right back on as soon as I pulled away when the light turned green. I should have shot not only his front tire but HIM, just as a service to humanity.
Anybody who wears HEADPHONES while driving is worse than the dumbasses yakking on cell-phones or crazy wimmen using their rear-view mirror to apply make-up while driving 65 MPH down the road. And MADD wants to fry drunk drivers?
I'd rather have a semi-drunk person on the road with me than a prick wearing HEADPHONES. Think he can hear the siren of an emergency vehicle? Think he knows when he almost killed somebody with a stupid lane-change? Think he THINKS at all?
That bastard needs to be dragged off and shot.
Yeah. I sometimes suffer from road rage. That little turd doesn't know how lucky he is.
i don't believe it!
I went out to conduct some business this morning (part of which involved buying another mandolin--- a genuine Washburn, from my friend willy and I also found a FINE Washburn guitar for jimbo. I talked to him on the phone and told him that if he didn't like my selection, I would buy it back from him for the price he paid. Hell--- I came close to buying the thing myself. I LIKED it. I believe that he will, too. And if he can beat the price ANYWHERE, I want to know where he did it.)
Anyway, when I arrived back at the Crackerbox, I didn't recognize where I was. Sam and Stacey CLEANED MY HOUSE!!! They had vacuum cleaners, carpet-steamers and all kinds of elbow-grease going on and the place looked... downright respectable. I've TOLD you people before that wimmen have a "cleaning gene" that men simply do not possess, and I have proof in my house now.
They were on one hell of a roll. Now, they want to paint my walls to get rid of all the dirty fingerprints Quinton and Jack left there (okay... some of those fingerprints are MINE, too) and put up attractive borders in my bathrooms. Change the shower curtains, get some new towels and re-paint my front door. They've been watching a show called "Redecorating On a Dime" and they intend to practice what they've learned.
I am NOT going to stand in their way. In fact, I asked them what they thought it might cost to finish their plans and Sam replied, "Daddy, we can do it for about $100 dollars." I gave them $200 and sent their happy asses to Home Depot.
I didn't ASK the girls to do this. I told them that they were on vacation, so they should enjoy their time here. Piss on going to work for me. Go to the beach. Go visit Mommie. Go have some fun.
Stacey said, "You don't understand, Rob. This IS fun for us and we want to do it."
The only thing they INSISTED upon is that I keep it looking good once they finish all their drudge-work. I agreed.
Just Damn! I once offered $1,000 to a dead-beat whiner to do exactly what those girls are doing for free, and the whiner didn't want the job. Fuck him. Sam and Stacey make a good team and the Crackerbox ALREADY looks 500% better than it did yesterday.
Painting should begin in about an hour.
smoking is bad for you
If I were still running the "Carnival of the Crappers," this post would be the lead entry. The only cigarette better than one in the morning when you're sitting on the porcelain throne is one right after hot, sweaty sex.
In either case, watch your balls.
I didn't know this man, but my friend Catfish did. The old fart died doing what he loved most: riding the Ogeechee River.
His family has my condolences, but I still say--- if you've gotta go, that's the way to do it. Die doing something you love to do.
headline vs. fact
I saw it bold as brass: "MONSTER STORM BATTERS COAST!!!"
That was tropical storm cindy. If that's a "Monster Storm," I'm a got-dam jet pilot.
Reporters are worse about hyperventilating and developing a case of the vapors than wimmen are. Bejus! Cindy ain't nothin' more than a good blow off the ocean. If you read the headlines, you'd think the damn thing was an atomic bomb.
At the Cajun Tide Beach Resort on the tiny Louisiana barrier island town of Grand Isle, owners Shirley Riche and David Ducote said they were beginning to see the wind pick up and mix with a little rain as the outer bands of Cindy began lashing the island, but it was all bearable.
"Monster Storm," my ass. I probably saw something worse two days ago when a petulant little squall blew across the Crackerbox.
People need to learn to read the news CAREFULLY to get the facts. Reporters damn sure don't give 'em.
July 05, 2005
I had to spend about an hour today picking lice off of my blog. The new MT Blacklist does a pretty good job of keeping the usual suspects off my page, but spammers are a lot like cockroaches. They'll find a way to crawl into your house if they can.
The trackback spam seems to be the newest great thing for these assholes. I checked my comments this morning and found 50 TRACKBACK PINGS in there. I knew good and well that I had not written anything so profound that FIFTY people would link me, so I checked.
Sure enough, it was all spam. I think I got rid of it all, but I may have missed one or two. Plus, if you try to comment (legitimately) and find yourself banned, I may have gotten a little carried away. Let me know and I'll fix it.
Fuck a spammer. I've never known a lower form of life.
quote of the day
About bottled water:
And in North Richland Hills, Texas, the tap water was so vile, I could barely shower in it. Smelled like bug poison. Hell, it was so skank-nasty, I hated to shit in it for fear of offending the shit.
That's from ellison, who makes me jealous because I DIDN'T come up with that line. Pretty good, bro.
The worst-tasting (and worst smelling) water I've ever encountered was in Fort Myers, Florida. Bejus! If you turned on the shower, it was like cranking up a paper mill in that beach house. Stunk like rotten eggs and tasted like shit in ANYTHING you used it in.
I bought bottled water when I spent a week there.
he's asking for it
I don't disagree with a word he says but he shouldn't be saying that kind of shit with today's "new" rules. He's in for some flak.
But he seems tough enough to take it, because that's not the first politically incorrect post I've ever read from the man. That's why I like to read what he writes, even if he DOES talk too much about cooking and briny pigs.
Wanna know the truth? (And this fact will be no surprise to my daughter--- we've discussed this subject before.) I was ready to get rid of Sam's mama and Debbie KNEW that I was ready to break off the relationship before Samantha was born. So, she "forgot" her birth control and became pregnant.
That nut-case woman wouldn't even CONSIDER an abortion (although I learned later that she already had THREE of them before), because I just made supervisor at work and I was a ripe meal ticket.
I made the SECOND dumbest mistake of my life. I married her.
See... I had this really malformed idea that we could make a go of things and I could lift her UP from the way she'd always lived--- in a family just as crazy as SHE was--- and I knew that MY family would treat her well. Things didn't work out that way. SHE dragged ME down instead.
She burned down my house. Is THAT crazy, or what? She committed deliberate arson, claimed all sorts of lost property and played the role of the Wounded Woman, hoping to take Allstate Insurance to the cleaners along with me.
Unfortunately, the dingbat used gasoline to start the fire, CHARGED the gas on a credit card at the station less than a block from the house and had three different neighbors watch her haul all the loot out of the house she could tote right before she set the fire.
Allstate paid off my mortgage 11 months later. In the meantime, I kept making payments on a burnt-out house. I never saw a dime out of the deal and pretty much lost everything I owned.
We were divorced, and I got custody of Samantha. Debbie took a mysterious "job" after that, which put her completely out of communication with EVERYBODY for almost a year. I suspect that she was in jail for arson and insurance fraud. People don't just disappear like that for no good reason.
Shortly thereafter, I met Jennifer and fell head over heels in love with that woman. I was 40 years old. She was 26. We were BOTH up to our necks in debt and broke as a pair of worms. But we worked our way out of that mess and became fairly well-to-do in a few years. Did some good real-estate investing. Started to prosper.
I wanted to have a vascetomy. Jennifer wanted a baby. (It was that fucking "biological clock" thing, and I defy ANYONE to tell me that raging hormones don't control a woman's mind.) I thought about the idea and decided that we SHOULD reproduce.
She was beautiful and intelligent, and I thought I had some pretty good DNA to contribute to the project, too. We were doing well in life. Plus, I liked that baby-making practice.
We birthed Quinton into the world. I was the most delighted Daddy who ever lived. I HAD A SON!!! I KNEW that he would be the best of both of us and the Smith family name would not vanish with my death (my brother has no children and never will).
All of that turned to ashes six years later. Marrying Jennifer and siring Quinton was the WORST mistake I ever made in my life. So far, it's damn near killed me and cost almost $60,000. I seldom see my son anymore. I would rather have a thug beat me with a tire-iron than go through what I've endured for the past three years.
Thank you, Jennifer, you bloodless cunt.
I did NOT love Samantha's mama, but I DID love Jennifer. Looking back on it now, I was better off with Debbie. At least I KNEW that she was crazy. Jennifer ambushed me and broke my heart, in addition to taking everything we had together (BULLSHIT! I PAID FOR MOST OF IT!!!) and tossing me in the street with $60 to my name.
Been there, done that. WITH prostate cancer, while Jennifer moved an unemployed dope-smoker into my still-warm bed. I don't want to hear no shit from nobody about wimmen. I KNOW what those bitches are capable of.
Obviously, I picked two wrong ones, but there ain't many out there like my mama. Wimmen are capable of unbelievable cruelty that I don't understand. I couldn't sleep at night if I DID THAT.
But THEY do.
Yep. it's pretty. But after shooting a LOT of handguns, I've made up my mind.
A .357 is the biggest hog-leg I need to own. Or NOT OWN, as I meant to say. Anything bigger than that will hurt your wrist and break your wallet if you shoot it.
That's MY humble opinion.
i don't believe it
I have ranted about how ridiculous I think bottled water is, but my daughter loves it. She toted a twelve-pack of that shit into my house when she arrived.
"Daddy, it tastes BETTER than tap water!" she insisted.
I decided to put her to the taste test. Sam and Stacey went to Wal-Mart and I put two glasses of water (identical glasses) in the refrigerator. One contained her bottled water and the other was straight from my tap. When they got back to the Crackerbox, I set both glasses out on the table and told Sam, "Okay--- taste 'em and pick out your bottled water."
She sipped both and said, "This one is bottled water." She was correct.
I cried foul and claimed that she had a 50-50 chance of guessing right and that the test wasn't fair. I wanted a recount on that election.
So, yesterday, I put THREE glasses of water (this time in plastic cups) in the refrigerator while the girls went off to go "geocaching," whatever the hell THAT is. When they got back to the Crackerbox, I put the three glasses on the table and chortled proudly. "One of those is bottled water and the other two came from my tap. Pick out your bottled water."
Sam sipped all three and said, "This is bottled water." She was correct again.
I almost blew a gasket and slipped a disc. I COULDN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE!!! I blamed THAT test on blind-assed guessing, too, so I waited until they weren't looking and tried again.
This time, I put FOUR cups of water in the refrigerator, and I tasted all four first. The bottled water in ONE cup didn't taste any different from the tap water in the other three to me. I waited for the proper moment and ambushed my daughter.
"Okay, smartass with the Golden Tongue. Pick your bottled water out of THIS selection." I KNEW I had her then.
She tasted all four and said, "This is bottled water. No doubt about it." She was correct AGAIN!
I give up now. Three for three ain't just dumb luck. Stacey laughed and said, "She really CAN tell the difference, Rob."
Bejus! I may have to re-think my position on bottled water now. I'm not going to BUY any, but... possibly, some people can taste the difference. I can't.
And I STILL think that shit is over-priced.
i think they're having fun
My darlin' daughter and Stacey seem to be enjoying themselves here. We lit up the sky with a lot of fireworks last night, and we didn't have a single mis-fire or any tragic accidents.
We ALSO put my pussy-assed neighbors to shame. I had some triple-burst rockets that resembled sticks of dynamite and they were pretty impressive when they exploded. Stacey and I actally received APPLAUSE from down the road when we started setting those mean things off.
But we were all tired from a fairly busy day, so I still have some explosives left over. We went to bed before midnight for a change and the girls didn't crawl out of bed until 10:30 this morning. I may light up the sky again tonight.
No plans for today, so the girls can do whatever they want to do, even if that's just sleeping all day. Thursday, I'm taking them down to the Catfish Manor for some shooting and fishing, and cat says he'll cook another Low Country Boil for them.
We might do some gator-hunting, too.
it's weird, all right
You never know what you may find on the internet. I kinda like the boy with the spoons and forks stuck to his face.
My mama could do that.
July 04, 2005
I am suprised that so many people missed the point of what I wrote about interracial marriage. I have a gay daughter. She and her companion are staying with me this week. I have no problem with their relationship and my family welcomed Stacey with open arms.
We "Smifs" ain't exactly a bunch of hating people.
But I KNOW what it's like to grow up "different" from other kids, and if you don't believe that children can be the most cruel people in the world, you exist on a planet other than mine. I LIVED it.
When I came to Savannah, I was a ragamuffin hillbilly who talked with a funny accent. Other kids made fun of me and picked on me. As I grew older, I made some friends, but my folks didn't have a lot of money. I had two pairs of pants and three shirts to wear to school. My clothes were always clean, but I was made fun of again because my daddy didn't dress me like a clothes-horse and shower riches on my precious little head, the way some other people had it at home.
I've blogged before about how I got in fights over that stuff.
I played on a football team that had 88 players on it. I showered with the rest of the guys. They made fun of my dick because I am uncircumsized. Yep... out of 88 players, lil ole Rob and ONE OTHER GUY had unclipped dicks. The rest of 'em were crew-necks. BWHAHAHAAAA! That sure was funny at the time.
My parents had only one car. Dad worked shiftwork and a lot of overtime. He couldn't pick me up every day after practice, and rather than ask for a ride, I WALKED HOME FIVE MILES after football practice most days. Often, I arrived home well after dark.
I made the terrible mistake of asking a girl named "Carmalita" go to to a dance with me. I didn't know that she was considered to be Mexican white trash and she was allegedly beneath the dignity of a football player to date. She sat next to me in one of my classes and I liked her, so I asked her out. I got in a fight over that, too.
I never said a word to my parents about ANY of those problems. That crap was MINE to deal with, so I did my best to handle it. Mom and Dad never knew.
When I read comments from people who say interracial children have no problems whatsoever anymore, are you CERTAIN about that? Are YOU THERE every day? Or is it just that YOUR child doesn't come home crying and bitching? Did the fact that you may NOT KNOW EVERYTHING ever light in your "open" mind?
As an adult, you can do any damn thing you want to that's within the law. But I KNOW what it like to grow up "different," and if you willingly inflict that fate on a young'un, you're a selfish prick. And if you think being different doesn't matter anymore, you have your head up your ass. It still matters.
I wish that it didn't, but it does.
i rest my case
Go read this post if you missed it, and be sure to read all the comments. Betcha ass. You have a Constitutional Right to free expression as long as you DON'T say anything that pisses people off. Say EXACTLY what people want to hear, and you can express yourself all day long. No problem.
Just make sure you express yourself.... correctly.
I said what I meant, and if you don't like it, go pound sand up your ass.
hear him weep
A great line I heard in a movie today: Some young chick comes flouncing through the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans with strategic cut-aways that leave half of HER bare ass hanging out. Her father says, "Put on a different pair of pants. You look like a slut dressed that way."
The girl bows up and says, "I can dress anyway I want to. I have a CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT TO FREE EXPRESSION! I'm NOT changing pants!" And she flounces out of the room with her bare ass-cheeks jiggling.
I wanted to puke.
Honey, I hate to tell you this, but any "Constitutional Right to Free Expression" you once had vanished with the advent of political correctness in this country. YOU may be free to run around with your ass hanging out of your pants, but that's okay--- you're a woman--- and any man who LOOKS at your ass hanging out of those pants is a deviate, a rapist or a sexist.
Let ME walk down the street with the head of my dick hanging out of my pants and see how far my "Right of Free Expression" gets me. Straight to a jail cell is where that path leads.
Just use the forbidden "N-word" when you write. Righteous people will descend on you like a pack of hyenas. YOU CAN'T SAY THAT!!!
Those are the "new" rules today.
Yeah... this is also my thought on "Independence Day." Thanks to corrupt politicians and power-hungry rogues, we've managed to take a beautiful ideal and twist into something grotesque.
Don't get me wrong--- the USA is STILL the best country in the world, but it ain't what it COULD have been. Hell--- it ain't even what it SHOULD have been. We have too many cowards and idiots surrounding us today.
I lost my job because of my blog. I was politically incorrect and what I WROTE scared the shit out of people who run a MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR corporation. They pissed right down their pants legs and got rid of me, lest they incur the wrath of government or an EEOC lawyer.
There's your "land of the free" today.
Jefferson would spin in his grave if he saw what has become of this country.
i heard it talk!
Don't tell me we have no alligators around Savannah.
I SWEAR I heard this one saying, jim...jim... in a soft, seductive hiss. Wanna go swimming with him?
I hear that they like Yankee meat almost as much as they like small dogs.
After visiting with MY 94 year-old grandmother yesterday, that's all I'm gonna say. I LIKE old folks who still have some spark in 'em.
It's strange... I remember being a little boy and listening to my realtives talk while they drank beer and moonshine and laughed a lot. I couldn't have been older than six at the time.
But I caught a vision in my mind of just HOW MANY paths those people had walked and how many good stories they had to tell about it. I really SAW it, too--- like a path through a field of flowers that winds and twists over rocks and clay, across a stream or two, and just keeps going... for a LONG way.
I didn't have many memories when I was six years old. I ENVIED the older folks for what they had done and how they told those stories.
Now I AM one of the older folks and I HAVE walked that twisted path. I have a lot of stories to tell.
I also wish I was six years old again.
Heh. I just may live long enough to see some of my science fiction dreams come true. We drilled a fucking COMET! In SPACE!!! Is that impressive, or what?
Well, it's probably NOT IMPRESSIVE to assholes who believe that the money we spent on this project should have been used to end poverty, feed the starving and buy more gas-bag politicians.
Personally, I would rather shoot a comet.
short attention span
On Independence Day, I sometimes reflect on the struggles our nation has endured since July 4th, 1776. Many wars. Even a war among ourselves. Lots of military cemetaries and a lot of dead soldiers. Incredible sacrifice and bravery.
Was it worth it? In MY humble opinion, it was--- every bit of it. Some of our history is downright tragic, but we wouldn't be the greatest country in the world today without a few fuck-ups along the way. Kids grow up to be responsible adults the same way.
I liked this post, but it depressed me when I read it. How many World War II veterans do YOU know? How many people who LIVED THROUGH WWII do you know? Not many, I'll bet. Most of 'em are dead now.
The war that seems to define us as a nation now, especially in the Mainstream Media and politics, is Vietnam. That pathetic effort is the racing stripe in the drawers of the USA. It was one of those fuck-ups that I sincerely HOPE made us stronger in the long run. But that micro-managed effort in futility should NOT be the bloody shirt idiotic dip-sticks wave every time the United States goes to war.
I am not certain that the United States has the backbone anymore to endure the kind of effort WWII took. I look at the great weeping and gnashing of teeth about casualties in Iraq and I want to hang my head. Buncha gutless wonders. We lost more troops in a SINGLE BATTLE in WWII than we EVER will in Iraq.
The tree of liberty sometimes must be watered by the blood of patriots. Truer words were never spoken.
I mourn every casualty we have in Iraq. I've met a lot of those fine troops and I've bought them dinner and drinks, just to show my appreciation for them doing a dirty job well. The JBs of the world can argue until they're blue in the face about Halliburton and OOOOIL all they want to, but it doesn't change one simple fact.
WE went to war. When we're IN, we're IN, and you don't quit, get cold feet or start yelling "quagmire" when it's not over in two days. Or even two years. What would the world be like today if we'd done that in WWII?
Was Iraq an imminent threat to the United States? Probably not. Iraq wasn't about to invade and conquer this country. But was it a festering boil on the ass of the world that needed to be lanced in the War on Terror? Yes. It was.
War is ugly, but sometimes it is necessary. Holding hands and singing "Kumbaya" around a campfire doesn't impress maniacs such as Adolph Hitler or Saddam Hussein. Bullets do.
If we listened to the screeching peace monkeys of today back in 1776, we wouldn't be the USA now. If we listened to them in 1941, we'd all be goose-stepping and speaking German today. They are WRONG!!!
That's MY humble opinion. And I wish you all a happy and delightful Independence Day. A lot of people died to give you what you have today. Appreciate that fact.
And take the time to read some history about WWII--- that just might clean the Vietnam racing stripe out of your drawers.
(UPDATE: Yeah. what he said.)
if you're lucky, you don't have to be good
That's something else my father always said. The only problem is, you can't always depend on luck.
It sure is nice when it happens, though.
July 03, 2005
Sam and Stacey want to go to Tybee Island tomorrow night to watch the big fireworks show. I ain't going. The traffic is ungodly and I simply do not like that kind of crowd anymore. I've been there and done that already, and I don't care to do it again.
But the girls are young and this is a real adventure for them. They'll go with my blessings, but they'll go by themselves. I hope they have fun.
I have some business to conduct tomorrow morning, and I think I'm going to take a side-trip over to South Carolina and buy a few boxes of Voo-Doo Balls and BIG-ASSED explosive devices. I'll set them off in my driveway, the same way I ALWAYS do on Independence Day.
As long as I don't blow up anything but myself, the cops don't seem to mind. Sam and Stacey enjoyed my show last year, so I figured we'd do it again. Sam doesn't like the noise, but Stacey is ready for anything a person can set on fire. I really LIKE her.
Heh. I'm going to light up the sky tomorrow night.
I had a good time at Mommie's house. My Uncle Virgil was there and we sat around and told a lot of good stories. I've said before that I come from a long line of good storytellers, and I'm not making that up. I laughed until my sides hurt today.
Poor Uncle Virgil. To hear HIM tell it, he was just a shit-magnet all of his life. He could be ANYWHERE, just minding his own business, and trouble simply erupted around him. It wasn't HIS fault! He was innocent, pure as the driven snow. OTHER PEOPLE stirred up that shit and he just got caught up in it.
Listen to Mommie tell the same story and you get a slightly different perspective.
For instance, today I heard the "eat your dirty socks" story for the umpteenth time. According to Virgil, he had been out playing in the snow with his two brothers and two of their friends. He was the first one back to the house. He took off his wet shoes and dirty socks and started warming himself by the fireplace. The next thing he knew, without doing ANYTHING to provoke the attack, his brothers and their friends wrestled him to the floor and stuck those dirty socks in his mouth.
Mommie tells the story slightly different. Both sides match right up to the point where the brothers and their friends arrived. But Mommie says that when Virgil's brothers told him to get those nasty, stinking socks out of the room, Virgil said, "MAKE ME! I'll stuff those socks in your mouth."
They decided to accept the challenge, and Virgil carried those socks out of that room in HIS mouth.
I wasn't there, so I don't know who is telling the truth. But I know my Uncle Virgil and I know my grandmother. Which one would YOU believe?
Shit-magnet, my ass. Virgil reminds me too much of ME.
a common lamentation
The world has changed on me and I feel this guy's pain.
CAN YOU HELP ME FIND SOME HALF RUBBER BALLS AND SOME OF THOSE NEW FANGLED BATS I'VE SEEN BEING USED. I CAN'T FIND THOSE OLD RUBBER BALLS WE USED TO USE AND MY NEIGHBORS NOW LOCK UP THEIR BROOMS AND MOPS. THANKS, MIKE.
Once upon a time, I could walk into ANY dime store and find barrels full of rubber balls that cost about ten cents each. Now, I have to scour the countryside to find a common-assed rubber ball. Kids don't play with them anymore, so stores don't sell them.
It's a tragedy.
I recommend the beach. ANY beach. You can still find rubber balls there (you don't buy HALF of one--- you buy the ball and cut it yourself) and I recommend that you buy about a dozen if you can find them. They don't spoil.
Also, what happened to the old-fashioned broomstick? Most mop-handles and broomsticks are made out of plastic instead of wood now, and that just AIN'T a fittin' half-rubber club.
No wonder few people play half-rubber anymore.
no blogging today
Sam and Stacey arrived safe and sound at around 11:00 last night. They've gone now to see my grandmother, and I'm headed off right behind them.
I'm going to visit with my family.
I may toss up a post later this evening, but don't expect it. I've got too much to talk about with my company.
July 02, 2005
I got this idea from watching an episode of "Gunsmoke" today. In the story, a white man takes an Indian bride. All "respectable" citizens of Dodge City start to call him "Squaw-Man" and "Dog-Eater." They treat both him and his wife like shit. (Yes... bigotry has been around for a LONG time.)
I could probably handle that cold-shoulder bullshit. I learned a lot about THAT when I moved from Kentucky to Savannah. I was a scrawny boy with no friends who talked really funny, too. I was picked on all the time and that's how I learned to fight. But I spent a few VERY lonely nights wondering if I EVER would fit into my new environment.
That's why I disagree with inter-racial marriage. I've got enough of a cast-iron ass to tolerate WHATEVER anybody throws at ME today, and if I married a black woman, I'd expect her to be just as proud and strong as I am. I don't CARE WHAT "those" people think of me or my wife. Fuck 'em.
But I would NOT put a child in that situation. YOU may have a cast-iron ass, but you have no right to inflict such trouble on a kid. They don't know any better and they don't have a clue about what's wrong. But they hurt, just the same.
I see nothing wrong with inter-racial marriage. But I DO believe that some people don't think it all the way through. Do you REALLY want to explain.... well, never mind. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm wasting my breath anyway.
Just sometimes... think about the word "selfish."
foul mood, part II
I get advice. BOY, do I get advice from people who don't have a fucking clue what they're talking about. Advice is EASY to give. YOU don't have to live it.
I challenge ANYBODY to go through what I'VE BEEN THROUGH over the last three years and THEN lecture me about life. YOU walk ONE MILE in MY shoes and tell me how easy it is. Fuckwits.
Face a horrible death when you've already seen TWO people you loved die from it. Do that while the woman you loved is fucking her brains out with another man, right in front of your son and your friends. Lose everything you worked all your life for at the same time.
Get bored at your mama's house one day and TRY to walk around the block, with a catheter bag strapped to your leg and staples all over your belly. Make it 100 yards down the road and run out of gas. You can't walk any farther, and you're not certain that you can make it back home, either.
Sit on the curb and cry. Then, drag your ass home. I FUCKING DID THAT!!!
I also saw Quinton score his first goal in a soccer game after Jennifer showed up 15 minutes late for the game with DRIED CUM in her hair. She'd been busy fucking all night long, and she ENJOYED the disgust I displayed when I saw her.
I've been there and done that.
Until you have, just shut the fuck up with advice.
I'll tell you something else, too. If all you ever get is a "pinstroke" from something like that, consider yourself a lucky person. That shit almost killed me, and sometimes I still wish that it did.
I've not been a happy camper for a while now.
one foul mood
I went to the seed & feed store today to buy some insecticide and some ammo (the place sells EVERYTHING!) I also wanted some gun-cleaner, because I shot a lot of bullets at the Catfish Manor last weekend and I need to clean my guns.
They were out of gun cleaner. They didn't have any .30-30 cartridges. I bought a box of .38 specials and a box of .380s, ($8.00 a box--- not a bad price) and cussed the owner of the place. Got-Dam! NO .30-30s? NO gun cleaner? Then take down that fucking sign that says "HUNTING SUPPLIES" over the front door.
He recommended that I go to Wal-Mart. I laughed in his face. Wal-Mart is phasing out ALL ammo except .22s and shotgun shells in their stores. Besides, I'd rather kiss a dog's ass than spend money on ANYTHING to do with a gun at a Wal-Mart. They make you feel like a fucking criminal if you buy a box of .22 shells.
Looks like I'm going to have to head over to Mack's Gun Shop or take Cat's advice and hit that store in Midway to get what I want. I really don't believe that 150-grain .30-30 cartridges in a full metal jacket should be that difficult to find. Nor should gun-cleaner. I've GOT a box of 175-grain .30-30 round-heads if I want to KILL something. I just want to do some target practice.
It's just getting too civilized where I live now. I'm thinking 'bout selling my house and moving farther out in the woods.
I shoulda been a cowboy.
Some of you veteran bloggers go bitch-slap this guy. "Why do I blog?"
Because I CAN, asswipe, and that's all the reason I need.
I read a LOT of editorial writers. The Opinion Page is my favorite part of any newspaper. Some of the writers (James Lileks, for example) always give me a chuckle or two when I read them. Some (Ann Coulter, for example) make me laugh out loud with the bodaciousness of their words.
SOME, on the other hand, just make me want to puke. Does ANYTHING happen in this country that William Raspberry can't see as "racist?" If so, I've not seen him write about it yet. Talk about a one-trick pony? That dumb bastard can find "racism" if a white dog shits in his yard.
Yeah, I'm gonna be cruel here, but the fact is that William Raspberry can't write his way out of a paper bag. If he weren't BLACK, no publisher would touch his ass with a ten-foot pole. He is the PERFECT example of Affirmative Action. When he attempts to be "witty," he gets it half-right, but that's good enough for a token jelly bean in our politically-correct world.
As far as a writer goes, the man purely sucks.
But there's another one out there a lot worse than he is. That's the shrill bitch molly Ivans. Bejus on a bicycle! That woman is a screaming, dingbat leftist who displays ALL the characteristics of the screeching left while denying that she does it.
George Bush is elected President. Molly doesn't like that fact, so she resorts to the leftist mentality of rock-throwing and insult by calling our President "Shrub." My, my. Wasn't she CLEVER with that?
Molly is always "clever," in her own narrow mind. I'd like to buy her for what she's actually worth and sell her for what she THINKS she's worth. I could make a fortune.
Since my name is Molly Ivins and I speak for myself, I'll tell you exactly why I opposed invading Iraq: because I thought it would be bad for this country, our country, my country. I opposed the invasion out of patriotism, and that is the reason I continue to oppose it today -- I think it is bad for us. I think it has done nothing but harm to the United States of America. I think we have created more terrorists than we faced to start with and that our good name has been sullied all over the world. I think we have alienated our allies and have killed more Iraqis than Saddam Hussein ever did.
"Killed more Iraqis than Saddam Hussein ever did." That's what I really LOVE about leftists. Facts just don't matter to them. If the statement "feels good," it must be correct. It fits perfectly with their delusions, so THAT becomes the "truth," no matter how false it is.
Molly Ivans is a blithering idiot.
the worst job in the world
This one sounds like it may be fake, but it's a good read anyway. I've always said that if somebody ever choked the shit out of Michael Moore, there'd be nothing left but a baseball cap.
Moore admitted that the rumors about him were true regarding hiring former circus workers whose job was to hose down and wash the elephants. "Yeah, it's true," reluctantly admitted Moore. "It was embarrassing. I'd take off all my clothes, go out to the back yard, and they'd hit me with water from the hose, and scrub me down with those huge, oversized, brushes."
The very IDEA of scrubbing Michael Moore's asscrack is enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. I'd rather walk in a parade and scoop up shit with a shovel behind the elephants. There are SOME jobs that I simply WILL NOT DO. Washing Michael Moore is one of them.
Bejus! That is one nasty man, inside and out.
This is a good post. Somewhere on a quiet hillside in Clay County, Kentucky, is a cemetary with a lot of MY relatives buried there. What's really depressing is to see the tiny stones marking the graves of "Baby John" or "Little Ruby" who died trying to catch their first breath in this world.
A LOT of the graves there contain children who never saw their fifth birthday. They died young of mysterious fevers and flus, when medical care was almost non-existent in that neck of the woods. It's sad to see, but that's the way life was back then. If you had 13 children, you considered yourself fortunate to see ten of them live to be adults.
Somebody keeps the grass cut there. I don't know who does it, but I'm glad that somebody keeps it looking nice. I never knew a single one of the people buried there--- they died (mostly) long before I was born. But it's still MY family.
Mommie remembers a lot of them. But she's been around for a long time (94 years).
I don't go to cemetaries. The only time I've gone back to my father's grave is to attend the burial of my grandfather and my mama in the family plot. I guess I'll go again when Mommie dies (assuming that she doesn't out-live ME). But I'm not much for paying respects to a hole in the ground.
It's GOOD, however, that somebody keeps the grass cut.
i don't care if you are rich
I think Ross Perot got what was coming to him. One thing about some boat-owners that really pisses me off is speeding in a no-wake zone. That's just rude, inconsiderate behavior.
If you invest a lot of money in a boat, you don't want to see some happy-ass beating your boat to death at the dock because the bastard kicks up a wake in a no-wake area. Plus, it fucks up the dock over time, too.
I think you ought to be allowed to drag off and shoot such people.
it's only money
You want to study squrrel sex? Just come sit on my back porch with me. I won't charge you a dime to watch the tree rats chase each other around the trees and fuck like demons. I see the display every day.
Why does some "scientist" need $600,000 in taxpayer money to study something I get for free while sitting in a lawn chair on my porch? I may not be studying African Ground Squirrels, but the tree rats around here can't be THAT MUCH different. They get horny and fuck. They produce more tree rats. Thus is life.
I missed my true calling in life. I should have been a scientist. Maybe I could get a grant to study the sex life of Costa Rican prostitutes.
It's why men don't use maps
I believe that this is a cruel post. As a man, I feel deeply insulted by a lovely woman that I met for the first (and only) time this spring at Jekyll Island.
I never believed that Flynny would stoop to posting stuff that reminds me of what I have to say about cats. C'mon, darlin.' That's kinda "hitting below the belt" isn't it?
Mine is a foot long and as hard as a concrete highway. Are you gonna call ME a liar?
July 01, 2005
Heh. I might have thrown this one back, the puny little squirt.
I'll bet that the rascal was one HELL of a fish to drag out of the water and get into a boat. I don't want to CATCH ONE that big.
Too much work.
I should have visitors tomorrow night or early Sunday. my daughter is driving in from Texas to see the family. She and Stacey plan to stay with me.
I know they have a lot of things they want to do, but I hope I get a chance to take them both shooting again. We had a blast (literally) the last time we did it, and Samantha is a GOOD SHOT. She's just always been afraid of guns. I'm trying to cure her of that malady.
Man, did I go through some rough times with that girl when she was a hormone-riddled teenager. I don't call her "My Stormcloud" for nothing.
But she turned out okay. I hope the girls have a safe trip and I'm looking forward to their company.
I once was the biggest pussy-hound you ever saw. I screwed everything I could get my hands on and I couldn't wait to get some more.
Now, I seldom even think about it.
Sometimes I wonder--- what changed? Jennifer had a lot to do with it (she showed me EXACTLY how much a pussy was worth), but it was more than that. Maybe I AM getting old. I look at all the flirty, fancy-dancers I see in comments on my blog and others and all I think of is a bug-zapper on the back porch. I don't want to go there.
Pussy ain't that big a prize to me anymore. I've had more than most men ever get, and I've learned one thing for sure. NO ONE woman has a patent on it, and it ain't all that special to begin with.
I think I like living a monkish existence now. It saves a lot of money and heartbreak.
my grandmother, part II
I believe that I blogged about this story long ago, but my archives are so screwed up that I can't find the original post now. That doesn't matter. The story is worth telling again. It's all true.
My Aunt Jenetta was 12 years old at the time, so that would make Mommie somewhere in her early 30s. (she started breeding young, as most mountain wimmen did back then.) The two of them were riding a mule back home after visiting some relatives.
They were following the railroad track when some rapist-varmit-dipstick jumped out of the bushes and TACKLED my grandmother right off that mule. They went rolling through the cinders at the side of the railroad track, tusslin' like there was no tomorrow.
Mommie still likes to tell that story. "He was tryin' to put his hand up my skirt and I KNEW what he wanted, but I wasn't gonna have none of that. I managed to hook a finger into one of his eyeballs, and I almost felt it pop out of his head. He started screaming, and that's when 'Netta landed on his back, clawing at him with her long fingernails." The two of them beat the shit out of that bastard.
The would-be rapist finally ran away, lucky to be alive.
When Mommie got home and told the story, my grandfather loaded his rifle and intended to take care of what needed to be done himself. He was gonna find the sumbitch and KILL HIM! But Mommie persuaded him to talk to the sheriff first, so that's what he did.
They caught the guy shortly thereafter. He was easy to spot, because he had a go-to-hell black eye and claw-marks over his face. The sheriff dragged his battered ass to Mommie's cabin, and she said, "Yep. That's HIM!"
He went to "The Pen." Mommie kept riding that mule just the way she'd always done before. That bastard didn't scare her. She was a strong farm-woman back then, and there wasn't much that scared her.
Hell. She scared ME when I was a child.
dog and pony show
The next couple of months should be very interesting to watch. The Democrat obstructionists have already played all their trump cards trying to delay Bush's appointments to federal court jobs. What are they going to do NOW, when Bush has a supreme court seat to fill?
Any person who owns a gun knows that you don't waste your ammo when shots start firing. Bouncing ricochets off of rocks doesn't do you any good. Yeah, it's a lot of sound and fury, but it signifies nothing. Shoot to hit your target.
I believe that the Democrats wasted a lot of perfectly good ammunition BEFORE they encountered a real battle. Now, I hope that they have fucked themselves.
No one deserves it more.
quote of the day
Iran has a new President. He's a sham.
I think this story is overblown -- if he weren't a hostage-taker, he'd certainly be just as bad anyway -- but it certainly illustrates that we're still suffering the consequences of Jimmy Carter's limp and inept middle eastern policy 25 years later.
Jimmah Carter. The biggest fool EVER to occupy the White House and a pure embarrassment to my beloved state of Georgia. "Limp and inept" are kind words when describing the Jimmah regime. How about TOTALLY INCOMPETENT? I prefer THAT assessment of Carter.
And the grinning sumbitch STILL can't keep his mealy-mouth shut today. Bejus! If that man is a "statesman," I'm a got-dam brain surgeon.
Jimmah should have stuck with growing peanuts and building houses for the poor. The bastard could drive a nail, and he knew how to make $600,000 back in the early 70s and not pay a dime in taxes.
But he was for shit as a President.
Hate crime is another "don't get me started" topic. ALL crime is hate crime, if you get right down to brass tacks. I certainly do not understand how killing someone just because you're a cold-blooded murderer is any different from killing someone because you're a cold-blooded, murdering racist.
The victim is just as dead, and the murderer is just as cold-blooded, no matter what the "hate" circumstances are. This entire issue appears to be a circle-jerk, feel-good clown-show by a bunch of assholes.
If somebody kills me today, does it MATTER whether they did it because they wanted what was in my wallet or because I am a white Southerner? It damn sure won't matter to ME at that point.
I want to puke when I read shit like this. A group of black thugs enter a white neighborhood with the goal of stealing a luxury car. They get the shit beat out of them, and one of the thugs ends up in the hospital with a fractured skull.
But the banned "N-word" was used during the assault, so now this episode becomes a "hate crime" and the usual suspects emerge crowing like roosters over it.
"We will have no tolerance whatsoever for hate crimes against any groups in this city," declared Bloomberg, who said it appeared the attack was "racially motivated."
WTF does that witless statement mean? Bloomberg can tolerate murder and thievery as long as it's NOT "racially motivated?" The thugs should have been allowed to steal a car and get out unscathed? If the thugs had been white, the crime wouldn't be so criminal?
My aching ass. We are living Animal Farm today.
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