September 30, 2004
I watched it. I'll talk about it tomorrow.
Some newscasters saw a different debate than I did.
too good not to steal
Yeah, I stole this picture from another blog. He's got more good stuff where that came from.
folding your hand
Have you ever been in a poker game with a lot of money on the table and folded rather than see the last bet? I have, even with some pretty good cards. Something about watching my opponent told me that I was Second Best, and that's an expensive seat at the poker table. I folded rather than make sure.
Usually, I never knew whether he really had the tickets or not. We always threw the cards face-down in a pile and shuffled for the next hand. I probably pitched a few winners by doing that, but I believe that I saved myself a lot of money in the long run. I made my decision and I stuck by it. That's poker.
But sometimes, you DON'T get out. You have what it takes to win, and if that grinning bastard across from you bets, you raise the hell out of him. Let HIM squirm about what to do next. That's a ball-check.
I don't believe that I've EVER known a Democrat that I couldn't clean out at the poker table. They are so risk-averse and so pussified and ANY good Jawja poker player would eat them alive, and we've got some good ones down here.
I'd LOVE to play poker with John Kerry. I'd take everything but his fake orange suntan. But I'd make damn sure to cut the cards.
That's why I don't want HIM in charge of a War Against Terror.
worse than I am
Marcus is a sick puppy.
His mind is dirtier than mine.
take the gloves off
There is only one way to fight this kind of enemy. You've got to be more bloodthirsty than he is. It's time we just wiped out a few towns in Iraq.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. Bomb them flat and let Allah sort 'em out.
I'll buy that
Some of these tests are kinda accurate.
I believe that I ate a hallucinegenic egg for breakfast this morning. I was sitting here, minding my own business, cruising a few blogs and reading the news... when... all of a sudden, I STARTED THINKING ABOUT HAIRY WIMMEN! Don't ask me why. I don't know.
I once slept with a woman who didn't shave her legs. She was an early Fem-Libber, and I was not aware that she quit shaving her legs until she slipped her jeans off that night. She wasn't particularly hairy, but feeling those legs
I once dated a woman who waxed her upper lip about once a week to get rid of her moustache. She was Italian, with jet-black hair, and she also had hair around her nipples. She was a pretty woman, just kinda hairy. I always wondered why she didn't wax her nipples, too.
A lot of wimmen shave all their pubic hair off today. I know from going to nekkid resorts that polite behavior dictates that you...ummm... trim the bushes... but TOTALLY NEKKID? I'm sorry. I like a little Mohawk or a goatee or SOMETHING with some hair on it there. Otherwise, I feel like a pederast.
One of the most arousing things about a woman that I've known in my life (other than red toenails) is PEACH FUZZ on their bellies. You know what I mean--- that fine, delicate hair that you can barely see, unless the sunlight catches it just right, and then it glows golden. That sight drives me crazy. I go into full lust-mode when I see that.
Don't you think it's odd? Wimmen go out of their way NOT to be hairy while men spend billions of dollars every year trying to KEEP the hair they've got. Too bad that we can't work out a swap.
Are we screwed-up, or what?
say what you really mean
If this guy would get angry sometimes, he might be a pretty good blogger. He's just too damned mellow for me.
And he likes cats, too.
My only complaint is that this kinda thing doesn't happen often enough.
i'll be watching
I set up a television in the 'puter room this morning. I think I'm gonna live-blog tonight's Presidential debate. I want to see how the newly
I don't think he can. He hasn't managed that feat so far in his campaign. He has too much sheer fiction "seared" in his memory.
Kerry is a very good public speaker as long as you don't actually THINK about the shit flying out of his neck. That technique plays well with the True Believers and the Kool-Ade drinkers, but it won't change many minds, not with Kerry's track record of lies and fence-straddling.
I had my mind made up about this election as soon as Kerry got the nomination. I believe that the man is simply too creepy to be President. I could be wrong, but that's MY humble opinion. I see by the map above that a lot of people, outside the typical liberal enclaves, agree with me.
We'll see how it goes tonight. And I WILL blog about it.
I believe that this is a wonderful idea. Wimmen enjoy using men as a pillow in bed. If they can't find a man, they should be able to buy a man-shaped pillow.
For Ms Suzuki, who is estranged from her husband, the pillow has definite advantages: It doesn't squirm or thrash in the night, and you know it'll be there in the morning.
Yeah... and it doesn't wake up in the middle of the night with a blue-steel throbber and want to jump your bones, either.
September 29, 2004
I'm going yoo-hooing off the cliff into deep waters here, and I probably will horrify a few readers, but that never stopped me before and it's not gonna stop me now. I want to say some plain and simple: I have known a few wimmen who really enjoyed anal sex. They had multiple orgasms doing it.
I liked it too, because it was different and kinky, but I never understood it from HER... ummm... point of view?... point of impact... the eroticism of it for HER? I don't know. My brain gets full quickly when I think about these kinds of subjects.
I've had prostate cancer and I've had more fingers, tools and weapons of mass destruction shoved up my ass than I can remember. I DON'T WANT to remember any of it. I didn't find one bit of that stuff erotic. In fact, I HATED every bit of it, and I'm not certain that my pucker-string will EVER be right again. They ruined me. I fear a fart now. It might come with a lump in it.
That biopsy device the doctor uses to take tissue samples looks a lot like a Big Bertha Calloway driver, with the extra-large head. He is kind enough to lube your poop-chute with a generous supply of K-Y Jelly, but that doesn't really help when he shoves that thing up your ass and starts firing it like a shotgun. I almost bit one of my fingers off when I had that done to me. It WAS NOT a pleasant experience.
I am confused. Homosexual men do the same kind of thing for PLEASURE? Sorry, guys. I don't get it. I don't WANT to get it that way. I've HAD IT that way and I didn't like it.
Oh, well... to each his own. And if you're a woman who likes it that way, I'll do you if you want me to. Whatever is your pleasure is my gift.
Just don't buckle up a strap-on and try to return the favor. I've had enough of that.
This will be a long and boring post, but I've got nothing better to do today. Besides, a lot of OTHER bloggers are doing it, and I don't want to swim against the tide.
01. Bought everyone in the pub a drink--damn right I have.
There. Wasn't that fun?
Who can identify these:
AUWTDA (pronounced "ought-da.")
FUAAW (pronounced "foo-ow!")
I used these acronyms in my supervisor's notes for years at work, because people considered me impolite if I wrote obscenities in a formal record log. So, I didn't use obscenities, but everybody knew what I meant.
We've got a real problem here and government needs to take swift action to... I dunno... SAVE THE CHILDREN or whatever else is handy for justification of inane acts by the government.
We need to ban assault axes.
Did you know that an assault axe can shatter a cinder block? Did you know that many axes are capable of penetrating a policeman's bullet-proof vest? Yes! These are "cop-killer" axes!!! Did you know that an assault axe is the preferred weapon of criminal nut-balls on Norweigan airplanes?
Do those facts scare the shit out of you, or what? Those axes are dangerous things and we don't need them flooding our streets. We need to BAN THEM! RIGHT NOW!!! Dianne Feinstein, where are you when we really need you?
Of course, if the pilots had been armed, they could have just shot the shit out of that nut-ball and the situation would have resolved itself. But that's too simple a solution for government to embrace.
Naw... guns are dangerous, some guns are REALLY DANGEROUS and some guns are just too horrible to even think about. It doesn't matter who owns the guns. The guns THEMSELVES are evil. BAN THEM!!!
Some axes are dangerous, too. I want a ban.
the crown vic
Recondo 32 is a big fan of the Ford Crown Victoria. He owns a white one and he likes watching people slow down and give him the hairy eyeball when he drives it around, because they think it's a cop car. Crown Vics are what most police departments use for patrol cars.
I've got no complaints about the Crown Vic myself, except for the fact that it's a Ford and not a Chevy. They're not very comfortable in the back seat when you're wearing handcuffs and headed to jail, but that's irrelevent to this discussion and I never did that anyway. Okay, I did that ONCE, but that was a long time ago.
But, I digress...
I don't want to own a Crown Vic, but if I DID, I wouldn't pull this kind of hare-brained stunt. That's a perfect example of the difference between balls and gall.
Yeah. I'm gonna sue the shit out of you for selling me a defective product, then I'll sue you some more for not selling MORE of that defective product to me.
Bejus. Some people really do need to be dragged off and shot.
I was very amused by this post. Read it and you might understand why.
Heh. I WOULD put that second bumper sticker on MY truck.
What's up, doc?
Following in the footsteps of Al Gore, John Kerry has turned orange before tomorrow night's first Presidential debate. I think he's going for the rabbit vote by pretending to be a carrot.
see? I told you so
Don't tell me that wimmen don't hyperventilate and get the vapors over nothing.
There's your proof.
September 28, 2004
I was embarassed
I remember when Lester Maddox became governor of Georgia. I was embarassed. That crazy old man was a racist, axe-handle-weilding lunatic whose only real claim to fame was cooking fried chicken and riding a bicycle backward. He wasn't even ELECTED. The Democrat government of Georgia at the time APPOINTED the sumbitch as governor to avoid a run-off that they feared losing.
But Lester surprised me. He did a pretty good job as governor. I came to like and respect Lester after a while, as long as he stayed off that fucking bicycle.
I never got over my dislike for this grinning prick. He wasn't worth a shit as governor of Georgia, he was one of the most incompetent Presidents we've ever had, and the blithering idiot won't keep his mouth shut now. I WAS embarrassed once by Lester Maddox, but I got over that. I REMAIN embarassed by Jimmy Carter.
Somebody throw a straightjacket on that dickhead and put some duct tape over that grinning mouth before he lets any more stupid shit fly out of his neck. Who the hell is HE to tell people what to do now? He was the Tall Dog once, and he pissed all over his own feet while he was HMFIC.
He was a fuckup. Why does ANYBODY pay attention to him now?
okay...sounds good to me
I have no idea what this means, but I think it's good--- I mean Germans ALWAYS sound pissed-off because that's the nature of their language, but I think this guy is pleased.
Alter Schwede! Daß das hier so viel Traffic auslösen würde, hab ich nie im Leben erwartet. Seit dem ersten Besuch von Daxmontana am Sep 27 2004 6:26:37 am (Da ist jemand gut am Referrals-checken... ;-) ) habe ich allein über die Seiten von selbigem, Straightwhiteguy und Acidman an die hundert Besucher bekommen!
I don't speak German, but doesn't it sound a lot like he said, "Holy SHIT! Look at all this traffic!" I hope that's what he said.
I don't know about that flippin' ass and rotten hole thing at the end. I may have to get that part translated.
little, yapping dogs
I'm a dog person. I don't like cats. But I ALSO don't like little, yapping dogs. Those stupid ankle-biting, noise-making little shits make me want to punt them like a football to see if I can make them spiral.
Recondo 32 put me in my place last Saturday when he said, "Smith, you know why you don't like little, yapping dogs? They remind you of YOU, you little yapping dog."
Maybe he has a point there.
I am not a big man. But I've always had a big mouth and a big ego. My daddy told me a long time ago that as long as my legs reached all the way to the ground, I was as tall as I needed to be. I believed what he told me and I've lived my life that way. I don't take a back-seat to some blustering gas-bag. I'm as good as anybody in this world and better than most.
Call that ego, or a little, yapping dog mentality if you want to, but that attitude has served me well through the years. I call it self-confidence, and I earned that shit the hard way, by doing what I had to do when I had to do it.
From football player, to editor of my high school newspaper, to barroom musician, to advertising copywriter, to a boss in a chemical plant, I always thought of myself as a Tall Dog, even if other people towered over me in size. "It ain't the size of the dog in the fight that counts. It's the size of the fight in the dog."
I always had a lot of fight in me. I'm not certain that I do anymore. I'm feeling kinda old and worn-out now.
Too many fights will do that to ya.
When I had the mini-farm and planted my half-acre garden, I enjoyed pulling weeds. I would go out there on a Saturday morning, sit in the dirt and weed my garden. It was wonderfully mindless work after a week in the chemical plant. I could hum a few songs, get dirt under my fingernails and enjoy the sunshine on my bare back. The goats always came over to the fence hoping that I would throw them something good to eat. Sometimes, I did.
I liked playing in the dirt and I was very good at growing vegetables. I was proud of my garden. And I enjoyed pulling weeds. I could pull weeds for hours and not get bored.
I haven't planted a garden for two years now, and I may never do it again. I just don't have the want-to anymore. I ended up giving away almost everything I grew from my last garden, and that's a lot of work to give away. Fuck it. If I want vegetables, I'll buy them at the grocery store.
But I still pull weeds. I do it every day using MT Blacklist to rid my site of spammers. They keep coming back, but I keep getting rid of them, deleting their comments and snatching them out by the roots. It's relaxing, mindless work that I enjoy doing, and I don't even need a hoe to do it. Just point and click. Goodbye to YOU and your comments.
These are some sick fucking people. I found some shit today on the post I wrote about the death of my best friend, Steve Hamby. I put a lot of emotion into that one, because I loved Steve like a brother.
The spammers hit that post with "cum-filled panties," "oral sex.com," "little girls and big dicks," and "on-line casino betting." Bejus on a bike. Do these people respect ANYTHING???
Fucking weeds. I'll pull you every time.
ONIONS AND CHRISTMAS TREES
The truth hurts sometimes.
People fear things that they don't understand. That's where the concept of "God" came from. Somebody wanted to know WHY that volcano erupted or the hurricane came and WHY it killed so many people. Lacking any better explanation (such as the truth, which is "shit happens"), tribal priests and witch-doctors said "God did it, because YOU made him angry. Now, go kill a goat and bring it to me. God will forgive you if you feed me."
People bit on that crap hook, line and sinker. God was one scary mutherfucker and his existence explained a lot of mysteries. Since nobody could see him, talk to him or know what he was up to at any given moment, he was PERFECT for a booming worship-industry.
Your baby died? Well, God is testing you. You lost your job and your wife ran off with another man? Well, God works in mysterious ways. Your house burned down? You must have angered God. You have incurable cancer? Well, it's God's will.
People fear and tremble before God because he's a creature of the imagination. People fear what they WANT to fear, and the less they actually know about what frightens them, the more frightened they are. That's human nature.
Go read this. It's an excellent take-down of ignorant fear-mongers who don't know what the fuck they're talking about. But they surely are frightening--- to the ignorant. Just bow at the altar, sacrifice a goat and listen to the priests. You'll be safe then.
My aching ass.
blog-wimmen i love
I am a dirty old man. Sex and red toenails on pretty, feminine feet have been an obsession of mine since I was old enough to become obsessed, and that happened when I was five years old. I got an early start. I can't help it. I'm just hard-wired to be a pervert. I lust in my heart 24-7.
I'm going to list my sexy wimmen bloggers that I want to tangle the sheets with. The truth is, I want them ALL at ONE TIME so that my heart will explode right out of my chest and I'll die in a horrible pool of blood with a smile on my face and the bionic Roscoe still standing proudly. Hey! There are worse ways to go.
She probably would bitch about my smoking, but I'd do her if I ever got the chance. I might need to wear a fencer's outfit, complete with that wire mask to keep her from clawing my eyes out, but I'd go for it. I like dangerous wimmen.
This one is just too damned sweet. I believe, thanks to many years of research, that just underneath that veneer of sweetness lies a wildcat, waiting to be sprung from its cage. I'd call, "Kitty, kitty," to her.
I sent this one a picture of my butt and she never posted it in her butt-gallery photos. I am sorely insulted and nothing but a blow-job will EVER assuage my anger.
Yeah. twisted spinster, my ass. I would like to do some twisting and spinning with her.
It would be incest, since she is my blog-daughter, but everybody knows that vice is nice but incest is best. I'd jump her bones right away if she didn't left-cross-clock me first.
I've seen a picture of her red toenails. GRRRRR
This is a tall woman, but I think she'd be worth the climb.
I cannot possibly forget shell, even if she is planning to marry a non-grits-eating limey. If you have any pre-marital adventures you want to get out of your system, darlin,' just email me. I'll never say a word to Lionel.
Okay, I'm quitting right here. I probably offended the wimmen I did mention and also offended the wimmen I DIDN"T mention. I call that a good days work.
I admire audacity. It takes a set of balls to be audacious, and I've always respected that quality in ANYBODY who displayed it.
here is an audacious blog.
rites of passage
Western civilization has never been fair to its young people. We've always had a big Twilight Zone between childhood and adulthood that's difficult to get through.
I like the idea that some primitive tribes practice. When a young man turns a certain age, the village elders take him into a hut, say a bunch of prayers over his head, dust him with some ash from the fire and get him laid by a skilled older woman. When the boy emerges from the hut the next morning, he is a MAN, and everybody treats him as one for the rest of his life.
That's a good, solid Rite of Passage.
Those "primitive" people do the same thing with young girls. When she begins her first period, the village elders take her into a hut, say a bunch of prayers over her head, dust her with some ashes from the fire and tell her all about sex and pleasure. Usually, she doesn't end up getting laid by a skilled older man in the hut, because she's on the rag and all, but when she walks out of there, she is a WOMAN, and everybody treats her as one for the rest of her life.
We don't do those simple, effective rites of passage in Western civilization. We keep young people guessing all the time. We don't provide a clear line of demarcation between youth and adult. I know that I NEVER felt as if I were a grown man until my father died, and I was 40 years old at the time. I had a wife and children, a good job and I owned my own home. But I wasn't certain that I was grown up.
We have a few rites of passage, but they're all half-assed and they don't do the same thing as that trip to the hut with the village elders does. Even when you DO these things, you still keep guessing for years later:
* Get your driver's license. Yep, that'll make you feel like a Tall Dog for a while, but you still have to borrow your parent's car, unless you're some kinda rich shit who gets a brand-new car as a 16th birthday present. That license is a step in the right direction, but it doesn't make you "grown up." You keep guessing.
* Get laid for the first time. I will remember that event until the day I die and I also will forever recall the fact that I didn't feel any DIFFERENT afterward. I don't know what I expected, but I didn't get whatever that was. I kept guessing after that.
* Graduate from high school. Yeah, I did that, but I went straight on to college, so I stayed in the hut for a while longer. I kept guessing.
* Bring home your first paycheck. Hell, I had been doing that since I was twelve years old and I didn't see any rite of passage there. I just worked, the way I was expected to do. I wasn't a rich shit who got a brand-new car for my 16th birthday. If I wanted something, I was expected to buy it with my own money.
* Move out on your own. Hah! THAT is a lot less wonderful than it's cracked up to be. I felt more like a kid than EVER right after I flew the coop and started living on my own. I had to do my own laundry. I had to cook my own meals. I had to buy groceries. I had to wash my own dishes. Man, that SUCKED! I missed my mama, who once did all of that crap for me.
* Have a child. Naw, that won't do it, either. It's a terrifying, emotional experience, but it doesn't make you feel grown-up when it's over. It scared the shit out of me, both times.
I just wish that we made things easier for kids in the Twilight Zone. Let's build a hut, recruit some village elders and start doing this Rite of Passage stuff the correct way. You go in there as a boy or a girl, but you come out as a man or a woman. And everybody KNOWS that you are an adult after that.
Isn't that a lot more simple than what we do?
shut the fuck up
I have long maintained, based on years of personal experience, that musicians are pretty much clueless when talking about politics. Bruce Springsteen displays the typical dumbassery I've come to expect from such people.
I think that Senator Kerry has long played it close to the vest, and that's his style. However, the presidency is like the heavyweight championship: They don't give it to you, you have to take it. He has a slow, deliberate style that may not make for an electrifying campaigner, but it may make for a very good president. But, of course, you have to get there.
"Close to the vest," eh, Bruce? How about out of both sides of his mouth, hither and yon, straddling every fence and lying like a dog? If that's what you call a "slow, deliberate style," I can't argue with you. You don't have a fucking clue.
I am a dedicated Times reader, and I've found enormous sustenance from Paul Krugman and Maureen Dowd on the op-ed page. There has been great reporting, but there has also been some self-consciousness in some of the reporting about the policy differences in this election.
You would find "enormous sustenance" from Krugman and Dowd. You don't have a fucking clue.
This is going to be an issue after the election. I don't know if it began with the Iraq War, but shortly thereafter there was an enormous amount of Fox impersonators among what you previously thought were relatively sane media outlets across the cable channels. It was very disheartening. The job of the press is to tell the truth without fear or favor. We have to get back to that standard.
Kinda like CBS did, eh, Bruce? You don't have a fucking clue.
Why can't this silly bastard just stick to playing guitar and screaming lyrics into a microphone? He's pretty good at that. When he gets into politics, he proves my original point.
He doesn't have a fucking clue.
(Here's your sustenance, Bruce, you flaming dumbass.)
idiot-proof the world
You want to see a perfect example of what's wrong with this country today? Just check that link. You see... it's not HIS fault that he let his infant daughter bake in a minivan. It's the CARMAKER'S FAULT because they didn't idiot-proof the car.
Yeah, if it's not idiot-proof, the product must be defective. I've got news for you, people. You can't idiot-proof the world.
Idiots are too goddam inventive.
September 27, 2004
i was a telemarketer
Yes. I confess. I took that horrendous job once upon a time.
I was in between guitar gigs and I was broke. I needed some money, so I figured that the best way to do that was to get a job. I saw a want-ad in the newspaper for a "telephone salesman---$350 a week guaranteed!!!" I applied for the job and they hired me on the spot.
I received about 30 minutes worth of training, almost all of which involved me reading three different speeches from a printed page. Page one was the pitch for advertising in a local newspaper. Page two was something about cemetary plots and I don't remember what page three was. I knew before I finished reading that shit that I didn't want that job.
But I gave it a try. I sat in a small cubicle and called phone numbers from a fat list the company had. I read the spiel from the printed paper I had and felt like a fucking whore the entire time. I lasted six hours and I quit.
I never sold anything and those bastards never paid me a dime. I felt dirty when I walked out of there, but I was happy to be gone.
I got a guitar gig at Charlie's Sports Lounge on Tybee that very evening. It was good for a month, so I was back in the saddle again. I never went back to telemarketing.
I preferred honest work. In a bar.
Four hours without power and Jeanne hasn't really done diddly around here. Oh, we've had some wind and rain, but nothing spectacular. I think I know what happened.
Georgia called me around 4:00 this afternoon to tell me that HER power was off. As we were talking, her power came back on. Mine went off at almost the exact, same moment. Georgia SUCKED ALL THE ELECTRICITY OUT OF RINCON and sent it to Bluffton, South Carolina, right through her cell phone. I was the dupe she used to do it, too.
She left me in the dark for four fucking hours. I got an ear-worm during that time. What band played "Time of the Season" back in the late 60's?
See what happens to me when I'm left alone in the dark? I start to talk to myself and my mind wanders off in strange directions. It's all Georgia's fault.
I can't think of any other logical explanation.
The phone rang. I started not to answer it because I was writing at the time, but I needed a break, so I went into the bedroom, picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?" I got a mechanized voice on the other end looking for somebody named "Wanda" for some kind of credit fraud.
People, I am not a shitty person by nature. But I became all evil and misguided by this phone call. That mechanized voice told me that if I was Wanda, I should press "one." I pressed one. I got ANOTHER mechanized voice that sent me to another menu. Customer Service is "five?" Okay, I'll press five. I was on a roll by then, so I hung on until I got a real, live person to talk to.
I identified myself as Wanda, (yeah. I sound like a "Wanda" over the phone, but those people don't listen.) I informed them to go fuck themselves, and I told them NEVER to call me again. I wasn't about to pay whatever bill they were talking about and I didn't give a rat's ass what they intended to do about it. SUE ME, you buncha cocksuckers!
Then, I hung up the phone and laughed. It was a hoot, but I shouldn't have done that. I SHOULD have.... what? Told the mechanized voice that he had the wrong number? Waited until the menu said "press 10 for a bullshit phone call?" Well, I didn't do that. I barked at 'em.
I just hope I didn't get Wanda in trouble.
Looks like blogtoberfest to me.
Thanks, Eric... I think....
i fucked up
Looking back on the very colorful tapestry of my life, I can say, with full assurance that I am correct, that I fucked up a few times. Of course, if you tell me that YOU never fucked up, I'll call you a goddam liar. If you've lived an interesting life, you've fucked up before. That fact is a given.
Ya gotta jump, head-first, whoo-hooing all the way, into deep water sometimes if you have a sense of adventure.
I DO think about some of my most glorious fuck ups and wonder NOW why I did that crap at the time. Trust me... it seemed perfectly logical or at least REASONABLE when I did it. Hindsight carries a very high "oh, shit!" quotient with it, but you're not blessed with hindsight when you go flying off that cliff making whoo-hoo noises all the way down. You just do it.
I don't know what's gotten into me lately. I'm dwelling on existential thoughts, wondering about the true meaning of life and pondering my squandered youth. (That's a fucking LIE! I didn't "squander" my youth. I may have mis-spent it, but I enjoyed the hell out of blowing my fortune! I would go back and do it again tomorrow.) Anyway, I blew some wonderful opportunities that I regret today. I did some things that I wish I hadn't done.
I fucked up. But I have some damn good memories.
I look at the Bush twins and I wouldn't be one bit ashamed to call them MY daughters. Yeah, they are rebellious, headstrong and a little on the wild side. They are Texas girls--- what ELSE do you expect? They've been known to drink margaritas underage and smoke some dope, even though Daddy IS President.
What's really NOT to like about that? My daddy wasn't President, but I did the same shit and even worse during my youth. The fact that those girls DON'T behave like the President's daughters is a feather in their caps to me. I like both of 'em. In fact, I frequently think very dirty, sexual thoughts about them. (Sorry, George and I'm REALLY SORRY, Laura. But I can't help myself.)
Those girls have minds of their own, which is what I always wanted my children to have. Teach 'em as best you can, then stand back out of their way. They'll do what they're gonna do, and you can't stop it. Just hope that the lessons you taught early in life stick with them so that they don't go totally down the tubes.
But let 'em fuck up. Give them the best advice you can, but realize that you can't be there 24-7 supervising your child's life ALL of your child's life. They NEED to fuck up once in a while. That's how they learn not to do it again.
I believe that George and Laura understand that fact.
maybe, some day
I believe that I would really like this guy if I ever get the chance to meet him. As a Cracker, I tend to get along well with Texans anyway (we think a lot alike) and the Ogre just comes across as my kinda guy.
If Bush was such a chump (or chimp as they like to portray him) I would think Kerry being so much more sophisticated would be able to spank Bush. They say Bush wins also on style. Style? This cowboy from Texas? I thought Bush was just a horse riding chump out getting drunk living large because he was a fortunate son… Okay, here is the deal as I see it. Bush is smart as hell and people underestimate him until they meet him. Bush is winner and has always been a winner. The cat played rugby and flew fighter jets… I wouldn’t want to lock horns with him.
Yeah, the Dems have enjoyed themselves greatly in circle-jerks declaring George Bush stupid. You want to know how stupid YOU are? Call George Bush stupid. Nobody but a blithering idiot can possibly believe that someone can fly fighter jets, get a Harvard MBA, become governor of Texas and then President of the United States by being stupid.
Got-dam! Isn't it time for a reality check here? Hate the guy all you want to... that's your right as an American citizen. (I happen to like a lot about him myself---not everything, but enough to get my vote this year.) Just don't call him stupid. You let that kinda shit fly outta your neck and people are supposed to believe that YOU are smart? Kiss my ass.
Like him or not, George Bush is no dummy.
One thing I really liked about going to River Street on Saturday was seeing all the lovely wimmen wearing sandals. Man... I saw a LOT of adorable, red toenails. That was pretty much my last chance for toe-spotting, because cold weather will be here shortly and all those sandals go into female closets until next spring. They'll be wearing hiking boots and other obscene shit for the next few months.
I will go toe-less and I will become depressed.
a set of balls
Down South, we respect people with a set of balls. I'm not talking about the crazy fucks who are capable of doing anything at any time--- they're just nut-cases---I mean the solid citizens who get along with their neighbors, work hard, keep their grass cut but don't take shit from anybody. I mean the guy with the shotgun who says softly, "Get off my land," and you know damn well that he means it.
Having a set of balls is a lot different from being a bully and trying to intimidate other people every day. Bill Clinton is a perfect example of the difference between sheer gall and a set of balls. Clinton had lots of gall, but no balls. That pussy wouldn't last ten seconds in a roadhouse bar-fight. Wimman loved him (another reason why wimmen shouldn't be allowed to vote) but I always knew that I had tracked better shit into my house on the bottom of my shoe than that man ever would be.
He had a stiff dick, but no balls.
Have you ever been in a situation where you KNEW you were about to get your ass whipped, but you threw the first punch anyway? I have. I always tried to use the "gimme three steps" way out, because I didn't want a fight, but sometimes you're not getting those three steps. Bad-ass wants to strut and you've got to deal with him.
I once wore glasses. I remember several times taking my glasses off, handing them to someone nearby and saying, "hold onto these for me," right before I turned around and cold-cocked some sumbitch twice my size. Hey! I worked in the bars back then. If you couldn't stand up for yourself, you were fucked.
I got my ass whipped a couple of times, but bad-ass didn't get no cherry there. I know what an ass-whipping is like from experience. I ain't afraid of it. Bad-ass also didn't want any more after the fight was over, even if he won. I always gave a good account of myself.
I'm too old to be doing that crap anymore, but I still recognize a set of balls when I see them. George Bush has balls. John Kerry doesn't. I know several WIMMEN with balls. They don't take shit and they walk tall. No compromise. Get off my land.
I appreciate a set of balls on ANYBODY, male or female.
I'll admit that I like to chew gum sometimes. I started doing it when my company regulated smoking into designated areas for the health of all employees. It was okay for everybody to breathe chlorine gas, sulfur dioxide, sulfur trioxide, HCL fumes, carbon monoxide, digestor gases, hydrogen sulfide and TiCl4 clouds, but that second-hand smoke in a 20 MPH wind off the Savannah River was a real bitch that needed to be taken care of.
I was chewing gum the day they
But, I digress.
I saw a good-looking young girl in the grocery store Saturday as I was laying in some tropical storm supplies (Beer and cigarettes) on my way back from River Street. She was popping, chewing and rolling a piece of gum in her mouth and she reminded me of a cow. This was a PRETTY GIRL, but she presented the most un-sexy, dumb-ass, bovine image of herself that she possibly could have projected, at least to me.
Young girls--- take an old man's advice. Chewing gum does NOT make you look sexy. It makes you look like a self-absorbed bitch.
I am fascinated by the way big corporations work.
Don't get me wrong--- I am all for Big Business and free enterprise, because that is the engine that really runs the US economy. These "evil" businesses create jobs and generate wealth. (Yes. Even Haliburton.) Everybody, including the thieving tax-grabbers in Washington, benefits when a business does well. I don't know why we seem bound and determined to tear them down.
I also do not understand why most of the real grief that comes from corproate "downsizing" or "reorganization" falls on the heads of the proles, while the high-up muckety-mucks, who FUCKED UP the business to begin with sail away under a golden parachute.
You read about it all the time. Yeah, the highly paid CEO ran his company right into the ground, cost 3,000 people their jobs and was fired for that mistake. He walked away with his shoulders slumped, because the weight of that $40 million he hauled off with him was difficult to carry. I don't understand why any business PAYS somebody that much money for fucking up the business.
But that's how the corporate mindset works. Take CBS news, for example. They should have fired Dan Rather two weeks ago. Dan fucked up, big-time, got caught, disgraced the network and disgraced journalism. He was exposed for what he really is: a liberal asshole who has no business being an anchorman on national television.
How does CBS respond to an incident that would reward a fast pink-slip to anyone else who pulled such an embarassing stunt?
The options under consideration include having Mr. Rather step down sometime next spring, perhaps near the end of the prime-time season in May, giving his replacement the relatively low-profile summer months to find his or her bearings, said the executive, who requested anonymity out of fear of being fired at a time of turmoil at CBS News. But no date had been fixed.
The executive requested anonymity "out of fear of being fired." Just think about that for a minute. Dan will stay---even though he fucked up---but you will GO if you say that Dan fucked up. Circle the wagons, protect the core group and screw the proles.
I wouldn't behave that way. I would have fired Dan Rather and Mary Mapes as soon as the shit hit the fan. I would have said, as CEO of a respected news network, that I could not tolerate such sloppiness from ANYONE in my organization, no matter what position that person held. And I would have heads on a pike to prove it.
But that's not the way the business world works.
don't do it
I believe that this is a big mistake. I can understand the financial reasons for doing it, but sometimes that's a piss-poor excuse for allowing yourself to be railroaded by blithering idiots. I would rather die broke than cave to such people.
Two survivors and the families of six slain victims of the 2002 sniper shootings have reached a $2.5 million settlement with the manufacturer of the Bushmaster rifle used during the attacks and the gun shop from which it had been stolen.
This kind of twisted legal logic is destroying our country. Two thugs STEAL a gun, go on a murderous rampage with it, and somehow THEY aren't responsible for what happened. The gunmaker and the store from which then gun was stolen ARE. Yeah, I can see the sense in that... as long as I keep my head firmly implanted as far up my ass as I can poke it.
Bejus. This settlement is ridiculous and I wouldn't do it. I would spend every last dime I had fighting it. I am no martyr and I am no crusader for idealistic causes, but I just wouldn't take that SHIT from lawyers and whiners looking for a few fast bucks. I'd go down in flames, but I would fight them to the bitter end.
Got-dam. Tell me who are the REAL whores in this country?
September 26, 2004
i can't help
I read this post with great interest. Yeah, all-you-can-eat fried catfish and barbecue was a staple for me during my youth. Let's hit some of the highlights:
Dasher's: Yeah, the place was packed on weekends. It also happened to be the most likely establishment to get into a real "CALL 911!!!" fight if things got froggy. Some of those river rats who frequented that place would rather fight than fuck. I always said that if you didn't bring your own axe-handle to that joint, they'd give you one at the door.
Mammy's Kitchen: It's still open, but I think Mammy's sons are running it now. I used them to cater a golf tournament a few years ago and the food was excellent, as always. Best fried chicken I ever tasted.
I know the place Kim mentions up at Silk Hope with the super-sweet iced tea. (They didn't sell alcohol. Dasher's did.) I can't remember the name of the place now, but I remember stuffing my face there many a time for one of those $3.00 specials, which included all you could eat of EVERYTHING!!! Catfish, barbecue, cole slaw, french fries and hushpuppies. That was one hell of a deal for a college student back then.
Man. I love living in the South.
the oldest profession
Back in my guitar-playing days I was well acquainted with several... ummm... "working girls" ...who hooked part-time when they needed some easy money fast. They weren't the crack-addled, disease-ridden Living Dead Zombies that you often see leaning against lamp posts in downtown Savannah at midnight. These were young, intelligent wimmen who didn't see anything wrong with selling pussy to someone who wanted to buy it.
Several of them stayed at my apartment for a while. They never charged me OUTRIGHT for the privilge of their company, but I've never had any free pussy in my life. I fed 'em, watered 'em and let them use my phone for long-distance calls. In exchange, they gave me hot, wet sex in tangled sheets.
I thought it was a fair deal.
I never actually PAID UP FRONT for a piece of ass until my last trip to Costa Rica. That's the only time in my life that I ever ordered a woman from a menu similar to a pizza delivery service. "Yeah. I want a Supreme, with nothing on it, delivered to my room." I got exactly what I ordered.
She was paid in full and I didn't feel the least bit guilty the next morning. In fact, I felt goddam GREAT!!! I got laid, she went away and I was out only $50. (That's including the $10 tip I gave her because she made me feel like Conan, the stud-barbarian.)
The most expensive pussy I ever had in my life came from the two wimmen I made the mistake of MARRYING. Bejus! The first one took me to the cleaners and left me in a financial hole I took years to dig my way out of and the second one has cost me more than $40,000 so far, and she's still out for more.
But "prostitution" is illegal. My ass, it is. Here comes a fire-bomb: ALL WIMMEN ARE PROSTITUTES AT HEART. The honest ones sell pussy outright. The dishonest ones "give it away," marry chumps like me and extort the lucre through the courts. The honest ones who "give it away" have the most expensive pussy in the world.
I've got the track record to prove it, too.
I don't have a problem with this teacher, although I know that a lot of other people will. I have a problem with the kid's parents. I see no excuse for a six year-old taking a crap on the classroom floor.
Sometimes, you just have to send a clear message.
I remember visiting my father one afternoon, and right in the middle of our conversation, he stopped talking, clenched his jaw and said, "Look at that sumbitch." I looked out the window and saw a big dog taking a shit in my father's yard. "I've warned that bastard what I was gonna do if he let that dog use my yard as a latrine again."
With that statement, my father arose from his chair, walked out to the utility shed and grabbed a shovel. He scooped up the still-steaming dog crap and walked three door down to the neighbor's house. He rang the doorbell. When they opened the door, he pitched the shit into their foyer. "I believe that THIS belongs to you!" he said; then, he turned around and walked back home.
That dog never crapped in his yard again.
a day off
I didn't blog yesterday. I went down to River Street and had lunch with Tybee Mike, a frequent commenter on my site. He is a nice guy and we had a good time, drinking beer and shooting the shit about whatever popped into our heads. Recondo 32 and Georgia dropped by, too, so Mike now knows that I didn't invent those characters.
Mike didn't look the way I imagined he would. I resemble a beach bum a lot more than he does. Unlike me, he is clean-cut and he appears to be quite respectable.
He's going to ride out Jeanne at home. I'm going to do that, too, but I'm 50 miles inland from where he lives. I wish him luck, because he lives very close to the water. Just batten down the hatches, Mike.
I hope to see you again.
September 25, 2004
better you than me
With any luck, I won't see much more than a rainstorm from this bitch. Florida should wear the whore out before she gets to me. That's Florida's job, by damn.
I never liked Florida anyway.
September 24, 2004
i like this
I hope this link works.
Reminds me of an old song... "Hello. It's me."
I once really enjoyed hiking and backpacking. I've walked all over the Appalatchians, the Smokies and the Blue Ridge Mountains. I've spent many a night in the middle of nowhere around a campfire. I learned to chew tobacco while hiking. I learned to carry food, clothes, shelter and whiskey for FOUR DAYS in the woods and tote 40 pounds on my back. (That's a light pack--but I had everything I needed.)
I've climbed Blood Mountain at least a dozen times. I've hiked the North Face of Naked Ground, at Joyce Kilmer, from Big Fat Gap to the top of Hangover Mountain six times. That trail is a bitch. I've followed the Art Loeb Trail all over the mountains. That was one walking sumbitch. I've had my picture taken while sitting atop a big piece of granite at the Shining Rock Wilderness in Tennessee.
I've been all over those mountains.
I can't do that anymore. I run out of gas too easily today. My idea of camping now is to walk a couple of hundred yards into the woods and find a nice, level place. Dump everything right there. Set up camp and let people day-hike if they want to. Sit around in a folding chair and look up at the mountains. Say, "I climbed you once and I could do it again, if I wanted to!" and know that you're lying.
But I DID climb them once upon a time.
If you ever find yourself around Savannah and see a sign for "Whitemarsh Island," understand one thing, so you don't appear stupid to the natives. It's pronounced "WHIT-MARSH." Yeah, I know how it's spelled, but I also know how it is SUPPOSED to be pronounced. You call it WHITE MARSH and people are gonna think you're a dumbfuck yankee right away.
About 25 years ago, Recondo 32 and Georgia had a tiny house on Whit-Marsh Island. It bordered on Richardson Creek with a dock and a boat ramp right in their front yard. We all worked in the bars back then and Sunday was our only day off. A whole bunch of us made a ritual out of going over there and drinking beer, shooting the shit and skinny-dipping in the creek at night.
We called it "Whitmarsh Sunday." I wrote a song about it, but I've forgotten the words now. Georgia remains pissed at me about that. She thought it was an excellent song. We had some good times there. The attendees were about 50-50 male and female and Bejus help you if you passed out.
Another ritual was the first person to fall asleep got attacked by the wimmen. They would paint your fingernails and toenails bright red, put lipstick, rouge and eye-shit on you and laugh like hell while they were doing it to an unconscious man. If you made the mistake of passing out back then, you woke up looking like a painted whore in the morning.
Man. I miss those days.
the wrong kind of people
I'm going to confess another deep, dark secret about myself on this blog: I tend to hang around the wrong kind of people. My friends, in the blogosphere and outside of it, are ALL crazy to a certain extent. Most of them are Woodstock generation people--- we grew up in rebellious times and never excised the "FUCK YOU!" worm that infested us back then.
We smoked a lot of dope. We did drugs. We had body-wads and cluster-fucks when the motto was, "if it feels good, do it." We did. At least I did.
Most of us settled down (the ones who didn't die), got good jobs, bought houses, raised children and joined the mainstream. But that's all fake. Deep inside, we're ALL still crazy; we're just too old to act out the way we did before. We have too many responsibilities to live free the way we once did.
When I play guitar with my friends that I've known since my first days on River Street, it never fails. In between songs somebody will say, "Do you remember when we..." and a wonderful story will unfold from there. We all laugh and elaborate on it, because those are fond memories. But I can see in everybody's eye the same feeling I have in my heart.
We want to go back and do it again.
I do. That's what I get for hanging around the wrong kind of people.
I had to
I saw the movie When Harry Met Sally in the Looney Bin. (circa August of 2001) That's right. I was in a nut-house at the time, wearing a hospital gown and surrounded by some REALLY CRAZY fuckers. Watching that movie was one of the few pleasant experiences I had while I was there.
If Meg Ryan didn't do the best fake orgasm scene in the history of cinema, I'd like to see YOU top it. And I always liked the line from the old lady who watched the whole thing: "I'll have whatever SHE'S having."
Yeah. Me, too.
Kinda gives "fake, but accurate" a whole new meaning, doesn't it?
I've heard a lot of people say that left-handed people are more creative than righties. I know why. THEY HAVE TO BE. The entire got-dam world is set up for right-handed people and if you're one of those screwed up individuals who USES THE WRONG HAND all the time, you deserve to suffer. Get with the fucking program or get creative.
My roommate in college was semi-left-handed. I believe that his inner self was TOTALLY left-handed, but he worked long and hard to deny that fact. He wrote with his right hand. (He still does.) He dealt cards like a right-handed dealer. He played guitar right-handed. He used sissors right-handed.
But he threw a ball left-handed, batted left-handed and played golf left-handed. Was HE fucked-up, or what? No wonder he became a successful lawyer.
When Samantha, my daughter, was a baby, she showed a disturbing tendency to use her left hand for things that her right hand should have been doing. I am a mean and domineering father. I MADE her use her right hand until I TRAINED HER to be right-handed, and I did it for her own good. The world is full of Mean Streets for the left-handed.
I've got no sympathy for left-handed people. Unless you're going to be a pitcher in Major League Baseball, or a Professional Bowler, being left-handed is a handicap. Something's not right about you. In ancient times, communities with any sense took left-handed babies and threw them into a live volcano or abandoned them to die nekkid on the side of a mountain in the winter snow. That was a good idea. It cleared the gene pool of some terribly recessive shit.
But a few slipped through the cracks and they are alive and well today. I fear left-handed people. If they've hung around this long, we'll NEVER get rid of them now.
Before long, they'll declare themselves a Protected Minority and start suing the hell out of right-handed people for reparations.
September 23, 2004
I'm 52 years old and I hang around with people who are my age or older. I'll occasionally meet a young chicita who is attracted to a
When I was a young man, I enjoyed waking up in the morning with a woman in my bed. My first thought was to jump her bones again, morning mouths and all, before either one of us took a shower, right there in the sheets we tangled the night before. That's a great way to greet the day. Puts a good spin on your attitude.
Now, I wake up and hope that she doesn't want an encore. I agree with my friend Catfish: pussy is stronger than it used to be. I once wanted it all the time--- now a little bit lasts for quite a while. I don't believe that I'll ever stop chasing it, but I don't run nearly as fast in pursuit as I once did. I hate to admit it, but it's true. I would rather watch a good football game than lay a woman I really didn't want to sleep with, and I have a $38,000 bionic dick. Priorities change throughout life.
My friends and I compare maladies the way kids do Pokeman Cards. "Oh, yeah? You think YOUR back is fucked up? Let me tell you about MINE!" We all creak and groan, bitch and moan, and NOT ONE OF US wants to be old. But we are.
Mickey Mantle said, "If I'd have known I was gonna live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself." I call bullshit. I've lived my life full-tilt and head-on. I've had joyous times and abject misery. I have things that I wish I could go back and change and days that I wish I could live over again.
All in all, I've lived a good life. I have many good stories to tell. You know what really bothers me about growing old? I can't do what I really want to do anymore because my body won't do it. That's okay for people who WANT to grow old, but I don't. I have a severe character flaw.
I never lost my sense of adventure.
yes, I'm tough
I wasn't certain that I could make this link without suffering a major heart-attack, projectile vomiting and a loss of bowel control. Somehow, I managed.
The sad part is... some people actually believe that shit about one of the most slime-encrusted, mealy-mouthed Presidents we've had in the history of this nation. Wimmen love him.
i am banned
I don't know how this happened, but I am unable to comment on this page anymore. I can understand being banned due to "questionable content," because you should have SEEN the fucking comment I wrote on that fucking post. It was DEFINITELY fucking questionable.
Hell... it was a fucking questionable POST, for crying out loud. What the fuck, Eric? How the fuck did I manage to piss you off, you fucking ex-jarhead? Go fuck yourself, you fucking fuck.
Hah. I feel better now.
we're all gonna die!!!
I believe that some people will never feel "safe" from all the environmental menaces threatening them until they are hermetically sealed in a plastic bubble and fed filtered air through a tube. Even then, another "study" will pop up like a boil on a wino's ass to prove that plastic bubbles cause cancer, too.
WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
I read shit like this and I want to barf. Now... in the wake of Jayson Blair and Rathergate, I don't want to suggest that CNN is guilty of sloppy reporting and fear-mongering to support the anti-smoking nazis... I want to say it OUTRIGHT! THAT STORY IS PURE BULLSHIT!!!
Smoky bars and casinos have up to 50 times more cancer-causing particles in the air than highways and city streets clogged with diesel trucks at rush hour, according to a study that also shows indoor air pollution virtually disappears once smoking is banned.
The last time I was around "smoky" bars and casinos, I don't remember anybody grabbing me and physically dragging me into the places to force me to breathe the toxic air. If I didn't like the "indoor air pollution," I was free to stay on the sidewalk and protect my delicate lungs from all that "pollution" by NOT GOING INSIDE. But that's exercising personal freedom and choice, which is NOT considered proper behavior today.
We need to government to make those choices for OUR OWN GOOD, because we are too stupid to handle that task ourselves.
Conducted by the researcher who first showed secondhand smoke causes thousands of U.S. lung cancer deaths each year, the study found casino and bar workers are exposed to particulate pollution at far greater levels than the government allows outdoors.
Would that be the EPA
That's a fact. You wouldn't know that from reading the "news," would you? No. What happened between the time the EPA released its famous "study" on second-hand smoke and the time that study was throughly debunked as a power-grab piece of junk science by a federal judge, MILLIONS of people died from second-hand smoke. Just Google and read.
The EPA said 3,000 people died every year and they lied about that. Before long, the number was 50,000 people per year and I don't know where that figure came from. Nobody could ever prove it, but who cares? When you want to scare the crap out of ignorant people with big lies, BIG NUMBERS HELP. Just make 'em up. CNN isn't going to doubt your lies. They'll print your fucking press release and call it a news story. CBS may run the story on 60 Minutes.
Whatever happened to news reporters having a bullshit detector?
Anytime the government uses "health benefits" as an excuse to steal more of your freedom, you're in trouble. Soccer moms everywhere start to hyperventilate and get the vapors. They believe whatever crap is thrown at them and they feel that Venusian urge to SAVE THE CHILDREN by giving government more power. Choice is a frightenening thing to them, except for abortion, where they want the government to stay the hell out of a place it doesn't belong.
Guess what, darlings? Government doesn't need to tell me where I can smoke and where I can't, either.
another good one
I check my referrals on Site Meter about twice every day. I don't see them all, but I continue to find good blogs in there.
Some people write really well, in spite of public schools.
do a good deed
I don't know how many Skymiles I've got with Delta Airlines, but I'm willing to donate them to this worthy cause. That little girl needs the miles a lot worse than I do.
I believe that the reason I am an athiest is because I cannot worship ANY God who is supposedly omnipotent and still allows terrible things to happen to children. That's just not right.
Years ago, when I was still working as a relief supervisor at the plant, I came home from a 3-11 shift and started watching the Danny Thomas telethon for St. Jude's Hospital on TV. I ended up crying on the couch and sending them $50 that I really couldn't afford to spend at the time. I just couldn't stand seeing those kids dying of cancer and their parents having to go through that kind of hell.
That's just not right.
I haven't seen Pat and Kim in more than three years now, but they once were good friends of mine. (Pat once worked for Jennifer) Pat gave me a cigar when his son Sean was born. He was one proud daddy and he was going to train Sean to play golf on the PGA Tour. But things didn't work out the way he planned.
Sean was born premature with ceberal palsy. Sean will NEVER be a normal child. At the age of three, he still couldn't sit up by himself. He screamed and cried a lot and he didn't move the way normal children do. All his joints were locked and he didn't know how to unlock them.
I don't know how I would handle such a situation, because I have two healthy children. I am a fortunate man. But if you see a child in need and it doesn't break your heart, you have no heart.
Donate some miles. You can fix what God fucked up.
It took me a while this morning to de-shit my computer. I received 89 spam comments last night and I see what those cockroaches are doing now. They're trying to make an end run around MT Blacklist by changing names after every couple of spams.
Most of the stuff I got last night was porno spams. If you wanted black anal, Asian lesbian, barnyard animal sex, strap-on dildos or gay men in action, the spammers had all the links.
I deleted every one of them and banned the addresses. It took longer than I wanted it to, but I can be a patient man sometimes. I can be VERY patient when I'm on a mission to protect my home turf. Besides--- it's a lot like playing a video game where you zap alien invaders. KABOOM! You're gone. Who's next? Oh... I see YOU there... KABOOM! You're gone, too.
They'll be back because that's what they do, the pieces of shit. When they come, I'll be ready. KABOOM!
I'll do it every time, no matter how long it takes.
September 22, 2004
Just a test
I finished installing all kinds of virus protection and spybot crap on my new computer (at least I THINK I did) and I want to see if I managed to ban myself from blogging.
It won't be the first time I've done that.
I put new strings on my old Martin guitar while Recondo 32 and Georgia were still here last Sunday. Georgia took a picture of me doing it, and I will post that picture eventually... just don't hold your breath.
I'm getting in shape for Blogtoberfest. My hands aren't what they once were (too many days and nights turning valves in a chemical plant for too many years) but I'm still not bad. I want to back up my brag about my guitar playing, so I've been practicing at least an hour every day since Sunday. I gotta get some callouses on my fingers if nothing else.
Plus, I don't like to play in front of people with brand new strings on my guitar. I like to break the strings in for a while until they stretch and get right with their inner selves. That way, you can tune your guitar and expect it to stay in tune. New strings are froggy.
I don't know if I blogged about this before, but I learned how to make month-old strings sound brand-new on a guitar from Harry Chapin, sometime around 1970 or '71. Harry played a noon concert at Armstrong State College and about twelve people showed up to see him. He was extremely gracious, although he had to be disappointed by the turnout. He said, "Hell, I don't need this," and abandoned the sound system to sit on the edge of the stage and invite everybody to come down front and listen.
I did. It was one of the best concerts I ever heard. I was an arm's length away from Harry Chapin and he was singing by himself, with his guitar. He was GREAT! He chatted with everybody, shot the shit between songs and told the stories behind what he wrote. I was enchanted. I cut my next class to hang around and talk with him.
That's when he told me the trick about making old guitar strings sound new. He played an old Martin that rang like a bell. I asked him how often he changed strings. When he told me the strings on his guitar were four months old, I called bullshit. I was running through two sets of strings a week at the time. That's when he told me the trick. I tried it, and it works.
I'll share that secret with any guitar player who comes to Blogtoberfest.
I'm bringing my best guitar, I'll have the strings broken in the way I like them, and I'll be ready to play. I intend to dazzle the audience with a few original songs, too. I've written almost 100 songs, about 25 of which I still remember how to play. But I WILL play THESE:
Justice Laid Me Low
Maybe a few others, too.
I would be the envy of my neighborhood if I had a mailbox like that one. I WANT IT! I WANT IT!!
Does that make me a red-neck?
notice to Michael moore
Mike, you fat fart, here's what a good-looking southern woman thinks of you:
I heard this morning on Fox News that Michael Moore is no longer endorsing Kerry's candidacy. I don't know if that's true, but regardless, I've decided that Moore must be a spiteful, pissy little girl in a fat, ugly body.
She has called ME names before, but never THAT bad.
I wonder why?
Loyal reader Amy sent me this link today. I wonder why?
Jennifer bought me an obsidian ball for Christmas one year. (I bought her a pair of diamond earrings.) It was a black ball of obsidian, about the size of a tennis ball, that rested on a fake-gold stand. I couldn't figure out what it was at first, but she explained that it had magical powers and it would keep us together forever. I put it on the coffee table.
That's where it stayed for eight years, until I found it packed in a box with a bunch of other junk when I was moving into the Crackerbox. I threw it into the woods behind my house. I may go out and look for it tomorrow.
Maybe I could sell it on eBay.
damn good dog
This is my eulogy to Bud, one of the two best dogs I ever had in my life. I will not mention him again, but I've got to get this out of my system.
Bud was two years old when I first started dating Jennifer. He was a BIG sumbitch, half black lab and half chow, about 90 hairy pounds equipped with BIG teeth that gleamed white against his black coat and a throaty bark that could freeze your blood. He didn't like me when we first met.
I knew what it was. Bud didn't frighten me and he was accustomed to people being very uneasy around him. I learned a lot about dogs when I was twelve years old and doing my newspaper route collections. Dogs have a pack mentality and they recognize a leader when they see one. They will TRY to intimidate you, but you'll be suprised how well a sawed-off shovel handle works to persuade them not to do that again. They get the message. They stop trying to be Tall Dog around you.
I beat Bud's ass with a baseball cap one day when he growled at me. I heard that noise and jumped him like a duck on a June bug. I whipped off my cap and started flogging that dog while cursing and growling myself. I knew that one of two things would happen. Either I would assert my Tall Dog status right THEN, or Bud would turn and try to kill me. I was ready either way.
Bud laid down on his back and showed me his belly. That's a surrender gesture in dog body-language. I put my cap back on my head and petted Bud. "Okay, big guy. Fight's over. Do we understand each other now?"
I believe that we did after that. Bud became a good friend of mine. He was protective of home and hearth (he didn't like strangers around the house) and he NEVER lost that werewolf bark of his. He was gentle around children and he put up with shit from kids that he wouldn't tolerate from anyone else. He killed cats if he caught them in HIS yard. He whipped many another dog's ass. But he never bit a person.
Bud was everything you want in a dog--- he was smart, obedient, gentle when he needed to be and bad-assed when wanted to be.
I was playing some kind of wrestle game with Bud in the yard one day and he missed grabbing the rope I was dangling in front of him, and his mouth caught my arm instead. He was growling like a hydrophobic beast and dog-slobber was flying everywhere. He dragged me about three steps forward before he realized that he had my arm instead of the rope. He let go and appeared very contrite (you know how a dog can give you that look: "I fucked up and I"M SORRY!!!")
I had a couple of bruises the next day, but Bud's teeth never broke my skin. He could have taken that arm off if he'd have wanted to. But that wasn't Bud's nature. He was a damn good dog.
I've missed him since the day I was thrown out of my home. Bud never forgot me. He always got excited when I came to pick up Quinton. He couldn't hear and he could barely see, but his nose still worked. One sniff of ME and he was happy to have me back.
I hope all dogs DO go to heaven.
I'm in a fight with MCI right now. I cancelled my long-distance service with them long ago and signed up with Alltel. But MCI keeps sending me bills. They now say I owe them $150.00 and if I don't work out a "payment plan," they may be forced to ruin my credit.
As near as I can tell by examining the bills, I made THREE long-distance phone calls during the time in question. Two were to Recondo 32 or Georgia, which added up to a total of less than $5.00, and one to this woman to coordinate a Token Hoosier's visit to this year's Jawja Blogfest. That call cost $4.00.
How I somehow owe those fucks $150.00 is a mystery to me, so I called them to try to fix the problem. I talked to someone on the phone who tried to INTIMIDATE ME!!! The guy behaved as if he worked for the fucking Mafia, for crying out loud. "If you don't pay this bill or work out a payment plan, we'll take action against you."
Bring it on, buttfuck. I offered to pay for the calls I actually made, but that wasn't good enough for you. Whadda you gonna do? RUIN MY CREDIT? BWHAHAHAHAAA!!! Scare me to death with that threat. I don't have any income at the moment. I don't expect that situation to change anytime soon. Got-dam Ditech wouldn't give me a loan right now. Have at my credit all you want.
I'm not paying that bill.
an american icon
The puritans among us can deny the obvious and they can gets their undies in a wad about it, but the truth remains: SEX SELLS. Russ Meyer knew that fact and he became rich and famous making soft-core titty-movies that people flocked to see. Russ died at the age of 82 last Saturday.
I remember his movies well. I saw 'em in theaters and drive-ins. He surely did know how to work nekkid titties into his screenplays. I sprang many a boner watching his cinematic classics in my randy youth. He surely knew how to grab MY attention back then.
My, how times change. From Russ Meyer movies to hard-core, XXX porn on my cable pay-for-view channels in a little more than 30 years. By comparison, Russ seems pretty tame today.
But he was a trailblazer in his prime.
not for the faint of heart
Go here at your own risk. The pictures are graphic and revolting.
That's who we're fighting, people.
If you study history, you understand that people are ALWAYS going to do three things, because they ALWAYS have. They will gamble, they will get fucked-up and they will fornicate. Governments have tried for thousands of years to forbid such behavior, but people still gamble, get fucked-up and fornicate, no matter what kind of laws they have to violate to do it. It's human nature.
That's why I believe that this is a ridiculous idea. You put a virile young man in uniform and send him thousands of miles from home, and he's going to get laid. It's human nature.
WASHINGTON (AP) - U.S. troops stationed overseas could face courts-martial for patronizing prostitutes under a new regulation drafted by the Pentagon.
Just what is the Pentagon really trying to accomplish here? Dry up the trade in pussy by court-marshal? It ain't gonna work, because prostitution isn't called the "world's oldest profession" for nothing and it's going to be around forever. Plus, this new regulation is really going to boost troop morale.
Beware of ANY organization that believes it can change human nature with a rule, a law or a regulation. If wimmen being "forced into prostitution" is a problem, put pressure on the governments responsible for this slave trade to make them clean up their own act. That won't work, either, but it's more morally defensible than this bullshit.
Gen. Leon J. LaPorte, commander of the 37,000 U.S. troops in South Korea, said another initiative started on the peninsula has been to ``make on-base military life a more desirable experience, and attempt to diminish the seductive appeal of many of the less wholesome off-duty pursuits.''
Midnight basketball and expanded chaplain activities won't stop a trooper from getting laid. But this stupid regulation WILL make a lot of those troops criminals.
September 21, 2004
Recondo 32 sent me this link and felt compelled to share it. It fits well with the picture below.
Slam your hand in a car door. Hit your finger with a hammer while trying to drive a nail. Walk into a half-open door in the dark and damn near knock yourself out. Drop something heavy on your bare foot.
Yeah, I do this when such things happen to me.
a worthy cause
If you've got a few spare sheckles jingling in your pocket, send some here. That's a blog and a blogger worthy of support.
I finally managed to get Quinton on the phone today after two weeks of trying. He's been playing fall baseball, but he "forgot" to tell me when he had games scheduled, so I didn't see any of them. I am certain that his mama had nothing to do with his memory lapse. The season is over now.
They had to put Bud to sleep. I hated to hear that because Bud was a damn fine dog for a long time, that big, hairy bastard. Quinton said "Bud lost his mind, daddy. He really did. He went crazy. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing anymore."
Bud lived for 17 years, which ain't bad for a dog. He once was a real badass warrior, then he mellowed in his old age. Three years ago, he was still good for a thirty-second burst of ferocity, which is usually all it took for Bud to kill a cat or teach another dog who walked tall in HIS yard.
Adios, Bud. You never forgot me. And I'll never forget you.
A few years ago, I was curled in a fetal position on a filthy mattress while sucking on an opium pipe somewhere in Asia. I nodded off and had a tumultuous dream. I saw a FLAMING ANGEL, who resembled Richard Simmons, descending from the ceiling with a bottle of vitamins in one hand and a pack of condoms in the other.
He frightened me. I wanted neither the vitamins NOR the condoms, but he wouldn't go away. He just hovered there in the air, flaming. "I bring a message to you, Rob," he said, with a slight lisp. "Hillary Clinton is the Anti-Christ!" And with those words, he vanished in a puff of smoke, taking his vitamins, but leaving the condoms behind.
I woke up in my own bed in my own house, and I realized that I've NEVER been to Asia and I've never been to an opium den in my life. Hmmm... where did THAT dream come from?
I figured it out. That was evil night-sprites coming out of the woods in the dark and penetrating the skylight to pour potions into my right-side-up ear. They were attempting to deceive me with magic.
But their tricks didn't work and their magic wore off. I no longer believe that Hillary Clinton is the Anti-Christ. She sits in a high chair on the left-hand side of the Black Throne, and she has a hungry look in her eyes, but she's NOT the Tall Dog.
Nope. I have identified the most likely candidate for the UNDISPUTED WORLD CHAMPION of antichristliness. I present the rich bitch. The "step-money."
Do you ever get the feeling that Mother Teresa believes that she is royal? I do. I also believe that she looks down her nose at "scumbags" and proles such as myself who disagree with her looney views. She's cultivated an incubus for a husband and she hopes to ride his flip-flopping coattails to a position of power, as First Lady.
If she gets there, she'll devour her husband first, then come after the proles. She'll have armies of flying monkeys doing her bidding. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!! and the Black Throne will rule the world.
Verily I say, people. I have seen these facts in a vision.
Or maybe not.
i feel better
Yesterday was a bad day.
Sunday night, I dreamed about work, I dreamed about Jennifer and I dreamed about Quinton. I woke up depressed as hell. I got up, climbed into the shower and stayed in there until the hot water ran out. I cried there, too, and it wasn't soap in my eyes that caused it.
Sometimes I just get sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I tried to write, but the muse took the day off and I simply didn't feel like writing. I didn't have anything to say and I didn't want to say anything. I took a nap. I tried to figure out what all I lost when my computer crashed, but the more I thought about THAT, the less I wanted to think about it. I sat on my couch and watched HBO. I paid the latest bill from my lawyer.
I feel better today. At least my got-damn lawyer is paid.
I lost a lot of stuff I wrote and saved when my computer crashed the other day. I have a lot of it saved on disks, but I didn't save it all. Some of the vanished stuff was pretty good, in my humble opinion.
I have a question to ask any writer out there: have you ever tried to go back and rewrite from scratch something you wrote a month ago? I can't do it. I can come up with something else, or something SIMILAR about the same topic, but I can't duplicate what I did before.
For me, good writing is often a one-shot deal. You lose that one, and it's gone.
I've posted several missives on this subject. Maybe some people wonder why.
I see this story as REALLY BIG in several ways. First, I wanted to be a reporter when I was in college. I became really disgusted by the leftist tilt on EVERYTHING I saw in J-school, so I reconsidered my options. But I STILL believe that the role of the press is to be the watchdog of government--- not the attack dog, not the "gotcha" dog and not the dog barking at the wind. And most of all, not the dog taking sides in a Presidential election. The press should present the facts and let people make up their own minds.
The First Amendment (and it's no accident that the Founding Fathers made it the First) gives the press a lot of freedom in this country. But with that freedom comes responsibility. It's the responsibility to tell the truth.
What CBS and Dan Rather did was not only ugly, foolish and embarassing--- it also tarnished the reputation of the entire news industry. Coming in the wake of the Jayson Blair Scandal at the NYT, the buffoonery certainly was ill-timed. Once caught, CBS attempted to deny its way out of the problem. That stupidity just added insult to injury.
Yeah, I think it's a big deal. I believe that Rather should be fired, along with Mary Mapes. I believe that whoever leaked the fake documents should be prosecuted for fraud. If there is a connection to the Kerry campaign, I believe that it should be exposed. Now, THERE'S a news story.
Bottom line: if this shit is allowed to go unpunished, press credibility is shot forever. That credibility wasn't so hot to start with--- no--- no liberal bias out there--- but if CBS doesn't clean up its own act, somebody else will do it for them.
And from the looks of THIS fiasco, bloggers will do it.
Big Journalism is supposed to be the fact-checker of government, but BJ got a little carried away with itself over the years. Nobody was fact-checking THEIR asses. Now, thousands of people are, every day. Yeah, it was big fun to toast government with whatever accusations you could find, invent or allege, but it's NOT so much fun when you end up in the toaster yourself.
Journalism isn't what it once was and bloggers made it different.
Welcome to the 21st century, Dan.
I couldn't invent a better poster-boy for the American left than Michael moore. The Fat Bastard is the white Jesse Jackson of today, a human seagull who flies in where he's not wanted, squawks and shits all over the place, and then flies off leaving his mess behind.
His blather is so patently ridiculous that only kool-ade-drinking, true-believing acolytes of the Church of the Blind Left could POSSIBLY take this assclown seriously.
They are relentless and that is why we secretly admire them -- they just simply never, ever give up. Only 30% of the country calls itself "Republican," yet the Republicans own it all -- the White House, both houses of Congress, the Supreme Court and the majority of the governorships. How do you think they've been able to pull that off considering they are a minority? It's because they eat you and me and every other liberal for breakfast and then spend the rest of the day wreaking havoc on the planet.
Michael... get a grip. First of all NOBODY could eat YOU at one sitting, you fat bastard. Got-dam, man. You're a bigger porker than most hogs I ever saw killed and one of those would feed a family of ten through an entire winter.
Second, Republicans "own it all" BECAUSE of people such as you, not in spite of you. If the left hadn't gone off the deep end and produced the assortment of howling moonbats they have representing them today, they wouldn't be in the shit they're in. Get away from places such as Berkeley, San Fransisco, New York City and Seattle--- guess what you'll find?
You'll find America, asshole. And IT AIN'T what you think it is. Most people in this country want a job, a paycheck, a roof over their heads, clothes on their back and groceries in the kitchen. They also don't expect such manna to be handed to them by the almighty federal government. They work for what they have and they are proud of it.
Michael, you and the rest of the left DENEGRATE such people. And I, as one of those people, resent the hell out of it. You get your already bloated ass filled with smoke when you preach to the choir and they cheer your words. You believe that you're hearing the Voice of America when they do that.
But you're not. If you WERE, Kerry wouldn't be losing this election as badly as he is.
why i don't like George bush
I wouldn't vote for John Kerry if he were the only person on the ballot. I despise the man, I don't trust him and I believe that he's completely hollow on the inside, except for a bright, flashing neon "ME" in his brain-pan. But I'm not that fond of Bush, either.
Just what the hell is he doing here? THIS is an example of the "smaller, less-intrusive" government he promised? I call bullshit. That goddam suit sounds exactly like something Bill Clinton would do.
Starting tomorrow, the Department of Justice will sue the tobacco industry under civil RICO statutes, seeking the largest damages award ever for a US civil suit. The Justice Department will use racketeering charges - which are usually brought against organized crime - to allege that tobacco companies misled the public over the past 50 years. And it will ask a federal judge in Washington to order the industry to pay back $280 billion in past profits - an amount that the industry says would drive it into bankruptcy and that is slightly more than the industry agreed to pay states in their 1998 settlement with attorneys general.
This suit is disgraceful. And George Bush should be ashamed of himself.
September 20, 2004
You know what I did today? Nothing.
I took my trash out this morning and the weather was chilly outside. Fall must be falling. I dumped the trash and went back inside where it was warm. I don't like chilly weather.
I have some good pictures that I want to post, but they're all on floppy disks and my new computer doesn't have an "A" drive. I suppose I could get on somebody else's computer, email the pictures to myself and copy them from there, but that's an awful lot of trouble. I didn't do it today.
I want to design and sell "BLOG NEKKID" tee-shirts. I want a set of pajamas on the front with a red circle and slash, with BLOG NEKKID! in big letters underneath that. I'd buy one of those.
I'm going back to Costa Rica for Thanksgiving. Just thought you might want to know.
That's it. I'm bored.
I respect people who pay their bets, even when it hurts to do it. A bet is a bet... you knew the job was dangerous when you took it.
Tammi, you are a woman of her word and a credit to that weird Venusian race you come from. You've ALSO got a cute belly-button.
Go read this. It's really good.
I just hope that some of those troops know how to bark like a Dawg.
you did what?
This is one sick post. I am ashamed to admit that I know the woman. And I'm wearing a goddam cup to the blogtoberfest, too, after reading that.
At first touch it was extremely soft, but when given a good squeeze, I soon noticed a slightly firmer ball on the inside.
Bejus! She could probably have REAL fun with a set of these. Mr. Whipple, move over.
This article is kind of dry, because it was written by someone with a background in economics or science rather than literature and woman-chasing. But the bottom-line truth remains: I can spend my own money better than the federal government can.
Acting in your own self-interest, you’ll make your own money go farther, to much better effect, than if a disinterested third party spends your money on your behalf (often on things with which you might vehemently disagree). That’s the end result of lower taxes—a more productive, more efficient, higher-employment economy, controlled by the individual wage-earning engineers who created it.
Why is that fact so difficult to understand for some people?
piss on it
I really don't feel like writing today. My brain is not working in clever or witty ways, so I'm taking some downtime until I become inspired again. That may take two hours or two days.
But it's my time and I'll spend it the way I want to.
theater of the absurd
CBS got snookered by some fake documents and "scooped" a story nobody gave a shit about, in an obvious attempt to hurt George Bush. They rushed the story onto television, hoping for a real big "GOTCHA!" firestorm, that lasted less than 60 minutes, because they set themselves on fire instead.
How did they handle this incredible journalistic fuckup? First, they stood by the story. When the evidence that they had been duped piled up around them, they took the "fake, but accurate" route. Now they've come to this. They were "misled," maybe, but they're still not certain that the story isn't true.
I will never be able to look at Dan Rather again without remembering "Baghdad Bob" telling reporters that there were NO AMERICAN TROOPS HERE while US tanks rolled by in the background.
I never liked Dan, but I hate to see a man lose his life's reputation over something this stupid. Got-dam, Dan. Is your ego THAT large?
(UPDATE: I guess it is. Read this, too.)
September 19, 2004
My beloved Georgia Bulldogs beat Marshall 13-3. I would rejoice, except for the fact that Georgia hasn't remembered to bring its offense to the last two games. I am troubled by that fact.
Florida GOT WHIPPED, which really made my day. Fuck the gators. I HATE those sumbitches. Auburn beat LSU, too. It was an interesting football day in the SEC.
Recondo 32 and his lovely wife, Georgia came over yesterday evening to visit. Rick and I wanted to watch football and Georgia didn't, so she retired to my bedroom to watch Pirates of the Carribean on tape. I think she lusts for Johnny Depp.
Recondo is 90% deaf. About 45 minutes after Georgia went back to my bedroom, I heard a horrible noise emanating from there. It sounded like a chainsaw, a leaf-blower and a freight train all rolled into one. I said, "Rick, do you hear that?
"Huh?" he replied. Of COURSE he didn't hear it. He didn't hear ME! He's damn nearly deaf.
"I think Georgia fell asleep. She's snoring her ass off."
"Well, she does that when she's happy."
Recondo dozed off on the couch himself before the end of the Tennessee-Florida game, and he missed a thriller. I threw a blanket over him and went back to my bedroom. I fully intended to crawl into bed with Georgia and sleep with her, both of us with clothes on. It wouldn't be the first time we've done that. But that idea was ridiculous.
She was wrong-way in my bed, with her feet on my pillow and a stack of quilts behind her, propping her up for maximum snoring effect. She was rattling the goddam window panes and shaking the curtains with every breath. NOBODY except SHE could have slept in that room with all that noise.
I grabbed a blanket of my own and slept on the love seat in my living room. At least Recondo slumbers quietly. As long as he doesn't start farting in his sleep, I'm okay with him.
That was my football day with my two good friends.
rob 1, computer 0
In a terrible, bloody, gut-strewn battle, I managed to subdue my new computer and bend it to my will. Now I drive the enemy before me and hear the lamentations of their wimmen. Ahhh... victory is sweet!
I couldn't have done it without technical help from a guy at Comcast who spent almost an hour on the phone with me tonight. I figured out the mouse problem, but I still couldn't get on the internet. The goddam virus protection built into the new computer protected me from threats so well that I was blocked from my own internet connection.
THAT one flabbergasted the tech support guy for a while until he figured out the problem and told me what to do to fix it. At least it wasn't something simple that would make me feel more like a computer moron than I already do.
HA! I won.
My computer died this morning. It was fine one minute, then started to make some weird, grinding noises and went black on me. It has computer Alzheimer's disease. It can't find its "C" drive anymore. I'm using my laptop to write this post and I am pissed right now.
I bought a new computer a couple of hours ago. I brought it home, set it up and the goddam mouse port doesn't work. Brand new computer, fucked up out of the box. Just Damn!
I'll take it back tomorrow and get an exchange. But Bejus! What happened to quality control in this country?
September 18, 2004
I have beer, chips, dips and a rack of ribs cooking as I write. I am going to be Mr. American until this evening, as I sprawl on my couch, suck beer from a can, stuff food in my face and watch college football on TV.
See y'all later.
am I shy?
Highly Sensitive Person Self Test
(True. I believe that I think in images rather than pure thought. A smell, a sound, the fabric under my ass... all of that stuff combines in my mind to make a PICTURE, and from that picture comes my reality. Is that weird?)
(False. I am an insensitive swine.)
(True and false. I have an incredible tolerance for pain from the neck down. I've been fucked-up with injuries so much in my life that pain is a part of getting out of bed anymore each day. But I have NO TOLERANCE for the pain a dentist can inflict. Something about my teeth just put you too close to the little man working the levers in the Control Room of my brain. You don't belong here. YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED!!! STAY OUT!!!
(False. Shit, no. I have another dark confession to make on this blog: I LOVED busy days at work. I liked it when we had a CRISIS!!! I was at my best when the shit hit the fan. I was bored with my job sometimes when everything ran well for a long time.)
(False. I see no need to elaborate.)
(False. It takes a lot more than that shit to overwhelm me.)
(True. I attribute a lot of that to my bent brain-function that processes images more easily than it does numbers. I believe that thinking that way inspires imagination. And yeah, I talk to myself, too)
(BWHAHAHAHAAAA!!! False. I like to MAKE loud noises.)
(True. Music sometimes makes me cry.)
(True and false. I am VERY conscientious about some things and totally "give a shit" about others. If I were conscientious, my kitchen would look better than it does.)
(False. Although that question startled me.)
(False. I learned a long time ago that when the plate is too full, you can't eat it all. Take care of what you can handle and delay the rest. I was good at doing that. I never got rattled.)
(False. If they don't like it, let 'em leave.)
(False. Go back and read my answer to question #12.)
(True... but I really don't TRY HARD at anything anymore. Been there, done that.)
(False. I love 'em. The more gore, the better. I am a savage at heart.)
(Huh? I don't understand the question. I've never been "unpleasantly aroused" in my life, even after that night in Tampa when I woke up with this... never mind. That's Too Much Information.)
True. Yeah, the big ones surely do.)
(True. I love good food. I don't do it anymore, but I once liked to shop for wine and find some unheard-of vintage that was PERFECT for the meal I planned that night. I like interesting tastes. And I love music.)
(False. Fuck it. Hit me with your best shot.)
(False. I've always wanted to be a champion, but I never had what it took to achieve that goal. I've been GOOD at many things, but never great. But I have NEVER choked when the chips were down. That's part of my show-off nature. I usually do my best when a lot of people are watching.)
(False. I had to be told to "SHUT UP!" a lot.)
I just thought I'd throw that post out so you get to know and love Acidman better than you did before.
i thought the same thing
Here's something you must read. It's written by another guy who consistantly makes me think, "I am not worthy."
As the network put it last week, ''In accordance with longstanding journalistic ethics, CBS News is not prepared to reveal its confidential sources or the method by which '60 Minutes' Wednesday received the documents.'' But, once they admit the documents are fake, they can no longer claim ''journalistic ethics'' as an excuse to protect their source. There's no legal or First Amendment protection afforded to a man who peddles a fraud. You'd think CBS would be mad as hell to find whoever it was who stitched them up and made them look idiots.
The spectacle of CBS news denying the obvious is disturbing to me. They are one of the TOP NEWS ORGANIZATIONS IN THE WORLD!!! Well... CBS was THOUGHT to be one, but they're destroying that idea fast. Why? It can't be pure hubris only.
I smell a dead, stinking rat.
This is what I ALWAYS thought about John Kerry:
Vast is the empire crafting Kerry's creed. Immense is the army of Michelangelos trying to sculpture the melted marshmallow of Kerry's core. And the seasons do turn and the polls do shift and the rending of garments gives way to the sunshine of hope and back again.
Kerry reminds me of Bill Clinton in some ways. He wants to be President simply because he wants to BE President, just like Clinton. But at least Clinton was in it for his ego AND all the pussy he could get. Kerry wants the prize only for his ego.
I can't stand that guy.
September 17, 2004
I really believe that we should make dueling legal again. Just think about it. How many times in YOUR life have you gritted your teeth, kept your mouth shut and walked away from a situation where what you REALLY wanted to do was see that bastard on the village green the next morning with pistols at 20 paces?
Man, if dueling were legal, I'd have at least four under my belt right now (if I were still alive).
Of course, I like the way Jim Bowie did things. Dueling was an honorable way to die but it also was an honorable way to kill some sumbitch that you were sick and tired of. Bowie was good at ATTRACTING the challenge for a duel. That way, he got to pick the weapons and the scenario. I believe that he killed seven men during his dueling days.
Oh, how I wax nostalgic sometimes....
seeing things differently
I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse, but I see things differently than most people do. I'm not talking about a political stance or a philosophy or anything like that. I mean I really SEE things differently than most people. My brain processes information in a strange way.
Jennifer and I once took an IQ test together. I was thinking about joining MENSA at the time and she went along for the ride. Our scores were almost identical, (plenty good enough to get into MENSA) except SHE did well in the math part and I did well in the conceptual thinking part. If our scores were graphed side-by-side, you'd see that she was good at everything I sucked at and I was good at everything SHE sucked at.
She could look at a string of numbers and see a pattern in them. I couldn't. But I could look at a series of geometric figures and tell you what the model would look like if it were rotated 90 degrees and turned upside-down. We both solved the logic problems, but she did it with X and Y graphs and I did it it in my head.
Why does your brain work the way it does? Why do some people's brains seem not to work at all? Why do some really stupid people believe that they are smart? Why do I like red toenails so much?
Why did I write this post?
If Hank were still alive, he would be 81 years old today. I don't want to sound morbid, but sometimes I think it just might be better to die at the top of your game than take that hard ride downhill that comes later. Hank is a legend and he deserves that status. Everybody still remembers him as that talented, wild-drinkin,' sweet-singin,' song-writing young man from Alabama who lived fast and died young.
Would Hank's legend be the same if he were alive today? Oh, he'd still be a LEGEND, and no telling how many more songs he had in him. But the mystique would be gone and that fact would tarnish the legend, especially with young people who only knew the legend as an old man. Maybe it's better that Hank is frozen in time, forever that slim-faced young man in the cowboy hat that grins at you from old album covers.
Awwww... I'm waxing 'way too existential. Realizing that Hank Williams would be 81 years old today just made me feel really ancient all of a sudden.
The aftermath of a hurricane will do this to you. I think it's the low barometric pressure that causes people to go brain-dead, but I could be wrong.
Maybe you just see more stupid people after all the smart ones are off the streets. But if you're on the streets seeing THE STUPID PEOPLE... what does that make YOU? I asked myself that same question after Hurricane David hit Savannah in 1979 and I had a damn good answer.
It made me a hungry person.
This isn't bad, up to a point: What John Kerry Stands For
1) Stem cell research. This is a big one for me, my sister has MS and my Dad is pre-Alzheimers.
(I have serious problems with Bush's position on this issue, but I believe that the news media have done a shitty job of reporting the story. Stem cell research has NOT been outlawed. The main sticking point, to me at least, seems to be whether or not scientists can "create" embryos in the lab for the sole purpose of destroying them. I don't believe that Bush NOR Kerry has taken a strong position on this issue.)
2) Education. Better funding for the Bush initiated 'No Child Left Behind Act" is important. It's a nice plan and I give Bush credit for it, now they have to fund it. I think Kerry will while Bush has had years and has not.
(The Federal government should get the fuck out of education. They are the ones who made a mess out of public education in the first place, and yelping for "more funding" for a failed program is NOT the answer.)
3) Fiscal responsibility. I know the Dems are traditionally the big government party, but this administration seems into role reversal. All I see is bigger budgets and more departments. The only thing worse than tax and spend is no-tax and spend.
(Sweet Bejus! A liberal Senator from Massachussetts is going to bring "fiscal responsibility" to the US government? I won't even dignify that absolute pap with a reply.)
James, I certainly wouldn't base my decision solely on an hour in prime time -- it *is* more than that, isn't it? -- but I don't know how else to hear from the candidates own mouths what they think. These guys don't answer questions.
Posted by Al at September 17, 2004 02:33 PM
(No politician does anymore. Every one of them is scripted, couiffed, made-up and fed sound-bites and talking-points from highly-paid advisors. If that's what it takes to win your vote, Al, you should be a diving judge in the Olympics and not a voter. Presentation means a lot more than the message to you, doesn't it?)
I don't like George Bush. He spends too much money. He caves to "bipartisianship" when I would be flexing my muscle in his situation. He's NOT a good public speaker. He is NOT shrinking the government. But he's got a set of balls, which is what we need right now.
John Kerry, on the other hand, is a shit-bird. Period.
I would rather have a man I respect but dislike than someone I REVILE as my President.
I am serious about this. I'm offering a brand-new, crisp, just-ATM-dispensed $20 bill to ANYONE who can tell me THREE THINGS that John Kerry stands for and back it up with proof. And I don't accept platitudes such as "health care," "the economy," or "jobs" as worthy of my reading.
Listen to the man on the stump. "I'm going to CREATE JOBS, I'm going to IMPROVE HEATHCARE, I'm going to REVIVE THE ECONOMY!" He never says how, and until YOU CAN, don't apply for the prize.
But if you win the bet, I'll pay.
I became pretty good at twisting up my own smokes when I was in college, but I didn't put tobacco in the paper. I used dried kudzu, which was readily available all the time. Back in those days, I always felt a little bit paranoid about buying a pack of cigarette papers. I KNEW that the woman behind the counter KNEW that I was going home to roll a joint, and I KNEW that she was gonna narc on me.
That never happened, although the thought DID cause me, several times, to go to my window, pull back the curtain and look for the DEA raiders that I KNEW were closing in on me. What was that noise? Better look out the window. Hmmm... nothing there.... but just because you can't SEE IT doesn't mean that IT'S NOT THERE!!! Got-dam! Don't confuse me with the truth. My dope-addled mind KNOWS what it heard.
I gave that shit up years ago, except for one brief back-slide in Jamaica, where I learned not to backslide again. It'll make you crazy.
Do you think Dan Rather smokes pot? When I was watching the latest CBS News cover-up, I thought... "you know, I once did stuff like that when I was stoned."
I'm not ACCUSING Dan Rather of smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. No... I have some forged documents here that ALLEGE that he not only smokes the weed but drinks the bong-water... but I'm not going to run that story until I have actual proof of Dan mesmerized by a Lava Lamp while Pink Floyd plays on the stereo and the hookah-tube falls from his numb fingers right before he passes out.
Unlike CBS, I run a reputable news organization here.
i am stunned
How can a blog called southern Appeal NOT HAVE ME on the blogroll? I am sorely offended and I believe that I may require a duel to satisfy my honor.
Maybe I'm Southern, but unappealing?
I believe that making 21 the legal drinking age has caused a lot more problems that it ever solved. First of all, the idea that a young man can go off to war at the age of 18 but can't legally buy a beer is absurd. (I ran into that problem in the Atlanta airport. I offered to buy a beer for a guy in uniform and he explained that he wasn't old enough yet, and his ass was on his way to IRAQ. Explain that shit to me.)
Second, do you really think these laws stop young people from drinking? Hell NO!!! They'll find a way to get it, the same way I did when I was in high school. It doesn't take a lot of imagination. Any clever young men (or young wimmen) can manage to buy hootch if they are determined to do so.
Here's the rub: You buy the hootch and you know that you can't take it home with you, so you DRINK IT ALL. Then drive. I submit, most humbly, that this bullshit, prohibitionist-driven, Libby-Dole law ENCOURAGES binge-drinking and irresponsible behavior. It is a nanny-fart FORCED upon states by craven politicians and morally-superior do-gooders using Federal highway funds as a means of extortion.
All it really does is create larger problems than what it attempted to solve.
I've been reading some posts from bloggers in north Georgia about the effects of Hurricane Ivan on them. These people are 400 miles from the Florida coast and they STILL got a scary dose of the storm. I feel their pain. I was staying at Blood Mountain Cabins in October of 1995 when Opal roared through there.
Jennifer and I went into Helen the morning before the storm hit. She wanted to shop for souvenirs and I wanted to drink beer. A place called "The Wurst Haus" has a nice, covered biergarten, so that's where I stayed with Quinton while my wife went shopping. A drizzling rain had been falling all day and I liked the biergarten because they had nice, dark beer and a covered place for Quinton to burn up some energy running around without getting wet.
I hadn't paid any attention to the news for days. (That's back before George put satellite TV in the cabins.) Some people in the biergarten told me about Opal and I listened to the news on the radio while we were driving back to the cabin. The storm was headed our way after it made landfall. "We should stop and buy some candles and a couple of flashlights," I suggested. "We probably won't need them, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
Man, those were famous last words. We stopped and bought our hurricane supplies with me telling Jennifer all along, "By the time it gets up here, it won't be anything other than a minor windstorm. We can handle that." I forgot about the fact that the cabins are at 3,000 feet in the mountains.
Some people who read this blog have SEEN Blood Mountain cabins. Imagine waking up at 4:00 in the morning with the entire cabin rocking on its stilted legs. Imagine hearing the wind howl in the trees like a banshee with its ass on fire. Imagine hearing what you first thought were gunshots in the woods until you realized that it was the sound of trees snapping off at the trunk.
Jennifer and I were sleeping in the cabin loft. I went downstairs and checked on Quinton. He was out like a light, which was fitting because all the electricity was off in the cabin. I then went to the sliding glass door that led to the deck and put my hand against it. I could feel that sucker BREATHING!
I am NOT making this up. Every time another howling wind rocked the cabin, I could feel the glass BEND with the force. I opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. I shined my flashlight straight up into the air and saw tree limbs the size of my LEG sailing horizontally through the air over the cabin and occassionally banging on the roof like thunder.
That shit lasted for six hours. Trees fell all over the place and hit three of the cabins, all unoccupied at the time. We survived, but it was a frightening experience because there is no "off" switch for that stuff. It goes on as long as it wants to.
George didn't get power back to the cabins for nine days after that. No power means no water in the cabins. Quinton wasn't two years old at the time, so we couldn't stay there and rough it with HIM on board. We also couldn't LEAVE until late that afternoon because all the roads were blocked with fallen trees.
Opal was a tropical storm when it raped and pillaged at Blood Mountain. Ask me NOW why I fear hurricanes.
Don't try this shit in Effingham County, Georgia, even if you have really good health insurance. You're gonna get the ass-whipping of a lifetime. And the cops might even help, because you deserve it.
But that's the left for you today. Don't like the message, rip up the signs. Scare the crap out of three year-old girls and make them cry. Of course, the thugs were from a Painter's Union (all hail UNIONS!!!), so they were probably shit-faced drunk and high on paint fumes at the time, the way most painters I've known usually are. Typical Kerry supporters.
They'd have gotten their asses whipped where I live.
(UPDATE: Yeah, go read this, too. The guy is a "serial disrupter" and deserved what he got. The writer says that and then mentions "Triumph of the Will" as a slur against George Bush. I just have one question: who is the real Brownshirt, buddy?
Be sure to read the comments. I rest my got-dam case.)
It won't be long now. When the Presidential debates start, the news broadcasters will staff their studios full of "undecided" voters who are watching the debates with gimlet eyes for detail and minds questing for the truth. I call bullshit. What we OUGHT to do with those people is lock them up until after the election.
Dear Undecided Voters: The campaign started a year ago. The newspapers, the televisions and the blogs have been covering both candidates like white on rice. Where have you been? Asleep under a rock like some kind of millipede? Have you paid NO ATTENTION AT ALL to the Presidential race so far? You're still holding on to your precious "undecided" vote like Gollum? Get back under your rock. You have no business voting.
Got-dam! Anybody with a lick of sense knows that these "debates" aren't real debates. The things are nothing more than dog-and-pony shows, a series of sound-bites and talking points that you ALREADY HEARD during the campaign---- IF you were paying attention. If you weren't paying attention, the nation is better off without you trying to make up your feeble mind now.
The sad part is... the fucking morons may decide the outcome of the election.
nothing is "free"
I was wondering when someone would point out a slightly overlooked detail about this story. Sure, Oprah "gave away" 276 new Pontiacs. According to the IRS, however, Oprah provided INCOME to those people, and it is subject to tax the same as if it were cash.
The cars are valued from $21,000 to a maximum of $28,000 depending upon options selected, and Pontiac says that they will be paying the state sales taxes and license fees for each car. The total value of the car, taxes, and fees paid will be included on an IRS form 1099 for each recipient who will then have to file an esitmated federal return and make payment of the taxes due. A car worth say $25,000 at 7% sales tax = $1750, plus est. license fees of $500 would result in a taxable gain of $27,250 reported on the form 1099 and at the 28% tax rate equals a federal tax of over $7600 due on filing. Oh, and don't forget the insurance premium on the new car as well.
I read a horror story a few years ago about people who rack up all kinds of loot on TV game shows and discover themselves in severe tax problems later. Win a $30,000 showcase on The Price is Right. You don't have the cash just lying around to pay the $8,000 tax bill for the "prizes," so you sell a bunch of the loot to pay the taxes on the rest. Be careful there.
If you "won" a car valued at $25,000 and you sell it for $15,000, you still owe taxes on the $25,000 value, not what you actually received for the car. In other words, you could win $30,000 worth of shit you can't use, sell the whole kit and kaboodle for $8,000 and owe every dime of that money to the federal government in taxes on income that you never saw.
I'm no tax attorney, but I'm pretty sure the system still works that way.
I don't care if you ARE madly in love. Don't call me at 2:00 in the morning to tell me about it. Don't tell me how wonderful the woman is and how happy she makes you. I don't want to hear that shit.
I ESPECIALLY don't want to hear it from a guy who said the exact same things about a different woman two years ago, right before he married her and she took him to the cleaners in the subsequent divorce. I know that when you fall off the horse, you're supposed to get back on, but you also should remember "once burnt, twice learnt."
The world is wonderful. You've never been so happy in your life. The woman is your true soul mate. The two of you take long walks together and play a game of kissing at every mailbox you pass. It's also TWO O'CLOCK IN THE FUCKING MORNING, dammit! Take your happy ass to bed and let me go back to sleep.
I don't want to hear that shit.
I got a chuckle out of this.
It's probably true.
September 16, 2004
poll taxes and literacy tests
Here I go again, boldly going where no man should go today. I submit that some people are TOO FUCKING STUPID TO VOTE and they shouldn't be allowed to. If they can't read the goddam ballot IN FUCKING ENGLISH, what business do these people have electing a President of the United States? They obviously don't have a clue. Is THAT the kind of person you want electing a President?
The Democrats do, which is why they picked John Fonda Kerry as their candidate. They are depending on the Clueless Vote to carry them over the top to victory. If not the clueless, they'll resort to the demented. And they are the ones bitching about "disenfranchisement."
I think you ought to care enough about voting to pay for it. $10.00 a head sounds fair to me. People pay a lot more than that to get into Disney World to see some faggot in a mouse costume. If you ain't willing to pay $10.00 to make your voice heard in the voting booth to elect THE PRESIDENT, you don't give a shit about voting anyway. Stay the fuck home where you belong.
I believe that only literate people should vote. If you can't read, your opinion doesn't count. You aren't QUALIFIED to elect a President. Stay the fuck home where you belong.
And I believe you should KNOW why you're voting for a candidate, other than the fact that he has nice hair or a nice smile. Before you can vote, somebody should ask, "What three issues most concern you about the future of this country?" If you can't name three, you don't vote. And if you mention Britany Spears, the Olsen Twins or Jennifer Lopez, you don't vote. Stay the fuck home where you belong.
I know that I sound harsh, but Bejus, People!!! Why should cretins who don't know what's going on around them elect the leaders who govern thinking people?
fake, but true
I spent about an hour crusing blogs to see what others thought of Dan Rather's performance last night on 60 Minutes II. I believed just maybe I was being too hard-assed because I have known for YEARS that Rather was a lying, butt-boy leftist who has twisted the news every chance he got and deluded the American people many times in the past.
From what I read, I am not alone in seeing that CBS is just making a bad situation worse with this stonewall attitude and the absolutely RIDICULOUS notion that all the evidence they had for the story is forged, but the story itself is true.
Sweet Bejus! They remind me of a kid tying a towel around his neck and attempting to fly off the front porch like Superman. After the kid crashes and burns, he crawls out of the dirt, ignores the derisive hoots of every witness to the act and says defiantly, "I FLEW, dammit! And that's the truth! If you don't believe me, ask my 86 year-old grandmother! She SAW me do it."
Pardon the pun, but I don't believe that this tactic is going to fly, either.
I'm waxing nostalgic today for no good reason. I came up with this trivia quiz (it's really for old farts such as myself, but with reruns on cable today, maybe some of the young pups can answer a few of the questions.)
1. What was the name of the spaceship on "Lost in Space?"
2. What was Archie Bunker's home address?
3. What was the name of Sky King's airplane?
4. What villian was "rotten to the core?"
5. Name three regular characters on "Captain Kangaroo."
6. Who hosted the "Howdy Doody" show?
7. What did Ozzie Nelson do for a living?
8. Name the three sons on "My Three Sons."
9. What was the name of the smart pig on "Green Acres?"
10. What was the name of Festus Hagan's mule on "Gunsmoke?"
See what happens to me when I get bored?
I'm under a "tornado watch" until 9:00 tonight. I haven't seen any RAIN all day, just an overcast sky.
Do you think that MAYBE weather forecasters get the vapors and start to hyperventilate when a hurricane is within 500 miles of where they work? Hey! They've got BORING JOBS! Cut 'em some slack because everybody needs some excitement in life. If Dan Rather can manufacture a "scoop" out of bullshit, let the forecasters play, too.
I'm laying 10-to-1 odds that I don't see a tornado tonight. Any takers?
Did you ever watch "Dobie Gillis?" Remember Maynard G. Krebbs?
Who played Maynard and what did his middle initial stand for?
My father's father, the grandfather I never knew in Harlan County, was not only a big-wig in the coal mines; he also had some political affiliations that were questionable. On election day, he opened a bag full of $1.00 bills and passed them out two at a time to voters if they agreed to support his candidate. Sometimes, he passed out $50 worth of two-dollar votes to ONE PERSON by the time the polls closed.
Take a wild guess which party he worked for.
This shit's been going on forever and the people who are REALLY good at it are Democrats, because they've had more practice. Chicago, St. Louis, Washington, DC--- all Republican strongholds right? And the most corrupt electioneers in the country.
I am sick and tired of seeing this crap. It is a goddam lie, and if I were Black, I would be offended by this ooga-booga bullshit. Just how stupid do you think I am?
Never mind. Stupid question.
If you're a convicted felon, too dumb to handle a butterfly ballot, or too paranoid to go to the polls, one person only "disenfranchised" you. You did it yourself.
The Democrats decrying election fraud is a lot like Jeffrey Dahmer decrying cannabilism.
I believe that most Southerners are natural-born storytellers. Maybe ALL rural people share that trait, but I notice it especially down South. Even poorly-educated people are good storytellers. They KNOW, almost instinctivly, what makes the difference between a good story and a boring tale.
It ain't the story that makes the difference. It's the way you TELL IT!
The people where I live know how to tell a story. They know how to give you just enough description of the scenery so that your imagination fills in the details and they understand the principle of Beginning, Middle and End. Hook 'em in the beginning... keep them listening in the middle... then surprise them at the end. And do it all in a slow drawl that shows you're in no hurry to finish.
A lot of the way I write comes from listening to good storytellers when I was young.
The hot summer day made everybody sweat, but the humidity was so high that the sweat didn't evaporate. It just dripped, running off your forehead and into your eyes where it stung like soap. Everybody was in a bad mood.
My brother and I got into an argument about something. I don't remember what triggered the event, but as usual when I had an argument with my brother, I decided to settle it by whipping his ass. I grabbed for him, but he knew all the Early Warning Signals by then (having HAD his ass whipped by me on numerous occasions) and he took off running.
I followed in hot pursuit.
Lemme set the stage here. I was about 10 years old. My brother was eight. My brother ran through a hole in the fence that we always used to short-cut our way to the Salter's house, where we liked to play. The Salter's had actual GRASS in their yard instead of the packed hardpan dirt we had in OUR yard. I knew what my brother was thinking. If he could beat me back to our house, Mama wouldn't let me kill him.
I could outrun my brother and I was closing fast. I believe that he realized that he wasn't going to make it to Mama, so he reached down without ever slowing his stride, picked up the ONLY GODDAM ROCK within 50 miles and threw it at me. He hit me right in the head.
All that did was make me even more pissed off, and I tackled him before he even made our property line. I pounded him on the back of the head a couple of times, then rolled him over to really put his lights out. That's when I saw BLOOD ALL OVER HIS FACE!!! He started screaming and I hadn't even hit him yet.
I paused with my fist over his face for a second before I realized that the blood was COMING FROM ME!!! I rubbed my hand across my forehead and it came away coated in blood. I sat back and let my little brother up. I was bleeding like a stuck hog.
My brother jumped up running for the house again. "Mama! Mama! You better come quick!! I think I just killed Rob!!!"
I thought he HAD killed me. My blood was EVERYWHERE. I remained sitting right where I was until Mama came. I'll give her credit for one thing: my Mama does NOT get the vapors and hyperventilate in such a situation. She grew up with three rowdy brothers and she raised two sons of her own. A bloody scalp does not frighten her.
"Get up and let me wash that blood offa you," she ordered, and I dutifully followed her into the yard, where she took a garden hose and washed me clean. She examined the wound. "That's not bad, Robbie. I don't think you'll even need a stitch in that." She bandaged me and I was fine.
That rock grazed me and opened up a razor-cut right at my hairline and the blood mixed with the sweat to make it appear to be a lot worse than it was. I believe that my brother was more frightened by the blood than I was. He apologized profusely later for almost killing me, but that still didn't stop me from whipping his ass the first chance I got. I still owed him that one.
And that's the first time I ever got stoned.
A lot of schools are banning dodge ball for being too violent and potentially damaging to the delicate self-esteem of fat kids with big-target asses. I think that's all part of the new-wave crock that has pussified America for the past 10 or 15 years.
Dodge ball is a GREAT game for kids to play. It teaches speed, agility, competitiveness and it burns a lot of excess energy, too. The kids learn to run, jump, duck and dodge when they play.
The same cannot be said for playing dodge the hurricane. You don't get to jump, duck and dodge. You have to just stand there and see if you get hit. That is an unfair game.
And I'm getting tired of playing it this year.
September 15, 2004
Be sure to visit here and check out the latest Protest Warrior mission in Louisville, Kentucky. Brent has posted some most excellent pictures.
And he's right--- his wife is a hottie.
join me, boys and girls
I saw this story on the local 5:00 news today. I feel sorry for everyone caught by the scythe, but at least they're getting two weeks notice.
More than one quarter of the local labor force at the Kerr-McGee plant will be laid off at the end of the month.
The Sulfate Plant was built in 1954 and it had become a raggedy piece of shit due to sheer neglect over the years. But some good pigmenteers worked there and I hate to see them lose their jobs. Few of them are as fortunate as I was when Kerr McGee screwed me out of my job. I was able to retire. Most of these people can't.
Welcome to a true Corporate Family.
I had to wait until 8:00 this evening to see the CBS "response" to the forged document shitstorm. The response was... well... NO FUCKING RESPONSE. They trotted out an 86 year-old ex-secretary who said that she never typed the memos, but that everything in them was true.
So there. Case closed. Who cares if the "proof" was forged? The story is true anyway, because an 86 year-old woman says so. Besides (ominous glare and pause from Rather), "Some suggest that attacks on the 60 Minutes story are politically motivated."
That's Big Journalism at its best, isn't it?
too little time
I really need to start visiting this place more often.
I WANT some of those balloons.
run that by me again?
I will be watching at 5:00 today.
CBS Now Says Announcement Will Be Made at 5:00 p.m. Sources: Will admit docs are false but content is not
Damn! Now THAT'S the way a major news network needs to handle this kind of scandal: Just thrust out the old jaw, put a little bit of agressive square in the shoulders and say, "All our evidence is bullshit, but the story is true anyway!!!"
When you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop digging. CBS doesn't seem to understand that fact.
And the sad part is, CBS ran the story as a political bombshell, discovered that nobody really gave a shit about 30 year-old TANG records for Bush, then had their own home-made bomb blow up in their faces. Oh, they MEANT to pull a Jihad, but they never wanted to be suicide bombers exploding far off-target.
That's why they're willing to keep right on
I wrote a term paper (30 pages long) on Albert Speer when I was in college. I studied the guy the way I would an insect under a magnifying glass as I read his books and the history of his role in WWII. I came to two conclusions:
#1: Speer was the ONLY person still alive from Hitler's inner circle to tell historians what really happened there.
#2: Speer ALSO was able to whitewash his role in what happened in Nazi Germany because he had no one to contradict him.
I read Speer's "history" with a jaundiced eye. According to Speer, he had an epiphany toward the end of the war, realized that Hitler was a madman and did what he could for the German people. I call bullshit. If Germany had won the war, Speer would have kept his lips pressed firmly to Hitler's ass until one of them died. Speer wanted to be the grand architecht of the 1,000 year Reich, and he was willing to do ANYTHING Hitler asked of him.
Speer ran like a rat abandoning a sinking ship when he realized that he no longer had his wagon hitched to a rising star. Then, he spent the next 40 years of his life trying to make himself look compassionate in the history books.
Speer just reinforces what I've always said about history. People NEVER change. Everything that you read in the history books is all about money, sex and power. Those three things have ALWAYS motivated people and they always will.
Too many people don't study history today.
red toenails vs big boobs
James asked, so here goes. (Trust me... if you email me a good idea for a post, I'll post about it.) Next, I will be talking about boob size as related to red toenails. James said:
Next he will be taking about boob size as related to red toe nails.
How right you are, sir!!!
Let's lay out the ground rules before I start. For anyone who doesn't read this blog often, I am not a big-boob guy, but I SLOBBER when I see red toenails on a pretty feminine foot. I've got a FETISH, a KINK, a BEND in my orientation about red toenails on a woman. I don't think it's bad and I'm not ashamed about it. (MEN: If YOU never wanted to suck a woman's toes in your life, you're either unimaginative or gay. Period. I will brook no argument about that fact.)
Tits are very nice. Don't get me wrong about that. I like 'em just fine. But a set of basketballs just don't excite me as much as a small-breasted woman with pert nipples. That's just the way I am. Give me a fine ass, red toenails and a set of legs to die for and you can keep the tits.
But I digress...
I performed MUCH research into trying to find a link between red toenails and big boobs. Alas, I am unable to do so, so I MUST continue my research. I haven't found the ANSWER yet, but I know it's out there. I consider myself to be a pure scientist, working selflessly to make the world a better place to live.
I need volunteers for some serious lab work. Tits don't matter, but red toenails do. No males need apply.
Guns don't kill people. DOGS kill people with guns. Man, this guy was lucky. That dog meant to shoot him right between the eyes. I KNOW dogs. You piss one off, and he'll shoot to kill.
That's why we need a Federal Ban on Dog-Owners With Guns. Or Dogs With Guns. Or Man and Dog In The Same Place With a Gun. I dunno... just ban all that shit. Think of the lives we'll save.
I'll bet Dianne Feinstein is already on the case.
Here's a damn good post from the fat guy. I believe that he touches on a stark difference between the right and the left today.
The right, with very few exceptions, attempts to get its point across with reason and dignity. The left, on the other hand, believes that behaving like feces-flinging monkeys, staging "puke-ins," getting nekked in the street and making the mother of a dead soldier cry at a fucking MEMORIAL SERVICE is perfectly logical and sane behavior.
Stop and think for a minute. Read my post about Hitler below.
Leftists believe that ANY kind of outrageous behavior is justified because it is For the Cause, and the Cause is GOOD. As long as the Cause is good, you can't do anything wrong. It's For The Cause.
Now--- ask me how Hitler came to power and managed to persuade so many people to follow him and kill millions of others. They did it FOR THE CAUSE, and the Cause was GOOD.
The left reminds me more and more every day of a CULT, led by high priests and spoon-fed the same cant every day. They are TRUE BELIEVERS and they don't allow facts, decency or rational thought to distract them from the Cause. Because the Cause is GOOD. Think about that.
Hitler was a cult leader, too.
a gray day
Hurricane Ivan is headed toward the gulf coast and all indications are that I'll just get a little rain from it. That part already has started, on and off this morning. It's amazing to realize that the clouds over my head today are part of that storm still wobbling through the Gulf of Mexico about 800 miles away. Hurricanes are scary muthas.
Looks like we've got another one trying to sneak in under Ivan's cover. I think Jeanne is headed for North Carolina. I've seen a track like that one before. Just keep turning north, baby!
Meanwhile, I'll just watch the rain, eat leftover barbecue and hope that Ivan doesn't kill anybody who didn't need killing.
damn good blogchild
I remember when she was born. I called her an ugly baby--- more than once. But she can damn sure blog now.
You make me proud, darlin.'
September 14, 2004
I want to see this movie. I've always thought that Adolph Hitler was one of the most fascinating figures in human history.
Before the Usual Suspects besiege me with charges of being a racist, neo-Nazi, I submit this disclaimer: I want to KNOW Adolph Hitler so that I can recognize another one when he runs for President of the United States. I don't want a leader such as Hitler. Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.
I've never believed that Hitler should be portrayed as a slobbering, blood-drenched monster. Maybe he was one on the inside, but that's not what people SAW on the outside. Hitler fooled a lot of people by hiding what he really was. Watch out for that quality in a politician.
People can attempt to deny the fact all they want, but it's still a fact: Adolph Hitler was a major player on the historical stage. How he got there and why he did what he did once he got there are topics worthy of study. We don't want it to happen again. Plus--- NEVER FORGET. Hitler was a human being, not a monster.
Realize that human beings are capable of monsterous acts.
bite my butt
Yesterday, I bought the smallest Boston Butt I could find in the grocery store. I took it out of the package as soon as I got home and put a good, spicy seasoning rub all over it; then, I left it in the refrigerator overnight in a zip-lock bag.
I threw it on the grill around 11:00 today. I let it cook for four hours, and all I did was turn it every hour or so and baste it with Worchestershire Sauce and garlic butter. The meat was falling off the bone when I took it off the grill.
I now have a big pan of hand-shredded pork that I'm going to dose with some barbecue sauce and eat on hamburger buns, with some French fries and fresh Vidalea onion on the side.
That ain't a bad feast for a single man.
Test your forensic abilities. Tell me...
WHAT HAPPENED HERE???
(Picture shamelessly stolen from this guy.)
I was eating a bag of Planters peanuts today and I made the mistake of really looking at Mr. Peanut on the front. WTF??? Here's a PEANUT, wearing a top hat, white gloves, a monacle and toting a walking cane. He looks FRENCH, for crying out loud. I can just hear him singing, "Zank Hebbin for Leetle Girls."
The French don't grow peanuts. Jawja farmers do, and they grow them by the ton. A more fitting mascot would be some weathered old fart on a John Deere with a straw hat on his head and his middle finger of one hand extended into the air as he grinned. "EAT ME!!!" Should be the trademark motto.
You know what else is a shitty mascot? Those got-dam dancing M&Ms. If M&Ms REALLY danced, they'd look like multi-colored cockroaches coming out of that bag and kids would run screaming from them while parents started stomping and spraying Raid all over the place. Who came up with that idea? A kid with MY kind of imagination could have nightmares over that kind of crap.
You know who else I never trusted? The Jolly Green Giant. Oh yeah--- he APPEARED benevolent and he had that booming "HO! HO! HO!" laugh, kinda like Santa Claus, but he was just too fucking BIG for that valley. If I lived there, I'd try to figure out a way to kill him before he got pissed off one day and stomped my village flat. What if Mike Tyson ever possessed the Giant's body? Would YOU feel safe in the valley?
I had a few problems with The Frito Bandito, too, but I won't elaborate on those because I'm straying into ethnic territory and I don't want to be called a racist again. I WILL admit that I suspect Ronald McDonald is gay.
Give me Tony The Tiger anytime.
I'm human. I LIKE flattery.
deny, deny, deny
Once, back in my college days, I attended a party where the beer flowed and the illegal smoke formed a fog bank in the room. Everybody was feeling pretty good, listening to Pure Prarie League on the stereo and enjoying the buzz.
As usual in such situations, some he-ing and she-ing occurred. One guy I knew struck a spark with a sweet young thing and persuaded her to wander off to the bedroom with him. That was all well and good until his girlfriend showed up at the party.
"Where is that sumbitch?" she screamed. "I KNOW he's here. That's his car outside!"
The room became totally quiet except for the sound of "Amy" playing on the stereo. That's when EVERYBODY could hear the moaning, groaning and thrashing going on in the back bedroom. The girlfriend stomped off to investigate. She stomped back out and left the party shortly thereafter and her pissy mood was quite evident in her body language, plus the fact that she cursed the wallpaper into confetti in that back bedroom. We all heard that, too.
A few minutes later, the guy emerged, wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans and a tangled mess of bedroom hair. "I have fucked up," he announced miserably. "I think my engagement is off now."
"Deny, deny deny," responded my roommate, who went on to become a lawyer.
"How can I deny it? She CAUGHT ME! The proof was right in front of her face."
"Fuck the evidence. Deny, deny, deny," my roommate repeated, and we all took up the cry. "DENY! DENY! DENY!"
I don't know how that domestic incident eventually played out, but I believe that deny, deny, deny (just refresh the link-- it works) is the tactic CBS News is employing after being caught, red-handed and bare-assed, in the back bedroom doing something they shouldn't have done. Their defense really boils down to that old question: "Who you gonna believe? ME, or your own lyin' eyes?"
Good night, Dan.
September 13, 2004
Hmmm... I blog about lusting after TV wimmen and I think I'm perverse. Then, I read this.
No, I'm okay. VERY SELDOM have I used office supplies as sex toys.
This just ain't fair. I disagree with ANY woman who plays the old "boink" as a trump-card to pussy-whip a man. If you can out-argue him, that's fine. If you can beat him into submission with facts and figures, that's fine. If you finally throw up your hands in disgust and scream, "You're full of shit!" that's fine. Cancel each other's votes.
But when you blackmail with your pussy, that's just plain WRONG.
(Michelle, I'm not suggesting that you WOULD do such a thing. I just thought the bumper sticker... well, IT WENT UP MY ASS!!! Excuse me. I'm sorry.)
I am about to bare my soul to whoever reads this blog. For as far back as I can remember in my life, I have experienced sexual fantasies about wimmen I saw on TV. Some of them weren't even SUPPOSED to be sexy, but they were to me. Here are my top 10:
#1. Elizabeth Montgomery as "Samantha" on Bewitched.
#2. Amanda Blake as "Kitty" on Gunsmoke.
#3. BOTH of those chicks on "Three's Company." AT ONCE.
#4. Barbara Eden as "Genie."
#5. Patty Duke, back in her "identical cousins" days.
#6. MORTICIA ADDAMS!!! YES!!!! I ADMIT IT!!!! SHE MADE ME HOT!!!!
#7. Donna Douglas as "Ellie May" on The Beverly Hillbillies. I kissed her once.
#8. Lucille Ball. I'd be a liar if I didn't say Lucy looked like a hot-blooded redhead in her younger days. Yeah... I'll just BET that she and Ricky slept in separate beds.
#9. Miss Nancy on "Romper Room" when I was a LITTLE boy. See how rotten I am? I wanted to jump through that Magic Mirror and grab a handfull of titty when I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD!!!
#10. Emma Peel from "The Avengers." (That was Diana Riggs, right?) Any man MY age who says he never fantasized about peeling Emma is either a got-dam liar or a faggot. Ow, man---that skin-tight black leather! That ass! Those legs!!!!
Excuse me. I need to go take a shower.
I don't want to piss her off
But I simply MUST take issue with dawn olsen over THIS statement:
This is why I can empathize with Senator Kerry. Dammit, sometimes it's hard to make a decision, especially when you don't want to make the wrong one.
Dawn, making those decisions is what separates the leaders from the sheeple. NOBODY ever wants to make the wrong decision, but when everybody else is looking at YOU, waiting for you to tell them what to do, you've GOT to shit or get off the pot. RIGHT THEN! If anybody gets the vapors and starts to hyperventilate in such a situation, that ain't the person you want running this country.
If the man can't make a decision at his age, fuck him. Give me somebody "resolute" any day.
(Off-topic, sorta. I NEVER played poker with a good supervisor who was not a good poker player. I wonder why?)
I went to the store and bought some more fresh pineapple today. I believe that I'm becoming addicted to the stuff.
I didn't pay much attention to the tee-shirt I threw on. It just happened to be a leftover "Jawja Blogger-- Meet 2003" shirt. (I've never worn nor washed the one everybody signed last year. I keep it sealed in a plastic bag. That's a genuine souvenir.)
When I went up to the cash register to pay, the lady behind the counter gazed at my garb and asked, "What does that say on your shirt?"
"Jawja Blogger, ma'am," I replied proudly. I saw by the expression on her face that I may as well have been speaking a foreign language. "Uh... a BLOG is a website on the internet. A lot of people do that kind of thing now. We call ourselves "bloggers" and we write, rant and rave. I'm not the only one in Georgia, either."
"My daughter just bought me a computer. I'm getting good at surfing the net," she informed me. "How do I get to your site?" By then, a couple of people were backing up behind me in the check-out line, and I was ready to shit and git. But she wouldn't ring my groceries until I wrote down my URL for her. I finally did.
I hope she loses the address or never bothers to use it. What kind of impression will she get of bloggers if she STARTS OUT with MINE?
This is America; we don't have to give a g'damn reason for owning something.
Y'know, for a guy with a severe monkey-fetish, ol' Frank J. comes up with some good lines, as long as he's not thinking about Aquaman.
Bravo, Frank! I missed the post when you first wrote it.
The fact that I really liked that quote should disturb you, you know. I am NOT right in the head.
People, we need to have a good, old-fashioned gathering over this tragic news. Let us share a non-sexual group hug, bow our heads and shed genuine tears from our eyes and genuine snot from our noses as we wail with grief. It's a heartbreaking story.
Key Monroe is 30.
Happy Birthday, darlin.'
Blogger has gotten better than it once was, but it still sucks. What's with the log-in and register to leave a comment? I don't do that shit for major newspapers. I REFUSE TO READ any newspaper on-line that expects me to register. I simply will not do it.
Therefore, I don't leave comments on Blogspot pages that give me that same password and sign-in bullshit. It's just not worth the effort.
If you're that afraid of comments, just don't have them.
Whew! This is good!
Check this post and study both pictures for all of... oh, the blink of an eye or so... and tell me what you see?
One picture shows a loving kiss. The other one shows a lyin' bastard attempting to grope his spoiled rich-bitch of a wife for a photo-op. Body language tells a lot about a person.
And the only thing I can imagine being WORSE than having John Kerry elected President is having his wife as First Lady.
You said that CBS "shit in its own hat", and by context I can tell that's a BAD THING. But when you have all your shit in one sock, that's a GOOD THING.
Here is my reply:
"Getting your shit together" is a GOOD thing.
I don't need no stinking pajamas.
I blog nekkid.
The pathetic joke known as the 1994 ban on "Assault Weapons" is set to expire at midnight tonight, and the bill appears to be headed for a timely death. It was never anything but a joke, hustled by Diane Feinstein, who wouldn't know an "assault weapon" from a barking dog. That was one pussified law.
Some people remain pussified
Over the last decade, buying an assault weapon hasn't been as easy as it once was. For that you can credit Congress, which decided in 1994 that rapid-fire killing machines have no proper place in American life. Apparently that conclusion has been renounced, for assault weapons are even now rushing back into gun shops. Today marks the expiration of the ban -- and the coming of a great shopping opportunity for gunsters.
No, "assault weapons" ARE NOT rushing back into gun shops. It's still illegal to own a fully-automatic weapon, which is what a genuine assault weapon is. All lifting the ban will do is allow people to by scary-looking guns that made the pussified piss their pants when they see one, even though the gun is no more lethal or murderous than a host of other guns that remained legal.
Never mind that most Americans strongly backed the ban.
Most Americans also supported slavery and opposed desegregation of public schools, too. Most Americans can be really full of shit sometimes. That's why we live in a REPUBLIC instead of a pure democracy.
This raises an old question: Given the broad support it enjoyed, how could the ban possibly fizzle? Give credit to America's gunmakers and their shills at the National Rifle Association, who rely on subtle threats, high-profile lobbying and shrewdly targeted donations to avert interference with unfettered gun sales. There's also the gun lobby's duping claim that the assault-weapons ban has hurt hunters and sport-shooters: The ban focused only a small class (many say too small) of shoot-from-the-hip military weapons; semiautomatic hunting rifles and pistols stayed on the market.
Oh, gag me. We don't have "unfettered gun sales." That's nothing but a fucking lie. This entire bill was designed to do one thing, and one thing only: begin the erosion of the Second Amendment and eventually lead to a total ban on firearms in this country. Anybody who thinks anydifferently is either a liar or a dupe.
No, the assault-weapons ban hasn't crippled gun enthusiasts. What it has done is dampen the use of assault guns in crimes and help spur the overall decline in gun deaths in recent years. This is why police departments across the country have long backed the assault-weapons ban -- and lament its expiration.
More pure horseshit. The one thing that REALLY helped reduce gun deaths over the years is locking up the criminal fucks who commit the crimes. And most OF THOSE criminal fucks didn't use assault weapons when they killed somebody.
I look at this crap and I go back to what Benjamin Franklin once said: "If you're willing to give up your freedom for a false sense of security, you deserve neither freedom nor security."
The forecasts keep projecting the storm to hit farther to the west every day, and I am happy. My heartfelt wishes of GOOD LUCK go out to the people on the Florida panhandle or the gulf coast of Alabama, but I'd be a got-dam liar if I didn't say, "Better YOU than ME."
Just look at the picture on this post. I don't want anything to do with Ivan. I'll also bet that Negril doesn't look anything NOW like it did when I was there at the first of the year. That place wasn't built to handle that kind of pounding.
It's still too early to say the storm won't turn and come my way, and I'm keeping an eye on it, but the odds appear to be in my favor now. Ivan is going to bless someone else with its presence. It may sound cold-blooded, but I've got just one word to say about that idea.
I have a few of my own. You Might Be a Blogger If:
* You know whan an "Instalanche" is.
* You've ever typed "BWHAHAHAHAAA!!!"
* You know that real trolls don't live under bridges. They live in their mama's basement and masturbate a lot.
* You spent hours working on a post, truly believed that it was some of the best writing you've ever done, published it, then received no comments at all about it.
* You came in from a bar, wrote "No blogging tonight. I really need to pee." And received 50 comments on THAT.
I welcome any more you have in my comments or on one of those other blogs I linked.
I read this blogger profile and evil thoughts entered my head. I ALWAYS thought Mary Ann was sexier than Ginger and probably a LOT better in bed once you got her riled up. Ginger just made me think of fake orgasms, while Mary Ann made me imagine screaming, back-clawing, sweaty sex in the jungle.
Many of those wholesome-looking wimmen will surprise you in private.
I once watched that show and pondered such things. Why wasn't anybody getting laid on that island? Gilligan was an asexual character, so I could understand his behavior, but the Skipper was an old sailor. He HAD to want some pussy every once in a while. If nothing else, Skipper should have sneaked off a few nights and nailed Thurston Howell's wife. Lovey wasn't over the hill yet.
And the Professor? He should have been doing threesomes with Ginger AND Mary Ann at the same time. Sex is a wonderful way to alleviate both boredom and stress--- besides WHAT ELSE are you going to do when stranded on a tropical island with a couple of babes like that? You just GOTTA start noticing some coconuts that don't grow on trees.
I'm sorry. That's the way I think.
The delightful Kelley, of Suburban Blight, was interviewed by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution for a story about Jawja bloggers. She says she looked and sounded like a goob, but I can't believe that. Kelley is both intelligent and pleasing to the eye.
I haven't read the article because I refuse to register to read ANY newpaper web page and the AJC has a real pain in the ass registration process. If I find a link to the story that doesn't require registration, I'll come back and post it.
And if you're NOT reading Kelley already, you need to start.
(Christina was kind enough to email the story to me, complete with pictures. But now I'm pissed at Kelley...
Whadda you MEAN saying that I have a "kindly" personality??? Got-dam, woman! I've got a reputation to uphold! Don't be sayin' that shit about me!)
September 12, 2004
This is the rally that Recondo 32 went to Washington DC to attend. I am glad to see that someone noticed.
* NFL football is NOT as exciting to watch as college football is.
* Some people are just flat-out dishonest. They'll lie to you when the truth would serve them better.
* Getting laid feels good at the time and feels even better the next day. I believe that this axiom applies equally to both men and wimmen.
* The first time you look in the mirror and wonder, "Who is THAT old fart?" before you realize that it's YOU... well, that's kinda scary. But trust me--- you become accustomed to that feeling after a while.
* I wish that I was GREAT at something, anything, and I don't care what. ANY champion is a special person.
* You never think "woulda, shoulda, coulda" when you're young. You ask only, "What's next?" and go from there. You repent for your impetitiousness later in life, but sometimes you don't regret a lot of it.
* You never forget a really good dog. At least, I never have. I've had three and I sometimes STILL dream about them.
* Very few people actually do what they WANT to do in life.
Ignore me. I'm just babbling.
(One more: do you ever try to sing "The Star-Bangled Banner?" in a key that doesn't suit you? You can got-dam HURT yourself trying such crap. That is a difficult song to sing, but hearing it still brings tears to my eyes.)
I have to reach for my barf-bag VERY QUICKLY after reading this. Oh, man! And I ate pizza last night, too!
Either John Kerry is a complete lunatic (the way Al Gore is), or he's a man floundering desperately in water over his head. Did Dan Rather write that speech? All I ask is that you read what Kerry had to say and imagine THAT MOONBAT being President of the United States.
If that image doesn't send shivers up your spine, you need to be dragged off and shot for the good of the human gene pool.
I hate to read this, because I know how it feels when that rabbit comes out of the hat. Here
I know that kind of stuff is part of running a modern corporation. But what chaps my ass is the way the company preaches "teamwork" and "Corporate Family" right up to the point it decides to drop you like a hot rock.
You ain't nothing but a clock number, a salary paycheck and a "human resource." I knew that fact all along, but I resented my company not having the balls to say it themselves. Corporate family, my ass. I know a fucking sunshine pump when I see one.
And I never wanted to be part of that kind of "family."
This picture disturbs me. I don't know WHAT John Kerry is trying to look like in this photo, but I know what he looks like to me. HE LIKES YOUNG BOYS!!! Got-dam!!! Tell me that the term "reacharound" doesn't come to mind when you see that pose!!!
He damn sure doesn't resemble a quarterback.
My beloved Georgia Bulldogs beat South Carolina 20-16 last night. It was an ugly game for the Dawgs. They damn near pissed it away with turnovers, dropped passes, missed blocks and stupid penalties. Still, they managed to win.
I take some solace in the fact that if the Dawgs can play THAT SHITTY against a Lou Holtz team and still win the game, they've got some talent. Even flat as a pancake, they beat a pretty good football team.
But they'd better not pull that same shit against LSU or Florida.
(UPDATE: Yeah, and they'd better not pull that shit against Auburn, either, or I'm gonna owe Christina a case of beer.)
September 11, 2004
it's a southern thing
I'm kinda proud of the lawn I have now. It's ACTUAL GRASS and I've pretty well fished out all the rebar and construction debris the builders left behind. Plus, I have this really cool deal with my neighbor.
I have a good riding lawn mower, but my weed-whacker is dead. So, I mow HIS grass when I mow mine, and then HE comes over and trims all the weeds and shrubbery in MY yard. I call that fair. He doesn't even ask for a beer. (of course, he never offers ME one, either.)
That's the way things work in my neck of the woods.
no liberal bias here...
I believe that CBS finally shit in its own hat big time and got caught. I stopped watching 60 Minutes years ago when the obvious news-twisting became more than I could stand to witness, so I didn't see the big story. But I'm not surprised by it.
Unfortunately for CBS, Dan Rather's hairdresser sucks up so much of the budget that there was nothing left for any fact-checking, so the ''60 Minutes'' crew rushed on air with a damning National Guard memo conveniently called ''CYA'' that Bush's commanding officer had written to himself 32 years ago. ''This was too hot not to push,'' one producer told the American Spectator. Hundreds of living Swiftvets who've signed affidavits and are prepared to testify on camera -- that's way too cold to push; we'd want to fact-check that one thoroughly, till, say, midway through John Kerry's second term. But a handful of memos by one dead guy slipped to us by a Kerry campaign operative -- that meets ''basic standards'' and we gotta get it out there right away.
Recondo 32 is in Washington DC today to walk in the Veterans Against Kerry march and I can't find ANY coverage of that event by major news media. I wonder why? They ran pictures of every dipshit protester they could find outside the NRC.
No... not a trace of liberal bias here.
Hey, why not? Who's gonna spot it? If CBS says it's so, that's good enough for Thomas Oliphant's Boston Globe, the New York Times and the Washington Post, all of whom rushed the story onto their front pages because it met their ''basic standards.'' On Friday morning, Paul Krugman, the New York Times' excitable economist, filed a column called, ''The Dishonesty Thing,'' and for one moment I thought he was about to upbraid CBS for rushing on air with their laughably fake memos. But no, he was droning on about how the National Guard story demonstrated George W. Bush's ''pattern of lies: his assertions that he fulfilled his obligations when he obviously didn't ..."
STILL... no liberal bias here.
And there ain't no goddam clouds in the sky, either.
i know that face!!!
I really like the picture on this guy's page. Kinda reminds me of my ex-wife's inner self.
Or her lawyer.
Bill Dennis, the Peoria Pundit, is suffering technical difficulties. His site is down, but he continues to blog here until he can unscrew what has him screwed.
Wish him luck.
September 10, 2004
Forecasters keep moving the projected path of the storm farther west before it turns to the north. This IS NOT good news for where I live. I was hoping that Florida would take the brunt of the storm (not that I have any SERIOUS issues with Floridians---except that fact that they can't drive worth a shit.) but if Ivan comes roaring in off the gulf on this path, Frances is going to look like a walk in the park.
I don't like this.
i've seen it, too
Here's a good photograph.
I can understand the lack of eye contact. It's one of those "oh, shit!" moments in a couple's life. He's gotta go and she's gotta stay. Do you think she's laying any guilt on him?
Naw... wimmen don't do that kind of thing.
I dragged mine out, tuned it (what a pain in the ass!!!) and played it today. Sweet Bejus, but I need to put new strings on it (QUADRUPLE pain in the ass!!!!). But I still like the thing.
I became interested in learning the autoharp after meeting gove scrivener on River Street sometimes back in the 1970s. Gove's beard was jet black back then. He played the autoharp and really inpressed me with the sounds he made.
So, I bought one.
The autoharp has an interesting history. The instrument itself is a complicated version of a hammer dulcimer. Playing one is like strumming the strings of a piano without having to tickle the ivories. You just push buttons and the instrument makes it's own chords. Once you understand what strings make what notes, you can really pick that thing.
Frontier churches that couldn't afford a piano or an organ bought an autoharp to lead the hymns. Autoharps make GOOD music for a hymn. Playing one is VERY EASY, and anybody can learn to play. It sounds like a quiet harpsichord. You can lay it on your lap or hold it on your shoulder (the way I do. I expect to develop cloven hooves and a renewed thirst for wine if I keep doing that. Watch out, wimmen. Here comes Pan, the goat-man!). Either way works fine.
You can play the autoharp with a feather, a guitar flat-pick, your bare fingers or FINGER PICKS (the way I do it.). I use a three-finger method that allows me to strum chords with my thumb-pick and hit melody notes with my finger-picks. But YOU can strum an autoharp with a plastic butter-knife and still make good music.
Try one. You'll like it.
yeah, I do
I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't check here from time to time. I do. And I like seeing my blog listed in the top 100.
It's pure ego, but I see nothing wrong with ego.
I'm not a heavyweight blogger and I don't expect to be. I don't market myself very well. I just write. I drop in and out of the top 100 frequently, and when I'm not off the radar screen, I usually hang around in the bottom 10%.
Hey! I'm proud of that! I offer free ice cream, every day, and some people like the flavor. Some DON'T, but fuck them. It's my blog and I'll write what I want to.
The fact that people read me at all is amazing to me.
You have to know know what he's talking about to appreciate it.
it's all relative
Hell... everybody's gonna die of something. Why not have a good time before the reaper comes for you?
I don't want ANYBODY viewing my corpse and saying that I look good. I want 'em to grimace, turn away in disgust and say, "That's one dead-looking motherfucker. What was he? 500 years old?"
I want my package to be obviously expired when I exit the stage.
Got caught this time, didn't you, Dan? No wonder you're "shell-shocked." You've been doing that same shit for 25 years and always got away with it in the past. Naw... no liberal bias in the media.
Bloggers nailed his ass. I like that.
I believe that it takes unmitigated gall, or at least a couple of billion dollars in the bank to hurl that insult at people who didn't MARRY JOHN FUCKFACE KERRY.
Who's the REAL idiot here?
September 09, 2004
I've blogged about this game before, but that crap is somewhere in my vanished archives, so I'm going to do it again. A lot of yankees coming to Blogtoberfest have suggested that the name sounds like a defective birth-control device, so I fart in their general direction.
Half-rubber is a lot like yankee stickball. You play it with a broomstick for a bat, but the tricky part of the game is that you pitch rubber balls cut in half. A good half-rubber pitcher can make one of those things do incredible tricks. Phil Neikro didn't have shit for a knuckleball. Try to hit a good half-rubber pitcher with a broomstick. THEN you'll see some squirrly balls.
The game requires three people to play, but you can add as many as you want to. The rules are simple. You have a pitcher, a batter and a catcher. If the pitcher throws a screaming meemie that dives through the air like a quail with its ass on fire and the batter misses a swing, he's OUT... if the catcher catches the ball. The only thing more difficult than HITTING a half-rubber is CATCHING one, because you play the game bare-handed (and usually bare-footed) and a well-thrown half-rubber puts quail with flaming asses to shame.
If you hit a grounder, that's a single. You stay at bat and call "man on first." If you manage to knock the ball over the pitcher's head on the fly, that's a home run and everybody "on base" scores. You don't have to run and you can drink beer while playing this game.
You can also look like a goddam fool doing it. Heh. Wait'll the yankees get a dose of THAT.
This story is absolutely pathetic. I cannot imagine a reason for running with that story unless 60 Minutes WANTED to besmear George Bush.
Liberal bias or pure carelessness? I report, you decide.
She still has the keys to my house and she can post here anytime she wants to do it. We had our ups and downs during her teenage years, and I regret a few things I did as a father back then. But things are better now and I agree with her post below.
Anybody who tries to insult ME through my daughter is pissing up a rope. I look at that shit as a total display of assholery. Besides, Sam is a lot more dangerous than I am when she's pissed off.
I own guns, and I'll shoot you. But she'll take a boxcutter to your face and leave you ALIVE.
This is Acid DAUGHTER speaking
Let me post this one time. If ANY of you have a problem with ANYTHING I post on MY blog, you post your insults in MY comments. My blog is HERE! Okay you nutless, worthless, I have nothing else better to do than to troll blogs, pimple faced, liberal punk kids! You really think insulting me is going to insult my dad? WRONG? Knowing him he's laughing his ass off, but me, I'll laugh my ass off when I read them on MY blog. If any of you believe your comments have been edited, I DID IT! Not Acidman, he doesn't do that. Trolls fuck with me, I fuck with them back. I'm assuming that they're afraid to leave a comment on my blog knowing I can find e-mail addresses through IP#'s? Find an e-mail address, contact the ISP, the best way is to get an older woman to do it. Tell them that you received an e-mail from your long lost son/daughter and you're computer has been having problems and you're trying to get a phone number or address. It's worked before and I know this for a fact. The operator feels sorry for the elderly woman and gives out the info. You go to their house and do as you please. This isn't a threat. I wouldn't bother going to the trouble to do this, but a man was found guilty of murder of a man who was spamming him over and over. The murderer was an 84 year old man who did what I posted above. They still fall for the shit today. I visit blogs everyday, lots that piss me off, but I rarely comment.
The point of all this is, if you have something to say about me, you visit MY site and say it to me. If you continue to post about me and copy and paste my posts in Acidman's comments, BAD BAD BAD things will happen to you. Catch my drift people?
yeah, I do that
I had an email exchange with this guy about picking up the checks for troops headed off to Iraq. I DO that kind of thing. Frequently. I've done it from Key West to Atlanta and I'll do it again when I see one (or MORE) of our boys headed off into harm's way.
You can agree or disagree with the war, but SUPPORT the people who are fighting it. That could be your son our daughter waiting on that plane and not knowing how long they'll be gone or if they'll come back.
Buy them a drink. Buy them a got-dam meal. Pay for it in gratitude for the people who keep you free. If my son ever ends up in the military, I hope some stranger picks up HIS tab some day before he goes into battle.
And I hope he has the good manners to thank his benefactor the way every soldier I bought a drink or a meal for has done for me.
Yeah, I shamelessly stole the link from here, but it was too good NOT to steal.
In the Olympic aftermath……………
Top 9 things Olympic commentators wish they could take back!
1. Weightlifting commentator: “This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing.”
2. Dressage commentator: “This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother.”
3. Paul Hamm, Gymnast: “I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father.”
4. Boxing Analyst: “Sure there have been injuries, and even some deaths in boxing, but none of them really that serious.
5. Softball announcer: “If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again.”
6. Basketball analyst: “He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn’t like it. In fact you can see it all over their faces.”
7. At the rowing medal ceremony: “Ah, isn’t that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew.”
8. Soccer commentator: “Julian Dicks is everywhere. It’s like they’ve got eleven Dicks on the field.”
9. Tennis commentator: “One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them… Oh my God, what have I just said?”
I TOLD you that post was worth stealing.
Yeah, makes sense to me
I have a real problem with this story. How in the hell is a SHOPPING CENTER supposed to protect me from getting shot by a bunch of hoodlums? In MY mind, all the shopping center is obligated to do is not fuck up and overcharge me at the cash register. And I should know if I'm being overcharged. I'm on my own after that.
The shopping center is not supposed to protect me from all the evils of life. Got-dam! Nowdays juries seem to believe that EVERYBODY is responsible for being your nanny.
WTF is happening to this country?
setting off fireworks
I'll admit that I have a bit of a pyromaniac in me. I like fireworks, and the more dangerous they are, the more I like them. Ask any of my neighbors. On the Fourth of July or New Year's Eve, my house is the place to be. I'm going to light up the sky at night. I'll have gunpowder smoke so thick that it rolls around like ocean waves in the wind.
I do the same thing on this blog. If you don't know that fact already, you haven't been reading very long.
Here's a blog that makes me funny in my pants. I can't help it. I'm a pervert.
Bend Over. Here It Comes Again.
I had the opportunity to meet several apple-cheeked young boys who were headed to Iraq after the Ranger Reunion in Tacoma. Some of them looked as if they'd never used or NEEDED a razor in their lives, the goddam kids. They made me feel really old.
Do you know what was a unanimous feeling among those boys? THEY WANTED TO GO!!! Some of them for the second time. That's what they trained for and that's what they wanted to do. Yeah, they were young, dumb and full of cum, but they made me proud to be an American.
Why doesn't CBS News interview some of THOSE GUYS instead of finding the bitchiest, loudest-whining asshole in Iraq to show the lack of morale among our troops?
I've SEEN the real picture, and you don't get it on network TV.
songs and feelings
Music does strange things to me. I read once that the sense of smell is most directly linked to the memory banks of the mind, but I disagree. Music triggers memories in ME the way nothing else does.
Casey joins the hallow sound, of silent people walking down
That's a trip into memory, isn't it? Maybe you don't know the song, but the metaphor is effective.
Following their footsteps through the neon-darkened corridors
I don't like crowds. I believe that a lot of people in CROWDS don't like crowds. I've felt "silent desperation" before. It sucks. But Casey manages to find his old lover.
Oh, she said... Casey, it's been so long since I've seen you
If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's the fact that you can NEVER go back to an old lover and have things be they were before. It just doesn't work that way. Too much blood under the bridge.
Anyway, I made the mistake of playing that song on the guitar this evening and singing it. Kris Kristofferson wrote it and it has a nice chord pattern. But damn if it doesn't dredge up some memories.
Songs trigger more memories than smells do for me.
September 08, 2004
I can't understand people who kill children in the name of their God. What kind of fucking God do you worship?
Why do we have to grow old? I'm starting to look at those motorized wheelchair commercials with interest now.
Some people will do anything for money. If I were a female whore, I would refuse to fuck Ron Jeremy. Got-dam! Hairy-backed, fat schlub. Even whores should have some principles.
Would I make love to a midget woman? If she had red toenails and a non-hairy back, probably so, but I wouldn't brag about it afterward.
Why do some people believe that John Kerry is anything but a self-aggrandizing asshole?
Wanna really show how stupid YOU are? Call George Bush stupid.
How do you write for "major news organizations" and make "damn good money" without ever having a conflict with an editor?
What is Hurricane Ivan doing? WE'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THAT SHIT!!!
That's enough. I'm going to eat a steak now where everybody knows my name.
I've won more money that I ever lost gambling. I've been known to bet on football games, but I prefer cards, because I believe that I have more control over my fate in a card game. I've bet on the dice table at a casino a few times, but I really don't understand that game yet, so I stay away from it. I don't put money in slot machines. I stick with what I'm good at.
Poker is my favorite card game. You always have three things going on in a poker game: First, you need to read your opponents. Second, you need good hands. Third, you can't look at money as MONEY--- it's just a way of keeping score.
Have somebody bet big on the last go-round when you have a quiet, 10-high flush in seven card stud and he's got a pair of aces showing. Does he have a boat or just two pair? If it's two pair, you've got him gutted. But if he FILLED that hand, he's going to gut YOU. Calculate the odds. You already saw two other aces on the table. Naw, no way. Raise HIM.
Sometimes that's the right move and sometimes it's not. Either way, it's got-dam exciting.
he is correct
I don't like the facts, but there they are. The day this country behaves like France and "negotiates" with terrorists is the day we cease to exist as The United States Of America and become... well, France.
I've seen a lot of action movies where some fanatic had a pistol pressed to a woman's head while hissing, "Put down YOUR gun, or I shoot the woman!" I NEVER would put down my gun in that situation, even if the bastard had MY MAMA as a hostage.
I'd probably try to plug him right where he stood, and I think I have a pretty good chance of being successful putting a .38 right in his head (tell me which eyeball), if I could get within 15 feet. But even if I wasn't able to hit him with my first shot, you can bet your sweet ass on one thing. If he shoots his hostage, that bastard ain't getting away alive.
You don't negotiate with such people. You kill them.
doesn't surprise me
Some of you people probably read NOT BETH's comments on some previous posts. You know, the reporter for "major news organizations" who never had an editor? The one who called me an "ignorant, arrogant asswipe?" Yeah, THAT one.
I attempted to reply to one of "her" vitriolic emails today and found that she can pitch but she won't catch. Yeah. She's got a candy ass. NO REPORTER can survive with a candy ass.
Not Beth--- I see your bet and raise all the money I have on the table. Show me your hand or fold.
This is a racist post. I would ceremoniously de-link the guy in a fit of righteous indignation if I had him linked in the first place. But I don't, so I can't de-link him unless I link him first, and that's just too much work.
Besides... he says he doesn't read my blog anyway.
Who the hell is this guy? Gut Rumbles at Blog-City indeed.
Yeah, I saw the alleged quote from Glenn Reynolds--- "A blogger who steals more links than I do." I've had this name for THREE YEARS, asswipe. You stole that, too.
The Donald hasn't really done that well financially. Merv Griffin ate his lunch. He's mostly hat and no cattle. How the hell do you GO BANKRUPT running a fucking CASINO? That's takes a real dumbass to manage that feat.
That's why I want to be on The Apprentice. I want Donald to say, "YOU'RE FIRED!" and I want to reach across the table, grab that racoon-hat comb-over hairdo that he has, peel it aside and say, "YOU'RE BALD!!! I can get another job, asswipe. You'll still be bald."
Heh. I live a rich fantasy life.
government doing good
I remember doing a lot of crazy things as a child. I rode home-made skateboards and busted my ass many a time on concrete that chewed me up like a belt sander. I fell out of trees that I was determined to climb. I once jumped off the roof of a house under construction and stuck two ten-penny nails right through my feet and found myself pinned to a 2 X 4 like an insect on a mounting table.
But I lived.
Why in the hell is this happening now? Goddam. You wanna talk about the pussification of America? The ADA sounded good when it was first proposed, but it has morphed into something ugly. Kids are SUPPOSED to bust their asses. That's how they learn valuable lessons.
Facing tougher federal safety and accessibility regulations - and a vast array of new types of equipment to choose from -local parks departments are leaving out swings as they renovate old playgrounds and build new ones.
You know what I DID on good swingsets as a kid? I had somebody push me from behind until I damn near wrapped the chain around the top bar, and then I BAILED OUT. Yee-Haa! Go flying through the air and land in the dirt, ass over teakettle. Man, that was fun. Then, do it again.
My mama says today that she sometimes looked out the window and saw what my friends and I were doing and she almost had a heart attack. But she knew that boys will be boys, and she left us to our own destruction. Yeah, a few stitches, a couple of trips to the emergency room and some really stove-up mornings resulted, but WE ALL LIVED!!!
What is government doing involved in this crap?
Ah-nold was good, but I still believe that Zell Miller gave the best speech at the Republican Convention. He DID sound like a baptist minister, but we Southerners LIKE to hear that kind of talk. Got-dam! Give 'em hell, Zell!
Did he show a set of balls, or what? That's something ELSE that we respect Down South. Alan Aldas we ain't. All that girly-man shit that plays elsewhere doesn't work here. Most Southern wimmen I know don't want a "sensitive" man. They want a guy who can change a flat tire, shoot a gun and still call them darlin.' They want a guy who can work hard, teach his son to throw a football and bark like a DAWG at Georgia football games.
Down South, we care more about honor than lies, character more than image, and we don't give a shit what some dumbass yankee thinks about us, especially if it's a news reporter doing the thinking. We don't live in New York City, LA or Washington DC, and we don't WANT to. We are accustomed to blunt speech.
"Open your mouth again, and I'll whip your ass or die trying." If you ever hear THAT statement from a Southern man, either shut up or get ready to fight. He ain't kidding. Why do you think we have so many Southerners in the military? We're all sons of thunder down here.
Zell Miller took my breath away. He laid out bare the essential point of the last 35 years, ever since the call for surrender in Vietnam. John Kerry told the U.S. Senate that not more than 2000 or 3000 Vietnamese would have to flee from the democratic [i.e, Communist] forces leading the Vietnamese revolution. Hanoi and the Viet Cong were not our enemy, he said. We are the evil ones.
John Kerry can shove his well-coiffed, Herman Munster head right up his ass. He'll get my vote when he can pry it from my cold, dead hand. War hero, my ass.
Bob, you just keep trying, don't you? Spam me every day, try to wait until I'm asleep and spam me again, get blocked umpteen times and come back spamming something else.
If you applied the kind of effort you show in spamming ME to legitimate work, you could be a real success. Did you ever think about that?
My machine can whip your machine with the click of a button now. Give it up, you pathetic fucker.
a set of balls
You can call me a redneck and a Cracker all you want, but I respect people with a set of balls. I don't mean some strutting rooster with macho oozing like pine sap from every pore, thinking that he's a stud-muffin and every woman's dream. I'm talking about people with courage, dignity and self-reliance. I'm talking about the people who REALLY make this country work.
Hell, I've come to know some wimmen with balls and I respect them, too. And I also realize that acting ballsy is more of a challenge for a woman than it is for a man. Why is that true?
Forget the balls thing. A lot of men don't have them anymore, having been gelded by modern society. But certain virtues endure no matter how hard narrow-minded people try to squelch them. Stand up straight. Walk tall. Be proud of yourself because you EARNED that pride. Don't take any shit from the whine-babies of the world.
It's not impossible to do. It just takes a set of balls.
September 07, 2004
shit or get off the pot
The Second Annual Jawja Blogfest is on the back-burner but rapidly approaching a boil. If you want to come, you better say so now. Otherwise, you may have to sleep with ME if you're female.
(No, guys... I tried that once and I didn't like it. Don't bring it up again.)
Boiled peanuts, half-rubber, beer and shitty guitar playing on the banks of the Chatahoochie River. What MORE could you ask for?
obvious to me
*True leaders have a goal, a vision and they are willing to handle a crisis by trusting their own instincts. They step up to the plate and swing the bat, knowing full well that they may strike out, but also knowing that they HAVE to do it, because that's their job.
*Some people get into politics just for the prestige, the perks and the pussy. Bill Clinton comes to mind here. Such people could not LEAD if they were drum major in a marching band. They don't have the balls to step up to the plate because they FEAR the possibility of striking out.
*Some people can't tell the difference between the two. They are sheeple. They'll follow ANYBODY.
*I am a good public speaker. I spent several years of my life doing exactly that, and I am delighted that nobody ever recorded every word I ever said in front of an audience and then called me "stupid" because I mangled what I meant to say. People do that to George Bush.
*John Kerry resembled a faggot trolling for dick on that windsurfing photo-op.
*Not Beth is full of shit. I HAVE written professionally in the past and I KNOW the roles editors play in what gets printed and what doesn't. The bottom line is a factor, but it's not the only one. I've seen a month's work go in the shitter because an editor changed his mind about running the story. I've also seen what I thought were brilliant pieces cut, hacked and edited to the point that I couldn't recognize my own writing anymore. THAT never happened to Not Beth? Bullshit.
*If you don't like my blog, don't read the fucking thing. It's not like I drag you here by the scruff of the neck and MAKE you read.
*Some people are too stupid to live free. I'm sorry to say that, but it's the truth. Freedom involves personal responsibility, making your own choices and living with the consequences. Too many people prefer to be sheeple.
*I once wanted to be liked. Then, later, I wanted to be respected. Now, I don't give a shit what anybody thinks about me. I KNOW who I am, and that's good enough for me.
*Red toenails are sexy on a woman.
*I probably would be better off today if I NEVER married. That's one reason why I wonder about homosexuals WANTING the chance to get fucked the way I have been TWICE.
*I write because I want to. If I didn't have this blog, I would write anyway, because that's what I like to do. Words are magic to me.
I hold these truths to be self-evident.
There's an old saying Down South that what SHOULD be inscribed on many a headstone in the cemetary is "Hold my beer and watch THIS!" I posted the email about the guy trying a taser on himself because I thought it was a good story. I don't BELIEVE it, but it was good for a laugh anyway.
I won't chronicle them here, but I'll bet you a beer. MY dumbass story can top YOUR dumbass story, and I don't care what you did. I did worse.
The constant complaints about "liberal bias" are actually a manifestation of conservative bias (which is a rather imprecise term for what should more properly be called "corporate control").
Not Beth obviously never had an editor in her life. I find that fact really impressive. She must have been damned good at her job if only the "bottom line" ever interfered with what she wrote. My experience with editors was somewhat different, but maybe I just didn't write as well as Not Beth did.
Darlin,' you ain't talking to no cherry here. Blow your smoke up your own ass.
up and running
Comcast service people showed up around 2:00 today and had everything working again in five minutes. A tree blew down in the woods about a block away and severed the cable connection. The service guys found it, fixed it and very politely rang my doorbell to tell that my service was restored. They checked everything out, made sure that it all worked, and left in their white Comcast van after wishing me a good day.
I have a simple question to ask: Why are THOSE GUYS able to be polite and courteous, when they've been out working in the fucking RAIN all day, and some cunt behind a desk in an air-conditioned office gave me shit this morning?
It's not like SHE had to go out and do a got-dam thing. All SHE had to do was be polite over the phone and she couldn't manage that daunting task.
I want that bitch fired.
Americans are nice people--- even yankees. But one thing I don't believe that terrorists understand is the fact that we are more vengeful than the God of the Old Testament if you piss us off. Americans may be slow to anger, but once we GET MAD, we stay mad and hell hath no fury akin to what we can do. Hell--- John Kerry doesn't want to admit it, but just ask some old Japanese and Germans what happens when you make Americans angry. Bad things happen to bad guys as long as we have a real leader in charge. Yeah, John. We can make Gengis Khan look tame.
Half-Rubber is a great game. The velociman and I have decided that a good game of half-rubber is a necessity at the Jawja Blogfest. We will provide the equipment (two rubber balls sliced neatly in half and a broomstick). We expect the yankees to play, too. The game is meant to be played on the beach or on the street, but I don't see why the bank of the Chatahoochie River won't work. Hell, the hotel parking lot will work.
Network News is biased. I've had to watch that shit for two days now and I KNOW what they're doing. I just don't know why those assholes don't take off their masks and start shilling for MoveOn.org as hard as they are shilling for John Kerry. Fucking idiots.
Most people in America don't have a clue. You know the main demographic that REALLY doesn't have a clue? Wimmen. Especially SINGLE WIMMEN. They favor Kerry over Bush by about 18 points in the polls. Do you know why? Hell, neither do they. Kerry gives them a warm, fuzzy feeling, and that's all it takes to make a woman's brain roll right out of her ear. That "feeling" thing.
Some people want to outlaw "Assault Weapons" without knowing what the hell they are. Wanna know the most dangerous weapon in America? A .22. Yep, that little boy's pop-gun is a deadly piece of weaponry, but it doesn't frighten wimmen with "assault-rifle" looks. It's that "feeling" thing again.
Lawyers suck. I've watched some grinning bastard on TV for two days now beating the bushes for car-accident "victims." He'll get you "the check you deserve," if you call HIM. I don't know if it's just me, but I found it strange that every testimonial he had in his commercials came from black wimmen. He's white, but I think the guy is a racist.
John Kerry is unfit to be President. The man is a complete shitass. He's done nothing in his life except promote himself. I saw him on TV campaigning in West Virginia yesterday, and I saw mind-numbed people holding up signs saying "Coal Country is Kerry Country." WTF? What is KERRY gonna do for coal miners? Appoint some dickweed to the EPA that puts ALL coal miners out of a job? That's just Union mentality in action. Union people are just as stupid as single wimmen.
Now... have I managed to piss anyone off?
zap the cat next time
From an email, and if it's not true, it SHOULD be:
My wife Anna is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "hey y'all, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for Anna. The occasion was our 22nd anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip. For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. Tattooed assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering, goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing out--way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was so disappointed.
Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin' directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would not create an arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!!
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc.
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Franky looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Franky) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Franky for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to Anna to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time...
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. All the while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5" long, less than 3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, "no friggin' way!"
Friggin' way--trust me, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
Those of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm sitting there alone, Franky looking on with his head cocked to one side as to say, "don't do it buddy," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the hell of it. (Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight--always twenty-twenty. It is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it seemed so right at the time.
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY ***! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!!
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I Miss 'em . . . sure would like to get 'em back.
I wouldn't last long in a customer service job. I have a tendency to fly off the handle and tell people to go fuck themselves when they bitch at me. But if YOU TAKE a customer service position, you should realize and accept the fact that listening to bitchers is YOUR GODDAM JOB. If you can't handle that heat, you don't belong in the kitchen. Learn to kiss ass with a smile or find something else to do.
I called Comcast this morning and learned that most of Effingham County is without service. As if I didn't already know that fact. I asked the bitch on the phone when I could expect my service to be restored. (I was polite until I heard a sigh and a whiny voice saying, "A LOT of customers are without service. What do you expect ME to do about it?") That comment went up my ass like barbed wire. I EXPECT YOU TO FIX MY PROBLEM, SHITHEAD!! That's what I PAY FOR every month.
Maybe she had been besieged by irate customers complaining about service outages. I don't care. That's still no excuse for a CUSTOMER SERVICE REP to get persnickety with ME. I AM THE CUSTOMER!!! YOU are a bitch who can't handle her job. Period. Don't get hormonal on me. Drop the vapors and quit your job NOW, while you can, because you obviously ain't cut out for this kind of work. Bitch.
I LOVE those messages that say "for training and security purposes, this phone call may be recorded." I hope to hell that the one I made this morning was recorded. Somebody needs to "train" that bitch right out the door.
Comcast is dangerously close to losing a valuable customer. I got along without them before I met them and I can get along without them now. I understand that we've had a bad storm and they have technical difficulties. But NOBODY in a customer service job is going to blow me off the way that bitch did this morning.
I don't have to take that shit and I won't.
the real john kerry
Did you ever just watch the windshield wipers work on your car? Notice how they go back and forth, back and forth? We have the human windshield wiper running for President today.
Kerry is one of those people who remind me of the Shape-Shifter on Deep Space Nine. I known a lot of them in my life and they ALL share a common trait: they'll be anything you want them to be as long as THEY get what they want out of the deal. My ex-wife is a lot like that.
Whores is a crude way to describe them, but if the shoe fits...
i couldn't say it any better
"Kerry is the opposite. He has never seemed committed to any issue. That goes back to the days when he supposedly was against the war in Vietnam and then volunteered to fight in it (the only one I knew of at Yale then to do such a thing - we all assumed it was resume padding for future electoral battles and we were right). And now he brags about his heroism in that same war after coming back to oppose it vehemently. No wonder Clinton is advising him to shut up. I'd advise him to resign. To have a man with this lack of values in the White House in this era is terrifying."
I'll give credit to the author if I can find the got-dam article on this fucked-up AO-hell system.
(here it is, I think.)
i am not worthy
He is simply the best, and that's all I have to say about it because AO-HELL makes it damn near impossible to blog worth a shit. I want my Comcast back, and if I don't get it today, I'm going to pitch a hissy-fit.
Link to a site. Go back to your blog if you can find it. Post the link. Try to go BACK to the link for a blockquote. Oops! Your post just vanished. So did your link. I am accustomed to having as many as ten windows open at a time. But Nooooo! Not with AO-hell, you don't. One thing at a time and no more, buddy.
There is no got-dam excuse for this shit.
If you have any doubt about what the War Against Terror is fighting, just look at these pictures. When we have enemies capable of such atrocities, I don't give a shit what France and Germany have to say.
Kill the bastards. Kill them all.
(Thanks (I think) to mama montezz for the link.)
September 06, 2004
I occasionally receive emails from people who totally disagree with my political opinions and hit me with very lucid arguments to support their opinions. But these people are extremely rare. Usually what I get is some asshole who just left MoveOn.org or the Democrat Underground website and all he can do is regurgitate the myths and fantasies posted there as truth.
I've been blogging long enough to KNOW how many rabid Democrats can pour piss out of a boot. NOT MANY is the answer. What I usually get is some dumbfuck like the one I heard interviewed on the Sean Hannity show today. The asswit couldn't name the Vice President of the United States, but he is bound and determined to vote for "Jim Kearney," because.... well, BUSH IS EVIL!!!
That's your core Democrat base. Clueless people, who don't even know the NAME of the person they want to vote for. Give them a butterfly ballot and they flat-line, go brain-dead and fuck it up. Hell, when you're looking for "Jim Kearney" on the ballot, no wonder you end up voting for "Pat Buchanon."
Looked a lot alike. Anybody could make that mistake, when you can't read.
They learned it from Hillary Clinton.
I didn't want to
I wasn't going to blog about the Russian School Massacre. (Sorry. No link to the story because I'm blogging on the most fucked-up system I ever used in my life.) It was too horrible for me to contemplate. I can't imagine the kind of mentality that would do such a thing.
But I made the mistake today of watching a news story about that terrible affair with Recondo and Georgia. Rick, with his military background, said that the Russians didn't set up a good perimeter and they weren't ready for the slaughter the terrorists performed. "They are known for their lack of training," he announced. Fine. My gut reaction was more akin to Georgia's.
"ANYBODY WHO KILLS CHILDREN SHOULD BE SHOT LIKE A RABID DOG!!!"
Georgia is a gentle woman and friendly to everybody. She drives a school bus and teaches kindergarten. She can be as hysterical as any woman when her hormones are in an uproar, but usually it takes a LOT to piss Georgia off. That news story managed to do it.
I've got news for the terrorists. When they manage to make people as gentle and kind as Georgia want to hunt them down and shoot them like rats, they have fucked up. I KNOW that terrorism is supposed to terrorize, but Bejus... don't these people know anything about engendering sympathy for their cause? Don't they see ANY lines in the sand that they will not cross?
No, they don't. And Georgia is correct.
We should hunt these people down and shoot them like the rats that they are.
Recondo 32 and his lovely wife Georgia came over yesterday to spend the night at the Crackerbox, eat chili dogs and drink up all of my beer. I don't remember how we got on the topic, but I mentioned something about fake orgasms.
I said that I could fake an orgasm now as well as any woman. Georgia was outraged. "I never faked one in my life," she announced indignantly. "I don't know why anybody would want to fake one. But I could tell if a man did... even YOU, Smith."
"She probably can, Rob. She knows when I fake sex with her," Recondo said. "That when I tell her that I'm going to jump her bones and I don't. I by-pass that whole fake orgasm thing."
I bet her that she couldn't tell, but I didn't get the chance to really...DEMONSTRATE my acting ability. You see... I don't ejaculate anymore, thanks to having a lot of my natural plumbing removed, so I leave no evidence of an actual male orgasm. So, I did all the vocals and the facial expressions of a really good, porno-movie cum-shot while sitting on my couch. Then I asked Georgia, "What did you think of THAT?"
"It was fake. Obviously fake."
"OF COURSE it was fake. I told you ahead of time that I was going to fake one. But if you and I were tangling the sheets and I did that, I'll guarantee you that you'd believe me."
"I could tell. I just KNOW that I could tell."
Men can't. Why should wimmen be any more perceptive?
Now THAT was one hell of a squall that just blew over my house. The fucking rain was falling SIDEWAYS and the trees were whipping in the wind as if a giant's hand was shaking them. That was an impressive show. No thunder or lightning, though. (Oops! Too quickly spoken. NOW that the rain is quieting down, the thunder and lightning have started.)
Fuck it. I've got nothing better to do, so I'm going to post a recipe:
A Genuine Southern Chili Dog
Dice a Vidalia onion fine.
Dice two Claussen's dill pickles, fine.
Put some Gwaltney Bun-Sized Smoked Sausages on the grill.
Cook the sausage until they plump up nicely and the skins begin to break.
I usually make my own chili sauce, but yesterday I was roughing it, so I used a microwave cup of Hormel Chili without beans.
Put your buns in the microwave on a paper plate with a damp paper towel underneath the plate. Nuke for 20 seconds for nice, hot, moist buns (a quality I always look for in a woman.).
Drag the sausage dogs off the grill. Place one in each hot, moist bun.
Run ketchup down both sides of the sausage, then a streak of spicy brown mustard right down the top. Garnish with onion and hand-diced pickle relish. Then, add a nice, messy dose of chili all over the top.
Serve with beer, chips and salsa and a whole roll of paper towels.
The more beer you drink, the better the 'dogs taste.
I'm not going to blog much today. My internet connections (except for AO-Hell) remain down, my TV cable is out and rain has fallen steadily all day. The winds aren't much (maybe 20-30 MPH gusts) but I remain under a flood warning and a tornado watch until sometime tomorrow.
The bands from the now Tropical Storm Frances keep rolling over the Crackerbox, and I don't intend to go anywhere or do much during this shit. The weatherman predicts 4-to-6 inches of rain, and from what I've seen so far, that's a conservative estimate.
I think I'll just fire up my methamphetimine lab in the kitchen, make some crank, and invite a biker gang over to buy it. GOT THAT, Jennifer? Be sure and show this post to your lawyer. Also remind him that the weather is putting a real cramp in business for the string of whores I pimp.
I'm going to lie in bed and read.
Screw dying and getting 72 virgins in the afterlife. I would settle for this and consider myself a lucky man.
September 05, 2004
pretty fucking suckful
Read this story. If it doesn't make you want to upchuck, you have no gut.
Thanks to Kiwi Pete for the link, and I would throw a link to HIM, except I'm using AO-Hell to blog right now and that's the most unweildy tool I've ever used. This service is pretty fucking suckful for a blogger and I don't know why they don't see the light and make things more user-friendly.
Maybe AOL is just wonderful and I don't know how to use it correctly. But I don't think so.
this is why I like the 'net
Wanna make sausage, biscuits and gravy? Here's how, SEVEN DIFFERENT WAYS.
Got-dam! I gotta try at least three of those recipes. I'll never make biscuits as good as my mama's but I can strive.
in a pissy mood
I get this way sometimes. Things that I should ignore just PISS ME OFF on days such as this one. I started yesterday when a group of evangelicals knocked on the door wanting to bring the Word Of God into my life. I sent them scuttling with a blast of profanity that would have impressed a drunken sailor. I didn't wave a gun at them, but I was about to.
I shouldn't have done that, because it was rude behavior on my part, but it was MY goddam door and I was watching football at the time. Unless God could score a touchdown for my beloved Georgia Bulldogs, I didn't need any back-pack-wearing, apple-eyed pie-hole coming to preach at me.
I'll tell you what else I don't need. I don't need anybody doing anything for "my own good." I'll either run my own life or fuck it up all by myself. I am a grown man. I don't need or WANT your "help." Just go away and leave me alone. If I end up in the gutter, that is the result of MY choices.
I can live with that.
who gives a shit?
Whoop-te-do. Medicare is getting more expensive. Surprise, surprise, surprise.
It'll go completely broke in a few years, thanks to politicians who don't have the balls to tell "the elderly" to go fuck themselves and stop clacking their dentures for more "benefits" than the government can afford. If you can't afford to live on your own, have the good grace to die with dignity. You ain't gonna live forever no matter WHAT the government does for you.
A lot of old people are worse than children. "Gimme!" is all they know how to say and they vote in droves to get what handouts they can grab. I blame FDR for this shit, and I blame old people, too. A more selfish bunch I've never seen.
Got-dam! You people want to keep your liver-spotted, pacemaker-enhanced, hearing-aided, withered-shanked, bifocaled, right-turn-signal-constantly-blinking asses alive at the cost of your grandchildren's future, and you want it all FOR FREE!!!
This is one sick sumbitch, which is why I like him so much. Admit it. You've had AT LEAST one lover in your life that had a physical deformity that most people would consider to be gross, but you kinda liked.
I once knew a woman who had only four toes on her left foot. The one next to the pinky was missing. She told me that she had two brothers, one sister and a Mama with the same malady. That HAD to be genetic. But she painted all four toenails red, and that was good enough for me.
I once knew a woman with incredibly asymmetric tits. The right one was big and the left one wasn't. She couldn't explain why she was built that way and she was very uncomfortable about it. I liked it. She had a handfull on one side and a mouthful on the other. I was in hog heaven. She eventually went and had the left breast rebuilt so that it matched its partner. I still believe that she destroyed a thing of natural beauty.
I played football with a guy who has SIX TOES on one foot. I thought that was disgusting.
I once knew a woman who had no navel. I am NOT making this up. I am certain that she had an umbilical cord when she was born, but somehow the thing just grew over and she was as smooth as a paved road from breasts to pubes. Now THAT is odd.
I could go on, but I won't. I have SOME scruples.
Now the Democrats are so desperate that they're beaming messages in from outer space.
Wait... that's what they've been doing for the past twenty years.
My high-speed internet connection is down, my TV doesn't pick up any stations and the weather looks beautiful outside. I suppose that Frances is kicking me from far away, which is fine by my standards. I prefer collateral damage over having the roof blow off my house. I still have dial-up that works and I don't watch much TV anyway.
Check out the carnival of the recipes. I may try to make a "Toad in the Hole" one of these days.
And my boiled peanut recipe is in there.
September 04, 2004
The 1-A college football teams with nicknames that DON'T end with the letter "S" are:
Alabama Crimson Tide
I like to blog, but I like football even better. I've been watching games all day, including the 48-28 victory of my beloved Georgia Bulldogs over Georgia Southern. Southern played tough, but the score doesn't really reflect the nature of that game. Georgia emptied the bench in the second half and Southern did well against the subs. The UGA first string could have made that game ugly.
But the DAWGS look formidable to me. That freshman tailback, Danny Ware, reminds me of the good old days of Georgia football. That boy runs hard. I look for success this season.
Good ole Bob hit me with 165 spams while I was watching TV. I Blacklisted his ass again, but I have no doubt that he'll be back under a different name. What a fucking cockroach.
Young Jack came to watch football with me today. He is convinced that he's good enough to win a college scholarship. "My daddy says that they PAY YOU to play football in college," Jack announced. I tried to explain that his daddy was slightly wrong with that idea--- Jack could get free tuition, free food, a free room and free books, but college football players DON'T get paid any money, at least not under NCAA rules. He didn't like what I had to say.
But I fed Jack a few slices of fresh pineapple and he liked it as much as I do. He went away a happy boy, with 12 of Quinton's Playstation II games in a bag. I've got no use for them anymore. I haven't heard from my son in almost three weeks now. I haven't seen him in six months. That just ain't right, but that's the way it is. Jack can play those games. No sense in leaving them here to gather dust.
My upset pick of the day? Wake Forest will beat Clemson.
(UPDATE: Okay, I was wrong about my upset pick. But it was damned close.)
Or is it more of a kerry flop? The numbers don't look good for the Dems. The money quote for me?
Providing strong leadership: 56% said they trust Bush to provide strong leadership in difficult times, while 37% said they trust Kerry to provide leadership in difficult times.
That's a whopping difference. So much for that corny "Reporting for duty" line.
I wish I were as young and fit as I once was.
I wish that I could watch my son sleep. He is a handsome boy.
I wish that I could play football again. I really liked that game.
I wish that I could go back 30 years in time knowing what I know now.
I wish that my hands weren't going to shit on me and I could play guitar forever.
I wish that I had never started smoking cigarettes.
I wish that Santa Claus was real.
I wish that I had never met Jennifer.
I wish a lot, but none of it matters. Life is real and wishes are dreams.
September 03, 2004
You mean that all his blood wasn't in his dick?
I'll be damned...
having to piss
I once hated to take a woman on a long car trip. She always had to piss about every 50 miles. I didn't like doing all that stopping, especially when I didn't need gas and I didn't need to pee. I wanted to get where we were going.
But I've changed my mind now. Prostate surgery will do that to you.
Recondo learned that lesson on our cross-country trip. "Rick, pull over. I need to piss."
"We'll be in a town in 15 minutes. You can piss there."
"Rick, either you pull over RIGHT NOW, or I'm gonna piss all over the front seat of the 'stang. Maybe YOU can wait 15 minutes, but I can't. Pull over NOW!!!"
He learned that I wasn't kidding. (I won't go into details about that. Just use your imagination.)
That's one of the things that really bothers me about the prostate surgery. In spite of all the Keagle exercises and all the practice I've done at maintaining my contenence, I am subject to a sudden eruption at any time, and I don't always get an early warning. If I have to go, I HAVE TO GO! Right now! No debate about it! PULL OVER AND LET ME PISS!!!
If you don't pull over and let me piss, I'll water your seat. And my pants. And it will be all YOUR FAULT because you didn't listen to me.
Such is life for me anymore.
My mama is 73 years old. My grandmother is 93 years old. Both are widow-wimmen now, but they still live on their own and get by okay. They are tough old birds and their husbands left them well-off when they died.
But just suppose that they WEREN'T okay on their own. I cannot see my mama or my grandmother doing the begging kind of shit I see elderly people doing to politicians today. My family would find a way to make do. We always have. We never took a dime in charity from ANYBODY, even when times were hard.
But old people today, pumped up with Viagra and blood-pressure medicine, living in Florida resort communities and playing golf at Sun City, are willing to sell their children and their grandchildren into poverty because they want FREE PRESCRIPTION DRUGS. Greatest Generation, my ass.
Selfish old fucks is what I call them.
the great fly ball
I was about Quinton's age and playing center field for the Rotary Club little league baseball team. We played The Optimists, and they had a hitter that I went to school with. His name was David Ring and he was as big as a house.
David could knock a baseball flat on one side when he was six years old. By the time of that game, he had four years of practice to improve his slugging skills. If he caught a pitch just right, he was gonna sail that ball a long way. We all backed up in the outfield.
We had a good pitcher. I was the #2 catcher on the team, so I knew what kind of stuff our guy had. He could throw one hell of a fastball. He could damn near put a hole in your hand when you caught him. I KNEW that fact from experience.
But he hung one in the wheelhouse for David that day. I saw the ball come off the bat and I knew that it was over my head. I took off running as fast as I could over that ragged ground of old Coke Field, just off President Street, where many a young man earned his spurs playing ball. I can still remember seeing that baseball hurling through a clear blue sky as I ran to catch it.
I reached out my glove and dived for the ball. There was no person more stunned than I was when I went rolling ass-over-tea-kettle and ended up with the ball in my glove. It was a spectacular catch. People applauded. I tried to act cool as I threw the ball back to the infield, but I hoped I didn't have to do that again.
I wasn't really THAT good, but I did it that time.
a sincere apology
I insulted the lovely Ms. key monroe yesterday when I dismissed her argument as "piffle." She became highly indignant, started to hyperventilate, get a case of the vapors, and throw breakable things for no reason. I believe that I suggested that wimmen do such things and she was determined to prove me wrong by DOING THOSE THINGS.
She can't spell "raspberry," either.
I am sorry that you can't spell any better than I can, Key. Happy now?
One thing I DO like about those comments from hysterical wimmen is the fact that they DENY being hysterical after writing a full-page, spittle-blotted comment. SEE WHAT I MEAN??? You want to REALLY piss off a hysterical woman?
Just tell her she's being hysterical. Then duck, because she's going to throw something breakable for no good reason.
I don't know HOW I managed to do it, but I seem to have pissed off a couple of wimmen. I've gotten some downright hurtful comments from them. I read those words and began to hyperventilate. I got a case of the vapors. I had to go to my room and cry in the closet for a while. I threw something and broke it for no good reason.
The fact that I WATCHED MY FATHER DIE after a long battle with cancer doesn't seem to matter to these wimmen. I WAS THE ONE who made the call, telling the doctors to back off and leave my dad to die as peacefully as possible. The fact that my mama turned to ME and said, "handle it" after my father died and I had been awake for 36 hours doesn't mean shit, either. I am a heartless sumbitch, a Dancer With Prostitutes, and a pig. That's what happens when wimmen "feel."
If they didn't have a pussy, there'd be a got-dam bounty on them.
I believe that david Steinberg once did a stand-up routine about stereotypes. I don't believe that he could get away with that act today.
He had the NERVE to suggest that some Jews are good with money, some Irish drink to excess, some Polish people aren't really smart, some blacks have rhythm and some Asian kids do VERY well in school. Imagine that. Where do you think stereotypes come from?
Let's try the same motif a different way: Blacks are good with money. Jews drink to excess. Asian kids aren't really smart. Polish kids do VERY well in school. Irish people just keep fucking up all the time. Hell--- I'm Irish, so I can say that politically-incorrect statement with impunity.
But that shit ain't gonna fly because there is NO BASIS for saying such things. You can't create a stereotype or a generalization unless a group displayed the kind of behavior you're GENERALIZING, and they displayed it consistantly.
Stereotypes exist because people EARNED THEM. These things weren't just invented out of whole cloth. I know that you can't paint everyone with a broad brush, but reality is what it is.
Yeah. I have no problems with generalizations.
I don't like the word "swagger." It connotes arrogance and false vanity, maybe with some hubris thrown in for good measure. But I'll tell you one thing right now. Southern men tend to swagger, compared to men in other parts of the country. That's the way we walk.
That's NOT just a Texan trait, as Bush mentioned last night. ("Some people say I swagger. In Texas, we call that WALKING!") I've spent some time up north and I don't understand the hunched shoulders, the refusal to make eye-contact with a stranger on the sidewalk and that timid, LEAVE ME ALONE attitude that so many yankees display through body language.
Down South, you are EXPECTED to swagger. You're also expected to keep your word, be nice to old ladies and eat boiled peanuts. We have our traditions and we try to uphold them. Swagger is part of that tradition.
I once liked to walk into the Swamp Fox and announce my arrival with a big HELLO!!! to all the old farmers clustered around the coffee pot. I'd drag up a chair and sit down to catch up on all the gossip from Effingham County. That was the best newspaper I ever had. Those old (yeah, call them red-necks if you want to) fellows had been plowing this land since they were kids following their daddy behind a mule.
They were good story-tellers and fine people. The coffee was Southern espresso--- 30-weight motor oil, with no sugar. That stuff could stand a spoon upright and make your hair curl. You could walk in there and make yourself at home anytime.
But you needed to swagger when you came through the door.
The topic of health care really pisses me off when I hear Democrats talk about it. I listened to Kerry speak last night, and I suffered a case of cognative dissonance. Is health care the same thing as medical insurance? Evidently it is, according to Kerry.
"44 million Americans go without health care today."
Is that a fact? I went to a hospital emergency room a few months ago and saw a big sign saying that the hospital COULD NOT deny care to a needy patient whether the patient had insurance or not. I don't see people dying in the streets for lack of health care. What I DO see is a lot of hyperventilation and vapors about a "crisis" that doesn't exist.
My company, where I worked for 24 years, canceled my health insurance the first chance it got to drop me. They said I was guilty of "non-payment," then refunded the last check I sent them. They did the same thing to Catfish, who worked there even longer than I did. I called to bitch about what they did, but gave up after getting the phone-menu runaround for almost an hour.
Fuck 'em. I don't have to take this shit. I bought a Blue Cross policy for less than half the price the company wanted me to pay for their insurance. It's not as good as the insurance I once had and the deductable is a LOT higher, but it protects me from catastrophic incidents such as car wrecks or heart attacks. That's all I need. It costs $150 per month, and that includes dental insurance, too.
Don't blow smoke up my ass about a health care crisis in America. We don't have one.
They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.
Government IS NOT your friend, people, unless you want to be a slave. Remember that fact when you hear the politicians promise you the moon and the stars before the next election.
They can't GIVE you anything that they didn't STEAL from someone else first.
A nice thunderstorm blew over the Crackerbox yesterday and knocked out my power. I was
Thus, I was incommunicado after George Bush's speech last night. I really wanted to blog about it while it was fresh on my mind. Did he hit a home run? Naw... I don't think so, but it was a good, solid double off the outfield wall.
The speech seemed even better after I heard John Kerry's response. Talk about a bag of junk platitudes! I believe that Kerry knows he's in deep shit.
I think he's beginning to hyperventilate and get the vapors.
September 02, 2004
I used that term in an email today and totally confused my reader.
Can anybody define what "piffle" means? I can. That's why I used the word. It was appropriate for the situation.
Okay... what does "piffle" mean?
i don't like this shit
Frances is a legitimate bad-ass and he's going to hit somewhere on the southeast coast. It's gonna be ugly. The current track puts Frances to the south of me, but I AM THE ONE who says those storms always turn north when they hit the gulf stream.
I hope that I am wrong this time.
(But you've got to admit one thing: That sumbitch is a BEAUTIFUL STORM. Mother Nature is a real artist sometimes.)
I don't know what made me remember Ed today, but I did. He was one of the most interesting characters I ever met in my life.
Ed was a wrestler and a football player at Penn State many years ago. He was much more successful as a wrestler, because he played running back behind a guy named Lenny Moore on the football team. Ed might have been known as "snake-hips" in high school, but he wasn't snakey enough to keep Lenny on the bench.
Ed enlisted in the Air Force after college and flew some kind of cargo planes for a while. He ended his enlistment stationed at Hunter Field, which is how he ended up in Savannah. On his last night in the service, he got into a high-stakes poker game and won $5,000. That was his grub-stake to start a business of his own.
He bought a 50-year lease on an old warehouse on River Street. He and his friend bo swenson lived upstairs and slept on the floor. (Yes, I met movie-star Bo on several occasions. He visited Ed from time to time.) Ed turned the warehouse into the Port Royal Saloon, and he made a killing. He got into the bar business right when River Street started to take off as a tourist attraction.
I was the house band there, on and off, for almost three years. I played the Port Royal more than any other place I ever performed in. That's where I met Dora and Vonnie and Angel and LOTS of other wimmen. I also came to know Ed Pasco very well.
Ed was a strange fellow. He was big and barrel-chested from his wrestling days, and he served as his own bouncer in the bar. I saw Ed toss many a drunk out onto the cobblestones at night, and he could pick up a full keg of beer and hold it at arm's length in front of him. He was strong.
Ed had more money than Midas, but he stole tips from his bartenders. I also learned from experience that when Ed wrote you a check, cash it at the bar before you leave. That sumbitch check may not be worth anything at a bank. Ed did some odd financial transactions.
He died of lymph cancer a couple of years ago. He left his wife set, with property all over the place and lots of money in the bank. I saw Ed shortly before he died, and he was still the loud-mouthed, fast-talking yankee that he always was--- except he was half the size I remembered him being. Cancer does that to a person.
I know some people who want to go piss on Ed's grave. I don't. He made me angry, he fucked me out of money and he could be a real Jekyll and Hyde person. But he was unique.
I admire that quality in a person, and I believe that Ed died considering me his friend.
I didn't like Zell when he was governor of Georgia. I never voted for him and I agreed with the people who called him "Pell-Mell Zell" and "Zig-Zag Zell." I thought he was a typical, ass-kissing politician who would do anything for a vote.
When Paul Coverdale died and that carpetbagger, Roy Barnes, appointed Zell Miller to take Paul's seat in the Senate, I was appalled. I liked Paul Coverdale a lot and I truly believed that Zell would go to Washington and become a Democrat hand-puppet the way Max Cleland did.
I was wrong.
Zell surprised me. I don't know for sure, but I have a theory about how Zell changed. That bad-ass, ex-Marine hillbilly just decided one fine day: I've spent a life in politics kissing ass and I'm NOT DOING THAT ANYMORE. By Gawd, he meant it, too.
If you didn't see the speech, read the text. I was proud to call that man my Senator.
He delivered the speech with zeal and I believe that his heart was in his words.
What has happened to the party I've spent my life working in?
Zell sees the seamy underbelly of the Democrat party. Democrats would rather rule a nation of slaves than be the minority party in the land of the free. I believe that such an attitude should frighten people today.
That's what the next election is all about.
September 01, 2004
a cat blog
The slinky shits get into EVERYTHING, don't they?
things you just do
Some people, especially Democrats, don't look at life the same way I do. I've lived 52 years and I believe that I've gathered a modicum of wisdom in that time. I've seen fire and rain. I've seen life as it really is. Here are the lessons I've learned, the hard way.
* Nothing in this world is free.
* People you trust, and even LOVE, are capable of stabbing you in the back.
* The only thing in life that never goes away is a sense of family, if you have one.
* Hard work pays off.
* You're a victim ONLY if you allow yourself to be one.
* Government is NOT my friend.
* Money isn't everything.
* But being broke sucks.
* Everybody makes mistakes. A wise man learns from his mistakes and a fool repeats them.
* It's wonderful to be loved.
* It hurts like hell to be betrayed by someone you love.
* I get along with kids so well because I still remember what it was like to be one. That's a magical time in life.
* Santa Claus doesn't exist, but he should.
* Never stop dreaming. That's where great ideas come from.
Okay, that's it. My brain is full.
home-made porno movies
I'm not asking for a show of hands here. I'm asking a serious question about modern journalism. How many of you people own video cameras? How many of you people have played around with the thing? Have you ever gotten frisky and taped your performance?
I don't really want to know. I'm just planting a seed in your mind if you haven't tried that yet. Not that I'VE ever done such a thing, but you might be surprised about how watching you and your old lady sport in the sack can be thoroughly arousing. In fact, it's good for a two-fer from
Try it. You'll like it.
fan the flames
I really like this guy, and as long as I'm busy pissing wimmen off today, I thought I would include this quote:
One of the most off-putting traits a woman can have is the tendency to become hysterical and refuse to listen to reason. I can't tell you how many times I've been involved in some sort of minor crisis and had women make it a thousand times worse. They actually get mad at you for not being hysterical, too. If there's one way to make a woman hate you, it's to tell her to knock off the goddamn drama because you refuse to take part in it. It's as if they look forward to drama and you're screwing it up for them. "Here's my big chance to run in circles and pee in my pants, and you're messing it up for me!"
I have very little patience with people who launch into panic mode for no good reason. Hell, I spent 24 years of my goddam LIFE being the person who was NOT supposed to panic, even when serious shit hit the fan. Oh yeah. I saw some situations where I wanted to run in circles and pee my pants, but I couldn't afford to do that. I had to act like I knew what was happening whether I did or not.
At the risk of "generalization" again, I submit that most wimmen can't do that. Even Jennifer, who I once thought was one of the most intelliegent wimmen I've ever met, turned into a complete jellyfish when Floyd was bearing down on Savannah. She ran in circles and peed her pants--- without accomplishing a damned thing except to make me angry at her.
If this makes YOU angry, so be it. I will NEVER vote for a female President because I've seen too many wimmen in panic mode.
Do you ever think about people that you once had relationships with? I've never had an etch-o-sketch mind, so I am unable to erase memories just by turning the box over and shaking it. I remember those wimmen, and it bothers me a lot sometimes.
I can smell the scent of a certain perfume and I remember Holly Beth. That's what SHE wore, and I'll never forget those blue panties she liked to strut under nothing but a T-shirt at night.
I hear certain music and I remember Cheryl, in Jamaica, when we were both young and dumb. We stayed for a week in a place with no electricity and one cold-water shower outside. We had a blast.
Vonnie was a waif in need of rescue, so I helped her out. I have NEVER regretted being her lover. If I saw her tomorrow, I would call her "Yvonne," and never mention the past, but I would still like to give her a big hug.
The most cruel thing I ever did in my life was leaving Dora the way I did. She deserved better, and if anybody wants to call me a sumbitch, just point to that incident. I can't argue.
Then, there's Jennifer. You know a really sad fact I must admit? I still dream about her. I sometimes believe that she's still in my bed. I don't know if I'll ever get over her. That woman was my One True Love and she shafted me. I remain stunned.
I don't know... sometimes I just think too much.
I'm getting a few comments from tough-assed BROADS who think I'm full of shit for saying that wimmen hyperventilate and get the vapors when a big storm comes. Well, I didn't make my opinions from ether.
When hurricane Floyd was supposed to hit Savannah a few years ago, I invited my mama, my grandmother, all my in-laws and everybody else I could think of to come stay at my house, the mini-farm. They got there a lot quicker than I got home from work. I was one of the last people out of the plant (that was my job) and I spent almost two hours on the road trying to get home.
I had a generator, propane, plenty of food and water, flashlights, batteries and lots of room. To ME, my house seemed like a good place to hunker down.
But the wimmen started watching the Weather Channel. Hyperventilation occurred. Like chickens, one started to squawk and the rest took up the cry: WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!! Got-dam!!! What is it about you wimmen that make you so assholey sometimes?
The next thing I knew, I had a rebellion on my hands. Every woman in the house wanted to flee. I had just come in from the roads and I knew that nobody was going to flee ANYWHERE, not with that traffic-jam on the highways. But try to expain facts to a hysterical, hormone-driven bitch. You may as well go piss up a rope. They don't listen. They begin to "feel," and you'd better watch your codsack when wimmen start that "feeling" shit.
You believe that men think with their dicks? Watch a woman when she starts to "feel" things. Tell me what SHE'S thinking with. It damn sure ain't her brain.
I managed to quell that rebellion only after the wimmen called every motel chain in the phone book and learned that there wasn't a vacant room within 500 miles. (As if you could have GOTTEN THERE in the traffic.) Then, they all settled down and prepared to die, giving me hairy eyeballs for getting them all killed.
I liked my grandmother's attitude. "I ain't going nowhere. If Robbie says I'm safe here, I'm gonna trust him. I am too old for the kind of car ride you people are suggesting. I gotta pee a lot."
Floyd missed and went up the coast to pummell North Carolina. The wimmen never forgave me for being right when they were wrong. Wimmen are like that.
But NOBODY better tell me that they don't hyperventilate and get the vapors. I've SEEN that happen.
I meant to write about Jack earlier. He came to visit me on Sunday and spent about an hour at the Crackerbox. I can't see my son, but Jack still loves me and he never misses a chance to drop by. Go figure what kind of terrible person I am.
Jack is playing football this year and he's very excited about it. "Mr. Rob, the coach says I'm the best player on the team," he announced proudly. I KNOW Jack and he tends to exaggerate sometimes (something I would NEVER do), so I wasn't certain about this "best on the team" thing.
"What makes you the best?" I asked. Jack went off on a rant about being fast, tough and tricky, and then he said, "I did just what you told me to do. I hit people so hard that they pee their pants."
Oh. My. God. I could imagine how his mother would respond to that statement. But, that's what I told him once and that lesson must have stuck in his boyish brain. Little pitchers have big ears.
I gave Jack the nickname "Hurricane Head" a few years ago. I've washed his hair before and he has the thickest blonde locks of wire-like hair, all curled around the crown of his head, that you'll ever see. That boy's got hair like a Brillo pad. It resembles a whirlpool if you look down from the top.
He got ready to go back to "nanny's" house and I told him that I would walk with him. I like Jack a lot. He really IS like a second son to me. He put an arm around my waist and babbled the entire time we walked. I put my hand on his shoulder and enjoyed listening to a little boy BE a little boy.
I cannot believe that Jack trusts me the way he does and I am an unfit father for my own son. But that's what happens when you marry a bloodless cunt.
When Jack arrived at "nanny's" house, he went inside to play a video game. I talked with nanny for a while. She told me Jack REALLY IS the best player on his team. He's the QUARTERBACK!!! She also said that the coach was convinced that Jack had played organized football before because of how well he performed in the tryouts.
"Jack didn't know what a football was three years ago," I said.
"No, he didn't. But I watched you play with Quinton and Jack in your yard. You taught him what he knows and that's something his father never took the time to do. Jack thinks you should be in the football hall of fame."
I am proud of myself now.
That's Michael Moore and Ted Kennedy, plotting another attack on the Bush administration for being fat and dumb.
the blog revolution
I believe that I got in on the cutting edge of a phenomenon that will not only be around for a long time, but will grow like Topsy. The internet has given anybody with an opinion and a PC the opportunity, essentially, to run his or her own newspaper. And a LOT of people are better at it than the mainstream media.
I believe that glenn reynolds may carve a notch in history by changing the way people handle information. He is my blogfaddah, and through me he has (mis)begotten many others. I don't see this trend slowing down.
The great thing about bloggers is the interactive communication that they encourage. If you get pissed off at the local newspaper, you can write a letter to the editor, which they may or may not print, and they'll edit the shit out of it if they DO print it.
Get pissed off at a blogger. Fire off an email. You usually receive a response very quickly and you get to communicate with the person who WROTE what pissed you off. That's fair and square with me. Even if the person tells me to go fuck myself at the end of our debate, I still got to talk to the right guy. I like that.
We have fact-checkers. We have our fair share of idiots, but we have savants, too. At the risk of sounding crazy, I'm going to posit an idea: Ten years from now, blogs will be known as a reliable source of information and a lot more people will be reading the good ones.
Wait and see.
Here's some food for thought. Watching the mainstream media cover the Republican convention simply reinforces the point. Dan Rather can barely manage to SAY the word "Republican" without a sneer.
I was in J-school almost 30 years ago, but I doubt seriously that it has changed much since. The professors were all flaming liberals and the students not the brightest on campus. The idea of "advocacy journalism" was just coming into vogue and we were TAUGHT that injecting personal opinions, using a spin or a slant in a straight news story were all perfectly okay.
We weren't supposed to REPORT the news. We were supposed to "intrepret" it for the benefit of the great unwashed who couldn't understand it otherwise.
Why do you think so many people in the media are flaming liberals? They were TAUGHT to think that way and they live in a got-dam condom lubricated with self-righteousness to keep them insulated from the real world. They aren't reporters anymore. They are the "News-Givers" and we simple peasant folk are supposed to shut off our brains and listen to THEM. They'll tell us how to think right.
Like most flaming liberals, reporters have no respect for the individual. THEY are important, but you're not. THEY can reason, but you can't. If you disagree with them, you are stupid. And they have the fucking nerve to talk about (ALL HAIL!!!) "diversity," meaning skin color, sex or nationality.
The fact that they almost ALL walk in lock-step to the beat of the same drum doesn't phase them at all. Diversity of THOUGHT isn't welcome in journalism anymore.
I thought this was a damn good speech. Say what you will about Ah-nold, but never forget that he WAS once the best in the world at his sport. It takes serious game to do what he did as a body-builder.
Never sell a champion short at anything. My favorite line:
To my fellow immigrants listening tonight, I want you to know how welcome you are in this party. We Republicans admire your ambition. We encourage your dreams. We believe in your future. One thing I learned about America is that if you work hard and play by the rules, this country is truly open to you. You can achieve anything.
Contrast that thought with the message of the Democrat party. Forget ambition. You are a victim and you'll never get anywhere without government help. Government will give you your dreams. Hard work is not necessary. Government will take care of you. Sit down, shut up and let government do what is best for you.
Sounds a lot like what Ah-nold ran away from, doesn't it?
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