January 31, 2005
we need 'em
If it weren't for these people I might just believe that that I was crazy. But I'm not.
Here is how I handle an annoying question.
"Mr. President, you gave 5 billion dollars to something called "The Costa Rican Friendship Fund" and very little of that money can be accounted for in audits today. Sir, where did the money go?"
"I'm glad you asked that question. Most people don't understand that one dollar in American aid can produce four dollars in a local enconomy. And once this money starts to "trickle down," each dollar produces TEN more. Pretty soon, we've made those people rich and they want to be our friends and send us their wimmen. You want an AUDIT??? Go fuck yourself and get out of my yard, asshat."
See? I could rule.
whine me a river
I knew it wouldn't take long. The Democrats are already out there saying the the election in Iraq, was a sucess, but still something that is rife with doom. Just read this.
"It is significant that there is a vote in Iraq," Kerry said in an interview with NBC television's Meet the Press. "But ... no one in the United States should try to overhype this election.
A win is not a win. It has a dark side. Trust Kerry to see it. And Byrch Bayhs sys. too.
"It's a good day, but we need to see it through we need to see it through to a successful conclusion," Bayh said. "And frankly, I'm concerned, given some of the past mistakes, whether this leadership team will be capable of that."
I really don't believe that these people WANT us to be successful.
carnival of the receipes
I hate that shit.
Any idiot can cook if he or she has half a brain a a set of taste buds. It's just NOT THAT DIFFICULT. You already know what you like... so just cook it the way you like it.
God's Own Omelet
Chop up a bunch of ham, bell pepper, onion and mushrooms. Sautee the vegetables in real butter until they are tender. Crack two raw eggs, whip 'em up good and put some olive oil in a skillet. Get the oilve oil hot, then throw in the eggs. Add salt, pepper and a squeeze of lemon jiuce. Toss the vegetables in there, too. Let it cook until it's ready to flip.
Then... take some whipped Philadelphia Cream Cheese and lather it down the middle of the eggs. Carefully, flip that thing into a perfect half-moon and let it simmer just long enough to melt the cream cheese.
Serve with home fries and wheat toast.
THERE"S a goddam recipe for you.
by the way
I have other cabinet positions open and I am willing to create a few new ones. If you believe that you are qualified, nominate YOURSELF. "Run With the Reprobate in 2008!" It's something you can tell your grandchildren about.
I'm always on the lookout for fresh talent.
My first cabinet meeting
ME: "Good morning, ladies and gentemen."
MY CABINET: "Aw, fuck you, Rob."
ME: "Godamn it! Shut that shit up. We've got a givernment to run!"
MY CABINET: "Don't you mean "government?"
ME: If I meant that, I woulda said it. How much money do we have to piss away today? Do we have people in place to piss away that money? I want to get it out there and pissed away as quickly as posible. That's my job."
MY SECRETARY OF STATE interviened and stated, like a secretary of state, that much of our slush fund had been depleted on his last trip to Brazil. I appreciated his honesty and I understood the cost of hookers in Brazil. I bore no ill will toward him.
Me: "We got any money left?"
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE: Let's just kill 'em all."
SECRETARY OF ASSORTED WHEREWITHALL : "Here, your majesty, drink THIS."
FIRST LADY "While you're at it, take a toke off the bong."
Bejus! By 8:30 I was fucked-up as a worm and in charge of running the country. I think I gave a few orders. Dax bombed Madascar and Kim imported 500 Asian hookers to work on my next campaign. I asked my first lady to put a lock on that stash she was buying. I also asked Eric for another one before I called my white House advisor to a lenghty session in the oval office.
I had issues I wanted to discuss with her. I also wanted to see her titties. Hell, I AM THE PRESIDENT!!! You'd show me YOUR titties, wouldn't you? You know, if I asked as Commander in Chief and all.
Heh. It's good to be king.
i don't like this
Read it and see what you think. Stolen from here.
One suspects that for a certain sort of infantile mind, pro-Confederacy statements provide the same sort of thrilling sense of nonconformity that Marxism has provided. This, I guess, explains the weird strain of pro-Confederate sympathy that one finds among a certain segment of libertarians. Or, of course, there's always racism as an explanation -- an explanation you'd rather believe didn't apply, but that clearly does sometimes. Muller makes a pretty persuasive case that it applies here, and author Thomas Woods seems to have connections to some of those fringe libertarians.
I call bullshit. The most important thing the Civil War acomplished was to show that the Federal Government ran the country, and they would PROVE IT to you through force of arms if they needed to.
People who fought for the South didn't believe that fact, and they had to see it shoved into their faces before they would accept it. What most people don't think about today is the fact the the Generals of the Civil War were often the offspring of men who fought the British in the American Revolution. I do not believe that it is fair or even logical to analyze history through a modern prism.
Plus, look where Lincoln led us. That voracious octopus we feed in Washington today is no goddam accident. That's FEDERAL GOVERNMENT. That's your goddam Union.
And if a few people voice "Confederate Sentiments" in bitching about this travesty, just give me a break. I'm one of those Confederate Voices, and I bitch all the time. I also know that my bitching won't mean a thing, because NOBODY can stand up to the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.
And YOU write as if this is a good thing.
i am gonna run
I think I want to run for President in 2008. I think I'm gonna use "Fuck YOU and get out of my Yard!" as my campaign slogan. I'll being soliciting contributions shortly. I'm gonna need some folding change to cover the bus trips and the balloons, but that's all chump-change. Our bar tab could be serious. I'm gonna ask you to dig deep.
I have my cabinet already chosen. I will, of course, be Commander in Chief, with all the perks that go with the job, including nubile interns who want to cater to my every wish. I can run the country while being nekkid.
My running mate will be this woman, who appears to have a lot in common with me. She's capable of delivering a righteous bitch-slap to someone who needs it, and I don't think she'd worry much about about who she slapped. I want that quality in my President In Charge Of Vice.
Secretary of Defense is easy. Who else but this guy? He knows rubber-band guns and potato mortars. He also would scare the shit out of wimpy Frenchmen and other pussies who don't understand the violence good ole boys accept as normal.
Secretary of State is obviously this guy because he is the kind of unstable, deviant person I want to send to meet with World Leaders. I want to let the world know that everything BAD they ever thought about the United States is TRUE. We ARE crazy sumbitches, and you'd be wise not to piss us off.
My White House advisor? Why this one, of course. I won't listen to a damn thing she says, but I just love getting her attention. She shore is pretty. I might have to call MANY a late-night meeting with her, until we find a really good working relationship.
Press Secretary-- The peoria pundit, because he's the only legitimate journalist that I know who could actually TRY to do a good job on my campaign in spite of the idiocy he saw swirling around him.
Secratary of Education--That's a tough one. But she's my pick. I believe that she's got the starch to hold in my administration, too,
Secretary of Assorted Wherewithall: This is a NEW cabinet position I intend to create just go give a friend a nice, government ride with a big salary. That's gonna be this guy, and he's in charge of White House bartending, too. I think he can handle it.
Ambassador to France: I'm gonna send catfish there and give the French another reason to surrender.
Oh... I also need a set of cheerleaders in skimpy costumes who jump and shout whenever they see me. I'm talking about running an ALL AMERICAN campaign, and what good is that without cheerleaders? If you're interested in a cheerleading position (and a possible seat on the bus, depending on how you treat ME, just call BR-549. We can work out the audition schedule.)
Yep. I think I'm gonna run.
I don't like "suck-ups." I don't mean people who bestow well-intentioned flattery on you--- I mean the toadys of the word who believe that the key to success is to attach your lips firmly to a fast-rising ass and hope that you can hang on for the ride. Many people compliment you because they simply like what you do; others do it hoping for pure self-aggrandizement, to gain something from the effort. Those same suck-ups will turn on you like a pack of rabid ferrets once your star is on the wane.
I've got no use for a fucking cat. They don't like me and I don't like them. Damn furball-hacking, arrogant bastards. They have evil minds, too. A bird will shit on your windshield just after you washed your car. A cat will crawl inside and shit on the front seat. ON PURPOSE!!! I hate 'em.
I've never had a dog that I cared for growl, bark or snap at me. Well, maybe ONCE in their lives, but I played the Alpha Card on their ass and put an end to that shit right away. You can't do that with a cat, no matter how many times you throw it against the wall.
That's why wimmen are cats and men are dogs. You cannot EVER trust a cat.
I blame Watergate and the Vietnam War for what has turned news reporting into anti-American advocacy. The news media learned that reporting the news wasn't the way to a Pulitizer. A good "gotcha" was. And that's what they've been doing ever since, even if they had to make the "gotcha" up. The news developed political syphilis, and the chancer-ridden whores don't want to change.
Most people I know can tell right from wrong. They are not stupid people. But they DON'T speak what's on their minds for fear of being called "intolerant" or "racist." No, we don't have censorship in this country.
Government is not "benevolent." It is raw power. If you do not fear it, you do not recognize it for what it is. We've got to have a government, and I like the one we have now a lot better than I would like having a pissant such as John Kerry in charge, but it's still government. And it rules you with an iron fist.
If I sound cynical, that's because I AM.
January 30, 2005
Looks like the elections in Iraq went okay. I can't wait to see how the usual suspects spin this outcome into more gloom and doom.
I don't like suck-ups.
I hate cats.
And I don't feel much like blogging today.
* I don't play video games
* I don't watch commercial TV. I've never seen "Survivor" or "American Idol."
* I think I watched "Sex and the City" once. Is it just me, or do others think Sarah Jessica Parker has an equine visage--- you know, a horse-face. The people in the show were a lot more neurotic than I am for a lot less reason, so I never watched the show again. That thing is fucked-up.
* I like to watch movies with the sound muted. That way, I can pay better attention to body language and facial expressions. THAT'S acting.
* I've never listened to "rap" or "hip-hop" music in my life and I never will. That ain't music.
* I now tell little girls "NO!" when they try to sell me doughnuts.
* I don't like ANYBODY anymore.
I'm becoming worse every day.
January 29, 2005
wanna chap my ass?
Commit these grammatical mistakes over and over again:
* Demonstrate that you don't know the difference between "affect" and "effect."
* Use "your" when you mean "you're" and the other way around, too. Your just fucked-up if make that mistake.
* Say "I" when you mean "me." Yeah, "my brother and I went fishing," is correct. "What happened after that is a secret between my brother and I" is ILLITERATE. I hate reading that shit.
* Ending a sentence in a preposition. If you DON'T do that, you probably irritate the shit out of me. THAT'S WHERE I COME FROM. It ain't, "The place from which I came." Besides, I've NEVER seen that rule etched in stone anywhere.
* "Gender." Don't even get me started on this PC pile of shit. If I had to pick the #1 LIE word in the world today, it would be "gender." Pussification at work.
*Tell me how cute your fucking cat is and post pictures. Bejus! I'll have a contest between my stomach and I to see if I can resist puking all over YOU'RE pictures of the cute cat that YOUR so proud of. Can you EXCEPT that reaction? How does it "EFFECT" you?
* Asking "Why?" with no follow-up questioning is just plain stupid.
YOU don't make those mistakes do you?
no "E" in the entire thing
I just liked the challenge. Here's a paragraph with not one single "e" used in it. The words actually make a modicum of sense.
Playing football was fun. John thought that action, contact, pain and guts laid out a rough road to walk, but tough guys did it. Hit and growl. Growl and hit. It was tough work, but John could do it. That rough road was just a road. No big thing. John had no doubt in his mind. THIS country boy could do it. And John would, too.
Can YOU do that?
this is sad
Yeah, you can go here and get your shits and giggles by laughing at people less fortunate than you are. You can chortle your ass off the way some people do when they kick the crutches out from under a cripple and watch him fall down on the sidewalk. If you do that, you should be ashamed of yourself. (and you should be, too.)
I've said many times before than an omnipotent God should have a done a better job with men's hair. About the only things he fucked up worse are teeth. But neither one is an impressive engineering feat.
I'll confess: For years, I wore my hair brushed straight back, like a Golden God. My coiff resembled a lion's mane, and I was proud of it. I was Bubba Fabio.
But I started noticing that I developed a part down the middle that I never had before, and that part kept getting wider every day. Sometimes, when I removed my hard hat after some sweaty work, I resembled someone who had been hit down the middle of the head with a hatchet.
I didn't like the way that looked. I got a different haircut and started parting my hair on the side. YES!!! I started a comb-over. But at least I have enough hair remaining to make it appear convincing.
I could NEVER be desperate enough to comb-over three worm-looking hairs from the back of my neck to string them over my bare scalp in an effort to look handsome. I don't go for the coonskin cap look, either.
I'd give up and shave my head first.
THREE TIMES in my life, I've been stopped at a traffic light and had some idiot rear-end me. THREE TIMES. The first time was some young boy who had just gotten his driver's license and had not yet developed a clear understanding between brake and accellerator. His daddy paid cash to have my car repaired to keep the bill off the insurance.
The second time, a woman was turned around backward in her seat and spanking the shit out a recalcitrant young'un back there when she suddenly spanked the shit out of ME, too. She hit me pretty hard, but I was okay. Her insurance paid for the damage. I often wondered what kind of ass-whuppin' that kid received when mama got him home.
The third time, a car literally CATAPULTED into me, and just barely clipped my rear bumper. But that was an awesome sight in the rear-view mirror. That car was ROLLING down the road, end-over end like a football and I thought I was gonna die. The damn thing almost missed me entirely. It mightily fucked up some other cars, but broke only a tail light on mine.
I may screw up a string of good luck here, but I've NEVER had a wreck that was my fault. A lot of my friends say that I drive like an old woman. Well, this old bitch hasn't caused a wreck yet, I hope to keep it that way.
(Idea stolen from here.)
happy birthday, sam!
Tomorrow is my daughter's birthday. At the crack of 8:30 in the morning, she will officially be 22 years old.
She was born after 32 hours of labor--- on a Super Bowl Sunday during a full moon. (The Redskins beat Miami that year and John Riggins was voted most valuable player. I no longer remember the score, but I damn sure remember that day.) A black woman in the waiting room warned me "You're gonna have a moon baby. Them moon babies are always different."
That woman was a voodoo priestess, because she certainly was correct with her "moon baby" prediction. Samantha put the
Y'all drop by and wish her a happy birthday.
I got only three out of five.
Can You Figure These Out?
1. A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose between three
2. A woman shoots her husband. Then she holds him under water for over 5
3. What is black when you buy it, red when you use it, and gray when you
4. Can you name three consecutive days without using the words Monday,
5. This is an unusual paragraph. I'm curious how quickly you can find
Is it just me, or does this picture appear to WRITHE? The damn thing makes me dizzy.
You might want to check out some of the other scenery while you're there. You might even want to buy an ad.
I'm not sure who stole what all from whom here, but I'm stealing the link from this guy. I have only one complaint about the billboards.
They need to put the same thing on bumper stickers.
I'll admit that television shows a lot more crap today than it did when I was growing up. And by "crap," I mean exactly that--- pure, unmitigated, puerile, juvenile, low-brow, trashy SHIT. We've gone from watching Ricky and Lucy sleep in separate beds to seeing Janet Jackson's bare tit at the Super Bowl, and I don't think the changes have been for the better.
I don't like the coarseness and the immature, giggly approach to sex I see on television today. Our "adult" programming appears to be written by and geared toward horny teenage boys and their masturbatory fantasies. Most of it has all the sophistication of a bad fart joke.
I don't watch it. But if that's what YOU like, I'm not going to tell you that you can't waste your brain that way. Hell, it's your brain and your television. Do what you want to with both.
That's why I believe that the FCC has no business playing Censor of the Airwaves. The best censor of all is the channel selector on YOUR TV, and people don't watch what they don't like. If a show cannot attract an audience, it doesn't stay on the air very long.
But if it DOES attract an audience, a lot of people must like it even though I don't. I'm not going to protest about the show. I just won't watch it. And I've never had anyone hold a gun to my head and FORCE me to watch something I didn't want to see.
According to a transcript of the interview taped on Thursday, Bush said that whomever succeeds Powell must carefully balance free-speech rights against the need to hold companies to account for programming that is "over the line."
The only place I would draw such a line is at an ambush. Call your new comedy "Tits and Ass With Dick on Board" and display full frontal nudity. Be as raunchy as you want. If you draw an audience, good for you--- but at least that audience KNOWS that it's tuning in for tits, ass and dick.
DO NOT give me nekkid titties at the Super Bowl or one of those teaser T&A Monday Night Football openings again. People don't watch those programs to giggle over the slime content. It's supposed to be a football game, not "Gridiron Sex." Some people watch with their children, too, and they don't want to be slimed in that situation. Please--- no stealth T&A.
Even then, I would draw a faint line. I still believe that the marketplace will police itself and if enough people are disgusted by surprise gridiron sex, they'll stop watching the games. Then, the networks lose money. After much hyperventilation when seeing the bottom line, the networks stop doing that shit.
I don't want the FCC saying what can and cannot be shown on television. Allow people to decide what they want to watch. And if tits and ass and dick are what they want, just accept the fact that we live in a debased culture full of unrequited sex-maniacs and get on with your life. You don't have to crawl into the shit with them.
I just don't like the idea that someone in government may stand up and declare himself Moral Arbitor of what ANYONE can see on television. How does that happen? The stealth T&A episodes are what started this ball rolling. The network stroke-boys were having so much fun playing in shit elsewhere, that they just couldn't resist allowing it to spill over into a place it didn't belong.
That was a mistake.
This guy had a chance to freeze to death in his car, but he pissed it away. That's what I call a damn clever escape plan.
I believe that his liver will recover, too.
January 28, 2005
If you're gonna cat-blog and attract my attention (and also make me laugh out loud), Cat-blog like this. Now THAT'S a fucked-up cat.
I'd take one as crazy that that ugly bastard.
(Here's a picture of the fire-eating cat.)
the strangest thing
I visited my sweet mama today and she asked me a strange question. "Robbie (she still calls me Robbie), do you remember the watch your father was wearing when he died?" I confessed that I didn't. "Well, I do, and I want to show you something. I was going through some of your daddy's things and I found this yesterday."
She shuffled back to her bedroom and returned with an old Casio (I think) digital watch and I recognized it when I saw it. "Pop's watch," I said. "I remember it now." She handed it to me.
"What do you think of THAT?" mama asked.
I thought it was a cheap watch. I thought it was typical of my father to buy an inexpensive, but fairly good-looking watch because he cared more about utility than decoration. It fit fine on his wrist, it kept good time and it wasn't ugly. What more did he need in a watch?
That's when I noticed that the watch was still running.
I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP!!! My father died on October 12, 1992. Mama found that watch yesterday and IT'S STILL RUNNING. I don't know what kind of battery that is, but I want a similar one in EVERYTHING I own. That's one hell of a battery.
But... my dad was one hell of a man, too.
here's a Jawja quiz
Heh. I know EXACTLY what he's asking about. Do YOU?
It's been a while since I last heard that term.
I no longer can say with overwhelming confidence that Canada is a fucked-up country full of frostbitten, socalist, pacifist goofballs. I can still SAY it, and I will, but without the confidence I once had in my veracity.
Some Canadians are pretty smart.
public service announcement
If you ladies will read this piece of advice, it could save you from a fit of vapors and hyperventilation.
I stole it from here, after I felt an urgent need to pass on the word.
1) Do you blog for yourself, or do you blog for what you believe others will think of you?
I've read a lot of people who announce proudly that "I BLOG ONLY FOR MYSELF!" and I call bullshit every time. If you wrote only for yourself, you wouldn't put your writing on the internet. You'd do like Emily Dickinson and poke your work into knotholes, wall-cracks and other hiding places. The fact that you blog at all tells me that ego is involved, so don't throw a sanctimonious lie at me.
I blog for myself because I enjoy doing it. But I damn sure enjoy the attention I get, too. I WANT other people to read me and think that I write well. If THIS tree falls in the woods, it wants somebody around to hear it.
2) Do you want people to read your personal thoughts and opinions, or do you want the traffic?
Both. I'm not one bit shy about posting my personal opinions on just about any topic you can name, and I believe that I am correct a lot more than I'm mistaken in what I see as "truth" in the world. But I'm also a natural-born showman and storyteller who enjoys playing to a crowd. The bigger the crowd, the more I like it.
I do not write FOR traffic. I don't sit down and think... "what can I do to attract more readers?" I stick with what I've always believed about a blog: "if you build it, they will come."
It's a free lunch here, but I try to put good food on the table. That brings 'em back for more.
3) What do you hope to gain from blogging?
I've already gained more from blogging than I ever thought I would. I probably would have killed myself three years ago if I hadn't discovered blogging. Life was not fun back then, and I was a walking volcano, ready to erupt at any time. THIS SITE became an outlet for my rants and allowed me to vent some of the poison that was killing me. My blog saved my life, and I am NOT making that shit up.
I've made some new friends, met a lot of interesting people and actually received offers of sexual favors from wimmen I've never met. (Now, THAT'S the kind of spam I don't mind seeing!) It's been a big hoot and I've enjoyed every bit of it.
I might try to make money off my blog some day, but money has never been a big motivating factor in my life, and I'm doing okay right now. I don't see a need for it. Besides, I would feel as if I were despoiling something precious to me if I started running blog-ads and begging for alms. (No offense meant to ANY other blogger. I'm all for making money. I simply have enough right now. I am in a position to AFFORD my lofty principles, so I stand on them.)
Three simple questions, stolen from here.
But the blogger mind keeps searching for fodder... and I just had an idea. The results might be really interesting if I expanded this brief survey to at least ten questions about blogging and had attendees at this years Georgia Writer's Workshop answer them.
I think that would make a good post. Maybe attract more traffic. Possibly make people think better of me. Perhaps make some money with a blackmail scheme.
The possibilities are endless...
January 27, 2005
I'm reading a pretty interesting book now, called Poisionous Quotes and I kinda like it. It proves something that I've always believed. It's much easier to criticize somebody else's work than to produce your own. This piece of venom is a good example:
"I could eat alphabet soup and shit better lyrics"
That was Johnny Mercer, commenting on a musical that he didn't like. Johnny Mercer was a great songwriter (and a native of Savannah) but he shouldn't have said that. It was mean. He should have said:
"Why should I pay $10 dollars at a theater for what I can see in the bathroom for nothing?"
Heh. I thought THAT was a good one.
Some of my trolls need to read this book. They might actually learn to express themselves with some class. Naw, they'll NEVER learn to do that. They probably need to stick with Jonathan Livingston Seagull. That's about as deep as they can go without getting the intellectual bends.
After all, "It's the sort of show that gives pornography a bad name."
I hardly ever do this anymore, but it makes the best popcorn ever.
I've done shit like this. And the truth is, it tasted pretty good. What I didn't eat, the dog did and he liked it, too. Neither one of us died.
Hell, I see fast-food workers wearing laytex gloves and plastic hairnets and surgical masks while they prepare absolute JUNK for you to eat. That's all part of the pussification of America, because I know damn well what I did with a sirlion steak I hiked into the Cahutta Wilderness with me on one trip.
That fucker fell off my cook-stick and landed in the fire. I dragged it out with a stick, dusted off all the shit I could from the outside, and then ate it like a cave man. It was kinda crunchy on the outside, from ashes and bits of wood, but it wasn't half-bad.
NO WAY would a woman have eaten that steak. It would have been too "gross" for her.
Wimmen worry about germs. Men worry about starving.
mr. smith goes to washington
I could never be elected to public office because my track record is too easy to follow. I have not ALWAYS walked the straight and narrow path, and I believe that a couple of files exist somewhere in a formal government office, in a cabinet waaay in the back, with a set of fingerprints and a very nice black-and-white photo included in the file.
Man, as soon as I announced my candidacy, that shit would be on "The Smoking Gun" and I'd have Morely "The Living Dead" Sheafer sticking a microphone in my face for an interview on 60 Minutes. Can you just imagine how I would handle THAT???
"Ladies and gentlemen... see this file??? Well, every bit of it is true and I was guilty as shit when I went to jail. I FUCKED UP!!! The cops did their job, and I'm not gonna say that they were NICE to me, but nobody brutalized my ass. I've got no complaints in that department. I got what was coming to me.
I didn't like sitting in jail, but being the perceptive person I am, I received the distinct impression that I wasn't SUPPOSED TO LIKE IT there, and I didn't. I haven't been back since, either. I think the law taught me a vaulable lesson.
But... of course,.... as for these accusations ... I did EVERY BIT OF IT!!! Now, FUCK YOU, kiss my Cracker ass and get outta my yard!""
You can see how far my campaign would go. Nowhere. Or MAYBE... just MAYBE... I could start a grass-roots movement, REPROBATES FOR ROB!!! and storm the country. Our battle cry would be, "Kiss My Ass and Get Outta My Yard!"
We would campaign at gun shows and exploit loopholes. We would launch "Libertarian Research Commissions" to Costa Rica to explore... you just come along and I'LL show you what to explore. We would... make a mockery of the entire election process, but at least we would be honest about it. That's more than the other two parties can say.
I'm gonna plan my strategy at Jekyll Island. The ground for recruits may be rich there.
pussification--but woman be strong
MIT biology professor Nancy Hopkins. . . "felt I was going to be sick. My heart was pounding and my breath was shallow." And, "I just couldn't breathe because this kind of bias makes me physically ill." She said that if she had not bolted from the room, "I would've either blacked out or thrown up." Is this the fruit of feminism? A woman at the peak of the academic pyramid becomes theatrically flurried by an unwelcome idea and, like a Victorian maiden exposed to male coarseness, suffers the vapors and collapses on the drawing room carpet in a heap of crinolines until revived by smelling salts and the offending brute's contrition?
(Stolen from a George Will column in the Washington Post, where I have to register to link, and you already know how I feel about doing THAT.)
That was Fainting Daisy's reaction to someone suggesting the POSSIBILITY that men and wimmen may think differently right out of the box. She also... (OHMYGOD!!! WHERE HAVE I HEARD THIS BEFORE???)... began to hyperventilate and get the vapors at the very thought... BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! I fucking TOLD YOU SO!!! I don't need to make this shit up. You wimmen DO IT, all the time.
This is a woman in high academia, too. But she's still a hormone-driven bag of emotional water. Breathless. Emotional. Hyperventilating. About to pass out or piss her pants. Physically ill. Unable to cope.
You GO, girl!!! Hyperventilate! Get the vapors! Become emotionally overwrought! SHOW ME what you've got!!!
And once again, I was right. I rest my case.
i am tempted
Maybe I should apply for this position. It offers no pay, so it should be right up my alley.
Heh. I don't think I'm quite the kind of blogger they're looking for. Some people are SERIOUS about this shit.
Via on the patio.
Think about those 13 the next time you have a chance to vote. Pure political whores, each and every one. Is THAT the kind of person you really want serving in your Senate? Do you think they give a lovely fuck about YOU? Do you think they give a lovely fuck about THIS COUNTRY?
Grow up. They care about themselves. That's all.
Here's a person who spent the time, did the research and reached a few conclusions. I believe that the post is required reading for any parent concerned about children.
If you DON'T have any children, just read it for shits and giggles.
violent little boys
I started to blog about this story yesterday, but I figured that other bloggers would be all over it like flies on crap, so I didn't bother to add my two-cents worth. But I didn't see ANYBODY in my regular reads pitching a fit over it. I was shocked.
So, I'm going to post today what I should have posted yesterday.
OCALA, Fla. -- Two boys, ages 9 and 10, were charged with felonies and taken away from school in handcuffs, accused of making violent drawings of stick figures.
My mama has a cedar chest in her attic filled with artificats from when my brother and I were in elementary school. She has all the report cards, the tests, the neat little crafts we made, notes from the teachers about both good and bad behavior and a lot of really interesting stuff to look at 45 years later.
That shit could get me thrown in jail today for retroactive terroristic threats and all sorts of hate-crime felonies.
Mama kept a lot of drawings we made back then, too. Mine show a sick obsession with WW II airplane battles, the Alamo and Custer's Last Stand. Bejus! I have airplanes going down in flames with the pilot screaming "OHHH, NOOO!" and dead bodies hanging bleeding from the walls of the Alamo and Indians taking scalps from US soldiers who scream "OHHH, NOOO!" just like the dying pilots did.
Back before we pussified this country, that sort of behavior was not considered deviant or unusual. Boys fought, played cop-n-robbers, staged army games in the yard and learned to die dramatically, just like the guys in the movies. Then, we'd get up, switch sides and go kill each other again. I personally thought it was a lot of fun.
Ocala police said they stand behind the decision to arrest the children.
So... no matter how ridiculous the charge, and no matter how pussified the frightened little whiner may be, the police now have to "put ourselves in his mind" and arrest two boys were were guilty of nothing more than being LESS CREATIVE than I was at their age. I'll guarantee you that my drawings were better and a LOT more blood-soaked.
Ritalin. Feminization. Sexual harassment. Zero Tolerance. My aching, Cracker ass.
Little boys don't stand a chance today.
(ADDENDUM: My brother drew stuff just as gory as what I did. He is a successful attorney today. But he did something I never thought of. He built a WORKING EXECUTION DEVICE, kind of like a wooden Iron Maiden with lots of nails poking in every direction, and he caught toads to put on trial (he was determined to be a lawyer from an early age). He would bring charges against the toad, examine the evidence, read his verdict, and slam that toad in the excution chamber. OHHH! NOOO!)
That's what toads are for and that's what little boys do. Pussies will NEVER understand.
tag, I'm it. Since Jim asked, I'm going to answer his music questions. And some of my answers just may demonstrate how square, uncool and out-of-touch I am today. Or maybe just that I am esoteric in my choice of music at this stage of my life.
Random 10: (I assume this means CDs)
"Neck and Neck"-- Mark Knopfler and Chet Atkins
1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
2. The last CD you bought is:
3. What is the song you last listened to before this message?
4. Five songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.
5. Who are you gonna pass this stick to (four persons and why)?
Hell, I don't know. Who wants to volunteer?
January 26, 2005
what is "legitimate" about being a criminal
Holy Bejus! Follow the bouncing legal logic in this post. WTF???
Well, if you're going to be an armed robber, you'll do better with a gun than with a knife, and I'm not familiar with the tax laws in the land of tulips and wooden shoes. Maybe allowing the guy a tax deduction for his gun as a "business expense" makes perfect sense to people accustomed to wading through duck-shit every day.
I mean, after all... being an armed robber is ALMOST the same thing as running a legitimate business, right? Except for the fact that armed robbery is illegal and illegitimate.
But you've got to be REALLY PICKY to see the difference.
i believe it
If this story isn't true, it ought to be:
Doing the Right Thing is seldom easy-but never too late....
I don't want to run that one by Snopes. I like it just the way it is.
piece of cake
Got-dam! I did this puzzle when I was in elementary school. I haven't lost my touch, either. 50 out of 50 for me.
Can YOU do it?
(Thanks to catfish for the link!)
I've got a few old shirts that I cannot bear to part with until they finally just disintegrate and fall off of me some day. They are ugly, they are frayed, they are faded, they have holes in them and I probably look like Fido's ass when I wear them--- but they are some of my FAVORITE shirts.
Confess. Unless you're one of those yuppiefied metrosexual types who spends more time and money on grooming yourself to the max of your luscious beauty every day than most people spend on sending a kid to college, YOU have a couple of those shirts, too. Don't they just FEEL GOOD when you put them on? Mine do.
I always liked the song "This Shirt" by Mary Chapin Carpenter. She got it right--- that ain't just a shirt. It a whole bunch of memories, too. I've never felt the same kind of attachment to holey underwear, worn-out socks, ragged blue jeans or even logo caps, but I feel it for a few old shirts.
Girl, if the guys skinned and cleaned them, the hard part is done. Now, be a sweet thang and cook those tree rats for your man.
It's not difficult. You DO know how to make dumplings, don't you? (And if you say "NO," you need to be dragged off and shot.) Make a pot of squirrel and dumplings just the way you would chicken and dumplings--- except use squirrel meat instead of chicken.
*Boil the squirrels until the meat falls off the bone. Remove squirrels from pot and remove bones from squirrels. Tear the meat into fairly small pieces.
*Cook the dumpings. Add salt, pepper, terragon, about 1/4 stick of real butter and toss the squirrel meat in the pot when the dumplings are almost done.
*When the dumplings are done, so is the meal. Serve it proudly on a plate or in a bowl and reward your cave-man husband for being the mighty hunter he is.
COOK THEM RATS!!! Don't be a titty-baby.
I love stories with happy endings
ATLANTA, Georgia (AP) -- \When two men walked into a popular country store outside Atlanta, announced a holdup and fired a shot, owners Bobby and Gloria Doster never hesitated. The pair pulled out their own pistols and opened fire.
Sometimes happiness really IS a warm gun.
quiz #... whatever
Take this one and see how you score.
I think they want to drag me off and shoot me.
"You are a SEDL--Sober Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you a Dictator.
You prefer to control situations, and lack of control makes you physically sick. You feel have responsibility for everyone's welfare, and that you will be blamed when things go wrong. Things do go wrong, and you take it harder than you should.
You rely on the validation and support of others, but you have a secret distrust for people and distaste for their habits and weaknesses that make you keep your distance from them. This makes you very difficult to be with romantically. Still, a level-headed peacemaker can keep you balanced.
Despite your fierce temper and general hot-bloodedness, you have a soft spot for animals and a surprising passion for the arts. Sometimes you would almost rather live by your wits in the wilderness somewhere, if you could bring your books and your sketchbook.
You also have a strange, undeniable sexiness to you. You may go insane."
January 25, 2005
give it to mikey
I ended up being the "mikey" of the gang of friends I ran with from about the age of twelve until we went our separate ways between there and high school. Remember "Mikey" from the cereal commercial, with two other boys sitting there and neither one of THEM wanted to taste the new cereal? So they fed it to Mikey? And he ATE it?
If you don't remember that commercial, you should be dragged off and shot, or at least fed something that you really don't like to eat. You have no sense of humor or a very short memory.
I was the "Mikey" in my group, who would try a bite of ANYTHING first. I'm not talking about eating dogshit, scarfing dead bugs or any of that kind of sick crap--- I'm talking about seeing something that was supposed to be food that you never saw before, you never smelled before and you didn't know what the hell it was, and you still took a bite of THAT. I did, many times.
Once I took a bite and didn't keel over dead, my friends would dig in, too, and we ate like back-hoes. They all learned to eat a lot of exotic food like that, the same way I did. TRY IT. You just might like it. And if it doesn't kill you, it was good.
That lesson never wore off today. I'll still try anything once.
You've just gotta read this post and follow every one of those links. Yes... THOSE PEOPLE VOTE!!!
And they probably vote Democrat because they believe that they are "victims" instead of just plain stupid.
How much toilet paper do you need?
I buy it by the bale, in those 24-roll packages that are damn near as big as a stand-up freezer. I get the triple-ply soft stuff, too, because I like wiping my ass on something nice after having my butt-cheeks chapped by the idiocy of the human race every day. I go home and store rolls of that stuff EVERYWHERE, including the Emergency Back-Up closet that lets me know I'm down to four more rolls when I finally am forced reach in there.
A bale of that stuff will last me almost a year. That's why I buy the good stuff. I don't use a lot of it every day.
You want to run through toilet paper the way Sherman went through Georgia? Have a got-dam woman in the house. Some of 'em piss every ten minutes and they need half a roll of toilet paper to daub their delicate twats dry EVERY SINGLE TIME. Hell, I don't use that much when I take a righteous SHIT!
They'll take one little dripping piss and clog your toilet with all the paper they used to "hygene" themselves afterward. When I was in high school, we "rolled" HOUSES with less paper than one woman can use up in a night just from twat-daubing.
Guys just shake it, tuck ole Roscoe away and what's left over ends up absorbed by underwear. Why can't wimmen do the same thing? Piss, shake your ass like a dog after a bath, give that Golden Coochie ONE quick wipe and put your pants back on. Flush the toilet and get on with your life. Save some goddam trees.
I could staunch a bleeding femoral artery with less toilet paper than a woman uses after taking a piss. Something is wrong with that picture.
i asked, she answered
Michele threw up a Q&A post on her blog today, and she promised to answer ALL the questions. So, I asked one. You see... Michele and I have had our ups and downs over the years about a LOT of different things. I wanted to see if she truly was in an open, honest mood.
What do you REALLY think of me? (asked by Acidman)
I think you are brutally honest and that's something I admire in a person, even when that brutal honesty is aimed at me. You're a cantankerous hardass. You're a Timex watch. I don't hate you.
I appreciated that answer. You'll notice that she didn't say she LIKED me, but "I don't hate you" works just fine for me.
send in the clowns
I realize that much of big-time politics is played by bratty little children masquerading as adults, but this is ridiculous. Condi Rice is a "liar?" A Democrat Senator is a fine on to be hurling that kind of aspersion.
I like this, too:
``Dr. Rice is responsible for some of the most overblown rhetoric that the administration used to scare the American people,'' Sen. Robert Byrd, D-W.Va., said.
Any sane bunch of people would have rolled on the floor laughing after hearing that KKK gasbag Robert Byrd accuse ANYBODY of "overblown rhetoric." Sweet Bejus on a bicycle. Maybe he's just worried that Condi Rice will get a building or a bridge named after HER in West Virginia.
``I am particularly dismayed by criticism I have read that Senate Democrats by insisting on having the opportunity to debate this nomination have somehow been engaged in nothing more substantial than petty politics or partisan delaying tactics,'' Byrd said, his voice rising in anger.
Now THERE is a fucking liar.
I want to share a few really good posts. I wish I had written these.
try this. Where did the Democrat party go?
diversity. ALL HAIL DIVERSITY!!! It's great to be diverse as long as you live in an enclave full of people just like YOU.
global warming is a real problem. Not for the planet---but for science and silly people.
stick it up your ass. I didn't know what else to call that one.
everybody loves lawyers. I like the joke at the end.
This is a picture of a Costa Rican tapir. (At least that's what people told me it was.) When I saw it, I thought it resembled a cross between an ant-eater and a possum. I did not examine the creature very closely.
I didn't bother to check its dick and now I'm glad that I didn't.
drag him off and shoot him
Why in the hell would anybody want a pet rattlesnake anyway? That's just fucking dumb. The only good rattlesnake I ever saw was a DEAD one, and I don't believe that I'll ever change my mind. Even dead ones give me the creeps.
So this dumbass buys a snake on the street and then it bites him. Who would have thought? What we have here is another candidate for a Darwin Award who managed to survive this time.
I still think he should be dragged off and shot for the good of the gene pool.
I would make them fire me
I wouldn't want to work for such an asshole company anyway.
This makes being fired for blogging look pretty tame.
January 24, 2005
i shoulda known
What can I say? He is a quick study. And turning into a righteous little smart-ass his ownself. Well, he oughta be by now. He'll be a year old soon.
I LOVE watching 'em grow up.
I don't like the same kind of woman that Eric does. Well... variety is the spice of life and beauty is in the eye... yada, yada, yada. I think I'm right and he's wrong, but I damn sure can't claim to be an expert on this subject.
So, I ask:
*Who would YOU rather fantasize about? AUDREY Hepburn, or KATHERINE Hepburn, back when she was a red-headed hottie?
*Would you rather bed BOTH of the Olsen twins at once, or spend a week on a nekkid beach somewhere with a good-looking OLDER woman, such as Kathleen Turner? Especially if SHE brought a sister-like friend?
*Would you rather have a blow-job fanatic or a woman who reads the same books you do? And "both" is an unacceptable answer here. And if you tell me you've GOT BOTH, I'm gonna drag you off and shoot you. I am NOT in a good mood today.
* Who is more beddable? Calista Flockheart or Kirstie Alley?
* If you had to pick the age where a woman is at the PEAK of her sexual attraction, AND her sexual wherewithall, what would it be:
I think those are five good questions. I'll bet that Eric and I answer them differently.
(UPDATE: My answers are Kathren Hepburn when she was young and hot, Kathleen Turner, someone who reads the same books I do (because I don't think blow-jobs would be a problem--really sexy wimmen READ.) Kirstie Alley and 40 to 50. A woman becomes really sexy and really GOOD at sex around the age of 40. Besides, if they're almost as old as I am, they don't get disappointed when they wear me out.)
For the past week or so, I've been smelling strange aromas that aren't around. The weird part is, I know EXACTLY what I'm smelling, but I don't know why. For example, "That's burning plastic," and I immediately go look to see if I've left a cigarette burning somewhere it shouldn't be. I never find one. Or, "chocolate cookies baking" when I know damn well that I ain't baking any.
Diesel fuel. Fresh cherries. Bug spray. Fabric softener. Pineapple. Wood smoke. I can readily identify the scent, but I don't know where it's coming from.
Today... "sulfur from a lit kitchen match." I was ASLEEP when I dreamed that. I also smelled rancid bacon cooking on a gas stove (an unforgettable aroma) and I dreamed that I ate some of the bacon. I woke up sick as a dog and my house smelled of rancid bacon cooked on a gas stove until I was finished throwing up. Then, I couldn't detect the aroma anymore.
Is THAT SHIT weird, or what?
As long as I'm in a nasty mood this evening, let me vent a little spleen.
* If I have to REGISTER IN YOUR COMMENTS, I ain't gonna leave one. You don't need to see my goddam "papers." Fuck you. I don't jump through stupid hoops. I don't want to talk to YOU that badly. I'll give you my address, my home phone number and you probably ALREADY know my real name. All you have to do is email me. What are so so paranoid about?
*The BLOGGER comment system sucks. They should have done a lot better by now.
*I don't link to newspapers that require registration. I can find the same story somewhere else, and it spares me a lot of spam. And pains in the ass.
* If I need a goddam "password" to comment on your blog, I ain't gonna waste my time. I won't remember the password, so I'd just as soon forget your blog.
*Yeah, spammers and trolls suck. I KNOW. But "security" doesn't make me feel very secure sometimes. How long before you folks want my thumbprint or an iris-scan before I am allowed to comment on your FORTRESS BLOG? You need to start some other hobby. Put some iron bars on your windows and buy a bunch survival supplies. Include LOTS of bottled water.
There are better ways to do what you're doing. this guy did it for me just as a favor.
If I'm WAAAYYY off base-here, somebody correct me. I see a lot of new blogs through my referrals or cruising somebody else's Site Meter (which is why you you shouldn't password YOURS, you paranoid bastards!) and I notice something that disturbs me.
Too many people recycle something else they read on another blog instead of writing their OWN blog. It's 90% all the same cut-and paste of the same shit I see everywhere else, followed by that absolutley APPALLING "Heh" or "Indeed" behind it. Sweet Bejus! You people have been reading Instapundit too long.
McDonald's became a successful restaurant by making every hamburger LOOK just alike and TASTE just alike everywhere you went. If you want a McDonald's blog, well... that's your choice. But I prefer something that tastes a little different. Leave a thumbprint in the burger-bun you serve me, and over-dose it with the Secret Sauce. Put some extra pickles on there. I might remember that one.
I won't remember the franchise blogs.
Let's get one thing straight: I am a life-long Atlanta Falcons fan. Yeah, I know that I display a real streak of masochism in that confession, but it's true. I rooted for them when they SUCKED, which was for so many years.
I want to see them win the Super Bowl some fine day. But it won't be this year.
The Atlanta Falcons stunk up the field against the Philadelphia Eagles yesterday and they got their asses whipped. The game wasn't even close. Michael Vick looked like Fido's ass instead of the greatest athlete who ever shat between two cleated shoes in the history of the NFL. Philadelphia clipped his angel wings.
I hate to say that I'm always right (even though I usually am), but I had a discussion with my brother about this game last weekend. He believes that Vick is a GOD. I believe that Vick doesn't play the right position in the NFL. I do not believe that he has the skills to be a championship quarterback. My brother says that "VICK REFUSES TO LOSE" and I say, "he'll blow games that the Falcons should win. If HE plays like shit, the whole team does."
You can't wrap you entire offense around one person. A good defense will stop that shit in a championship game, because HE is all they're defending against. If they stop HIM, what do you do then?
You look at the score of that game (Philadelphia 27, Atlanta 10) and the Falcon's total offense numbers. Then tell me... who was right? Me? Or my brother?
Once again, I rest my case.
I couldn't drink this much beer without passing out, pissing all over myself and sleeping in my own piss. That's not very dignified.
I think that's kinda what the guy did.
Link stolen, most shamelessly, from here.
I am going to miss this guy. At least when he hung up the blog, he went out with his boots on. And I hope he still drops by to visit ME on occasion.
Good luck, amigo!
insults... I get insults
I've already had this guy and Alaska Kim malign me, call me a pussy and insult my manhood because I got cold today when my heat was off. Well... GUESS WHAT!!!!??? I WAS COLD!!!
I AM a pussy when it comes to cold weather. I don't like snow. I don't like ice unless it's in a drink. I don't like the temperature when it drops below 40 degrees. I don't like scraping frost off my windshield in the morning or trying to find my Incredible Shrinking Dick to piss outside when it's cold. THAT'S WHY I LIVE IN SOUTH GEORGIA!!!
You folks can shove that cold-weather macho shit right up your ass where it came from. Give me 100 degrees every day in the summer. I know how to cope with that kind of weather.
I ain't no eskimo.
brainless is why
In my lifetime, I've worked up a few cases of serious disgust over politicians and some of the things they did with our country. I hated LBJ, I despised Jimmy Carter, and I wouldn't shake Bill Clinton's hand (that nasty bastard) if I were wearing a "Level-A" Haz-Mat suit. But I've never hated my country.
I agree with this post. What is it about leftists that make them hate the United States of America? I've pondered this question at length, because I really WANT to understand what motivates such people. After almost 53 years of study, I have come to a conculsion:
They are brainless little dip-shits.
I'm sorry. That's the only conclusion I can reach when I see these people doing really STUPID things that would get them arrested, tortured, executed and buried in a mass grave in many of the countries they claim to support. Hell, why don't the same "human shields" who were so anxious to go to Iraq and protect Saddam volunteer to go BACK now and secure free elections in that country?
I blame the entire problem on feminists, public education and Donald Duck (another cartoon character that I suspect is gay-- and possibly a nephew-molestor).
First, the feminists taught people to "feel" instead of think, and then they encouraged swarms of "feeling" dingbats to fly off everywhere like winged monkeys and not feel guilty about being assholes. If you "felt" it, it must be good.
Second, public education stopped teaching history. Today, it molds "self-esteem" into a lot of people who don't deserve any. As long as being an asshole makes YOU "feel" good, it's okay. You don't need to be right.
And third, Donald taught a lot of people that pitching a hissy-fit is the way to respond to any situation that you don't like. Look around and tell me I'm wrong. I've got TWO trolls here who prove my theory over and over again. Just look at the picture on Gordon's post.
I rest my fucking case.
we're all gonna die--- again!
While you people up north are digging out of snowbanks and I am freezing my Cracker ass off in Southeast Georgia, stop shivering for a moment and read this. Enjoy frostbite while you can. It's all going to end soon.
The report, Meeting The Climate Challenge, is aimed at policymakers in every country, from national leaders down. It has been timed to coincide with Tony Blair's promised efforts to advance climate change policy in 2005 as chairman of both the G8 group of rich countries and the European Union.
Now THAT'S some serious shit to worry about when you're gonad-deep in a blizzard. Stop shoveling. We're at "the point of no return" and Mother nature is gonna melt all that snow and then fry your ass. It's THE TRUTH!!! Who are you gonna believe? You own lying eyes or the opinion of "senior politicians, business leaders and academics from around the world?"
More ominously still, it assesses the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere after which the two-degree rise will become inevitable, and says it will be 400 parts per million by volume (ppm) of CO2.
BWHAHAHAAAA!!! If you ordered a drink in a bar and the bartender mixed by "parts per million," you'd never buy another drink there. Most commercial beer is about 3.5% alcohol. If our atmosphere were a beer, and CO2 were alcohol, it would be 0.003.5% alcohol. "Non-Alcoholic Beer" is 0.5% alcohol. (I'm an English major and I don't do math. Correct my figures if I'm wrong. But I am NOT impressed with the threat of "parts per million" of a natural gas that we exhale with every breath destroying this planet.)
I don't doubt that these changes are "already in the pipeline." Do you know where these numbers come from? Some grant-seeking, anti-civilization, tree-hugging, publicity-seeking nutball shoves a hand up his own ass and grabs them from THAT pipeline.
And if this report is so "omnious," what do you think of this one?
They can't BOTH be right.
that was fun
My power went off around 4:00 this morning. I knew when it happened because I have a VCR that always wakes me up going "beep-beep-beep" three times whenever its electrical aorta is severed. The damn thing sounds like an alarm clock and it still jolts me from a sound sleep.
No big deal, I thought. I was warm under the covers and the sky was dark outside. I rolled over and went back to sleep. I was confident that linesmen for Savannah Electric and Power would take care of the problem.
They did, too. AT 1:30 THIS AFTERNOON!!! Holy Bejus! I've experienced shorter power outages during tropical storms. And I've NEVER been without power this long with the outside temperature at 18 degrees this morning, on its way to a high of 40. That's freaking COLD for Southeast Georgia and I have electric heat.
By 10:00 this morning, the Crackerbox had become an icebox. The cold water pipe froze in my kitchen sink. I think it was warmer in my refrigerator than it was in my living room. I tried to play one of my guitars and my fingers were too numb to feel the strings. I wanted to take a shower, but I had no hot water. It was no fun at all.
I finally saw the SEPCO guy around 1:00 as he was using his extending insulated rod to flip stingers back on the poles in my neighborhood. I asked him what the hell happened and said ICE did it. (I don't understand how--- it was cold, but we had no rain and the humidity was low last night.) A main supply line broke in several places and they had to put it together one piece at a time and then reset all the tripped stingers.
"Just took us a while, that's all," he said.
Better late than never, I suppose. But I froze my ass off this morning.
January 23, 2005
I DELETED it, but I edited this one only slightly:
"You are a liar. You delete comments all the time and call people trolls. I see it now: troll=disagree with Rob. You don't know everything, you just think you do. You can't stand anybody questioning you. You are a narrow-minded, bigoted, racist red-neck. Your wife was right to leave you and I hope I get to fuck her some day.
Wasn't that a nice thought?
I received emails from Costa Rica today. A couple of people I met there wanted me to know that they were okay and that the floods sucked, things were fucked-up, but there was no terrible loss of life. They were getting by okay. Still la pura vida. Good.
THAT'S why blogging is going to become a very important part of the news reporting apparatus very soon. I have my very own foreign correspondents in COSTA RICA. I post yesterday and they reply today. PDQ, right? And I don't PAY 'em, either.
This shit ought to scare MSM to death.
He keeps coming back with the same shit and I keep deleting him. What motivates a person like that? I don't tend to hang around where I'm not wanted---why would ANYBODY do that? (ask Martha Burk, I suppose)--- but this guy seems bound and determined to prove exactly how BIG an asshole troll he is.
Go ahead, you pathetic bastard. Whatever blows your dress up.
But here's a notice for people who disagree with me: DON'T say something ridiculous and then defend it by saying "It's in the HISTORY BOOKS!" DON"T say "it's been proven" unless you can quote me scripture and verse. DON'T write "everybody KNOWS" and think that you're speaking with any authority. DON'T rant on things that you know absolutely nothing about.
And DON'T use my comments as your own personal blog. If you're smart enough to write a dozen comments HERE in 24 hours, you can start your own blog and thrill your audience THERE with your rapier wit and firm grasp of history. You should be at least a Large Mammal in the ecosystem overnight.
Work on that project and stay the fuck away from here.
Something else, too. I am guilty of hate-crimes. I sometimes hate what I read on a blog so much that I go after the writer. I fisk his or her ass off, because I think that they have it coming to them. They hung it out there and I took a swing at it. That's the way blogging works. At least for me.
I sometimes hurt a few feelings. Well... you shoulda known the job was dangerous when you took it. I don't apologize. Life is rough sometimes and if you can't handle THAT fact, life will eat you alive. So, if I fisk you, get over it.
And if I delete your comments, start your own blog.
don't ask me why
Here is a list of 10 wimmen that I have NEVER been drunk enough to want to screw.
#1 Queen Elizabeth I. She might have been one hell of a queen, but she was a skanky-looking thing. Old paintings of her make me think of venereal disease on a toilet seat. And I like red-heads, too.
#2 Elenore Roosevelt. She went beyond coyote ugly into the realm of the hideous.
#3 Hillary Clinton. If I ever porked THAT rotten piece of meat, I'd have to drag myself off and shoot myself. No way could I ever atone for that kind of sin.
#4 Janet Reno. HOLY BEJUS!!! That's not a woman. That's an alien life-form that I'm not even certain is a carbon-based unit. Just suppose---this is strictly fantasy now--- that you DID get drunk enough to pork her and she really LIKED IT and started following you around begging for more. How would you explain that shit to your friends?
#5 Donna Shalala. Sorry. I'm just not into dwarf-sex. Especially not with an ugly dwarf. She and Robert Reich could make beautiful music together. Just leave me out of it.
#6 Pat Schroeder. The skin crawls. Can you imagine her giving you a blow-job with that "I just bit a really sour pickle" expression that she always wore on her face? My Roscoe might shrink like a spider on a hot stove, even with my bionics. She might start crying, too.
#7 Molly Ivans. I couldn't screw anybody THAT fucked-up.
#8 Maxine Waters. You gotta admit that she's got the Trifecta covered here. She is ugly as a gargoyle, dumb as a red brick and thoroughly disgusting as a person. She is a credit to her race... or her "gender"... or a God with a really nasty sense of humor... or idiot voters in Los Angeles. Whatever. I wouldn't do her to get out of jail.
#9 Roseanne Barr. I'd do Rosie O'Donnell first.
#10 Rosie O'Donnell. GAWD! Can you imagine that malignant troll in your bed? I know that she swings from the other side of the plate and frankly, I am delighted that she does. A man would have to be really desperate or money-hungry to jump that obnoxious bag of flesh. But some men would. Just ask Tom Arnold.
Don't ask me why I wrote this post. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.
(And I KNOW that Tom Arnold did Rosanne Barr and NOT Rosie O'Donnell. I was simply using him as an example of a male slut.)
Were you ever encouraged at work (or even COMPELLED) to read the latest book on management techniques and become a totally new person as a result? Did you read the books and realize that you weren't a totally new person when you were finished?
I read who moved my cheese?
I read the hunters and the hunted.
I read fish.
I watched every one of the massey tapes.
I don't believe that any of the books, the tapes, the training exercises or the lectures at the colleges told me anything that I didn't already know. In fact, every one of them sent the same message, just in a different envelope. There is nothing wrong with that message--- it's all good advice--- but practicing it in the workplace is an altogether different proposition.
Consultants don't have to do that. They live in an ideal, theoretical world. They tell you how to deal with theoretical people, not the real thing.
I'm thinking about writing a self-help book myself. I know all the key words: teamwork, thinking outside the box, risk-taking, empowerment, zero-defects, management of change, comfort-zone, learning on the fly, communication, walking the talk, and "leadership skills." All I have to do is string those words together into something semi-coherent, preferably in the form of an allegory so that I don't have to be very precise, and I'll have a best-seller on my hands.
I think I just found my cheese.
the muslim mind
Imaad said that two weeks after the raid, he was still struggling to return to normal. He was no longer hitting his mother, but he still would not allow her to watch foreign television or buy products made outside Iraq.
The Muslim mind can be a terrible thing.
January 22, 2005
I like that phrase: "intelligent design." It MEANS that God made you out of a lump of clay and HE made the heavens and the earth, but that's not what it SAYS, so it's much easier to sell than Creationism. I call it intellectual dishonesty.
The fact is that NOBODY KNOWS how we got here, who made the universe and why the world goes 'round. Nobody ever will while we're alive, either. This world is four billion years old. We know that for a fact. If God created man, why did he wait so long and build such shitty early models? (If I were a hot-shot engineer fresh out of God School, I'd expect to do a lot better than that on MY first project.) I never hear Creationists talk about those shortcomings.
If a family wants to teach the Book of Genesis to its children, let them go right ahead. But this crap has no place in public schools. I despise Michael Newdow, but I also believe that teaching Creationism in school is wrong. "Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance is okay. "In God we Trust" on our money is okay. A Prayer at the Inauguration is okay.
Just don't teach the Christian Bible as science. Because it ain't.
I consider this to be high praise. Thank you for calling me a "guilty pleasure."
I like Blackfive. he's good. If you don't read military blogs, you should read that one anyway.
a chunk of blizzard?
The wind is blowing like a tropical storm outside right now and I can hear raindrops that sound like hailstones hitting my house---sideways. I don't know how cold it's supposed to be tonight, but I'm going to thow another quilt on the bed.
Mother Nature sounds angry.
(But it could be a a lot worse.)
the guitar face
I was playing along on my Telecaster to a couple of CDs tonight and I was really tearing out some licks. I was cooking. Just sitting here all by myself in my living room and accompaning an invisible band, I got The Guitar Face.
I don't know what it is about playing guitar that causes it, but it damn sure happens. Your mouth hangs funny--kinda half-open and semi-frowning. Your tongue sticks out--just the tip, but it's tongue just the same. Your eyes squint almost-shut as if you just took a big bite of fresh lemon. You wanna throw your head back and expose the engorged veins in your neck. You rock back and forth as if you're dizzy.
It feels GOOD!!!
You wimmen have probably seen this expression before. That's the same kind of ridiculous face a guy makes when he's having an orgasm. That's a Guitar Face.
I made one tonight with no woman around. What a waste.
I just thought I'd throw a link to an australian blogger. Why not? Hands across the water and all that shit.
Besides, I like some of the pictures he posted.
i don't do it often
If a commenter wants to disagree with me, or even call me a flaming asshole, I'll usually let that comment stand. We live in a free country and I have a cast-iron ass. I've been insulted, denegrated, de-linked and piled upon by the best swordsmen out there in blogdom. I figure that goes with the turf I chose to call my own. It doesn't bother me. I ask for a lot of that crap with the way I write.
But I WILL NOT allow some complete asswit to pretend he's posting on Democratic Underground here and spew the kind of mindless bullshit you ALWAYS get from those people. I deleted four comments from one prick tonight.
And if he can't get his shit in one sock, he'll be banned forever.
is spongebob gay?
I don't know and I don't care. Some people really don't have enough to keep them busy in this world.
I've got a better question--- is Bugs Bunny gay? He stands kinda funny and he likes munching on carrots. Is that "What's up, Doc?" a question about seeing someone's erection? Think about the damage Bugs may be doing to our children.
I think Bugs should be banned, for the good of society.
on a challenge
After I posted the "10 people who fucked up my country during my lifetime" screed, I received an email from a frequent commenter who asked, "Okay. It's easy to pick villians. Name 10 people who IMPROVED this country during your lifetime."
For James Old Guy I offer this humble opinion of the 10 people who changed my life for the better during my lifetime.
#1-- Ronald Reagan. I grew up during the 60s, when nuclear war was a distinct possibility. We PRACTICED hiding under our desks at school, as if that would do us any good in a nuclear attack. Reagan ended the cold war and dismantled the Berlin Wall. That is a stunning accomplishment.
#2-- Jonas Salk. I had to take yearly polio shots when I was a kid and I actually KNEW other kids with polio. It was a terrible disease and the closing of public swimming pools was not uncommon after a suspected outbreak. Have YOU ever heard of an "iron lung?" Probably not, because Salk cured polio.
#3-- Bill Gates. A lot of people may howl over this choice, but he did more to bring a PC into every home in this country and open the web to computer fucktards such as myself than anyone else has done. He shrunk the world and expanded everybody's horizons.
#4-- John Wayne. He embodied The United States in its purest form--tough, courageous, two-fisted and taking no shit. He was a role model for me. And I still like to watch his movies today.
#5-- Les Paul. He revolutionized electric guitar technology and changed the nature of music. He was a pioneer.
#6-- I want to mention Martin Luther King, but I won't. His work went unfinished, and after his death it became a parody of what he believed. Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton and other race-pimps fucked that up. So, I'll put Rosa Parks here. Somebody had to stand up and say "NO!" and she did.
#7-- Dr. Seuss. Those books were BRILLIANT and they TAUGHT ME TO READ. Kids still like them today. (If I ever have to read "The Cat in the Hat Comes Back" again, I think I'll shoot myself. 500 times is enough.)
#8-- Lenny Bruce. Most people don't remember Lenny, but I do. He was an unpleasant fellow and a dope-addict, but he opened a lot of doors for people in a very anal-retentive society. He was the FIRST "dirty" comic and breaking that ground cost him his life. He was arrested and thrown in jail for using the word "schmuck" on stage. Can you imagine that happening NOW?
#9-- Bob Keeshan. That's "Captain Kangaroo," for those who don't recognize the name. He damn surely changed my life when I was a boy. I loved that show.
#10-- Ted Turner. Yeah, he's an asshole, but he's a visionary, too. He made cable TV what it is today.
James was right. It was a lot more difficult picking 10 GOOD people than picking 10 BAD ones.
give 'em hell!
I may post something additional on this subject, but for right now I think Adam has it covered. You hang in there, dude.
What do some south Florida pig-poker and a west coast whiner know about a Jawja blog-meet? NOTHING, that's what. Let them attend one and survive, and maybe I'll listen to their rants--- until then, I say STFU.
I ought to fisk them both, but that would be shooting fish in a barrel.
how did i miss this?
I was totally unaware that costa rica flooded. And I believe that some of these pictures were taken where I spent four days on my last trip to that beautiful country. I went all the way from Limon to Puerto Viejo, just short of the Panamanian border.
The Ticos told me that by the end of December, the rainy season is over on the Caribbean side. I guess they were wrong. They're in trouble now. I would much rather donate food, supplies and money to these hard-working, friendly people than give it to ungrateful Indonesians who hate our guts.
I've never seen an Osama bin Laden tee-shirt in Costa Rica.
January 21, 2005
quote of the day
Just stand back and marvel at this one. I've never seen Barbara Boxer described more accurately.
Not that Midol would have helped. Boxer’s cycles ended so long ago, she can be seen having hot flashes in cave paintings. Some women have PMS because their hormones force it on them. Boxer generates it deliberately, as a lifestyle choice. Like one of those cool guys in India who wears a diaper and gets off on breathing through his anus.
I gotta meet that guy some day.
Why am I not surprised that it happened in Seattle?
(Shamelessly stolen from here.)
Also, let me add this: yes, those assholes have the First Amendment right to go out and show their asses. Just what was the point of this bullshit? If they don't like Army Recruting, then DON'T SIGN UP! It's not like recruiters are throwing nets over people and dragging them off the way the gorillas did in Planet of the Apes. And if it was an anti-Bush protest, what did that recruiter have to do with Bush's victory?
Leftists always weaken their cause when they seem to protest for the sake of protest, with no real agenda or purpose. Spoiled brats, pitching a mindless hissy-fit.
Bejus! I HATE going to the dentist. I believe that I would rather have a doctor take off my foot with a chainsaw with NO anasthetic than have a dentist do some of that horrible shit he learned in "Inquisitional Tooth-Torture, 101" his freshman year of med school.
I am convinced that my teeth are too close to that little man in my head who runs this body like a tractor driver. He sits in his air-conditioned cab following his GPS system and he really doesn't give a shit what happens to the wheels or the engine or ANYTHING below him. He just drives.
But let somebody turn a high-speed drill loose in that cab on him, and he gets concerned rapidly. He pisses his pants and whines like a little girl. He can't drive the tractor anymore. IT HURTS!!! He goes from "Macho Man" to "Tender Pussy" in less than 10 seconds. He ends up curled in a fetal position in the chair with the dentist, dazed and confused, sitting on the floor.
Neither one enjoyed that experience. Both suffered nightmares later.
Don't get me wrong. That shit doesn't happen to ME. I was just sayin'... a trip to the dentist can be rough sometimes. For OTHER people. But not for me. I've learned how to park the tractor. I gas that sumbitch in the cab now and knock his whining ass out.
Nitrous Oxide is a wonderful thing.
you'd better buy 'em
This is a tale of pure scalliwaggery.
This is a crime so low and so disgusting that I don't even want to talk about it. The next thing you know, he'll be confessing to stealing the money-bucket from the Salvation Army Santa outside Wal-Mart at Christmas. And probably snatching his got-dam bell, too!
You NEED to pay penance for that crime, my friend.
doctors and lawyers
Let me clarify something I wrote in a post below. I am convinced that both doctors and lawyers fall into that same bell-curve that I've seen in every other line of work I ever watched.
You have 20% who are outstanding. You have 60% who are competent, but not brilliant. Then, you have 20% who need to be dragged off and shot because they're not worth a damn and they never will be. Just look around. You can see the same thing in EVERY PROFESSION, from brick-laying to zygote research. That just the way people are.
What I don't like is the fact the the bottom 20% of doctors aren't the ones facing malpractice suits every day. Even the really good ones get hammered whenever anything goes wrong, whether it's their fault or not. Lawyers and juries seem to expect "zero defects" from doctors, and if a patient dies or suffers complications from a complicated procedure, the automatic assumption is that the doctor did something wrong. And there might be some money to be made.
I've served twice on a jury for malpractice cases. Both cases were bullshit. We didn't give the plaintiff a dime in either case. But somebody spent a lot of money to defend both of them. That's what chaps my ass. What did the lawyer have to lose by suing? Nothing.
I want to see some kind of "loser pays" system in this country.
I would vote for the guy. If you've never heard of Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys, you've missed out on some good music. Just from the name of the band you can assume that Kinky and the Boys aren't exactly mainstream entertainers, and you would be correct.
I think he'd make an excellent governor.
i didn't make the list
Wanna know who john Hawkins reads in blogdom? He's got a list of his 40 favorites posted. I'm not on it, and I grieve mightily.
I started to post a list of my own, but I realized that I could pretty much just copy and paste my blogroll for that, so I'm not going to waste the time. Besides--- I think blog popularity contests are bullshit anyway. Everybody over there on the left sidebar is good.
That's all you need to know.
Naw. We've got no problem with our tort system. Doctors are just being paranoid.
Newsweek noted that “doctors win most malpractice cases that go to trial.” It also made some other points about such lawsuits that Mencimer neither acknowledges nor refutes: Studies suggest malpractice lawsuits “are unfounded in as many as 80 percent of the cases”; malpractice insurers nonetheless “lose often enough to want to settle many claims”; many doctors go to work every day “wondering of they are going to get sued,” especially in high-risk specialties like obstetrics and surgery; “according to one estimate, doctors waste $50 billion to $100 billion on ‘defensive medicine’”; malpractice claims “don’t even do what they are supposed to do--compensate victims and deter future mistakes,” in part because “the vast majority of medical errors go undetected by patients and . . . nine out of ten are never compensated”; “[c]ountless avoidable deaths are actually caused by the system,” because “[f]ear of lawsuits contributes to a culture of secrecy”; and the most dangerously incompetent doctors “often remain in place for many years, in part because employers fear wrongful-dismissal suits by fired doctors even more than malpractice suits by their victims.”
Ladies, I disagree with both of you. We have a BIG problem in the medical profession today that is caused by "bottom-feeders" in the LEGAL profession who sue at the drop of a hat and depend on an ignorant jury to award ridiculous verdicts, whether the verdict is deserved or not. That bullshit is running some doctors out of practice and costing EVERYBODY money.
Except the lawyers.
danger, will robinson!!!
I don't know about this post. "Babes with Blades" makes me think of Lorena Bobbitt.
And that's a frightening thought.
Everybody likes blog-polls, right? Well, I was sitting here sucking on the trusty crack-pipe when I thought of a good poll. Who has done more to fuck up this country than anyone else in YOUR lifetime?
I was born in 1952, so I have more history to delve through than some of you young whippersnappers. Remember--- the fuck-up had to occur in YOUR LIFETIME.
#1-- Robert S. McNamara. That man was an American mass-murderer.
#2-- Lyndon Johnson. We'll never recover from his Great Society bullshit.
#3-- Earl Warren. He left an indelible mark, much like a shit-stain, on the robes of the Supreme Court.
#4-- Jesse Jackson. He had a chance to be a great man but chose to be a race-pimp instead. He should be ashamed of himself, but he's not.
#5-- Jimmy Carter. A weak little man who was a weak President and who does not have the good grace to shut up and go away today. A lot of the problems we have in the middle east today are HIS fault.
#6-- Rachel Carson. Another American mass-murderer. She has more blood on her hands than Adolf Hitler does, and she is revered by environmentalists.
#7-- T. Boone Pickens. The "corporate raider" who never bought a corporation---just manipulated stock prices, took his money and ran, and threw a lot of people out of work. A real scum-sucker who produced many imitators.
#8-- Dr. Paul Ehrlich. I cannot believe that people still take this barking moonbat seriously, but they do. His most consistant trait is always being WRONG in his predictions of impending doom, but environmentalists still listen to him.
#9-- Carol M. Browner. A Nazi in a green uniform. She turned the EPA into the Environmental Gestapo and we may NEVER heal the damage she did.
#10-- Richard Nixon. I hate to add his name to this list, but he beshat the Presidency. He also resigned from office leaving the country in turmoil, which resulted in the election of Jimmy Carter. Yeah, he fucked up the country.
Can you name ten? In YOUR lifetime?
January 20, 2005
I got the idea from here, but this topic has been sailing like a frisbee around blogdom for a week or so now. Should a blogger take money from a sponsor without disclosing that he or she is getting paid?
HELL NO, I say!!! Not unless I'M getting some of that money. I have lofty standards and I WILL NOT BE BOUGHT... at least not cheaply. I will not stoop to making money off this blog because I am not broke yet. But I may be up for bids in a few months, even though it goes against my nature.
I have integrity. If you wanna buy THAT, it's gonna cost you.
I don't know whether to be shocked or flattered by this post. If I've got somebody out there who believes that I'm a stalking, rape-crazed sexual maniac, I am flattered. If she thinks I might just be an obnoxious, deviant geek, I am shocked. I am NOT a geek.
All I know is that the "Bloggers I've Met" on my blogroll are all fine people, even if a few of them are kinda loud, especially when they get to drinking, taking their clothes off, putting fern fronds in the bathtub, stealing other people's beer and waving guns around. But silence has no place at a blog-meet. That other stuff is standard behavior.
You have nothing to fear from the Georgia Writer's Workshop but fear itself.
just made me think
I'm not a conspiracy theorist, either. But I've stood in the street where Kenndey was shot and looked up at that sixth-floor window where Oswald allegedly fired from. I saw it, and I thought a lot like this:
One leeeetle thing: I'm not a conspiracy theorist, nor do I want to open this can of worms again, but regarding #7 -- it was a hell of a feat of shooting to whack JFK, incorporating excellent marksmanship, lousy equipment, and awful sniping technique, all taking place in a really short space of time. Had the conspiracy thing not been tossed overboard a long time ago (ie. if I was seeing this for the first time), I'd have to say it was two shooters. Most people who really know rifles, and shooting, tend to agree with me on this. And that's all I'm going to say on the matter.
I would have been at the end of the street, right around the grassy knoll, shooting dead-level at a target approaching me. That's an easy shot. What Oswald allegedly did is phenomenal. I believe that there were two gunmen.
And that's all that I'm going to say on the matter.
I surely hope that this isn't photo-shopped. I like it anyway.
One hand clapping.
they start early
I always KNEW that a girl code existed. I just never have figured it out.
i shouldn't do it
I love living in the deep South. Anybody who reads this blog already knows that fact. That's why I shouldn't link to this post, because it enforces a lot of Southern stereotypes that I don't like. It gives Red States a bad name.
But, dammit! I don't care WHERE you live!!! I'll bet that YOU'VE got some idiots running around loose, too. And THEY do things that make make you want to shake you head and murmur, "Oh, shit." That's human nature and the price of living in a free country. Ya gotta tolerate a few fools. We have some doozies down South, and a select few don't know how fanatic they are.
I wish that they weren't here, but they are. I think I'm going to guy a 12-pack of Coca-Cola tomorrow, just as an act of protest.
I have to agree with this:
This is how ridiculous the grudge-holders of the Middle East would look if they weren’t bloodthirsty mass murderers.
What can I say? A zealot is a zealot.
My story isn't as good as this one but it still taught me a valuable lesson when I was a boy. My friends and I used to run through the woods with BB guns and we'd shoot anything that resembled a reasonable target, including each other on occasion.
But Milton had a REAL .22 rifle. It was an old, rusty piece of crap that he probably found in a junk-pile somewhere. The trigger guard was broken off and I think the barrel was bent, too, because nobody could ever hit shit with it. But it made a louder noise than a BB gun and we were happy with the sound effects.
We went down to Hayner's Creek one morning to shoot fiddler crabs. They make good targets and I've not seen anything else they're good for except as bait for sheephead fish (although a raw oyster in a piece of nylon stocking works a LOT better). We shot until we were tired and thirsty, then decided to take a break.
Most of us carried canteens when we went out into the "wilderness" like that. We found a pine log to sit on and were passing around the canteens (Michael had KOOL-AID in HIS, that Mama's boy!) while we discussed further plans.
Milton was just bouncing his rifle butt on the ground. Thump. Thump. Thump. Then, all of a sudden... KA-POW! The gun went off. Milton was wearing a baseball cap at the time, and that hat ended up in the branches of a tree nearby with a neat hole right through the brim. He scared the shit out of himself and everyone else, too. That bullet missed hitting him in the chin by less than 1/2".
He never brought that gun back into the woods again. And I developed an increased appreciation for NOT being careless with a firearm.
why i don't watch commercial tv
I got caught short after the inauguration today. An episode of "Oprah" invaded my living room before I could change channels. What a heartwarming story that was!
A 39 year-old divorced, unemployed woman decided that her biological clock was running out on her and she needed a baby. She underwent in vitro fertilization and ended up with QUADRUPLETS. She had all four babies, too--- after 90 days of bed-rest for HER in the hospital before the births and almost 120 days after that before the premature babies could come home.
Now, she is frazzled and having difficulty coping with the stress of raising four infants. Needless to say, she cannot work, so she has no income.
She was cheered like a champion by the studio crowd. I wanted to have her dragged off and shot. WTF was she thinking? Who the hell is paying all those astronomical medical bills? Who the hell is going to pay for raising those children when she can't? Who picks up the irresponsibility tab for a selfish, idiotic, estrogen-crazed woman?
You and I do, that's who.
Yeah, a few of those idiots were out along the parade route today. I was watching ABC News at the time, and the reporters were scanning the crowd anxiously trying to find them. I saw a few shots of fools turning their backs on the Presidential motorcade and holding up signs that said "LIAR!"
The irony is that these same people probably supported Bill Clinton. He told lies they liked to hear and that was okay with them. These people aren't interested in the truth. They just want to hear the right kind of lies.
If they were interested in truth, they'd realize that this is one of the few countries in the world where they can show their asses like that and get away with it. Bush may be Hitler in their minds, but nobody hauled them off to a concentration camp today. That's called "freedom."
And some people don't appreciate it.
heh. I think this might be me
Never mind where I found this. I might hurt somebody's feelings with a link. But I do like the blind egotism and the arrogance in this statement.
The News Beast must be fed. Some bloggers are as contemptuous of news professionals as some news professionals are contemptuous of bloggers. I read about one blogger who basically said journalists are not intelligent. REALLY? How MANY does he know? If you vetted that statement you'd probably find not too many; certainly anyone who has talked to any editorial board (even if you disagree with it) or editor (even if you don't like the paper) will usually find someone who knows an awful lot and agonizes over the choices presented to the public.
If he was referring to me, I can answer that question. I know a BUNCH of them and very few have ever earned my respect. I KNOW how much effort most of them put into research and I also know that their biases drive the point of the story. Show me ONE "environmental" reporter who isn't a tree-hugging, green-weenie, who relies on Greenpeace press releases to stock her columns (notice how most environmental reporters are wimmen?) and maybe I'll say I'm mistaken.
But that ain't gonna happen. The evidence is out there. "Reporters" ignore it.
And that's the issue: if blogs...which necessarily reflect the writer’s personality...can get info out quickly on issues, they'll play a key role. If they degenerate into sites that merely attack and name call politicians (and other bloggers) they'll be fringe info sources.
Unlike the New York Times? Unlike Dan Rather? C'mon. You can do better than that.
My blog has no political agenda and I hate EVERYBODY. I don't claim to be breaking news, nor do I want to. I kinda like being on the lunatic fringe of blogdom, where I have found a happy little niche. I like doing this a lot better than I ever liked doing "real" journalism, which I did, once upon an unhappy time.
I never found editors to be all that smart.
am I a criminal?
I commit illegal acts all the time. I tear the tags off mattresses and I enter through "exit" doors. I make illegal U-turns on the highway. I speed. I once stuck an M-80 firecracker in a federal mailbox and blew it up. I have indecently exposed myself many times when I needed to piss. I have... well, never mind. You get the picture.
Are you a criminal, too? I suspect that you are, or you wouldn't be reading my blog.
I simply lost a lot of respect for law enforcement people when they became revenue-enhancers instead of policemen. Cops aren't out there to "Protect and to Serve" anymore. They're out there to generate fines and steal money for the city coffers. If you don't believe me, just speed through Oliver, Georgia and see what happens to you. $200 fine, for going ten miles an hour over the speed limit through nothing but cow pastures. That was pure fucking highway robbery, performed by a uniformed cop.
*It's okay to lie and cheat if...It doesn't hurt anyone else.
That depends on who you are lying to and cheating on. I'll do it to the government, but I won't do it to friends.
*...Everyone else is doing it.
Bullshit excuse. YOU are responsible for what you do. Just because "everyone else is doing it" doesn't make it right. Grow some balls and make your own decisions.
*...There's a thrill in taking the risk.
I can't argue with that one. I like to beard the lion sometimes.
*...It's illegal rather than immoral.
"Illegal" means jack-shit to me. I know the difference between right and wrong and I try to live my life that way. We have too many dumbass laws in the country already and we pass more every day. I believe that what the nanny government is doing to this country is "immoral," and I will not cooperate with their goals by becoming a sheeple. When government starts telling me how much water my toilet can flush, we need to take a close look at what's "illegal" anymore.
So. Am I a criminal?
Yeah, I'm watching it. And I've got something to say to all the pucker-butts and whinebags out there who wanted it cancelled or said it cost too much money: You are flaming assholes.
This isn't a coronation of King George, no matter how many people are stupid enough to believe that flapdoodle. The inauguration is a celebration of stable government and the peaceful transfer of power, which this country has done after democratic elections for more than 200 years. And it's worth every penny of $40 million to see that keep happening.
Some people just don't know how lucky they are to live in the United States of America.
a southern delicacy
If you've never had shrimp and grits, you have lived an incomplete life. I had it cooked a lot of different ways, but it's always good.
Try it. You'll LIKE it.
I believe that this picture was taken in Effingham County, Georgia. If I don't know the couple shown there, I know another couple just like them.
A couple of years ago, some 27 year-old country boy in Effingham won the Georgia Lottery. He was married, with two kids, and living in a mobile home. He collected about $20 million in winnings and he was interviewed by the local news about what he intended to do with the money. I may not have the quote exactly right, but I'm damn close to his answer.
"I'm gonna get a paint-job for my truck and buy a brand-new double-wide!"
i'm frightened, auntie em!
Don't you just love it when some backward-assed country such as Iran threatens the United States? I know I do.
"With reliance on enormous popular support, diplomatic capacity and full military capability, the Islamic Republic of Iran will firmly respond to any unwise measure or plan," foreign ministry spokesman Hamid Reza Asefi said in a statement responding to "recent comments by US officials".
Iran may be not be an Arab nation (It's not. It's actually Aryan.) but the people sure do talk the Arab puff, bluff and bluster. What are they threatening here? Another "Line Of Death" in the sand? My aching ass.
Iran cannot be trusted with nuclear weapons. During the Cold War, the threat of mutual assured destruction kept the United States and the Soviet Union from using nukes, but that worked only because the leaders on both sides were sane. Once you put "Islamic Republic" in front of your country's name, I question your sanity.
Allah already tells those morons to blow themselves up and take as many infidels as possible with them. They DO IT, too. They believe in the 72 virgins and all the fresh grapes you can eat in the afterlife. Do you want RELIGOUS ZEALOTS having a nuclear weapon?
I don't, for the same reason that I don't allow children to play with matches. They don't know what they're doing and they may set something big on fire.
If those crazy bastards get a nuke, they'll use it. We should not allow that to happen. Those kids don't know how to play with matches. I say if they try to build one, we take it out.
And we'll worry about Iran's "firm response" later.
guns are evil
Michael Moore will tell you that. He doesn't want YOU to have one--- but he has armed bodyguards. Fat bastard.
January 19, 2005
i'd try it
I've heard about these overgrown swamp-rats. People eat 'em in Louisiana, but those people will eat ANYTHING.
I'd try it. But I wouldn't want to kill it, clean it and cook it myself. Not with a giant swamp-rat. I'll shoot 'em, but that's all I want to do with those ugly critters. Let somebody else do the dirty work. Bring it to me on a plate with some rice, beans and beer and I'll dig in.
Damn! Even the name of the thing sounds like either a penis-enhancement drug or a venereal disease.
it's a good question
I left a comment on this post because I am amazed at the number of people who don't know the correct answer to this question:
Put these in chronological order:
The Russian Revolution
The French Revolution
The American Revolution
Can YOU do it?
what is beautiful
I'm not going to link the post because she ceremoniously de-linked ME, but I do kinda like the question:
So what I'm really wondering here - guys, this is for you - is this: What is sexy? And I mean physically, so don't cop out and give me that "a woman with a brain is sooo sexy" line. Do you honestly like a woman who looks like she hasn't eaten since the last time the Mets won the world series? Is a woman whose protruding rib cage could conceivably pierce you during sex hot? Would you prefer a woman with a D cup and few pounds on her or an A cup with a child's waistline? Would you date a woman who is over a size 7? Over a size ten? Do you hold yourself to the same standards of physical perfection that you do the women you choose to date/pick up/marry?
I believe that the first things I notice about a woman--- and it's a quick, one-two punch--- are her hair and her ass. The hair can be any color or any style, but if it looks good on her, I notice, and I am attracted. And I just plainly and simply find a pretty female ass the most erotic thing in the world. God did good when he molded that design.
I don't give a damn about bra sizes. I'm not really a big-tit guy. Don't get me wrong--- I like nay-nays as much as any man--- but I prefer softballs, or even tennis balls, over basketballs. That's just my choice of equipment. Sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.
Pretty feet and red toenails are an important component of MY IDEAL DREAM-WOMAN. If you're wearing sandals when you meet me, trust one thing for sure: as soon as I finish checking your hair and your ass, I'm gonna check your toes. If they are painted red and pretty, you pick up all kinds of extra points for hair and ass right away.
I also like a woman with some meat on her frame. (I'm going to piss some people off here, but it won't be the first time I've done it.) I just don't find really BIG wimmen very attractive. I like "Rubenesque" wimmen. You know, soft and round and nice to spoon with at night, but not... well, never mind. With nice hair, a great ass and pretty red toenails.
See? I don't ask for much.
I can't hold myself to the same standards of beauty I seek in a woman because those are two different things. I need to GAIN WEIGHT!!! I look anorexic now. But I bathe, I shave, I keep my nails groomed and I brush my teeth. I wear clean clothes. I occasionally get a haircut, too. I try not to appear embarassingly ugly, but that's about as far as I go. Guys can get away with that. A lot of wimmen could, too, but they don't think so; therefore, wimmen try harder.
Those are MY thoughts on what's sexy.
Did you ever have a dog that you really loved and watch it die when you were a child? I did, and I'll bet that a lot of other kids did, too. Remember all the professional counciling you received for how to handle that grief?
Mine consisted of my daddy helping me dig a hole in the back yard and bury my dog. That was my counciling. After that, I just had to get over it. Oh, I was heartbroken and I really missed my dog--- and I didn't recover right away--- I mourned for about a month. But I survived.
What's the first thing that happens now when any kind of disaster affects a kid's life? TA-DAH!!!! We send a fleet of airplanes carrying "grief councilers" to minister to all the wounded young psyches. Those trained professionals are able to take a child dealing with grief, analyze the problem, and apply therapy techniques that MAKE THAT GRIEF A LIFE-LONG OBSESSION!!!
Somewhere, in between inventing the wheel and curing polio, we managed to create our very own high-tech witch doctors. They are called "councilers" today.
You know what they REALLY do? They pick at scabs. Remember when you were little and you banged up your knee and got a big, ole SCAB over the wound? You wanted to pick at it, but your mama wouldn't let you. "If you keep picking at that, it'll NEVER get well!"
Mama was right, too.
I submit the we have more psychological maladies today, more people requiring therapy, more people suffering from Post-Traumatic-Stress or raving PMS, and more goddam EXCUSES for being fucked-up than we've ever had before because we have COUNCILERS. They're poisoning minds all over the place.
Nothing you do is your own fault anymore. You probably never recovered from the death of your dog when you were ten years old. It's all okay. Just talk about it--- over and over again.
If that ain't picking at a scab, I don't know what is.
I don't understand how "Contempt of Congress" can be a crime when those babbling assmonkeys in congress do so much to EARN contempt. This farcical dog and pony show over the confirmation of Condoleezza Rice as Secretary of State is a disgraceful display of just how egotistical and clownish many of our politicians are.
That brilliant intellect, noted philosopher and public weeper Barbara Boxer really put the screws to Condi yesterday. Fresh off of showing her dumb ass in a protest against the 2004 election results--- where she ended up crying--- this stateswoman had the NERVE to question Condi's honesty.
"Your loyalty to your mission you were given overwhelmed your respect for the truth, and I don't say it lightly," Boxer said.
BWHAHAHAHAAAA!!! When did Barbara Boxer EVER say anything that wasn't "lite?" Bejus! She's about as bright as a 15-watt light bulb. Condi Rice shits better turds than Barbara Boxer will ever be. And if we're going to get serious about "truth," let's ask babs a few questions. Whatta joke.
Of course, the illustrious plagarist and failed hair-transplant dickweed joe biden weighed in, too, proving once again that he is weighty enough that his head would float away if it weren't anchored to his lying neck.
Sen. Joe Biden of Delaware, the ranking Democrat on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, which held the hearing, dismissed as "malarkey" a figure of 120,000 trained Iraqis cited by Rice. He said the number was 4,000.
Well, if anybody should be able to recognize "malarkey," Biden is the guy. He's made a career out of slinging that shit.
Look at this crap. That's OUR SENATE in action. I am not impressed with their great powers of deliberation. I am ashamed by the complete, feral lack of dignity those clowns display.
Ask me again why I shouldn't have contempt for congress.
January 18, 2005
i said I would do it
And I will. Let's think about how I'm going to
*She met a lot of my friends and didn't run screaming.
*She met ME and didn't run screaming.
*She says that I DON'T dance like a fucktard, even though I do.
*I once sent her a whole bunch of flowers.
*She likes my guitar playing.
I think I have a lot going for me there, but I have to consider the negative side, too:
*She once called me a "red-assed orangutang."
*I believe that she's told me to go fuck myself many times.
*I'm pretty sure I called her a "bitch" at least once.
*I've known her since I started this blog--- and familiarity breeds contempt. She is WAAAYYY too familiar with me. Contempt cannot be far behind.
There is where I stand now. I might just have to throw myself on the
Let the games begin!
the rest of the story
If you like music, you've probably always to know this. Valuable information and possibly a question on "Jeopardy" some day.
strange to me
I watched a movie today called The Doctor, starring William Hurt as a wiz-bang but heartless surgeon who is diagnosed with throat cancer. Once the doctor is sick, he finds himself experiencing first-hand that sausage-factory that modern medical care is---and he doesn't like it one bit.
Of course, he survives, becomes compassionate and a much better doctor because of his newfound understanding of his patient's feelings. The movie was pretty good until it hit that bullshit wall. I just don't believe that doctors morph into Mother Teresa once they get a dose of their own profession from the receiving end.
One thing I found fascinating in the movie was the doctor's reaction when he learned that he had cancer. He flipped out and went into all sorts of existential contortions. He couldn't perform surgery anymore. He was scared shitless.
I remember vividly my experience in the same situation. When the doctor told me that three of the eight prostate biopsy samples he took tested positive, and that I definitely had cancer, I didn't get excited at all. I listened to what he had to say, I looked at the MRI pictures and I asked for his advice. In fact, I was so calm in accepting the news that the doctor asked ME if I understood the diagnosis.
I understood it perfectly well.
Maybe I was prepared for the news (I waited two weeks for the biopsy results) or I was numbed by it--- I had a lot of other shit going on in my life at the time---but I never felt a sense of panic or desperation. Screaming and crying about it wasn't going to change anything. I just had to play the hand life dealt me.
I did, too. And I did it with more of a sense of resignation than of fear. I was NEVER afraid of dying, but wasn't happy with my prospects if I DID survive. Still, I chose the knife. I don't believe that I did anything courageous, either. I consented to the recommended treatment and I knew that there was no turning back once I did.
Why worry in that situation? It's out of your hands.
That's what I did. Now, think about it. How do you believe YOU would react if you were diagnosed with a potentially fatal form of cancer?
Was it a slur or slip of the lip? Doesn't matter. He got his ass fired just the same.
You can't be too careful nowdays.
i can't argue
I can't. It's all true. I wish that it wasn't.
But it is.
the school bus
I rode a Bluebird bus to school every day from 5th grade all the way through high school. I enjoyed doing it because it was a rolling social club. I sat with my friends in the morning and we chattered like chipmunks. It was a great way to start the day.
I didn't ride the bus home a lot, because I was usually playing some kind of ball after school, but when I did, I liked that, too. I got kicked off the bus twice for fighting (that bastard had it coming to him the first time--- nobody else would stand up to him--- and the second time, the other guy hit me first--- but I kinda asked for that one.) It didn't matter. I was a football player at Jenkins High School. I could stand on the side of the road, hang my thumb in the air and beat the bus to school every day.
The school bus was a great flirt-parlor, too. If I saw a girl I liked, I managed to sit beside her and strike up a conversation. If things went well after that, I ended up with a date. That wasn't always a good idea, because sometimes we just didn't hit it off on that date and I couldn't sit beside her anymore. (Damn! Try to grope her titty ONE TIME and she thinks you're a masher!)
I was riding home from the grocery store the other day and I got behind a school bus. These were probably middle-school students, but nothing has changed. The reprobates still sit in the back seat and I had three of them shooting me The Bird every time the bus stopped. I gave 'em the finger back once and they fell out laughing. Little shits. I knew exactly what they were thinking.
If you never rode a bus to school, you missed something special.
i detect a note of anger
I was kinda shocked by this post. Not that I disagree with a word of it--- in fact, it reminds me of something I've been meaning to write--- I just didn't expect it from that particular writer.
Okay, I know now what she thinks about criminals. I cannot WAIT to read her thoughts on rap "music."
Thank goodness global warming is occurring. Otherwise, the temperature would be really cold in Minnesota now.
I couldn't live like that.
January 17, 2005
it's monday night
I'm READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL!!!
good titty pictures
Don't go here unless you want to see nekkid breastesses. I happen to like them myself, but you can chose your own standards of morality. It's a free country.
#2 is MY favorite.
Maybe I never learned to do it right, but I never got laid or did anything more exotic than drink a new-fangled beer on a business trip. I was on an expense account, too, spending the company's money. I should have lived high on the hog and sown some wild oats. But I never did... go figure that.
I agree with queenie.
When you tell your friends that you're going to exotic and potentially fun places, like Paris or Honolulu or New Orleans, they usually throw back some lip like "nice work if you can get it!" or "damn. sucks to be you.", all dripping with sarcasm. What most people don't realize - unless they, too, have done a lot of business travel - is that you don't get to actually enjoy any of the fun shit while you're in cool places on company time. Every minute that you spend on-site is a dollah bill, shareholder value, ticking down the drain like sands through the hourglass. You go from office to hotel, hotel to office, perhaps stopping to eat.
Usually, my travels meant getting up at 5:30 in the morning, being to a 7:00 meeting and staying there until about 5:00 in the evening. At the end of that ordeal, I wanted something to eat, (although I usually had to dine with someone I didn't want to be around) something to drink (I couldn't order a dozen shots of tequila and down them all in front of the person I was forced to dine with) and a bed to sleep in. (Thank Bejus my "host" didn't follow me back there.) Period. I had to rest up to do the same thing the next day.
Business travel ain't all it's cracked up to be.
I admire people of courage.
I'm not talking about the window-smashers and the graffitti-artists who giggle through the night committing acts of vandalism, or political operatives who play dirty tricks against the opposing campaign. That's not courage. That's the behavior of a feral rat.
Martin Luther King was a courageous man. He had a set of stones on him, because he walked into situations where he KNEW that he was going to get his ass whupped, have the police set dogs loose on him and probably still spend the night in jail. He did it anyway. He was willing.
He made a difference, too. I remember the freedom marches from when I was a boy, and some Southerners said, "kill 'em and be done with it." A few of those red-neck bastards did exactly that. But others watched and thought, "This ain't right."
In MY humble opinion, that's the biggest difference Martin Luther King made in this country. WHITE SOUTHERN PEOPLE of good conscience and good will could not watch the firehoses and the beatings without thinking, "This ain't right."
It wasn't right. And Martin Luther King made it impossible to look away and ignore that crap anymore. He made America see its own face in the mirror, and a lot of people didn't like the reflection. He changed this country.
Unfortunately, his legacy has gone to the dogs. And that's a crying shame for everybody in this country, black or white.
I ask that question, but I already know the answer. The world is full of assholes who would rather destroy what somebody else built than build anything of their own. They really get their shits and giggles out of doing it, too.
happy birthday, martin luther king
I probably should write something "racially charged" today, just to delight Oliver Willis and a lot of others who consider me to be a virulent racist. But I really don't have the energy. Besides, I LIKE being called a racist--- especially by the people who hurl that insult at me. As long as I am not as hateful as they are, I'm doing fine.
I do have one question to ask. Martin Luther King has been dead for almost 40 years now. He preached equality and civil rights. He demanded to be treated as a human being--- nothing more than anyone else deserves--- and nothing extra, either. He died for his beliefs. If he were alive today preaching the same message, I believe that the professional race-baiters of society would accuse him of "acting white."
Do you believe that race relations today are what he "dreamed" of seeing?
a true prick
I've written frequently about people like michael Newdow. Here is a perfect example of the lowest common denominator attempting to dictate the law of the land. Other than showing that he's a complete dickhead, what does he hope to prove?
Nothing, is the answer. He's just one of those people who get out of bed every morning and decide to be an ASSHOLE, all day long. They are OUT THERE, people, and you need to watch for them. For every Newdow, you've got two more assholes elected to public office, probably serving in congress. That's scary, but it's the truth.
Our problem as a country is that we don't call dickheads what they are anymore. That's politically incorrect. We are "sensitive" today. We try to "reach out" and be "compassionate" instead of calling shit shit.
I don't. FUCK YOU, Newdow, you dickhead.
i wish i hadn't done it
I fucked up. I bought a bathroom scale and stood on it. I now weigh 132 pounds.
Bejus! That's 40 pounds less than I should weigh. My arms resemble matchsticks. I can see the bones in my legs. I'm wasting away like the poor bastard in Thinner. I'm so weak that if I intended to haul ass, I'd have to make two trips.
I'm not surprised. Yesterday, I ate three french fries. I didn't eat anything for two days before that. My belly just won't handle food anymore. I watch movies where people are enjoying a nice dinner and I wish that I could join them. But food is not entertaining to me anymore. It's a fucking job.
Take a bite. Yeah, I know you don't want it, but take a bite anyway. Now, DON'T THROW UP!!! Let that settle and take another bite. Oh, DAMN!!! You puked. Now you have to start over.
Maybe I've got post-traumatic-stress-disorder.
post-traumatic stress disorder
Did you ever notice that once psychologists give a mental disorder a name, a LOT of people develop it? And when the government accepts that disease as a "disability" and sends people a check every month, a LOT MORE people exhibit the symptoms? Isn't that amazing?
Yeah, I'm a really hard-hearted shit-ass for thinking the way I do.
I have a neighbor who has been drawing a 60% disability check for post-tramatic-stress for damn near 40 years now. He saw some combat in Vietnam back in 1968. He wasn't wounded. He joined the Marines back then because his other option was going to jail for burglary. The Marines were supposed to "straighten him out."
In MY humble opinion, Vietnam didn't fuck him up. He was fucked-up when he went there and he found a sugar-tit to suck once he got out. He goes to either Charleston or Augusta every three months to let the shrinks know that he's still crazy so the checks keep coming. Being "cured" is the last thing in the world he wants.
He still pulls that shit on me when he's been drinking... "Man, I can't help it. My mind keeps going back to Vietnam. I saw some horrible shit there..." I have no doubt that he did--- 38 fucking years ago. But I ain't his shrink, so I ask questions such as, "Describe the worst day you ever saw." I don't get a straight answer. In fact, he's "pushed a lot of that out of my mind," except for when he needs to be crazy.
HE is an example of a lot of post-traumatic-stress-syndrome today. It pays fairly well.
I've read that Audie Murphy always slept with the lights on and a .45 under his pillow until the day he died. I'm not saying that combat won't affect your mind in terrible ways. But my neighbor is no Audie Murphy. Audie saw some of the worst combat in WW ll and was the most decorated soldier in US history.
Audie was never "disabled."
Just think about it.
too idiotic for idiots?
Don't get carried away here believing that government showed some common sense. It's just a political move designed to appease the goldfish lobby until the next election.
The scientific jury is still out on fish stress, with one study suggesting goldfish never get bored because their memories are too short to recall what it was they might have been bored about. But the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals said yesterday: "We strongly support a ban because when an animal is received as a prize, the winner gets it through chance rather than a conscious decision and there is little likelihood that consideration has been given to caring for it."
Politicians suffering political stress remind me of goldfish in a plastic bag, and any Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals makes me think of... goldfish, swimming in circles in their own shit and mouthing wordlessly with bug-eyes always open.
I have more sympathy for the brainless fish than I do the politicians or the activists. The fish doesn't know any better.
The politicians should.
January 16, 2005
The idea for this post came from my comments. I have an honest question to ask, one that applies specifically to men age 50 or older: Did you ever whack off to the Sears and Roebuck catalogue while slobbering all over the wimmen's underwear section? If you say "NO!" I'm going to call you either a got-dam liar or a eunich.
How about National Geographic, where you could actually get a shot of nekkid titties? C'mon... tell the truth. You glued a couple of those pages together in your past, didn't you?
LIAR! You know damn well that you did. I envy young boys today. They can find graphic porn all over the place. Whacking off today is a lot easier than when I did it.
Well... I dunno... I did pretty well with the Sears catalogue.
I got linked by somebody big today. That's what happens if you just stand around minding your own business sometimes.
Say what you mean
I saw advertisements on TV today for medicines to cure "erectile dysfunction," another one for "feminine hygene," and a third that was supposed to fix an "overactive bladder." I didn't really understand what those medicines were for.
Okay, I DID understand, but I pretended that I didn't. What the hell is "erectile dysfunction" and why do smokey-eyed wimmen with satiated glows always serve as the pitch-people in those commercials? They're advertising a fix-a-flat kit for a dead dick and WIMMEN testify to how well it works. Damn! If you can't play hide the salami with those sluts, you ain't no good as a man. I want to see more of that crap to maintain my respect for wimmen.
As far as "feminine hygene" goes, they could cut to the chase and show a picture of a freshly-opened can of tuna and then a picture of a woman's cootchie next to some spray. Just a couple of arrows and a line of type after that: "If your THIS smells like THIS, try THIS." Game over, message sent.
I really like "over-active bladder." I don't know much about bladder activity, but I know what it feels like to piss my pants. It's not pleasant. But I never darkened the front of my jeans and said, "Oh, my! I have an over-active bladder!" And I damn sure never sat around sipping coffee with my friends and discussing the problem. Evidently wimmen do, because commercials don't lie.
Here's what I learned today: I'll cure my erectile dysfunction if you'll make your feminine hygene smell like jasmine; then, we'll make passionate love and try not to piss all over each other.
Did I get the right message?
She tries to keep me in line, but she can't manage that task. So, sometimes she calls me and says I'm being mean. She asked me tonight who I'm going after next to piss off everyone at the Jekyll blog-meet before they get there.
I asked her to send me a list of who I've missed so far.
Who pissed in my corn flakes?
you did. Christ on a three-wheeled bicycle!
YOU say the the US is just like Saddam, we torture people, too, the government "appears" to be bought, almost every soldier in the Gulf will suffer from "post-traumatic stress syndrome," which YOU can recognize right away due to your heightened emotional awareness, and NOT ONE IOTA OF ACCOUNTABILITY has been shown by the military in Iraq.
I didn't write that shit. YOU did. And if someone calls you on your idiocy, you get your feelings hurt.
Why am I not surprised?
I hope the Minnesota Vikings beat the Philadelphia Eagles in today's NFC playoff game, but I pull that way for purely selfish reasons. I don't like Minnesota or Philadelphia. I want the Atlanta Falcons to win the Super Bowl and I don't think Minnesota can beat the Falcons. I want my birds to face the lesser opponent.
I don't WANT to pull for the Vikings, because I despise randy moss. He is the perfect example of a disease that infects every professional sport in the country today. It's the "ME! ME! ME!" syndrome, where some over-paid, glorified punk believes that the sun rises and sets right in his own asscrack and he doesn't care how his personal antics affect his team, or his sport, or the millions of impressionable youngsters who watch him play.
Randy Moss is to "class" what Jeffrey Dahmer was to "tasty leftovers in the refrigerator."
Randy may be able to catch a pass, but I wouldn't want him on MY team. I've tracked more "class" onto my carpet from the bottom of my shoe when I had a 90-pound dog shitting in my back yard. The guy is a flaming asshole. Period.
I watched a few people who know what they're talking about discuss Randy on TV today. Have you ever heard of Steve Young, Jerry Rice, Michael Irvin and Mike Ditka? If you haven't, you need to be dragged off and shot. They've got enough Super Bowl rings among them to sink a ship.
They all agreed (and Michael Irvin had to learn his lesson the HARD way) that such unbridled ego, disrespect for teammates and fans, and a complete lack of discipline is a detriment to any team that hopes to win a championship. I totally agree. Randy Moss is a classless act.
I hope the Vikings win today, but I also hope that the Falcons hand Randy Moss his ass on a stick next weekend. At least that would take his ass off his shoulders until next season.
If you don't know these facts yourself, you either have lived a very sheltered life or you're just plain full of shit:
*People will lie to you. They'll do it with a straight face and a story that breaks your heart and then laugh about your gullability once they steal your money. Yeah, we have a lot of crooks in this world.
*You cannot reason with a bully. You have to either fight him or reconcile yourself to being tormented FOREVER by the sadistic bastard. I pick door #1. Even if you don't win the fight, the bully will pick on somebody else next time.
*Any large organization becomes corrupt and incompetent just from its size. That's why the federal government and the United Nations are NEVER going to deliver the wonders that they promise. They have too many people running around with nobody watching the store.
*Human nature can be very noble sometimes. It also can be the ugliest sort of "Hooray for ME and fuck YOU!" behavior you've ever seen. That's why I don't believe in holding hands and singing "Kum-ba-yah" around a campfire with my "fellow man." Half of those people around that fire would fuck me dead and never think twice about feeling a twinge of guilt.
*If you expect something for nothing, you'll probably get half of what you expect. Nothing.
*Love isn't worth a damn if you hand it out like alms for the poor. If you claim to love EVERYBODY, your love is worthless, and I don't want it. Love, respect and trust are EARNED, not given away.
*Ugly wimmen bitch about Hooter's Girls being "decorations." Go figure. I gotta admit: it's rougher being an ugly woman than it is being an ugly man. But it's human nature for ugly wimmen to trash pretty ones--- some people believe that they make themselves look better by tearing other people down.
*My 93 year-old grandmother always said, when I was a boy and I wished for something: "Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which hand fills up first." She was correct. Leftists never learned that ultimate truth. You get more shit than you do wishes in life.
*Leftist philosophy is totally contrary to everything I know about life. We are NOT a "brotherhood of man." Some people are real assholes. Might sometimes makes right, or it at least gets some shit out of your hand. I worked my ass off for what I have and no lazy bastard deserves ANY of what's MINE.
I see these truths to be self-evident, because history has proved them over and over again.
You may accuse me of many sins on this blog, and I probably am guilty of most, but you CANNOT call me "objective." I AM NOT, and I don't claim to be. What I write here is MY humble opinion, and I freely admit that it's tainted with every bias, prejudice, instinct and learning experience I've had in my 52 years of life. I have reasons to believe what I believe.
I don't write shit like this and call myself "objective."
Dissent among those interpreting the data, but the administration bulls on ahead with the analysis that matches their agenda, ignoring all else. Where have we heard THAT before?
Sounds a lot like your blog, Jack.
There are more investigations and trials soon to be underway that will expose the full, ugly truth of that hellhole prison that Saddam Hussein used and within which we ended up perpetuating his horrific legacy, exposing our feet of clay.
Moral equalivalence at its best. Saddam=USA. No difference. Saddam had bloody human feet sticking out of wood-shredders and we have "clay feet." Same thing.
Do those who casually write their weblogs, in the warmth and safety of their family and their homes, truly understand what is going on in Iraq? Do they truly understand the price paid, not only in time away from family and friends, births missed, spouses unsupported, but ultimately the long-term loss of peace of mind?
You do? Living in France? I suggest that you stay there. That fetid air feeds your brain.
No, I'm not saying cancel the inauguration, and yes, it is being privately funded (except for the increased security costs, which are not, in a move that is incredibly clumsy in terms of appearances and public relations). Unfortunately, the size of the celebrations along with the funding sources do give a feel of a "bought" government, as pointed out by the Bull Moose in his post linked above.
Gotta go with the "feel," doncha, whether you have any evidence or not. That's being "objective." And YOU DO think we should canel the inauguration and have some kind of "National Day of Guilt" instead, don't you? I don't.
Lest we forget, Islamofascism is NOT an existential threat to the United States. However, in the long run, there are other threats that can ultimately be far more damaging than even the most horrific terrorist attack.
YES!!!! GLOBAL WARMING!!!! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, JACK!!! Ignore the terrorists and worry about the environment.
Objectivity at its finest. I really tried my best to like this guy, but I don't.
nothing to crow about
I could make a lot of really shitty puns about this story, but that would be an unkind cut, so I won't go there.
Still...the man should have choked his chicken instead of using a knife.
January 15, 2005
i wish they would
But I doubt that this will happen. I would love to see comment spammers stripped nekkid in the public square and flayed with a bullwhip until they bled to death. Emasculation, evisceration and dismemberment also meet with my approval. I'm all for bringing back breaking with the wheel for spammers. But that's just me.
Government won't punish those people. Government always seems more interested in pornographers than the REAL scumbags of the world.
The parkway rest stop just gathered its 100,000th visitor. Jim has a few thoughts on what blogging means to him and I think you should read them whether you blog or not. He achieves a few rare moments of coherency in there before he gets all misted-up and sentimental.
Oh... he gets weird:
Blogging has changed the way I look at everyday experiences, viewing each of them as potential blog fodder and quickly analyzing which of them would “write well” and which wouldn’t. I suspect that just about all bloggers share that experience.
No, Jim. Only YOU do that kind of crazy shit. Nobody else does. I think you need to see a doctor.
Probably the most valuable thing that blogging has given me is the opportunity to make lots of interesting friends. Some I know only through their blog and comments, some through e-mails, some over the phone, and some in person. Great folks all.
LIAR!!! You don't like me and you'll NEVER like me because my toenails are prettier than yours when they're painted red, you jealous bastard. The wimmen voted. You lost. Heh. That STILL chaps your ass, doesn't it? BWHAHAHAAA!!!
Okay, I'm just being a smart-ass here to someone I've met and played guitar with. I consider him to be my friend. But I DO have prettier toenails than his when they're painted red. Witnesses will testify, if any of them were sober enough to remember that night.
Aw, who cares? Congratulations, Jim.
I'm doing a Public Service Announcement here. This is an internet scam that you need to avoid.
Unless it comes from ME.
Yeah, I am confused, too. I don't believe that Global Warming is happening, and I also believe that if it WERE, it wouldn't be a bad thing. I know damn good and well that a lot of people are making big money from selling this snake-oil, so pardon my scepticism.
Speaking of snake oil... I like this post.
The latest addition to the confusion parade, that I’ve heard anyway, is that global warming is causing us to slide into an ice age and it will happen very quickly. Huh? Did I miss this part on one of the days I cut science class? Doesn’t an ice age mean global cooling? Or am I just another dumb bastard in the wilderness rolling his eyes, looking to the heavens and crying out- “Lord, deliver us from experts!”
James, you haven't done enough walking. I've killed snakes in January just about all of my life. When you find ICE in Georgia in January, THEN you can worry about... Global Warming?
I'm with you. This shit makes my head hurt.
(UPDATE: Read this guy's entire blog. You'll find some interesting stuff in there and I never heard of him before today.)
I stick with my original post--- Texas is NOT a Southern state. But let's get something else straight, too. If I had to live somewhere else in the USA, I'd probably pick Texas, for a lot of good reasons.
1) Texas has some of the prettiest wimmen I've ever seen and they are EVERYWHERE.
2) Texans are friendly people. I have had strangers do me favors there just to be nice.
3) The food is wonderful. All of it. Huevos Rancheros, chicken-fried whatever, Tex-Mex, beef on a mesquite fire, chili that'll cause spontainious combustion and beans that'll cause YOU to backfire. Damn, that's good!
4) Guns. As it is in Georgia and SHOULD be everywhere, in Texas you're considered strange if you don't own at least one gun and enjoy shooting. Texas probably has the most heavily-armed fleet of pickup trucks in the country. I like that.
5) Texas was settled by disgruntled Southerners who were pissed off at the federal government LONG before it became the intrusive monster it is today. I like THAT, too.
6) Texas won its independence by fighting Mexico, the Comanches, the Apaches, the banditos and the Comancheros, and they whipped them all. The Texas Rangers also introduced the Walker Colt pistol to the frontier, much to the regret of many of their enemies.
7) Did I mention the pretty wimmen already? So what! I'm going to do it again.
8) An old joke says, "What do you get if you kick the shit out of a Texan?" The answer is, "An empty pair of cowboy boots." I still don't like those goddam roach-kicker boots.
9) No one in Texas has EVER been rude to me. Oh, they've been OBNOXIOUS, such as saying, "You're from Georgia? Hell, if I had one brother in hell in another one in Georgia, I'd rescue the one in Georgia first. BWHAHAHAAA!!!" Then, the sumbitch buys you a beer and asks about deer hunting and pussy where you come from. That's Texas. Big mouths are common, but rudeness is not.
10) It ain't Southern, but it's the next best thing.
January 14, 2005
a southern book
This is for Brett:
Read Cold Sassy Tree and get back to me on Southern writers. That's SOUTHERN writing. The book made a pretty good movie, too.
Buy it here if you haven't read it already. I wonder what she would think of it, because it's set not far from where she lives now. Driving the Commerce Highway might take on an entire new meaning after reading that book. It did for me.
Sitting in the shade of a cold, sassy tree is a delight in a Southern summer.
enough of a good thing
I had to close my windows and turn on the heat today. I've enjoyed a week of early springtime, but a nip is in the air now. Last night was beautiful sleeping weather, with rain falling all night long, and wind chimes ringing like sleigh bells in the dark. But the front moved through this morning and the temperature turned chilly today.
That's okay. It won't be long now until spring is here to stay.
Texas is not a southern state
Anybody who believes that Texas is a Southern state is either NOT Southern or NOT from Texas. Regardless of the source of their confusion, such people are confused.
Drive across Texas. The state is too goddam BIG to be Southern. About half of it looks like Mexico and the rest looks like NEW MEXICO. That ain't Southern.
Go to a Texas barbecue. They cook BEEF, not pork. That ain't Southern barbecue.
What's with the cowboy hats? "Southern" is a cap that says "Red Man Chewing Tobacco" on the front. Texas is a cowboy hat on a geek who rides computers for a living and never saw a fucking cow in his life. He's gotta have those roach-kicker boots, too. (You know.. the ones with the high heels and the pointy toes, so you can kill a roach in the corner of the kitchen where no other shoe will reach.) Don't forget the string tie and the rodeo belt buckle, which will get you laughed clean out of any self-respecting Southern bar.
Texans remember the Alamo. Southerners remember Robert E. Lee.
Texans speak Tex-Mex. Southerners speak Geechee.
Texans are extremely egotistical. Southerners are worse.
Texans WANT to be Southern, but they don't quite make the cut. Southerners are Southern.
That's MY humble opinion.
they come and they go
Very few people from my original blogroll still blog anymore. Most of 'em quit, or post so seldom that I don't consider the blog to be active anymore. I am not surprised. Mark Twain said that EVERYBODY starts a journal at some point in life, but very few people keep it up for more than three months.
I've written this blog for three years now, and I don't see myself quitting anytime soon. But I do believe that I could make a list of ex-bloggers that's longer than my blogroll. Some of them were damn good, too, and they just upped and quit.
I miss them, but I understand their reasons. If you think this shit is easy, try it yourself.
Somebody asked me this question the other day: "What makes a 'Southern" writer?" Okay, here is how I answer:
A Southern writer sets his stories in the South, but the scenery and the geographical location are not all that permeate the tale and give it a distinctly Southern flavor. You experience the sights, sounds, traditions and tastes of the South when you read a good Southern writer. And only a Southerner can pull off that trick, because he's lived it and he knows it. Southern writers put a flavor in their words that no one outside the South can duplicate.
A few examples are Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, James Dickey and Lewis Grizzard.
In MY humble opinion, the best Southern writer alive today is Pat Conroy. I disagree with his politics and I probably would not like him personally, but he's a Southern writer. Just read The Great Santini and savor how he describes the flavor of a raw oyster. You can taste it YOURSELF when you read his words. That's damn good writing.
If you don't know a Southern writer when you read one, you ain't from the South, and you'll NEVER get it.
You don't have to answer this question, but I want you to ponder it: "Have YOU ever been arrested?" I don't mean for being a terrorist or waging war against this country. I'm talking about being carted off for a misdemeanor offense right here in the United States of America.
I have. It was not a pleasant experience. I was handcuffed, man-handled, roughed-up, searched, mug-shot and thrown into a cell that resembled a ceramic tile bathroom in filthy Greyhound bus station. I found myself in the company of armed robbers and murderers, many of whom had foul, threatening attitudes. I was served food that I wouldn't ask a dog to eat.
Was I TORTURED??? I don't think so.
I was in JAIL. You're NOT SUPPOSED TO LIKE IT THERE!!! You're supposed to want to get out and never come back. You're supposed to learn a lesson. You're supposed to look around and conclude, "This really sucks," and mend the behavior that put you there in the first place. That plan sure as hell worked on me.
What is it that some whining politicians and idiots such as Andrew Sullivan want us to do with "insurgent" prisoners? Treat them better than we do US citizens arrested for DUI on a Friday night? Put them up in a suite at the Ritz and feed them caviar? Handle them with kid gloves?
I call bullshit. Treat 'em humanely, but make the experience unpleasant. That's not torture. That's PUNISHMENT, and those fuckers deserve it. If you can't see the difference, you ain't right in the head.
YOU need to spend a night in jail.
(UPDATE: Evidently, some people never heard of Andrew Sullivan. You can read him here and enjoy gems such as this one:
MCLELLAN'S TORTUOUS ANSWERS: Another must-read from Marty Lederman on the pirouettes Scott McLellan now has to perform to prevent the obvious conclusion that the administration supports the use of torture and cruel, inhumane and degrading treatment of some detainees. McLellan's point is that the administration resisted the idea of a Congressional ban on cruel, inhumane and degrading practices for the CIA outside U.S. territory because it was already banned and the legislation was superfluous. Yet Condi Rice's letter at the time stated that she opposed the new restrictions because they would "provide legal protections to foreign prisoners to which they are not now entitled under applicable law and policy." So it would change things but was also redundant? I don't get it. Poor McLellan. It's only going to get worse.
I have absolutely no idea where his outrage comes from. He does a lot of hyperventilation, but he doesn't provide any specifics for why he's hyperventilating. But I fear, if he doesn't change his medication, it's only going to get worse.)
Andrew, you're being an ass.
i can quit any time
I found these questions here:
1) How long have you been blogging?
Three years and two weeks. It just SEEMS like forever.
2) Do you believe you’re addicted to blogging? Please explain, and be honest. It is habit-forming, I must confess. (If I decide to use your response, I may have follow-up questions.)
Yes. My name is Rob and I'm a blogaholic. If I go for long without posting, I start to tremble and I break out in a cold sweat. I am an addict. I never thought it could happen to me, but I was mistaken. Blogging is powerful, mysterious and baffling. I'm hopelessly hooked now and I can't stop. I knew that I was in trouble when I realized that I would go days without eating just to get another shot of bandwidth. I need help.
3) Have you ever taken a hiatus? If so, for what reason and how long?
Only when I was somewhere where internet access was not available. And I experienced the DTs then (HORRIBLE!). If I don't get my blog-fix every day, I become a very unpleasant individual. Even more unpleasant than usual.
4) Have you ever thought of giving up your blog? Why or why not?
Yes, many times. Burn-out, spam-attacks, trolls, cerimonial de-linking, writer's block, too many assholes per square inch... I've found numerous reasons to quit. I just never did. Sometimes I honestly believe that my blog-world is more real to me than my actual life is. That's sick and dangerous, but that's what blogging will do to you.
It's my preeeecioussss!
bite the hand that feeds you
Buncha shits. I think we ought to get out now. Fuck 'em. If the free world insulted your delicate Muslim sensibilities by sending millions of dollars worth of aid to your ungrateful, benighted country, we can rectify that mistake right away.
Let's go. NOW!!! Leave 'em a bunch of Osama bin Laden tee-shirts to wear and a couple of shovels to bury the dead. Then, let them rot in their own corruption. Oh, yeah... that freezing of the debt deal is off, too. Pay up, shitbirds.
You simply cannot be nice to some people.
what about the geneva convention?
The military should have tested this weapon. If it works, it has many valuable applications in singles bars.
Most bizarre among the plans was one for the development of an "aphrodisiac" chemical weapon that would make enemy soldiers sexually irresistible to each other.
That bomb is too precious to waste on our enemies. I want to drop it among some of my lady friends.
to the woodshed
Okay... not to the woodshed. To Auschwitz, which I think is a fine idea. It's just a little too late.
This act of contrition wouldn't be necessary if Harry hadn't been such a dork to begin with.
January 13, 2005
quote of the week
Quote of the week comes from Clint Eastwood:
"Michael Moore and I actually have a lot in common - we both appreciate living in a country where there's free expression," Eastwood told the star-dotted crowd attending the National Board of Review awards dinner at Tavern on the Green.
(Shamelessly stolen, in its entirety, from here.)
quote of the day
The esteemed (by herself, anyway) Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee confesses to being the oldest woman on the face of the planet:
"I came here as a slave, and I deserve to vote."
MSM never even questions such inane bullshit. Maybe that's why leftist moonbats do it all the time.
When I first read this story, I thought, "well... he's a dumb kid and he did a stupid thing. He'll outgrow that crap." But I changed my mind.
He disgraced his family with that thoughtless act. It was a flabbergasting display of ignorance and arrogance. He would have been much better off dropping trou and mooning the photographers.
Then, we could have seen pictures of the royal butt-cheeks instead of the royal ASS.
I own a fairly large piece of property, but the neighborhood covenants forbid me from having either chickens or goats on my land. I've thought about just building a chicken coop in the scrub woods behind my house and raising a few egg-layers, but the roosters would start crowing at 4:30 in the morning and cause the locals to complain.
I probably couldn't get away with that plan unless my neighbors REALLY liked eggs.
If I fenced my back yard, I have room for at least two goats and they could help me keep the woods thinned and the grass cut. Those stinky bastards make great lawn mowers and pretty good pets, too. They'll eat out of your hand once they learn to trust you. I still miss the goats I once had.
Naw. That won't work. I'd be violating the covenants and somebody would complain.
earth to andrew
This guy has gone off the deep end. He needs another fund-raising beg-a-thon to quiet his hysteria.
When he can produce pictures of people who had vise-grip pliers applied to their testicles, burns from electrical shocks, eyeballs gouged out, fingernails and teeth pulled from their roots and ears cut off, I'll listen to his "torture" whining. In the meantime, I wish he'd stop hyperventilating and developing a case of the vapors.
What I've heard so far from torture "victims" is "They made me eat MREs!" "They wouldn't let me SLEEP!" "They fed me BACON!" "They wouldn't let me PRAY!" Cry me a fucking river. I SAW the videos of those pricks tossing bound people off a third-story balcony and laughing when the bodies hit the street and broke like rag-dolls.
But now we're just as bad as THEY are? Bullshit.
"Water-Boarding" is terrible? Bullshit. According to Andrew's standards, my high school football coach was guilty of torturing his players. He made us RUN and experience physical pain. That's FOOTBALL, Andrew, you got-dam pussy, and we were taught to play rough.
Putting panties on someone's head is the same as gouging out an eyeball? I don't think so. Threatening them with barking dogs is the same as feeding them into a wood-shredder? I don't think so. This is WAR, you got-dam pussy.
And I think we've shown remarkable restraint in how we've handled the people who want to kill us. Andrew, war ain't for pussies. If you fight that way, you'll lose, especially when you're up against a maniacial, bloodthirsty foe.
So do me a favor. Either enlist or shut the fuck up.
he doth protest too much
Read it and you decide. The guy hates SUVs. Period.
#1, I feel that the amount of these vehicles out on the road today constitutes a safety menace, especially given the many inexperienced or incompetent people that are driving them. The statistics from the NHTSA CLEARLY bear out that this is a fact and not just my opinion.
Bullshit. Show me the stats. And if you think "inexperienced and incompetent people" are confined to SUVs, you don't do much driving.
#2, many of the folks driving them range from merely inconsiderate, to rude, to dangerous. Everyone who drives a small car can tell you of experiences of a big vehicle being used as a weapon of intimidation against them. We also really enjoy trying to see around these monsters, not to mention the fact that the height differential puts an SUV's headlights at the same level as our rear-view mirrors which is a real joy at night. I could go on and on here.
A "weapon of intimidation?" Do you have a problem with the size of your penis?
#3, the demand in fuel that these things generate drives up prices that everyone ends up paying, not just the owners. Where the hell do these people get off thinking the rest of us should be penalized for their stupid decisions?
Where do YOU get off calling their decisions "stupid?" Nobody died and made you God, mister. Drive your Yugo and shut up.
#4, If you're using your vehicle to go off-roading on the weekends, or have one to cope with the snow or terrain where you live, or have one because of your work then I have no beef with you so don't get your panties in a twist. If you were the only people buying these things, there would be no issue.
Well, THAT'S mighty understanding of you. Downright compassionate, in fact. But you lie through your teeth. You just don't like SUVs no matter WHO buys them or what they use them for. You have your panties in a twist.
#5, lastly and most of all, I don't respect anybody who spends $25,000+ on a vehicle when they purchase it solely for the purpose of impressing other people with it's size or cost. If that's the only reason you buy an SUV, then you're a fool. You were a fool at the dealership, and you continue to prove that you're a fool every time you fill it with gas.
I don't respect anybody who wants to twist his panties and tell me how I may or may not spend MY OWN GODDAM MONEY. This is the United States of America, Bub. I can buy any kind of car I want and I don't need YOUR permission or approval first. In fact, I might buy one just to chap your ass. You've got a real problem with envy, don't you?
This guy probably voted for Ralph Nader. I don't think I misunderstood his original post at all.
When reading Romance Era writers, one should keep three things in mind. First, a lot of the writers WERE paid by the word, so the longer they could stretch out the story, the more money they made.
Second, people who read those books had no TV, no radio, no internet and not even electric lights to occupy their attention at night. They WANTED, long, drawn-out books to help them pass a few hours in the evening before bed. The thicker the book, the better it was for them.
Third, some of the writers just weren't that good--- the writers had the good fortune and energy to produce a lot of material and then die, so that their books became "classics," regardless of their true worth. Henry James was an asshole who never appreciated the United States of America. Nathaniel Hawthorne was a bent, twisted bastard, who had severe psychological problems with wimmen. Herman Melville was a long-winded drone. Mary Shelley was a nut-case.
Reading those people made me appreciate Mickey Spillane:
"Those big-shot writers never could dig the fact that there are more salted peanuts consumed than caviar."
I like salted peanuts.
It pisses me off
A lot of people (mostly wimmen) got their twats in a knot when I wrote that I didn't like skins and all kinds of fancy-dancey crap on a blog page. Well, I DON'T. That stuff reminds me of all the useless, frilly, fluffy decorations wimmen love to put in the house to inconvenience a man.
Toilet seat covers. Throw pillows on the couch that you're NEVER supposed to lay your head on. "Decorative" china that never comes out of the "decorative" cabinet it's stored in. The genuine Persian rug on the floor that you're NEVER supposed to step on. The cat that's "cute" when it crawls right out of the litter box with shit on its feet and jumps up on the kitchen counter and tracks shit where you're preparing food.
Yeah, that's "cute." But if YOU fart, you're "gross."
In MY humble opinion, that's what "skins" are. Useless, decorative shit that wimmen just HAVE TO DO because their hormones drive them to make things "pretty" instead of practical. They have no problem with cat-shit tracked on the kitchen counter, as long as you don't use the "special" wine-glasses-just-to-look-at unless guests come over. I see a cognative disconnect there, but wimmen don't.
Yeah. Skins thrill me.
What can I say? this post is a true example of The Golden Rule. I am fittingly humbled and impressed. Sophia Loren toe-porn!
But I still think Drew Barrymore looks kinda butch.
save the chickens!
I once raised chickens--- modestly, because about 36 were the most I ever had at one time--- and I learned a lot about those birds. First of all, they are nasty. They fuck and fight constantly and a lot of hens end up running around the coop with bald-headed asses from where the other hens pecked out all the feathers.
I've never seen ANYTHING that a chicken wouldn't eat, including each other and their own shit. If one of my chickens died in the coop, I usually found HALF a bird-corpse the next day, with the other half consumed by hungry coop-mates.
Some roosters are aggressive, ill-tempered, blood-thirsty sadists. I executed two of mine for attacking my son and spurring him until he bled when he was putting out feed one day. Those roosters cornered my boy in the coop and started tearing him up until I introduced them to Mr. Ruger Pistol, the .22 "peacemaker" among violent chickens. Those two threw their last spur in anger that day.
Chickens are disgusting birds. They ain't real smart, either.
But I don't advocate chicken torture, because that kind of behavior is as bad as what a chicken does every day. Yeah, chickens are just a small step above buzzards in the yech-factor of bird world, but I don't believe in meanness for the sake of meanness. I think we should slaughter them with mercy in our hearts.
But I can't generate a whole lot of sympathy for a squawking, crowing, stinking, shit-eating critter that can live without a head, just like a cockroach. THAT shows you how much a chicken actually THINKS.
Kill 'em, eat 'em and steal their eggs. That's all a chicken is good for.
January 12, 2005
I may have to participate in this contest. The person judging KNOWS me, which is a severe handicap, (I think I start out with -50 points) but I can suck-up with the best of them. I may just see how well I can do.
If I WIN, what do I win?
In my mind, what CBS news did with the Rathergate story was far worse than just shoddy journalism and piss-poor reporting. It was an insult to a standard of integrity that reporters should be morally bound to uphold. And it is an IMPORTANT standard.
Once the press starts behaving the way CBS did, they are no different than an adulterous wife or a child-molesting priest. The behavior itself is bad enough, but the act of defiling trust is even worse. When you cast caution to the wind and behave the way CBS did, you don't just torpedo yourself when you're caught lying. You take down everybody in the news profession with you.
I wonder if Dan Rather learned THAT lesson? I doubt it.
I believe that I read just about everything the man ever wrote. Many people call him the ultimate Southern writer, but I disagree. I liked his early works, but when he hit his "stream of consciousness" phase, he totally lost me. A lot of what he wrote then sounds like the raving of a drunken idiot.
Well, he did have a fondness for the bottle...
I read once that a reporter from Life magazine showed up at Faulkner's home in Mississippi and found him digging in his garden. She shouted, "Mr. Faulkner, some people call you outrageous. What do you think of that?"
According to the story, Faulkner walked up to her car, unzipped his fly and pissed right through her window. Then, he tucked his Johnson away and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."
If that story isn't true, it should be.
Despite what you see in movies, I have some news for you:
*Not all Asians are martial arts experts. Many of them run 7-11 stores where I live.
*Not all Native Americans are deeply spiritual and fully in tune with Mother Earth. Some get drunk as often as possible and pass out in a ditch.
*Not all black people are "street-wise" (whatever the hell THAT means). Some of them are just like... well, WHITE PEOPLE, except they have darker skin.
*A guy with a 9mm handgun is NOT going to win a shootout against six guys with machine guns, no matter how many acrobatic backflips and dives he does. He's gonna look like Swiss cheese in real life.
*All hookers DO NOT look like Julia Roberts, Melanie Griffith or Rebecca DeMornay. Some of them are real scuzz-buckets.
*"Cute" kids do NOT have smart mouths and constantly sass adults with impudent insults. In real life, those kids lose their teeth early.
*People in the military are NOT evil, villianous, bloodthirsty, heartless killers, determined to destroy America as we know it. Some of them are your neighbors.
*If Pauly Shore is a comedian, I'm a gynecologist. That guy is about as hilarious as an impacted wisdom tooth. The only person I can think of with less talent is Larry King.
That's what I get when I watch television.
Someone wrote me an email calling me a "militant middlebrow" because I never finished Moby Dick and I don't appreciate "ornate" literature. I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.
I majored in goddam ENGLISH LITERATURE in college. I've read a LOT of books in my life, from the "ornate" to the ridiculous. I read The Canterbury Tales in the original Early Middle English and I loved those stories. I liked many of the Romance Era writers. I think Shakespeare was a genius, even though he stole every plot he ever used in a play. I liked Sinclair Lewis, too.
But I DID NOT like Herman Melville, Henry James or Fydor Dostoyevski. If that makes me a "militant middlebrow" because I thought those guys were long-winded, boring hacks, then so be it. I preferred Mark Twain and Jack London. Hell, I preferred Edgar Rice Burroughs over those "ornate" writers.
But at least I read them, or tried to. I didn't like what I read. Anybody who calls me "middlebrow" for THAT sounds a lot like a New York art critic who calls a pile of garbage "art." Garbage is garbage, no matter how "ornate" you try to make it.
I suppose that I lack the necessary sophistication to see a dog turd and call it a rose.
i told you that wimmen are crazy
Just read this. I rest my case.
Man... my balls hurt just from THINKING about that.
I blew Mountain Dew right outta my nose when I saw this. I fucked up my keyboard and my monitor. I almost choked to death. I now have sinuses that taste of citrus fruit when I inhale.
Don't go there. It's dangerous.
Adam is exaggerating. Nobody FORCED him to drink corn likker. Most of the rest of what he said is true.
In the picture, from left to right, that's me, Sam, Key, Adam, Catfish, Kim and Eric. A motley crew.
Or at least he sorta does. I believe that CBS News and Dan Rather STILL don't realize what they managed to accomplish with the "Rathergate" fiasco. It wasn't an "oops!" It was an "OH, SHIT!!!" of major porportions.
The "report" on the incident was a complete whitewash, which is ironic because CBS news would have a field day with any politician who did exactly what they did. I can see Dan Rather grilling someone ELSE over this kind of crap in his puffed-up, pompous mode. "The facts speak for themselves. Are you going to deny THE FACTS?"
Dan... you did. You used forged documents to manufacture a story that fit YOUR political agenda. When confronted with the "facts," you stonewalled and evaded. Even NOW you deny what you did, and it wasn't the first time you did it, either. Asshole.
The damage done to mainstream journalism by this obvious example of bias and manipulation in the news won't be forgotten overnight. Dan Rather can walk off into the sunset now after torpedoing his own ship. But he leaves his wreckage behind. Way to go, Dan. You taught people not to trust the evening news.
You taught them to trust bloggers.
January 11, 2005
I hate shit like this. Usually, the people putting up all the decorative "skins" of wasp-waisted, big-titted wimmen on their page resemble a WIDE-LOAD trailer headed down the road themselves. What's up with that?
I make no bones about who I am. I'm a skinny old fart with
Very. Or something like that.
* Anna Nichole Smith is NOT a sexy woman.
* Julia Roberts is NOT a "Pretty Woman,"
* Drew Barrymore looks butch to me.
* Melanie Griffith is aging fast.
* I'd still do Vanna White in a heartbeat.
* Terry Bradshaw marries bimbos.
* So do I.
* The most beautiful woman of all time is Sophia Loren.
quote of the day
"If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that's read by persons who move their lips when they're reading to themselves."---Don Marquis
Too many writers attempt to be artists instead of entertainers. I believe that you can be both at the same time, but if I had a choice, I'd pick entertainer. Reading should not be WORK.
I have a shameful confession to make: I started Moby Dick three times in my life and I never finished reading the book. I bogged down in that turgid rhetoric and sunk to my neck in literary quicksand about halfway through. I couldn't fight my way out of there. I just had to throw the book down and forget about it.
I was reading the book one night when I realized that my eyes were scanning the page, but I wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to what was written there. I was in total drone-mode. I wondered why, and I checked. I was in the middle of a run-on sentence that lasted for TWO PAGES in the book.
I don't know what Herman Melville was smoking when he wrote that sentence, but I wish I had some tonight. Maybe if I smoked it, I could understand his book.
Reading should be a treat, like a rich dessert after supper. But if it gives you an ice-cream headache, it's no good at all. A Hershey's Kiss is better.
That's MY humble opinion.
I am refreshed when I read someone who clearly knows right from wrong. I don't WANT to lactate, and if I DID LACTATE, I would haul both myself and my dripping titties off somewhere to a dark and quiet place, where I would curl up and die.
Men are losing their balls and developing dugs. I blame wimmen.
As a grown man, I feel qualified to speak on this topic, after much deep thought and years of experience: The older you get, the more immune from embarassment you become.
I'll be 53 years old next month and it takes a lot to embarrass ME anymore. I've been there and done that too many times. I figure that after you suffer abject humiliation over and over for years and years, the impact kinda wears off after a while.
Once, a pimple on your forehead sent you into a trauma. Now, if you shit your pants while wearing a tuxedo, it ain't no big deal. It's a perspective thing.
On Sunday, I watched a kid on the street doing stunts on a bicycle. He was about 15 years old and he was pretty damn good with that bike. He did wheelstands, rolls and acrobatics. I was impressed watching him.
Then, all of a sudden, he got tangled in the middle of a trick and busted his ass in the street. I mean a NICE 'UN, too, where the bike came down on top of him and helped eat him up. I saw it happen and I thought that the kid might be hurt badly. I ran to check him out.
But I have to admit--- I laughed when he wrecked. Seeing the little show-off bite the asphalt the way he did was FUNNY, even if he WAS hurt. It was a glorious pratfall and I appreciated it.
The boy was okay--- just EMBARRASSED that someone witnessed his crash. He wasn't hurt, but he was HUMILIATED. He rode away on his bike and never looked back at me. He was not accustomed to being embarrassed. I chuckled again as I watched him pedal down the road.
If that's the most embarrassing thing that ever happens to him, he can count himself a lucky man.
I like Stupid Criminal Stories. This is a really good one. BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
That guy needs to be put away for terminal dumbassery.
The picture here is not for those with a weak stomach. It kinda warmed the cocklear regions of my heart when I saw it, but I've always considered the insurgents to be brainless anyway.
This one surely is.
I just discovered that i have an std!!!.
I don't know whether to be ashamed or thrilled.
January 10, 2005
Yeah, after reading several emails about fish-hook injuries, I'll lay this story out for you to savor. I saw my grandfather hook himself right in the meat of his hand, between thumb and forefinger. The hook was in so deep that he couldn't get it out the way it went in. So, he just pushed it through his hand, cut the barb off when it came out the other side, pulled out the hook when he was done and kept on fishing.
He was a tough old bastard.
he stuck it in his ear
Have you ever been fishing, reared back for a mighty cast and found your rod going nowhere when you came forward? Sure, you have. Usually, you look behind you and find a bush or a tree that snagged your line, so that's no big deal. Just part of fishing.
But once, I didn't snag a bush or a tree. I stuck a hook right through a friend's ear. I didn't catch the little hangy-down part, either. I got him in the upper lobe and the hook went clean through to the other side. I almost threw him out of the boat when I followed through on my cast. Trust me. You'll GO where your ear leads you in that situation.
He screamed. I screamed. It was a bloody, screaming crisis. When I saw what happened, I knew that I couldn't just pull the hook out, so I told my friend to hold still. I grabbed a set of wirecutters and snipped the barb off the end of the hook; then, I pulled the hook out of my friend's ear, poured some Jim Beam on the wound and stuck a band-aid on it.
We kept on fishing, although I was called "bastard" and "cocksucker" for the rest of the day. But I didn't take offense. I could understand his behavior.
His EAR was hurting.
a true story
I don't know what made me remember this incident from my past, but it came back as clear as a bell today. I was 15 years old and working at Chip's Drive-In on Waters Avenue around 1966. Yeah, I was the kid in the paper hat with the apron around his waist standing behind the stainless-steel counter at a burger joint.
I saw a car pull up outside. Out poured (and I do mean POURED) four Jenkins High School cheerleaders. At that point in my life, I believed that these were the most beautiful, sexy wimmen in the world and my palms became sweaty when I saw them.
They came giggling and wiggling and throwing tits and ass at me when they approached my window. "Hey, Robbie!" one yelled. I was flattered that they knew my name. "We're HUNGRY!" I took their order.
They wanted hamburgers, hot dogs, a couple of fish-burgers, some fried chicken, six orders of french fries and four large cokes. I put the order together, bagged it and said, "That'll be $8.29."
Dee-Dee, the head cheerleader, leaned over the counter and gave me one hell of a dose of teenaged cleavage. "Uh, Robbie, sweetheart... can't you just charge us for the cokes and let us walk away with the rest?" She licked her lips sensuously. "I sure would appreciate it."
When I refused to do that, they all walked away and left the entire order on the counter, and they laughed all the way back to their car. They were just seeing what their pussies could get them that day. Wimmen learn that shit from an early age.
I stood there at the counter and looked at all the food they stuck me with. Me in my silly paper hat and my goddam apron. Feeling like a fool. But I knew that I had done the right thing. I wasn't going to cheat my boss, and even if I DID, I damn sure wasn't going to get any pussy from those girls. They were just being young cunts.
I turned around and ran face-to-face into my manager. He saw the whole episode. "You done good, Rob," he said. "Don't ever let the split-tails get the upper hand on you."
I wish I had followed his advice all of my life.
quote of the day
The status quo that Democrats are so desperately defending is this: an average benefit of that's a paltry $926 a month, $11,112 a year. Seventy years of New Deal largesse, and this is the best you can do for seniors with no other retirement savings? The opportunity to make life dramatically better through significantly higher Social Security benefits lies before us, and your "solution" is simply to postpone doom?
Not to the Democrats, it's not. (Via here.)
You won't get rich doing these jobs, but no matter where you go, you can find work if you master these skills. And you can make enough money to keep the wolves away from the door until you find something better.
#1-- Learn to tend bar.
#2-- Learn short-order cooking
#3-- Learn to cut hair
I've done two out of three and I know from experience that I can find a job anywhere I go. These aren't glory jobs, but they produce a paycheck. And you might be surprised to find out how much money you can make tending bar if you're good at it.
That's just MY humble opinion. If you don't want to work, who am I to question your motivation? Go ahead and starve to death if you want to.
I'd rather flip hamburgers or pour drinks.
Hosting Matters got hit again last night and the attack took down a lot of blogs for the third time in as many days. I was inconvienienced. I wanted to write, but I couldn't, because my site was down. So, I went to bed and read a book.
I ran across this quote about a writer:
"He opened the eyes of the blind and has given great encouragement to the shortsighted."--- Oscar Wilde
Heh. That's a good job of damning by faint praise. A clever wordsmith can do that. That's a CLASSY insult.
Hackers, on the other hand, are pigs.
People who attack web sites just to shut them down are vandals and they should go to jail if caught, because what they do on the internet is no different than driving by my house at night and throwing a rock through my window. Those creeps suffer from The Curse of the Perpetual Asshole, which says: "I can't make anything on my own, so I'll break somebody else's stuff."
I don't understand the motivation, but I've seen it happen all of my life.
envy is a mortal sin
Read this post and then explain it slowly to me, so that I can grasp the anger concept.
My beef is with the average suburbanite who has two of these behemoth vehicles sitting in their driveway and the only time the wheels ever leave the pavement is to jump the curb and park on the grass at the mall at Christmas time when all the parking is gone.
Okay... GOD!!! Jump up and tell those "average suburbanites: THEY CAN'T HAVE ONE OF THOSE.... simply because IT PISSES YOU OFF!!! Yep, if it pissed you off, it must be wrong, and therefore we should tailor the world to suit YOU. Outlaw SUVs, but you can keep your jeep because you are smarter than everyone else with a four-wheel drive.
This kind of attitude is where government idiocy comes from. Holy ME, and evil YOU, because you don't suit ME with the way you live. We need a LAW to MAKE YOU live the way I see fit. It's...
How can you possibly object to that kind of attitude?
Read this post and think about it for a while. How many people do YOU know who have craftsman's skills?
I'm not talking about fucking lawyers or insurance agents, either. Anybody who wears a coat and tie to work is NOT a craftsman. He's a well-dressed con-man. I can take one look at a person's hands and tell you whether he's a craftsman or not.
If the hands resemble gator-feet, with lots of callouses and scars, they probably belong to a craftsman. If the nails are manicured, highlighting the smooth palms and the LOVELY cuff-links on the sleeve, they probably belong to a lawyer. Hands say a lot about a person.
One set of hands builds things and the other set steals from your wallet. I know which set I prefer to trust, but the lawyer who creates NOTHING has higher status in society than the grunt who can fix your commonde when it won't flush anymore. Explain that fact to me.
If YOU were stranded on a desert island, which would YOU rather have there with you? A lawyer, a salesman or a carpenter?
I rest my case.
i can top that
Marcus waxes nostalgic about sleeping in a flower bed one night during his misspent youth. I chuckle and fart in his general direction. I can top that story.
I also tried that "she'll put out" country girl back in high school. A clandestine meeting meant parking my car a half-mile away from her house and creeping through the woods to reach the Magic Window, but once I did that, she sure enough opened the window and allowed me to enter her room. And she was ready to "put out," too.
I never got the chance to taste that forbidden fruit. Her daddy came home unexpectedly and I hauled ass out the window with my clothes tucked like a football under my arm. I was looking back over my shoulder when I hit the clothesline. GOT-DAM!!! That thing almost took my head off and left me lying flat on my back with one hell of an abrasion on my neck. I thought I was gonna die.
That's when I heard the back screen door slam and the sound of a pump shotgun being charged. I got up and ran again, right into the electric fence around the cow pasture. HOLY BEJUS!!! Have YOU ever tangled with one of THOSE? Sparks flew, I thought my dick was gonna fall off and I couldn't get away from the damned thing. It stung like a swarm of hornets.
About then is when daddy started shooting rock-salt at me.
KA-BLAM!!! KA-BLAM!!! That noise will damn sure get your attention when you also can hear the sound of tiny pellets tearing through the bushes all around you. I ran along the electric fence and made it into the freshly-harvested corn field. There, I hunkered down and put some clothes on, even though I didn't have much cover among the stalks and the shucks.
The old man was out there with a shotgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. I was convinced that he meant to kill my horny young ass (I was 17 at the time), so I crawled on my belly like a reptile all the way across that corn field until I made the edge of the woods. Then, I ran like hell through the trees.
I made it to my car and never went back there again.
I didn't sleep in a flowerbed, but I damn sure saw my brief life flash before me that night. A shotgun blast in the dark will do that to you. Moses had his burning bush, but I had a Remington 12-gauge speak to me just as effectively as the Word of God.
Okay, Marcus... top THAT one.
From Hank, Junior:
We can skin a buck and we can run a trot-line... a country boy can survive.
I have run a few trot-lines in my past and I really enjoyed reading this post. He's got the point: fishing with a trot-line ain't sport. It's an easy way to catch catfish for supper.
I used rotten chicken livers for bait and put some lead weights on my "stagings" so that the bait would sink to the bottom, right in the shit where a catfish likes to eat. Sink 'em in the morning and then go pull those things out of the water in the evening, and you never know what you might find. Catfish. Eels. Water moccasins. Turtles. An occasional baby alligator.
Have YOU ever run a trot-line? If you have, then you've probably had a catfish cut you with his fins, too. Hurts like a mutha and bleeds like a razor-cut when you're wet. And YEAH--- you'd better keep your tetanus shots up to date doing that crap. You're gonna get wounded.
But it's a lot of fun.
naw, no hypocricy here
Every time members of the anti-smoking gestapo attack the rights of business owners, they SWEAR that they're doing it for The Public Health. Yep, smoking bans protect innocent people from deadly second-hand smoke--- therefore, the bans are GOOD, whether you like them or not.
If one life is saved, all the cost is worth it, yada, yada, yada...
But Public Health can be damned when a smoking ban might cost the anti-smokers some money. All of a sudden, smoking isn't so evil anymore. And I LOVE the reaction when these assclowns are called on what they're doing.
Alioto-Pier (niece of anti-smoking crusader Angela Alioto) said she really hadn't thought about the possible hypocrisy of the city exempting itself.
An "interesting" way to look at it? "Possible" hypocricy? How about some honesty here? Just SAY IT!!! "Government exists to tell YOU how to run your life. Government will punish you, take your wealth and even lock you in jail if you attempt to defy government. But the rules we make for YOU don't apply to US. That's why WE'RE government and YOU'RE not. Now, shut up and eat your gruel."
Nah. Just move along... no hypocricy here...
January 09, 2005
a way with words
You Stupid Cunt. I hope your fucking cat dies and you experience untold misery.
Heh. this guy has anger management problems. He reminds me of ME.
I'm worth $1,610,234.91! How much are you worth?
this is profane
I've done it myself, but I wouldn't admit to it.
You, sir, should be ashamed of yourself.
the man is a perv
Oh, come ON! You think this woman is a "hottie?" I don't. Sure, I'd do her at the drop of a hat, but she's not exactly what I would chase really full-tilt. She's got a lot of starch and I admire her for being unconventional, but she just doesn't DO IT for me, even though I am conviced that redheads are sexier than blondes.
If I'm going to indulge in some fantasy, I want Nichole Kidman, Sandra Bulloch, Rudi Baktiar and Martha Stewart in my bed, all at the same time. I want Nichole to be my wanton slut because I yearn to talk dirty to her. I want to defile Sandra, just to say that I did Miss Goody Two-Shoes with abandon and she LIKED IT!!! Rudi--- well I'm not the #1 Google-search find for "Rudi Baktiar+blow job" for nothing.
As far as Martha goes... I just want to see how far she WILL go. If she screws the way she cooks, she'd be a really hot dish to sample. I'd like to show her some REAL "Jailhouse Rock."
But that's just me. Maybe I am more perverted than Kim is.
i've got your "eclectic" right here!!!
I can top this crap. I have worked (and been PAID for) doing:
*Landscape engineering (okay, I cut people's grass).
*Media distributor (I delivered newspapers)
*Chef (I flipped burgers in several fast-food restaurants)
*Personal Protector (I was a tender for a commercial diver for a while)
*Dope Dealer (I never made any money doing that--- of course, I'M LYING about doing it at all--- but I always consumed all my profits, just to make certain that I wasn't selling shit to my customers.)
*Retail Engineer (I did night stock at K-Mart)
*Artist (I played guitar and got paid for doing it)
*CREATIVE Artist (I wrote advertising copy for a while)
*Pigmenteer (I forget what I was doing then)
I have a checkered past when it comes to employment. But I've always had a job, ever since I was 12 years old. I've never considered any kind of work "beneath my dignity" as long as I got paid for doing it. I would rather be undignified than broke.
Yeah, I've got your "eclectic" dangling.
it ain't fate
When I read this post, I thought back on my own life. If you live in squalor and hopelessness, you have two choices. You can wallow in your misery and blame somebody else for your problems, or you can grab your own jockstrap and CHOOSE to change your life.
In 1958, my parents left Harlan County, Kentucky and moved to Savannah, Georgia. The Louellen mine shut down and my father was out of work. He could have found employment in another mine, but he chose NOT to. My parents didn't want me and my brother to grow up to be coal miners, which was all there was to do there.
My parents hauled ass from a place they loved to give their sons a better chance in life. That took a lot of balls. It also required a lot of love and dedication. My folks got it all done and things worked out well.
That's why I have no sympathy for the Palistineans. Instead of saying, "My son has no chance here the way things are," the father doesn't attempt to make things better; he straps a bomb-belt on his son's young ass and sends him off to a bus station to be a martyr. Instead of realizing that "if we keep on the way we're going, we'll ALWAYS be a bunch of losers," the Palistinians seem to REVEL in being losers.
Sometimes, you pick the bed of shit you find yourself in, and I believe that the Palistinians have done that.
She is sweating the trauma and reflecting on life as birthday #40 approaches. I can understand her feelings. I did the same thing when I turned 40.
My friends threw me a surprise birthday party, and I was given Depends diapers, Poly-Grip denture glue, Geritol, a genuine truss, Preparation H, and a "create your instant hard-on kit," which consisted of a popcicle stick and a roll of adhesive tape. Everything was wrapped in black paper and everybody at the party wore black arm-bands. We mourned through a whole lot of beer.
The party was a hoot, but I didn't feel old at the time. In fact, my early 40s were some of the best years of my life. I wasn't "old." I was "mature."
All that "mature" shit went right down the crapper when I hit 50. THAT'S when every stupid thing you ever did in life comes back to haunt you. You aren't old at 40, but you're goddam DECREPIT at 50. Trust me--- I've been there and done that.
I picked through those old joke presents ten years later and started finding stuff that I could USE.
Age is a relative condition. When you are six and someone else is sixteen, you are worlds apart in age. When you are 26 and the other person is 36, you don't really see much difference. Ten years are ten years, but what those years mean depends on your perspective. Sometimes it's a lot of difference and sometimes it's not.
The difference between 40 and 50 is A LOT.
you can't make this stuff up
The story reads like something from The Onion, but it's no joke. Some nursery schools in England are facing harsh criticism because they waste time teaching children to read and write instead of allowing them to "explore their feelings and thoughts."
I'm all for exploring feelings and thoughts, but I've noticed over the years that people who can read and write tend to explore their feelings and thoughts better than ignorant, illiterate people do. How can you "explore" your feelings if you cannot articulate what you feel? What good are your "thoughts" if you cannot express them?
By the age of five, children are supposed to be able to count to at least 10, recognise different quantities and understand "taking away", talk and use gestures to communicate, retell stories in the right sequence, name and sound the letters of the alphabet and write simple regular words.
Sweet jumping happy horseshit!!! What kind of attitude is THAT for an EDUCATOR?? Get rid of those books and those pencils. Don't teach the kids anything--- just let them learn by playing.
I know what I would learn in that kind of environment. I'd learn that I didn't need to study, I didn't need to read, I didn't need to write, and I didn't need to listen to my teacher. I could be a happy little savage, just as feral as a wharf-rat, with lots of self-esteem and no discipline whatsoever.
This kind of thinking is so stupid that it defies belief. But it is considered "enlightened" by many people in the education business today. I don't know how these people can see ANY light from where their heads are, but they're the ones who want to "educate" your children.
I think they need to be dragged off and shot.
Sam and Stacey found this old shotgun on one of their junk-collecting missions. I believe that it's a .410 with a barrel about a half-mile long. (they sent me a picture of the entire gun, but I can't get it to upload.) The gun is rusty and in poor condition, but it might be worth some money if they cleaned it up.
Anybody ever heard of Bridge shotguns?
just a saturday...
Quinton had another basketball game today and I went to see it. His team won 18-13 and my boy played a pretty good game. He missed one easy lay-up after stealing an inbounds pass, but I KNOW that he can make that shot. I've seen him do it. I think he just needs to break the ice ONCE and scoring won't be so difficult anymore.
After I came home, I went for a walk in the woods. I took a .22 rifle with me, but I didn't shoot it. I just found a nice, open space under the trees and I sat for a while. I like being in the woods. If you lay your head back against a tree and just LISTEN for a while, you'll discover that the "quiet" woods are never silent. You just don't usually hear those noises if you aren't paying attention. I payed attention today.
I stayed there until darkness drove me back home. I thought about watching a reverse sunset (that's where you watch nightfall close up the sky from the OTHER SIDE, opposite where the sun goes down), but some clouds moved in and screwed up my intentions. I got back home just in time to watch the Jets beat the Chargers on TV.
I was born too late. I wish I could say, "piss on this," saddle a mule, pack some provisions and head off over the mountain just to see what was on the other side. But the frontier is history, and the closest I'll ever get to seeing the other side of the mountain is to sit in the woods a half-mile from my house on a Saturday afternoon and think for a while. I had a lot to think about today.
What the hell. That beats living in New York City.
January 08, 2005
If I had my life to live over again, I would change three things:
#1) I never would have started smoking cigarettes. I was 21 years old when I started, and plenty old enough and wise enough to know better. But that was during some intense college high-jinks and the beginning of my musical career, and all of my friends smoked, so I started doing it, too. I've probably flamed away $100,000 on cigarettes in my life. That's just stupid, but I have no intention of quitting now. I just wish I had never started.
#2) I never would have gotten married. What I've spent on cigarettes is NOTHING compared to what ex-wives have cost me. If I can give any advice to a young man today, it is: DON'T DO IT!!! DON'T MARRY THE CUNT!!! YOU'LL REGRET IT THE REST OF YOUR LIFE AND SHE WILL DANCE ON YOUR GRAVE!!! And she'll dance while living in YOUR house with YOUR money spilling from her pockets. Her divorce lawyer will dance with her while he's picking up the spilled money and you are food for the worms. No pussy is worth that price. Neither is any got-dam lawyer.
#3) I would have joined the Merchant Marines when I had the chance right out of college in 1974. I've always loved the sea, and that job paid good money. I had an offer and I turned it down to go to Journalism school. (DUMBASS!!!) I could have seen the world, gotten tattoos all over my body and laid whores in every port of call from Savannah to Sumatra. I probably could have become an officer, too. I'd probably be in a position now to open my own bar and retire in Tahiti. But I didn't do that. I went to J-school instead.
What the hell. You don't get mulligans in life. I think about "woulda, shoulda, coulda," but that doesn't change anything. You play the hand you're holding.
You can't ask for a re-deal in life.
i wondered what happened
My site crashes and burns. Other sites work, so it's not my internet connection. But mine doesn't work.
Now, I know what happened.
That's twice in three days.
is it true?
I was helping a friend of mine set his scope on a new rifle. We had the weapon locked in a vice on a bench and were shooting at a target about 100 yards away. After a couple of minor tweaks, we had the gun shooting dead-on. That's when he told me something I found difficult to believe.
"Did you know," he said, "if you drop a bullet from the height of the barrel on this rifle, and I fire a round at the exact moment you drop it, both bullets will hit the ground at the same time?"
I called bullshit. To me, that was like saying if I THROW a football in a nice, tight spiral while you DROP a football from the same height as my shoulder, both balls will hit the ground at the same time. I know good and well that THAT ain't so, so I didn't believe him. But I did some reading and I now wonder if he might be correct.
Maybe a rocket scientist could help me here. Gravity is a constant. Horizontal velocity really doesn't affect the force of gravity. ANY BULLET, even one traveling at 2200 FPS falls at the same speed as an identical bullet dropped from my hand.
Is that true?
(UPDATE: We put a level on the rifle barrel when we secured the vice. We had the bubble right in the middle of the level, so the rifle was just about as parallel to the ground as you can get, and southeast Georgia is pretty flat. Yeah. I believe that under those circumstances, my friend was correct. The only difference is WHERE the bullet hits the ground... not WHEN.)
How many times can we keep learning about this kind of crap and still take the United Nations seriously? Gimme a break.
Let's throw them out of this country, tell them ALL to go fuck themselves, stop paying them ANY money and let them set up shop in Belgium, or some similar place, where people have no problem calling a steaming dog-turd a rose. Let the UN plunder and rape among people who LIKE being fucked by a bunch of lying, scheming, well-dressed thieves. Just get 'em outta HERE.
I am sick and tired of their crap.
quote of the day
Q: What is the difference between a liberal and a puppy?
(Shamelessly stolen from here.)
Yesterday was a good friend's birthday. I didn't call or send him a card. Hell, I don't have his phone number anymore and I don't have his address, either. I probably could find both, but I didn't bother to try. It's just as well. We seldom see each other anymore. I WISHED him a Happy Birthday anyway, whether he knew it or not.
I haven't seen Recondo 32 or Georgia except for a quick vehicle-swap after the ill-fated trip to Costa Rica more than a month ago. Looks like I blew a hole in that friendship, too. That seems to be my style nowdays. I could list a whole bunch of others who don't like me anymore.
I've got only a few more people to go and I will have succeeded in what I've been trying to do all along. I launched a "Garbo Project" about three years ago, and it's worked well so far. Just give me another couple of months and I'll get exactly what I was aiming for.
"I want to be alone."
We have some really sick, twisted, maladjusted deviates in this world. I should know--- I am one of those deviates, but I try not to be deliberately CRUEL. (Except for what I sometimes do to cats.)
This, ladies and gentlepersons, is cruel.
It's bizarro-world. It's the theater of the absurd. It's Kafkaesque. IT'S DIVORCE COURT!!!
Donna Austin, 37 at the time, signed a prenuptial agreement waiving alimony before marrying Craig Austin back in 1989, in what was a second marriage for both parties. Nonetheless, a Massachusetts appeals court has decided that her alimony waiver is "unreasonable" and will not be enforced. A lawyer for Craig Austin says his client plans appeal and says Donna Austin benefited substantially from the division of property assets from the marriage. (David Weber, Boston Herald, Dec. 30). And the New Jersey Supreme Court has been asked to decide whether Craig Caplan, who retired in his 30s with a so-called silver parachute, should be obliged to return to the work force to pay increased child support, thus sparing his ex-wife Sandra the need to dip into her $2.4 million divorce settlement; for more on the "imputed-income" doctrine, see Sept. 18, 2003 (Michael Booth, "In Divorce Case, Early Retiree Gets Tangled in Silver Parachute", New Jersey Law Journal, Oct. 6).
The emphasis is mine in the quote. But the "logic" is right out of divorce law. Asking the ex-wife to abide by the pre-nup and be content with $2.4 million is "unreasonable," while demanding that the ex-husband go back to work to pay her MORE MONEY is justice.
Want to know what it feels like to be a fish in a barrel with lots of guns pointed at you? Go to divorce court.
January 07, 2005
Quinton's team won its first game tonight, another thriller, 14-13. Quinton had a chance to ice the game with two free throws with 11.4 seconds remaining on the clock, but he missed both. Dammit! I KNOW he can make free throws.
I went night-blind on the way home and missed the turn on Old Augusta Road. I never saw it and didn't realize that I fucked up until I drove past the Georgia Pacific paper mill, 5 miles past my turn. I damn nearly missed it again coming back.
I'm not driving at night anymore.
I love sports. I saw this picture and wondered why I never took up ice-skating, until I realized that I live in southeast Georgia and we don't have ice to skate on here. Never.
But I sure have tried to practice that move all my life.
(I forget who I stole the picture from. Send me an indignant email and I'll give you proper credit.)
Quinton has another basketball game tonight and I'm going to watch it. This one is in the Rincon Elementary School gym, which isn't far from my house. The game last night was played in the boonies on the other side of Springfield, 18 miles away, and I almost never located the place, even after 30 minutes of searching the back roads.
I cannot see at night anymore.
I worked shiftwork for a lot of my life, and I preferred to drive at night back in those days. I had no trouble staying awake, even if everybody else in the car fell asleep, and I could shoot through Atlanta at 4:00 AM with almost no traffic on the road. Just turn up the stereo, put the pedal to the metal and burn some gas. WHEEE-HAWWW!
Of course, I saw perfectly fine at night back then. My, how times have changed.
Either my rods or cones have burnt out from abuse over the years. I cannot see SHIT at night anymore, especially if I encounter some dickwit with his high-beams on coming at me on a two-lane road. I've lost all depth perception already, even if I'm on the road by myself at night--- it's like everything I see is painted on the windshield--- and if you ALSO shine a bright light in my face, I can't see ANYTHING.
I seldom drive after dark anymore. I KNOW that I am a menace to society on the road. Some people say that my problem is a result of the eye-surgery I had to correct my near-sightedness in 1996. I don't think so. I believe that I'm just an old fart now.
Hell, my legs ain't what they once were, my dick damn sure ain't what it once was, my ass ain't what it used to be, my hair has turned
But I'm still going to that basketball game tonight.
This is my 93 year-old grandmother. Ain't she a sweet-looking thing?
Don't let those looks fool you. She is the first adult I ever heard use foul language when I was growing up. The word was "shit." I believe what she said was something like, "Robbie, if you don't stop that RIGHT NOW, I'm going to beat the shit out of you."
I was three years old at the time and I still remember that incident. I stopped what I was doing, too, because I KNEW Mommie would beat the shit out of me if I didn't.
She is one hell of a woman and she always has been.
no brakes? no big deal
Awww, c'mon. cry me a river. If you can't drive a car with no brakes, you shouldn't have a driver's license.
Of course, you need to REALIZE that you have no brakes first, which once happened to me very suddenly on a date in Athens, Georgia one night. I was taking a steep side road down to Broad Street and when I tried to brake for the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, the brake pedal went all the way to the floor and nothing happened to slow the car.
I never even had time for a heart attack before we went shooting across a four lane, busy highway that miraculously parted traffic the way Moses did the Red Sea and allowed us to cross. I shot right on up the road across the street and finally used my parking brake to stop the car.
I wasn't certain at the time whether I had shit my pants or not.
My date was traumatized by the experience, too. It took me an entire pitcher of margaritas and two tacos to mellow her out. We rode around all night long on those hilly streets using nothing but the parking brake to stop the car.
It's not that difficult to drive a car with no brakes once you get the hang of it. Don't drive fast, keep one hand on the parking brake release, and then when you need to stop, just pull the brake release and use the parking brake like regular brakes. It works.
Trust me. I drove all the way from Athens to Savannah that way to get a new master cylinder for my 1968 Javelin. I made it, too.
Queenie, I'm not telling you to DO that, just because I once did. I'm just suggesting a possibility.
Go ahead and read this crap. I threw the link in there to let you know what got me started here.
I attended public school in Savannah, Georgia from 1959 until 1970. I received a fairly good education and I encountered a couple of fantastic teachers who really changed my life. But I'll always believe that I received more education at home than I did in school.
I'm not talking just about manners and good behavior and which hand you use to hold a salad fork. I'm talking about parents who wanted their boys to THINK! And I believe that they did a pretty good job on me AND my brother.
Neither one of my parents was educated to a degree. Dad went to night school and got an Associate's in ACCOUNTING when he was almost 40 years old, and I was amazed at his choice of subjects. He said that he did it because those were skills he was missing on his job, and he always liked numbers anyway. He just wanted to.
I come from good stock. Both of my parents were prolific readers, and my dad not only steered my reading the right way, but he also always encouraged me to write, even though he was my harshest critic. I wonder today what he would think of this blog if he were still alive. (HEY! DAD!!! You created a monster!!!) I believe that he would call me a fool for doing it; and then, he'd read it every day.
We discussed history around the supper table. Not just names and dates, but what actually happened and WHY it happened. I absorbed that teaching like a dry sponge. History has always fascinated me, because it never changes. It's just the same story about different people doing the same damn things, over and over again, for the same damn reasons.
I picked up some book-learning in school, but I my best education came from my parents pointing me to where I needed to go to learn for myself. Public schools today are becoming mind-control camps instead of leaning centers. If I were in second grade today, administrators would put my ass on Ritalin to keep me from being the boy I was when I WAS in second grade.
Any parent who doesn't understand this fact isn't ready to be a parent: YOU ARE A HOME-SCHOOLER!!! Every day. Whether you put you kid on a school bus in the morning or start classes at 9:00 at your kitchen table, YOU are the most important teacher your child will ever know. Take that job seriously.
Don't try to program them. Teach them to THINK. If you did your job right, you'll be pleased with the results. If the results suck, just give the kid a few years. If you taught 'em to think, they'll out-grow that foolishness.
If you leave it all up to public schools, just take what you get and shut up.
From the Effingham County Herald, sometime in June of 1996, after a rich couple spent $2 million on their wedding in Savannah.
Lately, I've been thinking about money.
It's easy to do, because people think about money all the time. That's why we have buyers of lottery tickets, robbers of banks and lawyers who advertise on bus-stop benches.
Becoming rich is part of The American Dream. Everybody knows that money can't buy happiness, but with money, you can wallow in misery surrounded by a lot of really neat, expensive stuff. It beats being broke.
Let me make one thing perfectly clear before I pontificate any further: The love of money does not motivate me. The love of money does not drive me out of bed every morning to go to my job and perform to the best of my ability so that I may go home and sleep a few hours until I get up and do the same thing all over again.
No, sir. The fear of NOT having any money makes me do that. I have mouths to feed, including my own. I've BEEN broke, and it was no fun at all.
I started thinking about money because it was in the news. A lot of politicians are huffing and puffing and blowing great billows of election-year smoke about the absolute necessity of raising the minimum wage by ninety cents, which would end poverty as we know it by giving people more money to buy lottery tickets.
If the "poor" receive that ninety cents, their lives will be transformed, and they won't become bank robbers or lawyers who advertise on bus-stop benches. They'll just vote Democrat, which is even worse.
Then, I read about the wedding in Savannah that cost TWO MILLION DOLLARS to unite a couple in conspicious, extragavant, expensive holy matrimony. It was "The Wedding of the Century" according to the Society page of the paper, but it made a lot of people angry.
People seemed very upset that all this money was being used to pay for a wedding instead of being spent on more worthwhile projects--- such as giving the money to the federal government, which would use the money to create jobs, educate the ignorant, heal the sick and put a chicken in every pot by raking the money into a big pile with some dead leaves and pine straw and setting it on fire.
I see nothing wrong with spending two million dollars on a wedding, just as long as it's YOUR money and you have a good lawyer who doesn't advertise on bus-stop benches. When you marry for love and big bucks, the pre-nup had better be airtight.
Then, I watched that horrendous Kennedy Family Auction, where a lot of very rich, very important people paid outrageous sums of cash for JUNK, just because it once belonged to someone named Kennedy. The auction collected more than twenty million dollars. Without a doubt, that was the most successful garage sale in the history of the world.
The Kennedys certainly did better than I did before I moved to Effingham. My darling wife and I had a garage sale and we netted $125 from the all-day ordeal, and then I had to haul all the leftovers off in my truck to Goodwill just to get rid of them. Where were all the big spenders when I needed them?
That's why I've been thinking about money. And the more I think about it, the more certain I am about what to do next.
I'm gonna go buy some lottery tickets.
I have not written anything about the Gonzales hearings. I didn't intend to, because I am ashamed of my country when I see such a childish, asinine display of "leadership" from SENATORS, who besmirch not only themselves but the reputation of the USA with their partisan shenanegians.
All we need to make the picture ACCURATE and COMPLETE is to have Ted Kennedy wear a beanie-cap with a bent helicopter blade on top, Chuck Schumer don one of those fake arrows-through-the-head props, and Patrick Leahy fall on his side and run around in a circle, crying "WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!" the way Curley Howard did in the Three Stooges. That crap would display more dignity that what they're showing now.
Wanna know just how stupid, pompous and ridiculous these "leaders" really are? Read this. My aching ass.
Ted Kennendy doesn't know anything about pretending to drown someone. He did it for real.
i like it
I don't remember ever sleeping in the Crackerbox before with all the windows open. It's very nice. The night air smells of pine trees, oak leaves and dew--- and I have crickets and frogs singing outside my window.
Tonight, I can hear the whistle of the freight train clearly as it crosses the tracks at Blue Jay Road, a good 15 miles away. Damn! I LOVE the sound of a train whistle in the night. I fell asleep to that sound so many times when I was a boy in the coal mining camp that I believe it became stuck in my blood. That lonesome moan is music to my ears.
No snow. No ice. A low temperature of 53 degrees tonight. Windows open. Wind chimes. Southern sounds outside.
Life is good sometimes.
I get all wet in the pants and itchy around the anus when I hear that somebody is going to interview a blogger. I can't wait to read the interview, because then I'll wonder AGAIN why I wasn't interviewed, I'll get all depressed and I'll write something that suggests that I might have taken a pain pill when I returned home from the basketball game tonight.
I can't help it. It's like seeing a blog-popularity contest and realizing that you aren't even nominated for ANYTHING. Man, that really chaps my ass. I always wanted to be popular, and I always wanted people to love me, but I tend to be a selfish, egotistal, loud-mouthed shitass, and some people can't accept that essential part of me.
Fuck 'em, I say.
Heh. I'd give someone a good interview.
Interview Chick with Her Tits Hanging Out: Mmmmm...MMMMM..uuuhhh...hey?
Acidman: I didn't hear the question. I was lookin' at your tits. Are those things real?
Interview Chick With Tits: Acidman... do you smoke marijuana?
Acidman: Why do you ask? Do you have any?
Chick With Tits: Acidman, have you been drinking?
Acidman Why? You got any?
Interview Tits: You've blogged about your "Bionic Roscoe." Would you like to talk about it now?
Acidman: TALK about it? Hell, baby, I'll SHOW it to you. C'mere and help me with this belt buckle...
Tits: Maybe later... You write a lot about music. How has music affected your life?
Acidman: It got me laid a lot. Speaking of music, I could make beautiful music with you. Could I touch one of them titties?
Intertit: Maybe later. Are you ALWAYS such a skinny old gray-haired letcher?
Acidman: No. I have silver hair and today is a down day. I took some medication that makes me feel really good, so I only fantasize about ripping you shirt off instead of actually doing it. But you could change all that if you'll let me touch one of them BEAUTIFUL titties. Are those things real?
Intit: There you have it!!! Acidman, as told by Acidman!!! (Got-dammit! Get your hand outta there!!) This is Interview Chick, signing out.
(You old bastard! Stop that!!!)
January 06, 2005
fired for blogging
I get credit for inspiring this post and I was preening until I read it. It's about the "Blogger's Bill of Rights" I linked to recently. Steve disagrees with me and so do a lot of his commenters.
I think a lot of people missed my point. I DO NOT advocate a special bill of rights for bloggers. But I DO believe that companies should have a written policy about an employee operating a blog. A lot of people have blogs today--- and Kerr McGee had a written policy for everything from a complete plant evacuation to wiping your ass on company TP---so, why not have a policy about blogging?
Just make the rules clear; that's all I ask.
I was responsible for disciplining many an employee during my career as a supervisor. I learned early on that if you wanted to make a case stick, you talked to the guy first, then gave him paperwork second, gave him MORE paperwork third, then suspended his ass if the first three didn't get his attention.
That's called "progressive discipline" and you do it that way so that the miscreant can't stand up in Human Resources when his ass is headed out the door and say, "NOBODY EVER TOLD ME THAT!!!" You've gotta make the rules clear.
Here is what happened to me:
I NEVER blogged on company time. Every post I ever wrote was done from my home. I didn't blog at work. I never mentioned the name of the company I worked for, either, until they retired me.
Some union asshole discovered my blog (probably while he was fucking off at work) and the asshole was highly offended. He complained to management.
Management immediately hemmorhaged and ran to Human Resources with the problem. Human Resources called Legal in Oklahoma City and asked the lawyers what to do. The lawyers said, "GET RID OF HIM.... but do it nicely..."
Nobody in management ever said anything to me about my blog until the moment they got rid of me. Plus, I had about 15,000 posts up at the time, and they cherry-picked THREE POSTS to demonstrate my unfitness as a supervisor.
They violated every rule they ever taught me about disciplining an employee. They also behaved EXACTLY LIKE those idiots who want to remove Huckleberry Finn from school libraries because it has that terrible "N-word" in it, when the dipsticks haven't bothered to read the entire book.
I am happy with the end result, but I don't like the way I was treated. I believe that what Kerr-McGee did to me was cowardly, dishonest, undignified and nutless. EVERY TIME I fired somebody, I let them see it coming, I let them know WHY it was coming, and I looked them square in the eye when I did it. No mystery there.
No, I don't really want a "Blogger's Bill of Rights" that treats bloggers as special people. I've never asked to be treated as "special" in my life and I ain't about to start now. I just want all companies to threat EMPLOYEES as PEOPLE, not clock numbers or politically-incorrect liabilities. If you'll fire people for blogging, just say so ahead of time, or WARN someone if you don't like it.
Just make the rules clear; that's all I ask.
he got off easy
I believe that I would rather have testicular cancer or a case of herpes than an ex-wife. At least medical science holds out hope for a cure for those diseases. If you have a vindictive ex-wife, you are doomed. You're stuck with THE LAW, and science can't help you there.
Swofford, 53, and his wife separated three years ago. But two weeks after the winning numbers were announced, Ann Swofford served him with divorce papers and claimed a share of the prize.
At the risk of sounding misogynistic and bitter (which I am), I want to ask a question--- just what in the hell did that bitch do to deserve $5.25 million? Other than be a goddam vampire?
I can understand the court ordering the (now, officially) ex-husband to set up something for his son, but I believe that any loving father would do that of his own accord and be more generous than the judge was. But $5.25 million to the ex-wife just because.... she wasn't legally an ex-wife during the three years she separated from her husband? I think that's outrageous.
But I also know that the guy got off easy. She could have gone for half and gotten it.
I saw Quinton's first basketball game of the season tonight. His team lost a thriller, 16-15, with the game going right down to the wire. My boy hustled his ass off all over the court.
Quinton can't shoot. He doesn't dribble very well. His passing is woeful. His rebounding sucks. His defense is marginal. Other than those minor faults, he played a good game.
Hell, the kids had fun and so did I. That's all that really matters at that age.
Read the signs
Yes, Islam is the Religion of Peace and its practicioners are ALL reasonable, peace-loving people--- not raving, ignorant, hate-filled, semi-human, sadistic scum--- no matter how they act. I read this post and almost hurled shrimp salad all over my keyboard.
One factor holding back donations appears to be a widespread belief that vacationers were swept away as a form of divine retribution for their un-Islamic or immoral lifestyles. That argument was heard in televised Friday prayers across the Arab world.
Okay... let me get this straight... Allah has no problem with beheadings, the murder of children, suicide bombers and treating wimmen like chattel... but HE'LL BUST YOUR ASS for "fornication." Yeah. Right. Makes perfect sense to me.
Cleric, go fornicate yourself --- and fuck Allah while you're at it, too.
I don't know if the video is real, but it looks pretty convincing to me. I just can't believe that they ARRESTED the guy didn't SEARCH him.
Hell, I get searched just for walking through an airport.
martha is right
I never thought Martha Stewart should be in jail in the first place, but that's just MY humble opinion, not what "justice" decided. She lied, and she went to jail. John Kerry lied a BUNCH and almost became President. Ted Kennedy KILLED somebody and never went to jail. I see a cognitive disconnect there, but my opinions don't matter.
I have opinions on this issue, too, and they are remarkably similar to Martha's.
I made a bowl of this for lunch today. You should try it sometime.
*One pound of shrimp, boiled and peeled, then diced
*Five stalks of celery hearts, diced
*1/2 a large Vidalia onion, diced
*One tablespoon of pickle relish
*Celery salt, black pepper, red pepper
*1/3 of a fresh lemon
*1/2 cup of mayonaisse
Sautee the celery and onion in butter while the shrimp boil. Once everything is cooked and diced, throw it all into a bowl, squeeze the lemon juice in and add the pickle relish. Dump the mayonaisse in there and stir the hell out of it until it's all mixed well. Use the spices to taste. Put the mixture in the refrigerator for 30 minutes, then eat it.
It's good for making a sandwich, smearing on Ritz Crackers or eating straight-up, all by itself.
Try it. You'll LIKE it!
eat your heart out, part II
I turned off MY heater this morning and I have every window in the Crackerbox open right now. It was HOT inside. I didn't want to run my air conditioner, so I just gave the cooling job to Mother Nature. She isn't doing a real good job.
It's 80 degrees here today.
i like dogs
If this plea was for cat-aid, I'd ignore it. I hate cats.
But it's for dogs, so I'm gonna link it.
i bow subserviently
I wish I had written this post. Damn! That one brought back some memories, because I grew up watching Howdy Doody. (I still have an original Howdy Doody puppet-doll, circa 1954, at my mama's house. That thing is probably worth some money today.)
Yeah, the show was done on the cheap. It was sophomoric, simplistic and occasionally downright stupid, with goofy characters and no pretense of preaching "values" or "self-esteem" to kids--- in other words, it was the perfect kid's show for ME when I was four years old.
I wish I could buy some videos of those old shows. I'd like to watch them now, almost 50 years later.
From a column in The Effingham Herald on July 19, 1996
Today, I would like to bash lawyers.
But I won't, because a lot of other people are doing that already. Even though lawyers are scum-sucking, bottom-feeding parasitic creatures who richly deserve all the abuse they get, I'm not going to pile on. Instead, I am going to bash journalists.
I know what I'm bashing. I was a journalism student at the University of Georgia for a couple of years, and that experience makes me an expert. I studied journalism diligently, as long as it could be studied around attractive coeds and inside bars that sold cheap pitchers of beer. I studied so diligently that I barely remember any of what I did at the time.
That's real dedication, which is what it takes to be a successful journalist, which ALSO is why most journalists aren't successful at anything, let alone journalism. They ALL were nerds in high school, and they never recovered from the experience. Now they live to inflict their inner feelings of inferiority on others.
I know. I sat right behind Diane in my tenth grade English class. With my pubescent brain awash in an unexplored sea of raging hormones, I sailed through English staring transfixed at the back of her neck. My pluperfect subjunctives stayed in a state of perpetual chaos and my participles dangled all tingling, like wind chimes on the gossamer thread of adolescent lust.
I don't think she ever noticed me, although the heat from my panting breath directed at the back of her neck could have brought even the most stubborn oyster right out of his shell, roasted to perfection. Conjugating a verb took on a whole new meaning to me when I gazed at her.
But Diane started dating a senior with bigger biceps and fewer pimples than I had, so I lost the first love of my life. Devestated, bitter and heartbroken by the perfidy of womankind, I vowed to become either a journalist or a member of the French Foreign Legion. Since I didn't speak French and I didn't want to learn French, the choice was obvious.
I believe that similiar adolescent traumas drive most journalists into their chosen field. That's why most journalists are snotty, whiney, dull-witted, lazy, spiteful, petty, vindictive people who hold a grudge against the world. They suck up to the powerful and famous, then turn around and spew venom like an Indian cobra at the same people whenever they get they chance.
That's why journalists go into feeding frenzies over fast-breaking, critically-important. earth-shaking stories about Rodney King, O.J. Simpson, global warming, Mad Cow Disease, GOP budget cuts, the Menendez Brothers, Bill Clinton, 100,000 new cops on the street, and any other lie, distortion or outright fantasy that some gasbag member of government of some Hollywood celebrity uses to chum the water.
Journalists dutifully report such stories because they weren't really smart to begin with, their brains were burnt to a crisp in J-school, and they now are unable to recognize a lie from the truth, and they basically are too lazy to care about the difference. The reason is obvious.
They never forgot the rejection from Diane in tenth grade, and they want revenge for the fact that they really WERE nerds back then. They can't get over it.
And neither can I. I wonder what ever happened to Diane?
Yeah, it's eight years old, but it still applies today. Maybe more now than ever.
I know what it is, but I never knew what to call it before. now I do.
Did you ever climb the ladder on one of those tall slides on the playground, reach the top and launch yourself down the incline with a loud "WHOOOOO!" only to have your ass stick to the slide like a fly on flypaper? Did you then try to lubricate the slide by pouring sand on it, so that you made it to the bottom next time, but left pieces of your shorts and your sandpapered ass in your wake?
Of course YOU didn't. But I did. I always thought that the metal used to make those slides was bound to have some undiscovered military application, but I never pursued the idea, because I never knew what I was dealing with. I am ignorant no more.
Those slides are made from "frictionium."
get over it
Bush won. Period. He got more votes than Kerry did. And Bush won Ohio. No amount of pouting, throwing temper tantrums, crying like a baby or holding your breath until you turn as blue as a Blue State is going to change that fact.
Why the hell do this, other than just to show your whiny, sore-loser ass?
Oh. Barbara Boxer (Dingbat-California) and John Conyers (Turkey-thief-Michigan) are the dazzling intellects pushing this farce. Never mind. I see things clearly now.
A couple of political farces doing something farcical. That's not news.
I don't know why I bothered to mention it.
quote of the day
"A kilt is an unrivaled garment for fornication and diarrhea."
January 05, 2005
You read about this happening all the time. You're just walking along the beach, minding your own business when--- suddenly--- you discover a SHIT-POT FULL OF HERB right there in front of you.
What do YOU do? Do you call the authorities like a law-abiding citizen? Do you look around to see if anybody is watching, then grab it up and run, thinking about all of your ex-hippie friends who'll BUY that stuff?? Or do you just keep on walking and pretend that you didn't see it at all?
I know what I would do. How about YOU?
My site seems to have crashed and burned for a couple of hours. I DIDN'T DO IT!!!
But I think it's working again now.
When Samantha and Stacey were cleaning my house, they accidentially uncovered the scrapbook where I have about six month's worth of the columns I wrote for the Effingham Herald years ago, when life was good. I'm going to post a few of them from time time to prove two points I want to make.
First--- I have been writing for a long time, pretty much in the style I write with today.
Second--- I CAN write without using profanity when I want to.
I think some of my old stuff is pretty good, in MY humble opinion. Hang around and you can decide for yourself.
another word contest
Roll these words around on your tongue: "Ubiquitious." "Forte." "Lickspittle." "Hubris." Now brush your teeth, because they all feel like nasty words in your mouth, even though they're not.
Finished? Good. Now use all four words in a coherent sentence. Bonus points added if you can work "Codswallop" in there, too.
I can do it. Can YOU?
why aren't we dead?
I grew up a lot like this. My friends and I made our own skateboards out of planks and a roller skate. We busted our asses regularly on concrete and bled like stuck hogs. If you didn't have a few peeling scabs from previous wounds, you were a pussy.
We played "WAR" with anything we could find to throw, shoot or otherwise launch at each other. We had gladiator fights using home-made wooden swords and trash can lids for shields. We climbed trees and jumped out of them. We fought, we ran, we played and we skinny-dipped in the Forrest City Gun Club Lake, which was supposed to be filled with water moccasins. I was convinced that all of us pissing in the water was what kept the snakes away.
We drank water out of garden hoses and ate food that we acidentially dropped on the ground first (just blow on it-- it'll be okay). We gnawed on wild berries, sourgrass and sometimes pears that we stole off a neighbor's tree when we could distract her dog.
We had BB guns. We rode unsafe bicycles. We learned to make tire-swings, tree-forts and sky-rails (That's running a piece of clothesline wire from one tall tree up high to another near the ground with a piece of pipe on the wire. Somebody on the ground throws you the pipe and when it slides up the wire, you grab it and jump out of the tall tree for one hell of a ride.) and we tested the limits of them all.
Somehow, we all survived. Imagine that. Yeah, a few stitches and a couple of broken bones were part of the mix, but we had one hell of a lot of fun. Those days are over now.
Too many parents want to wrap their children in an illusiory cocoon of "safety," and they're raising a generation of wimps and titty-babies as a result. Busting your ass doing something stupid is part of growing up. It makes you smarter.
(Yeah. I know what shingletab is, too.)
stirrin' the pot
At the Helen blog-meet, I asked a simple question: "Have any of you ever written a post KNOWING that you were gonna piss a lot of people off, and then did it just to see HOW MANY people you could piss off?" Most people shook their heads and said, "no...."
Damn! I was surprised. Of course, I knew that these guys would shout "HELL YEAH!" in unison, and they did. They may be yankees, but they think a lot like I do (and I mean that with all the non-gay love I can muster for yankees). Geoff and Gordon share my motto: "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."
I confess. A lot of what I write is designed to stir the pot. I want people to REACT, whether they agree with what I write or not. If I make you laugh or make you think or just plain chap your ass, my mission is accomplished. I got a reaction. Always remember that fact when you read me, and think about it when you blog.
I'd rather be hated than ignored.
where have you been?
This is a good blog. I don't know how I missed it for so long.
I'm gonna roll this one.
my son's first haircut
From The Effingham County Herald on July 31, 1996.
My son got his first haircut yesterday.
Okay, it wasn't his FIRST haircut, because I have attacked his flowing locks on several occasions with clippers, snippers, cutters and whackers of various kinds, just to stave off his growing resemblance to Cousin Itt from "The Addams Family." I thought I did a pretty good job, but after my last effort, my darling wife suggested--- nay, INSISTED--- that my son was in desperate need of professional handling in the future.
Heck, I was proud of everything I had done. Quinton still had both ears, both eyes, his nose and all ten fingers after my tonsorial efforts. He might have looked a little ragged, but he was okay. In fact, he LIKED having me cut his hair.
I had three factors operating in my favor. First, my boy trusts me and he will sit perfectly still while I do all kinds of things around his head and face, no matter how frightening a mature adult might find my actions to be. Of course, Quinton is two years old and is easily convinced that Daddy knows what he's doing even when Daddy doesn't.
Second, he is MY SON and I can cut his hair if I want to. If I tell him, "C'mere," he comes. He knows who is the Tall Dog around the house. He grasped that concept of "he's bigger than I am" early in life. He understands because we've done some serious male bonding on this subject while his mother was away.
Third, my boy can sit in his own chair to have his hair cut at home. He likes that. Being a very perceptive, intelligent little man, he realized a long time ago that anytime grownups insist that he sit somewhere he wouldn't choose to sit on his own, bad things happen. He associates being MADE to sit somewhere with getting shots in the doctor's office.
That's why he won't sit on his potty-chair, on Santa's lap at the mall or any other place not of his own choosing. He is a smart boy.
That's why he didn't like the barber shop. My hormone-riddled teenage daughter had her hair cut first, just to show Quinton how easy and pleasant the experience would be. He watched, fascinated, while he munched candy, which is a standard tranquilizer dispensed to two year-olds in barber shops because the employees of the shop cannot prescribe stronger drugs.
My boy was fine watching my daughter. Then, it was his turn in the chair.
If you are of a poetic nature, listen to the wind in the trees tonight. If you hear a faint, keening, death-wail among the rustling leaves, that's simply the last of my son's screams being shaken from where they stuck like shards of broken glass, sent forth in all directions.
If the level in rivers and streams across the country seem higher now, it's not from recent rain. My son's tears flowed in such profusion that no levee on the banks of the mighty Mississippi could have withstood the flood. Heartbroken and pained, I watched the episode and cursed myself for not bringing the roll of immobilization duct tape I bought just for this occasion.
My son ended up with a fine haircut. I believe that the barber is in therapy.
When the ordeal was over, we fed the boy pizza, his favorite food. I asked him if he liked his haircut and he stopped eating.
"No!" he said. "Daddy do it next time." I didn't tell him the unpleasant truth.
I'm afraid that those days are over, son.
(Heh. Read this story, too. Some things never change.)
If you don't read this site, you should. For someone who says:
"Alphecca is an occasional blog by a gay gun-nut from Vermont. Opinions about all sorts of stuff I know nothing about..."
he seems to know plenty about gun control.
He's got a series of really good posts. Just start at the top and scroll down.
eat your heart out
The weather outside the Crackerbox is a balmy 75 degrees with a beautiful blue sky overhead. The gentle breeze out of the southwest is just enough to ripple the American flag on my front porch. I've been doing some yard work today and I was comfortable in a tee-shirt and shorts (no shoes). Oh, yes... I hate these harsh Southern winters.
I am Sooooooo sorry that we don't get a lot of this. BWHAHAHAHAAA!!!!!
I can just see myself in this situation. The day I give up my seat on an airplane to a fucking CAT is the day I'm ready to rest a long time in a rubber room.
I hate cats.
Here is a column I wrote for The Effingham County Herald on August 28, 1996. It's one of the last pieces they published before they dropped me for offending too many people. Calling my wife "the Underwear Fairy" really DID chap a lot of asses.
Believe it or not (I still don't), I caught a lot of flack from a lot of people after I referred to my darling wife as "The Underwear Fairy" in a recent column. I studiously analyzed all the flack and concluded that anyone who griped about that column was totally deranged, probably from wearing dirty underwear.
Just because I have an Underwear Fairy to wash my drawers doesn't mean that I sprawl on the counch all day like some kind of chauvinist potato while my darling wife waits on me hand and foot. I suggested that arrangement when we first married, but she countered by suggesting that I perform an anatomically impossible act upon myself, so I dropped that idea like a hot rock in the spirit of compromise.
We share most of the household chores on an equal basis. For example, I do all the cooking and she cleans up the mess I make. I am charge of trash disposal, yard maintenance and vermin control, and she doesn't run me off even when I behave like a species of vermin. I give her my paycheck and she spends it.
We also have very distinct roles when it comes to assembling something that we bought unassembled. This sort of stuff always comes in a box, filled with a gazillion oddly-shaped pieces and a set of indecipherable instructions written by a demented foreign sadist in what appears to be his native tongue.
I always dump the contents of the box on the floor, study the instructions, examine all the oddly-shaped parts and immediately decide that there is no way under the sun that anyone could EVER make that pile of parts resemble anything even remotely like the picture on the box. Then, I gather the proper tools and spend about an hour proving my theory correct.
That's when I stomp off to fetch chainsaw and shotgun to perform an exorcism on that misbegotten spawn of Satan. My darling wife comes to my rescue then, talking me back down to earth and pacifying me with a Klondike Bar. Once I am in harmless mode, she sits down and puts the whole thing together, just like the picture on the box, in about the same amount of time it takes me to eat the Klondike Bar.
I hate it when she does that, because it offends every primitive, prehistoric, hunter-gatherer instinct I have about who should sit on the floor of the cave and play successfully with tools.
But it's a good thing she does it. Otherwise, the house and yard would be littered with the chain-sawed, shotgunned remains from the totally justified exorcisms of diabolical demons that attempted to enter my home disguised as swing sets, barbecue grills, wheelbarrows, home entertainment centers, snap-together shelf units and even my son's kiddie bed.
Yes, I can set aside my male ego and remain totally secure while my darling wife plays with tools in the cave. Especially when one of those tools is the washing machine.
That's where she performs exorcisms on my underwear.
Pretty damned offensive, isn't it?
I am an athiest, but I have no problem with organized religion as long as it leaves me alone. I SEARCHED for my Religious Bone when I was in college--- I read the Bible a couple of times, I experimented with Buddism, I read the Koran and the Torah, I really tried to make sense of it all. I couldn't.
I still believe that God is a creature created from man's superstition and an easy way to explain the unexplainable. I see no problem with people embracing that superstition if it brings comfort to their lives. We all have a rough row to hoe, and I'm all for whatever gets you through the night.
But I do NOT like zealots of any kind. If you want to pray, do it in your closet. That session is supposed to be between you and God, not some kind of spectacle for others to witness. You can pity me, pray for me and mourn the loss of my immortal soul, but DO NOT attempt to evangelicize my ass. I won't listen and you'll piss me off. And if you believe in a God that tells you to kill other people in a Holy War, I'm sorry--- both YOU and your god are fucked up in MY humble opinion.
Religion can be a good thing. It puts a lot of people on the right track that wouldn't be there otherwise. It also provides comfort when the shit hits the fan in life. I am NOT anti-religion. I am anti-zealot.
I am just not a believer and I never will be.
January 04, 2005
spock, i've been stunned
I am anything but a prude. But I dislike the utter rudeness, lack of class and scorn for ANY type of decency that some people seem to show today. I don't like it on the street, I REFUSE to hear it on my stereo, and I don't like it when it shows up on my TV.
Just what in the hell did that crazy bitch think she was doing tonight as she bumped and ground and orgasmed her way through "You make Me Want To Screw" at half-time of the Orange Bowl on prime time network television? Bejus on a bike! That's about the most shameless piece of fuckwittery I ever saw. There were KIDS in that audience! Save that shit for the bars.
The crowd booed the performance. Good for the crowd.
I am watching the alleged "National College Championship" football game. The score is 38-10 at the half. Oklahoma looks like Fido's ass and USC is giving them an old-fashioned butt-whuppin.' This could get REALLY ugly in the 3rd quarter.
But Auburn has no shot at a national championship. Go figure.
why i don't date
I have a shitty attitude.
heard of 'em?
Probably not, but they followed my advice below. I TOLD you people that I look at such things. Check 'em out.
In all modesty, I know that I can throw several hundred visitors somebody's way with a link on my page. I do that sometimes because I want you to go check them out. Then, YOU make up YOUR mind. If the blog is any good, you'll return. If not, you won't.
If you want visitors on your blog, you can politic, you can bug people and you can hope like hell that Glenn Reynolds links you some day. But to me, blogging is a lot like being a solo guitar player in a bar.
Yeah, you need to get people to walk in the door. But the trick after that is to keep them there and make them want to come back. You've got to have the music to do that.
It's the same thing with a blog.
Samantha called me today to let me know that she and Stacey made it home okay. We had a nice visit while she was here; unfortunately, she has a big problem now. Her computer went tits-up while she was gone. She wanted me to let you know that her blog may be down for a while until she can get her 'puter repaired.
I would say go here and send her some money, but that's against my nature. (If YOU want to do it, that's okay. It's YOUR choice and YOUR money. But I won't.) I'm going to offer her a LOAN, because she needs a computer for her eBay business. I'm going to ride to her rescue, with strings attached. Ain't no free lunch, not even for my daughter in my world.
Plus... I want to see if she has the ass to pay me back what she borrows.
I often listen to leftist moonbats talk and I wonder what kind of delusional bubble they live in. It damn sure ain't the world the way I know it. Here are some things I believe that leftists don't.
*A hand-OUT is not the same as a hand-UP. If you teach people to rely on handouts, that's what they do. Forever. Life is comfortable when all you have to do is sit on your ass.
*SUVs are NOT "destroying the planet." What a bunch of environmentalist horseshit. Take a look at what Goddess Gaia did in Southeast Asia and tell me AGAIN how SUVs are gonna kill us all? Pea-brained asswits.
*We live in the best country on the face of the planet. The USA isn't perfect, but it's a long sight better than anywhere else. The only people who refuse to admit that fact are those who hate freedom, wealth and prosperity. Envious bastards.
*Life is not "fair" and no government is ever going to change that fact. Shit happens sometimes. You've just gotta grab your jockstrap, and keep trucking when it happens to YOU. Voting for a host of nanny-state laws doesn't make life "fair." That crap makes it MORE UNFAIR than it already is. Idiots.
*I don't OWE anybody anything that I'm not willing to give of my own free will. That means money, respect, trust, love, friendship, hospitality, kindness or anything else. I prefer to write with jocularity on this blog, rather than display the blase "sophistication" of European ass-weenies, but believe that I have the right to be a heartless, trucluent bastard if I want to be, and no obsequious little whiner deserves ANYTHING from me just because I have it and he doesn't. (That one was just to see if you've been paying attention.)
*Heh. I think I'll stop right there. I TOLD you people that I could write a coherent sentence with the words "jocularity," blase," "trucuent" and "obsequious." I just did.
And I needed NO government help to do it.
(Link stolen from here.)
This is NOT a pretty picture. It makes me think of broken dolls tossed into a landfill.
But those aren't broken dolls.
(link stolen form here.)
Here is a series of posts about how to launch a successful blog. I agree with just about everything he says, but I've never emailed people and asked them to look at my blog. I STILL believe that if you build it, they will come. Word travels quickly in Blogdom.
Catching the attention of other bloggers is a formidable task. You're competing for attention in a crowded field that is squeezing in new members every day. But you can find an audience if you recognize that there is not only an art to marketing your blog but a set of unwritten rules of etiquette that apply to the process. Learn them and you will be on your way to success:
You can read his list, or you can listen to me.
*I say, leave COMMENTS on other blogs and link the ones you want to read you. I follow trackbacks and I look at who comments on my page. I find a lot of new blogs that way.
*Either blog or don't call yourself a blogger. I was a prolific poster even when I was holding down a full-time job. I still try to put something new up every day, because Blogdom is the ULTIMATE short-attention-span theater. Today's wonderful post is tomorrow's old news. If you want repeat business, keep the fucking store open, every day if you can. If you post twice a month, don't look for a loyal following (and I don't care HOW GOOD you think you are).
*Be yourself. Don't try to copy another blog. If you've got something to say, say it the way YOU want to say it. The blogs that keep me coming back are the ones where the writer's personality shines through clearly.
*Find your own niche. A lot of people blog about the news and politics. If you're going to enter that arena, you're already facing some stiff competition. I believe that you're better off blogging about what interests YOU--- and if you write well enough, you'll interest others, too.
*Have fun blogging. If you get too caught up in worrying about links and traffic, the blog turns into a job and that's why I think a lot of people burn out and quit. I became that way for a while, and I almost quit myself. But once I said "to hell with it" and just went back to writing what was on my mind, I was happy again. And I actually got MORE traffic.
That's just MY humble opinion on the subject. It worked for me.
(By the way, don't put a password on your site meter. What are you trying to hide?)
i own one
I've told you people before that I own one really, really fine guitar--- a 1964 Martin D-28. I love that thing.
Evidently, other people do, too.
back to normal
Sam and Stacey left for Texas yesterday, leaving me alone again in the Crackerbox. They didn't finish cleaning my house. They cleaned certain PLACES very well, but they didn't do the whole thing, so now the contrast between clean and filty is stark. Before, all the filth just blended together and wasn't nearly as noticable.
Maybe they believe that they'll shame me into finishing what they started. I don't think so. It'll be much easier for me to filth-up the clean places than clean up the filthy ones, so that's the route I'll take.
Several times, Sam and Stacey told me that I needed a girlfriend.
BWHAHAHAHAAA!!! I need a "girlfriend" like a need a bad case of bleeding hemmorhoids. I couldn't make Sam and Stacey understand that I have become very accustomed to living as a cranky old bachelor. I can do what I want to do whenever I want to do it, and I don't have to worry about pleasing someone else.
If I want to walk abound my house nekkid, I do. If I feeling like blogging, I blog. If I want a nap, I take one. I don't have to answer to anybody anymore. For the first time in my life, I am a free man. I kinda like it.
Let's do a cost/benefit analysis here: I GET A GIRLFRIEND!!!
*I'll probably get laid more.
*..... I can't think of any other benefits...
*She will become jealous of my blog.
*She will attempt to change me for her idea of the better.
*She won't appreciate football.
*She'll expect me to leave the lid down on my own goddam commode.
*She will PMS on me over nothing and be convinced that I'M THE ONE with an attitude.
*She will ask me questions when she really doesn't want an honest answer.
*She will remember VIVIDLY every fuckup I ever make and she will forget anything good I ever did for her when she gets hormonal. And SHE WILL get hormonal.
*I won't always get laid when I want to.
*Eventually, she will take a whole lot of my money.
I don't do math, but I can count. Costs outweigh benefits.
I don't want a girlfriend.
bill of rights
I read about this blogger when her story first hit the news. What happened to her is remarkably similar to what happened to me. Corporate weenies are the same everywhere.
She now proposes a blogger's bill of rights, which I totally support.
We, the inhabitants of the Blogosphere, do hereby proclaim that bloggers everywhere be granted the following basic rights:
I never blogged from work. I never mentioned the name of my company on my blog until after I was fired. When I was suspended, the HR shithead didn't dance around the issue. My BLOG contained material that was "inappropriate" for a supervisor in their plant. (No mention of any work performance issues or examples of my "inappropriate" writing being reflected by inappropriate behavior on the job.) It was all Politically Correct horseshit.
They bought me off with a fat retirement package. I should have sued their asses for wrongful discharge. If I didn't have a decent case, they wouldn't have been so willing to pay me off.
I think the Blogger's Bill of Rights is a damn good idea.
January 03, 2005
bloggers I haven't met
I make a big deal about how wild and crazy a Jawja blog-meet is, and I'm not exaggerating a whole lot when I say it. Yeah, we party hardy. But if you look at the "Bloggers I've Met" list on my roll, you won't find a turd in the bunch. These are GOOD PEOPLE--- smart, articulate
You'll notice that the word "modest" didn't find its way into that last sentence. Ego? Naw, not the bloggers I've met. We all left that simplistic concept of ego in the rear-view mirror a long time ago. "Demi-Gods" is more accurate to describe the bloggers I know.
Here is a list of bloggers I HAVE NOT MET, but I really want to.
#1) He can run, but he can't hide. I'll track this bastard down, sooner or later, and have a beer with him. He lives in Jawja now, so he's not out of my reach.
#2) I want to see if this one is as intriguing in person as she is on her blog. I'll bet I could get her stirred into a rant if I tried.
#3) I've been reading this guy for years and I think he and I would hit it off well. That's gonna happen one fine day.
#4) This one is my favorite war correspondent. I've got my mama reading his blog now, because we're all sick and tired of the bullshit the MSM throws at us about the troops in Iraq. You can get the REAL scoop on his site, and I want to buy him a beer.
#5) He may be Canadian, but I owe this guy. I won't hold his country of origin against him. I believe in paying my debts, and I want to buy him a steak and all the beer he wants to drink.
#6) I'll be honest here. I want to see her tits. Yeah, I know that I'm a goddam swine, but I'm a MAN! What else did you expect?
#7) Okay, I want to see her tits, too. I TOLDJA that I was a swine.
#8) I want to go to man-camp and help cook a whole pig. Then, I want to tear off hunks of that pig and eat that sumbitch with my bare hands. I want to belch and fart around an open fire with this guy. I DON'T want to see his titties.
#9) I believe that if this guy and I got together in the same room, we could disrupt the fabric of the universe. The only way I know to prove my theory is to try it out some fine day.
#10) So SWEEEET. So MOTHERLY!!! So MIDWESTERN!!! I'd like to see her take a few slashes of Jawja home-made wine and run nekkid down a creek under the light of a full moon. I like tearing down icons.
ONE TO GROW ON:
Anybody who paints with her titties can't be all bad. I've never seen her titties, but I DO have a picture of some of her art. I think she's my kind of woman.
Beware, people. I may stalk you in the future.
I like words. They are like pieces of leggos that someone with a little bit of imagination can put together to form a wonderful construction, one that makes people stand back and marvel. I have a challenge:
Can you form a coherent sentence using the words "jocularity," "obsequious," "truculent" and "blase" all at once? Ha! I didn't think you could.
plans are afoot
I'm going to sound the Acidman Early Warning Alarm here. The Third Annual Jawja Blogfest is being planned, even as we nurse our New Year's hangovers. We have a site, we have the might, and we'll all go to jail one night. Right?
Or something like that.
If you intend to be in the vicinity of Jekyll Island the weekend of April 16th, pack up the children, grab grandma and run for your life. A Tsunami of Biblical porportions is gonna hit that place.
If you can't run, then show up. Bring grandma, too. Get some home-made wine into this guy and he'll be slipping his hand up her skirt and offering her something blue. Granny will have a wonderful time.
All dead bodies will be buried in a mass grave on the beach, with all proper respect, and a eulogy that ends with, "Let's get the fuck outta here!!!"
I've seen pictures and read about other blog-meets all over the country. Buncha pussies. Wimps. Titty-babies. In Jawja, we KNOW where the half-rubber meets the road, and our party ain't for the faint of heart. If you can't run with the Tall Dogs, you'd better just keep your candy ass on the porch.
Guns. Swords. Knives. Bullwhips. Guitars. Men with big mouths and wimmen with nice boobage. Liquor stores with "CLOSED--- Due to Lack Of Inventory" signs in the window. Many horrible things said about General William T. Sherman.
Make your plans NOW. Either run, or show up.
my humble opinion
For a damn yankee, this guy ain't bad.
January 02, 2005
I had a dream last night that made me wake up in a cold sweat. I dreamed that I was sitting in the maintenence shop at work, talking to some big bosses early in the morning, and Jennifer walked in with a beer in her hand. She pointed a finger at me and said, "My daddy and your daddy, on the same day? That's got to mean something. I'm on my third beer and I'm not even at work yet."
That was weird. Jennifer never drank much.
I stood up and wanted to hug her. It's true. My daddy and her daddy died on the same day, two years apart. I was close enough to smell her perfume. I saw her face and I thought, "If I try to kiss her, she will let me." And I started to do it, right before I woke up.
God DAMN me! After all the shit she's put me through, I still love her, or at least the person I thought she was. Does this shit EVER stop??? I don't believe so.
Dreams die hard.
From an email:
not to be nosey but does the fact that your daughter is a lesbian bother you?
I showed this email to Sam and Stacey and I asked them if they minded me posting about it. They didn't. So, I'm going to answer that question.
No, sir. It does not "bother" me at all. Why should it? In MY humble opinion, Stacey has been the best thing that ever happened to Samantha. I worried for many a year about how badly my daughter might fuck up her life. She found Stacey and settled down. That's a GOOD THING in my book.
I've never cared about what anybody wants to do with their sex life as long as they don't try to shove their beliefs down MY throat. Hell, screw goats if that's what blows your dress up. Just do it quietly, behind closed doors and don't insist that goat-fuckers deserve some kind of special rights in modern society. Fuck you AND your goat if you go there.
Let's keep it all simple and fair.
Okay... my daughter is a lesbian. But she has a partner who loves her, is good to her and FOR her, and they have been together happily for three years now. Sooo... I should bitch because they both happen to be female? I don't think so.
Would it be better if Samantha were "straight" and hooked up with some crack-smoking, unemployed asswipe who got drunk every Friday night and beat the shit out of her for sport? I once thought that she might end up that way. If that had happened, I woulda had to kill somebody and I would be in jail right now.
Anybody who beats my daughter had better to be able to outrun a bullet, and I've never seen anybody who could. Yeah. I would shoot the fucker who abused my daughter.
Stacey doesn't. Stacey is a wonderful person and everybody in my family likes her. And I'm talking HILLBILLIES here, too; you know... those straight-laced, Bible-thumping, red-state, homophobic Bush voters. Even my 93 year-old grandmother agrees--- "Stacey is a good woman. Samantha is lucky to have her."
So there's you answer. No. It doesn't bother me at all.
he's been thinking again
I know the man. He is dangerous when he thinks. But every now and then he thunks a good thought and I'm going to steal this one.
Name five historical figures that I would like to have a drink with:
#1) Mark Twain (Sam Clemmens). Bourbon on the rocks, with a splash of branch. Cigars are a given. Sam is the best writer I ever read.
#2) Teddy Roosevelt. Whatever he wants to drink. I'd call it "Bully!" Balls, brass and an ego the size of the moon. That bastard reminds me of ME.
#3) Thomas Jefferson. Probably wine, but that's okay with me. I want to ask him about Sally Hemmings and the Louisiana Purchase. I also want to see if I can drink his ass under the table.
#4) Adolph Hitler. Schnapps. Straight. I want to see if the man really WAS as charming in person as people thought he was while he was busy killing six million jooooos. Of course, Adolph didn't drink alcohol. It was a vice he avoided. He didn't eat meat, either. Eating meat was another vice he avoided. Killing Jews was not a vice in his book. Go figure. I want to ask him about his logic.
#5) Robert Heinlein. Brandy, in a large snifter, with a fireplace in the background. I want to ask him where his ideas came from and how he put together some of the best science fiction I ever read. I want to worship at his feet.
Okay--- try that one yourself.
a good day
I spent today with my family. Mom, Sam, Stacey, my brother and his wife all ended up on my grandmother's porch in the balmy sunshine of a beautiful Jawja day. We had a nice, long visit, with lots of laughing and storytelling.
I took the girls out to eat at a Japanese restaurant later, where we oinked like pigs as we ate shrimp, steak, scallops, rice and vegetables that were cooked at our table by a knife-twirling, fire-starting chef. Stacey had never sampled Japanese food before and she was suitably impressed by the experience.
This was a damn good day.
I thought this was a nice post. Thank you, Charles.
Charles also wished many more visitors for this guy. I couldn't agree more. His site is one of my daily reads and we have GOT to get him to a Jawja blog-meet. Kidnapping is a possibility if he will not attend willingly. (he's also a hit-whoring slut, but I see nothing wrong with that.)
Hell... we might even kidnap Charles, too.
January 01, 2005
(Link stolen from here.)
If I saw this in my house, I would haul ass. You saw what a little dioxin did to that Russian guy in the Ukrane, didn't you? Well, I think what's in that bottle is worse than dioxin.
Want somebody putting THAT SHIT in your soup?
If you haven't visited before, go check out these sites.
here is an interesting one. Yeah, I was linked there.
here is another interesting one. Heh. She was my first commenter for 2005. Yeah, she linked me, too.
bad things happen to good people. I'm willing to talk to the guy. He linked me.
this one frightens me. I think she just might be smarter than I am. Not as CLEVER, but probably smarter. Heh. She linked me, too.
am I libertarian? I don't really think so, but maybe I'm wrong. I am called a libertarian here, where they linked me.
Do you see a pattern?
I read this post and my first reaction was: hell... I don't recall what it was. She started me thinking about pornography and I forgot about everything else.
Most wimmen are born with a cleaning gene, which is a good thing. They also come equipped with a "mother" gene that allows them to clean a baby's ass when YOU, as a man, would call in a Haz-Mat team for the job, and you don't care if it IS your own child's ass creating a Superfund site in that diaper. You don't want to go there. Wimmen can do that job and call the baby "cute" at the same time.
YOU can't do it without puking.
I was talking about pornography, wasn't I? Just elbow me in the side if I go off-topic again. I was getting around to the point that men have a pornography gene. Yeah. We LIKE watching fuck-movies. Seeing other people do the dirty stirs lust in our loins. Roscoe crawls out and desires to eat ants. We want a nice, round ass to grab a-hold of. Our brains exit our crainiums and gravitate to a lower location in our bodies.
Most wimmen do not share that gene. They become JEALOUS when you both watch a filthy movie and you want to grab a-hold of some nice, round ass. Try it when you're good and horny and see what happens.
"You bastard! You want to fuck HER, not me!!!" as she points a trembling finger at the TV screen.
You are stunned by her reaction. You don't want to fuck that girl in the movie. You just want to fuck, period. Hell, doesn't she realize that that the girl in the movie means nothing? You want HER! She's the first thing you could reach and that's an important fact to a horny man.
What else are you gonna go for? You ain't gettin' that girl with the silicone tits doing the gang-bang on the TV, so take what's RIGHT HERE!!! Go for it.
Why do so many wimmen have a problem with morphing into total sexual-swine-mode when it's so easy for a man to do? And why do even the wimmen who DO like porn describe it as "art" and never say "it just plain makes me horny?"
It makes ME horny.
Bejus. I can't believe that I wrote this post. I think I ate too many raw oysters today. Raw oysters are not good for a single man. They make you think about pornography, or pornographic things, anyway. I need to go watch some more football.
And I will. As soon as I watch this tape. "Asian Anal." Hmmm... I am certain that it's an art film.
i see you
I think that this is some spooky stuff. If the laser shots ARE coming from people seeking target acquisition, you can bet your sweet ass that they intend to shoot down an airplane or two, sooner or later. I don't know how we stop it from happening.
I've always wondered why we haven't been hit hard again since 9/11. We, as an open society, are an easy target. We have enemies who are willing to kill themselves to hurt us. Those irrational zealots are difficult to defend against and remain a free people at the same time. We must be doing SOMETHING right, because they haven't struck again.
But I don't want to know what it is. If that story got out, we'd have people screaming at the top of their lungs about human rights abuses and "profiling" or whatever the fuck the bleeding hearts could think of to bitch about. If whatever the government is doing works, I want them to keep doing it. I am happy with the results so far.
I believe, however, that we need to be careful here, because I would rather be free and sweating a terrorist attack than be "safe" under a government lock-down. I've been subjected to some pretty intense searches in my recent air travels. I didn't like it, and I thought the process was insulting and degrading. But I peservered, and I have no mental scars as a result of what happened.
I am willing to jump through that kind of hoop if it makes my country a safer place to live. That customs bullshit is no threat to my freedom unless they plant something on me. It's an inconvienience, that's all.
But what if the hoop becomes the only reason the government does it? Just to make YOU dance? And maybe they'll plant something on you just to make an arrest quota. If you don't believe that it can happen, you've never studied history.
Yeah, I worry about those laser shots. But I also don't want to be blinded by the bright light of government.
Freedom is a bitch, ain't it?
my side of the story
There she goes again. My daughter is exaggerating. First of all, my fireworks were not "out of control." Second, we DID NOT "lose" the fireworks contest with the drunken neighbors down the street, in spite of our opponent's last-minute auto-destruct tactic. We kicked their asses. Third, I DID NOT "blow up the front yard." I had a slight technical malfunction, that's all.
Who are you gonna belive? A whelp of a child, or ME?
I didn't make any New Year's Resolutions. The only one I really WANTED to make was "I'll avoid any shit-storms this year," and I know how ridiculous that idea is. No, wait... I have one-- I resolve to see 2006 and not make any resolutions THEN, either. Okay, I'm done.
Now, these are some pretty good resolutions. I'm going to save that post and turn it into a questionaire. Then, I'm going to mail it to the resolver next year and ask her how many she stuck with. Then, I'm going to post the results and humiliate her unless she agrees to clean my house. BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
I like this one:
4) I resolve to be nicer to Mr. MacFarland in 2005. He takes some egregious shit from me; I should cut him some slack. I will cut him some slack. Or at least give it up more often - I feel certain that either would be fine with him.
I hate to admit it, but she has men figgered out. And I don't mean figured out. She's got us figgered. If you don't know the difference, sombody figgered you out a long time ago. Seen your balls lately? I rest my case.
We men are in deep shit when wimmen figger out that we are almost bovine in our approach to life. Oh, we'll work hard, bring home the bacon, take care of the family and run nekkid into the yard brandishing a shotgun at midnight if we think it's the manly thing to do. But if you wave some pussy our way, we are putty in your hands.
We like pussy better than a cow likes a salt-lick, but the cow shows more dignity approaching block of salt on a stick then men do when they see pussy. It's a genetic weakness. We can't help ourselves. Once wimmen figger that fact out, we are destined for the slaughterhouse. And we'll moo contentedly all the way.
But the fact is... I don't know whether to pity or ENVY Mr. McFarland. The egregious shit doesn't stop, but the pussy doesn't, either. I could live with that. Okay, I admit it. I envy the lucky bastard. Except for one thing.
Resolutions are made to be broken.
Just read this. Is that the most blantant piece of hit-whoring you ever saw, or what? You what's REALLY pathetic about it?
i wouldn'ta told that
I've NEVER done anything like this.
At least never more than once...
They almost gave me a heart attack, but my beloved Jawja Bulldogs whipped those cheese-eating yankees from Wisconsin today, 24-21. That was one hell of a game. And David Pollack is a golden god.
Heh. Somebody owes me $50 now, too. WOOF!!! WOOF!!! WOOF!!!
I left something out on this post. I have to ask a simple question. If "Jim" feels so strongly about caring for my daughter's dog, why doesn't HE send some of HIS money to pay the vet bill instead of calling me "cheap" because I won't do it?
I mean, dude.... put YOUR MONEY where your mouth is. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.
Fuck 'em? Maybe so, maybe not. I can't argue much with what Daniel says.
I didn't make any black-eyed peas and rice today. I like to eat hoppinjohn, but that shit never brought me any good luck that I can recall, so I had oysters for breakfast this morning. Raw oysters. Let's see how THAT jump-starts my new year.
I'm having fried catfish and cole slaw for lunch while I watch the "Cheese and Cracker Bowl" (Wisconsin vs. Georgia) on TV. My beloved Dawgs are ahead 10-6 at the half in spite of playing like shit on offense so far. If they blow this game, I'll puke raw oysters and fried catfish. I don't even want to think about that.
Y'all have fun. That's what I'm doing!
All content © Rob Smith