June 30, 2005
i'll be damned!
I can't figure out how to make a permalink to the post, so I'll just provide this link and say that I had no hard feelings towards you whatsoever, darlin.' I am simply delighted that you no longer want me to go blind or die a slow, horrible death.
Enough people hate me already without you piling on.
She's 94 years old, half-blind, old and frail. But she can still take care of herself.
Two days ago, she went out in her back yard to check out her patch of beans that she's growing this year. She scared up about a foot-long snake from the bushes. It hissed at her, and she smashed its head flat with a brick. Then, she wobbled next door to fetch my Uncle Virgil. She wanted HIM to bury the snake.
Virgil took one look at the snake-corpse and exclaimed, "Mommie, that's a COPPERHEAD! That thing could have KILLED you!"
"Well, it ain't gonna kill anybody now. You go bury it." That's my grandmother. 94 years old and still meaner than a snake.
Bejus, but I love that woman.
don't get me started
I could talk for hours on this topic. I believe that I've read everything Robert Heinlein or Ayn Rand ever wrote, and both have affected my personal philosophy a GREAT DEAL. In the end, after thinking long and hard on it all, I agree more with Heinlein than I do Rand.
Rand saw things in pure black and white--- no room for compromise in there. Heinlein posited ideas and welcomed debate. Both thought a lot alike, but they were completely different in how they framed their philosophies.
Don't get me wrong--- I admire both of them. But Rand was like a strict school marm and Heinlein was more like a Socrates. Rand was ready to beat you over the head with her ideas, and she did exactly that in her books. They were GOOD ideas, but she was a battle-axe in the way she expressed them. Some of her work reminds me of screeching fingernails on a blackboard.
Heinlein, on the other hand, was more the type to laugh when you disagreed with him and ask, "Well, my son... WHY do you think that way?" And he wanted to hear what you had to say. He might puncture every one of your arguments with the skill of an expert swordsman, but he'd give you the chance to speak.
If you want to read Ayn Rand, start with We, the Living, then read Anthem and THEN read The Fountainhead. Only after that tutorial on Ayn Rand should you jump into Atlas Shrugged. If you DON"T do it that way, you'll never grasp what Ayn Rand spent her whole life saying.
(That's just MY humble advice as an English Major.)
Heinlein is someone you can read at ANY time in your life and you don't need to take his books in order to "get" what he meant to say. I still believe that The Moon is a Harsh Mistress is a POWERFUL book, speaking about what made America great and how that greatness slipped away when people sacrificed their individualism for the "comfort" of government control.
Read 'em both. But don't say the two were alike.
They weren't. And for all you people who think I'm a red-necked. moonshine-making, gun-owning, cat-hating sumbitch, you're absolutely right about me. But I read some, too.
upping the purse
My friend Willy wasn't kidding when he said he'd donate a Washburn "Rover" travel guitar to my 2,000,000th visitor prize purse. He brought the guitar over and gave it to me today.
I'll play it some tonight, just to make certain that it isn't a piece of shit. So far, it looks and feels pretty good to me.
If the winner likes it, tell all your friends about Willy's business. He'll give you a better deal than any music store will on any kind of instrument you want.
I am addicted to that show now. I confess--- I watch the old reruns AT LEAST twice a day now and I never get tired of them. I love every character on there and I like seeing people who went on to become big starts playing bit parts. You can almost taste the prarie dust and smell the horseshit in a "Gunsmoke" rerun.
Pretty Miss Kitty carries a pistol in her purse. I've seen her whip it out twice now, and once she shot somebody dead with it. It appears to be a small-caliber revolver, a lady's gun, maybe a .32 or so, but Kitty doesn't hesitate to use it. No wonder Matt is so intrigued with her.
Festus Hagin may look like a rube, but don't make him angry. He's a bad-ass when the situation calls for that kind of behavior. Festus will shoot you and THEN spur your eyeballs out if your're looking for a real fight.
Doc Adams reminds me of ME anymore. Crotchety old bastard. Cantankerous old coot. Smart-mouthed and wise-assed. Yep. Me and Doc have a lot in common--- he's just better at medicine than I am.
I'd like to go fishing with every one of those characters. Except Matt. He's too driven to suit me. I don't think he KNOWS how to relax. But he has the balls of a longhorn bull. He takes no shit from nobody, and at last count, I've seen him kill 182 people on that show.
I can't wait to watch it again tonight.
One of the bad things about growing old is seeing people die around you. Death may be just the final chapter in your life, but knowing that fact doesn't make it any easier for people who love to you handle.
If you care about somebody, that person's death ALWAYS leaves a void in your soul that you can never fill. Time lessens the grief, but the void never goes away. A part of YOU is missing forever, and you can't replace it with anything else.
I was not aware of this. I guess I haven't visited her site in a while. I knew that SHE had a real fight on her hands, but I didn't know that her husband was so ill. MommaBear, you have my deepest sympathy.
crickets and frogs
I love the sound those critters make at night. It just sounds like... a Southern night to me. It's music to my ears.
Last weekend at the Catfish mansion, I lit the last cigarette I had in a pack and decided to walk out to my car to get some more. I took one step off Cat's back porch and decided to sit down on the stoop for a minute, just to listen to the Southern Symphany playing outdoors. The frogs and crickets were singing their asses off. That all-day rain had inspired them to operatic heights of vocal lamentation to the stars.
The sound was beautiful.
About then, while I was all wrapped up in listening to the symphony, I noticed that a lot of the cricket noises were coming from BEHIND me, not out in the woods. I went to check it out and found Cat's bait cage in his garage. He must have had close to 200 crickets in there, every one trying to sing his way out of becoming fish-bait. I think they'll all be bream-food before long, but they sure kicked up a ruckus that night.
Cricket-noises are odd. If you hear them outside at night, their mating calls are musical. Get one hiding in your bedroom closet and have him start that singing, and you CAN'T SLEEP with that shit going on all night long. You'll crawl out of bed, find him and EXECUTE his ass with a can of Raid, just to get some piece and quiet.
Crickets belong outside or on a bream-hook on a fishing pole.
we're all gonna die! again!
I've lived near the coast in Southeast Georgia for more than 40 years now. I've seen TWO actual hurricanes hit where I lived and we've had several close brushes with others. Tropical storms? No big deal, really.
But you'd better crawl under your bed and assume a fetal position RIGHT NOW, because some "expert" says that we're all gonna die.
Hurricane activity has increased and is likely to remain high for a decade or more, the head of the National Hurricane Center said Wednesday.
That's pure bullshit and I won't even grant that asshole statement with the dignity of a response. Believe it, if you want to be a complete idiot. How SERIOUS is this "problem?
Overall, hurricanes claim 20 lives and cause $5.1 billion in damage in the average year. Those figures can jump many times in the event of a major storm like Andrew or Hugo.
But let's worry about hurricanes. Yeah. That big storm is gonna getcha. Hell... you're more likely to fall in your own bathtub and kill yourself than to you are die in a hurricane. This asshole just wants some more money for "research."
Scare 'em, then save 'em. Pay ME, and I can do that. That's been the motto of every salesman who ever lived.
I checked my site meter today and I see that I am closing in fast on the 2,000,000th visitor to my humble site. I should be there in less than two weeks if things keep going the way they are now.
I think I'm going to make a big production and award a prize to my 2,000,000th visitor. Gut Rumbles really has been a labor of love for me, and I never imagined when I started that so many people would read me. I remember thinking that I was a Tall Dog when I was getting 35 visitors a day. Some of that Original Crew is still around today, too. I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Anyway, here's what I'm offering as a prize for my 2,000,000th visitor:
1) A six-pack of really good imported cigars.
2) A genuine, one-of-a-kind GUT RUMBLES bumper sticker.
3) A jar of "home-made wine," created in the Acidman back-porch still.
4) YOUR NAME on my blog.
I think those are worthy prizes. You'll be the envy of all your friends if you win. So pay attention.
I'll be watching.
Careful what you ask for
A self-confessed "shameless link-whore" sent me this post in an email. I'm going to post it, because it should piss cat-lovers off. I find those people really interesting.
I can write about politics, abortion, religion and sex and people want to argue with my views and they sometimes tell me that I'm going straight to hell for my beliefs. But I DO NOT have those people wishing me death by cancer or some other absolutely horrible fate.
Cat-lovers do that. They are a lot like those heartless animals they love so much. Claw and fang, kill for the fun of killing. Death itself isn't good enough. SLOOOOW DEATH is better.
Therefore, I proudly offer this link for a nice Thursday morning read.
June 29, 2005
i wouldn't put it that way
I agree with this guy's basic premise, but I don't like some of the anaogies he employs in his argument. I do NOT believe that I owe society anything, other than to pay my taxes and leave other people alone. I accept (most) of society's rules and play by them because civilization is better than savagery or anarchy.
But I believe in the individual, not the hive.
I also do not believe that any school or parent can "teach" self-esteem to a youngster. That's a quality kids learn on their own, through competition, hard work, success and yes... even failure. Sometimes, getting the shit beat out of you makes you stronger than you were before. It's a valuable lesson in life.
"Sparing" children from hard knocks does not prepare them to face life on their own. I want both of my children to be individuals and march to the beat of their own drum, just like Daddy does, but I expect them to understand the rules, too. You can be a maverick, but there are certain fences that you just don't jump.
That's called "discipline," and I don't believe enough children get a strong enough dose of that today. Pure, unadulterated pride and self-esteem are detriments to an individual if those qualities aren't tempered with discipline. Just look at serial killers. THERE'S some real self-esteem for you. But no discipline.
When I played football, I considered myself to be a string on a guitar. EVERYBODY on the team had to be in tune, or we played like crap together. But I don't think that way on my own. I don't see "society" as my team. It damn sure ain't in tune with what I think.
I've always been a rebel and I believe that I always will be. But I understand rules, too, and I understand the consequences of violating them. Sometimes, I'll say to hell with it and take my chances when I believe that the rules are foolish. (Like cooking moonshine on my back porch.) Unlike some others I see every day, I accept the risk I'm taking. If I'm busted, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.
I'll take my medicine. I gambled and lost. Shit happens.
You know something very few children learn to say today, even in their deepest, private thoughts? It's "I fucked up."
THAT is "society's" fault. It's the fault of "caring parents." That is the fault of public schools. THAT is the fault of a "progressive" attitude. Teach kids that even when they fuck-up, they didn't REALLY fuck-up and you're gonna raise a generation of fuck-ups who don't see anything WRONG with being the way they are.
That's MY humble opinion on this issue.
who dis is?
Continuing the theme from the post below, I want to write about wrong numbers. I get a LOT of phone calls from people looking for someone else named Robert Smith. Those I can understand, because it's probably someone going down the list in the phone book until they find the right one. I've done that kind of thing myself before.
But I also get idiotic wrong number calls. I had one just before my divorce with Jennifer and I probably didn't handle that one well. I had a big shutdown at work the next day, so I went to bed early.
The phone rang at about 9:00 that night, just as I was dozing off. I answered after the first ring (I figured it was work calling) and I said, "Hello?" I could hear the noise of a bar in the background.
"Who dis is?" said a voice on the other end.
"Who DIS is?" I replied. "I didn't call YOU, asshole, YOU called ME."
"I wanna be speakin' to Latwanna"
"Well, Latwanna ain't here. You've got the wrong number." I hung up.
The phone rang again immediately. It was the same guy. "Put Latwanna on the phone," he demanded. I was good and pissed off by then.
"Latwanna don't want to talk to you. Besides, she can't right now because she has my dick in her mouth. If you call back in about 30 minutes, I'll be through with the bitch and you can have her then. You might want her to brush her teeth before you kiss her, Sugar Bear." And I hung up again.
The guy didn't call back. But I DID check the newspapers for the next few days to see if someone named "Latwanna" was killed by a jealous lover who couldn't operate a telephone, but just MIGHT be able to stick someone with a knife.
I sometimes am rude to people who call a wrong number.
he thinks he's got a problem?
Sam... I feel your pain, but you ain't getting a bunch of sympathy from me. YOU may be Sam Moore (yeah, just as common as crabgrass) but MY name is Robert Smith. I think my name trumps yours for weird searches looking for somebody else.
It's a curse we bear, my friend. Just TODAY, I received three phone calls from people looking for a Rob Smith that wasn't me. (Evidently, I have a doppleganger who does upholstery for a living and hasn't returned somebody's sofa. And another one who isn't paying his child support. And another one who has a sister named "Shirley.")
I get this shit every day.
I ain't gonna cuss my daddy for giving me my name, but I WILL call it an inconvenience at times.
Whittlin' is another art that is vanishing fast in this country. When I was a boy, I always liked to hang around the "gossip bench," where the old men sat, chewed tobacco, told tall tales and whittled with their razor-sharp pocket knives all day.
Those old men could create wonders. I watched them pick up a piece of fresh-cut pine, test it for heft and feel, and then sit down to start whittling. When they were finished, they'd have a big pile of wood-shavings between their boots and the most wonderous carving you ever saw.
They could make dancing puppets, a perfectly ROUND ball inside a cube of wood that would rattle around when you shook it but wouldn't come out of the cube no matter what you tried, and miniature wooden Indians, just like the one that stood outside the tobacco shop in downtown Harlan, Kentucky.
I don't see many talented whittlers anymore. I kinda miss that, because I'm old enough now to warrant a spot on the "gossip bench" with the rest of the old men. I can chew tobacco and I can tell tall tales, but I never learned to whittle very well. My grandfather could do it. I can't.
But I wouldn't mind learning. Hell, kids like watching old men work wood that way, and if he's a polite kid while he watches (and don't think those little pitchers don't have BIG ears) and listens to the stories, he just MIGHT walk off with a hand-made toy and a lot of good stories to tell himself.
I did, many a time. I think that experience shows in my blog.
Alas, whittling is another part of my childhood that's going the way of the buggy-whip and the outhouse. That crap is obsolete today.
I DO NOT believe that we are better off as a society when whitting becomes a lost art.
Just damn! I hate to hear this:
I am sorry to hear this news. Terry was a witty, insightful person who was always welcome in my comments. I'm going to miss him.
misery loves company
I have this same problem. There is NO such thing as an "easy-open" package that I've discovered in my life. I end up ripping the damned thing to shreds every time I try to follow the instructions.
"Press HERE." "Tear Along Dotted Line." "Easy Open-- Easy Close." Bullshit!!! Those things have frustrated me for so long that I don't even try anymore. I grab a big pair of sissors and carve my way into the package. I get what I want and THAT'S "easy-open" for me.
Maybe I just don't follow instructions very well.
served her right
This is a damned good cat story. It's got several features that I really like. First, a dead cat. I never get tired of reading about dead cats. I LIKE dead cats. It's the live ones that piss me off.
Second, here is a sneak-thief who received a real pay-back for selfishness, greed and avarice. It couldn't happen to a more deserving person, that piece of shit. I hope her hospital bill cost a lot of money.
Heh. Sometimes, justice DOES prevail in the world.
(Thanks to grandpapinhead for the link!)
well... he said it was legal
I love poetic justice whenever I see it happening. Nothing would please me more than to watch the government confiscate Justice David Souter's house and land in order to build a hotel. After all, Souter didn't see anything wrong with the government doing the same thing to someone else in the Kelo case.
I'm all for that hotel. See how Souter likes it when his decision applies to HIM.
There is "kinky" and there is just plain sick when it comes to certain sexual behavior. I enjoy doing kinky things with a willing partner. But this is just plain sick.
Bejus! What kind of person crawls down an outhouse hole and sits in shit just to get a glimpse of a female ass dropping a load on him? That guy has some SERIOUS issues.
"You can draw your own conclusions as to the conditions we encountered," said Capt. John Hebert, of the Carroll County Sheriff's Department.
Personally, I think the cops should have left the guy where they found him. After nailing the hole shut.
June 28, 2005
*I saw Leonard Nimoy on a "Gunsmoke" episode yesterday. He played a clever Comanch Indian named "John Walking Fox," and acted a lot like Spock in that character. He was good.
*Can you use fingernail polish remover to clean a gun if you're out of gun-cleaner? Nail polish remover is almost pure acetone, which is also a central ingriedent in gun cleaner. Not that I'm thinking of TRYING THIS, mind you... I was just wondering.
*I killed a German cockroach in my bathroom today. That's the first roach I've ever seen in my house (oh... I have cricket invasions and ant-parades.... but I don't get roaches.) Just damn! If there's one where I could see it, there's probably 500 that I can't see.
* I met a really good dog this weekend. You cat-people can go fuck yourselves. There ain't nothing better than a good dog.
* How did we become "politically correct" as a society? When did people become so delicate that WORDS became banned lest we "offend" somebody? Who ever said life was supposed to be easy?
* I don't know why anybody bothers to vote anymore. It doesn't do any good. Government is bound and determined to control every aspect of your life, and the party in charge doesn't matter. They merely disagree on HOW government should control your life. They DON'T disagree with the control issue.
* When did we change from "Don't Tread on Me" to "GIMMEE! OR I"LL SUE"!!!???
* What makes a judge any better than YOU are?
* I have recurring nightmares about poisonous snakes and dangling, helpless, from high places. I've never been snake-bitten of fallen from a high place in my life. Why don't I dream about evil wimmen? I've a dose or two of those.
* I'm going to eat some baked chicken with Vegemite toast. I'm starting to like that stuff.
more stupid people
I read this story and gagged. What in the hell do the "adults" in charge think they are teaching their children? I dunno. But whatever the hell it is, it isn't a good lesson.
I played sports for a lot of my life. I played on good teams and bad teams, and I have tasted the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. You have to know BOTH to appreciate either.
I always dreamed of being a CHAMPION at something in life, and I worked hard to achieve that goal. But I never was The Best. I was good, but ALWAYS, I found somebody else out there who was better than I was.
I took away a lesson that didn't crush my ego or destroy my self-esteem. I learned, first of all, that I could compete with the best. I might not win, but just getting there was more than most people ever imagined.
Second, I learned that hard work pays off. Even if you're not The Best, you took what you had to work with and did The Best you could with it. That's nothing to be ashamed of.
"[Another] team told us they didn't want their boys' self-esteem battered," said Trina Cochran, mother of 11-year-old Stars player Mario Cochran.
Yeah. Spare the delicate little darlings from getting their asses whipped in a ball game and then turn them loose in the REAL world. I'm certain that no battering of their precious self-esteem will EVER happen there.
I like winning a lot more than I like losing, and I don't care WHAT game we're playing. I'm going to batter your self-esteem if I can. I'm not the only person who feels that way, either. The world is full of 'em.
You'd better prepare your children for it, too. Pussifying them is NOT the answer.
What pisses me off?
Stupid people do.
I was sorely insulted by a phone call I received from Catfish last night. His cousin, Luther, came over and examined a jar of my moonshine. Luther, who has been known to run off a few batches of his own, pronounced my stuff "no good," because it wouldn't hold a bead.
Fuck Luther. I told Cat when we were making the stuff that I wasn't going to take the time to adjust my concoction to achieve a perfect bead. What came out of the worm went straight into a jar and that's what you got. The beginning and ending of the run produced weaker liquor than the middle of the run did, but it all turned out pretty good.
It's clear as branch-water, and you can't make it freeze. I'll admit that when you shake a jar, you get a lot of tiny bubbles instead of a glowing, perfect bead. It's OVER-PROOF, which isn't really bad for home-made brandy. So, when some red-necked asshole such as Luther declares MY moonshine "no good" because it doesn't hold a bead, I call bullshit.
Drink half a jar, motherfucker. See if you can still find your ass with both hands.
If I wanted a bead, I could have watered and adjusted the stuff to get one. But I decided NOT to worry about that process. Every jar I made is unique. You won't go blind or fall into a coma from drinking it, either. (Well... you probably COULD work up a good coma if you drank enough of it.) It's genuine, home-made, once-rectified elixer, fit to fill to goblets of the Gods.
Luther can kiss my Cracker ass.
Got-dam! I'll NEVER live this down. No wonder I'm a suspicious, cynical man.
If my "friends" treat me this way, what would my enemies do if they ever got the chance?
June 27, 2005
sad, but true
I frequently wax nostalgic about my boyhood. I lived a great life as a child. I ran free.
But this woman is correct in what she has to say on that subject. The world just ain't what it once was. I hate to admit it, but it's true.
That's one of the reasons I grieved badly when I lost the mini-farm in my last divorce. I loved the farm, but more than anything else, I thought we had a place where my boy could grow up a lot like I did. He could run free.
You cannot allow a child to do that in many places anymore. Too many deviants and predators out there. Any parent who lets a kid suck down breakfast at 8:00 AM and then haul ass out the door to play in the woods until dark would be considered unfit today.
If that's true, then I had unfit parents. So did all my friends, because that's exactly what we DID, all summer long. Every summer. Every year, for a long time.
The world is a different place today, and kids are worse off for it.
quote of the day
Shamelessly stolen from here.
Give a man a fish, and you'll feed him for a day; give him a religion, and he'll starve to death while praying for a fish." -- Author Unknown
Sorry if I offend any religious people, but I believe that you just read a really good quote. I don't believe in God, but if I did, I would expect him to put fish in the sea for ME to catch, clean and cook. I WOULD NOT expect fish to jump out of the ocean fully-cooked and onto my plate just because I prayed for that to happen.
If God existed, he would be a busy man--- CEO of the universe. He doesn't have time to answer every
Catch your own goddam fish. You don't really need God to help you with that task.
vegemite, part II
Okay, I'm an adventuresome guy. I figured that to try Vegemite for the first time (since the sample I have is in a tube, much like squeeze-on butter or hemorroid medication), I should run a line of it on my finger and taste it straight-up. I did.
THAT is a strange flavor. It is powerful and yeasty at first, and there's a definite "yuk!" factor involved, but it simmers down and leaves a very remarkable aftertaste lingering on the tongue. I went ahead and had a second slash, right offa my bare finger. That one went down easier than the first one did.
Hmmm... really not bad once you get used to it.
I popped a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster and decorated those sumbitches with butter and Vegemite when they were done. I ate both waffles. I'm not dead yet, but I can damn sure taste Vegemite every time I burp now.
I'm convinced that I could develop a liking for that stuff. It's not nearly as bad as most people claim, and the taste kinda grows on you, like a malignant wart, the more you eat of it.
I'm going to have some more this evening. I'll bet that it tastes pretty good on broiled fish. I intend to find out.
Thanks again, Pete. That tube of Vegemite will NOT go to waste around the Crackerbox.
brave new world
I think I appreciate this kind of research because I can see the medical benefits of it. But it's still kind of eerie... like something out of a 1960s Hammer horror-film. Or Pet Cemetary times two.
Duing the procedure blood is replaced with saline solution at a few degrees above zero. The dogs' body temperature drops to only 7C, compared with the usual 37C, inducing a state of hypothermia before death.
Are we taking the first step toward cheating death? Nah. We'll never completely cheat the Reaper, but this kind of stuff may be another way to postpone the inevitable. I'm all for the research.
I just don't know if I'd want to own a reanimated dog. I'm not sure that I could ever trust the fucker.
(Thanks to "gravdigr" for the link.)
a real mountain still
What you see here is a rig similiar to what my grandfather always used. The wooden barrel in the middle is a "thump keg," strategically placed between the cooker (on the right)and the main condenser (on the left). A "thump keg" is a like a pre-condenser and it gets its name from the fact that it starts to make thumping noises when you run steam through it. POP! POP! Thumpa-thumpa-THUMP! Pop! Pop! That's what a thump-keg sounds like.
I by-pass the thump keg when I make 'shine. Cooker and condenser alone will get the job done. You don't really NEED a thump-keg, but traditional stills all have one.
To me, it's just an unnecessary step in the process. Plus, those little oak barrels are difficult to find anymore.
I raised hundreds of them
I read this post and experienced a combination of regret and nostalgia. I raised many a random tadpole into a full-grown frog when I was young.
I learned that I could
I had some rocks in there so that they could get out of the water and learn to breathe regular air when my "pets" became mature enough. When they shed their tails and grew legs, I took them back to the canal and turned them loose to live Born Free. A few managed to hop out of my "aquarium" on their own, but they usually didn't last long. Dogs or cats would eat them.
But I probably served as a surrogate father for AT LEAST 500 frogs back in those days. I liked watching the metamorphosis occur, and I liked turning the frogs loose when they were old enough to fend for themselves.
Yeah. I was "Frog-Daddy."
I didn't have a Playstation II when I was a boy. I had the woods, the canal, some empty paint cans and a #3 washtub to amuse myself with. I think I had more fun doing what I did than ANY kid can get from a video game today.
But maybe I'm wrong. If little Junior sits on his ass in front of a video screen all day, at least you know where he is and what he's up to. He's not out in the woods catching tadpoles, where he pulls up the occasional paint bucket with a water moccasin curled up in it.
No. Gameboy is a lot "safer" than what I did. Still--- I wouldn't trade my experiences for all the Gameboys in the world. I really did grow up like Huck Finn. I wouldn't swap that kind of childhood for anything I see kids doing today.
They lead sheltered lives. I grew up wild.
I always liked Billy Graham, because I believe that he really tried to be a Man of God instead of a huckster, like so many others in his line of work. I'm not religious, but I admire strong character when I see it, and I think Billy Graham had character.
But it's time for him to hang up his robes and retire when he starts saying that hillary Clinton should run the country. Got-dam, Billy! Are you out of your farookin' mind?
Men of the Cloth have no business in politics. In MY humble opinion, they preach pure superstition to the unwashed masses, selling the concept of a Gawd Almighty who is just as petty, spiteful and vindictive as a spoiled six year-old brat. (or "Diva" bloggers) If you want to buy that shit, YOU go right ahead. Just don't ask me to join the flock.
But that's really the subject for another post. My central point is... it's time for Billy Graham to sit down and shut up before he stains his otherwise good reputation the way Jimmy Carter has done since that grinning idiot left office.
Billy--- quit while you're ahead.
lies! All lies!!!
You can read this and believe it or not. Ignore the pictures. They've ALL been photoshopped, especially that one of me with the carrot.
It's a pack of LIES, I tell you! ALL LIES!!!
Thanks to loyal reader and frequent commenter Henry Blowfly, I now possess a TUBE of genuine Australian Vegemite. I'm going to try some today and see if I survive the experience. I think I'll test it on toast first.
I liked the note he sent with the Vegemite:
"Most kids in Australia grew up with this stuff spread on toast for breakfast, spread on sandwiches for lunch, sometimes in combination with cheese or lettuce, and on crackers for school snacks, and it would be rare to find a home in Australia that did not have a jar stored in the pantry. .... It always makes me smile when I see a little Chinese/ Australian or Italian toddler with his face smeared with Vegemite."
Well, Pete, this Jawja Cracker intends to have some smeared on HIS face today. I owe it to my Australian "mates" to at least TASTE their "national food." I'll try ANYTHING once.
And I will post a review of my experience.
Words of wisdom
Robert A. Heinlein remains one of my all-time favorite writers. He was both a story-teller and a philosopher.
You need to go read this. In fact, you might want to copy it and keep it somewhere close to hand.
(Stolen from the tall dog.)
June 26, 2005
not my stuff!!!
I gave away a few jars of
I make better stuff than these people do. But that's the kind of thing that happens when government sets out to "save" you from Demon Rum through prohibition.
The tragedy occurred days before Kenya's parliament was due to debate lifting a colonial-era ban on traditional local drinks.
Make it illegal and then beg people NOT to do what's already illegal? Sounds like the law is working just fine to me.
By the way, I have a testimonial to prove that I didn't blow smoke up your ass when I wrote about my prowess as a distiller. If my brew were shit, he'd say so.
Everything worked out well at the Catfish Manor yesterday. I met another blogger for the first time, and we had enough calm between storms to shoot up a bunch of ammo out on the backyard range.
Brian, who is Dana's Significant Other, gave everybody a marksmanship lesson. That sumbitch is GOOD, with rifle or pistol. After I watched him fire six .30-30 rounds almost all through the same hole in a target, I was suitably impressed. I could cover MY spread with my hand. I could cover HIS with a 50-cent piece.
That's good shooting. But he OUGHT to be good, because he once was a marksmanship instructor in the Marines. Plus, he's younger and has steadier hands than I do.
The Low County Boil (or "Frogmore Stew") was exquiste. We ate outside on picnic tables, and the shrimp came fresh off the docks the day before. I pigged out like a sloppin' hog. I ate until my belly was distended, and then I ate some more. I had TWO beautiful wimmen peeling shrimp for me, like I was a Roman Emperor. Sometimes, it's GOOD to be king.
Even Catfish said, "Goddam, bow-legs! I haven't seen you eat like that in years!" I burped, farted and said, "Gimme some more shrimp and another piece of that corn on the cob."
After that, I made the mistake of taking a brief power nap in the Catfish massage chair. I gotta get me one of those. Turn it on and Magic Fingers start kneading you like a lump of bread dough. The sensation is heavenly.
But I had a few jokesters hanging around at the time, and I believe that some compromising pictures were taken after my "friends" decorated me while I was asleep. I won't describe the pictures, because I suspect that they will appear shortly on certain blogs. You can check them for yourself.
Don't ask me about the carrot.
I ended up spending the night--- NOT because I was drunk, but because I was having too good a time to pull out and leave after dark. A somewhat subdued velociman attended, as did Recondo 32 and his lovely wife, Georgia. A good time was had by all.
We gotta do this again sometime soon.
old fart blog
Here's another unheard-of blog that gave me a couple of chuckles. I'll tell you what's really strange. The writer is older than I am, but I identify more with his outlook on life than I do with the young bucks running around out there.
I guess I'm an old fart, too.
June 25, 2005
that didn't take long
The Supreme Court issued a License to Steal with its decision on the Kelo case. It surely didn't take long for local governments to take advantage of the power the court, most stupidly, granted them.
Read this crap and barf at your leasure.
With Thursday's Supreme Court decision, Freeport officials instructed attorneys to begin preparing legal documents to seize three pieces of waterfront property along the Old Brazos River from two seafood companies for construction of an $8 million private boat marina.
I can see "benefits to the community" just oozing from this chancre-sore. Well, I can see plenty of ooze, anyway.
The tracts of land would be used for a planned 800- to 900-slip marina to be built by Freeport Marina, a group that that includes Dallas developer Hiram Walker Royall. He would buy the property from the city and receive a $6 million loan from the city to develop the project.
Yeah. It's all for the good of the community at large. Bless the selfless hearts of land-developers and money-hungry politicians. They want only what's good for EVERYBODY.
Bejus! If this is the best we can do for a Supreme Court, we'd be better off without one.
party? We'll see
I'm supposed to go down to the catfish manor today for some fishing, some shooting and a nice low-country boil. I packed a bunch of guns and ammo yesterday, and I'm taking some of my
There's only one small problem. I got out of bed at 7:30 this morning to the sound of pouring rain, and it hasn't stopped yet. A malignant tropical low-pressure system appeared off the coast during the night and it's tossing bands of rain inland now.
The rain may fall all day.
I'm going down to see Cat anyway, but the weather may put a damper on some of the planned activities. I ain't gonna fish in the rain, but I WILL shoot up some ammo between rainstorms if I get the chance. Besides, Cat has a nice covered and sceened back porch, and we can party just fine there if we have to.
Goddam weather. We need the rain, but Mother Nature COULD have waited until tomorrow to deliver it.
oh. my. gawd.
Bejus! And I always thought that she was a sweet young thang. Don't read that post while attempting to eat anything.
In fact, don't read it at all. You just may end up like ME, sitting on the bathroom floor with a flashlight and examining your wee-wee for signs of alien invasion.
June 24, 2005
they do it all the time
If you get caught carrying 47,000 in cash the government can take it. The government doesn't have to charge you with any crime. You just have no fucking business carrying that much cash, even if it IS yours, all legally. You MUST be up to no good.
This is another slight problem that the miserably failed War on (some) Drugs has spawned. If the woman wants her money back, she has to SUE THE GOVERNMENT to get it. I call bullshit.
In her suit, Valdez said a male Drug Enforcement Administration agent told her she had a nice body and didn't need surgery — and then seized the cash, claiming it was drug money.
"Suspected" drug profits? WTF does THAT mean? Anybody carrying more than what the government believes is a proper sum of cash is automatically assumed to be a drug dealer? With NO evidence whatsoever and NO charges filed and NO arrest? Just confiscate the money because you CAN?
I may have to back up on some of the insults I hurled at PJ for calling this country a Nazi police state under a fascist regime. If this bullshit is allowed to happen in this country, we've got some really, really bad problems.
When I rode with Recondo 32 up to Sumpter, SC, to buy the Shelby Mustang, he had $10,000 in cash in his wallet. Like me, he believes that when buying a car, cash speaks louder than a check does, especially when you're dickering over a price.
If we had been pulled over on the way up there, the cops might have confiscated every dollar he had as "suspected" drug profits the way the law works now. Forget the fact that we had no drugs, didn't intend to buy any drugs, don't even USE drugs and have no criminal records involving drugs.
The woman should have carried a cashier's check if she were smart. But she shouldn't HAVE to do that. It's her goddam money. As far as sticking it in her bra, I can't think of a better place to carry $47,000 in cash.
What else was she supposed to do? Check it in her luggage and allow the Federal baggage-checkers to
Having $10,000 in cash in your wallet is a crime now. Something is terribly wrong with this picture.
I've known a lot of guys that I call "Primpadonnas." Those self-absorbed bastards believe that they are BEAUTIFUL, and they'll spend an hour in front of a mirror, blow-drying their hair just right, applying mousse, tweezing nostril hairs, annointing themselves with manly-smelling potions and practicing their "sexy" look on themselves.
I believe that they are ridiculous. "Metrosexual." But even so, not one of them has ever asked me if what they were wearing made his "ass look fat." Once a guy has convinced himself that he is beautiful, nobody's going to change his mind, even a woman who calls him a hideous, disgusting worm when he asks her to dance.
Wimmen, on the other hand, suffer from constant insecurity about their physical appearance. They ALWAYS worry about the way they look and they NEVER appear to be happy with the body they wear. They usually find a lot more fault with themselves than other people do.
I think I know why. Western society has long embraced a concept of ideal feminine beauty that almost NO woman can measure up to; therefore, wimmen are never happy with the way they look.
Men, on the other hand, don't have the same ideal to compete with. ANY man can be attractive to wimmen unless he really IS a hideous, disgusting worm. We don't have a standard for a "handsome" man the way we do for a "beautiful" woman. The world is an easier place for guys.
Be he tall or short, handsome or plain, chubby or slim, a guy can make up for his physical shortcomings with charm, charisma, success, self-confidence, chivalry, humor and... money. I believe that those attributes attract wimmen more than simple Fabio good-looks do, although being handsome, too, is NOT a handicap.
Wimmen have it a little tougher. They have PHYSICAL PERFECTION to compete with. And nobody is perfect. They're doomed from day one if they seek to meet that ideal.
Men don't help the situation a lot, either. Some guys believe that a really good compliment to give a woman is something like this:
* Damn! You got the prettiest set of tits I ever saw!
* Honey, would you just get up and walk around a little? That fine ass of yourn's got more workins than a Swiss watch!"
* Darlin,' every time I look at your sweet lips, I think about a blow job. Wanna go back to MY place tonight?"
Yes, men are pigs, but you wimmen bring a lot of that shit on yourselves. Because sometimes THOSE LINES WORK!!! Wimmen are THAT desperate to hear a compliment from a man.
I prefer to be more subtle.
* You have wonderful eyes.
* When you smile, you make me want to smile, too. You light up the room.
* That is a beautiful necklace you're wearing. It looks really good on you.
* You have pretty hands. Are you an artist?
But it really doesn't matter which path you choose--- vulgarity or charm all boil down to the same thing in the end. The time will come when she asks you: "Does this dress make my ass look fat?"
It doesn't matter what you say, because she's not going to believe you, even when you're actually straying from the normal male path and being sincere. SHE'S convinced that the dress makes her ass look fat or she wouldn't ask the question to begin with. You can't win in that situation.
I blame Western Civilization for this cosmic disconnect.
I'll admit it: I was depressed when my comments quit working.
This blog would not be NEARLY as much fun to operate without my commenters. Some of the regulars are real hoots and I enjoy reading what they have to say, whether they agree with me or not. Those are clever people who are good with words. I also find some excellent blog-fodder in the really spittle-flecked, hateful comments I occasionally receive.
Of course, I pick up the occasional troll (that just goes with the territory) and I have "pundits" such as JB and PJ who regurgitate the same windy asininity over and over again, no matter what the subject. Well... that goes with the territory, too.
Reading those two reminds me of another gem of wisdom my father gave me when I was young: Don't own a dog if you never want to step in dog-shit. And, yeah, I believe that both of them write dog-shit comments. Got-dam, you two!!! Can't you have an original thought instead of repeating the same cant over and over again? And express it BRIEFLY?
No... you two can't. If you could, you would have done it by now. That rut is just impossible to get out of, isn't it?
That's okay. I'll put up the the JBs and the PJs of the world just so I can have comments from people who make me laugh and make me think. Some of my commenters are more entertaining than I am.
They don't ride one-trick ponies, either.
If you just save your loose pennies, they add up after a while. I am surprised, however, that the bank accepted 1.4 million of them .
If I were the bank manager, I'd have done it just for the good publicity the bank could receive. Hell, banks have all kinds of coin-counting and auto-rolling machines, so why not let reporters take pictures while you process 1.4 million pennies out of 55-gallon drums for a customer? Sounds like a good idea to me, despite the time and inconvienience involved.
But it doesn't usually work that way.
I was at the bank this morning and some old farmer-looking guy came in with a 5-gallon bucket full of pennies. He deposited a couple of checks and then tried to deposit his pennies. He told the cashier that he had $152 dollar's worth, but she wouldn't take them. They weren't rolled.
The farmer left in a huff after the cashier gave him a handful of penny rolls and told him to come back when his pennies were properly packaged. I've seen this same thing happen before.
Pennies may be a nuisance today (Can you still buy ANYTHING for penny?), but the last time I looked, pennies were still legal tender in this country. I've never seen a convienience store refuse to accept pennies when someone wanted to count out 250 of them for a pack of cigarettes (yeah--- I've seen THAT happen, too). Why can't a bank do the same thing?
Maybe some of the old River Street heads remember Ronnie Reed and the infamous "Hot Dog Cart" episode in the late 1970s. Ronnie owned the Long Branch Saloon and he had the nerve to put an old-fashioned hot dog cart on the sidewalk outside his bar, where he sold delicious hot dogs with all the trimmings for $1.00 each. You could smell that thing from a block away and it did booming business.
EVERYBODY liked the hot-dog cart. Everybody, that is, except some assholes down at City Hall. They busted Ronnie for not having a "street vendor's license" and shut down the cart (I think they arrested the cart, too), even though it was technically on Long Branch property.
After a brief court battle, Ronnie was fined $1,000. He was livid. He went back to his bar and placed small aluminium buckets all over the place, each one bearing the sign: "FIGHT CITY HALL!!! Give your pennies for the hot dog cart!!!" All he asked for was pennies.
In less than a month, Ronnie collected well over $1,000, all in loose pennies, and he hauled them in a wheelbarrow down to the courthouse, where he dumped them on the floor and said, "There's my fine. Count it yourself if you don't trust me."
The people in charge would not accept the payment the way it was. They, too, wanted the pennies rolled. Ronnie wouldn't do it. I'm not sure if he went to jail overnight on a contempt of court charge or not, but I know that he surely did stir a lot of shit downtown. The city finally relented and took the pennies, but Ronnie never was allowed to operate the hot dog cart again.
I always liked Ronnie's take on things. "I may have lost the cart, but the city didn't get any money from me. My customers paid my fine." (His customers did more than that. Ronnie had about $750 in extra pennies, which he donated to the March of Dimes--- a charity that did not insist that he roll the coins first. In the end, the city came off looking like a bunch of needle-dicked bug-fuckers and Ronnie became a local hero.)
"Besides," he told me one night, "Somebody has to stand up to those assholes, even when you DO lose. Gotta make 'em think twice about doing such shit again. Otherwise, they'll walk all over you like a rug."
I wish more people felt that way.
just a test
I have been altered. That is not good for me, because I don't adapt well to unfamiliar surroundings on a computer. Put me in a foreign country and I'm fine. Hell, strand me in the woods and I'm fine.
But I'm dealing with an MT upgrade now. That's different.
June 23, 2005
the end is near
Holy Bejus! For once in my life, I actually agree with Hillary Clinton. She doesn't support a Constitution amendment to outlaw flag-burning, and neither do I. I believe that the entire issue is a clown-show, and we've damn sure got enough clowns in Congress to conduct a fine one.
They're much better at clown shows than they are at running the country. You want to hear a REAL Doop-Stick? Read this:
Sen. Ken Salazar, D-Colo., remained undecided, a spokesman said.
Can you just imagine the furrowed brow, the sleepless nights and the battle with his conscience Salazar must be fighting now? After all, he's "undecided" on an issue that has reared its ugly head FIVE TIMES in the past several years. He STILL can't make up his mind? That man is a leader if I ever saw one.
My position on this "issue" is simple. You don't amend the Constitution unless you've got a DAMN GOOD reason for doing so. This ain't a damn good reason.
I want to thank darlin' Stacey at sekimori for repairing my comments problem. She designed my site when I got off of blogsplat and she has bailed my ass out of trouble several times since then. I think I love her.
She's damn good at what she does.
piss poor decision
I totally disagree with the Supreme Court's decision that government can steal your property for some kind of nebulous "appreciable benefits to the community." If these "benefits" work elsewhere the way they do around Savannah, a select few will reap most of the money and the "community" can just kiss their asses.
I could MAYBE understand the logic if we were talking about building a dam to control flooding or constructing a new highway to relieve traffic congestion. Such projects DO benefit a lot of people. But a got-dam office complex? Such crap doesn't justify taking ANYBODY'S property.
And if you think local governments and crony politics won't abuse the hell out of this "right," I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I want to sell you.
As a result, cities now have wide power to bulldoze residences for projects such as shopping malls and hotel complexes in order to generate tax revenue.
That's right. Tax revenue for government is more important than an individual's property rights. After all, government DESERVES the money more than YOU do, and government ALWAYS spends it wisely. Pigs fly, too.
I call bullshit on the Supreme Court.
I doin't know how I did it, but I appear to have destroyed my comments. I need a Good Samaritan to help me here.
How do I get them back?
June 22, 2005
Something is wrong with the country, when criminals are given more rights than victims.
Damn RIGHT there's something wrong. I stole that quote from this site, which comes from New Zealand (a place I've always wanted to visit--- until the ultra-leftists took over).
I read a really good book a few years ago about the Maori, the native population of New Zealand when the British came to colonize the place because the Brits wanted the trees that grew there. The trees grew tall and straight, and made perfect masts for sailing vessels.
Unfortunately for the British, the Maoris would rather fight than eat when they're hungry. They kicked ass and never caved the way American Indians did. In fact, one episode in the book describes a British invasion force being cut-off, surrounded, decimated by Maori attacks and running dangerously short of food and water. They plotted a hasty retreat the next morning, but woke up to find food and water PROVIDED for them in the night by the Maori, who were enjoying the fight and didn't want it to end so quickly.
How could a country like that become what it is today?
And any parents who complain because their hoodlum son is exposed for what he is should just shut the fuck up. Why don'y you WHINE so we can have a better idea of WHY your son is a hoodlum?
i have no idea
My comments aren't working. I have no idea why. I was busy getting pissed off at Wal-Mart when this happened, and I am aware of the problem. If it doesn't resolve itself shortly, I'll contact Moveable Type and see what's going on.
In the meantime, stop emailing me.
men don't do this
Hell hath NO fury like.... a woman, period. People call me a sexist, misogynistic asshole for occasionally speaking unkindly of wimmen, but I didn't invent their track record. THEY did, and the same cruel, vindictive, PMSing, spiteful, sadistic behavior a lot of them display today has been around since long before Christ was born. Just read your history.
Men don't do things like this. Wimmen do. And they do it (or something similar) FREQUENTLY.
"When he said he would leave me and the kids for Jodie Marsh, that was it for me. He has two daughters. One of them goes to school. I am sick of him disrespecting this family for the sake of his act," said Mrs Shaw. "Maybe it was childish but I had had a few drinks that night and I just thought I would get him back the best way I could. The car is his pride and joy but the idiot put my name on the log book so I just sold it. I didn't care about the money, I just wanted to get him back," she added.
"I just wanted to get him back." Sweet Bejus! If you deny that wimmen think that way, you have led a sheltered life. EVERYTHING is a soap opera to them and they'll plot, scheme and invent absolutely hideous ways to "get even," even when they haven't been wronged. It's a hormonal glitch in their hard-wiring.
I saw my ex-wife do the same thing. Divorcing me wasn't enough. Unless I was made to SUFFER in the process, she wasn't happy with simply taking everything I owned and making me PAY her for infidelity and betrayal. No, she needed some icing on that cake. She got it, too.
Divas, my ass. Every woman I ever knew was crazy. It's never a question of IF they are crazy; it's just a question of HOW crazy. (see: The Runaway Bride.)
And if you believe that the guy deserved what he got, you fall into the REALLY crazy category.
If we're going to pass stupid laws that can ruin a person's life for one mistake (and we've got PLENTY of them), then I believe that EVERYBODY should play by the same rules. But that's not how it works. Congress regularly expempts itself from law it inflicts on "ordinary" people (read: proles) and police evidently play by a different set of rules, too.
Just read this and tell me if it passes the smell test.
"Our officers received a suspicious vehicle call in the Cedar Park post office parking lot," Cedar Park Police Sgt. Jeff Hayes said.
Yeah, right. YOU get caught drunk as a skunk behind the wheel of YOUR truck with the engine still running and see if YOU get off with "public intoxication."
In this circumstance, Armstrong was given a public intoxication citation -- a Class C misdemeanor that carries a maximum fine of $500.
In MY humble opinion, Hayes is a lying sumbitch. Anybody else except a fellow cop would have been hauled off to jail for AT LEAST 24 hours, had his truck towed and impounded and become a poster-boy for MADD, complete with loss of driver's license, about $2,500 in fines, DUI class, community service and everything else those bastards can think of to throw at you, just to humiliate the shit out of you.
I am ashamed to admit it, but I was caught in that meat-grinder four years ago. I spent two years of my life getting out from under that crap. A DUI ain't no laughing matter anymore. I figure the whole thing cost me about $6,000, a whole lot of wasted time and work, and left a black mark on my record that is the first thing a divorce attorney brings up in court.
I'll NEVER be totally rid of that stain. I paid my fines. I attended all the classes. I did my community service three weeks after I had prostate cancer surgery (I had no choice--- I had a deadline to meet even though I was still wearing diapers and barely strong enough to stand up on my own) and I did my probation. I paid for my crime.
I see this drunken shitwad doing a lot worse than I did and watch him get off with a slap on the wrist? I ain't real happy about that. Laws either apply to everybody, or we don't need the fucking law.
People who play that kind of game remind me of kids who like to tie cats together by the tail and throw them over a clothesline. Boy, it's a hoot to watch those cats dance! After all, YOU don't have to worry about being thrown over that clothesline.
Our laws are made by a lot of sadistic people who like to watch others suffer. I believe that with every fiber of my being; if I am mistaken, tell me again why Martha Stewart went to jail.
Got-dam! My pissed-off quotient just went into the Red Zone.
(Thanks (I think) to HideMeRicky for the link.)
quote of the day
Suddenly I wondered. How did I get into this? What am I doing here? How was it possible that a sane young woman like myself could merge so effortlessly into a situation that bizarre?
Heh. If you ain't one, you'll never understand.
dancing with cadavers
Here's another unheard-of blog. Maybe this one NEEDS to remain unheard-of. Bejus! The post that's on the top of the main page right now is enough to gag a maggot! DISSECTING A HUMAN CORPSE? IN HIGH SCHOOL??? Remind me never to dedicate my dead body to medical research.
I became grossed-out by having to dissect a CAT in physiology class in high school. The smell of formadehyde still makes me retch today.
I have two acquaintences that I've known since high school who went on to become medical doctors. They are fine, dedicated people and I really believe that I would trust them with my life. But they also are sick fucks, too. Medical school does that to you.
One of their favorite stories to tell is the time they set up a female anatomy professor with a really clever practical joke. See... they had two corpses to work with in class the next day... one well-endowed black man and one young white female. Two jokesters snuck into the anatomy lab, removed the penis from the black man and inserted it into the vagina of the white woman. Then, they put the bodies back on their slabs and covered them up nicely.
The next day in class, everybody was all a-twitter to see how the professor would react when she discovered their handywork. The corpses were wheeled in, the professor threw back the sheets, and totally nonplussed--- she took a pair of forceps and removed the black penis from the white woman's vagina.
Waving that trophy around, she asked, "Does THIS belong to any of YOU?" When nobody stepped up to claim it, she tossed it over her shoulder, where it landed with a loud PLOP sound in the corner of the room, and she started the anatomy lesson.
Always remember one thing about doctors: To THEM, whether you're alive or dead, you are nothing but a piece of meat.
it's a crazy world
Do you suppose that alcohol or drugs were involved? I like wild wimmen, but I don't want one who shoots me in the tongue.
Coleman told police that a woman stuck a gun barrel in his mouth during a dispute around 2:30 Tuesday morning and that he heard the gun go off.
Well... I guess that after she shot him he figured out that he wasn't going to get laid, so he went home. What else was he supposed to do?
June 21, 2005
How'd I miss it?
I didn't see this story in the news. Something just ain't right when a woman earns a Silver Star in COMBAT and receives less publicity than Private Jessica Lynch got for being in a vehicle accident.
Not a bad place for a coffee break.
I hope the fact has dawned on most people by now that politicians are NOT the best and the brightest people in this country. Most of 'em are well-dressed gasbags who have a lot more in common with car salesmen than they do with statesmen.
I wonder what these idiots are thinking? I think some people just ACHE to relive Vietnam.
Pulling out of Iraq now would be an incredibly stupid move, for a LOT of different reasons. We demonstrate a lack of resolve, we show no stomach for war, we abandon the Iraqis who trusted us, we make a big mess and walk away to leave somebody else to clean it up, and we run, having nothing to show for the dead troops and all the money we spent there.
Yeah, we have plenty of good reasons to stay in Iraq. But I believe that this noted philsopher and home-brewer sums it up nicely:
The terrorists in Iraq aren't fighting us because they have high-minded moral objections to what we did there. They're fighting us because they're violent idiots from backward cultures. They don't fight us because our war is immoral. They fight us because they're stupid and vindictive. I say let's keep killing them as long as they continue to present themselves. Better there, where they face our volunteer troops, than here, facing unarmed civilians.
That idea seems simple enough that even this dumbass Cracker can understand it. Why can't politicians?
Kill some time with the world's easiest quiz.
I actually knew the correct answer to TWO of the questions!
Modern art always has confused me. Most of it looks like pure crapola to my tasteless eyes. If I could piss paint, I'm pretty sure that I could create a masterpiece.
I'm even more convinced that modern art is bullshit after reading this article.
Monkey business proved to be lucrative Monday when paintings by Congo the chimpanzee sold at auction for more than $25,000.
25 Large for a dead monkey's paintings. Bejus!
everybody's got one
I was inspired by this post to tell a Men's Room story, because I believe that every guy has at least one good one. (Although I'm surprised that Jim does--- from my experience, he seems to prefer the Ladies' Room when he's been drinking. I have photos to prove it, too.)
In case you never read "THE BOOK," midnight in the garden of good and evil, I'll let you in on a little secret: Savannah has a fairly significant gay population. Some of the gay men are EXCELLENT cross-dressers, too.
After a couple of drinks in the dim light of a smoke-filled bar, some of those "ladies" start to look pretty good on a Friday night, especially for a traveling salesman on an expense account who doesn't realize what he's REALLY looking at. During my bar-musician days, I came to know (NOT in the Biblical sense) several of the more... uh... "skilled" impersonators, and sometimes they could have fooled me even though I KNEW who they were. They were that good.
But we had one exception. I can't remember the guy's "Street" name now, but he was at LEAST 6' 6" tall, always wore a long, flowing black evening dress, complete with pearls and big, dangly earrings, and topped off his ensemble with a set of spike-heeled shoes that added 4" to his already impressive height.
One of the bars I played in regularly (the old Port Royal on River Street) had a wrought-iron staircase that led upstairs to the bathrooms. That guy would drop in the bar, have a couple of drinks, and then head upstairs. Those high heels pounding on that wrought iron sounded like John Henry drivin' steel. Every head in the place turned to watch him.
I never knew which bathroom he used.
One night after work, I went with some friends to the IHOP on Broughton Street for a late breakfast. I had been swilling beer all night long and I needed to drain my lizard. I went to the Men's Room.
Most of you guys have seen places like that one. You have a row of urinals, all separated by a shoulder-high privacy screen (or splash-guard)--- you know--- that little piece of half-wall between pissers.
I was standing there doing the "forward stare" when I heard a deep, rumbling bass voice say, "I heard you play tonight, Rob. You sounded good." I looked to my left and saw GARGANTUA standing at the urinal next to me in full battle regalia. I almost pissed down my leg.
That half-wall came to about his waist and he was unabashedly staring down at my hillbilly tool. I shrunk like a spider on a hot stove. "Thanks," I said, as I quickly zipped up and almost caught my wanger in the process. "I appreciate that." I hauled ass outta there.
Recondo 32 and Georgia were with me that night and when I got back to the table, I told them I finally managed to answer a question I'd always wondered about. "You know that big, tall guy who dresses in that black dress with the high heels?" They both knew who I was talking about.
"Well... he uses the Men's Room. Yes, he does."
another good plan
GuyK has another excellent idea about how to stop the insidious menace of Global Warming.
I have submitted a plan to my congressman which I believe will help solve the global warming problem. It envolves stopping the continuous flow of hot air by putting a plug into the mouths of left wing politicians and pundits, preachers, priests, and other shamen, and gagging all tort attorneys. There will still be enough hot air from right wing pols and pundits as well as avid fishermen to create the greenhouse gases needed for plant growth. Thus far I have not received an answer from my representive but do expect an answer withing the next century.
Sorry, Guy. By the time you hear from your congresscritter, we'll all be dead from global warming.
he can outrun me
It's humiliating, but true. This fossilized old bastard can outrun me. Hell, I'm 33 years younger than he and and I'm not sure I can even CRAWL 100 meters anymore, let alone run that far.
The old geezer probably still sprouts morning wood, too.
By golly, I believe that this guy has the solution to the Global Warming problem. At least his suggestions make as much sense as any others I've heard.
I've decided it's time to get serious about Global Warming. The national academies of science of eleven nations recently united to warn us of impeding climatic doom resulting from our careless inflation of the atmospheric carbon dioxide concentration from its God-ordained 19th century value of 0.00029 to the current astronomical magnitude of 0.00038. With increasing fears that this extra plant food will cause a choking of our cities and highways with unwanted greenery, and the Russians' concern that winter temperatures will warm above -40 deg. F, thus changing the hibernation habits of the endangered Siberian snow snake, I must now join the chorus of voices calling for action.
He's right, y'know. The time to act foolishly is NOW!
June 20, 2005
difficult to believe
Or maybe not. Just look at the assclowns involved. THESE are our elected officials?
(My apologies to any self-respecting assclowns I may have insulted with that comparison.)
fairly unheard-of blog
Okay, the guy has more than 25,000 visitors (I'm really looking for people with fewer than 10,000 visitors), so he's not exactly a newbie, but I want to point you his way for several reasons. First of all, the site is well-written and VERY easy on the eyes. I LIKE that quality in a blog. People who fool around with making their sites too busy distact me.
Second, He knows how to put good pictures with his posts. He's a lot better at that stuff than I am and I admire an artistic turn whenever I see one. I have to admit that this post made me chuckle, even though I posted about the same thing earlier today. He did it better.
Here's a real nostalgia post, too.
Go check it out. The boy can play.
it could have been worse
Without a gun, all three might have been killed. It's a said story, but it proves something I've always said about guns. Keep 'em loaded. Pointing an empty gun at some nut-case is just asking for trouble.
In same cases, it's a lot better than to give than to receive.
yell, "BOO" really loud
If she flinches, she's faking it.
What would we do without "scientific research?"
Yeah... they're back again. They're ALL a pain in the ass, because I have to wade through my email getting rid of those fuckers, but some of them are a lot worse than others. I can tolerate the on-line casinos and the Texas-Hold-em sites, because that's at least a step above the gutter, even for a spammer.
But what's with the "wimmen-dog sex" sites that keep popping up? That's just pure sick shit. Do some people REALLY get a thrill from watching wimmen have sex with dogs? Maybe they do because they figure that if a woman will fuck a dog, ANY loser has a chance to get laid. It raises their hopes.
I'll confess... I fellow I worked with for a number of years had a slut of a bulldog and a goat that would screw anything that would hold still. I went over to his house several times and we would sit on his porch, drink beer and watch that goat rape the dog. The dog just laid there and took it, making an occasional "ummph!" sound. I thought it was entertaining as hell.
But I didn't find anything erotic about it. It just beat watching the corn grow.
(UPDATE: Evidently, some people do like sex with dogs. But it does appear from the story that this little pervert didn't cull much.)
apology? What for?
More fan mail:
Hi, Remember me? Misty? You ever so eloquently pointed out that I was a clueless flaming arsehole the other day? I then admitted that I made a mistake and apologized and so, remember?
I don't recall ever calling you a flaming arsehole. If I did, you must have deserved it.
Anyway, I was talking to some friends last night about what had happened, and the consensus after a few beers was 'Well what can you expect, he's an American?'
No, I'm not "riled." I don't know why I should be. I AM an American, and I don't give a lovely fuck what anybody in that disarmed, de-nutted country of England thinks about me. Ain't nothing but a channel separates you from the French in MY humble opinion.
Please let me elaborate further.
I would rather you didn't, but go ahead. You're on a roll.
Your Blog is not just your house where you can rant and abuse people, it is also a public place that is read pan-globally and where people from other countries can find out more about another's inhabitants and lifestyle etcetera.
My blog will be a "public" place when YOU start paying for my bandwidth instead of me. As far as writing for "people from other countries and find out more about another's inhabitants and lifestyle, etcetera, I never saw that written the the Rules of Blogging anywhere. I wouldn't call myself a typical "American." I'm a got-dam hillbilly Cracker and I don't kiss anybody's ass.
I know a lot of people who are already of the opinion that a fair few Americans are small minded, hypocritical, intolerant boorish people, who can only make themselves look big by trying to intimidate others and can only insult people by swearing at them.
Far be it from me to deliberately provoke the gentle, enligtened English-sheelpe (I mean PEOPLE) to take offense with what I write on my humble blog. As near as I can tell, one "flaming arsehole" from me warrants a Flaming Assole in right back, plus a "small minded, hypocritical, intolerant boorish" broadside in return to demonstrate who really is civilized here. That's fine with me.
I think somebody is hyperventilating and has the vapors. But YOU want ME to apologize? THAT'S what I call a real flaming asshole. But that's okay, too. I am deeply, deeply SORRY if I offended your delicate sensibilities.
Take that apology and
I don't believe the parents showed good judgment, but I DO believe that the sentence was completely draconian. The judge in this case needs to be dragged off and shot for pure stupidity.
Bejus! You can draw a lesser sentence by HOLDING UP a liquor store than serving beer to minors. Something is wrong with that picture.
I didn't drink any of the home-brandy except to sip it for proper potentness as it was cooking off. I made that stuff to give away to friends. That isn't what made me sick.
I ate something that disagreeded with me Thurday (I think) night. I woke up the next day feeling poorly. I started throwing up around noon. I couldn't stop, so therefore I couldn't eat or drink anything. I irritated my ulcer again and started upchucking blood. I knew that wasn't a good sign.
But I thought I could weather the storm by sipping Malox and trying to drink water. Bad idea. About 9:30 that night, the belly-pains hit me and I literally could not see straight. I thought I was having a heart attack.
I managed to drive myself to the hospital. The doctors took one look at a blood test and threw me into a Chinese Torture Chamber. Bejus! The next thing I knew I had IVs running all into me and I was pinned like an insect on a mounting table with all those tubes.
I was severly dehydrated, anemic, and malnourished, which led to another bad flare-up of the pancreatitus. I was strapped to that MOST UNCOMFORTABLE bed for three fucking days while I re-filled with various fluids and potions.
You cannot sleep in a hospital bed. People get paid to wake you every 15 minutes to perform another ghastly act upon you. Plus, they cut off my demerol after one shot no matter how hard I begged. I suffered tortures--- tortures of the damned!
They insisted on measuring all my urine output, so they gave me a crick-necked pissbottle to use for that. Whenever I had to go, I had to wend my way through all those tubes, locate my piss-bottle, figure out some way to dig my wang out of my hospital gown, and then pee down the crick-neck.
You guessed it. One night, I went fumbling for the thing, found it, took the lid off and while fishing for my wang, proceded to dump the whole thing all over me. I let out a whoop, bumped the bedside table and broke the remote control for the TV, too.
I don't know who was happier to see me leave there--- me, or them.
I'm looking at the diet they expect me to eat now. Oatmeal. Yoghart. Low-fat pudding. Fruit cocktail. No meat. Only certain vegetables. Eat SIX SMALL MEALS A DAY and drink at least a gallon of water. No alcohol.
Just damn! I don't want to go back there, but I might want to be dragged off and shot.
Missing three days
I've been in the hospital, having all sorts of mean, nasty ugly things done to me. I was out of it most of the time, with IVs running into every vein they could hit. Several times I believed that death would have been a pleasure.
I'm back now, wobbly as hell but okay as far as I can tell. Blogging wil be light until I start to feeling better.
June 17, 2005
I said that I was going to pick five blogs every week and review them, just (I hope) to let people know that they're out there. Here is my first review.
I don't recall how I ran across the hairy libertarian, but I'm glad that I did. It's a Blogsplat site, but that's how I recommend that every wanna-be blogger starts out. The service is free, it's easy to use and it works--- at least most of the time.
I like the layout, and he even has a picture of himself and a brief profile on the main page. When I first clicked on it, I found the setup pleasing to my eyes. (A lot of people screw up otherwise good blogs by making them difficult to read, in MY humble opinion.) He writes in an easy-going, but passionate style. His politics are similar to mine---
No longer are we a people that are at liberty to do as we choose so long as we do not interfere with the liberty of another. Now we are simply all suspects that need to prove our innocence.
I believe that I would like this guy if I met him in person. It's a good blog and he doesn't get shit for hits. Go visit him and see if you can change that fact. I don't believe that you'll regret it. I know that I'll be back.
I want to see how his pumpkins progress.
do as I say...
... not as i do. You've just gotta love PETA for its consistency.
Local officials and veterinarians said they were told that PETA would find homes for the animals, not euthanize them. PETA has scheduled a news conference for Friday afternoon to discuss the charges.
These are the same people who profess to believe that rats have "rights." Buncha flapping moonbats.
I don't like cats, even when they are perfectly normal (as if you can call ANY cat "normal"). I'm gonna have nightmares about this one. Bejus!
A newborn kitten recently entered the world with two faces and, hopefully, at least nine lives. Gemini was born Sunday with two mouths, two tongues, two noses and four eyes.
ALL cats are pretty much two-faced, but this one must really be a sight to behold.
you won't hear it
Shussssh.... listen carefully. Do your hear the people who were so insistent that Terri Schavio was alive, cognizant and aware of her surroundings saying , "Oops! I guess we were wrong," now that the autopsy results are revealed? Of course you don't. That's the great thing about bleeding hearts (or self-aggrandizing government pricks). Love means never having to say "I'm sorry," or some kind of shit like that.
Just ONWARD! To the NEXT crusade!
Schiavo, who was 41 when doctors removed feeding tubes that kept her alive, had a severely atrophied brain that weighed about half of what a normal brain does, Medical Examiner Jon Thogmartin said during a press conference in Largo, Florida. She was completely blind, he said.
If Congress had managed to pass a "Terri's Law" during this fiasco, do you think that discovering they were wrong would change the law? Hell NO, it wouldn't, which is why I think there should be some kind of waiting period (longer than five days, which is what Congress believes is proper for buying a handgun) before those gas-bags can go flying off like barking moonbats and passing legislation that we'll NEVER get rid of, no matter how stupid it is, if it ever gets a fanghold on our lives.
The woman was a vegetable. I blogged about her case several times (my "search" connection doesn't seem to be working right now--- otherwise, I'd link to the posts.) and I was bitch-slapped by a lot of people who insisted on denying the obvious. My points were simple:
#1--- The decision belonged to the husband under existing law.
#2--- The Federal government had no business getting involved.
#3--- She wasn't going to get better, but we should have euthanized her more mercifully than starving her to death. (although she probably didn't have enough brain left to feel anything before she died.)
But... but... she SAW PEOPLE and RECOGNIZED THEM. She responded to visitors, especially her parents. It was ON THE NEWS! I saw her ON TELEVISION! She looked alive to ME!
Sure, she did. But she wasn't. Now, do another right thing and admit that you were wrong.
Hear the apologies? I didn't think you would.
what would I do?
I've watched similar scenes in movies many times. Some thug is holding one of your loved ones hostage with a pistol pressed firmly to your loved one's temple. "Drop the gun, raise your hands and step away, or else your wife/lover/daughter/son/mother gets it!" I've never actually BEEN in that situation, but I know damn well what I would do.
"If you pull that trigger, it'll be the last thing you ever do in YOUR life. I've got a better idea. Turn him/her loose and get out of here. I won't shoot you if you don't shoot first. But I'll guarantee you one thing. I'm not putting down my gun, and if you shoot him/her, you are a dead man." Keep the gun pointed at the thug all the time.
I MEAN THAT, too. Just look at the simple logic.
1) You drop your gun. Now the thug is totally in charge and he can kill you both with total impunity.
2) He shoots your loved one and you blow him away in return. Not a pleasant scenario, but better than option #1.
3) The thug understands that you're not bluffing and decides to take a shot at YOU. When he moves his gun, you can shoot him first, if you're lined up and ready to go. Even if the thug is using your loved one as a shield, you have to take that shot and hope that your hand is steady and your aim is true. If you miss and hit the shield, keep firing until you get the thug, too.
4) If he decides to walk away, let him go. You got what you wanted. Allow the cops to take it from there.
Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES do you EVER give up your gun.
If the thug is a typical gutter-rat with any hint of survival instinct, he'll understand that option #4 is the only one that keeps his ass alive. Feral people glom onto such ideas very quickly.
I read this tonight. Although it doesn't quite fit the scene I described above, I know what my answer would be.
I collected insects when I was a boy and when I showed my top'o the line framed and mounted specimens for a Science Fair project in 1964, I not only won a Blue Ribbon, but I had my showcase displayed at the Coastal Empire Fair that year, right down the hay-paved walkway in the Animal Exhibit Quonset hut, not 20 feet from a blue-ribbon hog and the best egg-laying chicken in Georgia.
I was proud of that accomplishment and I still am.
I once caught a really big eyed elator and I couldn't bear to just kill and mount him in my collection box at the time. I waited until just before the Science Fair to do that. In the meantime, I kept the bug as a pet.
If you look at the photo on that link, you can see why the beetles are called "eyed" (they appear to be a predator looking at YOU when a bug-eater is searching for dinner). They also are a member of the "click-beetle" family, which makes them a lot of fun to play with. They come in all sizes, but the BIG elators are more amusing than the small ones are.
Take one of those bugs and lay it flat on its back. It'll wave its legs helplessly in the air for a couple of seconds as it tries to turn over. When it realizes that it can't turn over to get back on its feet, it'll perform some kind of abdomen and thorax move that makes a loud "CLICK" noise, almost like someone snapping their fingers.
The bug will shoot straight up in the air about 12" and come down landing on all six feet. Then, it will try to haul ass to get away from you. I did that kind of stuff long before video games came along. I had LIVE entertainment. I wish only that I could have caught one of those back in my dope-smoking stoner days. Can you imagine how much fun THAT would be?
"Whoa, dude. How does he DO that?"
"I dunno--- but let's watch him do it again."
I wonder how many people today even know what a click-beetle is or how it got its name.
Yesterday, Catfish got a dose of the ant problem I have around my house. I spilled some of my mash when I was pouring it into the cooker and about two billion ants showed up immediately to cabbage on the sugar and fermented blackberries. I sprayed an entire can of Raid all over the place and killed enough ants to populate the state of Kansas, all to no avail. Catfish made the mistake of stepping off my porch to take a piss last night and was COVERED with ants before he could get his pecker back in his pants.
I've tried everything I know to do. My back yard has as much Diazanon in it as it does grass, and STILL those little fuckers are everywhere. What kind of ants? You just name 'em; I've got 'em.
* Sugar Ants--- Those are the little black ones who form assembly-lines when they find something good to eat. They'll make a perfect double line, with half a-coming and half a-going as they haul whatever they found back to the mound. I've seen 'em have a double-line stretching 50 yards before it reaches back to the mound. They'll bite you, but you have to provoke them first.
* Red Ants--- Those turds live in underground hives and you seldom see a mound of red ants. All they do is make a series of holes and kick up a little sand around the top. Beneath the ground, however, every one of those holes is connected via a series of tunnels. Dump some gasoline down one hole and watch ants come scurrying out from another hole 10 yards away. That's what makes them so difficult to kill. And they'll bite you for no other reason than the fact that you put your foot in the wrong place.
* Black Ants--- I don't see many of them anymore. They once were everywhere, and I liked them because they were BIG and resembled earth-moving equipment that I saw in the coal mining camp. As a boy, I once watched a single black ant drag a dead cicada TEN TIMES ITS OWN SIZE at least 20 yards through a field behind my parent's house. That ant had no help at all until he arrived home and a couple of scouts emerged to check him out. They did the antenna-dance, one ant ran back down the hole, and suddenly the hive exploded. HUNDREDS of ants came boiling out of there, they tore the cicada to shreds and took the groceries to the larder, piece by piece.
* Fire Ants--- They are the reason I don't see many black ants anymore. The fire ants obviously are racist, because they KILLED all the black ones. Fire ants build BIG sandy mounds and the bastards are as aggressive as a pissed-off water moccasin. They'll eat you alive if just hold still long enough, and they are hardy as hell, too. I've used every kind of poison known to man and I still can't get rid of them. All I manage to do is to get them to relocate.
A dozen or so people die every year in Georgia because of fire ant stings and I can understand why. When they bite, they inject a digestive enzyme into the wound, and it forms a painful, itching, white-headed pus-blister as a result. They also come in SWARMS when they attack, as if the lead ant were John Wayne calling out to the troops---"TAKE THAT HILL!" Thousands (if not MILIONS) of ants join in the charge. If you can't get out of there and get them offa you, you're in deep shit.
Catfish was lucky last night. I think he managed to piss off a colony of sugar ants instead of the really bad fuckers. I don't know how a "sugar ant" could bite Cat and survive a taste of his polluted blood, but some of them tried. That's what he gets for having big feet.
Ants. I hate those bastards.
gives me a problem
Ever since Christina started her blog, she's been doing this kind of shit. Maybe doing it once is a hoot, but over and over again (especially when the dancing monkeys all seem eager to participate) just gets OLD, in MY humble opinion. Who really gives a lovely fuck?
Besides, if Christina has so many wonderful ideas for story-lines, why doesn't she write the stories HERSELF, instead of holding a hoop and nodding approvingly as the dancing monkeys jump through? Who died and made HER Queen Bee?
Don't get me wrong here. If she can get you to do it, and if you're willing to be a dancing monkey, go right ahead. If being a member of a "club" makes you feel warm and fuzzy, then join with enthuiasm. It's your life and your blog, and I'm the last person on earth to tell you what to do with the combination of the two. Go forth, live long, and prosper.
But I can't get the picture of a dominatrix, dressed in black leather and chains, with cufflinks dangling from her garter and a whip in her hand, hissing, "DANCE, little monkey! DANCE for ME! BWHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"
I dance like a fucktard. It just ain't in my nature.
People tell me that I have "Mindless Minions" reading my blog. Hell, I can't hold a candle to Christina. The really sad part is--- I've read many a good blogger who actually sweated Christina's "deadlines" and dropped everything else they were doing to jump through that hoop on time.
Maybe I'm just envious of her organizational skills and her ability to manipulate people. Maybe. Maybe I believe that she thinks the sun rises and sets right square in the crack of her ass, too. Maybe. If I were holding her "diva" hoop, I might believe the same thing about myself, if I kept seeing
Y'all have fun with that shit. And be sure to link Christina every time you jump through her hoop.
June 16, 2005
I have to agree with this post. I got more pussy with a guitar than I ever did with money. Back in the 1970s, if you played on stage, it was easy to get laid. YOU didn't have to seduce wimmen. THEY wanted to seduce YOU, which in my case wasn't a difficult task.
I remember waking up in bed one morning with a school-teacher after a night of delightful frolic. She laid her head on my chest and said, "I"ve always dreamed about doing this."
I wasn't certain what she meant, so I asked her to explicate. "I've always wanted to go home with a guy in the band and then ball his brains out," she replied. My response? "Darlin,' do you have any OTHER fantasies you'd like to explore?" She was a sexy wench.
I thought about this for years, and I'm pretty sure what causes that attraction now. Wimmen are hormonal creatures and studies have shown that a male singing voice makes them produce phermones that are like opium in the brain. They start to feel real good and become aroused.
Second, just look at a guitar. It's a phallic instrument. Watch some guy running his hand up and down that long, stiff neck while he wears the double-round part around his waist. That is very suggestive of a well-hung man with a set of big nuts. It's all symbolic, but wimmen are sensitive creatures and they pick up on those signals. They get horny and they want to get laid.
Men are all swine (I'll admit that) because we think with the little head instead of the big one sometimes. But men don't go completely out of their minds when they visit a strip club. Wimmen DO when they see a musician they like.
Fairer sex, my ass. I know better.
i've said it before...
... and I'm gonna say it again for the thick-headed among you. My comments are NOT a chat room, nor are they some kind of internet bulletin board. If you want to comment, go right ahead--- that's why have open comments.
But when I get a "witty" exchange between Misty and Ed, which has nothing to do with the post , my Cracker ass becomes chapped. I don't give a fuck if you two want to get together and giggle like a couple of teen-aged cherries over where to stay in London and what kind of airplane to ride--- but that is what email is for. Or maybe try a fucking cell phone call.
But keep that shit out of my comments. Do you possibly understand how rude you are being? If you want to play "tag" with each other, do it on your own bandwidth. DO NOT decide, "Let's go over the Acidman's comments and court like a couple of idiots."
Hi Misty, If the powers that be can kickstart the "Nimrod Project", that bloody ugly spy plane of yours, I might get to take another trip across the pond. London is a lot of fun, but damn, the accomdations suck!
My heart now is throbbing.
Hi Ed, Sadly, I don't control the 'powers that be' yet, but I'm working on it ;) Where were you staying in London? Not all the accomodations here suck, I can assure you! I know some rather nice hotels :)
Now my dick is getting hard.
I stayed in a Hilton outside of London. I don't remember where exactly. When it came time to iron my shirts, I discovered there were no steam holes in the iron. That was disaster number one. The plumbing was well... you know, English, but the beer was worth all the suffering!
Ed, A Hilton - say no more, I concur, they do suck! I can recommend far better places to stay round here, one of which being a public toilet in Balham. Yay for your comment about the beer here, but wtf do you mean by 'the plumbing was, you know, English'? what's wrong with the plumbing here?
I don't know anything about English plumbing, but I know self-absorbed people when I see them. Hell, I AM ONE, but I don't use someone's comments to display that fact.
Hi Misty, thanks for the tip. The sinks had two spiggots, one for hot, one for cold. I had never seen such an arrangement. Washing the hands was a bit like - too hot! - too cold! - too hot! - too cold! The lack of wash cloths was a bit disconcerting as well!
You want "clueless?" Look at this shit on my blog.
Ed, Right there with you on views on taps/faucets/spiggots whatever you want to call 'em. Not all places have such torturous devices in the washrooms, but too many do. As to lack of washcloths, again, you were in a Hilton - nuff said. Re: Queen's English and directions, are you sure you weren't talking to a member of 'our wonderful royal family?'* Nothing any of them say makes any sense, you'd have more success asking a lamp post for directions.
Misty... you got one thing right. You're "right there" with Ed when it comes to being a flaming asshole.
Right you are Misty! Besides beer, you can get that wonderful libation known as Absinthe across the pond. I always bring back a bottle of Hills. I've heard that it's not the best brand, but hey, after the third shot it tastes great to me! Of course, the down side is waking up on the floor!
I have one very simple question to ask: WHAT THE FUCK WAS ANY OF THAT SHIT doing in my comments on a post about making moonshine? I can tell you right now--- not a god-dam thing, and it surely did not entertain any readers to see that little tete-a-tete between two people who obviously have a great sex life awaiting them because they are so much alike.
I'm going to say it for the last time--- don't do this shit in my comments. I ain't running a goddam dating service here and I could give a lovely fuck about English plumbing. If you become worked-up talking to each other, get your own room. Stay out of mine.
Do that again, and I'll delete ever comment you ever make. Assholes.
If these people had guns that hyena would not have gotten far. If I had a rabid hyena in MY yard, I don't believe that he'd be a menace for very long.
Of course, these people might have shot and missed.
Villagers armed with axes and knives cornered the animal Monday night, but failed to kill it, prompting rumors that witchcraft was involved. The team sent by local authorities shot the hyena the following day, police spokesman Ramsy Mushani said.
"Rumors of witchcraft?" How about the fact that axes and knives are no match for a raging, rabid hyena? Wanna see some REAL "witchcraft?" Give me a .12 gauge shotgun or a .30-30 rifle in that situation. I'll show you a dead hyena. Pure magic.
PETA people and animal-lovers probably would want to fry my testicles for doing such a thing because, after all, the critter was just being a hyena. Can't fault ANY animal for doing what comes naturally.
Even if it kills nine people.
June 15, 2005
like riding a bicycle
The "home-made wine" is a done deal. Everything went just as slick as an onion, too.
Catfish wanted to
"Well... don't just sit there, bow-legs," Cat said. "Fire that baby up and let's see if you know what you're doing."
We fired it up. Within 10 minutes, I had a pretty, clear liquid that smelled faintly of blackberries as it came spitting from the worm. It burned with a blue flame, too. I let that run for a few ounces and then tasted what I was making. "We catch the rest of this," I announced, and we did.
It took us about an hour and a half and two Bass Ales apiece to get the job done, but we managed. I ended up with seven pints of STRONG elixer and another pint of the somewhat watered-down after-effects. Once I tasted some of that, I turned off the heat and called the project a roaring success. Not bad for five gallons of mash.
I gave Catfish a pint from the first of the run for being such an excellent
If I didn't know any better, I might believe that an asshole in MacIntosh County wants to try it himself. If he wants any help, he knows who to call. But he's right about one thing: any asshole CAN do it.
It's like riding a bicycle, too. Once you learn how, you never forget.
today's the day
My blackberry wine is ready to be recitified into something else, and I have all of my works set up outside. But I'm going to wait until this evening to do the cooking off. The heat index is 105 degrees right now, and I don't believe that this is a proper time to start my science experiment. I could die of a fucking heat-stroke before I ever got finished.
I don't want my obtuary to read "53 year-old Rob Smith was found dead on his back porch today, from what appears to be natural causes. A police spokesman stated that Smith appeared to be making a batch of "home-made wine" at the time, when he keeled over and died, either from the heat or the fumes from his still." His body was hauled off for autopsy and the "home-made wine" was confiscated by the police as evidence in the case.
Naw... I'm going to wait until this evening.
The set-up looks pretty good. I put a bad crimp in my worm fitting it into the condenser, but I can get water to run through the coil, so it should still function. All I really need to do now is light a fire under the cooker and watch it work. By now, I figure that only one of three things can go wrong:
1) The still blows up and sends me sailing to kingdom come.
2) That crimp in the worm causes too much pressure, so the still blows up and sends me sailing to kingdom come.
3) Everything works perfectly, but the product tastes like ass.
Other than those three minor problems, I believe that I am good to go.
Todays's universities are producing a bunch of tangle-head brats, immature and uneducated, because they are being TAUGHT by bunch of tangle headed brats who are educated to the point of complete ignorance. Buncha whining pussies.
Only a handful of graduates and faculty stood and turned their backs to the stage, but spectators in the bleachers at Santa Monica Community College's stadium kept up a steady and distracting patter of chants and whistles as Schwarzenegger, dressed in a black robe, made his 20-minute speech.
You can expect to see college students behave like assholes. They are young, dumb and full of cum. But when members of THE FACULTY join in such juvenile actions, you've got wonder just what kind of shit those people are teaching.
California's unions have unleashed an offensive against Schwarzenegger-backed measures that go before voters in a Nov. 8 special election that could dramatically alter the state's political landscape in his favor.
The HORROR! The HUMANITY!!! Teachers might actually be expected to teach and money might be withheld if they don't. We can't have that kind of fascist shit in OUR great country!
California's labor movement, especially its influential teachers' union, has promised a fierce battle to defeat Schwarzenegger's measures. Already bitter that his proposed budget does not raise school spending as much as they want, teachers see his tenure measure as a threat to their job security.
Bejus! If this is the result of the current system, I believe that a LOT of people need to be dragged off and shot, just so we can start over again. What we have now is pretty goddam pathetic.
But it's not about the money and it's not about politics. It's "For the Children."
just a thought
If you have a new blog or on unheard of blog that you believe is worthy of attention, mail me link to it. I'll read it and pick out five good blogs to link and discuss every week. Of course, if I think your blog sucks, I might just say that about it, too. Call it constructive criticism.
I simply want to return a favor that was done by several people who did it for me when I got started. You never can tell. I might help make you a star.
I'm willing to do it if you're willing to send the links. If you're interested, just email them to me. I'll give you MY humble opinion of what I see.
I am not one bit ashamed of walking around with no clothes on. Hell, I go to "clothing optional" resorts a couple of times every year and my option is ALWAYS not to wear any clothes. I don't have the best body in the world, but I've never seen anybody lean over and puke when I walked by wearing nothing but a towel draped over my arm.
Besides, I've encountered people of all shapes and sizes from all over the world at those places. (and anybody who believes that sex runs rampant there simply has a dirty mind. Sex runs just as rampant at any Holiday Inn in the summer.) Nudity and sex are NOT the same thing.
It's difficult to lie and put on false airs when you're butt-nekkid in front of strangers.
I believe that the world would be a much better place if Congress were required to meet nude. Take away all those $2,000 suits and let's see the person behind the curtain. I wonder if Robert Byrd would still be such a fan of the filibuster if he had to do it with his withered shanks and dried-up dingle in the wind? On TELEVISION, so everybody could get a good look.
How about Ted Kennedy. Now--- KENNEDY nude just might be enough to make you lean over and puke. Or Hillary Clinton. BEJUS! Take her clothes off and I think you'll find a really skanky thing underneath.
But, I digress. My point is that nudity is NOT a bad thing and more people should practice it. Your nekkid body is nothing to be ashamed of, unless you're ashamed of your body already. But I'll tell you one thing for sure: no matter how bad you think you look without clothes, you'll always find someone who looks worse at a nudist resort.
So, Why don't YOU get nekkid, too? I see nothing immoral about it.
June 14, 2005
for ignorant late-comers
Half-rubber has been a topic of much discussion on the blog for a couple of years now. The people in my comments below asking, "What the hell is half-rubber" all need to be dragged off and shot. If you would check my archives or read anything about last April's Jawja Writer's Conference, you wouldn't be asking such stupid questions.
What you see in the picture is my friend Catfish throwing a half-rubber pitch. Yes, he's sailing HALF of a rubber ball, kinda frisbee-style at a batter who intends to hit it with a broomstick. Behind the batter is a catcher who intends to snag the ball if the batter swings and misses.
If you swing and miss and the catcher makes the catch, you're out. If you hit the ball, anything a bat-length in front of you is a single. Knock it over the pitcher's head and it's a home run. It takes three people to play, and you rotate positions every time somebody strikes out. (Catcher becomes batter, batter becomes pitcher and pitcher becomes catcher.)
The great thing about the game is that it involves NO base-running, so you can drink a lot of beer while you play.
The other two wrinkles I'll mention is that if you swing, tip the ball and the catcher still snags it, the catcher gets TWO outs on his next at-bat. The same thing if you pop one up and the pitcher catches it in the air. HE gets two outs next time up.
It's played with nothing more than a rubber ball cut in half and a broomstick for a bat. But I'll warn you right now. There is an art to pitching, hitting or catching a half-rubber. It ain't as easy as it looks.
THAT'S half-rubber. Try to remember that the next time I mention it on this blog.
hands across the water
This one came from Henry Blowfly, who lives in the Land Down Under and comments frequently on my blog:
Great blog, one of my regular reads, and the beach at Scarborough, Western Australia now has a regular "Georgia Half Rubber" game during the summer months, it started with me and a few few ol' fart mates, then a couple of younguns joined in, then a couple of the young "dolly birds" had a go, (which adds a whole new dimension to the game), and the ol' farts now sit back and mind the beer, and enjoy the view:-)
Tell me that a blog can't be a influence on other people. I am humbled by the fact that I may have played a small role in exporting a beach game invented on Tybee Island, Georgia, halfway around the world to Australia. THAT is true cultural exchange, because very few people in the USA ever heard of half-rubber.
And Henry says he's going to send me some Vegemite as a gesture of gratitude. That kind of thing makes this Cracker boy proud.
One Cracked Pot
When I read that, I realized that most of my really good friends are cracked pots of some kind or another. But they wouldn't be so unique if they weren't cracked. Straight-laced, "sane" people bore me.
Cracked pots are all one-of-a-kind.
Is this a REAL optical illusion or some kind of computer trick? I stared at the damn thing long enough to hypnotize myself and I still can't figure it out. I KNOW that eyes can play tricks on you, because I've worn beer-goggles before.
That one is either really good or really well-programmed.
this don't look bad
It's missing one thing--- NO GOT-DAM GRITS!!! It ain't a true Southern breakfast unless you've got a pile of grits to go with those eggs. I am ashamed of Steve H. for not knowig any better.
June 13, 2005
justice was done
Michael Jackson was acquitted on all charges in his three-ring circus child-molestation trial. I said from the very beginning that the only thing Jackson was guilty of was being weird and rich.
I am delighted that he got off the hook, although I am certain that this legal fiasco cost him one hell of a lot of money. It just proves something I've believed for years. It's dangerous to be weird. Government doesn't like square pegs that don't fit into round holes. And it's even MORE dangerous to be weird and RICH, too.
The acquittals marked a stinging defeat for Santa Barbara County District Attorney Tom Sneddon, who displayed open hostility for Jackson and had pursued him for more than a decade, trying to prove the rumors that swirled around Jackson about his fondness for children.
Remember that man's name. Tom Sneddon. (Ain't it a GOOD one?) He's a perfect example of those ambitious, ladder-climbing storm-troopers who don't care who they have to step on to make a reputation for themselves. Give them a position with the kind of power a District Attorney has, and you won't have to wait long to see them abuse it.
Tom didn't instigate this ridiculous trial "for the children." He did it for Tom. And I am happy that it blew up in his fucking face.
In MY humble opinion, justice prevailed here. It should NOT be a crime to be weird and rich in this country. Being rich and weird should not make you a target of government, either. Michael Jackson doesn't frighten me. People such as Tom Sneddon do.
I believe that Jackson should be able to sue his accusers AND Sneddon for every cent he spent on that trial.
san francisco logic
Okay, you have two pit bulls who are behaving "aggressively" and a 12 year-old boy in your home. You need to go out and run some errands. What do you do?
Of course, you lock THE BOY in the basement, not the dogs. The boy is smart enough to get out of the basement and the dogs kill him. That ain't YOUR fault. The boy should have stayed in the basement.
My aching ass.
This story reminds me a lot of some of the comments I received after I blogged about shooting a cat out of a tree in my back yard. Animal lovers were OUTRAGED by my brutal, heartless behavior. The cat climbing the tree to kill a bunch of baby birds in their nest was just "being a cat" and animals have rights, too. I was a big, red-necked asshole for popping the cat with a pellet gun.
Unlike some other folks, I see a big difference between animals and people. Those dogs that killed the 12 year-old boy were just "being dogs." How can you possibly find anything wrong with that?
When Quinton was born, we had Bud, a 90-pound chow-lab mix who was a very aggressive dog, despite having his nuts clipped as a pup. (I sometimes called him "Bud Lite"). I warned Jennifer when Quinton was first learning to crawl that if Bud ever even growled at Quinton, I would drag the dog outside and shoot him on the spot. And I meant it, too. I will not tolerate a dog that bites a child.
I never had to shoot Bud. In fact, that big, hairy bastard put up with more shit from Quinton than I ever thought possible. My little boy would crawl into the kitchen, find Bud and give anatomy lessons. "EYE! EYE!" he said, while poking Bud in the eye with his finger. Bud just turned his head. "NOSE! NOSE!" while poking Bud in the nose. "TAIL! TAIL!" while tugging on Bud's tail.
Bud put up with every bit of that, with no more than an occasional sigh. If you wanted to make Bud angry, on the other hand, let somebody fuck with Quinton. Bud got righteously outraged by that and was ready to fight to the death. When strangers came to the house, Bud always stayed between them and Quinton, just to make sure they had no evil intentions toward my boy.
He understood family and in his doggy mind, Quinton belonged to HIM, too. And it was his job to protect the boy. Bud was one fine dog.
And I've got absolutely NO tolerance whatsoever for people who keep dogs that are bad enough to make you lock your child in a basement for his protection when you leave the house. That's just plain sick, twisted and insane.
But what the hell? They were just being dogs. And now a 12 year-old boy is dead because some California nutball had some really fucked-up priorities. But you really can't fault her animal-loving compassion.
At least she didn't pop either dog in the ass with a pellet gun.
it's only rain
I know this feeling, very well. I wish I didn't, but I've experienced a lot of it in the past few years. It takes a huge emotional toll, and you NEVER have "exact change" to pay it. At least I never did.
I'm still fumbling through my pockets looking for whatever token I need to get through the gate and into a place where grief is gone and happiness abides. I don't believe that I will ever find it.
I wish life was that easy.
If we don't know anything else down South, we know how to make one hell of a breakfast. I believe that Southern cooking is the best in the country, even if we DO soak most our food in grease and gravy. It still beats that boiled, tasteless shit called "food" in New England.
Eggs, grits, bacon, sausage, country ham, biscuits, sawmill gravy, and sometimes hoe-cakes, too. (How many yankees even know what a hoe-cake is?) You have not lived a complete life until you've had a good Southern breakfast when you're really hungry. And a home-grown tomato is just icing on the cake.
I don't give a shit if that stuff clogs your arteries and takes 10 years off your life. It's a fair trade for that kind of goodness.
June 12, 2005
I'll be damned!
I've been reading her for a long time... and I never realized that she was white.
That just goes to show you how tricky and evil conservatives are.
what the fuck?
A couple of wise-asses have enrolled me in a cat-lover's society, a kittie newsletter and some kind of PETA bullshit, and I receive emails from those organizations every day. I have a sneaking suspicion about who put me on the cat-list, but I'm not going to accuse joni with the red toenails of doing it unless I have irrefutable proof. But it sounds like something she would do just to fuck with me.
But someone else is really sinking low. I can handle the cat-stuff and the PETA crap, but this is just... really shitty.
Thank you for volunteering to help with MoveOn.org's action campaigns.
Okay, unsubscribe me NOW and let's just... move on. Bejus! I "volunteered" to support that limp-dicked, brain-dead, leftist-loving tool of George Soros? That's news to me.
Strange things happen on the internet.
a sad story
I'm a boxing fan. I have been for a long time. I think it's a true gladiator sport. But... it has left a lot of people beat-up and broke after what appeared to be successful careers.
Mike Tyson is just one of many who pissed away millions of dollars and couldn't keep his shit in one sock. Tyson once was a fearsome fighter, but something went wrong in his head. He brought every problem he has now upon himself.
Bejus. From champ to chump in a very short time.
Tyson was paid $5 million for the fight, which was on the low end of purses he has made in his career. After his creditors got $2 million, the IRS got its cut and his ex-wife got $750,000, so there wasn't much left for the fighter.
Creditors, the IRS and an ex-wife. No wonder Tyson doesn't fight the way he once did. There's nothing in it for him, even though he's the one taking the punches.
Oh, Tyson is a head-case, for sure. But even a head-case has to wonder sometimes... what for?
i told you so!
Cats are evil creatures and you should NEVER trust one of them.
Two kittens picked the wrong place to relieve themselves when they urinated on a fax machine, sparking a fire that extensively damaged their Japanese owner's house.
When I first moved out on my own, I had a room-mate who brought his cat along with him. The cat was "Ronald," a big-headed orange tom who didn't like me from day one. The cat knew that I didn't like him either, so he started to sleep in my bed, just to piss me off.
I caught him in there one day, grabbed him by the tail and threw him down the hallway. "GET OUT AND STAY OUT!" I yelled at the cat. That was a mistake. Ronald didn't sleep in my bed anymore, but he would slink in there and SHIT ON IT every chance he got. Plus, if I came home and left the windows rolled down on my car, Ronald would hop in and shit on the driver's seat and then piss all over everything. I don't care if you love cats or not--- cat-piss STINKS!
I told my room-mate that if he couldn't control that cat, he was going to be minus one cat very shortly. I got the response most anti-cat people get from cat-lovers--- "Hey! He's just being a cat."
Fine. Let him "be a cat" by shitting in YOUR bed and in YOUR car. Let him piss all over YOUR bedroom instead of mine. I've got no problem with that. But I DO have a problem with that fucker thinking everything I own is a bathroom stall. Either YOU fix that problem or I will.
I didn't have to kill the cat. Some neighborhood dogs did that job for me. They caught Ronald out at night and ripped him to shreds. I found Ronald in the driveway one morning when I was on my way to work. I used a shovel to scrape him into a garbage bag and I left the bag in my room-mate's bedroom.
I left a note on the bag: "I didn't do it, but I wanted to. Now, go bury your fucking cat."
He did, but I believe that he STILL is convinced that I killed that cat.
break my heart
Looks like another reader has her twat in a knot and isn't going to read me anymore.
It's all about taste and preference, really. Some choose lite beer because they really don't care for the taste of a strong substance and some, like me, choose lite because of the caloric intake. It's odd that a post about beer would be the one that finally turned me off this blog but during the past few weeks I've found the intolerance more and more disturbing, not to mention the derogatory comments regarding "wimmen", so I'm going to call it a day but wish you continued success with those who are likeminded.
I find it amusing that someone who calls herself "Leggy" hyperventilates and gets the vapors over a post about beer. Besides, I consider being called "intolerant" high praise. Too many people "tolerate" things today that they shouldn't, because they are afraid of offending someone's delicate sensibilities. I don't have that problem.
I have a low tolerance level for stupid people. If you don't like my blog, don't read it. I'm not posting to please YOU.
That should be simple enough for even "Leggy" to understand.
i would rather be dumb
This is absolute bullshit. People who continue to elect Ted Kennedy to the Senate, tax themselves into being slaves for the government and drive cars the way people do in Boston CAN'T be that smart.
Of course the criteria for this "smartness" is kinda suspect to me.
These are the findings of the Education State Rankings, a survey by Morgan Quitno Press of hundreds of public school systems in all 50 states. States were graded on a variety of factors based on how they compare to the national average. These included such positive attributes as per-pupil expenditures, public high school graduation rates, average class size, student reading and math proficiency, and pupil-teacher ratios. States received negative points for high drop-out rates and physical violence.
I see that my beloved state of Georgia ranked #38 on the list. It's too bad that the survey didn't include the ability to recognize bullshit when you see it, because Georgia would have risen in the ranking while Massachusetts fell like a stone. But that's not the point of the survey.
I believe it's just another example of nit-headed "intellectuals" attempting to show that Blue states are smart, and Red states are dumb. If we red-state idiots were as smart as the people in Massachusetts, John Kerry would be President today.
Sometimes it's good to be dumb.
June 11, 2005
I stole this link from Glenn Reynolds, and posted it just because you might not have seen it there. I think you ought to print a hard copy of it and look at it everytime you hear some whining leftist complaining about the "desecration" of the holy Koran.
Piss on his leg, and then hand him a copy of the article to clean himself up with.
a ceaseless quest...
I'm gonna piss some more people off here. I don't drink a lot of beer anymore, but when I DO drink beer, I want a REAL beer. I brewed my own for a long time and I think that's how I learned to tell the difference between possum-piss and REAL beer.
NO domestic beer in the United States is REAL beer. For one thing, it's all lager. It's ALL possum-piss, and the only reason I can see people drinking it is because it has alcohol in it. Don't tell me that Budweiser, Coors, Miller or Pabst is beer. It's NOT. It's possum- piss. And if you put a "Lite" label on it, it goes from possum-piss to pure skunk-water.
I've said before that I don't like snobs, but I suppose I AM a beer-snob. When I buy beer, I want something that tastes like BEER, not possum-piss or skunk-water. Here are my favorites:
1) Sam Adams Ale
2) Shiner Bock (or anything by Shiner)
3) Bass Ale
4) Guinness Stout
5) Black and Tan Ale (you can get that custom-poured in a bar, but it comes in bottles, too)
6) Red Stripe (Jamacia)
7) Imperial (Costa Rica)
8) Pete's Wicked Pale Ale
9) Red Elephant Amber Bock
10) Anchor Steam
As far as true domestic beers go, I'll drink 'em, but I don't believe that they are very good. Rolling Rock is okay, and so is Michelob dark. Iron City once was pretty good, before that brewery went out of business after it drowned in possum-piss competition.
I suppose I'm just strange. I believe that beer should taste like something more than tap-water with bubbles in it.
i wanna believe it
I received this email from Wes Jackson, a frequent commenter on my blog. I didn't run it through SNOPES to check its veracity, because I would prefer to believe that it's true.
Don't know whether you heard about this but Denzel Washington and his family visited the troups at Brook Army Medical Center, in San Antonio,Texas (BAMC) the other day. This is where soldiers that have been evacuated from Germany come to be hospitalized in the States, especially burn victims. They have buildings there called Fisher Houses. The Fisher House is a hotel where soldiers' families can stay, for little or no charge, while their soldier is staying in the hospital. BAMC has quite a few of these houses on base but as you can imagine, they are almost completely filled most of the time.
Wes, the answer is simple. Very FEW celebrities are willing to put their money where their mouth is to begin with (notice how many DIDN'T leave the country the way they threatened to when Bush was reelected-- in fact, name ONE who did) and they really don't give a shit about anybody but themselves. Like catfish, they live in shallow water, open their mouths a lot and eat shit most of the time.
Fuck 'em. And if the story is true, Denzel Washington just went up a few notches in MY book.
i'm a masochist
I watched Al Franken's cable-show last night. I'll admit that my belly was hurting and I wasn't in the best of moods, but I STILL thought, in MY humble opinion, that I've stepped in better dog-shit than that show. I'll give you a quick critique:
1) Al Franken is Booooring. He appears to be heavily dosed with thorazine when he's on
2) What's with the headphones? Al resembles an overweight, overage wanna-be Mouseketeer in that get-up. Can't his show afford a decent behind-the-ear microphone?
3) If you want pure leftist cant, he's got plenty of that. He lets somebody talk while he himself nods out and then revives long enough to say, "So, what I'm hearing from you is that Bush is a moron."
4) I once saw a dog do the news on the original Ted Turner cable channel, when Bill Tush was program director. They fed the dog peanut butter and then did a voice-over of the news while the dog moved his mouth around. THAT was a lot more entertaining than Al Franken is today.
5) If Al Franken thinks he can compete with Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity or even that blathering idiot Michael Savage, he's more stupid that I already think he is. He's about as original as a fossilized fruitcake that's been sitting on mama's shelf since somebody gave it to her for Christmas five years ago. The guy is pathetic.
Of course, that's just MY humble opinion. George Soros may see something there that I don't.
The truth is where you find it. Sometimes it's subtle, sometimes it's blunt, but it's the truth nevertheless.
Too many people have trouble seeing it anymore.
I had the belly-pains again, very badly over the past couple of days. I went to see a Doc-In-The-Box about it today. I described my symptoms, he poked and probed, took a blood sample and came back with his expert opinion. "When's the last time you had a bowel movement?" he asked.
I stopped and thought. "I dunno, Doc. A couple of days ago, I guess."
He handed me a sample pack of medicine. "You're just plugged-up. Go home, try one of these, and if you don't feel better by tomorrow, make an appointment with a gastroenterologist." I accepted the medicine and went home. I didn't even look at it at the time.
It was a box of SUPPOSITORIES!!!
After having prostate cancer, I certainly am no stranger to having things shoved up my ass, but I wasn't exactly happy with the doctor's prescription. I was hoping for some really good pain medication. But I was hurting pretty badly and I was willing to try almost anything, including THIS cure to make myself feel better.
I read the instructions and pulled one of those things out of the box. HOLY BEJUS!!! That damn thing was the size of a .30-30 rifle round. Shoot that fucker from a gun and you could kill a full-grown deer with it. And I was supposed to stick THAT up MY ass?
Consistent pain will make you do outrageous things. I greased one up with some KY Jelly (don't ask me why I have KY Jelly available in my house--- that's a different story) and I shoved it as far as I could up my dookey-chute. The instruction said to wait 15 to 45 minutes for results. I curled up on my sofa to watch the movie In Harm's Way.
Shortly after the scene where Kirk Douglas rapes the innocent little nurse, I felt a certain stirring in my nether regions, and these stirrings weren't erotic. I walked VERY CAREFULLY to the bathroom, plunked my Cracker ass on the throne and let loose with something awesome to behold.
Thank Bejus that I wasn't smoking a cigarette at the time. The gas that came out of me would have ignited the Crackerbox the way the Hindenberg went up in flames. I think I actualy lifted my ass off the seat a couple of inches a few times, just from the rocket-thrust.
I'm going to make a terrible confession here. When I was finished, I never felt better in my life. My distended belly was back to normal, I didn't hurt anymore and I wanted to run around the neighborhood just cavorting from pure joy.
I've got three more of those things in the box and I'm keeping them. I don't care if taking them IS humiliating. They damn sure fixed what was wrong with me. And if you'll pardon the pun...
That Doc-In-The-Box knows his shit.
I just couldn't pass this one up. It's something I think about a lot now that I'm a dottering old fart. I still remember vividly what it was like to be a kid, and I miss it.
Five Things That I Miss From My Childhood
1) Knowing exactly where home was, and being totally assured that people there loved me, no matter what. Most of them are dead now.
2) A sense of adventure fueled by books, movies, tall tales and my belief in magic. Call it youthful enthusiam or young-boy craziness--- it was still fun to live. ANYTHING was possible, and I believed that fact!
3) Total invulnerability. I took a lot of chances and did a lot of dangerous things my my youth, but I KNEW that wasn't going to get hurt, at least not badly. Blood clotted and cuts healed. Falling out of a tree was no big deal. Getting shot in the ass with rocksalt from a farmer's shotgun might sting for a while, but it wasn't going to kill me. And that never stopped me from sneaking back over there to see his daughter, either. I figured that if you didn't have a few dings to show for it, you hadn't been living large.
4) Wondering what I would be when I "grew up." I had a lot of dreams back then, and I actually fulfilled some of them. But as I became older, that dream-scope shrunk from a big spotlight to a pencil-beam. I miss the huge horizons I one saw in my imagination. Age does that to you.
5) Innocence. I believe that I miss the sense of trust and the "Beaver Cleaver" outlook I had on the world during my youth more than I miss any other part of it. I thought that honesty was the best policy and a man's word was his bond. Boy... was I in for an unpleasant surprise later in life.
Those are my thoughts on this meme. I'm not going to pass it along to anyone else, but you can feel free to comment.
June 10, 2005
nothing is safe!
Check into your hotel room. Hang the "Do NoT Disturb" outside. Lock the door.
You're SAFE, right?
According to this alarming report you're NOT safe. In fact, you may be in great danger.
University of Arizona microbiology professor Chuck Gerba conducted a study of a dozen Tucson hotels. As the Arizona Republic put it, TV remotes hold more than batteries. "One of the dirtiest places in the room people don't expect is the TV channel changer, believe it or not," Gerba told the Republic. He has even found fecal bacteria on those remote controls.
And you thought there was shit on television...
What's a traveler to do? Wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water or use alcohol gel to clean your hands after you touch items that are prone to bacteria. "That's probably one of the best defenses you can use," Gerba told the Arizona Republic. "Just remember, every place you're touching, someone else did it before you."
Using that line of reasoning I suggest that you THROW AWAY ALL OF YOUR MONEY IMMEDIATELY!!! I'll be happy to take that filth-ridden, multi-touched stuff off you hands, and even reward you with a bottle of antiseptic hand-soap in the process. We just can't be too careful anymore.
Really... when you consider all the scientific research published today, I think we need a government regulation requiring everybody to wear Level-A Haz-Mat suits anytime they venture outside. We should sleep in Level B suits, with a really good respirator strapped to our faces. This world is a dangerous place.
You can't just walk around ignoring all this deadly shit whirling around you, the way we've been doing for 10,000 years. We need to PROTECT ourselves.
And we need to do it For The Children.
But as an English major, I would suggest these ten, although there a lot more good ones out there. I just didn't want to violate the JB principle and leave this post as a comment on his page--- you know, where the commenter writes three fucking pages in response to your two-paragraph post.
I've read every one of these books more than once. They are THAT good. So here is my list, in no particular order:
1) Huckleberry Finn, by Sam Clemens. In MY humble opinion, that's the greatest AMERICAN novel ever wtitten.
2) Catch 22, by Joseph Heller. The greatest anti-war book ever written and it was published long before anti-war books became vouge.
3) Earth Abides, by George R. Stewart. THAT novel is one reason I believe that most "environmentalists" are full of shit.
4) The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand. That book changed my life.
5) The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein. ANYTHING by Heinlein is good, but I believe that this one is a masterpiece, especially considering where the world has gone since he wrote it.
6) An American Tragedy, by Theodore Dreiser. I didn't like a lot of the writers from the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but Dreiser told a timeless story in that novel. You see the same thing happening in the news every day today.
7) Tortilla Flats, by John Steinbeck. The book is a hoot to read and it is perfect distillation of human nature.
8) Aztec, by Gary Jennings. It's a thick and juicy novel, well-researched and well-written. It will transport to to another world, and if you like that one, try his book about marco polo. That's another good one.
9) Alas, Babylon, by Pat Frank. That was written in the late 1950s about what nuclear war would do to America, as told by a family in Florida after the bombs fell. It's a damn good read.
10) PS--- Your Cat is Dead, by James Kirkwood, Jr. That book, which later became a play and a movie, both of which bombed, still makes me laugh when I read it. It's not for the homophobic, because the main character is of the gay persuasion, but it's so absurd that I couldn't help but like it. It's the story of a real shit-storm in a person's day--- and who HASN'T had one of those?
I could name a couple of dozen more good books, but if anybody reads those ten, literary education is on the way.
I'm going to assemble my still today, but the brew isn't ready to cook yet. It's still bubbling at the rate of a nice plop! about every thirty seconds. I'm going to allow it to continue fermenting until I have to wait at least two minutes between bubbles. THEN, it will be ready.
That make take another couple of days.
The news media are flogging this story for all it's worth, which isn't really much in MY humble opinion. It just looks like a big rainstorm to me.
We get those all the time, all summer long in the South, especially along the coast. It may be "tropical" in nature, but it's still no more than a windy, wet blow. I don't believe that WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!
It damn sure ain't no killer hurricane.
June 09, 2005
I've been know to pitch temper tantrums on this blog. But when I get pissed off, I never throw things or break something. I don't understand people who do, but I know a lot of them--- and most of them are wimmen. How does destroying something you own make you feel better when you're pissed off?
I confess-- I have sent a few golf clubs doing the helicopter through the air in my time, but I never broke a club and I always threw them in the direction I was headed, so that I didn't have to go out of my way to pick them up and put them back in my bag.
You see this kind of scene in movies all the time. Somebody is pissed off, so that person breaks a few dishes, turns over a table, throws flower pots against the wall and trashes the place like some drugged-up rock musician. Then, that person sits amid the rubble and weeps.
Why? If breaking things when you're angry makes you feel better, you should be absolutely ecstatic once you've turned your own house and your own possessions into trash and broken glass. By Bejus, THAT fixes your problem, doesn't it?
Evidently not, because the self-vandalizer always ends up crying in the end. I'd cry too, once I got over my tantrum and realized that breaking stuff didn't do ANYTHING to cure my problem, but it left me one hell of a mess to clean up, and probably a trip to Wal-Mart to replace the stuff I foolishly broke.
But some people actually do that kind of crap. I don't understand them. In fact, I often think that people who behave that way DESERVE the problems they get.
Self-control is a virture. Temper tantrums are not.
it peeves me
I was issued a cell phone from work that I was supposed to carry 24-7 so that the company could ALWAYS reach out and touch me, no matter what I was doing at the time. I wore it on my belt and always kept in on "vibrate" mode. If I received a phone call, I didn't think the entire world needed to know about it.
If you want to send something up my ass like a hot piece of barbed wire, let me hear one of your custom rings ANYWHERE in public. Who the fuck do you think YOU are?
I've got to listen to rap music, "London Bridge is Falling Down" or something that reminds me of the old ice cream truck rolling through my neighborhood when I was a boy, while YOU, you rude shit-ass, inflict this noise on everybody within ear-shot while you search frantically for your phone. I see this shit every day anymore.
People do it in restaurants, in movie theaters, in church, in Wal-Mart and even on the fucking GOLF COURSE, for crying out loud. 99.9% of the time, the phone call is from someone asking, "Whatcha doing?" And the answer is, "Oh, not much. What are YOU doing?"
You know... really ESSENTIAL phone calls.
I HATE cell phones and I hate people with silly rings programmed into them. I also despise rude people, and some people with cell phones are about as rude as they come. If I want to hear "Ode to Joy," I'll buy the goddam CD.
I don't want to hear it on your fucking cell phone.
June 08, 2005
you can't make this shit up
By damn, if we don't do anything with government, we need to insure potty parity. I believe that this idea is nanny+nanny to the 10th power, but I'm not surprised that Mayor "Nanny" Bloomberg supports it. Let's also make it a law that wimmen get three times as much toilet paper as men do.
It's only "fair."
I am proud to live in the great state of Georgia and to call myself both a Cracker and a Bulldawg. But sometimes, I feel as if I owe the entire nation an apology. I never voted for the bastard, not for governor or as President, but he came from my state and I somehow feel responsible for his assholery.
Jimmy Carter is a shit-stain on the fabric of my state. Why can't the drooling cretin just keep his mouth shut?
"The U.S. continues to suffer terrible embarrassment and a blow to our reputation ... because of reports concerning abuses of prisoners in Iraq, Afghanistan and Guantanamo," Carter said after a two-day human rights conference at his Atlanta center.
Wrong, Jimmah. The United States suffers embarrassment every time YOU spout off in front of the cameras. You were the worst President of my lifetime and you've done absolutely nothing to redeem your reputation as a weak-kneed butt-kisser since you left office. Bejus! I cannot STAND that man.
I would recommend wrapping his head in duct tape, but he'd probably just grin and chew his way out of the gag and start talking again. I cringe every time I see him today. And I have good reasons to feel that way.
As we say in Georgia, "That boy ain't right in the head."
Usually, I despise those things. They remind me of "in" people who passed secret notes in high school for only the "in" crowd to read. But this one ain't bad, even though I couldn't name a damn one of them right off the top of my head.
Try MY LIST of literary characters:
1) Lord Greystoke
3) Howard Roarke
4) Tarl Cabot
5) John Carter
6) Uriah Heep
7) Hank Morgan
8) Lorena Wood
9) Miss Moneypenny
10) John Clark
11) Valentine Michael Smith
12) Luca Brazzi
13) Clyde Griffiths
14) Isherwood Williams
15) Lucy Westenra
Who were they and what novels did they appear in? There. That's my meme for the day and I think my list is easier than Kelley's was.
i've been robbed!
Okay... I'm through bragging about what a crime-free neighborhood I live in. Sometime over the past two days, some shit-ass stole my propane cooker, my turkey-frying pot and my low-country boil pot. Right out of my driveway, next to the garage.
That stuff has been there for three years, used only when I wanted to fry a turkey or boil a bunch of peanuts. All together, it's probably about $100 worth of stuff, and the propane cooker needed a new regulator, but the principle of the thing really rips my ass. I've got no goddam use whatsoever for a thief.
Plus, that was one dumb sumbitch who did it. He (or she) must have hit while I wasn't at home--- because if I had heard them or seen them, they'd get a taste of a few imaginary gunshots. Would YOU risk your life for a propane cooker that didn't work right, an empty propane tank and two cheap-ass stainless steel pots? Some dumbfuck did.
I discovered this theft today when I was starting to assemble my moonshine still. I needed the low-country boil pot and I was going to buy a new regulator and a fresh tank of propane for my cooker. Every bit of that stuff was GONE, with only stains in the driveway to show where it had been.
I KNOW I saw that stuff a couple of days ago, because it was on my list of distilling equipment. At first, I figured that my neighbor, Henry, "borrowed" it without telling me. He's been known to do that before. I saw him come home today and walked across the street to ask him about it. He didn't have a clue. He's been in North Carolina for the past six days.
Big deal. I'll go into Rincon tomorrow and buy a brand-new outfit. But when I'm through using it this time, I'll store it in the garage instead of in my driveway. My "brandy" should be ready to cook on Friday.
Maybe somebody took it while I was visiting Catfish last week. I'll wager that it was some fucked-up kid, now that school is out. I hope the little bastard enjoys the fruits of his crime, because he damn sure didn't get much, at least not money-wise.
But he damn sure got my goat. I don't like it when people steal from me.
I've been offered $600 a month to run some "sub-domain" ads on my blog. I have no idea what a "sub-domain" is, but what this guy is offering looks a lot like spam-shit to me. I turned him down.
The idea of being paid for doing exactly what I already do for free is nice, but I have certain standards I seek to maintain on my humble blog. I enjoy my Artistic Control, if you can call what I do "artistic." I'm a silly boy. I've never done anything in my life just for money.
YOU can take that kind of deal if you want to. I wouldn't blame you for doing it. I get enough traffic to make "sub-domains," blog-ads or some Acidman merchandise sales profitable, but I don't care to go there. I prefer to hand out free ice cream.
I've been doing it that way for a long time and that's what intend to keep doing.
a 4.6 GPA
I'm getting nasty emails from some kid named "Nigel" who took great offense at the fact that I called a 4.6 GPA total bullshit. He argues that people get "extra credit" today for taking honors courses or participating in extra-curricular activities. He misses the obvious, in MY humble opinion.
The oldest trick in the book is to change the measurement system when you don't get the results you want. When public schools were accused of turning out uneducated students with poor GPAs, the public schools didn't attack the problem. They simply changed the yardstick. EVERYBODY'S GPA went up as a result.
Of course, this bullshit didn't make students any smarter, but that pissant 2.0 you had in school suddenly became a 3.0, just through the magic of numbers. That way, teachers didn't have to try any harder to get better results.
What the new system really accomplished was to cheapen the grades of every student in school. By this kind of logic, make an "F" count as two points instead of zero. NOBODY ever carries less than a 2.0 GPA after that, even if they don't bother to attend any classes. All problems solved.
I suspect that Nigel is young and spoiled. I hope he grows up to run his own business some day. Maybe then he'll understand the difference between inflated grades and the ability to perform. But I doubt it. He's proud of the 3.0 average he has now.
He's going to be in for a real shock one of these days.
the "nit search"
My bags from my last trip to Costa Rica still have the US Customs "Nit Search" sticker on them. In fact, I think I have stickers on top of stickers because I get it every time.
A "Nit Search" is where they go through everything you've got with a fine-toothed comb, make you empty your pockets and pretty much subject you to everything but an anal probe. Why do I always get hauled out of line for that crap?
I learned the answer at Dulles Airport the last time I was there. That bullshit Domestic Violence Order my bloodless cunt ex-wife took out on me pops up a red flag when Customs runs my passport number on the computer. I may not look or act like a terrorist, but they're going to give me the really special treatment they reserve for menaces to society when they see that red flag.
I asked the guy at Dulles--- "Why do you people always do this crap to me? You've gotta know by now (after my FOURTH TIME experiencing the indignity) that you NEVER find me doing anything illegal. Do you just enjoy handling dirty underwear and wet bathing suits?"
He asked, "Mr. Smith, are you divorced?" When I replied that yes, I was, he said, "Your ex-wife doesn't like you very much, does she?" He showed me his computer screen. I am marked as a dangerous man. "I feel your pain," he said. "I've got one just like her." HE let me go after a cursory search, but I was stopped AGAIN and put through the same thing before I was allowed to board the plane back to Savannah.
What do you suppose would happen to me if I tried to go through customs with brass knuckles, a knife and a blood-stained chainsaw?
One thing we DON'T have in southeast Georgia is a basement. You dig a hole 10 feet deep around here and you hit water. You won't have a basement--- you'll have an indoor swimming pool or a fish-pond.
I always envied my friends up north who had basements. Those rooms were GREAT! You could put in a workshop, a pool table or just pile it full of junk as you turned it into a sanctorum--- a place to get away for a while. I spent many a fine day drinking beer and watching football on a big TV in somebody's basement.
Down South, we're stuck with attics. That's where all the detritus of life ends up in cardboard boxes or cedar chests over the years, because there's no room for it anywhere else. You don't go to the attic to party or drink beer--- it's too fucking HOT up there. But attics are wonderful places sometimes.
I read this post and remembered the stuff mama had in the attic when she died. Every report card my brother and I ever got from school. All our baby teeth in separate pill bottles, labeled with our names. Drawings, letters and great works of art from our childhood days. Pictures of mama and daddy long before my brother and I ever came along.
I can look at that kind of stuff for a long time before I get bored, even if it IS hot up there. That's a lot of my family history in those boxes and chests. I am very pleased that my mama chose to hang onto that stuff.
In my mind, what is in that attic is priceless.
this story sure gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling about how well-guarded our borders are. I receive the complete "Nit-Search" every time I go through US customs and I've never been carrying weapons and a bloody chainsaw with me.
BOSTON (AP) - On April 25, Gregory Despres arrived at the U.S.-Canadian border crossing at Calais, Maine, carrying a homemade sword, a hatchet, a knife, brass knuckles and a chain saw stained with what appeared to be blood. U.S. customs agents confiscated the weapons and fingerprinted Despres. Then they let him into the United States.
Just take a look at the guy's picture. Does he have "NUT CASE" written all over him, or what? Still, he made it across the border.
I sleep well at night knowing that our border guards are such capable people.
June 07, 2005
They're already on the prowl. The fat police are coming.
Such crap would be funny if it weren't true.
I kinda like this post. It hits close to home for me, too. But you wanna know my favorite quote? Check this:
One of my buddies was asking about her, and sniffing around. I told him I was about to move on, go back to college, and he could ask her out if he wanted to. He did. She did. They did, and she broke up with me the next week. My friend was a year older than I and had a much nicer car.
You were doomed from the start, man. A guy a year older with a nicer car? You never stood a chance.
At least you got it when you could.
one witch, needing a broom
It takes a lot to frighten me anymore, but this person does. Bejus help us all if she ever becomes President.
I am at a total loss to explain her popularity. I realize that about 40% of the population is whacked out of its mind all the time about ANYTHING, but it's a real stretch for me to figure what ANYBODY finds attractive about Hillary Clinton. She's a witch without a broom, a pure political whore, and NOT one I'd pay much money to see nekkid.
``There has never been an administration, I don't believe, in our history more intent upon consolidating and abusing power to further their own agenda,'' she said of President Bush.
Uh... Hillary... take a look at the Clinton administration. YOU are a fine one to talk about "consolidating and abusing power to further their own agenda." I would make a list of the shit you and your husband pulled during eight years in office, but you got away with every bit of the trailer-park-trash behavior, and my comments wouldn't mean anything to people who believe that the sun rises and sets in the crack of your fat ass.
Pilfered FBI files... IRS audits of political enemies... the Travel Office firings... renting the Lincoln Bedroom like a bed in a cat-house... Chinagate... Whitewater... the "vast, right-wing conspiracy"... ignoring Osama Bin Laden when you had a chance to catch him before 9/11...stealing White House furniture and vandalizing the place when you left office (you WERE co-President, weren't you?).
My biggest problem with Hillary Clinton is NOT that I believe her to be a power-hungry, socialist dickweed--- she IS--- but she's just so TACKY, too.
I've shit Mexican dinner turds with more class than she has.
Usually, I am a generous tip-giver in a restaurant or bar. I know how hard the waitresses and bartenders work, and I also know that they depend on tip money for their living, because they aren't being paid shit by the hour. If they treat ME right, I treat THEM right.
But I've also given what I call "insult tips" when I thought the person deserved it. If I have a snarling, PMSing, rude, inattentive asshole waiting on me, I might leave a quarter tip on a $100 tab. I didn't STIFF them, but I damn sure let them know what I thought of their behavior.
A tip is a REWARD for a job well done. If the job is poorly done, I don't believe in tipping big just because it's the polite thing to do.
I read this post and thought about a couple of things. I've seen some tightwad shits that don't believe in tipping at ALL, no matter how good the service is, and I think they need to be dragged off and shot. Skinflints. My daughter got a good dose of those people when she worked as a waitress. She still cusses them today.
But what really impressed me was the fact that the waitress in the post was WORKING HER WAY THROUGH COLLEGE!!! That's almost unheard-of today. Man--- if you can't get some kind of grant, a steady handout from your parents or a student loan, you just can't go to college (in some people's mind).
I call bullshit. I held a job all the way through college and so did every one of my friends. We ALL worked, at least part-time, and still managed to fit school into the mix. I flipped burgers, hung sheetrock and cut grass for a landscaping business during the week and then played guitar in bars on the weekends.
I did that while maintaning a full-time schedule in college and usually making the Dean's List, too. I didn't see anything special about it, because almost everybody I knew was doing the same thing.
But people aren't expected to work anymore--- let alone work and go to school at the same time. Bill Clinton harped that theme through two terms as President: GOVERNMENT should pay for your education, not you. (Of course, that came naturally to Clinton because the bastard never had a REAL job in his life.)
I am delighted to see that we still have a spark of ambition and some solid work ethic alive in this country. You don't see it often anymore, and you should appreciate it when you do.
damsels in distress
I carry a tow-strap in my truck just for incidents such as this one. I laughed reading the post, but I didn't laugh really hard, because I've been stuck in a ditch or two myself before.
If I find YOU in that condition, I'm gonna pull you out if I can. I surely appreciated the people who did it for ME, and I believe in returning favors when I have the opportunity.
(If the link doesn't take you to the right post, just scroll down until you see the pictures of the truck in the ditch.)
i thought i had commenters
I missed this post yesterday. I wish that I had thought of the idea first, but I didn't, and I doff my hat to a clever gentleman.
And the comments are even better than the post.
(UPDATE: Some similar thoughts on the matter here.)
i'm not dead
My internet connection has spazzed on me all day long, and I really didn't feel like writing anything. No... I take that back. I was out killing cats all day and it took a while for me to dig a mass grave to plant all those "cute" little fuckers.
Then, I had to clean my gun and take a nice long nap. After that, I had to make a list of my most intelligent commenters--- JB topped that list. He says the same thing over and over again, in damn near EVERY comment he makes, no matter WHAT I post about, and I admire such pig-headed tenacity. Ain't no clue-bat EVER gonna change his mind.
Assrot sometimes writes as if he has a brain, but it's kinda hit-or-miss with him. PJ is just a dork. And I don't know where that asshole Dave came from with his snooty remark that D-Day was no big deal in WWII. Fucking idiot.
But that's why I have open comments and seldom censor anybody on my site. You get the good, the bad and the ugly.
June 06, 2005
i am surprised
I've checked a lot of blogs today, and almost NO ONE has mentioned this date in history. I know it happened a long time ago, and too many people are busy talking on cell phones, or worrying about what Brittany or Oprah has to say next to pay any attention to history, but I didn't forget.
This was a day that changed the world.
quote of the day
"No drug, not even alcohol, causes the fundamental ills of society. If we're looking for the source of our troubles, we shouldn't test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power."
I read this post a couple of times, just to make certain I had it right in my Cracker brain. The author is talking about a subject that has puzzed me for a long time. Why DO people write?
Of all intimate acts, methinks that reading, especially book reading and blog reading, is perhaps the most intimate. We expose ourselves to long and intense company with another mind, another soul.
I'd put the same idea a little more bluntly: Writing a blog is a lot like taking a Benjamin Franklin "air bath." You're standing there butt-ass nekkid in front of an open window. Some people may appreciate what they see, and others may point to your wanger and laugh. That's the chance you take when you get nekkid in front of that window.
I can be as superficial as anyone else as a blogger. But I aspire to more. I don't always know how to go about it, other than watch those who already do it well, who express themselves directly with integrity and show some care for their writing. If you wonder who I'm talking about, just look at my blog list.
Well... I'm on that list and I hope he's talking about me when he uses words such as "integrity." But I would like to pin him down on what he considers to be "superficial." Good writers can make a good story out of ANYTHING, no matter how "superficial" the subject may sound. THAT is the true art of writing.
I see a lot of blogs that really, really suck in MY humble opinion. I don't give a damn about how cute your cat is and I really don't give a shit about last night's PTA meeting, unless it broke out in a big fight, complete with gunshots. Yeah, I know your kids are adorable, but writing three fucking pages about what you packed them for lunch before school today just ISN'T very interesting.
If you tell me how little Johnny and baby Sue got into a fight, rolled off the front porch, sent the dog yelping down the street and missed the school bus because YOU had to beat them both with a plastic coathanger to break up the fight and THEN drive their asses to school... well, you've got an entertaining story. Especially when you detail the punishment you have in store for them when they get back home.
I've said it before and I'll say it again--- it's not the story that counts. It's the way you tell it.
I don't believe that any good writer thinks any differently. If you're going to write it, you're willing to get nekkid in front of that window. If you don't want people laughing at your wanger, write the story well. How do you do that?
Practice. And learn to tell a good story.
10 american heroes
These are people I have admired all of my life. I don't buy a lot of "conventional wisdom" today, and I believe that young'uns are being spoon-fed a lot of bullshit in schools instead of learning history. I appreciate backbone and character a lot more than I fall faint when hearing a Bill Clinton speak. Words are one thing. Deeds are another.
#1-- Ronald Reagan. He dragged this country out of the "malaise" that Jimmy Carter put it into, and he faced down the Soviet Union like a western gunslinger. He ran the bad guys out of town without firing a shot, too. Was Reagan perfect? No, he wasn't. Beruit was a mistake. But all in all, he was the best President I've seen in MY lifetime.
#2-- Benjamin Franklin. I wish I could have met that guy in person. He was an inventor, a writer, a patriot and a horny old bastard who cut a wide swath through the wimmen. He also took "air baths," where he stood buck-nekkid in front of his window and let the wind blow over him. What's NOT to like about that guy?
#3--- Thomas Jefferson. I wish we had a politician alive today fit to polish his boots. But we don't.
#4-- Audie Murphy. UNBELIEVABLE courage under fire in war. The greatest American war hero who ever lived. You know what really bothers me about the life of Audie Murphy? How could that guy survive all the certain death he cheated in WWII and then die in a fucking civilian plane-crash? Something about that just ain't right.
#5--- Robert E. Lee. Probably one of the most honorable men who ever lived. He ended up on the wrong side of the War Between the States and he lost everything as a result. But he chose his side believing what he learned from his father. And he came close to beating an overwhelming opponent. I revere him.
#6--- Alvin York. THERE'S a story everybody should read. He went from conscienience objector to war hero. If nothing else, remember one thing about him.... don't fuck with a hillbilly with a rifle.
#7--- Thomas Edison. That man did more to drag the entire world into the 20th Century than anybody else I can think of. His inventions led to damn near everything we take for granted today. His creativity was incredible.
#8--- Henry Ford. His company builds shit cars and trucks now (just check their stock prices), but he made the automobile a staple of American life. Did anybody but Edison do anything to change the landscape as much as FORD did? I don't think so.
#9---George Washington. Forget about him being a general and fighting the British. Look around at the United States today. You still have George Washington to thank for the fact that we don't have a king and a royalty in this country (although Congress, lawyers and celebrities seem to have difficulty recognizing that fact). When we took our first baby-steps as a country, he steered us the right way. One hell of a man.
#10--- My father. His name was Robert Smith (no middle name) and no history book will ever record his glorious exploits. All he did was marry my mama, work hard all of his life and produce two sons. I am one of those sons. I read a lot of history and I worship heroes from the past, but I don't believe that a one of them can hold a candle to my daddy. He's been dead for almost 15 years now, but he remains the yardstick I measure myself by. And I often find myself lacking. But it's hard for anybody to walk as tall as he did.
There's my top 10. Got any better ideas?
that's what you get
It's an old Gordon Lightfoot song, but I still like it a lot. I sometimes think of the words to "For Lovin' Me" when I read angry comments on my blog. The song is about an unrepentent sinner and lover of many wimmen, a heartbreaker and a rogue. And he doesn't intend to change his ways over one woman's tears.
I lived a good part of my young manhood that way, and I have very few regrets about it. I had a damn fine time, and experienced more hootin' good craziness than most men do in their entire lives. I played guitar, I drank, I fucked, I drugged and I didn't give a shit if the sun came up in the morning. RIGHT NOW was all that mattered to me.
I simmered down later in life and actually became a responsible person. I put my nose to the grindstone and kept it there for a long time. Then... I got divorced and started blogging.
Lo and Behold! That same crazy bastard I thought I left in the rear-view mirror years ago resurfaced again. The don't-give-a-damn attutude. The sharp tongue and the angst. The willingness to fight at the drop of a hat. The charm and the spleen. It all came back to me and it felt as comfortable as putting on a well-worn shirt.
I AM what you see on this blog. I don't invent the stories I tell here. I don't have to, because I've lived one hell of a life. I like writing about it. I believe that I tell the stories well, too, even though I manage to piss a lot of people off with the way I do it. I don't care. As Popeye said, "I yam what I yam and that's all what I yam."
That's what you get when you come here.
a can of worms
I do have a remarkable ability to piss people off. Just go read some of the comments on this post. I have decided that I hate cat-lovers more than I hate cats now. Those are some sick fucking people.
But Acidman, have you ever thought that perhaps a cat killing birds is just natural process? Would you shoot a lion for killing as it does?
You're goddam RIGHT I would, Pamela. You seem to think that if a lion drags one of my children off and eats it alive, that's just "natural" and I should accept it without complaint. BULL SHIT!!! I'm gonna kill THAT sumbitch before it kills me or one of mine. That's about as "natural" an instinct as I can imagine.
Oh for the love of GOD. Cats eat birds, Rob. That's what they do. Why don't you train that gun where you really mean to aim and quit taking your considerable wrath out on creatures who aren't doing a damn thing to you.
MY yard, MY birds and MY GUN, Joni. Somebody else's fucking cat. You do the math. If the people who "loved" that cat so much didn't let it run wild in MY YARD, it wouldn't have had its ass popped. And trust me about one thing. I will KILL IT OR ANY OTHER LIKE IT the next time I shoot. No more pellet gun. I'll use the .22, dig a hole and bury a dead cat to make the world a better place. And to piss off some more got-dam cat-lovers. I'll bet those people make excellent parents, considering how much they appreciate feral instincts. Do that with a child a see what you get.
You must arrogantly assume that your priorities match God's as far as the value of one of His creations' life. Perhaps your health problems are His way of putting a few pumps of His Heavenly pellet gun into your earthly ass to give YOU a fair warning shot. Think about it hillbilly.
I don't believe in God, PJ. But I'm pretty sure that YOU are fucked-up as a worm. OOPS! Did I just insult worm-lovers here?
Bejus! I read such comments and tremble in fear when I realize that such people actually VOTE.
the world's oldest profession
I kinda like this story. First of all, I believe that prostitution should be legal, and second... it's inspiring to see an 80 year-old woman running her own business. Bless her lascivious heart.
Tursi has been charged with a a single count of promoting prostitution. If convicted, she faces up to five years in prison. But because of her age and lack of a criminal record, she's more likely to receive probation, Cornely said.
Good. What cold-hearted government locks Granny Clampett in jail for brokering some pussy? I don't want to live in that kind of country. Spank her wrist, tell her that she's been a bad girl and then turn her loose.
We have better things to do with law enforcement today.
June 05, 2005
I can't help it. I simply MUST share this email with you:
"I then fetched my pellet gun, and I SHOT that fucking cat out of that tree. I pumped only five times, which is enough to make a nice flesh wound and sting the hell out of Tabby, but not enough to kill the murderous shit-head. I hit it right in the ass, and it tried to use all four paws to rub the wound. It fell out of the tree, hit the ground and took off running."
I LOVE people who think that way. They find nothing wrong with a cat raiding a nest full of baby birds, but they wish CANCER on ME because I popped a cat in the ass with a pellet gun. Bejus! Some people in this world have some really fucked-up priorities.
Darlin... you must not have read my blog for long. I've ALREADY HAD CANCER and watched my father, my mama and my best friend die from it. I went through ever-loving shit with it myself and managed to stay alive. An awful lot of my anatomy doesn't belong to me anymore, thanks to the surgery I've had, but I'm like a Timex watch. I'm still ticking.
Trust me... I would MUCH rather have been shot in the ass with a pellet gun than endure what I've done. That pellet sting goes away. What happened to me is FOREVER.
YOU, on the other hand, are a vicious, idiot, cuntly shit-wad. But I'm not going to wish cancer on you. I wouldn't do that to ANYBODY. The best I can hope for is a bolt of sanity to fly up your ass someday. But I doubt that's ever gonna happen.
You're a lost cause.
What would YOU do if you met a waitress in a bar, had a brief fling with her and then ended up with her moving into your house for about six months? That doesn't sound like a bad thing, does it? I didn't think so at the time.
What happens when she tells you that "Today is my birthday!" and you decide to buy her some flowers and take her out to eat? Still doesn't sound bad, does it?
Then... just suppose that you make a totally unchivalrous mistake and ask her how old she is on this birthday? What if she says, "Seventeen years old today!"
How would YOU feel when you suddenly realized that you had been sleeping with a SIXTEEN YEAR-OLD GIRL for the past couple of months? The fact that she lied about her age to get a Health Card and a job in that bar has nothing to do with the fact that YOU have been engaged in vigorous sexual activity with a MINOR!!! YOU are guilty of Statutory Rape under Georgia law.
I'll tell you what I did.
I gave her flowers, fed her a nice dinner, then took her back to my place and balled her brains out all night long. I figured that as long as I was guilty of consorting with a minor, I couldn't get any more guilty than I already was. She certainly didn't seem outraged by my behavior. We had a GRAND birthday celebration.
What is the statute of limitations for statutory rape? That happened more than 30 years ago. Am I STILL a criminal? Did I just confess something that can have me thrown in jail today? Would a judge buy my next statement?
Honest, people... she looked older than 16 at the time.
Feeding my addiction to western movies today, I watched an old one called The Quick Gun, starring Audie Murphy. It's an entertaining flick and Audie wasn't a bad actor. I enjoyed it.
But Audie was exactly the opposite of what you would expect a tough guy to be. He was a small man and baby-faced. He was anything but an imposing figure on the screen.
I believe that I read To Hell and Back three or four times in my life, and I am amazed at the fact that Audie Murphy was unbelievably courageous and incredibly lucky to do what he did in WWII. That little fart was one hell of a warrior. He remains the most decorated soldier in the history of the United States military, and he earned every medal he received.
Looks can deceive you sometimes.
I read once where the war left its mark on him, and he always slept with the lights on in his bedroom and a .45 pistol under his pillow. He sometimes suffered tumultuous dreams. You'd never know that by looking at his face.
If I ever make a list of my ten Greatest American Heroes, you can bet your sweet ass that Audie will be on it. And I like his movies, too.
When I picture myself as a character in a western movie, I'm not John Wayne or Sam Elliot. I am much more a Festus Hagin kinda guy. Yeah, I would ride a mule, look scruffy, talk with a funny accent and have a severe aversion to hard work. But I also would be a good person for watching your back in a scrape.
I've seen ken curtis in a lot of films, but I still like him best as Festus.
"Matthew, ya got dry-gulched is what happened to ya. That feller was fixin' to put another hole in you, so I finalized him. You sprung a pretty good leak, but I think I got it all plugged up now. Want some coffee and some heat-up frioles?"
That's MY kind of western character.
Buy this guy's book. He not nearly as entertaining or amusing as I AM, but he's not nearly as lazy, either. He FINISHED his book.
Make him rich and famous. I know the guy and when he gets too uppity to associate with me, I wanna be able to tell people that I knew him 'way back when. You know, before money and pussy just fell into his lap like manna from heaven.
Make success go to his head. I've always wanted that to happen to me.
how can I help?
He didn't tell me NOT to post this email, so I'm gonna do it. Besides, I think he has a damn fine idea.
Rob, You are invited to join me for some serious desecration. I'm not talked pussy-ass desecration like Newsweek or NYT or Amnesty International style desecration. I'm talkin the real shit desecration. After all my video camera batteries are fully charged, I'm gonna go buy me the finest copy of the Koran that they have at Barnes and Noble. When I get it home I'm gonna tear a handfull of pages out of it (more about that later). Then I'm gonna plop the rest of it down in a nice big fresh pile of wet German Shepherd dogshit, openfaced. Then I'm gonna piss all over it. Then I'm gonna pour a can of shitty beer (like Coors) all over it. Then, with the camera running in closeup mode, I'm gonna shit right on the open book. I'm gonna wipe my ass with the pages I tore out of it earlier. I'm gonna pour about a quart of old bacon grease all over it. Then I'm gonna torch it. If I get good video of the whole thing, I'm gonna post it on the Internet. Do you think that will get their attention? Fuck 'em. Scum bag barbarians all. -Chip Gill
My only question is... can I piss on it, too? Before you light the bacon grease?
drag 'em off and shoot 'em
Can you say propaganda? Good. I KNEW you could.
My only question is how many people still recognize sheer bullshit when they see it. Not many people will if we start brainwashing children in school.
"If there is one message from this atlas it is that we are all part of this. We can all make a difference," U.N. expert Kaveh Zahedi told reporters at the launch of the "One Planet Many People" atlas on the eve of World Environment Day.
I've got an idea. How about a WHOLE BUNCH of people such as this asshole Zahedi go out and KILL THEMSELVES TOMORROW!!! They'd be doing the world a fucking favor if they did. Not only would we reduce the overcrowded, over-populated tug on Gaia's precious skirts, we'd clean a lot weeds out of the human gene-pool at the same time.
Hell--- I'm just an old grouch. Ignore me and listen to the United Nations. THEY really want what's best for YOU.
She's a blog whore and she admits it! Darling, I like that kind of honesty.
You just made my blogroll.
While rummaging around looking for something else today, I ran across a picture of Steve Hamby. He's taking a picture of ME taking a picture of HIM at my wedding in 1992. I laughed when I saw that photo, because I right away imagined the picture-within-a-picture thing going to infinity.
Then, I sat on the floor and looked closely at the photograph. It was taken 12 years before Steve died. His hair and beard are still jet-black in that picture, and he's googling at the camera with a silly grin the way somebody full of champaigne does at a joyous wedding.
His hair turned
I would have traded places with him if I could have. Steve had a wife and two children who loved him. I had an ex-wife trying to kill me in court if the cancer didn't get me first. While Cindy and the kids were praying for Steve, Jennifer was still taking out court orders and sending sheriff's deputies to visit me. Fuck a duck! Why did fate take him instead of me? I WANTED to go. He didn't.
But that's the way it works sometimes. His expiration date was up and mine wasn't. I'm still here, looking at his picture. I miss him a lot. But I can say one thing with heartfelt pride.
I was his friend.
June 04, 2005
When I first learned to read, my father fed me a steady diet of old pulp hard-back books that HE bought when he was a boy. Dad had boxes of those things and I read them all. I think dad paid about ten cents each when he bought them brand new, and they tended to want to fall apart by the time I got my hands on them. But I still thought they were GREAT!
I have a VERY serious question to ask here: does anybody except me remember who Graham M. Dean was? He wrote dozens of those pulp-fiction books and I loved everything he ever put on paper. Herb Kent, West Point Cadet probably affected my outlook on life more than anything I read in college. I also read all the Dave Dawson (fighter pilot in Europe) and Red Randall (fighter pilot in the Pacific) books he wrote about WWII.
Nobody teaches Graham Dean in literature classes today, but I believe that he was about as good a hack writer as anyone who ever sat before a typewriter, especially for a 10 year-old boy who loved to read. He enthralled me.
Dad ended up storing all those old books in an outside storage shed and the bugs got to them. They were reduced to sawdust shortly thereafter. That's a crying shame, because I wish I could hand a couple of them to Quinton now and say, "Read these. You'll like 'em," the same way my father did for me.
Quinton WOULD like 'em, too. Any boy with an imagination would like those books. I didn't just read them, I LIVED them. And I know for sure one thing now, after all these years.
Those books beat any video game I ever saw.
I read Fear of Flying back sometime in my college days and I was very UNIMPRESSED by both the book and it's author. Of course, that was back in the early 1970s and any woman who had the bodacity to talk about licking her lover's balls became an overnight celebrity.
Wimmen had been licking balls for a long time before Erica Jong wrote about it. After seeing her in person, I made an instant decision: I didn't want that ugly-assed bitch anywhere around MY balls. Erica is NOT an attractive woman and she came across as a complete land-shark to me.
I believe that I was correct in my first assessment of her. I should have been born a woman. Combine my ego with a pussy and I could be dangerous.
I could flap two sets of lips at the same time.
I want to know where all the money comes from for this kind of research. I've heard that "wimmen make only 75% of what a man makes" bullshit for years (and it IS bullshit, if you look closely at the numbers) and now I've discovered that fat chicks make even LESS money than their slender counterparts.
New York University researchers have found that for each 1 percent increase in a woman's body mass index, her family's income drops by about 6/10 of a percent. In addition, her "occupational prestige," which is a measure of the social status of different jobs, also drops by 4/10 of a percent, reports Reuters.
I am OUTRAGED by this... this... this... OUTRAGE!!! How can we, as an allegedly civilized society, tolerate such sexist, fattish prejudice?
I was an English major, so I don't do math. Correct me if I'm wrong here, but isn't 6/10 of one percent .06 in decimal form? I don't trust my math, but I think I can say safely that if you put the same thing in monetary form, you'd be talking about a little more than half a penny out of a dollar here.
Boy--- that's a staggering statistic. AN OBVIOUS example of what's wrong with the world today.
It's not fair, but a man's hefty body mass has little impact on his earning power. "Body mass does not reduce their economic status outcomes, it does not reduce their likelihood of marriage and it does not increase their likelihood of divorce, separation or widowhood," the researchers wrote in the report that was published online by the National Bureau of Economic Research.
I've gotta cogitate on those numbers for a while. This "study" seems to suggest that fat chicks get screwed in the paycheck and have trouble finding a man to marry them. Fat GUYS, on the other hand, make plenty of money and have chicks throwing panties at them. That's not been my personal experience in life, but I'm not a scientist.
Bejus! I wish somebody would pay ME to conduct such studies. I'd never leave River Street bars and all my drinks would be paid for by research money.
(Actually, I HAVE done a lot of research on this subject. I learned two things. If you're a guy, money will buy all the pussy you want, and the only "weight" the wimmen care about is what's in your wallet. They'll take it ALL if they can. If you're a woman, you can ALWAYS find some dumb bastard who wants your pussy bad enough to pay for it, no matter how fat you are. Men sit on a wallet while wimmen sit on a gold mine. That's MY humble opinion.)
I was born on February 16, 1952. I am 53 years old now.
I've seen a lot of things change in this world as I grew up. I've seen 10 different Presidents attempting to run this country, and THREE of those (LBJ, Carter and Clinton) damn near ran it into the ground. I left Nixon off that list because he was NEVER as dangerous to the country as those other three were.
That's MY humble opinion, and I'm sticking with it, in spite of Nixon's natural paranoia and his idea that wage and price controls would work in a capitalist economy. He was a flawed man, but HE didn't leave us Vietnam, Iran and Osama as his legacy. The other three did.
Nixon gave us the advocacy press. Nixon is dead now, but the press never recovered from their hatred of the man, and THAT FACT is ruining the credibility of the press today. They'd rather play "gotcha!" than report anymore. Nixon must be laughing from the grave to see what has happened to the people who spent so much of their time trying to ruin him. They ruined themselves in the process.
I saw men walk on the moon, and then I saw this country abandon the space program when people started whining about pouring money into rockets when we should be ending poverty. We poured money into ending poverty and poverty became WORSE, according to the people who want more money to end poverty. We're still pouring money down that rat-hole today.
I still have a "WIN" button, and it's not rusted-up too badly. I think it's neat to look at every now and then. There's my trivia question for today: What WAS a "WIN" button and what was it for?
I've been bust-ass broke TWICE in my life, but I never declared bankruptcy. I dug myself out of the hole every time. I started working when I was 12 years old and I quit when Kerr-McGee turned me loose because of my blog. I don't intend to work again in my life unless it's something I WANT to do, and even then it better be something I REALLY want to do. I've paid my fucking dues.
Nobody depends on me anymore, and I don't depend on anybody. I kinda like it that way. I do what I please when I want to do it. I suppose that I am a free man now.
But I still look in the mirror and wonder.... "who is that old fart looking back at me?"
Life does that to you.
Yep. We've sure enough got justice in this country. The bastard beat a girl to death with a hammer and he walks because of a "compassionate" jury. Fuck me.
You do you know what's REALLY ironic here? We hand out stiffer sentences for habitual drunk drivers, even if they HAVEN'T killed anybody.
Did you ever read that comic strip and laugh your ass off at the adventures of Opus, Bill The Cat and the rest of that crew? I did, for several years. I thought "Death-Tongue" was an excellent name for a rock-n-roll band, too. (If you didn't get that. you never read Bloom County.)
Some comments on this post reminded me of another character I liked in Bloom County. Remember Steve Dallas, the fancy-coiffed, slick-talking, cigarette-smoking con-man LAWYER? I do.
I especially remember the series where Steve is defending a mass-murderer and really laying the "compassion" argument as thick as country butter on cornbread before the judge. His client, meanwhile, is sharpening axes, honing knives and even attempting to crank a chainsaw in the background.
When Steve is finished lying his ass off, the judge tells Steve that his words were too moving to ignore, so the judge gave the mass-murderer two years probation----- to be served in Steve's home, with Steve as guardian.
Steve's final words were.... "Now, WAIT A MINUTE, JUDGE!!!"
I don't care how "compassionate" and "understanding" you may claim to be. If you're willing to take a seven year-old sociopath into your home, you go right ahead. Sleep well at night, too.
But until you're willing to do that yourself, don't holy-roll about how this kid doesn't know right from wrong and his darling self shouldn't be thrown away like a used Kleenex. Take him into YOUR home and teach him to sing "Kumbaya." But keep his dangerous ass away from ME.
I think there is something SERIOUSLY wrong with that kid, and I don't believe it can be fixed, either.
June 03, 2005
Some of you people have managed to piss me off. After my father died, I bought my mama a Smith & Wesson Ladysmith .38 revolver and enrolled her in a gun safety course run by the Savannah Police Department. Mama was living alone and I worried about her. I bought a genuine, top-o-the-line pistol for a woman and the gun classes weren't cheap, either.
Mama attended the classes, learned to handle the gun and shot it MAYBE 24 times. Then, she took it home, unloaded it, put it in the same drawer next to my father's Rohm and put the ammo in a DIFFERENT drawer. She never shot that gun again and never kept ammo anywhere near it.
I COULD say that I wasted my money buying that gun for her, but that's not true--- I own it now and it's still a fine piece. I think I want to give it to my daughter in exchange for the 9mm I gave Sam a year ago. That semi-auto is too complicated for her to handle well without a lot of practice, but the Ladysmith is just a point-and-shoot pistol, perfect for someone who doesn't know a lot about guns.
And it's a Smith & Wesson, too, which ought to satisfy a lot of gun-snobs.
Some of you people talking about guns remind me of Recondo 32 (and I'm about to piss him off again) talking about trucks or beer. If it ain't a Ford, your truck sucks. Forget the fact that he has borrowed MY CHEVY many a time to haul stuff because his Ford hasn't run in years--- my truck sucks, just because it's a Chevy.
Beer? Same thing. Michelob Lite is the only REAL beer in the universe, and if you don't drink that possum-piss, you're a yuppie. The only reason to drink Sam Adams or Shiner Bock is to put on airs and impress people who don't know any better. ANY REAL BEER DRINKER KNOWS THAT FACT, because Recondo says it's true.
A lot of you gun-snobs remind me of Recondo. I have 13 fucking guitars in my house right now. I have a vintage Martin, a couple of Guilds, an old Gibson a Tacoma Papoose, TWO Fenders, a genuine Yari (Yamaha when that craftsman made them by hand) and assorted others. Ask anybody what I played at the blog-meet in Jekyll.
I played an Oscar Schmidt, a jet-black six-string with a neat cut-away body and built-in electric pickup. It plays and sounds like a dream. I paid $189 for that guitar. Yeah. I bought a "Saturday Night Special," as far as "quality" instruments go, if you're judging by brand-name. But I've played that fucker to hell and back and I think it's my SECOND favorite guitar now.
I'll never sell my Martin, but I prefer to play Oscar today.
So... I don't want to hear any more shit from gun-snobs, guitar-snobs or ANY OTHER KIND OF SNOBS!!! Buy what you like and brag about it if you're happy. But brag about how happy YOU ARE--- don't fucking lecture me about my ignorance and expect me to wash your feet in appreciation of all YOU know that I don't. Go fuck yourself and wash your own goddam feet.
I've never had much use for snobbish people.
I'm already straying so far from obeying "The Law" that this shit doesn't bother me. I'm not going to write the FEC and beg their permission to blog. I'm gonna blog, and those fuckwads can beg MY forgiveness for being complete govermental shit-heads if they want to prosecute me, fine me or throw me in jail.
You ain't gonna shut me up.
I think I'm in a unique situation here that not many people share. I've already lost everything I ever gave a shit about. Somebody I loved did that to me, and I managed to survive. Do you really think a government BUREAUCRAT scares me now? Not hardly.
Have an ex-wife like mine. NO government asshole can come close to that kind of scorched earth in my life.
saturday night specials
I'll give the gun-control nutballs credit for one thing: They HAVE managed to make firearms so expensive that a lot of poor people can't afford them anymore. I believe that's always been part of their ultimate agenda.
When I was visiting Catfish yesterday, he showed me a new catalogue from Smith & Wesson. BEJUS!!! Some of their handguns now have a "suggested retail price" of well over $1,000 for a gun that I don't think is worth NEARLY that much money. I almost shit my pants looking at those prices.
I got a lot of flack from gun purists about that cheap-ass Rohm revolver I inherited from my father. I shot it yesterday and I was happy with the results. I have one question to ask of the purists: "Would you rather have that "turd" pistol, or no pistol at all?"
My daddy paid $25 dollars for it. I didn't EXPECT it to be a collector's item or a remarkably fine piece of workmanship. I expected it to SHOOT, and it did. Quite loudly, if I may throw that fact into the mix.
Now, riddle me this--- if you live in a bad neighborhood, you DON'T intend to go off to the range and fire a couple of hundred rounds a week, and all you want is a pistol to run off some crack-addled thug who may try to break into your house at 2:30 in the morning, are you going to buy a $1,300 Smith & Wesson, or would you prefer a $25 .38 pistol that's good enough to fire six shots ONCE in your life?
How many people living in bad neighborhoods can AFFORD a $1,300 S&W weapon? Not many, is my answer.
This point is where I tend to stray from the gun-nuts and the purists of the world. I would rather have a pistol that was built like a disposable camera--- shoot it six times and throw it away--- than have no pistol at all. I collect guns and I like guns, but I can afford to do it, the same way I collect guitars. But some people don't have that luxury.
What they need is a reliable piece that packs a punch, makes some noise and may save their life some fine day. They may NEVER shoot it, so who cares how many rounds the damn thing can stand? It's just better to have a pistol and not need it than to need one and not have it.
I don't want to debate about "cheap" handguns anymore. I
But if you think there's not a need for a reliable INEXPENSIVE handgun in this world, just a cheap-ass pistol that may NEVER be fired by the person who owns it except in the most extreme of circumstances, you're out of your fucking mind.
I don't see a damn thing wrong with owning a "Saturday Night Special" when that's all you can afford. It beats being unarmed.
June 02, 2005
when did I know?
I read stories such as this one and I wonder... how old was I when I had a clear understanding between right and wrong? I know that I grasped the concept before I was six years old, because I remember knowing right from wrong when I was a boy in the coal mining camp.
I don't remember HOW I learned (although I'm certain that my parents had a lot to do with it), but I damn sure knew the difference between playing cowboys and Indians and staging spectacular fake death-scenes and actually KILLING somebody for real. I cannot remember a time when I DIDN'T know the difference.
How the hell does a seven year-old boy "beat his baby half-sister to death with his fists, feet and a two-by-four?" That's not confusion between right and wrong. That's just plain sick, especially when the police say that the boy showed "so little remorse" for what he had done.
What's wrong with a kid like that? What pieces that make people refrain from that sort of inhuman behavior are missing from this kid's puzzle at such an early age? I don't understand it and I probably never will.
I must have been raised differently.
I have maintained before that I believe Robert MacNamara is one of the most vile characters ever to strut the political landscape of the USA during my lifetime. Last night, I watched the fog of war and I certainly did not change my mind.
Thanks to his half-assed and lame-brained attempts to micro-manage the Vietnam War, as if he were still making widgets for the Ford Motor Company, MacNamara was responsible for thousands of deaths. In that documentary, I saw a frightening man.
He was TOTALLY unrepentant about his role in fucking up that war. It was all LBJ's fault. Johnson just wouldn't listen to MacNamara's infinite wisdom. People who criticized MacNamara were guilty of "counterfactual" speech. (Isn't "counterfactual" a lovely word? Just about what you would expect from someone who sent National Guard troops out to quell riots with no ammo in their weapons because they couldn't get any bullets without MacNamara's PERSONAL authorization?)
He also hatched the "body count" idea as a way to keep score in Vietnam and figured out that if he issued X-amount of ammo to the troops, he should have a corresponding number of enemy casualties to show for it. The man was a fucking lunatic.
What really chapped my ass was the way he PREENED as he stated that when he
HIS obvious point was that whoever came after him killed more people than HE did, so he was just as pure as the driven snow. Nobody looking at the numbers could possibly scape HIS goat over Vietnam. Fewer than half the people who died there did it on his watch. Case closed.
Forget the fact that HIS tactics (if such idiotic brain-farts can even be called "tactics") got us mired neck-deep into a bog from which we could not extricate ourselves gracefully. By his logic, if I shoot a mama dog suckling eight pups and the pups all die of starvation and neglect, I'm not responsible for the deaths of the puppies. I killed only ONE dog. The other eight deaths were somebody else's fault.
What a totally symmetrical bastard. If you get a chance to see that show, watch it. See if you get the same impression that I did about the man. Unrepentent? Hell, he was fucking PROUD of what he did. In HIS twisted mind, his only faults were that he was misunderstood, LBJ didn't listen to him, and he was too "sensitive" about how ugly war really was.
Bejus! Tell that to the families of all the people who have their names on that wall in Washington, DC.
I have to get up from the floor and wipe the snot off my face now. I had an unexpected laughter explosion that caused some damage in the computer room. Thank BEJUS that I wasn't drinking anything at the time or I would have one hell of a mess on my hands, my keyboard, my monitor and the ceiling.
If you don't open another single link for the rest of your life, go check this one. It's good even if you don't know the guy.
If you know him, it's PERFECT!!!
Okay, "experts." I went to visit catfish this morning and we shot up some .38 special ammo with my "turd" pistol. It didn't blow up or misfire. In fact, it was pretty damned accurate at 10 feet. Just shoots a little bit high and to the right, but we both could hit what we were aiming at with it.
I don't think it's a bad pistol and Cat agrees with me. I wouldn't try any +P rounds in it, but for a cheap-ass gun (it didn't cost ME anything), it's worth keeping. If nothing else, it makes enough noise to scare away goblins.
I wouldn't call it my pride and joy, but I believe that it's a keeper.
(UPDATE: Charles Gill sent me a link to this about Rohm revolvers:
Rohm revolvers were manufactured in the 1960s and '70s in a wide variety of styles and calibers. Although inexpensive, they are of German manufacture and thus reasonably well made. Your .22 Magnum is very likely a copy of a Ruger Super Single-Six. Rohm products hold little collector interest and have more appeal to plinkers. The value is modest, perhaps $125.
In MY humble opinion, it ain't bad for a cheap gun.)
This is too pathetic not to be true. What are those wristbands selling for?
Hell... if I were a multi-millionaire, I'd buy one, too... y'know... to end poverty and all. Know what I'm sayin? I CARE, man!
Now, get outta my face. The valet dude is here with my Porche.
June 01, 2005
wanna go fishing?
I LOVE fishing. I could get hooked on this.
That's what I call serious bait.
the storm is here
It's more than two hours late and it appears to be nothing more than drizzling rain and some distant thunder. Hell... the wind chimes aren't ringing on my back porch. BULL SHIT!!!
The same people warning me to batten down my hatches today are the same ones feeding YOU all that "global warming" scare-mongering. Which ones are you going to believe? The "climatologists" or the wind-chimes on my back porch?
Only one speaks the truth. YOU decide which one.
truth in pictures
Here is a young Bill Clinton becoming politically.... aroused.
(yeah. I shamelessly stole that picture from here. So... SUE ME, goddammit!)
know anything about 'em?
Has anybody ever heard of a Rohm "Falcon" six-shot .38 revolver? I imagined that I inherited one that my father bought for $25 back in 1963, when racial tensions were running high in Savannah. I don't know if the gun has ever been fired.
Dad bought it from the trunk of somebody's car at work one evening, and he kept it in the drawer next to his bed until the day he died. I have a box of 1963 vintage ammo to go with it, but I intend to pitch that ancient shit and get some fresh stuff.
I tried to look the pistol up on the internet, but I kept running into German sites that locked my computer up tighter than Dick's hatband. The gun was made in Germany and it appears to be a pretty nice firearm, but I know absolutely nothing about this imaginary pistol. I don't believe that Rohm is in business anymore.
I'm planning to visit Catfish tomorrow, and I'm going to imagine that I tote that imaginary pistol with me. I want to imagine that I shoot it, just to see if it's worth a shit or not. If I had my camera back from the shop, I'd take an imaginary picture for you to look at.
It's a Rohm Falcon, six-shot .38 revolver, blue steel with a wooden grip and a brass "FALCON" logo sunk in the left-hand side of the grip. Have you ever heard of one of those? If it's German engineering, it's probably fit to keep.
I'll know more about it tomorrow, but I was just wondering if any of my readers ever heard of this pistol before.
cheapening the language
I don't like a lot of what is considered to be "conventional wisdom" today. It's NOT wisdom. It is politically-correct ignorance. That crap debases the English language and teaches people to repeat cant instead of thinking independently.
I'll give you a few examples:
#1-- McCarthyism. I'd like to take a poll among people under the age of 30 who even know who the hell "Tail Gunner Joe" was. I'd also like to ask them about the "Red Scare." What was it all about? Was it real?
I hate to shatter some leftist fantasies, but the Red Scare was REAL in the 1950s and early 1960s. McCarthy got carried away with himself, and he did some despicable things, but communists WERE infiltrating our government at the time, and they did not wish us well. Joe simply was not the person who should have been leading the fight, and certainly not in the way he did it.
Now his name is a synomym for anybody who DARES to question your political beliefs, no matter how ridiculous or subversive they may be. People forget--- Joe DID find a lot of communists selling this country down the river.
#2-- Fascism. I have trouble to keep from laughing when I hear leftists talk about "fascism" in this country. THEY believe that fascism is limiting the different flavors of latte they can buy from Starbucks. If you mention "Brownshirts" to them, they'll tell you that those are out of style and everybody "cool" wears Old Navy garb today.
My aching ass. They need a dose of reality--- something akin to having LEGITIMATE fascists kick down your door in the middle of the night, confiscate all of your property (including your latte) and ship you off to a "relocation" camp. That shit doesn't happen in this country (exvept in the War on Drugs) and it's a far cry from "fascism."
#3-- Racism. Once upon a time, that word meant something in this country. I SAW IT as a child in the South during the 1950s and 1960s. Black people were treated as second-class citizens, with separate restrooms, separate drinking fountains and seats on the back of the bus. They couldn't order a meal in a "white" restaurant. A lot of people marched and died to change that status quo.
Today, "racism" is no more than the joker in the deck that people play when they don't have a trump card in their hand. Watch Jesse Jackson in action. He can pick up a rock and find racism underneath it. "You may think you're satisfied, but you've been disenfranchised! This may look like a rock, but the White Man owes
Yeah. And Jesse gets rich while keeping the slaves on the plantation. I believe that he is a pathetic example of a human being, and he preys on the very people who believe in him most. That's inexcusable.
#4 Bush=Hitler. This idea would be too insane to discuss except for the fact that some history-deprived people seem to believe it today. When I was writing advertising copy for Konter Realty (a Jewish business-- go figure) I met several people who still had concentration camp tattoos on their left arms. Yes--- those people survived places such as Auschwitz and lived to tell about it. And they survived by the skin of their teeth.
Pull that Bush=Hitler shit on THEM and see how far you get. They SAW family members shot, gassed and killed by the dozens under a REAL Hitler regime. This fucking whining from the left today desecrates the memory of every Jew who actually experienced the REAL THING, just as Jesse Jackson desecrates the memory of every black person who overcame legitimate racism.
Words count. The left spends a lot of time trying to call turds roses, but it spends an equal amount of time trying to call roses turds. They believe in the Big Lie.
Only a complete fool will fall for it, but we seem to have a lot of fools in this world today.
i think that way
I read this memorial day post and it brought me right back to the way I've always felt when seeing a military cemetery. I believe that war is a necessary evil in this world. Sometimes you simply have to fight for what is right and people get killed in that process. You may not like it, but them's the facts.
What always sets my mind to spinning is looking at all those tombstones or white crosses and wondering, "What lies wasted here?"
How many poets, writers, inventors, creators, movers and shakers lie buried here after being cut down in war before they ever had a chance to prove what they could do? How many thinkers, builders and potentially GREAT men died as young'uns because politicians got into a piss-fight that eventually involved bullets?
I feel an infinite sadness when I see a military cemetary.
I am a student of history and I know that wars are sometimes necessary, and we need people to fight them, and fight them to WIN. Without those people feeding the grass in those cemetaries, we would not be the country we are today. It's sad, but true. The Tree of Liberty must be nourished by the blood of patriots. Those men and wimmen were patriots.
But I can't help wondering what kind of talents lie wasted there.
The Emergency Weather Broadcast Network just interrupted my science-fiction movie to inform me that I am under a Tornado Watch until 8:15 this evening. Severe thunderstorms, with heavy rain, possible hail up to 1/2" in diameter, 70 MPH winds, dangerous lightning and the Second Coming of Christ are all headed my way between now and nightfall.
WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
Right now, the sky is overcast and the winds are calm. I've seen no rain since yesterday, when a steady drizzle fell for hours. I am delighted that I received this warning of an approaching disaster, but I have no idea what to do about it. How do you spell "catastrophe?" Was I close?
If it comes, it comes. I'm not going anywhere. I damn sure ain't gonna panic about it. I've got a good roof over my head and I've seen storms before. I suppose that I should appreciate the "early warning," but just what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? Run in circles waving my arms over my head? Pray? Leave NOW, while I have the chance?
I think I'll just sit here and see what happens. Weather forecasters aren't that good anyway. If I suddenly stop blogging before 8:15 tonight, you'll know that I got blown away. If that happens, I guessed wrong.
But I don't think it's gonna happen.
I've always been fascinated by the way nature equips some creatures with natural camouflage, so that they become almost invisible in their surroundings. Just find a Walking Stick in a bush some day. Usually, if it doesn't move, you won't see it, because it looks exactly like a part of the bush.
Why do you think more people get bitten by copperhead snakes than any other poisonous variety in the South? That's because a copperhead blends in perfectly with a pile of dead leaves and you won't even notice that bastard until you step on him and he bites you. At least a rattler will try to warn you away.
If you study butterflies and moths, you'll discover many who have peculiar colorings on their wings. If they land somewhere and fold their wings just right, they resemble a big-eyed predator to anything that checks them out. That's how they stay safe.
People do the same thing. Wimmen wear make-up and dress sexy to disguise their predatory nature, while men strut and preen, pretending to BE predators when they actually are prey.
Mother Nature is a clever old bitch.
could be interesting
I want to see where this decision goes in our judicial system. My personal opinion? Immigrants who come to the USA should learn English for TWO reasons.
First, English is the language of this country. If you don't bother to learn to speak it, you are doing neither yourself nor your children any favors. You are throwing up roadblocks to success. You may as well be illiterate.
Second, it's a matter of common courtesy. Why do you think I work hard at speaking Spanish in Costa Rica? That's THEIR language and I think it takes a lot of fucking nerve to expect everybody in that country to speak MY native tongue when I'm too lazy to learn theirs.
Forget the fact that English is the language of international business and commerce today. If I had a child being raised in Europe, I would insist that my child learn English. (Most European countries DO, because they see the facts as plainly as I do.) I think that's a damn good idea.
But when people come to THIS country (legally or illegally) and refuse to learn to speak the English language, they are being ignorant, rude and set on a self-inflicted course for failure. Bi-lingual education is a joke. It's just one more rock that leftists like to tie around somebody's foot to make them hobble for the rest of their lives and be dependent on leftist hand-outs.
There's more to this story than just the English language aspect, but my original point still stands. It applies to Blacks who insist on speaking "Ebonics," too. If you don't learn the language, you are doomed to fail. Period.
And anybody who can't understand that simple fact needs to be dragged off and shot.
All content © Rob Smith