Gut Rumbles

December 31, 2005

the list

Here are the Top 10 Assholes of 2005 as chosen by a blue-ribbon selection committee, consisting of...ME.

10) Arlen Specter. “Sphincter” would be a better name. I’ve held nothing but contempt for this political weasel since he cast his nutless-wonder “Not Proven” vote during Clinton’s impeachment. This year, among his other great accomplishments, he decided that the Senate should investigate the suspension of Terrell Owens by the NFL. The guy gives barking moonbats a bad name.

9) Kofi Annan. The United Nations is a corrupt, useless, inept and anti-American organization. Who better to serve as head of this rabble than Kofi? A scandal in MY “Oil For Food” program? HOW DARE YOU suggest such a thing? Move along. Nothing to see here…

8) Ray Nagin. As mayor of New Orleans, he makes a pretty good case for why we should NOT rebuild the city. When we rebuild the city anyway, let’s put up a monument to his colossal incompetence. Make it the statue of a flooded evacuation bus.

7) The New York Times. “All the News That’s Fit to Print?” Bullshit. “All the News That Fits Our Leftist Agenda” would be a more accurate motto. I don’t trust anything they print today (not even the fucking DATE!) and I believe that the NSA “reporting” they did was downright treasonous. Gray Lady, my ass. Fat, pox-riddled whore is more like it.

6) John Murtha. I think the guy’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top anymore, and he’s a prime example of why members of Congress should be subject to some kind of regular “senility test.” When they become delusional and believe that the war we’re fighting today is in Vietnam, they should be led away to somewhere quiet, where white-uniformed attendants make sure that they take their medication every day and change their diapers as needed. Of course, if we required sane thinking in Congress, we’d have to get rid of at least ¾ of the dildos that we have there. Hmmm… I like the test idea even better when I put it that way.

5) Glenn Reynolds. I wouldn’t turn my father in to the cops for robbing a bank, but I WILL call Glenn, my blogfather, a shameless shill for PJM. I don’t like the idea of PJM, I don’t believe such a self-aggrandizing, mercenary scheme is healthy for blogging, I don’t think the blogging itself is anything special, and no amount of pimping that ride is gonna change my mind OR make PJM anything other than what it is: a goddam parasite that latched onto a willing, juicy host .

4) NYC Transit Workers. Unions do some fucked-up things today, but the transit goons reached new heights of fucked-uppedness with their Christmas strike. That fiasco surely was a bunch of sound and fury that signified nothing, except the fact that they pissed off a LOT of people. Hell-- they pissed ME off and I don’t ride the NYC subways. What a bunch of assholes.

3) John McCain. Which side is this guy on? Hell--- what PLANET is he on? He crashed five airplanes during his distinguished career as a military pilot and he flies his Senate seat with the same reckless incompetence. If you liked Campaign Finance Reform, you gotta LOVE John McCain. I think he’s not only an asshole, but a dangerous man, desperately in love with himself. Beware anybody who believes that his brain farts smell good.

2) Me. Myself. Acidman. Rob Smith. I’m a fine person to be calling ANYBODY ELSE an asshole after what I did in 2005. I damn nearly drank and drugged myself to death and pulled out of that downward spiral only at the last possible minute. I pissed away a lot of my life, I pissed off many a friend and I piss off MYSELF when I think about it now. I may never fully recover from some of my self-inflicted damage and I’ve got nobody but ME to blame. This list would not be complete without MY name on it.

1) Cindy Sheehan. That woman isn’t a grieving mother--- she’s a professional ghoul, using her dead son as a stepping stone to fame. She’s a disgrace to mothers everywhere and an insult to her son. She is beneath my contempt, but I’m going to generate a heap of it for her anyway. Besides--- I risk being branded as a sexist if I don’t include at least one woman on this list--- so take comfort, ladies. Cindy was the biggest asshole of them all in 2005.

Now--- go have a Happy New year and try NOT to be an asshole in 2006.

good advice

Here's some good advice for those who may need it tonight. From my own personal research, I've found that most of what he says is true, especially the part about chunk-blowing looking better through beer goggles than through blood-shot, semi-sober eyes that burn like two coals in a buffalo-dung fire the next morning.

My beverage of choice tonight will be decaffinated iced tea. I'm not going anywhere and I won't be setting off any fireworks. In fact, I hope that I am sound asleep when the New Year rolls in.

I'm just no damn fun anymore.


I stopped making New Year's Resolutions years ago. Before then, I would make the resolutions, convince myself that I was serious about keeping them, and then break every damned one, usually before the end of January.

That crap was a waste of my time and a real blow to my self-esteem. If I broke promises that I made to MYSELF, for crying out loud, I HAD to be a really shitty human being, worthy of NO ONE'S trust. I finally figured out that I was better off NOT making resolutions that I was bound to piss all over than I was lying to myself like a delusional, disgusting swine.

But, being in touch with my feminine side today, I have changed my mind. Here are my Resolutions For 2006:

1) I will drink no alcohol today. Or tomorrow, when that day comes.

2) I am going to get off my dead ass and start recording on my home studio. I've had the damned thing set up for more than two months now and I haven't done diddly-squat with it. I'm gonna cut my own CD of original songs with me playing all the instruments and me singing all the vocals. Then, I'm gonna sell the CD on my blog.

3) I'm going to start playing golf regularly. I'm going to get good at the game again, too.

4) I WILL NOT buy any more firearms or musical instruments in 2006. I have more of those than I need already.

5) I will continue to blog.

6) I will sail to Belize with Recondo 32 this summer. I will survive the trip, too, even if I have to put his lovely, loud-mouthed wife, Georgia, in the lifeboat and tow her on a line 50 yards behind us when she gets in one of her bitchy moods. (Yes, she intends to go, too.) If she keeps bitchin' after that, I'll just cut the tow-rope when Recondo isn't looking. He's deaf. He'll never hear her cries for help.

7) I'm gonna get a cat for a pet, take LOTS of "cute" pictures of it and post the pictures on my blog every day. Heh. I threw that one in there just to take the pressure off of keeping ALL my resolutions.

8) I'm going back to Costa Rica at least TWICE in 2006.

9) I'm going to start a light weightlifting program and gain another 20 pounds. I'm still too weak and skinny to suit myself. I'm eating a lot better than I was, and I don't want to get fat. Yes, I am older than dirt, decrepit as hell and losing my hair, but I'm still vain.

10) I'm going back to work on my novel and I will finish it in 2006. I also intend to sell that fucker, make a mint and retire AGAIN, this time in Costa Rica.

Those should be no problem to keep.

seven Year-end thoughts on blogging

Now is the time to reflect upon the past year and predict what the new year will bring. Some people are writing shrewd, profound, intellectual treatises on blogging and what blogging will become in the future.

I wanted to write something like this, but I don't do shrewd, profound, intellectual stuff here. I just throw dung at the wall and see what sticks. So, here's my handful of crap on this subject.

1) Blogging is here to stay, but it ain't gonna stay the same. A growing audience exists and some people are making money off their blogs now. That's a good thing for the people making money off their blogs, but it's NOT a good thing for blogdom, in MY humble opinion. Once people start blogging for money or forming elite "clubs," the rip-snorting independence that first attracted me to blogging is gone. (See my Top 10 Assholes of 2005 for more on this subject.)

2) Blogging is more work than most people think it is. If you don't believe me, just look at the number of blogs, even popular ones, that fold after a while. Try it yourself. It ain't as easy as it looks.

3) 90% of blogs are pure shit and 90% of blogs will CONTINUE to be pure shit no matter how many people start blogging. (As I said before, it ain't as easy as it looks.) But even shitty blogs have their place in blogdom, unless the elite "clubs" eventually manage to choke them off. (Or to make them members. From what I see of PJM, for example, you can run a pure shit blog and still be "elite" if you kiss the right asses.)

4) Some of the best blogs I read have fewer than 300 visitors per day. I admire those writers. They blog for pleasure, not profit. To me, THEY are what makes blogdom a special place. I fear that, like Mom and Pop grocery stores, they will vanish when WalMart Blog moves in.

5) You should join the Axis of Asshole if you simply MUST join a blog-club. Just because. You won't get paid, you won't get any cool links from Tall Dog bloggers and you won't become famous. It's a totally useless, inane thing to do. That's why I joined.

6) Blogging has fringe benefits that aren't monetary. I've seen people get married because of their blogs. But don't let that fact frighten you. I myself simply got laid a few times because of MY blog. That's a damn good reason to blog--- one hell of a lot better than any silly, "I'm gonna change the WORLD!" bullshit. Try it yourself. Say "I'm gonna CHANGE THE WORLD with my blog." Then say, "I'm gonna GET LAID with my blog." Which one seems most likely? Which one would motivate YOU to blog? I rest my case.

7) Did I say SEVEN thoughts? Fuck! What was I thinking? I'm completely out of profound things to say after just six, assuming that those six WERE profound, which is assuming a lot. That'll teach me to write the title of the post before I write the post.

See? Blogging is EASY!

annie sure-shot

I had a bad day yesterday. I felt tired, depressed and lethargic. My thoughts wouldn't focus and I couldn't write. During my frequent naps on the couch, I had tumultuous dreams, most of them involving my bloodless cunt of an ex-wife. Even the hot tub didn't make me feel any better. I thought I was coming "down" with something.

But I had a better day than this guy did. Bejus!

Glen Thomas Betterley, 53, noticed that his head was bleeding when he woke up Thursday morning and asked his girlfriend if she had struck him. The woman said she didn't know.

When the bleeding wouldn't stop, Betterley drove to work, left a note for his boss and went to the hospital. Doctors treated him for a gunshot to the forehead. He was in stable condition Friday.

See how wimmen are? They'll SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD WHILE YOU'RE ASLEEP! My ex-wife still does that to me and we've been divorced for four years.

I feel better today. I still haven't heard from my son--- it's been more than a week now--- but I kinda expected that. The BC was getting lax about poking me with a sharp stick and she had some catching up to do.

I still haven't taken a drink, even though yesterday I felt like I had a full-fledged, rip-roaring hangover. Just damn! I didn't get sober for that crap. At least the story I linked to had a happy ending.

The crazed gentle woman didn't leave her second victim alive.

that would explain john mccain

I don't put much stock in surveys such as this one, but I'll report the results just because my state didn't come in dead last. What is the DUMBEST state in the Union?

Arizona, according to the survey. I don't know how California missed taking that coveted prize, but I suppose that dumbassery counted more than assholery in the rankings. (I still believe that if we were going to give the United States of America an enema, we'd stick the butt-plug in California. The competition ain't even close, even with Massachusetts in the running.)

Of course, I wonder just how measurable some of the alleged criteria were for "recognition" in the survey.

The Smartest State Award recognizes those states that are committed to students and teachers, emphasize excellence in the classroom and ensure that public elementary and secondary schools are efficiently-run," said Scott Morgan, president of Morgan Quitno Press.

They also considered "positive outcomes," whatever the fuck that means. It all sounds like a lot of pure, rarefied gobbledegook to me, but what do I know? I live in the 40th smartest state.

Vermont ranked #1. Isn't that state the home of jumping jim jeffords, who demonstrated his intellectual acumen and political integrity by sticking a wetted finger in the air and mistaking which way the wind was blowing? Don't the winged dungbats ben and jerry live there? VERMONT is the smartest state in the union?

I call bullshit.

December 29, 2005

holy barf, batman!

My first thought was, "This has GOT to be a parody site." After reading as much of it as I could stand, I concluded that my first impression was incorrect. this asshole is serious.

According to john Hawkins, the blog is written by the same fucked-up sicktard who sent a "Get Dead" card to a wounded soldier. Bejus! This hockwad could make Shameless Cindy Sheehan blush.

I don't know why I am wasting my time linking to the prick. He loathes the military and opposes the war in moronic fashion. Big deal.

He's really no more outrageous than many Congressional Democrats.

Jawja Crackers

I paid a visit to catfish today. The weather was nice and we figured that the only way to improve sunshine and blue sky was to generate a thick cloud of gunsmoke in the air. So, we did.

Cat has a shooting range in his back yard. Between us, we must have fired several hundred rounds, most of it from .22 target pistols. Of course, I had to throw some .38, 9mm and .45 short ammo into the mix, too. (The .45 shorts were for the double-barreled Leinad derringer I don't own. I can't hit shit outside 10 feet with that thing, but it's LOUD as hell.)

I got to shoot Cat's new toy, too: a Talon 9-shot .22 revolver. I'd never seen a 9-shot revolver before. We also had my a Ruger Mark II 10-shot semi-auto and Cat's Browning semi-auto to round out the .22 selection. Every one of those guns is damned accurate, but I did a lot better with the semi-autos than I did with the revolver. (I'm DEADLY at 30 feet with that Ruger. I put two rounds through the same hole more than once today.)

If you are one of the lucky folks coming to Cat's oyster roast/low country boil/rib barbecue on January 3rd, you can shoot these very same guns for yourself. We'll have plenty of targets and ammunition.

Gun smoke will serve as an appetizer before we pig out on the food.

ethical question

If your father were a bank robber, would you turn him in to the police? I wouldn't.

Of course, I cannot picture my father stealing anything in his life. He might have shot your ass if you made him angry enough, but he wouldn't steal from you. Being a Kentucky hillbilly, he could understand killing somebody if the person really needed killing. But he had absolutely no use at all for thieves or vandals.

Neither do I.

Still, I never would have gone to the police even if my father WERE a criminal. Hell, I would have done the opposite--- lied like hell under oath to get him off the hook. Maybe that's why I could never be a cop. I loved my father, and blood is thicker than water to my way of thinking.

What's YOUR way of thinking? Would you turn YOUR father in to the cops for robbing a bank?

December 28, 2005

definitely an old fart

No wonder I have so many aches and pains today. I'm older than dirt. I was 25 for 25 on the quiz.

Here's a quiz of my own:

I have my list, but I'm sure that I forgot somebody who belongs there. Do YOU have a nomination for my Top 10 assholes of 2005 post, which will appear on New Year's Eve. I am open to suggestions in the comments.

subliminal message


WOW! I liked this picture enough to steal it from here. I couldn't resist. I know fine art when I see it. It's not just the T-shirt that sends a message--- the entire picture speaks to me.

First, study the guy's body language. He's kinda bowed-up and hostile-looking, as if he's ready to scrap at the slightest provocation. You can't see 'em in the picture, but I suspect his hands are balled into fists. He's staring, all beady-eyed, directly into the camera through red-neck Terminator glasses. My gut reaction was, "Don't fuck with THAT guy! He looks mean."

Now, check his garb. Denim shirt, unbuttoned in the front to display a formidable beer belly and an insulting T-shirt. Cigar poking from his mouth like an accusing finger. Red-neck Terminator glasses. Wild, unkempt beard. Ridiculous knit cap. My gut reaction was, "Don't fuck with THAT guy! He looks like he don't give a shit."

Notice the background. He's standing on a hill with some scrub woods behind him. That mysterious object on the left resembles an outhouse with the front door off its hinges. On the back of his right hand, the guy sports what appears to be a burn-mark, probably sustained while operating his moonshine still. My gut reaction was, "Don't fuck with THAT guy! He looks like an inbred hillbilly."

See how that picture affected me? I saw a mean, bowed-up, beer-bellied, beady-eyed, crazy-lookin,' don't-give-a-shit, inbred, moonshine-making hillbilly, saying "Go Fuck Yourself" to the entire world. My gut reaction was, "WOW! I LIKE that picture!"

Was it good for you, too?

old whiskey

Calling all bourbon experts!

Take a look at this post and see if you recognize the brand name. Bourbon has always been my Liquor of Choice (at least it WAS when I was drinking and price didn't matter-- in fact, I think I still have a bottle of Booker's Best stashed somewhere in the Crackerbox) but I've never heard of Old Pugh.

I DO know this much--- the booze may be 100 years old, but it stopped aging when it was put in the glass carboys. Still, I am certain that tasting it would be a unique experience.

If anybody knows anything about Old Pugh bourbon, drop Jimbo an email. Hell... drop ME an email, too. I'm kinda curious about that stuff myself.


Figures don't lie, but liars surely do figure. Read this and gag. Nanny is just itching to reinstate the National Maximum Speed Limit. Why? For your own good, dammit! Can't you see that WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!???

I see a few problems with that press release.

On December 8, 1995, the repeal of the National Maximum Speed Limit (NMSL) went into effect. The repeal ended the federal requirement that states keep speed limits at a maximum of 65 miles per hour (mph) in rural areas and 55 mph in urban areas. A recent survey of Governors Highway Safety Association (GHSA) members indicated that 40 GHSA jurisdictions had increased their speed limits since the repeal. Of particular concern {emphasis mine--ed.}is information from the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS) indicating 31 states have increased their speed limits to 70 mph or higher on some portion of their roadways.

Why are increased speed limits "of particular concern" to the GHSA? Is it because people now are dying in droves when they weren't before? Not hardly.

While national statistics indicate fatalities have remained level since the NMSL repeal, this is hardly cause for celebration. According to GHSA Chair Lt. Colonel Jim Champagne, "The nation should have experienced a significant decline in total fatalities and injuries given the tremendous increase in safety belt use coupled with the increasingly safe design of vehicles. However, it appears these benefits have been offset both by increasing speed limits and the public exceeding these increased posted limits."

It appears? Yeah, and the sun "appears" to orbit the earth, too.

Research by IIHS and others around the world consistently shows that when speed limits are increased, highway deaths on the roads involved also show increases. In 1999, IIHS researchers compared the number of motor vehicle occupant deaths in 24 states that raised speed limits with corresponding fatality counts in the six years before the speed limits were changed. The study estimated that there was a 15 percent increase in deaths on interstates and freeways.

Uh... traffic on those interstates and freeways stayed the same from 1989 to 1999, right? If traffic increased--- oh, say by 20%--- during that time, then the study is pure bullshit. But nannies with an agenda don't mind using pure bullshit to achieve their goals. Bullshit is the nanny's best friend. (Just look at nutball environmentalists.)

"There is a recognition around-the-world that in order to significantly reduce motor vehicle deaths, you need to reduce speeds. It is time we apply that lesson in this country."

I LOVE such logic. It's what drives lemmings to jump off a cliff: Everybody ELSE was doing it, so I did, too. There is "a recognition around-the-world" that signing the Kyoto Treaty is a good idea, but that doesn't mean that it's not a crock of shit.

In MY humble opinion, speed alone doesn't kill on our highways. Bad drivers do.

If every driver on the Interstate is going 80 MPH, then going 80 MPH is a safe speed. Want to know who is DANGEROUS in that situation? The fucking dipstick doing 55 MPH in the left lane, that's who. Or the flaming asshole who is oblivious to everything around him because he's got a got-damn cell phone stuck to his ear. Or the pussy princess peering into her rear-view mirror while she applies makeup.

THOSE are the people who'll kill you on the road, because they are unsafe at ANY speed. If we simply MUST have nanny-laws to protect us on the highway, let's have one that might actually work.

Ban dumbasses from driving.

December 27, 2005

tomorrow is the day!

This blog will be FOUR YEARS OLD tomorrow!

That's fairly old in blogger-years. One of my projects for tomorrow is to go through the blog roll and delete a bunch of people who aren't posting anymore. (I wish I had a dollar for every blog that I've seen come and go since I started. The mortality rate for bloggers is impressive.)

I'm not burnt out yet, so I intend to keep writing. I don't want to miss posting my "Top 10 Assholes of 2005" on New Year's Eve. It's a good list, so don't miss it.

I want to thank everybody who visits this site for keeping my batteries charged and making this blog fun to write. If not for you, I would have quit a long time ago.

loon. bedbug. Shithouse rat

I think this guy has some serious issues that he needs to deal with. Runnin' around nekkid and callin' yourself Satan just ain't well-adjusted behavior. Picking a fight with the cops ain't real smart, either.

Look at the guy's picture. Do you think he might have kissed the pavement with the left side of his face on his way to a squad car? That's likely to happen if somebody tries "resisting arrest with violence" when he ain't wearing any pants but the cops are. It can get mighty ugly on those mean streets.

I might believe that the guy was high on mind-altering substances at the time--- or off his prescribed medication--- except for the fact that I suspect this guy's mind came pre-altered.

As I said before--- the guy has serious issues.

I hope not

I hope my daughter isn't getting any of this. She lives in Arlington.

In Arlington, fires threatened new housing developments and apartment complexes. Strong winds were the biggest obstacle for about 20 firefighters trying to contain the blaze, Deputy Fire Marshal Keith Ebel said.

I hope Samantha has enough sense to haul ass if the fire heads her way. Everything she owns can be replaced.

SHE can't be.

i feel better

I'm now certain that I'm NOT allergic to my hot tub. And 104 degrees is the PERFECT temperature for the water. And that 20-minutes-and-out rule is for pussies--- it don't get good until you've been in there for almost an hour. That's when the jets really start working on you.

I had myself a nice, long hydro-therapy session when I got home from the golf course today and I feel fine--- almost glowing. I may not be as sore tomorrow as I thought. After having the tub for a week, I have decided that I should have bought one when I first moved into the Crackerbox. It's wonderful.

This week, I'm going to put up some privacy fence around my patio so the tub can't be seen by the neighbors. They turn green with envy every time I take a soak and I don't want to... tantalize them, even though they should know that's it's not polite to stare.

Especially when I tub nekkid.

he's back, i think

I sat back and waited for a while to see if he was serious. He's been known to blog for a while and then quit--- inventing lame excuses such as "I'm back in uniform and attending Special Forces jump school!" or "I got hit by a car!" to explain why he disappeared for long periods of time. I began to suspect that he was either a Secret Agent or a Parole Violator.

My prodigal son once again has returned to blogdom. I see that he hasn't lost his touch, either, even if he's unsure of where he put his philosophical mindset.

Check the comments on that post. Interesting argument...

it was fun anyway

I played golf today. Ugggghhh!! I shot 103, which is kinda ugly, but it really wasn't as bad as the score suggests. I had an ELEVEN, a TEN, two NINES and an EIGHT on my scorecard. Knock those disasters down to mere double-bogies, and I would have been 15 shots better.

When I was good, I was fairly good. But when I was bad, I REALLY sucked. (Believe it or not, I lost only one ball all day. That happened on the hole where I made the eleven.) I didn't make any birdies, but I made a lot of pars. All in all, I'm not too disappointed.

I wanted to play from the Geezer tees, but my group insisted on playing from the Blues, which added 15 to 25 yards or more to every hole. That hurt, because my distance game is gone--- I used a well-hit DRIVER off the tee on a 185 yard par three today and came up short of the green. I still parred the hole, but that should have been a four-iron shot. I am mighty weak.

When we finished the round, one of the guys said, "Let's retire to the 19th hole and drown our sorrow with some adult beverages. I'm buying the first round."

I respectfully declined the invitation. A cold beer would have been exquisite, BUT... I ain't going there.

Now the challenge will be to see if I can get out of bed in the morning. I'll bet I'm gonna be sore as a boil.

December 26, 2005

jawja bloggers


My hat is off to this guy. He must have gotten Photoshop for Christmas.

You will notice in that picture that I'm just about as far away from Jesus as I can get. Eric knows me all too well. Besides, instead of a Last Supper, the picture reminds me of a Texas Hold-Em poker game.

See if you can put names to the faces WITHOUT going to Eric's site first.

sick bastard

This is a sick post. I mean REALLY sick. I felt nasty and sticky after I read it. It's that bad. Click that link at your own risk.

Don't say I didn't warn you...

Should be interesting

On Christmas day, I went to my grandmother's house and had a nice dinner with some of my relatives. My brother and his wife were there, along with two of my uncles and their wives. It was a sumptious feast, and afterward we passed out a few presents for dessert. It was a nice get-together.

I met an aunt's nephew who just returned from a tour in Iraq. He is stationed at Fort Stewart, just about 50 miles south of Savannah, and my aunt and uncle picked him up when he flew into Atlanta on his way home. He was wounded over there. (Not in Atlanta--- in Iraq.)

What happened to him isn't funny, but it reminds me of the punch line from an old joke. He was on patrol when wounded by a roadside bomb. He had been sitting down. He stood up and seconds later the bomb went off, peppering his ass with shrapnel. Yes, his ASS. If the bomb had exploded a few seconds sooner, the shrapnel would have hit him in the head.

Anybody besides me ever heard the joke about the chandelier?

I've been pretty depressed for the past couple of days. I talked to my daughter on the phone, but I still don't know where my son is. He's not home and he hasn't called me. He has a birthday on the 28th and it's starting to look like I won't see him then, either. Whatta bummer.

My grandmother is going blind. She's 94 years old and still sharp upstairs; I think it's a crying shame that macular degeneration is taking her eyesight. She still likes crossword puzzles and scratch-off lottery tickets. She can't see to do either anymore. I don't know how much longer she'll be able to live in her house by herself the way she does now. The lights are still on, but she can't see out of the windows anymore.

If I were God, I'd have built the human body to last longer.

I thought about having myself a good strong drink. I didn't, for two reasons. First, I didn't want to break my string--- I haven't had a drink in 64 days now-- and second, I knew that drinking would make matters worse, because I wouldn't stop with just one. I would get drunk and wallow in self-pity, feeling more miserable than I did sober. Been there, done that, and I don't want to go back.

Instead of getting drunk, I made a date to play golf tomorrow.

That should be really interesting. I haven't touched a golf club since July 3, 2001, a date I remember well because of Elijah Clark State Park, fireworks, lots of liquor and some VERY surly and unpatriotic park rangers in a jeep that had flashing blue lights on it. Those bastards threatened to take me to jail. But that's a long story and I don't feel like telling it tonight.

I once was a pretty good golfer. I want to see how a three-and-a-half-year layoff affects my game. I've got a sneaky feeling that playing golf IS NOT like riding a bicycle and I'm not gonna step up on that first tee and hit the ball the way I once did. But I'm bound to have SOME muscle memory left, so I may not suck too badly. In fact, I'll go out on a limb.

Betcha I break 100 tomorrow.

I still don't believe it

Here's another case of a guy raping a woman in his "sleep," and getting away with it. Maybe I'm just a naturally suspicious person, but I don't buy this shit.

I think this "automation" or "parasomnia" stuff is just too perfect a defense in rape cases today. It strikes just the right chord on the bleeding heartstrings of compassionate, gullible non-judgmental people who really WANT to believe that no one is truly responsible for his or her actions.

Yeah, he did it, but he didn't really DO IT, because he didn't know what he was doing. His BODY committed rape, but his MIND was asleep; therefore, he's not responsible for the crime he committed because he didn't commit it. The Sandman did. Get it?

Neither do I.

A christmas story

I found this one here and you need to go read the whole thing.


Nazareth Carpenter Being Held On Charges Involving Underage Mother
Bethlehem, Judea - Authorities were today alerted by a concerned citizen who noticed a family living in a barn. Upon arrival, Family Protective Service personnel, accompanied by police, took into protective care an infant child named Jesus, who had been wrapped in strips of cloth and placed in a feeding trough by his 14-year old mother, Mary of Nazareth.
During the confrontation, a man identified as Joseph, also of Nazareth, attempted to stop the social workers. Joseph, aided by several local shepherds and some unidentified foreigners, tried to forestall efforts to take the child, but were restrained by the police.

Also being held for questioning are three foreigners who allege to be wise men from an eastern country. The INS and Homeland Security officials are seeking information about these who may be in the country illegally. A source with the INS states that they had no passports, but were in possession of gold and other possibly illegal substances. They resisted arrest saying that they had been warned by God to avoid officials in Jerusalem and to return quickly to their own country. The chemical substances in their possession will be tested.

Yeah, it's funny, but only because we can see something like that actually happening today.

December 24, 2005

are you lonesome tonight?

Misery loves company.

I realized that fact while curled in a fetal position on my bathroom floor (see the post below for further details about THAT), where I wallowed in pain and self-pity a couple of nights ago. I wished that I had someone to comfort me and tell me that I was gonna get better. Of course, I didn't really want ANYONE to see me in the shape I was in, but I felt pretty damned lonely anyway.

Man is not meant to be a solitary creature. Not when Man feels desperately ill. And definitely not during Christmas.

A big family Christmas was always important to my father. Knowing how he was raised, I realize that he was making up for something he never had as a boy. He succeeded, too. Some of my fondest memories are those of the wonderful Christmas celebrations I enjoyed with Mama and Daddy over the years. Those truly were magical times.

I intended to continue that tradition when I had a family of my own. I always wanted Christmas to be special, filled with joy and good cheer, with the laughter of my loved ones filling the room when we tore into the loot under the tree. I wanted to make my own magic, the way my father did.

Alas, things just didn't work out the way I planned.

I remember the first time I played and sang in a bar on Christmas Eve. When I went to work that night (at the old "Port Royal" on River Street), I didn't expect much of a crowd. I figured everybody would be celebrating Christmas with family and loved ones instead of hanging out in a saloon. In fact, I thought that the place might close early due to a lack of customers.

I was mistaken. The place wasn't packed, but I had a good-sized audience all night long. The only thing different from a typical evening in the bar was the unusually subdued atmosphere. People were quiet, almost introspective, while they sipped their drinks and listened to my music. I picked up on the feeling in the air and played mostly soft ballads--- none of the rowdy stuff.

As I stepped up on stage for my last set of the evening (at 1:00 in the morning, officially Christmas Day by then), a waitress told me that several people at the bar wanted to hear Christmas carols. I started to say that I didn’t DO Christmas carols, but for some reason it suddenly seemed like a good idea to me. Hell, what I didn’t know, I could fake.

So, I played Christmas carols for that last set.

People didn’t boo, either. THEY SANG ALONG! It was the damnedest thing I ever had seen. From “Silent Night” to “Jingle Bells,” the crowd was with me all the way. I even saw some people with tears on their faces. For years afterward, I wondered just what the hell happened that night.

Tonight, however, I know.

The people in that bar had nowhere else to go--- no family waiting for them, no presents to open and nobody to kiss under the mistletoe. (Ah… look at all the lonely people.) Being in that bar was better than sitting at home alone, with no one to talk to and no one to love. They were there to combat a sad fact: Christmas Eve is the longest night of the year when you spend it by yourself.

Mama and Daddy both are dead now. My daughter is 1000 miles away. I have no idea where my son is--- the BC disappeared with him a week ago and even though I’ve called every night, I’ve not gotten a response to any of the messages I left on her answering machine. I am not surprised. If she had HER way, she's erase me completely from Quinton's life.

Tomorrow, I’ll see my brother and my 94 year-old grandmother. That’s something to look forward to.

Tonight, however, it’s just me.

another sign of old age?

I really don't like crowds. That's why I seldom go to football games, concerts, big parties, the beach or amusement parks anymore. The enjoyment I get just isn't worth putting up with a swarm of people around me. I value my personal space today.

That's why my results on this stupid test don't surprise me.

Your score indicates that you prefer a rural atmosphere to an urban one and low land intensity. You’re no hermit though; you like other people and, once you start talking to them, other people like you. As far as you’re concerned there is no difference between living in a city and living in a suburb, not that you would want to do either because you’re probably a bit scared of cities in the first place.

I'm not "scared" of cities. I just don't like being a sardine in a can, which is how I feel when I'm in a big crowd. I'm not an anti-social person, either. In fact, I am quite charming and loquacious when I want to be. I just prefer to socialize in more intimate situations than, say... St. Patrick's Day in Savannah. I would rather live in a 10' X 10' shack in the woods than live in downtown Atlanta.

Just call me the UnaCracker.

you've gotta be a (gun) nut


I would put this on the night stand right next to my bed if someone GAVE ME ONE for Christmas. I emphasize the "someone gave me one" part, because I damn sure wouldn't buy it myself. That fucker costs $995.00.

For that kind of money, I could get the real thing.

December 23, 2005

it's this easy

I believe that I've mentioned before that I have a Restraining Order for domestic violence outstanding against me, which is why I cannot legally purchase or possess a firearm. (Thanks to Bill Clinton's 1994 Crime Bill.) I've never actually DONE anything domestically violent, but that fact doesn't matter. My bloodless cunt of an ex-wife simply filed paperwork saying that she felt "threatened" and that feeling was all it took to brand me as a potential criminal and put one hell of a restraint on my rights.

It can happen to anybody. Judges routinely issue such restraining orders, no matter how ridiculous the request may be.

In the application for the restraining order, which was filed Thursday, Nestler alleges that between May 1994 and now, Letterman forced her to go bankrupt and caused her “mental cruelty” and “sleep deprivation.”

Nestler — who lived in Nevada, New Jersey, New York City, Maine and Santa Fe during that period — requested that Letterman, who tapes his show in New York, stay at least 3 yards from her and that he not “think of me, and release me from his mental harassment and hammering,” according to the application.

A judge thought a restraining order was perfectly reasonable in this case. Ain't the law a beautiful thing? David Letterman and I are BOTH true menaces to society now.

At least I'm in good criminal company.

it happens to us all

I feel his pain. Or maybe I feel his Shock and Awe, which may be a better way to describe the realization that you are no longer a young whippersnapper--- you have become an OLD FART.

That realization hit me several years ago, when I was stopped at a traffic light. A car filled with teeny-bop-looking boys pulled up in the lane next to me. The car was rocking, thumping out some kind of rap-type abomination music and every one of the little turds inside was wearing a baseball cap turned around backward.

I thought to myself, "If ever catch one of MY children listening to that shit and wearing a cap backward like that, I'll slap the living shit out of 'em for acting the dumbass." Right then, it hit me: I had become my father.

I was a teenager in the late '60s. My father had no use at all for the music I liked in those days, which just convinced me that he was hopelessly square, uncool and outdated. When I started college and grew hair down to my shoulders and sported a Fu Manchu moustache, he threatened to disown me. He thought a "joint" was a low-class bar. He just didn't dig my scene at all.

He was an Old Fart. I swore that I would NEVER be that way when I grew older. He was judgmental and out-of-touch. I would forever be a cool dude.

Now I know how he felt back then. I like very little of today's music. I abhor facial piercings. I think baggy pants worn with 6" of boxer shorts showing above the waist are disgusting. A cap has a brim to shade the sun out of your eyes, not to keep the rain from hitting the back of your neck. I believe that most of the younger generation is ALL fucked-up.

Dad, wherever you are, I now feel the pain you once experienced. I am no longer a cool dude. I am judgmental and out-of-touch. My hair turned gray silver and it's a lot thinner than it once was. I even wear Old Spice after-shave, the way you always did.

I am an Old Fart.

quote of the day

I really enjoyed THIS one, after suffering the Tortures of the Damned that I went through for about 16 hours last night and today:

Every time they have one of these potluck things at my work I remember those who go to the crapper and don’t wash their hands. I remember the people who indiscriminately pull boogers out of their noses. I remember those who wear clothes to work several days in a row obviously without washing. I smell the body odor. When thinking of eating anything that they may bring to a freaking potluck I think gamma globulin shot. I think of waking up a week later with a temperature of a hundred and five, my skin the color of Grey Poupon Mustard and pissing out chunks of my liver.

I was starting to feel almost human again when I read that. Now, I believe that the chicken broth I drank has grown taloned feet and a sharp beak. It's scratching around, trying to peck its way out of my gut. I think it was the "booger" part that didn't set well with me.

Thanks a LOT, daniel.

December 22, 2005

public service announcement

Please get this straight.

(By the way... I think I'm gonna join this exclusive club, too. Heh. That way, I can be a POMPOUS asshole, just like the kewl kids in PJM.)


I never would have believed this if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyeballs. I am amazed.

But I am not surprised. Man is one really clever, inventive creature.

(Link discovered at this place, where I have to start visiting more often.)

blogging sick

I have been in a bad way.

I finally went to sleep last night some time after midnight. I had been awake for more than 40 straight hours. Around 4:00 this morning, I sprang from my bed to begin an intimate courtship with my bathroom commode. I hugged it, squeezed it and shared a great deal of my bodily fluids with it. This romance continued on and off for about 12 hours.

I was one sick puppy.

I probably had a case of food poisoning from eating my own cooking from my own filthy kitchen. That's my best guess, because I was launching projectile discharge from both ends and hurting from head to toe. A couple of times, I didn't even bother to leave the bathroom between attacks. I just curled up in a fetal position on the floor and waited for the next wave of diarrhea and nausea.

I managed a few hours of fitful sleep this afternoon. I finally woke up feeling as if I had a goddam hangover after more than 60 days without drinking any alcohol. (I missed my AA meeting in Statesboro tonight--- my fellow inmates probably believe that I went off somewhere on a drunk.) I still don't feel right, but I'm better than I was.

As the post in the link above suggests, bloggers sometimes write when they're too sick to do anything else. I'm drinking chicken broth from a coffee cup held in trembling hands right now, but I can manage to type. It takes my mind off my misery.

I DO have one horrible thought crawling around in my mind. I took my first soaking in my hot tub last night. The water was 104 degrees and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I drank apple juice on ice and read a Stephen King book (The Regulators) for about an hour. When I got out of the tub, I was so relaxed that my legs wobbled when I walked. I got sick just a few hours later.

You don't suppose I'm allergic to my hot tub, do you?

strike out

Looks like the New York transit strike is over after three days. That's good news for subway riders but bad news for the union, which appears to have shat mightily in its hat this time.

Roger Toussaint, the combative president of Transport Workers Union Local 100, had recommended that his union's executive board accept the deal.

``We thank our riders for their patience and forbearance,'' he said.

Patience and forebearance? I didn't see a lot of that in public reaction to the strike. I saw a lot of bitterness and anger. After all, the people being fucked inconvenienced by the strike were the same people who pay TWU salaries. I don't know about New York City taxpayers, but I wouldn't keep feeding a dog that ate well and then turned around and bit me.

The union leadership didn't mind biting the hand that feeds THEM, but they didn't display much zeal when their own asses were on the line.

The breakthrough was announced just minutes before Toussaint and two of his top deputies were due in a Brooklyn courtroom to answer a criminal contempt charge for continuing the strike. On Wednesday, the judge warned that he might throw them in jail.

Earlier this week, the judge, State Justice Theodore Jones, fined the union $1 million a day during the strike. And under the state no-strike law, the rank-and-file members were automatically docked two days' pay for each day they stayed off the job.

Can you say "cave in?" Good. I knew you could.

I still think the union got off too easy. I believe that every one of the bastards who went out on strike should be fired. Ronald Reagan did it with air traffic controllers and planes didn't stop flying. New York should do the same thing here.

This wasn't a case of a union shutting down operations in a manufacturing plant. It was a case of a union taking an entire American city hostage. I wouldn't put up with that shit.

I don't believe in negotiating with terrorists.

December 21, 2005

big, bloodshot eyes?

What says Christmas Spirit better than a stoned owl chillin' in your tree? Nothing that I know of. I wonder why the owl didn't leave the tree for five days?

Must have been some good shit.

selling "uppers?"

According to experts, my adult industry job would be...
Adult Job QuizViagra DealerAdult Job Quiz
It's no secret that viagra is used a lot in the adult industry, but where does everyone get their pills from? You of course.
Take the Adult Industry Job Quiz

If I had any Viagra, I suppose I WOULD sell it. I damn sure don't need it anymore.

I'm bionic.

(I lifted the quiz from here, which should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with that site.)

snack food

Did anybody besides me watch Snack Food Tech on the History Channel? If you haven't seen it, make it a point to catch that show if you can. It's FULL of amazing stuff about candy, ice cream, pastries and other munchie foods.

Did you know that chewing gum was invented by a guy trying to make a soft tire for buggy wheels? And that he got his first ton of chicle, the "gum" in chewing gum, from Mexican General Santa Anna?

Krispy Kreme makes enough doughnuts every seven minutes to create a stack as tall as the Empire State Building.

120 MILLION pounds of pigskin go into making pork rinds every year. Pigskin also goes into gelatin and Gummy Bears.

If something is rotten in Denmark, it's probably teeth. Danes consume more candy per capita than any other country in the world.

"Moxie" soda is the oldest continuously produced soft drink in the United States. (Not to be confused with the bitter shrew of the same name.)

The program is chock full of trivial information like that. I think I gained weight just watching the show.

better than wd-40

I've always thought that WD-40 is the best stuff ever to come in an aerosol can. It's good for 2,000 uses and I always keep a can or two around the house. That little cocktail-straw applicator is a good idea, too. Gets right into those hard-to-reach places.

I have a theory about home repairs and you might be suprised how often it works: "If you can't fix it with anything else you've tried, spray it with WD-40." Even when that DOESN'T work, it makes the room smell like you've been doing SOMETHING constructive.

But I'll call WD-40 second best if anybody ever invents this miracle spray. I want not only a case of the stuff, I want lots of stock in the company that makes it, too. They'll NEVER go out of business because their... er... target market is huge and getting bigger every day.

I can think of more than 2,000 uses for it right now.

mi Gusto mucho!

Heh. I THINK this guy lovely lady (thanks, Rivrdog! How'd you disappear from my blogroll?)) likes my blog, but I don't read Spanish well enough to know for sure. It's been a year since my last trip to Costa Rica and my espanol is rusty.

""¡Adorenlo mejor!" and "WAahah! no se crean." are good things, aren't they?

December 20, 2005

it ain't ready yet

The water in the new hot tub is at 88 degrees, up from 61 degrees when I first filled it at 11:00 this morning, and it steams nicely when I lift the cover. But it ain't ready to use yet. I want it at the 102 degrees I set it for, so I'll probably have to wait until morning to test-dive the thing. Just damn!

I was hoping to see if a long, hot soaking would help me sleep at night. I'm still suffering insomnia, so I bought the tub for strictly therapudic reasons, not because I have fantasies about nekkid wimmen with red toenails cavorting in bubbling hot water while I...

Never mind. I'll NEVER get to sleep thinking such thoughts.

Of course, I could think about New York City Transit Workers and end up shooting my goddam hot tub in a fit of mindless rage. Like the Transport Workers, my tub is a lazy, no-good sack of shit that isn't working when I need it.

I've mentioned my undying love for unions before, but the transit strike is real testimony to what total, despicable fucksticks unions are today. It's New York City, where a lot of people don't own cars. It's winter, where long walks to work are cold and unhealthy. It's CHRISTMAS, for cryin' out loud, where you're supposed to display a little good will toward men, whether you feel it in your heart or not.

Evidently, 'tis the season to really show your ass if you're an overpaid, underworked transit worker goon. What jolly elves they are, fucking the entire city spreading cheer by saying, "Here's your Christmas present! Have a big bag of MISERY, on me! Ho, ho ho!"

At least the union has managed to piss off a state judge, who slapped the worthless bastards with a $1,000,000 a day fine. That ain't enough, in MY humble opinion.

Somebody needs to be dragged off and shot.

politician control

We don't need any more gun control laws in this country. In fact, we don't need any more laws, period. We already have too many. What we REALLY need, if we simply MUST have another law, is legislation making idiotic behavior by politicans a criminal offense, punishable by steep fines and lengthy jail sentences.

I realize that if we passed such a law and vigorously enforced it, we wouldn't have many politicians left, but I'm willing to make that sacrifice, painful as it may be. I think it would be good for The Children.

here is an example of idiotic behavior:

Gun dealers could be held liable if they sell weapons that end up in the hands of criminals, under a Democrat-controlled Assembly proposal that’s under fire by gun-rights proponents. (...)

The Assembly proposal calls on gun retailers to carry at least $1 million in liability insurance, affix new and lengthy warning labels to all guns, and to cancel a sale if it "appears," or there is a "reasonable suspicion," that the guns could end up being resold to criminals.

Exactly WTF is such a law supposed to do except run legitimate gun dealers out of business, enrich lawyers and keep guns out of the hands of law-abiding citizens? This bullshit is coming from New York, which already has "one of the most restrictive gun laws in the nation - and 20 percent of the armed robberies."

That's right. If idiotic laws don't work, fix that problem with more idiotic laws. Repeat every time the idiotic laws don't work.


I'll take my chances on protecting my life, my property and my pursuit of happiness against an armed criminal. I can fight back or shoot first when faced with common thugs. But I can't do the same against idiot politicians. There's just too damned many of them.

And idiotic voters keep electing those assholes.

i shouldn't do this

I ought to just ignore this silly bastard, but I don't always do what I should. Did you ever have a scab that you just couldn't keep from picking at? Even when you told yourself to leave it alone, that it would go away by itself if you just stopped fucking with it? Well, the "desert dingleberry" is kinda like that scab to me.

It doesn't help matters when the dingleberry keeps being run over by a wheelchair. I know there's no real sport to following in Denny's tire-tracks, but I can't help myself. It's like seeing a horrible car wreck and being unable to avert my gaze. The dingleberry's blog is so bad that it's morbidly fascinating.

He got purple prose: "The usual assholes are publicly pooping purple twinkies..."

He got ethnic cents of humor: "Why did the Polish Electrician wire an Indian outhouse for electricity? He wanted to be the first to “wire a head for a reservation.”

He got wisdom and a heart full of love: "In spite of a half-assed attempt to shut my server down by a few psycho bloggers, I am still here. In fact I have more return visitors than ever."

"More return visitors than ever?" I don't doubt it. The first time I saw Freddy the Monkey Boy at the Coastal Empire Fair, I went back to see him again, too. It was worth another 25 cents to watch Freddy shit in his hand and fling feces around his glass cage.

I think Freddy writes that blog.

it's here!!!!

My new hot tub is installed on my back patio, filled with water and heating itself to 102 degrees as I write. I like it already and I haven't set my Cracker ass foot in it yet. It should be ready to use this evening.

I sure do know how to buy Christmas presents for myself.

Speaking of Christmas presents, all she wants for christmas is the 10,000th hit on her blog. I spared no expense and contributed. I think you should do the same.

After all, 'tis the season to give.

hasta la vista, baby!

I think I've made it abundantly clear before on this blog: I don't like California. That state is the certified nut-bowl of America. California has more barking moonbats, raving fucktards, gun-fearing wussies, granola-crunching environmentalists, nanny-minded politicians, nutless wonders and lunatic lefties than any other state in the union.

In MY humble opinion, we'd be better off without it. That's why I am amazed that this man ever was elected governor.

His Austrian home town threatens to remove his name from a local stadium to punish Arnold for executing a guilty-as-hell murderer. What does Arnold do? He damn sure doesn't grovel and beg for forgiveness, the way so many weak-kneed politicians would. No, Arnold very politely tells his critics to go piss up a rope.

In the letter, Schwarzenegger also said he would no longer permit the use of his name "to advertise or promote the city of Graz in any way" and would return the city's "ring of honor."

The ring was given to him in a ceremony in Graz in 1999. At the time, Schwarzenegger said he considered it "a token of sincere friendship between my hometown and me."

"Since, however, the official Graz appears to no longer accept me as one of their own, this ring has lost its meaning and value to me. It is already in the mail," the governor wrote.

I like that response. It's so atypical of ANYTHING coming out of California today. It's a nicely worded way of saying "fuck you."

It's downright Southern.

December 19, 2005

merry christmas to me

I went Christmas shopping today. I couldn't figure out what to buy for anyone else, so I decided to be really nice to ME. I bought a hot tub.

It will be delivered tomorrow, and if it comes early in the morning the way it is supposed to, I should be able to fill it with water and get it heated up by tomorrow evening. I'm looking forward to a long, hot soaking.

Lovely ladies with pretty red toenails are welcome to join me. Clothing is optional

I claimed it

I declared MYSELF a member of the "Axis of Asshole," just in case they've got some kind of selection committee that doesn't like me. I put the logo on my sidebar and I'm leaving it there, even if they eventually choose a different "official" logo. I don't care what they do. In fact, fuck 'em.

That's the kind of asshole I am.

December 18, 2005

bird of prey

Wanna see something pretty? Wanna see something that's bound to scare the living crap out of any enemy in the sky? If so, go look at this, "The most deadly fighter aircraft ever to take to the skies."

For those of you who have been living in a cave the last 8-9 years, the Raptor is our next generation fighter aircraft, the first true stealth fighter (F-117 is more of a bomber, although designated a 'fighter.') In exercises against our current air superiority fighter, the F-15C Eagle, a single Raptor easily defeated 8 Eagles in one engagement.

The Raptor becomes operational tomorrow.

I'll make an exception

Usually, I wouldn't join any club that would have me as a member. I have better taste than to hang around people like me.

But I might make an exception for this organization. I think I would fit right in, kinda like a suppository. Besides, I really like the proposed logo. It's something I should have put on my blog a long time ago, just for the hell of it.

You can find some more ideas for a logo here, but I prefer the pure simplicity of Og's concept. And I really want to join.

I'm qualified. I'm an asshole.

ho! ho! ho!

In MY humble opinion, this is a serious crime. What will The Children think after seeing gangs of Santas on a drunken rampage?

Alex Dyer, a spokesman for the group, said Santarchy was a worldwide movement designed to protest the commercialization of Christmas.

Want to protest commercialism? Get drunk and steal shit.

Yep. Makes sense to me.

December 17, 2005

eleven days

In eleven days, I will celebrate TWO birthdays. (Well... one will be celebrated. I don't know about the other one.) I started Gut Rumbles on December 28, 2001. This site will be FOUR YEARS OLD in eleven more days.

It's easy for me to remember when I made my first post here. December 28 is my son's birthday. I started this blog in a fit of very hot anger and very deep depression after I tossed Quinton's birthday cake in the trash can that fateful Friday evening four years ago. Here is part of what I wrote:

Today is my son's eighth birthday. This also was my weekend for visitation, according to that very expensive divorce decree I have in my possession. But my son is not here. I have presents and all sorts of nifty things for him, but he won't see any of it today because my disgusting slut of an ex-wife is in the north Georgia mountains shacking up in a cabin with her unemployed, dope-smoking, piece of shit lover, along with my son, who she kidnapped as far as I am concerned. I became aware of this fact when I arrived home from work at 5:30 this evening and checked the messages on my answering machine.

When I heard that message, I threw Quinton's birthday cake in the trash can and I cried for a while. (I cried a LOT back in those days.) Then, I fixed myself a strong drink and started this blog.

I'm 53 years old and no one else I've encountered in life has come even close to being as relentlessly cruel to me as the Bloodless Cunt has been. She DID send me a letter when I was in Willingway. She asked me to sign over my half of our time-share to her, for free of course (I am NOT making this up!), and she even included the form required to get that done. All I had to do was fill it out, sign it and have it notarized. She was kind enough to mention that Willingway probably had a notary public to do the job.

I threw the letter and the form away.

Then, when I got home from Willingway, I discovered the letter she penned (two days before my release, so that it would be waiting in my mailbox) to inform me that she was taking another hostage getting remarried in March. "Quinton really likes him," she said.

Now... I wouldn't accuse her of trying to do something to upset me, wreck my serenity and send me reaching for a bottle on the day I got out of rehab... but I did think that the timing was unusual. Well, it would be unusual for anyone else; that's just par for the course for her.

So, I don't know for certain that I'll see my son on his birthday. The Bloodless Cunt may haul ass with Quinton and shack up with her latest victim husband-to-be in our time-share. That kind of thing wouldn't surprise me. I'll celebrate four years of Gut Rumbles no matter what happens.

I was thinking about the evolution (or mutation) in blogdom that I've seen since I started when I read this post. I agree with a lot of what he says, especially the part about him being embarrassed to visit his own site.

I don't want to piss on anyone's parade, but I've been having the sinking feeling, for some time now, that the vaunted Blogosphere is a sickly puppy, the runt of the litter with rickets, and scabies.

Hear me out: when the World was relatively small, there was much interaction. Give, take, everyone knew everyone. Maybe didn't like everyone, but knew them. Now there are Pajama parties with huge fucking budgets, one is In or Out, it is a fucking abortion of a thing.

Yes, blogdom IS different now, compared to what it once was. The pimps moved in and slutted up the place. I've always contended that if you wrote a good blog, people would find it. (If you build it, they will come.) Now, I'm not so sure. Success is based more who you know and who you blow anymore.

I really hate to see that happen. I always hate to see innocence lost. But what the hell? Life is constant change, so you might as well accept it.

I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. I'm not in this for the money and I'm probably as tall a dog as I'm ever going to be anyway, so fuck it. I blog because I like doing it. Let the "elite" beat their meat and call it New Media. I'm gonna remember the Good Old Days.

Besides--- I think I've learned to write sober and I'm still enjoying that new experience.

resetting the clock

I didn't sleep at all thursday night. I finally just gave up and stayed awake. In fact, I stayed awake all the way to 8:00 Friday night.

I didn't start even GETTING sleepy until about noon on Friday, and by then I knew better than to take a nap. I would REALLY be fucked-up if I did that.

All those years of shift work paid off. I decided to play things as if I were coming off a string of midnight shifts and trying to get adjusted to real time again. I stayed awake.

I took another walk. I vacuumed my filthy carpet. I shelled three bags of nuts--- almonds, Brazil nuts and hazel nuts--- and put them in a bowl so that I can munch a handful any time I want to. I played guitar for a while. I lasted until 8:00 PM, then closed my eyes for just...a... minute... as I lay sprawled on my sofa.

I woke up at 8:00 this morning. I had a crick in my neck, my back hurt and my eyes didn't want to focus. But I felt rested and ready for a day of AA in Statesboro. I took a long, hot shower, left home at 10:00 AM and returned at 5:00 PM.

Now... if I can sleep tonight, I might be back on track.


Nobody ever called ME a Puritan when it comes to sex. In fact, I am a shameless slut. I believe that anything two (or MORE) aroused, healthy, adventurous, consenting adults want to do in bed, on the floor, in the hot tub or flying from a trapeze should be not only legal, but encouraged. Wild, enthuiastic, uninhibited sex is good for you.

But I have a real problem with pedophelia.

I honestly can say, even being the horny old goat that I am, that I've never felt the slightest sexual attraction toward a child. I believe that anyone who DOES experience such feelings is severely bent in a disgusting direction, and anyone who ACTS on these feelings by molesting a child should face harsh punishment.

I certainly do not agree with this:

According to its Web site, NAMBLA's goal is to end the "extreme oppression" of men and boys in mutually consensual relationships by educating the public on the "benevolent nature of man/boy love," and working to abolish age-of-consent laws.

Or this:

Ashford, an American expatriate living in the south of France, believes it is time the public learned pedophiles are different from child molesters in that they enjoy a romantic and emotional, but not always sexual, connection with children. He also believes it is time for a child rights movement that will give kids more say in how to live their lives.

Bullshit. Children (by "children," I mean kids on the brink of puberty or younger--- the pedophile's favorite victim) are not miniature adults. They may play "doctor visit" in the bushes or "you show me yours and I'll show you mine" with friends out behind the garage, but they are not psychologically or emotionally prepared for a sexual relationship with an adult.

I'll tell you what I DO agree with. One night several years ago, I got off a 3-11 shift at work, came home, fixed myself something to eat and started watching the news. The Big Story was about an 8 year-old boy who had been kidnapped and sexually abused by his abductor, a man with a history of child molestation crimes. The kidnapper was caught, arrested and transported back to Louisiana, where he committed the kidnapping.

Reporters had film of the pervert suspect, with a cop on each arm, being led in handcuffs down a corridor at the airport. A man stood talking on a pay phone in the corridor. As the suspect passed by, the man dropped the phone, pulled a pistol from his pocket, and shot the suspect in the back of the head. He then dropped the pistol and raised his hands to surrender to the police.

He later stood trial for murder and was acquitted by a jury which obviously thought much the way I do. Forget the fact that the prosecution had film of the shooting. The jury figured that the sonofabitch NEEDED killing and they let the father go.

Vigilante justice? Maybe so. But if I were the boy's father, I would have done the same thing. And if I had been on that jury, I would have voted the same way.

I started thinking about this subject when I read this post and followed a link to this post. Read them and see what YOU think.

Pedophiles may not be able to change their attraction to children. Maybe their brains are hard-wired that way from birth. In MY humble opinion, they can lust in their hearts all they want to.

But if they ever ACT on their impulses, I want them out of my society.

December 16, 2005

Quote of the day

Of all tyrannies a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated, but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. - C.S. Lewis

Go back and read that quote again. Then, go read this. And this.

Land of the Free, my ass.

sleep? What's that?

That eleven-hour marathon snooze I took on Tuesday night either was: A) A complete anomaly or B) Enough sleep to last me a few days. Whatever the reason, I'm back in the old insomnia routine. I slept less than three hours last night. Now, it's damn near 3:00 AM and the sandman must be passed out drunk in a ditch somewhere, that sorry bastard, because he surely hasn't come by the Crackerbox to visit me yet. I'm beginning to believe that he's not gonna show up at all.

I'm gonna go for a walk to look at Christmas lights and disturb the neighborhood dogs again.

But it could be worse. I don't have to go to work in the morning. I don't have to worry about being struck by a lightning bolt hurled by an angry God because I am a blasphemous heathen. I also didn't stick my face in an electrician's ass today.

Best of all, I don't live in New Orleans. Just damn! That place still resembles a freaking war zone three months after Katrina put the whammy on it. I look at those pictures and realize that I am fortunate to be Sleepless Near Savannah rather than homeless in the Big Easy. Also, my life isn't this simplified, either.

I'm going to take a walk in the dark while I look on the bright side. Things could be a lot worse. Hell--- things have BEEN a lot worse for me in the past. I'm alive and I'm sober. I need to quit bitching about a little lack of sleep.

As one of my commenters said, I'll have plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead.


If I ever end up facing execution and people such as these show up to "save" me, I'll stick the needle in my arm myself.

Bejus. What a freak show.

(I stole that link from this guy. And if you're as clueless as the Save Tookie protesters, you might want to read this.)

UPDATE: Live blogging of the festivities here. I told you it was a freak show.

(That link shamlessly lifted from here.)

They make those?

I remember getting a Daisy pump BB rifle for Christmas when I was eight years old. I loved it. I didn't have enough ass to cock it without putting the butt on the ground and using both hands and most of my body weight to operate the pump, but I managed. My father put me through some intense gun safety training, and then turned me loose with it.

I finally wore that gun out, and I never did put out an eye.

I thought I had a bad-ass rifle, because the magazine held 50 BBs. I could fire quite a while before I had to reload. Today, I read this post and realized that I was born too soon. The writer poo-poos single-shot BB guns.

Of course you should teach them control and accuracy first, before you even consider buying them their own BB submachine gun, but once they're safe and knowledgeable in their practice of weaponry, I see no reason not to give them something that operates on a slightly more... tactical... level.

HOLY SHIT!!! A BB submachine gun? I don't recall ever seeing one of those when I was eight years old, and I damn sure would remember something like this or like this. I also would have lusted my heart out for that awesome sucker.

I'm gonna run out tomorrow and look for one. That would make an excellent Christmas present for my son, but if it's as cool as it looks, I might buy TWO and keep one for myself. Heh. Let a cat fuck with my mockingbird's nest next year when I have a loaded EAA Baikal DROZD or an MP-55D submachine gun by my back door.

I'll play Gat the Cat with his predatory ass.

(I also agree with his other suggestion about the big, honking Erector Set. Do your kid a favor. Get him off his ass with something FUN to play with that doesn't involve a television screen.)

December 15, 2005


One exciting thing about reading blogs is the fact that you never know what you're gonna find. Sometimes, it's good. Sometimes, it's bad. Sometimes, it's ugly.

And sometimes, it's pasta porn.

What would I do?

Here's an interesting question posed by one of my beloved readers:

I wonder what would happen at the Crackerbox on Christmas morning if someone left a cute little kitten with a bow on it outside your door.... Let's do a Dax-like poll on THAT one... Does he A. Take it in - somebody's got to look after the damn thing B. Leave it out there C. Run out the back door to buy a pit bull D. Try and remember where the hell his gun is...

I vote big softy...

Posted by Lisa at December 14, 2005 10:08 PM

Hmmmmm. What WOULD I do with a kitten on my doorstep? Since I'm in the process of re-inventing myself, maybe a nice, fuzzy pussy KITTEN is just what I need. Yeah, that'll work. A kitten.

And a potato gun...

caption contest?


I don't know whether this crazy bastard thinks he's wearing a bullet-proof vest or if he's just terribly afraid of drowning. Got an idea for a caption?

There's more where that picture came from here.

pissed him off

Recondo 32 responds to "mrchuck" in the comments about his sailboat:

Since all your fans seem to think I'm taking you off to drown you, perhaps you should let them know my qualifications. I held a 100 ton ocean master ticket, I've been the captain of a research vessel, I've been a charter captain, and misc other jobs around boats. No the boat is not ready to go to sea thats why it's going to the yard first for the underwater work and I have a couple of months to do the required upgrades for the trip which is damn near coast wise. All the electronics will have backups and if necessary I know how to do a sight reduction (that's celestial for you armchair sailors). She'll be ready before we roll, you'll be safe, but I still reserve the right to keelhaul.

Recondo may be as crazy as a shithouse rat in a lot of ways (which is one reason I like him), but he ain't dumb. Besides--- this "YOU'RE GONNA DIE! DON'T TAKE IT OUT OF THE BAY!" stuff just pisses me off.

We've become so risk-adverse as a society that I'm suprised somebody hasn't recommended that Recondo sell the boat and buy plane tickets to FLY to Belize. It's much safer that way.

Got-dam. Whatever happened to the philosophy of "No risk, no reward?" If humans had held to that kind of thinking throughout history, we'd still be squatting in caves and worshipping thunder-gods.

I'm not talking about being foolhardy. Hell, if you want foolhardy, just look at what Columbus did. We're better off RIGHT NOW than he was when he set sail. At least WE know where we're going.

And I am reasonably certain that we can get there, too.

December 14, 2005

moral support

Now, THIS is what I call true moral support.

Do I get to see the rest of her if I make 50 more days?

so sad

I weep. Times sure have changed since I was a boy, and I don't believe they've changed for the better. A big-time blogger is giggling and preening over his brand-new potato gun (THAT HE BOUGHT, for cryin' out loud), and he's caused international confusion with his yuppie behavior.

Hell, I was MAKING MY OWN potato guns when I was 12 years old.

Of course, the fine art of making your own childhood toys that are dangerous, destructive, explosive and potentially lethal is a lost art today. Kids just don't do that anymore; they are totally pussified, content to sit in front of Playstations and PRETEND to kill VIDEO monsters instead of going outside and ACTUALLY trying to kill their friends or a stray cat.

I'll bet they don't even torture toads anymore. (Put one of THOSE in a potato gun! WOO-HOO! Now, THAT is FUN--- although it's a little rough on the toad.)

Kids today have no imagination. I'll bet they buy things such as slingshots and rubber-band guns, too, and never understand that BUILDING the damn things is half the fun of playing with them.

As I said before, I weep.

i didn't go

Recondo 32 made the trip to go sailboat shopping in Wilmington, NC without me. I had other business to conduct. I wish I had gone with him now, because I received this email today.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to buy it. It's not as beamy as the outisland we looked at. A little less interior space but more cockpit and the deck is cleaner. Draws the same amount of water with the centerboard up but 7' with it down. If I buy I'm going to leave it in NC and have the bottom painted and the underwater gear checked and pick her up in February. How does the name "Secession" sound? It came to me coming down US 17.

Here's a picture of the boat.

It's got the wheel for steering and the diesel inboard he wanted, plus it's 2' longer than the one we looked at on St. Simon's Island. I like it, judging just by the pictures. Looks sturdy enough to make it to Belize and back.

Whadda ya think?

(UPDATE!!! I just received this email from Recondo.

I just emailed the guy and told him I was buying it. Moving a boat from Wilmington to Savannah in Feb should be good for our souls.

I assume he plans to sail it down here. In February. Fuck it! I'm IN for that trip, even though we'll freeze our fool asses off. I may be an old fart, but I haven't lost my sense of adventure. That's about the only good sense I ever had.)

damn good question

Does anybody really like this shit enough to pay $2,399 a pound for it? Some people must, or the crap wouldn't be for sale.

Of course, those people probably are overweight, cat-loving alcoholics with more money than good sense. For $2,399 dollars they could buy a few nice guns or good guitars instead of a stinking pile of fish eggs.

I have eaten caviar twice in my life. The first time, I was still in college, and when I spit that vile-tasting abomination (along with the cracker it rode in on) from my mouth, I attributed my reaction to a lack of sophistication. I was a pinto beans and cornbread kinda guy. My Southern palate was not prepared for such an exquisite treat.

The second time was just a few years ago. My Sophistication Quotient had risen dramatically over the years, so I figured that THIS TIME, I would appreciate what I could NOT appreciate before.

I was mistaken. The stuff still tasted like tiny balls of shit dipped in cod liver oil to me. I did manage to swallow that time, and I burped a disgusting afterburn for hours. I decided right then that I wouldn't feed caviar to a got-dam mangey dog; a cat, maybe. But not a dog.

Piss on caviar. I prefer boiled peanuts.


I've been in this situation more than once in my life as a supervisor. To say I wasn't tempted to blow the message off and spare my own ass some extra work would be a lie. But I never did that, for one very simple reason.

I wouldn't want it done to me.

I know the writer, and I would be sorely disappointed if he didn't Do The Right Thing when faced with his dilemma. Any boss worth a damn knows that such incidents occur as part of the job, and that's why you get paid the Big Bucks. Handle it. Strap on an apron and get out there to work with the troops.

I couldn't respect (or trust) a boss who wasn't willing to do that.

i wouldn't have made it

I was not as fortunate as this guy when I had a REAL case of the Gut Rumbles one sad day. I think his tale (tail?) earns a nomination for a Steel Sphincter award.

Heh. He mentions "black ice." I would have produced brown snow.

I like that site. Where else could I learn about the mpemba effect?

i like it

The sound card is dead on my computer, so I have no idea what is being said here, but I can add the sound effects for myself, using my vivid imagination.


"GOT-DAMN!!! Let's do that AGAIN!!!"

(Thank's to loyal reader Ruth Moran for that pleasing link!)


I was inspired to steal this idea write this post after I read this one. I wanted to say, "Oh, YEAH?!!! Well, check THIS OUT, big boy!" So, that's what I'm doing now.

Guitar Inventory

1. The flagship of the fleet: a 1964 Martin D-28. It may not be the best-looking guitar in the world after the years it spent in bars being marinated by beer-spillage and cigarette smoke. It may not be the easiest guitar in the world to PLAY, either, because I have the action a little high and I don't use light-gauge strings. But I'll put the SOUND up against any acoustic guitar I've ever heard. I like Steve H., but I'm calling BULLSHIT on this:

"My Gibson sounds better than any Martin on the face of the planet."

Fuck you, Steve. If you'd bring yourself to a Jawja blog-meet, we could duel it out neck and neck and SEE about that.

2. A 1972 Guild D-35NT. I bought it back in 1976 when I was having some work done on the Martin. It became my emergency back-up guitar.

3. A Tacoma Papoose. I agree with Steve that the action is a little rough, but the sound is very good for a miniature guitar. And, yes, it IS difficult to hold if you sit down to play.

4. A very ugly Fender Telecaster. It's in the picture above with the papoose. I'm partial to beat-up, ugly guitars and the Fender obviously fits that bill. Plus, I believe that a Telecaster is the most versitile electric guitar around. You can play ANY kind of music on one.

5. An Oscar Schmidt OG 312 Twelve-String. Pound-for-pound or dollar-for-dollar, I don't believe that you can beat Oscar Schmidt guitars for a quality instrument at a reasonable price. Ask this guy if you don't believe me. I picked out an Oscar six-string for him from my friend willy's inventory and Jim was delighted with the guitar.

6. An Oscar Schmidt OG-2 six-string with a beautiful jet-black finish. This is the one I usually take on road trips with me today. It plays and sounds great and I paid less than $200 for it.

7. A washburn t-12 electric bass. Hey! I needed a bass for my home recording and I couldn't beat the price on this one. Mine has a wood-grain finish instead of the baby-blue in that link. I think mine is better-looking. I also bought a Peavy TNT-115 amp to go with it.

8. A Murrell lap steel. It's a piece of shit, but I like to dick around with it every now and then.

I also have two banjos, two mandolins, an autoharp and a fiddle. Don't ask me why. I buy musical instruments the way I DON'T buy guns. If I like it, I get it. You never can tell when the thing might come in handy.

Besides--- it beats pissing away money on trivial, ephemeral things, like marriage. NONE of my musical instruments has ever hauled me into divorce court.

i'm better... I think

As you can tell from the post below this one, I'm feeling more like my old self today. I arrived home from Statesboro last night at 8:30, fixed a nice supper--- spinach salad (with mushrooms and croutons), fried shrimp (with home-made cocktail sauce), baked potato (with sour cream and chives), and chocolate chip cookies for dessert, all washed down with decaffinated iced tea. I went to bed after supper and slept for eleven straight hours.

Got-dam! I NEEDED that!

Those weathered old bastards at AA were correct when they told me that lack of sleep had a way of curing itself when the body finally just wore out. I'm not going to say that I slept peacefully, because I had tumultuous dreams and the tangled sheets on my bed suggest that I conducted some kind of multiple-partner sex-orgy last night, but I DID sleep. And I feel pretty good today.

At the risk of boring people who don't give a shit, I'm going to admit something. I haven't had a drink of alcohol in 55 days. That may not sound like much, but it's the toughest thing I've ever done in my life.

My daughter called yesterday to see how I was getting along. I pissed and moaned about feeling bad and not being able to sleep. She said, "I know if ANYBODY has the will-power to stay sober, YOU do, Daddy."

I was happy that she felt that way, but I corrected her common misconception. Will power has very little to do with an alcoholic getting sober. If sobriety were just a matter of will-power, like deciding to get up from the couch and turn off the kitchen light, we wouldn't have so many folks drinking themselves to death. Earth People (non-alcoholics) don't understand this truth, but honest-to-Bejus DRUNKS do.

It ain't easy to re-invent yourself.

I'm beginning to feel more sympathy for fat people and cat-lovers now. Maybe THEY have a mental illness similar to alcoholism, where they are DRIVEN to over-eat or own a disgusting animal because their perversion is hard-wired in the brain. They can't HELP themselves.

Wait a minute. I'm getting carried away with evangelical zeal here. I may be able to sympathize with fat people, but CAT-LOVERS? Naw. That's stretching things too far. Cat lovers still need to be dragged off and shot, along with their cats.

I'm trying to re-invent myself, but I have only so much raw material to work with.

too late

I believe that this smartass shows a lot of potential. He comes up with a pretty clever scam, gets caught trying to pull it off at the same place twice and then displays INSPIRING contrition, pleading for mercy because he's "just a kid."

The whining bastard has a bright future as a lawyer or a politician. In fact, he earns my Quote of the Day:

"I am extremely sad now, and I just want to go to bed," he wrote. "Please let me sleep in my own bed tonight."

Fucking pussy. You MADE your own bed; so sleep in it like a man.

December 13, 2005

Busy, busy, busy

I watched the Atlanta Falcons lay a good, old-fashioned ass-whuppin' on the New Orleans Saints last night. I just hope Michael Vick isn't seriously injured. The Birds need to run the table with the rest of their schedule to make the playoffs.

After the game, I went to bed. I couldn't sleep, so I got up after 30 minutes of trying. I washed two loads of laundry and put fresh sheets on the bed. Nope. Clean sheets weren't the answer.

I went for a walk at 3:30 AM. The stars were beautiful, very bright in the winter sky. The Christmas lights on the houses were pretty, too. Christmas always was a big deal in my family, with everybody getting together at Daddy and Mama's house, where Santa always came, even after I was grown with children of my own. It was our Big Holiday.

Hell--- I don't bother to put up a tree anymore.

Where I live, a lot of dogs stay outside. They don't like it when someone comes walking down the street at 3:30 AM. I think I was threatened and cussed-out by at least 20 different dogs last night, but none of them tried to bite a chunk out of my ass and nobody turned on a porch light and opened the front door to brandish a shotgun at me. I had a pleasant walk.

When I got back home, I vacuumed my carpet and cleaned the grime off all the inside doors. The giant beer mug I use as a spare change collector was almost full, so I rolled up most of the coins and put them in the grocery bag that I keep meaning to take to the bank some day. I now have $143.50 worth of change in there.

I finally slept from around 6:00 until 7:30. I got up (again), washed myself and load of dirty dishes, then checked a few of my favorite blogs. I still didn't feel like writing, so I ate a lumberjack breakfast, filled up a bucket with bleach-water, armed myself with a long-handled brush and started scrubbing all the mold and mildew off the outside of the Crackerbox.

Man. That's going to be more than a one-day job. Besides, it's almost time to drive to Statesboro (again) for another Stay Sober meeting. I should get back home about 8:30 tonight. I wonder if I can trim hedges by the glow of my porch light?

Oh, well. Idle hands are the Devil's playthings.

December 11, 2005


I don't feel good. I can't sleep. The weather is shitty and it makes all my old injuries ache. My brain feels as if it's been sliced, diced, and then stuck in a blender for a nice puree. My attention span took a hike; I don't know where it went. I wasn't paying attention.

I'm even losing my appetite for food again.

Somebody told me yesterday at an AA meeting that lack of sleep never killed anybody. I suppose that's true, but it sure can make you feel like shit. And I do.

Otherwise, I'm okay. I just don't have much blogging in me right now.

December 09, 2005

let's get interactive

I kinda like the idea, so I'm gonna steal it from her.

Remember the time we...

Please post a comment with a completely fictional memory of you and me. It can be anything you want– good or bad, silly or stupid, believable or not – but it has to be fake. (Don't worry - I'm highly inoffendable!)

When you’re finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people don't actually remember about you.

Comments are open. Have at it.


I read this story and I wish now that I hadn't. My skin is still crawling.

I lifted the link from here and I totally agree with the writer's last sentence.)

within the law?

If I had a penny for every time I've heard someone excuse absolutely brain-dead behavior by some drooling dingbat as acting "within the law," I'd have enough money to buy a MARTA subway token.

Transit police handcuffed and cited a man who sold a $1.75 subway token to another rider who was having trouble with a token vending machine. Transit authority spokeswoman Jocelyn Baker said Friday that the officer "acted within the law" after he spotted Donald Pirone, 42, selling the token Nov. 30 inside the West End subway station

Instead of giving Pirone a warning, the officer decided to handcuff him and give him the misdemeanor citation under a 1992 state law that bars passengers from selling Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority tokens, she said.

Why does an image of Barney Fife pop into my head?

Baker acknowledged that Pirone sold the token at face value and did not make a profit. But the law is the law, she said.

"There are customer service phones for people who are having trouble getting tokens out of the machine," Baker said. "The fact is, our officer acted within the law."

I think the officer should be promoted to a supervisory position for displaying such bold initiative and clear judgment. Gotta act fast and nip this kinda crime in the bud. ("Nip it, nip it, nip it in the bud!")

Perhaps the officer should be offered a job as a public school principal for demonstrating such an instinctive grasp of Zero Tolerance policy. Besides--- being a complete horse's ass is no crime.

It's within the law.


President Bush is bankrupting the United States with his idiotic tax cuts for the rich. How can he expect this country to survive when he's gutted federal revenue so heartlessly? Children will starve and senior citizens will end up homeless while Bush cackles gleefully over the destruction he has wrought for the benefit of his wealthy cronies.

The evidence of Bush Financial Malfeasance is right here. See how Bush raped the government? See why Democrats are so full of shit outraged by Bush's Draconian tax cuts? How can the federal government continue to operate when its income has been slashed so heartlessly?

Just look at the graph. I think we ought to be able to get by on 2.15 TRILLION dollars--- the HIGHEST LEVEL OF FEDERAL RECEIPTS IN HISTORY.

So much for the government going broke because of the Bush tax cuts. The REAL fact is that government grabs more money than ever before, but those bloated bastards in Washington spend it all (and then some) faster than it comes in.

Bejus! The next time you hear someone moan about how the Bush tax cuts are bankrupting the country, slap the shit out of the silly-assed fool for being bankrupt in the head. If the country is going broke, it ain't the tax cuts or even the war in Iraq that's to blame.

Blame our out-of-control government.

It ain't rated "G"

The Movie Of Your Life Is Film Noir
So what if you're a little nihilistic at times?
Life with meaning is highly over-rated.

Your best movie matches: Sin City, L. A. Confidential, Blade Runner

Rated R, with Violence, Adult Language, Nudity and Strong Sexual Content.

(Link politely borrowed from here)

just promise me some

My friend Catfish and I have discussed this subject many times and we agree--- a piece of ass is stronger now than it used to be. I started to notice this phenomenon about the time I turned 50 years of age.

Before then, I felt like I ALWAYS wanted some. I turned 50 and suddenly ALWAYS felt like I just HAD some. That stuff is stronger now than it was 30 years ago.

Once upon a time, a good piece of ass didn't last long before I was ready for some more. Today, even a semi-good piece (I've never had ANY that was BAD) will tide me over for quite a spell. That's how I know the stuff is stronger.

It damn sure wasn't ME that changed.

(Or maybe I'm just suffering the effects of a small brain.)

mixed messages

We're ALL GONNA DIE!!! AGAIN!!! because high blood pressure and obesity are knocking off baby boomers left and right. Their fat, dead bodies litter our streets. Buzzards circle in swarms over our major cities. Funeral directors are swamped.

Half of Americans aged 55-64 have high blood pressure, a major risk factor for heart disease and stroke, according to a new annual report on health in the United States issued today by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's (CDC).

The report concludes that 40 percent of people in that age bracket are obese.


"Controlling high blood pressure and obesity is crucial for health, and particularly for baby boomers as they grow older," said Health and Human Services Secretary Mike Leavitt. "It's time to act against both conditions so more Americans can live longer, healthier lives."

Uh-oh. I know what "time to act" means when it comes from any entity in government. It means that government needs to intrude where it doesn't belong do more--- as in more laws, more nannyism and more bureaucrats to take away more of our freedom. It's For the Children, because everybody, even adults aged 55-65 are children in the eyes of government.

"The late 50s and early 60s are a crucial time of life to focus on disease prevention," Gerberding said. "It's never too late to adopt a healthy lifestyle to enjoy a longer, healthier life."

Yep. It's a crying shame the way people die so young today.

U.S. life expectancy has hit another all-time high — 77.6 years — and deaths from heart disease, cancer and stroke continue to drop, the government reported Thursday.

Wait a minute... I am confused. I thought the government said we need to take action against heart disease and stroke, as if we were in the midst of an epidemic. Cancer obviously is a terrible menace, because the EPA and environmentalists seem to discover and ban a new carcinogen every day.

If deaths from these ailments are DROPPING, where the hell is the crisis requiring ANY "action" by the government? We seem to be doing okay right now, in MY humble opinion.

But every silver lining is surrounded by a black cloud.

Still, the march of medical progress has taken a worrisome turn: Half of Americans in the 55-to-64 age group — including the oldest of the baby boomers — have high blood pressure, and two in five are obese. That means they are in worse shape in some respects than Americans born a decade earlier were when they were that age. (Emphasis mine. I like to use bold italics when I quote government bullshit.)

The health of this large group of the near-elderly is of major concern to American taxpayers, because they are now becoming eligible for Medicare and Social Security.

Oh! I see now! Government wants everybody healthy so that it can continue taxing our asses off for Medicare and Social Security without paying out benefits. That crap should concern American taxpayers, all right, especially when politicians start talking about "free" prescription drugs for all the old geezers out there.

Bejus! We're all gonna die (!), just as soon as we finish living longer lives than ever before. We need immediate government action against high blood pressure and obesity, even though deaths from both are decreasing. We want people to live forever, but we don't have a clue how we're gonna pay for mass longevity.

No wonder I am confused.

December 08, 2005


I admit it. One of my "character defects" that I need to eliminate, or at least improve if I intend to stay sober, is my firey temper. My blood has a low boiling point, which is not good for maintaining my serenity. Certain things (and certain people) REALLY piss me off, and I go into full attack mode when that happens.

I became pissed off just reading this and I know that I would not have managed the same calm, rational tone that the writer displayed in his post. I would have resorted to profanity in print and deposited spittle-spray all over my computer as I cursed out loud. I salute Sgt. Hook for his discipline and self-control.

I think the comment to which Sarge responded is a perfect example of "compassion" from the Left today. Their idea of compassion seems to be a lot like mindless hate to me.

The slimeball who MADE the comment even managed to equate Bush with Hitler while deploring Sarge's "low IQ tactics." The prick would be amusing if he weren't so pathetic--- kinda like a carnival freak who bites the heads off live chickens in a geek-show.

What the hell. Just go read it yourself and follow the links to the other posts on this subject. If you can maintain YOUR serenity on that trip, my hat is off to you.

December 07, 2005

sad, but true

I might think that this was satire if I didn't hear the same kind of shit all the time. I sometimes wonder how so many people can remain so woefully ignorant in the midst of so much news reporting today.

Maybe it's just sheer overkill. We get so much news that we become confused instead of informed. It's just too much information for people to keep it all straight in their heads.

But being confused or woefully ignorant damn sure doesn't stop people from answering opinion polls. Then, the POLLS become news, which causes the uninformed to turn to the clueless for guidance.

If 60% of the people answering a poll said that the moon is made of green cheese, that's gonna tell a lot of people what to think, especially if they can see a nice, simple bar graph of the poll results. People may not have the slightest idea what the moon is made of, but they don't want to sound confused, ignorant or out of touch with the intellectual mainstream. They want to be part of that BIG bar on the graph.

Trumpet the poll results, then take another poll. All of a sudden, 85% of the people believe that the moon is made of green cheese. That's how we get "conventional wisdom."

No wonder we're... well... fucked up as a can of worms today.


I just checked my referrals and discovered that I was visited by someone doing a Google search for "fucked up as a can of worms." I don't mean to be picky here, but whoever went on THAT search needs to be dragged off and shot before he or she finds a way out of the woods. I can't stand it when people can't cuss right.

You OPEN A CAN OF WORMS when something you do or say has nasty and unforseen repercussions. Example: "I opened a real can of worms when told the little missus that her ass looked fat in that new dress."

You're FUCKED UP when you do something absolutely bat-shit crazy or asshole stupid. Example: "You told her that her ass looked fat? Man... you are as fucked up as a football bat."

There's a BIG difference between a metaphor and a simile.

I hope I put the top back on this can of worms. If you don't see my point, you're as fucked up as a June bug in January.

wanna buy a boat?

Recondo 32 does.

I took a one-hour nap yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon, then went to my Outpatient Counceling in Statesboro. By the time I got back home at around 8:30 PM, I looked and felt like Fido's ass. Except for that nap, I had been awake since 6:30 AM on MONDAY and I still was not sleepy. I was just dog-assed tired.

I ended up staying awake and reading until 2:00 AM before nodding off on my sofa. Recondo 32 was pounding on my front door at 9:00 this morning, which was a good thing, because if he hadn't awakened me, I probably would have slept half the day and REALLY screwed up my body clock.

I slammed a cup of coffee into my gut and rode with Recondo down to St. Simon's Island to look at a sailboat he was thinking about buying. He's got this lunatic idea about spending the summer sailing the Carribean. Don't laugh. When Recondo gets a lunatic idea, the crazy bastard usually follows through on it.

The boat in question was a 28-footer (I forget the manufacturer), in good shape and surprisingly roomy inside. It also had new sails, lots of spare sails and a one year-old 15-horse motor on the back. The price was $9,500, which seemed fair to me.

Recondo didn't like it because it had a tiller instead of a wheel for steering, and that tiller handle took up too much room in the cockpit. One person manning the helm was about all that would fit in there if serious tacking was required. Also, Recondo wanted an inboard diesel instead of an outboard gas motor. He didn't buy the boat.

He DID ask me to ride up to Wilmington, North Carolina with him to look at another boat on Monday. I'll probably go to keep him company and keep myself from thinking about liquor. That should be a pleasant ride to NC.

Recondo got his Captain's license several years ago. I don't know if the license is still valid, and I don't know if I trust him out on the briney deep until he's made a few shakedown cruises, but I am certain that he WILL buy a boat eventually. And if he wants to sail it to Belize, I'm just crazy enough to go with him.

The decrepit old bastard is gonna need a deck hand anyway. He's too broken-down to wrestle sails anymore, and I've come a long way, physically at least, toward getting back into decent shape. Besides--- I've never been to Belize before. That trip might be worth wrestling a few sails.

I just wonder how long I can take orders from Captain Recondo before I mutiny.

December 06, 2005

hot potatoes?

I KNOW that I have a filthy mind that stays mired in the gutter most of the time. Evidently a lot of other people do, too, judging from the comments on this post.

Yes, I look at those potatoes and I definitely see a striking resemblance to both male and female genitalia. Not PRETTY genitalia, mind you, but genitalia nevertheless. The one on the far right in the top picture, for example, is a plump pussy, complete with a man in the boat. The others are... well, never mind. Just use your imagination.

I am one sick puppy...

Desert dingleberry

Did you ever notice that really stupid people do not realize how stupid they are?

I followed a link from The grouchy old cripple and ended up with this shit smeared all over my shoe. When I read a bit of the Desert Dingleberry's pathetic writing, I figured that he was some pimply-faced, geeky kid who posted his drivel when he took a break from flogging his little, hairless weenie (Hey! That looks just like a penis---only SMALLER!).

I was mistaken. I believe that the Dingle is a grown man, at least in years if not maturity. He just has the MIND of a pimply-faced, geeky weenie-flogger. Here is a typical example of his rapier wit:

went into the breakroom for my lunch today; two members of management were eating pizza.

We have a TV in there that can only pick up one station. One person asks “what’s on?” and the other says “Jerry Springer....that’s so dumb.”

I said “Ugh- those bastards are the poster children for birth control.”

I had never seen people snot pizza through their noses before.

Yeah. Dingle is a regular laugh-riot. He also is a fine example of why Steven Den Beste once said that 90% of blogs are pure shit.

Denny, where do you FIND these people?

well said

Obviously, I'm not the only one in blogdom who thinks that Pajamas Media needs to be dragged off and shot. Buncha greedy bastards. Buncha pimps and whores. Buncha defilers of blogdom. Fuck 'em all.

Of course, I'm just saying that because I am bitter, heartbroken and crushed by the fact that I wasn't invited to join their exclusive Country Club.

quote of the day

"The real purpose of the Weblog Awards--and all Internet awards--is to bring hits to the site sponsoring the awards. They probably do a good job. Harnessing the power of other people's egos is much smarter than trying to impress them with your content."
---Steve H. at hog on ice

Of course, I'm just posting that quote because I am bitter, heartbroken and crushed by the fecalness fickleness of my readers, who didn't nominate me for anything.

Which one did i miss?

You Passed the US Citizenship Test
Congratulations - you got 9 out of 10 correct!

Damn! I missed one of the questions and I don't know which one it was! They don't give the answers.

I stole the test from this woman. She whipped my Cracker ass by scoring a perfect ten. Of course, she IS a perfect ten herself, so I shouldn't be surprised. (Heh. How'd you like that sycophantic suck-up, darlin'?)

I suspect I missed question #9. I guessed Connecticut, but it probably was New Hampshire. I'm pretty sure about the rest of them.

I don't like her, either

I never thought Martha Stewart deserved to go to jail. But that doesn't mean that I like her. I'd love to see the pompous bitch come clean my house. THAT task would test her alleged homemaking skills, as well as her gag reflex.

Heh. I wonder if Martha knows how to knit an encapsulated Haz-Mat suit?

I get the feeling that this woman ain't exactly worshipping at Martha's feet, either. In fact, I think she might like to perform some toilet bowl sanitation using Martha's head for a swab.

I'd pay good money to see pictures of that.

damn fine tool

I'm really sorry to read this. As good inventions go, the P-38 can opener is one of the best. I have two of them that I've owned for years. ANOTHER one was abandoned in my desk drawer at work when I retired.

I think I paid about 25 cents each for them, and I've opened hundreds of cans with 'em. Popped the cap on more than one bottle of beer, too. It's perfect for backpacking.

Put one on your key ring. Held correctly, it also makes a bad-assed weapon in an alley-fight.

no surprise here

Take the Star Trek Quiz

Picard may have been a more realistic starship captain, with his expert diplomacy, haughty demeanor and rigid self-control, but I always preferred Kirk as MY kind of captain. Dabble in diplomacy, but keep the photon torpedos armed. Get into frequent fistfights. Boldy go, rigidly, into any woman who'll hold still long enough, regardless of race, creed, planet of origin or number of breasts.

Just look at it this way: If you were a football player, which one would you prefer for a coach?

morpheus has left the building

Where is this guy when I need him? Bejus! It's 3:30 in the morning and I'm still wide awake.

The good news is that I'm not craving a drink other than grape juice. I just can't sleep. The last time this happened, I stayed up for about 30 hours and my body clock was screwed up for two days. I'm foggy enough already, with a brain that feels shot full of holes, and I really don't need recurring insomnia on top of that.

I think my real problem is the fact that I didn't actually SLEEP for about a year or so before I went into rehab. I just kinda passed out from time to time. Now I'm trying to behave like a straight Earth Person when my body isn't accustomed to functioning outside a chemically-induced stupor.

Of course, the 16-ounce Coke I drank to wash down a rack of baby back ribs for supper tonight probably didn't help matters any. I think I'll restrict my caffiene intake to mornings only for a while.

As long as I'm awake and blogging, I want to mention gas prices (why not?). I went to visit my grandmother on Sunday. I filled up my car with regular unleaded that I paid $198.9 a gallon for.

Today, I noticed that the very same place I stopped at on Sunday is selling gas for $209.9 a gallon today. Every gas station I passed is at least 10 cents per gallon higher than it was over the weekend. That's a pretty steep increase for one day. Besides--- I thought gas prices were supposed to be coming down.

I speculated that maybe the state gas tax that was suspended after Katrina had been reinstated, but I didn't see anything on the news about that happening. Of course, maybe I DID see it on the news and just forgot about it because I have a brain shot full of holes. It's a bitch to get straight and suddenly not be able to think straight anymore.

What are YOU paying for gas now? Did YOU see a big spike in price today?

December 05, 2005

a close one

I THOUGHT I had an AA meeting to attend in Statesboro tonight. I left home in a pouring rainstorm, made it to what I THOUGHT was the proper location 30 minutes early and couldn't find the meeting. I asked a sweet young thing on the first floor if she knew where the meeting might be, and she sent me to the third floor of the building.

I went there and didn't see anything resembling an AA meeting in any of the rooms. No coffee pot anywhere was a dead giveaway. I started back to the elevator when I met a nicely-dressed, dapper-looking man in the hallway. Hell--- he looked like he COULD be a drunk (drunks will fool ya that way), so I asked HIM about the meeting.

"I think that's on Tuesday," he said. I showed him my list of meetings, and it damn sure said Monday AND Tuesday on it. I was in the right place, too. "Well, they meet on the second floor. If there's a meeting, you'll find it there."

I thanked the guy and went to the second floor. No meeting there, either. I waited around until five minutes after the meeting was scheduled to start before I gave up. I left the building and drove back home.

I wasn't really pissed. After the rain quit, I had a pleasant drive to Statesboro, and the trip got me out of the house. That's always a good thing.

But I almost had a terrible wreck on the way home.

I was all the way to Highway 21 between Springfield and Rincon when I saw a bunch of tail lights and warning flashers on the right side of the road ahead of me. A cop car with blue lights flashing came tearing across the median and sped toward the scene. I slowed down and eased over into the left lane.

About the time that I realized there was a terrible wreck up there, the jackass in front of me stood on his brakes and STOPPED in the left lane, right beside a car that was stopped in the right lane. I was looking at a roadblock.

I hit my brakes and started sliding and fishtailing on the wet pavement. I wasn't certain I could stop before I slammed into one of the cars in front of me, so I started looking for a place to bail as I fought the wheel to keep from going into a spin. I saw a guardrail to my left and another car to my right.

Nowhere to go.

Just about the time I made up my mind to eat the guardrail rather than hit another car, I got everything back under control and stopped a good two feet from the car in front of me. I was perfectly calm---downright SERENE--- except for a burning desire to drag that rubber-necking sumbitch out of the car in front of me and beat the living shit out of him for stopping in the road the way he did.

I was almost home before I wondered... could I have done that bit of stunt-driving if I had been drinking? If not, my happy ass would probably be in jail right now, with a fistfull of tickets, a DUI and a potential lawsuit for whiplash on my hands. Bejus! That would be pure ugliness on the half-shell.

I think my Higher Power was sending me a message tonight.


I love this. As team mascots go, a dead cat is difficult to beat. I sense STRONG ju-ju coming from that semi-rotten corpse.

I predict a championship in the near future for that team.

(Thanks to Ruth Moran for the link.)

sleepwalking plus

Can you say, "bat-shit crazy judge?" Good. I KNEW you could.

Luedecke claimed he fell asleep on the same couch and woke up when he was thrown to the floor.

He only suspected he had had sex after using the bathroom and discovering he was still wearing a condom, court heard. He confessed to police.

He had sex with the woman while he was asleep, but he still remembered to install a condom on his Roscoe? C'mon, judge! Where the hell is your bullshit detector?

I don't think I've ever had sex in my sleep. I've never heard of "sexsomnia" until now. I HAVE had sex with a few wimmen who might as well have been asleep during the festivities, for all the enthusiasm they displayed (is that "sexnofeelya?), but I was wide awake the entire time.

Right now, I believe that I have a bad case of "lackanookie," but that's a subject for another post...

Okay. I want to conduct a scientific survey here--- how many of YOU people, male or female:

1) Suffer from "sexsomnia"

2) Pretend to be asleep when your partner wants some

3) Believe the judge is fucked in the head

I report; you decide.

December 04, 2005

no, i'm not dead

I'm not drunk, either. I just had a difficult time getting my body clock adjusted after that all-nighter I pulled on Friday. I went to the grocery store (it's amazing how fast you can clean out the larder when you start eating three squares every day), did some other driving around and then had a couple of friends drop by to visit after I got back home.

I finally took a nap on the couch at 4:00 yesterday afternoon.

Thank Bejus that my brother called and woke me up at 6:00 to see if I wanted to come over to his house and watch the Georgia-LSU SEC Championship Game. Being groggy-headed and google-eyed from the nap, I decided to watch the game at home, but at least I got back on a proper sleep-track. In bed after the game and awake at 7 AM this morning.


December 02, 2005

lemme ass you a question

Are we really suffering an outbreak of wide-load asses, especially among wimmen today? Doctors think so, and Queenie gets... right to the bottom of this story. Some cheeky chick probably will rear up and sue over damage caused by the larger needles required to penetrate to the muscle through the layers of lard adorning female asses today.

I have an almost irresistable urge to make a few smart cracks here, but I'm going to refrain from butting heads with the easily insulted. Besides--- I haven't done a lot of research in this anatomical area and I'm willing to give wimmen the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe they're getting a bum rap.


I've found a computer game that I really like. In fact, I just wasted 30 minutes of my valuable idle time playing that sucker. I now feel an incredible sense of satisfaction and well-being.

I'm gonna add it to my favorites. I DEFINITELY need to play that game every day to maintain my serenity.

(Link stolen from this guy, who just KNEW that I would love it!)

quote of the day

"If you’re infamous for being slow to act, your best bet is a job that bills by the hour." --- Scott Adams

blow me

Hey acidman what the fuck is wrong with you? I thought you were dying? You said you were and you couldn't use your legs anymore. You described an incurable disease NOT Alcholohism. Yea, don't gimme this shit alcholohism is a disease, I know it is but its NOT in the same catagory as cancer or leukiama or ACLS. So why did you lie and say you were dying?

Posted by Terry at December 2, 2005 01:55 PM

Let's see... liver enzymes off the chart, jaundice, a hemoglobin count of seven (thus, the "brown-outs"and shortness of breath), blood pressure dangerously low and heart rate alarmingly high, malnurished and too weak to walk...nah. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with me.

I would have been dead in a week if I hadn't checked into rehab when I did. The doctors told me that they wouldn't have TAKEN me if they had known my physical condition beforehand. But Terry is correct. I lied about the whole thing.

I made that shit up to get a link from Glenn Reynolds.

A new recruit

I am yet to see a woman who DIDN'T like target shooting with a "real" gun once she got over her initial fear of the weapon and learned to handle a firearm safely. I am confident that I will initiate a new recruit to the Nation of Rifle-Wimmen as my first good deed of the new year.

Hell--- even my daughter, who HATES loud noises, took to target shooting like a duck takes to water once I gave her some ear plugs to wear. Samantha damn nearly out-shot ME once she worked up the courage to give it a try.

I'll bet that Livey enjoys herself, too.

Don't be fooled

I've said it before and I'll say it again: squirrels aren't "cute." They are nothing but rats with fuzzy tails. Don't believe me? Just read this.

Bejus! I knew the bastards were nasty, evil and cunning, but I didn't realize that they were bloodthirsty killers, too. Just imagine being ripped to shreds and EATEN by a pack of buck-toothed, rampaging tree-rats. That's a horrible thought.

I'll admit that I sometimes amuse myself by watching squirrel sex, but I'd still rather shoot 'em.

I want one!

Dear Santa--- Gimme one of these for Christmas and I promise to kiss your ass be a good boy forever and ever. Honest.

Unless, of course, somebody really pisses me off at a distance of 2500 meters.

(Link shamelessly stolen from here. He's got some good comments, too.)

don't ask me why

You're probably wondering why I am blogging at such an ungodly hour. I am wondering the same thing.

During my 38 days of rest and relaxation at the Willingway Health and Beauty Spa, I developed a distinct sleep routine. I went to bed early and woke up when the nurse barged into my room to take my vital signs before sunrise in the morning. Sometimes she tied a piece of rubber tubing around my arm and took a blood sample, too. About the only thing she DIDN'T do at least once was run a finger up my brown-eye to check my oil.

I became accustomed to this routine and I decided to keep it up once I came home. So, it's been early to bed and early to rise for me all week long, even without the blood-pressure cuffs and the hypodermic needles rousing me from sleep. I was doing pretty good with it, too--- until tonight.

I went to bed at 11:00 PM. I couldn't get comfortable. I tossed and turned for a while. My legs started to ache, with a deep, annoying throb that seemed to come from the bone, just like the "growing pains" I experienced as a boy. My back itched in a place I couldn't reach with either hand. My feet felt cold.

I finally said, "To hell with THIS," and got up to watch a movie on TV and drink some apple juice--- the very same juice that my grandmother gave me on Tuesday--- the stuff that packs a very powerful laxative effect if you drink a lot at one sitting. (Do THAT and you'll be soon be sitting, all right, listening to the sound of a covey of quail flying right outta your ass!)

I wasn't paying much attention to the movie when I suddenly realized what was bothering me. It wasn't my aching legs, my itching back or my cold feet.

I was craving a drink of liquor. And I mean REALLY craving.

That's happened to me only three or four times since I came home from Willingway, and never in the middle of the night like this. But it was a bad craving.

I'm glad that I don't have any liquor in the house, because an evil voice was whispering bad things in my ear. "Nobody will know. Just take ONE drink. Just ONE, that's all. Then you can go to sleep. You WANT to sleep, don't you? Go ahead. Just one LITTLE drink."

I now know how Odessus felt when he was tied to the mast of his ship listening to the Song of the Sirens. If I had a bottle stashed around here I would have been sorely tempted to take a slash. Or two. Or three. Or an entire quart.

Instead, I went to my computer, surfed a few blogs and threw up a couple of posts just to keep my hands from becoming the devil's playthings. That craving is pretty much gone now.

But I drank three glasses of apple juice. I may be riding the stone pony before long and listening to sound of fluttering quail wings.

The bad part is, I'm still not sleepy. The good part is, I AM still sober.


This is a truly disgusting post. What kind of perverted bastard defames Christmas by conjuring images of wise men receiving fellatio in the holy manger?

Just damn! I wish I had thought of that one!

more on pajamas media

The more I learn about this outfit, the more certain I am that it doesn't fit me. And I don't care what big-timers are involved. I still think it sucks.

Thanks to Kent Peterson for the link.

December 01, 2005


Wow, Rob, you've really been sucked into the 12 step cult. That's a damn shame as that shit may get you off the booze, but it rots your brain. I've been a daily visitor, but this post has convinced me to stay away in the future. I wish you well health-wise, and hope you still are able to have a creative thought after a few months of the cult brainwashing.

Posted by Former Fan at December 1, 2005 10:58 AM

Why don't you just break my heart, FF? How many AA meetings have YOU ever attended, Mr. Expert? I think YOUR brain is not only washed, but stuck in the "spin" cycle. What did you do to become so well-aquainted with AA? Watch a "60 Minutes" expose? Get the fuck outta my house.

And take Brett with you.

Damn! There I go allowing my resentments to surface! I've lost my serenity! My brain suddenly is unwashed!

Now I'll have to go all the way back to Step One and start over again.

I hope he's wrong

The thing I've always liked most about blogging (and reading other blogs) is the free-wheeling, wide-open atmosphere. Start a blog, write about anything that blows your dress up, and if you're any good, you'll eventually draw an audience. Links from the Tall Dogs help, but they really aren't essential.

If you build it, they will come.

I'm going to celebrate my 4th Blog Birthday next month. Gut Rumbles has always been a labor of love for me. I've put a lot of work into what you see here, but it's been a lot of fun, too. Hell, I've stuck with this hobby for a long time and I still enjoy doing it. I don't intend to quit anytime soon.

I know that everything evolves (or mutates) over time. I hope this guy is wrong about what he sees happening now, but I always figured that it was just a matter of time before blogging lost its cherry and became a lot like an elite country club with exclusive membership instead of a mud-wrestling pit, where everyone was welcome to join.

I prefer the mud-wrestle myself.

But what the hell? I'm a troglodyte. It still think the 1957 Chevy Bel Air was one of the best, and prettiest, cars ever built. I still think the "designated hitter" rule sucks.

I also think professional football has lost its dignity because of egotistical players who demean the game with their selfish antics.

I would hate to see blogging go the same way.

My aching ass, II

My urologist still does this to me, even though I don't have a prostate gland anymore. I think the sadistic bastard just enjoys his work 'waaaay too much.

Of course, any doctor who would stick his finger up the Catfish Dookey Chute deserves every dime he's paid. I wouldn't go there with somebody ELSE'S finger, let alone mine.

My aching ass

WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! (update #3,555,888)

Global warming, that insidious bastard, is gonna melt the polar ice caps but freeze great britain by killing the Gulf Stream. Now THAT'S what I call a real two-fisted attack by Mother Nature.

I'm not making this shit up, either:

The powerful ocean current that bathes Britain and northern Europe in warm waters from the tropics has weakened dramatically in recent years, a consequence of global warming that could trigger more severe winters and cooler summers across the region, scientists warn today.

If you read the entire article, you'll notice that the scare-mongering headline kinda dwindles off into a We Really Don't Know A Damn Thing conclusion, but that crap is typical of environmental reporting today. When there's no there there, there's still a scare.

Besides--- the guy who led the study is trumpeting all the bad news. Go figure. He must be angling for some more grant money.

can you hear me now?

I remembered where I parked the car. It was right over there under the streetlight in the parking lot. I arrived at twilight and it was dark now, but I could see the car plain as day. I walked up to it and hit the "unlock" button on my keyless remote.

I heard a "click," and I tried to open the door. No go. The door was still locked. I hit the "unlock" button again. No click this time and the door still wouldn't open.

Hmmm... WTF was this?

I hit the "lock" and "unlock" buttons a couple of times and heard the distinct sound of a car door locking and unlocking. I tried the door again and it remained stubbornly locked. I stepped over under the streetlight to examine the remote to make sure I was pressing the right buttons. I was.

I turned around to go back to the car and try again when I saw it.

THERE was MY car, two spaces away from the one I was trying to steal gain access to. The clicks I heard were coming from OVER THERE! Evidently, my keyless remote has at least a 10-yard range on it.

I looked around furtively to make sure nobody was a witness to my colossal brain-fart. Quickly, I stepped over to MY car, got inside and drove away.

Bejus! That episode was no anomaly, either. I am stuck on stupid anymore. The feeling is quite disconcerting.

But it's better than being stuck on drunk.