Gut Rumbles

May 31, 2006


I rode with Recondo 32 from Tacoma, Washington all the way to Bluffton, South Carolina and I was in charge of the map the entire way. Recondo 32 drove the Shelby Mustang "Snake," and I navigated.

The rule when we started the trip was... "NO FUCKING INTERSTATES!!! We stay on the BACK ROADS!!! But...uh... try to find some decent back roads. Look for the...uh.. BIG RED lines on the map."

That "big red line" thing was no eye-crosser once we rumbled through Washington state on Highway 2. (The Cascades are beautiful.) After we crossed the Idaho panhandle and entered Montana, those big red lines were NO PROBLEM to follow, because there ain't that many of them in Montana.

Even at an average speed of 65 MPH, including the slowdowns for small towns (Pop. 28), where Recondo 32 obeyed the ridiculous speeed limits, we still took TWO DAYS to drive all the way across that state. It's BIG, people. And it's awesome to behold, too.

Once we hit America's breadbasket (Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri, Illinios, and Indiana) the big red lines on the map were EASY to read, because those states are laid out in straight lines and boxes, so that you KNOW when you're headed east. You can't SEE a got-dam thing except corn-fields, but at least you know that you're headed in the right direction.

I was an EXCELLENT navigator until we spent the night in Lexington, Kentucky. I somehow managed to lose the MAP, but I, by-Gawd, KNEW where we were by then, so we didn't NEED no stinkin' map to get back home.

That's how we ended up in West Virginia, but I don't want to talk about that...

I'm pretty good with a map, and I navigated us through West Virginia and right into Lewellen, Kentucky, the site of the coal mining camp where I was raised. Wasn't much there to see, so we rumbled off to North Carolina, where we spent the night in a motel that was hosting a "Classic Car Show."

Bejus! Recondo and I spoiled some of those fully restored old Bentleys and Reos by slobbering all over them as if they were nekkid wimmen. I saw an absolutely GORGEOUS 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air and I think I soiled my pants. I tried to talk Recondo into stealing it, but he wouldn't help me, the pussy.

THAT was a damn good-looking car... and so were the rest of them (almost 100 CLASSICS), but I digress...I'm just tryin' to give you a picture of what kind of adventures you probably WILL have on a trip like that one.

If YOU want to do it, let me know. I'm a damn good navigator.

i can't decide

I'm listening to a Lyle Lovett CD on my stereo right now. He may be as ugly as a mud fence with a wild hedge growing on top, but his music is interesting. I just don't know whether I like it or not.

When I hear one of his GOOD songs, I really, really like it. (Take "Pony On my Boat" for example.) But he's got some other shit in there that makes me wonder how in the hell THIS GUY ever became famous. Strange...

Do YOU have the same reaction to Lyle's music?

i'm sick of everybody

I have not been well for almost two weeks now. I'm talking about SERIOUS, FEEL-LIKE-I'M-GONNA-DIE sickness, and what I've managed to do during that time, other than cling grimly to survival, is make a few "friends" HATE ME because I didn't properly appreciate how much they "cared." At the risk of pissing those folks off even more, I have one thing to say:

With "friends" like YOU, I don't need enemies.

I KNOW that I have at least three wimmen pouting right now because I wasn't properly appreciative when they called me at fucking MIDNIGHT to ask me how I was doing when I quit blogging for a couple of days. Two of them are DOUBLY-PISSED because I didn't even bother to answer my phone when they called. In THEIR minds, I should have jumped right through my Cracker asshole and TALKED to them, no matter how inconvenient or painful it was for me to do at the time.

Somehow... I OWED them something.

What? WHAT do I OWE you? I am NOT unaccustomed to having a woman demand a check from me every month, and I've been paying THAT toll to the troll for five fucking years, despite the fact that I haven't seen or talked to my son since January. Talk to ME again about got-dam debt.

I became badly ill. I did not have a single ONE of the people who "cared" so much show up at my door and offer to nurse me back to health. Oh, no. I got fucking PHONE CALLS and I PISSED OFF some "caring" people when I said that I wasn't in the mood to talk, IF I answered the phone at all. They became very angry.

WTF was THEIR problem? THEY weren't puking their guts out and running a high fever. THEY weren't sweating, shivering and hallucinating at the same time. I WAS. But...

I should have leaped from my bed of affliction and shouted, "I'M CURED!!!" because somebody woke me from blessed sleep with a phone call. I should have said, "Thank Bejus you called!!! I feel MUCH better now!" ???? Gimme a break.

I've gotten along quite well by my own got-dam self for a while now, and I am convined that I can do it a little while longer the same way. If I need YOUR help, I'll ASK for it, and it will be a cold day in hell when THAT happens.

Some of you people MEAN well, but you're fucked in the head if you try to apply your version of "love" to someone like ME. I don't need it and I don't want it, especially when it's something that looks and smells a lot like fish food. I ain't a got-dam guppy in a fresh-water tank. I don't become hysterical over seeing crumbs in the water.

Plus, I have to wonder how much you really "care," when you become as angry as a wet wasp when I don't reciprocate with undying love for YOU over your "caring." What FOR??? Making a phone call ain't exactly like BEING THERE when I needed SOMEBODY.

When I had a hole in my gut and I KNEW that something was BAD wrong, I had to call 911 MYSELF and summon an ambulance to get my ass to the hospital and be rushed to emergency surgery. Who "cared" about that? Nobody but ME.

Just what the hell do you wimmen WANT, anyway?

I've got a sneaky feeling that it ain't ME, so let's fuggedaboudid. I could use a nurse, or a maid, but I don't WANT, CRAVE or NEED another wife. I would rather have a filthy kitchen than put up with another hormonally-crazed bitch in my life. I've TRIED that route. It was a bumpy road.

What I want most now is simple--- LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I'm okay taking care of myself without hauling any excess baggage around with me. And I ain't all that interested in sex anymore, which is bound to confuse some wimmen, because they still believe that THEIR pussy is the most precious commodity in the world. I should be willing to sell my SOUL for a piece of it.

Fuck that idea. I've SOLD MY SOUL already, in TWO marriages. I'm STILL paying CASH to a pure-ass CUNT for one of those failed attempts at normalcy, too. Pussy has been the cause of the greatest downfalls in my life, and I was taught to learn from my mistakes. I'm trying to now.

So... all you empaths, phone-sexers and pussy-peddlers can just kiss MY Cracker ass. I don't WANT what you're pushing, and I don't NEED it in my life at this moment. Hell, my sex drive is so low now that I don't even masturbate anymore. Besides, I've already had enough pussy to last most men five lifetimes. I don't REQUIRE any more.

And I damn sure don't require the head-problems that go hand-in-crotch with pussy. And I ain't talking about MY head problems, either, although I'll admit that I have plenty of 'em. It's just a simple fact that I have discovered through YEARS of research (and TENS OF THOUSANDS OF MY OWN DOLLARS spent on the discovery).

My conclusion is: ALL WIMMEN ARE CRAZY!!!

When you meet a woman for the first time, the only questions you need to ask yourself are--- "HOW crazy IS she?" (It's not a question of "IF") and "HOW MUCH will this one COST me for the pussy?"

Do I sound jaded and mysogonistic? Good. I MEANT to sound that way, because I AM jaded and sick and tired of pussy-toters. {Pussy always comes with a woman's head attached, and unless she's performing fellatio, that head is one spooky place.) Most wimmen make fire ants seem tame by comparison.

A lot of guys I know aren't much better, but at least they can pee outdoors while standing up. I'm sick of THEM, too.

Just leave ME the fuck alone.


Did you ever notice that people who call themselves "empaths" are anything BUT that? Did you ever notice that they profess their "love" for you by threatening to kill you? (out of empathy, of course) Did you ever notice how they leave shitty comments about you on other blogs, trash you own their own blogs and then get all pissed off when you mention their obvious assholery?

Did you ever WONDER about such people when they started to make phone calls and email other people that they didn't know, warning of orgies and threesomes that YOU never thought about but THEY "empathed" in their fevered imaginations before a blog-meet? Did you get a lot of flak from OTHER PEOPLE about what the "empath" had done?

Good. Neither have I.

But I'm not an "empath," so what do I know?

(And dear empath--- if you think I'm talking about YOU, you're just wrong, wrong, wrong. You're imagining things, the same way other people do when they call YOU somewhat... bizarre, like when you rant about ME and then say that you're NOT ranting about ME because you didn't mention any NAMES. But you still want to shoot ME. Just Dayum! Being an empath must really be rough, with that problem of keeping fantasy and reality all sorted out.)

Just try some more bananas and pancakes for breakfast.

(By the way... be sure and check the comments on this post to see how a REAL "empath" behaves when confronted with her own assholery. She STRIKES LIKE A SNAKE!!!! Calls me a drunk!!!! SAYS THAT I'M DRUNK NOW!!! TELLS THE WORLD that I'm drunk ALL THE TIME anymore. But that's just because, being such an empath, she FEELS MY PAIN!!!

See what I meant in that post?)

disturbing photo

Sometimes, I feel a little bit guilty about not crawling out of bed every morning at 0430, to shower, shave, dress and drive 28 miles to work at LEAST a 10-hour day at a job that I grew to hate more and more every day that I continued to do it. When those feelings hit me today, I usually supress them by taking a nap, or eating a Mexican popcicle.

Now I have another cure for my feelings of guilt. I can go see this picture and refresh my memory about what working in a corporate environment REALLY is like. Yeah. It SUCKS ASS.

Despite 20+ years of working in a corporate environment, I never did develop a taste for ass. The sad fact is... in THAT world, you can't be a "mover" if you don't Hoover... and I didn't. I'm just glad that I had the chance to bail out the way I did when I did.

I may not have a job anymore, but I have a MUCH better taste in my mouth.

no tobacco day

Did you know that today is World No Tobacco Day? Well, it is.

Some people call it a crock, but I don't. Just thinking about the WHOLE WORLD lovingly joining hands and bravely doing something symbolic about tobacco use just gives me a case of the warm fuzzies--- especially when I see countries such as uganda joining in the festivities.

Man, it's BEAUTIFUL, like something right out of a song by John Lennon. "Imagine all the people... living smo-oo--oke freee... ahHEyayaya.."

I think I'll celebrate by going to the store. I'm almost out of cigarettes.

give me a sign!

Maybe God IS a woman. With pms.

May 30, 2006

it's a big, shitty rat

Just damn! I thought the voracious tree rats of southeast Georgia were pestiferous pains in the ass, but they're purely darlin' compared to these critters.

Residents say the oversized rodents are swarming through the 75-unit development of manufactured homes near the airport of this Eastern Washington town, burrowing under homes, fouling front porches with their droppings and _ according to some unconfirmed accounts _ attacking people.

Many species of marmots, including some known as woodchucks and groundhogs, are found across North America. They are closely related to ground squirrels and are among the largest of rodents, some reaching 30 pounds. (emphasis mine)

Squirrels may raid bird feeders, pillage a garden or cause power outages by crawling into an electrical transformer, but I've never had one burrow under my house or shit on my front porch. And I'll bet a 30-pound rat can lay one hell of a turd.

Concerned about the droppings, which Bain said often are tracked indoors "even though you think you've cleaned it off," residents say officials in the Benton-Franklin Health Department have told them there's nothing the agency can do because the animals pose no public health risk, including the spread of infectious disease.

Police add that town ordinances prohibit residents from shooting the critters.

I dunno. If I lived in that community, I think I would have to see if my pellet rifle was enough gun to dispatch one of those things. And if it WAS, I would engage in a LOT of target practice. To hell with the town ordinance.

Of course, government is always there to help, by giving the residents more shit.

Officials in the state Department of Fish and Wildlife say residents likely will have to pay if they want to eradicate the infestation, and then only after clearing some bureaucratic hurdles. First, they must file a complaint with the agency's Yakima office, which then may refer them to a certified exterminator.

That's nice. It makes my idea of pellet guns look better and better. Besides, those marmots might make some pretty good eating.

If you cook the shit out of 'em.

the florida two-step


Maybe an alligator grabbed HER dog by the head and she's running for help. (Gators LIKE dogs.) Maybe she saw an alligator hungrily eyeballing HER, and she's using her emergency getaway technique.

Maybe she's trying to catch up with this guy--- but I think you'd see a brown stain in the water if she was chasing HIM after an alligator-sighting.

that's close

Water-bearers get into the habit of creating completely self-sufficient lives. Unfortunately, this makes it difficult for them to achieve intimacy. Basically, Aquarians are afraid that relationships will compromise their independence. Fortunately, these folks love to experiment. By treating intimacy as an exercise, this sign can relinquish control for the sake of loving relationships.

I don't have any faith in astrology, but that description of Aquarians fits me fairly well. Of course, I think I have ALL the bad habits, listed for EVERY sign of the zodiac.

I'm a multi-faceted kind of guy.

horror stories

Commenter Ruth Moran gave me this idea. Do YOU have a horror story about getting poison ivy? If you ever climbed mountains or ran the woods in your life, I'll bet that you do. I'll tell you what happened to ME:

I once went to visit my Cousin Ernie in Loyal, Kentucky. We loaded my car with a six-pack of beer, a .22 rifle and 200 rounds of ammo. Then, we drove to Lewellen, the place where the coal mining camp we were raised in once thrived. It's nothing but jungle now, but we could see the crossties still there, where the railroad man-trip used to haul miners to work.

We decided to climb it, fighting through the underbrush, all the way to the mine entrance. We DID, too--- stopping here and there along the way to drink beer, plunk away with the .22 and take an occasional piss. We fooled around up there until we ran out of beer and ammo, then we hiked back down the mountain.

We had a good time. But the next morning, we BOTH were covered ALL OVER with a horrible poison ivy rash. (And when I say ALL OVER, I'm not kidding. Remember how I said we stopped to take an "occasional piss" on the way up the mountain? Well, if you've got poison ivy juice on your hands and you grab your Roscoe to piss... guess where you ALSO get poison ivy?)

We both looked so bad and itched so bad that my Aunt 'Netta took us to the doctor. I got a cortizone shot and some pink lotion to smear all over myself. The rash dried up fairly quickly, but I was absolutely miserable for a couple of days.

The only sad part of the story is--- when I first was infected, my dick swelled up to three times its normal flaccid size, and if you could ignore the nasty, oozing, pus-filled RASH all over it, it looked like one got-dam impressive tool. But when the rash dried up and went away, so did my awesome appendage. It returned to normal dimensions.

I would have liked to get rid of the rash and KEEP my enhanced dick, but all in all, it was a fair trade. I damn sure didn't like having poison ivy all over my body, and my dick wasn't THAT small to begin with. (BWHAHAHAHAHAAAA!)

I also knew a guy at work who was crawling one of those climber tree-stands up a big pine tree when he crossed some poison ivy. One piece of the ivy flew up and hit him right IN THE EYE!!!

Bejus! You talk about UGLY? He resembled the Elephant Man. He ended up almost losing that eye before the doctors got the outbreak under control. (I am certain that he would rather have had poison ivy on his dick than in his eye. Looking at what happened to him, so would I.)

Try to top THOSE stories!

quote of the day

"Polygamy is pretty much its own punishment."--- kim du toit

Yeah, the idea of having multiple wives and getting them all in the sack at once for a Saturday Night Orgy may SOUND like a porno fantasy come true... but I want no part of it. I have enough trouble trying to live with ONE woman. Give me three or four and I probably would end up hanging myself from a tree in my own back yard. Or being gang-Bobbitted by a swarm of hormonally-crazed wimmen who all went on the rag at the same time.

Poligamy? No thank you...

more fear

The insidious menace of Global Warming simply never stops growing. Now, if we don't bake, drown or get blown away in a super-hurricane, we might itch to death from contact with mutant poison ivy.

CO2 is a "greenhouse gas" that not only heats up the planet, but also makes poison ivy grow bigger and more potent. That's dangerous.

Compared to poison ivy grown in usual atmospheric conditions, those exposed to the extra-high carbon dioxide grew about three times larger - and produced more allergenic form of urushiol, scientists from Duke and Harvard University reported.

I don't know what "usual atmospheric conditions" are, but this story scared the shit out of me. I think it was supposed to.

It's just too bad that increased CO2 levels in the atmosphere don't have the same effect on food crops, trees and flowers. That might be considered GOOD NEWS by some ignorant people, and we damn sure don't want THAT idea spreading.

It might present an... Inconvenient Truth.


Sometimes, the bad guys don't win when they pick on the wrong person.

Chesty Puller would be proud.

Of course, the story is a harsh indictment against the heartless cruelty of the Bush administration. The pregnant teenage girl killed in the ... uh... abortive robbery attempt obviously did not have medical insurance was driven to desperation by her need for pre-natal health care for her precious baby.

Yeah. Right.

May 29, 2006

government in action

If you aren't aware of this story, you should be. It's another example of how ethical, efficient and effective government is when it pisses away does "good" with taxpayer dollars.

Remember the $500 hammers our military purchased back during the Reagan administration? Of course you do! That story was trumpeted far and wide and it occasionally echos today. Reporters, politicians and pundits LOVED to paint the MILITARY as a bloated, wasteful, incompenent bunch of money-suckers.

That was easy and fun, because they never liked the military anyway. Hell, we'll be hearing about Enron for years, too. Corporations are almost as evil as the military in some warped minds. Which leads me to my question of the day. (And don't say "FEMA," because the post-Katrina flapdoodle was more anti-Bush than it was anti-bureaucracy.)

Why don't those same people display the same outrage over worse behavior in a government bureaucracy?

ignorant, superstitious, primitive villagers

Bird flu killed several members of a family in KUBU SIMBELANG, Indonesia. The tragedy is genuine, but the reaction by neighbors in that modern, sophisticated metropolis of Kubo Simblang reminded me of words I've heard before. See if YOU can't spot the similarities.

Ignorant, Superstitious, Primitive Villager: `We are so afraid just to step into that house,'' said a 37-year-old woman who identified herself only as Sembining. ``We can't tell what we're afraid of - we're just afraid.''

Sophisticated Environmentalist: "Noah was commanded to preserve biodiversity,"

Ignorant, Superstitious, Primitive Villager: ``I think the family was cursed,'' she said. ``It must be, because if it's bird flu, why only their family? Their blood?''

Sophisticated Enviro-God: "We are literally changing the relationship between the Earth and the Sun," he said. "It has the capacity to bring civilization itself to a dead halt."

Ignorant, Superstitious Villager: ``Therefore we are afraid of (letting doctors) take blood. Taking the blood, for me, symbolizes going to die.''

Sophisticated Enviro-Whack: "There is no longer any debate. The consensus is as strong as it ever gets in science." (...) current inhabitants of the Earth are facing a "collision between our civilization and the planet."

Well, they both agree on one thing. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid... because... WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!


In MY humble opinion, the five biggest problems facing this country today are:

1) Islamo-fascism. Anybody who does NOT believe that we're now at war with a religion, controlled by insane, murderous zealots bent on our total destruction, is a blithering idiot. It's not about ooooiiillll!!! It's not about Iraq or weapons of mass destruction. It's about the future of western civilization. And when we have people who can't stomach THAT fight, we've already lost.

2) Illegal immigration. We're in a War on Terror? Bullshit! I would have an easier time today carrying a nuclear bomb in a backpack across our southern border than I would have bringing a set of moustache-sissors on a domestic airplane flight. Something is terribly wrong with that picture. And this problem isn't about cheap labor, people seeking opportunity or the unscrupulious employers who hire them. It's about our government's utter failure to do its job. If we accept that kind of incompetence from government, don't be surprised when the illegals assimillate US instead of the other way around.

3) The inevitable collapse of Social Security. It's coming. What are we doing about it? Nothing. How does government respond to this LEGITIMATE crisis? It brain-farts a "free" prescription drug plan for seniors. Instead of putting out a fire, politicians pour gasoline on it. If the Islamo-fascists just wait, they won't need a jihad to destroy us. We'll do it ourselves.

4) Environmentalism. Bejus! Show me a "cause" which allows a lying, delusional Al Gore to become viewed as a holy prophet, and I'll show you a religion more fanatical than Islamo-fascism. Here's one Big Tent where avowed communists, crazed leftoids, die-hard Luddites, risk-averse soccer-moms, stale hippies, unwashed lunatics, shameless bullshit artists and The Flat-Earth Society can ALL gather to worship. And they DO, too, in the hope of destroying western civilization.

5) Political corruption. I think the IRS is out to get ME, because the $40,000 I PAID in 2004 income taxes wasn't enough to satisfy the rapacious appetite of government. If the Power of the State comes after ME, I'm just plain fucked. I'll lose everything I have and end up with my Cracker ass in JAIL, too, for "cheating" on my taxes and there will not be a politician in this WORLD who will touch MY CASE with a ten-foot pole. But let a congressman get caught with $90,000 in bribe cash stored in his freezer and HE'S suddenly a "victim." Congress is OUTRAGED!!! My aching ass. Do you suppose that he paid income taxes on THAT money? Where is the IRS on THIS case?

I'm sorry, folks. I once believed that WE were the good guys. I loved my country and I was PROUD to be an American. But I'm starting to re-think my previous position now. The same people who won't fight a war against western civilization don't mind waging a futile War on Drugs that does a lot more harm than good. The same people who won't protect our borders have no problem abusing the individual rights of actual CITIZENS in this country. The same people who want to terrorize oil company executives over imaginary "windfall profits" don't think twice about protecting an obvious low-life, bribe-taking crook in their OWN midst.

Costa Rica is looking better and better to me all the time.

May 28, 2006

Jawja has 'em

Go check out some invent an insect drawings by a budding Texas Picasso. He's a super-hero, too. I like the way his imagination works, but I live in the middle of Insect Central Command.

I'm pretty sure that I've seen "bumble flies" and "trumpet suckers" buzzing around my yard.

fighting gaia

I've never hit a woman in my life, but if I could get my hands on Mother Nature, I would wring her neck--- the merciless bitch. She has enough cruelty in one of her calloused little fingers to make both of my ex-wife look like saints, and THEY BOTH were bloodless... never mind...

I was mobile enough to drive to the grocery store yesterday, so I decided to water my garden while I was on such a roll. Gaia is doing her level best to kill everything I planted by blasting it with hellish heat and depriving it of water, but I'm not hopeless yet. I spread some fertilizer, I adjusted the range on my sprinkler to achieve maximum effect and I turned the water on.

I let it run for 16 straight hours. To hell with my water bill. I'm waging a got-dam WAR against Gaia, and sometimes you have to be willing to pay the price if you want to win a war. (Victory ain't supposed to be cheap, which is a harsh truth that leftoids will NEVER understand. THEY expect EVERYTHING to be "free.")

I turned the water off this morning and checked my garden.

IT'S A MIRACLE!!! All those droopy, wilting plants that appeared to be at death's door yesterday are perky and green today. Hell, I even picked a couple of bell peppers and three squash that I missed seeing when I was out there with Catfish the other day. (Those fruits of my labor probably were hiding under a layer of DUST before I laid on with the sprinkler.)

The corn still needs some attention, but I'm beginning to believe that all is not lost. If I keep watering like I just did, say... every couple of days for a while... I might actually make a go of that garden. If I DO, it'll be in spite of everything Gaia has done to wipe me out.

Of course, I'll end up harvesting some of the most expensive price-per-pound vegetables ever grown, but that's not the point. I'm winning the WAR, which is what really matters.

If I could get my got-dam camera to function properly, I would take some pictures today. It's pretty impressive to see what a little water will do for plants when they're thirsty.

Heh. If Gaia really IS my Earth-Mother, just call me Oedipus.

(By the way--- following that link to Cat's blog will give to a good Low Country Boil recipe.)

memorial day

I was intending to write a Memorial Day post, but I changed my mind after I read this one. I don't need to write now.

He says it all.

May 27, 2006

she nails it

Here's your war on drugs. If this information doesn't frighten you, you are an ass.

In FY 2005, DEA stripped domestic and foreign drug traffickers of nearly $1.9 billion in drug proceeds and revenue denied, which included $1.4 billion in asset seizures and $477 million in drug seizures. (emphasis mine)

That's the New American Gestapo, folks. And they also are why people like ME, who suffer chronic pain, have such a difficult time finding effective treatment. I like the way Libby put it: "The savings on harm reduction are slated to be added to their harm enhancement program -- the harassment of pain management physicians."

War on drugs, my ass. This crap is all about power and money.

(By the way... the DEA is about as effective at winning the War on Drugs as the Border Patrol is at catching mexicans.)

window views

I think the guy spends too much time hyperventilating and developing the vapors now to be an interesting daily read anymore (C'mon, Andrew!!! What did Focus on the Family do that's any different from what Greenpeace, PETA and even the DNC do EVERY got-dam day? Those are called press releases, or letter campaigns and the practice wasn't invented yesterday, for cryin' out loud.)

But... I digress. You don't have to read his petulant rants. Just scroll down the page and keep looking at the "View From My Window" pictures. I think that those are pretty damned interesting.

We live in a beautiful world. It's too bad that we've got a lot of ugly people in it.

this ain't funny

If anyone ever did this to me and I didn't die of a heart attack or kill myself in a car wreck, I would spend the rest of my life tracking the sumbitch down so that I could beat him to death with a baseball bat. I SWEAR, I would.

That kinda shit AIN'T funny.

quote of the day

Just go read the whole thing.

In MY humble opinion, unions in American manufacturing today are destroying their own rank-and-file by clinging to a 1920s mentality in a 2006 environment. The union "leadership" would rather sink bellowing like a dinosaur in a tar pit and DIE rather than face a changing world.

That kind of thinking isn't good for ANYBODY.


I met the guy at the Austin Blog-Meet. He does not LOOK like a dirty old man. But, he is.

See what I mean?

(I would highly recommend a caption contest for that photo, but it's his blog and not mine, so...)

embarassing moment

I finally emerged from the Crackerbox today, which I haven't done for about a week now. I didn't feel like doing it, but I HAD to. I was completely out of several household essentials, including milk, eggs, butter, garbage bags and cigarettes. Plus, I had no more fruit juice, Coke or Mountain Dew in my refrigerator. I mounted up and went to Kroger's.

I bought my necessaries, and threw in some Mexican popcicles, a bag of blue corn tortilla chips, a case of Ensure and a bottle of OTC Pepcid. Catfish told me when he dropped by the other day that green peanuts from Florida were hitting the grocery stores now, so I ventured to the produce section (I needed lettuce, too) and I found 'em.

Shit!!! $1.79 a pound!!! That's steep, but not THAT steep for this time of year. The peanuts looked pretty good, too. I opened one and it was full, so I loaded a plastic produce bag with about five pounds of them. I twisted the top of the bag shut and placed it carefully in my buggy.

I must not have been careful enough. The side of the plastic bag split open and green peanuts spilled EVERYWHERE!!!! The sumbitches clattered through the mesh bottom of the buggy, hit the floor and went rolling, bouncing and spinning all over the place.

Just GREAT!!! Withered old ladies, fat mobile-home dwellers and bratty children ALL stopped what they were doing to STARE at me as green peanuts kept spilling from my buggy. I looked down at the mess, picked up the bag with a few peanuts still clinging to the plastic and tossed THAT defective bastid into the onion bin.

Then, I tried again, this time after grabbing a handful of those pissant, suck-ass, flimsy, Korean-made, plastic-see-through containers and TRIPLE-BAGGING before I reloaded. I got THOSE peanuts into my buggy without another embarassing incident.

As I crunched my way through the spilled peanuts, I saw a pimply-faced young man in a Kroger's red vest. He was stocking hamburger buns over in the bread aisle. I told him, "You need to call for a cleanup detail over in produce. Somebody spilled green peanuts all over the floor. A customer may slip and fall on that mess." He thanked me and went to see to it. I didn't mention that I was the one who made the mess.

But it really wasn't MY fault. It was THEIR fault for offering shitty, shoddy produce bags. At least I reported the spill. Still, the scene was very embarassing.

The good news is... I bought everything I set out to buy. The peanuts are cooking on the stove as I write and they smell GOOD. I am sipping on a warm Mountain Dew and my belly doesn't hurt at all, not since I ate three OTC Pepsid.

I just hope that the peanuts are better than the got-dam bags they came in.

little pitchers and big ears

I had to chuckle when I read this post. Young'uns (at least the BRIGHT ones) spend a lot of their formative years trying to make sense out of a VERY confusing world. Lacking the life-experience or the wisdom of old farts mature adults, they do the best they can with limited resources.

"Raisin Brain?" Yeah. Makes PERFECT sense to me, especially when you consider how much a raisin resembles a tiny, dried brain. Kids can put THAT kind of 2+2 together, then take the next logical step and figger out that raisin=poop, after you've attempted to explain dietary fiber.

Kids HAVE a "raisin brain," and they USE IT in strange ways as parents try "raisin'" THEM.

Once, years ago, my Uncle Virgil was spoiling babysitting his six year-old grandaughter and he fed her a frozen fudgepop. She ate it with great gusto, and she ended up with a chocolate-colored mess smeared all over her mouth, cheeks, nose and chin. Virgil wet a rag with some warm water and said, "Amber, come here. I wanna wash your face off."

Amber RAN SCREAMING!!!! The little girl was TERRIFIED, and she finally threw herself into my Aunt Peggy's arms while crying, "Mamaw!!!! Don't let Papaw do it!!! Don't let him DO IT!!!!" Stunned by the outburst, Virgil stood there with a wet rag in his hand and wondered just what the hell he had done to frighten the child so badly.

The explanation was simple, if you look at it from a kid's point of view. Virgil said, "I wanna wash your face off," meaning that he intended to clean up the chocolate-colored mess she wore.

But that's not what Amber thought. She heard, "I wanna wash your face... OFF!!!" which meant (to her) that she wouldn't have a face anymore once Papaw was finished with her. NO WONDER the kid ran screaming. Even at the age of six, she wanted to have a face. She didn't want it WASHED OFF!!!

You've got to be careful how you explain things to kids. What seems simple to YOU is all new to THEM, and a communication breakdown is likely to occur if YOU aren't paying attention to what you say, because you can bet your sweet ass that THEY ARE.

Sometimes, raisin-brained adults forget that simple fact.


I WOULD be all laid-back--- if my shoulders didn't hurt every time I tried to. (lay back, I mean) I also would be Captain America his ownself--- if my government didn't disgust me so much today. And I can't see myself making a fortune from a dope-deal when I can't even find a got-dam doctor to prescribe pain medication for me now.

Naw, this is a shitty quiz. The TRUE "classic movie" that is MY life right now would be George Romero's original Night of the Living Dead.

i still ain't right

I'm still sick. Not like I WAS--- because I'm not barfing every half-hour and I'm not running hallucination-generating fevers anymore--- but I still ain't right. I keep having these semi-relapses, where I start to sweat, feel queasy, develop a curl-into-a-fetal-position stomach ache and think I'm starting to get sick all over again.

But the symptoms go away if I drink some milk and chew on a couple of antacid tablets. That's GOOD, because I feel better. But that's BAD, because I'm afraid that my got-dam ulcer is back.

Whatever this crap is, it's lasted for a week now. It's not as SEVERE as it was, but it damn sure hasn't gone away. And I've lost even MORE weight as a result. Before this malady struck, I appeared gaunt. Now, I look downright emaciated. My shoulders still hurt like hell, too.

Just damn!

don't want no short people--- in jail

I oppose Affirmative Action. I oppose government set-asides, quotas, unequal rights in the name of equality, or any other kind of special privileges granted to political grievance groups because of their "victim" status. When government engages in that kind of bullshit, it doesn't solve any problems. It merely creates more "victims," who whine about wanting THEIR share of "fairness," too.

Why is anyone suprised or outraged to see this kind of logic coming from a judge? It's not idiocy. It's COMPASSION!

A judge's decision to sentence a 5-foot-1 man to probation instead of prison for sexually assaulting a child has angered crime victim advocates who say the punishment sends the wrong message.

But supporters of short people say it's about time someone recognizes the unique challenges they face.

See? The guy may be a piece of child-molesting scum, but he's SHORT, and when deciding his sentence, the judge was correct to consider the "unique challenges" he could face in prison. After all, he might be molested in there.

"I'm concerned about the message this sends to victims and perpetrators," said Marla Sohl with the Nebraska Domestic Violence Sexual Assault Coalition, adding that it shows more concern is being placed on the criminal and his safety in prison than the victim.

But Joe Mangano, secretary of the National Organization of Short Statured Adults, agreed with the judge's assessment that Thompson would face dangers while in prison because of his height.

When you have one victim's group arguing with another victim's group about who is the bigger victim, you NEED a judge to figure it out. As President of the Southeast Jawja Organization of Short People with Thinning Hair and Funny Accents, I applaud this decision.

I also wonder how I can use it to keep MY Cracker ass out of jail one of these days.

the tip of the iceberg?

Something more than what meets the eye is happening here. When congress-critters from BOTH political parties circle the wagons TOGETHER, they're trying to hide something BIG.

I don't buy their suddenly deep concerns about the Constitution, either. The assclowns never let something as trivial as the Constitution slow them down when they wanted to pass ridiculous legislation infringing on MY rights, so why are they acting so holy and evangelical now?

It certainly can't be because they are shocked... shocked!... by the idea of a crooked Louisiana politician taking bribes (finding an HONEST Louisiana politician would be a lot MORE shocking), so I've gotta wonder--- what's REALLY happening here?

I don't want to sound like some kind of tinfoil-hat conspiracy-theorist here, but something in this milk just ain't clean.

(UPDATE: Here are some lawyer notes, which explain clearly why all the doofus-talk about congressmen being immune from search warrants or the notion that we're looking at an abuse of executive power here is pretty damned ignorant of both the law AND history. But a lot of that talk is coming from congressmen and newspaper reporters, so what ELSE do you expect?)

May 26, 2006

it's perfect!

I'm gonna add a new word to my already vast vocabulary. I really like it:


dry as a popcorn fart

My friend catfish dropped by the Crackerbox to pay me a visit yesterday. I think a lot of people have been emailing and calling him, requesting that he check up on me to verify that I was still breathing. Well, he DID and I AM, so y'all quit bugging him now.

Cat wanted a few green tomatoes for some kind of pickled concoction that he and Nancy intended to make, so we went out to my garden to pick some. Bejus! That was a heart-breaking experience.

Being somewhat sickly of late, I haven't been back there in damn near a week. During that time, we've had 90+ degree temperatures every day and nary a drop of rain. My "garden" now looks like a parched, arid desert, dry as dust. Even the damned WEEDS are wilting.

We picked a few tomatoes and I turned on the sprinkler, but it may be too late to save some of the plants. I think a lot of 'em baked to death while I was laid up. I shouldn't be surprised. Even the grass in my yard is turning brown and it crunches when you walk on it. We're having a serious spring drought--- as bad as any I can remember here in southeast Georgia.

It really IS as dry as a popcorn fart. I should be able to salvage SOME of what I planted (I still have a lot of tomatoes, although they appear to have gone on a growth-strike), but it's looking kinda bad out there now. I'm gonna have to pour the water to it and hope for the best.

I blame Global Warming.

that's a big fish

I've caught a lot of hammerhead sharks while deep-sea fishing. Hell, I've seen people catch 'em by surf-fishing at the beach. But never anything like this monster. GOT-DAM!!!

Dennis, who was using 130-pound test line, and three friends fought the 14 1/2 foot shark for five hours and it dragged his boat about 12 miles offshore before they got it aboard.

The biggest hammerhead shark that I've ever seen up close and personal was about 1/4 that size. And I thought that THAT one was a big, ugly bastard. The story doesn't mention HOW they got that monster "aboard," but that would be a very dangerous undertaking if they didn't kill the sumbitch first.

(Thanks to this charming guy for the link.)


I dunno about this test. As far as being a "revolutionary" goes, I think I'm a lot more like lenny bruce than I am Che Guevara, although the idea of dying on a mountain DOES appeal to me. (It beats dying in the bathroom, which I thought I was gonna do recently.)

Internet quizzes--- something to post when you're too damn lazy to write anything.


WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!! Again. This time because the jet streams are shifting, which will make deserts expand all the way to Salt Lake City... or something like that.

You can't deny The Truth when it is so obvious: "It is a plausible thing that could be happening..."

WHY would this plausible thing maybe, perhaps, possibly be happening? Reichler suspects global warming is the root cause of the shift, but said he can't be certain.


You're blinding me with science!!!!

bad drivers

I've ranted before about pecker-headed drivers and the insane things I've seen them do on the road. Heh. this guy made headlines because he was driving with his feet.

What's the big deal? I see LOTS of wimmen driving with their knees while they apply makeup, yak on a cell phone, tailgate the vehicle in front of them and sip a Starbuck's latte, all at 70 MPH. Unlike THOSE oblivious cretins, the man at least had a good excuse for driving with his feet. He didn't have any arms.

Those other folks just don't have any brains.

moon pies

The truth is, I never liked moon pies, either. But I DID like RC Cola.

good for him!

With a wife and family, bills to pay and groceries to buy, a man needs a set of steel balls to quit a job he's been doing for years and try something else. I hope everything works out for him.

He's already beginning to see the fringe benefits of his career-change. That's good.

Some things are worth more than money can buy.

May 25, 2006

can't you smell that smell?

This crap stinks all the way to high heaven. WTF??? Legal searech warrants don't apply to congress-critters?

This is delusional. Congress had a chance to come out swinging against corruption—to demonstrate, amid a slew of tawdry scandals, its recognition that public officials are subject to the same laws as ordinary citizens (emphasis mine).

What a crock! If this isn't a duck-and-cover move, I've never seen one before. It's also arrogant, disgusting, unethical and probably unconstitutional. But---HEY!... we're talking congress here. What else do you expect?

We may not have a king, but we've sure got us some royalty in this country. And they often behave like the products of extensive inbreeding. With such "leaders," we're all fucked.

Just damn! I think we need another revolution.

like the moon in the trees

Did you ever lay semi-asleep in the woods when the fire was burning low and your camping buddies were all snoring? Did you ever look up at the sky and watch the clouds perform mime-routines in the light of the moon? Did you ever close your eyes and listen to the "quiet" of the forest?

Could you "hear" the moon in the trees?

Did you ever see a DOZEN of those hairless salamanders in the North Carolina mountains--- up there where those prehistoric and skinless LIZARDS make a noise like a stameding herd of wild hogs when they run like lemmings into your CAMPFIRE AT NIGHT???? When the fucking MOON is in the trees?

When you didn't have to POKE them into the flames with your fire-stick as you screamed like a girl, and while your drunken buddies just kept snoring and left you to fend for yourself?? When those ick! ick! ick! things ran right across your farking LEG, and you pissed a stain in your pants, and the damn things KEPT RUNNING right into the fire? Where they curled up and resembled burnt popcorn?

Huh? Remember how stoned you were? And how you dragged a burnt lizard on a stick out of the fire, studied it for a moment, SNIFFED IT and ATE IT???? Just to see what it TASTED LIKE??? To see if you COULD??

'Cause there was like.... nobody else around to see you do it and you NEVER told anybody about it... so it was almost like it never happened? And it tasted okay!!! And you thought right then that if you ever got really hungry in the woods, you could eat one of them sumbitches RAW.

Naw, I never did, either.

But a gray silver-headed old man once told me that a lot of campers are missing out on the delicious taste of Burnt Wild, Prophalytic-Looking, Skinless, Bug-Eyed, Running, Leaping, Lemming-Lizard, Nasty Bastards on a STICK, because they've never tried one.

(Wanna know what inspired this post? I'm cooking a hamburger, at damn near 2:00 in the morning, and it smells GOOD. That'll be the first soild food I've had for a while, if I can handle it. I figure that I've either slept, puked or wandered a mental twilight zone for about 62 of the last 72 hours. NOW I'm hungry!!!)

I SHALL RISE--- like the moon in the trees. Might even burn my lizard.

May 24, 2006

object lesson

I've done a lot of training in my life. In fact, I once was a CERTIFIED INDUSTRIAL TRAINER, and I received a certificate for that lofty title, which I hung in a frame on my office wall for everyone who entered my inner sanctum to worship properly.

Wanna know how I "earned" that gold-embossed thing? I answered a questionaire, sent my answers off in the mail (with a $200 check that my company paid for), and LO!!! BEHOLD!!! I became CERTIFIED!!!!

The most important question I answered in that bullshit "test," was... ARE YOU GONNA SEND US $200 DOLLARS????

I was a good trainer. That fucking certificate didn't make me any different than what I was before I got it. My bosses LOVED it, but other people who WEREN'T good trainers received the same thing when THEY couldn't teach somebody how to open a jar of peanut butter. They just paid $200 and got a piece of paper to show for it.

NEVER trust an "expert." Those assholes fall out of Crackerjack boxes today, if they haven't found a nice job in government first.

hold on tight!!!

I was so sick a couple of times lately that I thought, "I'M GONNA DIE!!!" Then, I thought..."So WHAT?" That thought didn't bother me AT ALL. I kinda wanna see what's on "the other side," if there's anything there to see.

When that feeling of impending doom grabbed me by the throat the FIRST TIME (I fell out of a tree from about 20' up, hit the ground flat on my back and saw all of my "friends" running away), death TRIED to shake me, and I WAS afraid. I was eight years old when I first felt that cold hand trying to wrap around my throat. I've become accustomed to it since then. And it doesn't frighten me anymore.

I remember going to Aunt Chassies's farm, WAY back in the Kentucky mountains when I was young. We youngun's all piled into the beds of a couple of pickup trucks and we were told to HOLD ON TIGHT, because if you fell out, NOBODY was coming back to pick your sorry ass up.

This was a NO PUSSY BRIDGES kinda trip. The trucks either made it across the creeks in a rooster-tail of spray, or they DIDN'T. And GAWD HELP YOU if you got stuck, because you either made it out by yourself, or you had to unload your young'uns, make 'em walk barefoot through the creek, while somebody ELSE with a come-a-long made a BACKTRACK to pull your ass out. And you were the butt of every joke around the supper table that evening.

That kinda discipline would be called CHILD ABUSE today, if some asshole shrink from Naw Yawk who never pissed in the bushes had HER way. That was ADVENTURE to me. Lemme tell you what that experience taught me!

Hold on tight.

That was NOT a bad lesson. It has served me well through a LOT MORE than crossing creeks on a prayer, being treed by a bull, being attacked by a mad rooster in the henhouse, or being scratched by a cat that didn't want any petting. I learned to HOLD ON TIGHT!!!

I've done stupid things on a farm. I've done stupid things in my life. Still... I believe that LIFE is like living on a farm. You reap what you sow, but sometimes.... you've just gotta challenge that mean-ass bull. And you've just GOTTA cross that creek.

But WHEN YOU DO... be ready to hold on tight. And don't bitch when the bull throws you and gores you. And if your truck gets stuck in the creek, don't blame Bejus because YOU don't know how to drive.

THINK about it. YOU asked for it.


I LIKE my commenents and I don't intend to shut them down. But when I see some fucking idiot giving witch-doctor advice and ANOTHER commenter picks a FIGHT with her---- and we end up with a WITCH DOCTOR FORUM---- please.... just like the late-night phone calls.

Don't do that shit in MY house.

Recondo 32's lovely wife, Georgia INSISTS that if I drink certain herbal teas and soak my feet in sacred water, blessed by a voodoo priestess in Frogmore, South Carolina, ALL of the toxins will be SUCKED out of my body, as soon as I kill a big-ass cricket and bury him under a hickory stump on a night with a full moon.

When I do THAT, I will NEVER hurt again.

Her advice is as good as any I've heard from YOU folks. And about as good as any I've heard from MEDICAL DOCTORS lately.

Beejus! THAT'S what I've got to look forward to?

yes... it's beejus!!!

I have MET the man, and it's no lie...

He looks exactly like his picture.

But I still believe that Bill Murray's hairdresser took him on for a client. His hair is thinner than MINE, but HE disguises it better. But ya gotta admit--- he looks as cool as anything you'd see on the Las Vegas Strip when he's in his Frank Sinatra mode. I am TOTALLY impressed with "Mr. Debonaire."

Got-dam! Who WOULDN'T be?

i'll try anything

I'm looking SERIOUSLY at acupuncture to help the pain I feel every day. I'll try ANY got-dam thing in the shape I'm in now.

I was very sick for the past few days. After enduring some terrible shit, I developed a slight appetite and I knew EXACTLY what I wanted. It was a can of "Chunky Chicken Soup" that I knew was in my cabinet. I opened the cabinet door and sure enough, there it was.

But I couldn't reach it. When I raised my right arm, the pain put me on my knees. I tried with my LEFT ARM. No fucking difference. I COULD NOT reach a can of soup in my own goddam cabinet.

Oh, don't get me wrong... I GOT that sumbitch! BY GAWD, I'll FIND a way... which involved, in this case, taking a got-dam broom handle, knocking the can off the shelf, watching it bounce offa my kitchen stove and then dent the tile on my kitchen floor when it finally hit the ground.

I picked it up, opened it, poured it into a bowl, heated it in my microwave and then... I ATE IT!!!! VICTORY!!!!

This is a TRUE story, yet it's complete bullshit in MY humble opinion.

I should not have to live this way. And any fucked-up "War on Drugs" or "For the Children" crap is flushing 100 years of civilized medicine down a politically-correct commode. Either drug me, fix me or KILL ME. That's what I WANT!!!! And I'll willingly accept whatever option offered to me right now.

Why can't I find a got-dam doctor who isn't afraid to do one of the three?

Oh... I forget... government....

I'm alive, part II

I have been VERY sick for the past... shit, I was so sick that I don't remember how long it was. I still don't feel well at all, but I'm ALIVE, if you can call this living. So stop bugging ME, my family, my friends or ANYBODY ELSE about, "How is Rob doing?" If I wanted YOU to fucking know, I'd tell you myself.

I want to make a couple of announcements here:

#1-- I DO NOT HAVE CALLER ID!!!! No, unlike every other "civilized" person on the face of the planet anymore, I don't know in advance whothefuck is calling me until I pick up the phone. That's why I OFTEN DO NOT PICK UP THE PHONE!!! It ain't no personal insult delivered at YOU.

#2--- I DON'T LIKE TO TALK ON THE PHONE!!! That's why I OFTEN DO NOT ANSWER WHEN IT RINGS!!! If you listen to the message on my answering machine, it is simple, honest and to the point. "I'm not answering the phone right now. You know the drill: Hear the beep, leave a message." If that pisses you off, I'm sorry. Get over it, or don't call back.

#3--- I WILL call you back if you left an important message. You know how often THAT happens? About once in a blue moon. 99.9% of the phone calls I receive are from telemarketers, "friends" just wanting to bullshit because they are bored, or fucking WRONG NUMBERS!!! THAT'S WHY I don't jump through my Cracker ass to answer every time the phone rings.

#4--- I spent about 20 years of my life feeling my blood run cold every time the phone rang at home, especially at night or on weekends. That's because I received A WHOLE LOT of calls from work, and those were NEVER good news. In fact, a LOT of them involved a crisis bad enough that I had to crawl out of my warm bed, get dressed and drive to the plant at 2:00 AM. Like Pavlov's dog, I developed a conditioned response to phone calls. But unlike the dog, I learned to expect SOMETHING OTHER than a treat when I heard one. That's why I still DO NOT like phone calls today.

#5--- Unlike most other "civilized" people today, I don't have a phone in every got-dam room of my house. I have ONE PHONE, in my living room. (When I retired from work, I swore that I NEVER would have a fucking phone in my bedroom again, and I kept that oath-- see the reason above.) I also keep that ringy-dingy-thingy turned down as low as it will go so that I CANNOT HEAR IT when I am asleep in my bedroom. I do that for MY BENEFIT, not to INSULT YOU!!!

#6--- I've had some really bad health problems over the past few years. I just went through another one. I personally think that a lot of you people have incredible nerve to call someone VERY sick just to ask, "How are you doin'?" Would you REALLY feel better if I crawled to my ONE FUCKING PHONE, while I vomited and shitted all the way, to tell YOU that "I ain't doin' so good?" So that YOU could reply, "AW... I'm soooooo sorry, you poor baby."

#7--- If I need YOUR help when I'm sick, I'll call YOU!!!! Is that a concept so foreign to people with phone addiction that they can't understand it? If YOU feel a tremendous nursing impulse, an instinct you simply cannot deny, then try something TOTALLY DIFFERENT!!! Come to the patient's house, ring the doorbell and see if he WANTS your help, before you bug the living shit out of a sick man at all hours of day and night with PESTIFEROUS PHONE CALLS!!!

#8--- I am certain that all you people who bugged the shit out of me with pestiferous phone calls when I was deathly ill, MEANT WELL--- but you did me a lot more harm than good. Please---- don't EVER do that again.

#9--- Now, I am going to try to drink a Carnation Instant Breakfast and see if I can get some decent sleep if I can keep that concoction down. I am tired, I am sore all over, I wobble when I try to walk, I haven't eaten, showered or shaved in three or four days, and I probably ought to be in the hospital right now. But I'm NEVER going back to one of those places again. Unless it's the only way I can stop people from CALLING ME ON THE PHONE!!!

#10--- I ain't dead. That's all YOU need to know.

May 23, 2006

He's Alive...

Dad is okay. He's not feeling too good right now and asked me to post for him. He did say he was better today than he has been last few days. If you would, send some good thoughts his way.


May 19, 2006

we're from the IRS, and we're here to help you

I'll admit that 2004 was a confusing year for my income taxes. I took a lump-sum retirement and I rolled over a hefty 401-K account into an IRA. I talked with TWO fricking accountants and I called Oklahoma City SEVERAL times to try and learn about my tax obligations.

I never got a straight answer from ANYONE, because I am convinced that tax laws today confuse them as much as they do me. I was NOT trying to cheat. In fact, I let the feds have $40,000 of MY money, that I spent 23 FARKING YEARS earning. And I by-gawd earned it, too. THEY didn't.

Now, I get THIS letter in the mail:

Dear Robert M. Smith:

"Thank you for your response on April 1st, 2006. We will contact you again within 30 days to let you know what action we are taking. If you owe any additional tax, you should consider paying it now, because we will charge interest on any unpaid account."

What the fuck do I owe? THEY don't know, and neither do I. How about ME sending THEM a letter that says, "I paid you $40,000 for NOTHING in 2004. How about kissing MY Cracker ass and leaving ME alone? Plus, I want INTEREST from the money you confused bastids can't handle but you STOLE from me."

I can see it now: I'm gonna end up in jail over this.

delicious food

I considered porkchops, biscuits and brown gravy a damned TREAT when I was young. That was a hog-out, eat-till-your-belly-hurt, WONDERFUL meal, especially if mama made some home-fried potatoes to go with it.

I remember MANY times, coming hone from football practice after dark and smelling that aroma, knowing damn good and well that I was gonna FEAST, if my daddy didn't eat it all first. "YOU snooze, YOU lose" was something he said to me often. BURRP! "Ask your mama to make you some eggs."

The day before mama died, I remember visiting her at Hospice, and I held her hand. Bejus. She was bruised, fucked-up and purple from all the needles that had been stuck in her. I KNEW that she was dying, but I didn't know what to say.

"Mama, I love you..." I started, and she said, "I know that, but you've been a real pain in my ass sometimes."

THAT was my mama. And she cooked the best pork chops, biscuits and gravy that I EVER tasted.

you choose

I get a lot of emails from people who are home-schooling their children, because they have lost all faith in the ability of public schools to teach anything today. I can't say that I blame them for thinking that way.

I HAD a public school education, 40 years ago, and what I learned THEN is NOTHING like what is taught NOW. I was expected to read and write--- to diagram a sentence and do MATH equations. The HORROR!!!

I was forced to take classes instead of environmental brain-washing. I had to dissect a frozen CAT in physiology, which I took in HIGH SCHOOL, instead of learning to recycle my garbage to "save the planet."

I still have nightmares about the smell of that dead cat and the SIX GODDAM KITTENS she had in her belly when I cut her open for the first time. I took that class right before lunch. It put me off of "potato pie" for a long time.

Have YOU ever been 17 years old, cut open a dead CAT and picked through SIX fetal kittens while your teacher told you to notice the swollen lactose glands on the mother? If you've never done that, blow me. I HAVE.

I knew right then and there that I never wanted to be a doctor. That was some ugly shit to deal with right before lunch. Now, when I NEED a doctor to fix what's wrong with me, they treat me like a dead cat, with NO got-dam mind of my own.

I AIN'T a dead cat. But I might as well be.

the dog next door

Before Ron and his family left on vacation today, he said, "I've SEEN you feeding my dog before. He doesn't even BARK at you anymore."

I corrected Ron. I said, "That dog barks at EVERYBODY. He just doesn't bark HARD at ME anymore. And yeah, I'm guilty of feeding him steak-bones and such, because he's a pretty good dog. He gets lonely in that big back yard of yours, and sometimes he's glad to see me when nobody else is around. I'll take care of him while you're gone."

After they left on vacation today, I walked over and offered the dog some good food and fresh water. He liked THAT, so I sat down on the grass and petted him. I told him that I was his keeper for the next week or so, and he seemed happy with that idea, because he licked and slobbered all over my face.

Cats NEVER do that.

racist bastard

My next-door neighbor, who happens to be BLACK, saw me outside today and came over to visit. I told him that I was all pissed off because I had not yet seen his new baby. He gave out a yell to his wife, and SHE came over with the child, who resembled a... well, baby and she thrust that youngster into my arms.

The child burst out screaming. I said, "I sometimes have that effect on young'uns. She'll like me better when she gets older."

Got-dam! I haven't held an infant in my arms for YEARS now, and I don't remember EVER being good at it in my younger days. I sucked at it today, too.

They asked me to watch their house, feed their dog and collect their mail while they are gone for a week. Being the racist bastard that I am, I called them the N-word and told them to go screw themselves.

THAT'S how I am. Except for feeding their dog, collecting their mail and keeping an eye on their house while they're gone. Ron told me that I touched a live wire in his son's head when I told him about writing for money. For a virulent racist, I don't do too badly sometimes.

Those people like me, they trust me, and they gave me a massage machine to try out on my shoulders. They also expect me to watch their house for a week.

I'll do it--- but I'm SUCH a racist that I don't understand why they asked ME, when they could have had Jesse Jackson do that job.

YOU go figure.

May 18, 2006

she meant well

From my emails:

Rob, I'm sorry you feel bad. I will send you some drugs if you want them. I have extra-strength Tylenol, some buffered aspirin and some kind of little yellow pill that I think is either a muscle relaxer or maybe a sleeping pill. Those are about six years old, so I think you might have to take a bunch to feel anything.

I have your mailing address (Ha! Ha!) but I've never sent drugs in the mail before. Can I be arrested for that? How do I send them? I'm not asking for any money. I just want you to feel better.

See? I have spammers bugging me and NOW I have a pusher tryin' to get me hooked on buffered aspirin. What the hell. I told her (Ha! Ha!) to send me the little yellow pills. I'll take a bunch and tell HER what they are... or WERE... or whatever.

Good friends are hard to find.

decision time

I've gotta make a choice, and I ain't sure what I'm gonna do. I know good and well that I AM NOT going back to the doctor for another torture physical therapy session, and I know good and well that I can't stand the pain I'm feeling now.

I read this scare-you-to-death article in the Savannah Morning News yesterday that said prescription pain medication abuse is an "epidemic" today, and THE CHILDREN are taking them, so we've gotta cut that shit OUT. Doctors are in fear of having the feds investigate them and take their licenses if they write script today.

My aching ass. Do ALL laws exist "for the children" anymore, or do we have ADULTS running this country? I'll be damned if I know.

I hurt. I have something chronic wrong with me, and it is affecting my life BADLY. But if I see a doctor, he pretty much says, "Suck it up and pay me $150 a visit to tell you to... well...suck it up some more." Fuck that.

I have another question: if you go to the doctor and almost EVERY question Nurse Ratched asks is about your INSURANCE, do you REALLY think she gives a shit about how bad you feel? Do you get the feeling (which only adds to your pain) that's you're being milked like a COW? That it's all about MONEY?

Naw. Me, neither.

But I WILL NOT live as I am much longer. And THAT is a promise.

surprise, suprise

I first took the PSAT in 1968, and I scored well on it. I was hung-over and half-comatose when I took the SAT a year later. I still scored high enough to get into any college that I reasonably expected to accept me.

I obtained a four year degree and then went to graduate school. I took the GRE exam to get into the University of Georgia, and I blew the doors offa it. (I didn't have to do any math.)

I read this and I weep. I wonder WHY test scores have plummeted... yeah, right. We put the federal government in charge of education, got the screaming willies when black kids from the ghetto couldn't compete and dumbed-down EVERYTHING to make education "equal" instead of effective.

I've seen the shit being taught in public schools today, and it's more indoctrination than education. I have READ seventh-grade "Social Studies" books (they don't teach HISTORY anymore, because that's all about Dead White Men and memorizing dates, which is worthless) and I "learned" that some mooga-booga king in darkest Africa invented the helicopter 400 years before the birth of Christ.

In fact, King LeRoy de'Wanton Abdul-Jabbar not only INVENTED the helicopter, but he flew it to Mars and was told by old, wise aliens that his invention might lead mankind into war, so he flew his 'copter back home and destroyed it, to "save the planet." After he ate the raw liver of a rival king, he decreed that NO ONE would speak of his helicopter EVER again, except during Black History Month, and HIS LIFE made an entire CHAPTER in Social Studies books instead of Robert E. Lee, who was a Dead White Male, and therefore not worth learning about.

If you think that I'm exaggerating, well... I AM. But NOT by much.

If you wanna know why Johnny Can't Read, just look at his school books. And thank the federal government for raising (yeah--- GOVERNMENT does that today instead of parents) a brain-dead drone while promising that NO child is left behind. Hell--- most of his TEACHERS can't read, so what do you expect?

I never will forget the note I received from Samantha's seventh-grade English teacher. It said, "You lose an automatic 15 points on an essay for three mispelled words."

If YOU don't see something wrong with that note, you must have been riding on that helicopter to Mars instead of learning anything about Dead White Males in school.


After my episode in my garden today, and the realization that I am OLD and WEARY and I am FUCKED UP because of things I did 40 YEARS AGO, I started to feel sorry for myself. I sat on my back porch, lit a cigarette and... I decided that what I've done with my life ain't ALL bad.

Regrets? Oh, yeah, I got 'em. But I have incredible memories, too.

When I sat in a live oak tree and read books about Tarzan when I was 12 years old, I didn't realize how lucky I was. If I had to pick ONE author who made me LOVE to read, I might hesitate before I spoke. But if I were brutally honest, I'd have to admit that I liked Edgar Rice Burroughs better than I did Sam Clemens.

This morning, I watched the movie, Dr. Zhivago on TV. I last saw that movie about 20 years ago. I had forgotten how breath-takingly beautiful it is. You don't even have to follow the story to enjoy looking at it. Especially the winter scenes, where the snow and ice make you feel cold when the temperature is 85 degrees outside your front door.

I remember plowing through that book once, and I despised it. I NEVER enjoyed Russian writers, and I STILL believe that The Brothers Karimozov is the most over-rated novel of ALL TIME. It needs to be dragged off and shot, along with Fyodor Dostoyevski, the long-winded author. The ONLY other book that tested my dedication to reading so much was Moby Dick, Herman Melville's "masterpiece," and I damn near threw THAT waste of trees into my fireplace one night before I finally finished it.

If you wonder why "Cliff's Notes" exist in this world, just read Dostoyevski and Melville, back to back. You'll wanna pull your own teeth with a rusty set of channel-lock pliers.

Look at THAT crap and you'll understand why only faggots and nerds ever major in English Lit in college. Except for ME, of course--- but that was because I was lazy, I liked to read and I didn't do math. I wasn't really a faggot or a nerd. I was BOHEMIAN. But I STILL don't like Russian writers.

I believe that I started this post with a point in mind, but I forgot what it was. Thinking of Russian writers does that to me.

got-dam comedian

I have one of those urgent need to share feelings right now, so I want to quote one of my readers about fishing for catfish:

You're right, Rob. They'll bite almost ANYTHING, which is why I never piss off the riverbank here in Mississippi. I don't like dropping my dick into that black water, heh, heh.

Does that statement make you think...."humility?...

yeah. they're all psychic

good grief! I engaged in an email exchange a few days ago with a woman who ADMITTED that she and her "sisters" were pretty much fucked in the head when it came to acting sane. "A woman doesn't think, Rob," she said. "We react and sometimes we kinda go off the deep end."

I wrote back to say, "Yeah. But somehow, when you OVER-REACT, it's always a MAN'S fault that you did it. Any sane, logical... blah, blah... woulda done the same thing."

My aching Cracker ass.

Women who are seeking a long-term relationship prefer men who like children, and they are able to discern which men want to become fathers just by looking at their face, according to a joint research team from the University of Chicago and the University of California at Santa Barbara.


I've EXPERIENCED the phenomenon of how good wimmen are at "discerning" things, and it's a lot like dealing with an alien creature from Warped Planet #9 who landed on a flying saucer, said "I come in peace, and then wiped out an entire county with disrupter-beams from a cosmic ray-gun. When the smoke clears, she says, "...I did NOT over-react to this situation. I 'discerned' a problem, so I took care of it. I apologize for the dead children, but it was like... y'know what I'm sayin'?"

Bejus. "The women had an uncanny ability to determine a man's interest in kids just by looking at his face."

Yeah. It's "uncanny," all right. Just ask any divorce lawyer.

May 17, 2006

i spoke too soon

Bejus! I was feeling a lot better today... UNTIL... I went out to my garden and moved my sprinkler. I reached down, picked it up, turned to move, and WHAM!!!!

The next thing I knew, I was on my knees in the dirt with a pain in my right shoulder that felt like I had been shot with a taser. I was electrified and temporarily blinded. I felt another episode of Tourette's Syndrome bubbling from my neck, but it got all choked-off and all I could do was croak like a sick bullfrog, and praise the ex-head-coach of Georgia Southern University: "ERRK!!!"


So much for the success of the steroid shots...

good for her

I've written several posts lately about how plentiful, agressive and fearless alligators are today where I live. You can just LOOK at one of the sumbitches and know that it's a semi-dinosaur that OUGHT to be extinct if Mother Nature had good sense. When I worked at the chemical plant, seeing a 9-footer in the company PARKING LOT was not unusual.

Beh. When I still was employed by Kerr-McGee, some kind of "Tower of Power" brainfart-edict came out of Oklahoma City, home of the delusional coats and ties, that declared having a firearm in your vehicle on company property was a firing offense. Whoever wrote that piece of sheer corporate brilliance obviously never pulled shiftwork and never drove through Savannah's Crack Alley at 3:00 AM. The dimwit's worst fear in life probably was getting a paper cut at work.

I was summoned to a "management meeting" at work and told to explain the new rule to my direct reports. The HR dickweed who presented the policy said that the company was considering bringing in gun-sniffing DOGS to prowl the parking lot and catch offenders.

I never have been a politically-correct kinda guy, so I piped up and said, "If you do THAT, you'll have to fire almost every got-dam shiftworker we have, including ME." The HR fuckhead giving the speech resembled Jabba the Hut and one look at HIM told me that the most difficult work HE ever did in his life was trying to wipe his own bloated ass after a vendor or a union rep bought him an expense-account meal.

Once I opened MY mouth, others did, too, and that "policy" NEVER was enforced. But WE DID get a four-page procedure, written by some asshole in OKLAHOMA CITY (where alligators are as common as wheat), detailing what to do if we SAW one. When that document was released, it was greeted with howls of laughter great respect by everyone who read it.

The UNWRITTEN RULE at work became, "Don't ASK and don't TELL," because alligators were such a nusiance in Chatham County by then that even the Fish & Game wardens couldn't handle all the calls they got. I had their number and when a four-foot gator decided to crawl out of the marsh and camp out next to the front door to the Steam Plant, I was told, "We MIGHT respond in a couple of days. Do what YOU think you need to do."

We KILLED that gator, by chopping it to pieces with fire axes (since GUNS were forbidden on company property) and never said a word about it to ANYONE.

Good for that woman who shot the one crawling into her house. A three-footer might not EAT you, but it can damn sure take your hand off--- or make a meal out of a dog, a cat or a two year-old child. And they WILL, too.

Alligators are one creature where you NEVER should practice a "catch and release" policy.


This guy is really sick. I could understand if he wanted to suck on pretty, red-polished, feminine toes, but licking little boy's feet is just plain demented.

Got-dam pervert!

i am amazed

I persuaded three of the neighborhood kids to do a bunch of grunt-work for me yesterday, and by the time I was finished taking advantage negotiating with them, I had my grass cut, all the weeds in my yard whacked and BOTH of my vehicles washed for a total of $15. I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm not.

I stayed up late last night, but when I finally fell asleep, I went into a total, ass-out coma. I don't remember sleeping that well for months now, and I knew that something was different when I woke up lying ON MY SIDE and feeling NO pain in my shoulders. In fact, I was able to take a shower and wash my hair without thinking I was gonna die when I raised my arms. THAT is incredible.

Bejus! I'm convinced that the steroid shots did some good. I feel 110% better than I did yesterday. I still can tell that something is wrong, but it ain't NOTHING like the misery I've been experiencing. I actually feel like a human being again.

I am amazed at the difference.

I'm not about to go crazy and weed my garden today, or start lifting weights in my garage, but it's really nice NOT to feel physically sick from pain anymore. Just damn! I might even make my physical therapy session tomorrow.

I hope that this feeling isn't just a temporary respite. It's like having a bad toothache go away all of a sudden, and it feels goood.

May 16, 2006

southern livin'

Jeff Foxworthy has made a career out of red-neck jokes, but I don't believe that HE can hang with ME. He may make more money than I do, but I've got better credentials than he does.

*I HAVE lived in a mobile home, when I was in college.

*I DID drink Busch Bavarian Beer when it came in 14-ounce cans.

*I DROVE a Volkswagon Beetle.

*I WAS semi-arrested for pissing alongside Highway 80 at Savannah Beach one fateful night. I was cuffed and put in the back seat of a squad car, but I gave the officer $20 and he let me go.

*I HAVE been shot at, by a farmer. The bastid HIT ME with rocksalt, too. (I was "courting" his daughter at the time.)

*I LIKE vienna sausages right out of the can, with saltine crackers to disguise the taste.

*I've BEEN hungry enough to eat cold pork & beans, WITHOUT using a fork or a spoon. I drank the juice out of the can, too.

*I HAVE shit my pants. More than ONCE.

*I SWALLOWED illicit drugs without knowing what they were. I just figured that I would find out after about 30 minutes. I DID, too.

*I once received a CERTIFIED LETTER in the mail that named ME as the father of an illegitimate child, and I had NO recollection of EVER meeting the "mother." I threw the letter away and never heard a peep about it again.

*I KNOW what a "zilch" is. Do YOU? (It AIN'T a zero.)

*I ONCE played guitar in three different states on three different stages on three different days, all back-to-back. I took my dog with me on that road trip and I did it in a 1974 Chevy Vega.

*I got LAID on that trip by a woman in Ohio who thought my dog was "cute." I guess I musta been okay, too.

*More than ONCE, I've awakened not knowing where I was or how I got there.

*I EAT raw oysters, but I don't like sushi.

*I SNORE when I sleep on my back and the noise wakes me up sometimes. That's disconcerting when I don't know where I am or how I got there, especially when my mouth tastes like I've been eating sushi.

*I DO NOT have to make ANY of this shit up.

I've lived an interesting life.

we don't have debtor's prisons anymore

The city of Savannah was settled by a few aristocrats and a gang of rapscallions given the choice of rotting in debtor's prison or sailing the the New World. Anybody able enough chose door #2, because it was better to take a chance than rot in jail.

Of course, we don't throw people in jail for debt anymore, unless they owe taxes to the government. I've said it before and I'll it say again--- you DO NOT "own" anything anymore. You RENT from government, and if you don't pay, government will fry you.

"Private property," my ass. Richard Hatch just ate a jail sentence more severe than what a rapist or an armed robber would receive for a crime of violence, and his "sin" was a failure to pay income taxes to our benevolent, all-caring federal government. I ain't a Richard Hatch fan, but that sentence seems kinda harsh to me.

He won the money by being a "Survivor," and that's the LAST THING government wants you to be today. If you DO NOT need government help, government will make you wish that you did. It's all part of that brutal fist helping hand that government offers today. Kiss it, right on the holy ring, or go to jail.

Bejus. We once fought a rebellion against the most powerful nation in the world over a tax on tea. Now, thanks to our "freedom," we cough up almost half of every penny we earn (IF you WORK) to a government that is more oppressive than ANYTHING our founding fathers could imagine in their wildest dreams.

We've certainly come a long way, baby...

i post, you decide

Here's a really intelligent comment:


People are different everywhere you go. Not everyone is like those
idiots you heard and saw in Waffle House. There are still people around of every age with manners and common sense. By the way, why are you eating at Waffle House. You couldn't pay me to eat there. The foods is really gross. I would go to McDonald's before I went to Waffle House. Surely, you could find something better.

I don't think so. I might have to sit next to YOU, asswipe.

serious fishin'

Guy you need to be dragged off and shot for posting that story. (sorry about not linking you on my first try here...) The first fish I ever remember catching on my own line, using a cane-pole, was a catfish in a stocked pond covered with lily pads. I used chicken liver for bait.

I hooked a four-pounder and got him back to the boat while my daddy praised my every move. I dragged that BIG sumbitch (at least for ME, that fish was big, since I was six years old at the time) and when I tried to take him off the hook, he finned the shit out of me and drew blood from my hand. I dropped him right quickly, but he landed in the boat and I had my revenge by eating him for supper that night.

I know some guys around here where I live who sink old tires in the creeks, bait them with a chunk of rotten meat and catch HUGE catfish the next day, just by pulling those tires out of the water. I've seen some 30-pounders with mouths big enough to swallow my farking ARM. Those over-grown bastids ain't fryin' size, but they make good chowder or stew.

I gotta ask a question: I "clean" catfish by gutting them, making a cut from the gills to the tail, nailing their heads to a tree, and then stripping off the skin with a set of needle-nosed pliers. Have YOU ever "cleaned" catfish that way? If not... how do YOU do it?

And I still say that for being a turd-wrestling bottom-feeder, a catfish tastes GOOD, any way you cook it. I just don't like the really BIG ones.

i wanna eat

I'm hungry and I don't feel like cooking anything. I would LIKE to go to a Waffle House and have myself a big mess of eggs, grits and biscuits, but I'm gonna have to forage something right where I am. I hurt too badly to drive anywhere.

Besides, almost every time I venture out in public anymore, I become all pissed-off at my fellow citizens. Just now, I recalled my last visit to the Waffle House. That was a couple of months ago, but I'll bet that nothing has changed.

I bought a newspaper on my way inside and I sat at the counter. My ass ain't that big, and I couldn't justify hogging a booth or a table for myself. But I almost fled the place without tasting my meal.

THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE were talking on cell phones in the restaurant. I gleaned enough of their LOUD conversations to pick up all the urgency those calls involved.

"Yeah... I'm at the Waffle House... uh, huh... I'm gonna have the #5 breakfast... uh, huh... they serve good grits here.... uh, huh... yeah... uh, huh... I saw that, too... uh, huh... OH! Excuse me, but I have another call coming in! I'll talk to ya later!... Uh, huh... me, too. Yeah... me, too. I'll talk to ya later, but I really need to answer this call... uh, huh. Me, too. Bye-bye... (click "Linda... is that YOU???... Uh, huh... me, too... Oh, I'm at the Waffle House and I'm gonna have the #5 breakfast...uh, huh... they have really good grits here..."

I wanted to choke the living shit out of that bastard, but that feeling didn't last long. Two wanna-be young sluts were in a booth right across from me. I've seen cheap hookers dressed with more dignity, and I've heard more intelligent conversation from corpses.

"He was, like... y'know... all... like... y'know?"

"Oh, yes. It was SO like him to be so... y'know?"

"It was... just... know what I'm sayin'?"

"Oh, totally! I was like... listening... and I thought... y'know?... like..."

"Does this orange juice taste sour to you? It's like... y'know...kinda...y'know?"

"Oh, totally! It's like... know what I'm sayin'?"

Those fricking idiots make headlines when they answer opinion polls. Like... y'know what I'm sayin'?

what is a "minion?"

I remember that I once asked my daughter what she wanted when she grew up, and she said, "Daddy, I want to have a minion dollars!" She was four years old at the time, but she had great expectations, even if her vocabulary WAS kinda limited.

I was searching my stored emails for the one where some guy accused me of being a real asshole, with "minions of mindless women" encouraging me to be the prick that I am on my blog. I couldn't find the email, but I remember publishing it, and MommaBear, before she died, wrote me to announce that she wanted to be President of the "Mindless Minions Wimmen's Club" if I ever started one.

I miss that sweet mindless minion woman. I may STILL start that club one of these days and name it after HER. For a New England yankee, she wasn't bad at all...

Even though I am a complete male chauvanist and I call wimmen "bags of mostly water, filled with raging hormones," I remain awed by the female of the species. I don't understand them, but I really, really LOVE them all. I often wonder what I would be like today if I had been born a woman.

Now, THAT is a frightening thought...

When I worked at the chemical plant, the running joke about wimmen was, "If they didn't have a pussy, there'd be a BOUNTY on 'em." and I cannot disagree, especially after considering what the bloodless cunts sweet darlins have cost me in MY life. I have experienced the THREE A's brought to men by wimmen: those are "arson," "adultery" and "attorney," ALL of which really suck.

But I've ALSO experienced the THREE GOOD THINGS about wimmen, and even though I'm not gonna list them now, I cannot deny that they exist. (I'll give you a hint: those three virtues all start with the letter "C." "Cuddly" is ONE of them. You take it from there...)

Variety IS the spice of life, and this world would be a boring place without wimmen in it. It would be a SANER place, but that's just the price we pay for variety. Plus, just consider what the diet industry, the cosmetic industry and the divorce attorneys of the world would do without wimmen. They might have to get REAL jobs instead of dealing with the three "V's" of womanhood: Vanity, Vengence and Vagina.

Heh. THIS post oughta run some "mindless minions" outta MY court. But I probably can get away with it, because of a strange fact about wimmen. They seem to be attracted to lovable rogues, at least for a while, until they become all hormonal and hire a divorce attorney, in a ceaseless quest to have a man's nutsack flapping on a flagpole while a bloody scalp dangles from her belt.

Who watches soap operas? Who LIVES LIFE as a soap opera? It AIN"T men.

I rest my case...

(Heh. see what I get when I'm a male chauvanist ass?)

sick, sick, sick...

I went here today, hoping that MAYBE she posted a half-nekkid pitcher or maybe a shot of her pretty, red toenails. I saw the word "titty" in the title and thought that I hit pay-dirt.

Man, was I disappointed...

i blew 'em off

At 5:00 this morning, I called the doctor's answering service and left a message saying that I wasn't gonna make my 9:00 physical therapy session. I said that I hurt too badly to be there.

At 9:15 this morning, a nurse or a receptionist or somebody from the doctor's office called ME, and in a very surly tone of voice said that if I DID NOT take the physical therapy, my shoulders would NEVER get better.

I told her, "Okay, darlin.' I'll make a deal with you. If you send a driver over to my house to pick me up and deliver me to the clinic, I'll ride with him. I'll physical therapy my Cracker ass off, too. But right now, I hurt so badly that I don't think I can drive a car by myself. I've had very little sleep, I am in terrible pain, and I think I'm cramping in both shoulders from the shots I got yesterday. If you WON'T come and get me, I ain't gonna make it on my own."

Man, but I got a LOAD of sympathy from HER. "Huh! Do you think you can make a session on Thursday? Is 9:00 AM good for you?"

Shit. I started to say, "A bullet in my brain would be 'good for me' right now, but I hurt too badly to pull the trigger myself. Do YOU wanna come over here and shoot me? You'd do it for a horse in the same condition."

But I didn't say that. I said that I would be there on Thursday. And I WILL, if I can. But I think I need a shit-load of ibuprophen or something similar right now. And THAT'S a laugh, because I can't drive to the store any better than I could to the doctor's office this morning. I can barely MOVE today. Man, please!

I quit drinking for THIS???

must be rough being you

I'm sorry, but I don't feel a lot of sympathy for her. She is the kind of neurotic, whining shitass--- and constant complainer--- who sets the standards for "freedom" today. Anybody this got-dam delicate needs to be weeded out of the gene pool for the good of the human race.

Diana Woodbury, a violinist and dancer, won't perform in casinos or other venues that allow smoking.

"It would kill me," said Woodbury, who lives in South Lake Tahoe. "I have asthma and bronchitis, and when I get around smoke, I get pains in my chest."

Even though most casino showrooms no longer allow smoking, Woodbury said the smoke that wafts in from the main casino floor is enough to make her ill. "If I walk past a smoker, within minutes, I can't breathe. I have to use an inhaler," she said.

She's obviously a rocket scientist, too, despite her delicate health, because she knows a lot more about science that I do: Woodbury is adamant in her view about the dangers of secondhand smoke. "For every eight smokers that die of smoking, they take one nonsmoker with them."

Got-dam! Who knew THAT "fact," and where did she find it?

That bitch needs her inhaler stuck up her ass. I'm sorry, people, but if THIS woman is allowed to set the standards for EVERYBODY's behavior, we're in a world of hurt.

But she can do it today. She has a "right" to.

the bush speech

I listend to President Bush last night as he spoke about the problem of illegal immigration. But what I really liked were all the pundits arguing about whether Bush sounded "forceful" or "Presidential" enough in his speech. WTF??? THAT'S what the speech was all about?

I blame this crap on the "Bill Clintonization" of America. HE was the first politician to recognize that style mattered a lot more than substance today, (okay... maybe FDR and LBJ started that trend, but Clinton took it to warp-factor 9 and shot it right out of this world...) and he was a WONDERFUL lip-biter, tear-shedder and a MASTER of displaying false emotions. Some delusional people today think that he was a GREAT President.

He could talk for an hour about a problem and call it SOLVED without ever doing ANYTHING, except maybe lobbing a few missles at an aspirin factory in a place nobody ever heard of. I had him pegged exactly right when I once called him a crazed Drum Major, high-steppin' and waving a baton, pretending to lead the band without having a clue where the march was going.

Wimmen got wet in their panties listening to him speak, which lowered my opinion of wimmen in general, because the man was a serial sexual predator. He was a POSTER BOY for sexual harassment laws, but nobody cared, especially not wimmen. THAT reaction told me a lot about feminisim--- and it did NOT flatter feminists.

In MY humble opinion, Bush made that speech after studying at the feet of The Master. It was a GOOD lesson, too: Talk tough, do nothing, and rely on the short attention span of most Americans, ESPECIALLY WIMMEN, to guarantee that you get away with being full of sound and fury while signifying diddly-squat.

"We do not yet have full control of the border and I am determined to change that," the president said in pressing for his $1.9 billion plan in a 17-minute prime-time address from the Oval Office.

Uh.... the Federal Government managed to tell me how much water my fuckin' TOILET can flush, but it can't control our borders. The Federal Government can stop me from cutting the grass in my own got-dam YARD if an "endangered" sand-rat lives there, but it can't control our borders. The Federal Governmant can DEMAND that I drive a car with certain CAFE standards, bow in awe at the ANWR while NEVER drilling for oil there and pay an "Estate Tax" when I die, but it can't control our borders.

Is it just ME, or does anyone else see something terribly WRONG with this picture?

Wanna know what the Federal Government actually does for ME today? It takes my money with the shamelessness of a back-alley mugger, it tries to micro-manage my life at the molecular level, and it gives me "leaders" such as Henry Waxman, Hillary Clinton and Arlen Specter.

I believe that I prefer illegal immigrants over those clowns. And I now am convinced that President Bush isn't much better.


It makes perfect sense to me.

But maybe you have to be a GUY to understand....

that worked wonders

Bejus! I was harpooned in both shoulders with steroids less than 24 hours ago. That crap was supposed to make me feel better. It certainly worked wonders.

That's why I'm awake at 3:30 in the got-dam morning while I wonder what bunch of sadists stuck rusty corkscrews into my shoulders and why they keep twisting on them during the night. I woke up convinced that I was gonna puke again. This crap HURTS!!!! And I'm supposed to start physical therapy just five hours from now?

Oh, yeah. I can see THAT happening, with no pain whatsoever. I'm just as good as new!!! I'm CURED!!!

I think somebody needs to be dragged off and shot. And right now, I wouldn't mind if that person was ME!

(MANY times in my life, I've been told that I have a high threshold for pain tolerance. When my urologist gave me that wonderful prostate biopsy, HE called me "intrepid," because I did not whimper or moan while he defiled my innards with his boom-stick. I never missed a day of football practice when I broke my left hand, and THAT really hurt. I stuck my head through a car windshield in a 55-MPH T-bone collision on Highway 278 in South Carolina, and I went to work on a midnight shift that night. Yeah. I can "take it."

But I can't take much more of THIS.)

May 15, 2006

my green thumb

A nice rain fell last night, so I decided to take a tour of my garden when I returned home from my visit with the sports-medicine doctor today. I LIKED what I saw.

I have tomatoes out the wazoo. Big, softball-sized rascals that are tugging the plants down to the ground in spite of the poles I have them mounted on. Some of them should be ready to eat in a few more days. Hell, I MAY harvest a few and fry 'em green. I'm gonna have a BUNCH of tomatoes.

I PICKED three ripe squash today. I have a lot more where those came from. ALL of the pepper plants are producing--- the little bell peppers aren't much bigger than marbles now, but they'll be ready to pick in another week or so. My banana peppers look like little green icicles hanging off the plants and they are ABUNDANT.

My corn is about two feet high now and getting ready for some high-nitrogen fertilizer. My Silver Queens are whoring for me quite nicely. If I don't have some kind of disaster soon, I may get a bushel or more offa those plants.

I must have a green thumb, because I threw some watermelon seeds out around the back of the garden a couple of weeks ago, and the vines are running like crazy now. Just damn! If I had believed that the melons would prosper so well, I woulda planted some cantelopes, too.

My okra plants aren't very tall, but they're blooming beautifully. If I trim those when they start producing, I may get a LOT of okra this year. And I LOVE fresh okra.

And beans? I gotcha some beans growing. I planted the bush-type this year, so I don't have to fuck with giving them something to climb on. Those suckers are getting as thick as hedge bushes now and THEY have blooms all over them, too.

That row of potatoes I planted is standing tall. I can start "scrabbling" a few of the new potatoes in another week or so.

The ONLY things I planted that do NOT look really good are the cucumbers. They seem kinda puny and anemic, but they aren't dead and THEY are covered in blossoms, too.

All of this is happening amid a profusion of weeds. I've been too puny to really tend my garden the way I should, but it appears to be flourishing despite my slackardly ways. By Gawd, I SHOULD have planted some marijuana, for medicinal purposes only. I think I coulda put a Columbian to shame...

My mama always said that I grew a good garden because I come from a long line of Kentucky farmers, and growing crops is in my blood. Maybe she was right.

It's lookin' gooood out there.

more on bass guitar

I mentioned in a post below that I really enjoyed playing bass guitar in a rock & roll band. And "Gimme Three Steps" was one of my favorite songs to play, because it had a really busy bass part that thumped me right in the guts.

My other favorites were "Addicted to Love," "Night Moves" and "Fire," (as in "Let Me Stand Next To Your..." the way the Jimi Hendrix Experience did it.) "Back in the USSR" wasn't bad, either. Hell, I even liked playing "Searchin'"--- and if you're old enough to remember The Coasters, you KNOW what a great song that one is.

My band did a lot of Golden Oldies, such as "Born to be Wild" (another GREAT bass song!) and "Heard It Through the Grapevine," which I was able to sing harmony vocals on while still performing the bass licks.

At the time, I also owned the without-a-doubt UGLIEST bass guitar ever made by sub-human hands. It was some kind of Jap creation that I bought cheap, and it resembled something from a KISS nightmare, all zig-zaggy and weird-lookin.' But I played it through a big Peavey bass amp, and it sounded pretty good. (Heh. The amp cost THREE TIMES what the guitar did. I gave away my bass guitar when I quit the band, but my brother kept that amp for himself. That's a lawyer for ya!)

I'm gonna try again to take a picture of the rig I have now. The Washburn bass is a beauty--- natural wood-grain finish--- and I like the way it plays. (My friend, Willy, gave me a great deal on it, too.) I bought another Peavey amp, almost like the first one I used, except this one has a built-in equalizer that's interesting to mess around with.

When the Atlanta Channel 5 news crew came to the Crackerbox to interview me, the cameraman saw all of the musical instruments in my computer room and asked, "Damn! Do you play ALL of those?"

I told him, "NO! At least not all at the same time." But the truth is... I can play every one of them. Maybe not WELL--- but I can play 'em ALL. And I DO, too.

It's just a good thing that I don't own any guns. I just might have THOSE things stored all over my house the way I do with guitars, mandolins, banjos, fiddles, amplifiers, recording equipment, microphones and even a laptop steel slide-guitar. I could go just as crazy collecting guns as I have with musical instruments.

But I don't own ANY guns. No, sir.

I don't.

nice work, if you can get it

Hillary Clinton thinks that young people today don't have much of a work ethic because they have a "sense of entitlement". Be still my fluttering heart! I wonder where THAT "sense" came from? GOVERNMENT, maybe? With all the "free" shit it offers today?

All the slackwad yoots in this country need to look at Chelsea Clinton as a role model.

The senator said that her daughter, Chelsea, phoned to complain after learning about the comments. The 26-year-old was hired in 2003 by McKinsey & Co. as a consultant, reportedly for a six-figure salary. She received a master's degree from Oxford University after graduating from Stanford University in 2001.

See what really "hard work" will do for YOU??? YOU could be a 26 year-old "consultant," earning a "six-figure salary" if you only put YOUR nose to the grindstone the way Chelsea did. SHE didn't need any got-dam "entitlement" to get where SHE went, right out of college. Naw, that lofty position and fat paycheck were the result of pure hard work on her part.

ANYBODY could do it.

it's an epidemic!

Here's a good example of how effective the Endangered Species Act has been. We protected alligators and they thrived. Now we need protection from THEM.

In Southeast Georgia, you can find alligators all over the place, wherever you have water. Golf courses are literally crawling with them, and they've been eating pet dogs for YEARS around where I live. If we have a lot of dry weather, they show up in people's swimming pools.

Also, a lot of dumbasses FEED those critters, so gators aren't nearly as afraid of Man anymore as they SHOULD be. I agree with the Catfish Philosophy on alligators: the only good one is a DEAD one.

I really believe that we need to have an open hunting season on 'em, the same way we do with deer, to thin the population. Plus, the tail makes pretty good eating.

And I would much rather eat an alligator than have one eat ME.

I don't feel any better yet

I saw the sports medicine doctor today. He shot me up with steroids in both shoulders, which is supposed to help with the pain. I hope to hell so, because I start physical therapy tomorrow, and I ain't lookin' forward to THAT.

The doc wants to try the physical therapy before he does any cutting on me, which is fine with me IF it works. He looked at my X-rays and said that I have bad bone spurs in both shoulders, which is why my rotator cuffs are fucked up, so I don't know how much good exercise is gonna do to cure that problem, but I'll give it a try.

My shoulders don't feel much different right now, but the shots take some time to work. I just hope I am somewhat better tomorrow. I don't know how much exercise I can do with the pain I feel. (I asked the doc for some paid meds, but he wouldn't give me anything--- the bastid.)

If nothing else, I should get some excellent blog-fodder out of this ordeal.

May 14, 2006

bass guitar

I just took a couple of pictures of the beautiful Washburn bass guitar that I own, but they came out shitty and blurred, so I ain't gonna post them.

I once owned a piece of shit digital camera, and every picture I took with that thing turned out GREAT. So, I decided to shop UP in the world and I bought a mega-pixel, highly-sophisticated, top-of-the-line camera that cost a WHOLE lot of money, and I've never taken a good picture with it yet.

I think I went out of my comfort zone. If it's more complicated than "point and shoot," it's too deep for me. I've had MANY people tell me what a wonderful camera I have, but I can't take pictures worth a shit with it. To ME, that's like having a big dick that you can't fuck with. What good is it?

But I'm digressing, because I wanted to blog about playing bass guitar.

I've read what this guy has to say about playing bass guitar, and I respect his opinion while I call him full of shit for saying that he could play and sing at the same time. When I started playing bass in a rock & roll band, I learned that I could either play bass or sing, but I COULD NOT do both at the same time. My fingers got too busy on the fretboard for me to think about singing. Or if I sang, I couldn't pay attention to the bass licks.

Maybe Kim du Toit could. Others can. Paul McCartney is a GREAT bass-player. Just watch that leftist (left-hander) play and sing. I can't do what HE does. He amazes me, even though I think he's idiotic in the head. But I recognize good musicianship when I see it.

You wanna play some bass that'll make you wanna DANCE? Try "Give Me Three Steps" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Got dam!!! I always liked to stand near the drummer when I played bass, because the bass is a bottom-end percussion instrument, much like the drums. You can feel it in your feet, and it's downright primative in the way it grabs you by the balls.

But the longer I played bass, the more I knew that I would NEVER be really good at it. I liked doing it, but I didn't have the fingers or the concentration to master that instrument. I can still lay down a good bottom when I record for myself, but I know my limitations. I'm better on the banjo that I'll EVER be on a bass guitar.

And I pretty much suck on the banjo, if you KNOW the banjo. I'm good at fooling people who don't know much about music.

That fact doesn't keep me from trying. And I STILL love to play a bass guitar.

i want a mulligan

If you play golf, you know what a "mulligan" is. That's a do-over, a try-again, a that-one-didn't-count shot that you can forget about. Just drop another ball and try to keep THAT ONE out of the woods.

I want a fucking mulligan now--- for my LIFE. I wanna forget about that bad shot I just hit and drop a new ball. Lemme see if I can't do better on my second try. Don't I have a RIGHT to do that?

I never should have married my first wife. I WANT A MULLIGAN!!! Hell, I never should have married my SECOND wife, either. I want ANOTHER mulligan!!! In fact, I can think of about 100 bad shots I've hit in my life, and I want a second try on every one of them.


Fuck me dead. I have to play the ball where I hit it? I DON'T get a mulligan? Not EVER???

That just ain't fair.

i remember--- he doesn't

I can cry if I want to. I read this post and got all misty. When Quinton was about three years old, he came galloping out of the bathtub, wet and nekkid, with goosebumps all over. "Daddy, I'm COLD," he said, and I grabbed him in a big hug. I felt him shiver in my arms.

He then said, "Daddy, you have a WARM belly!" as he snuggled tight against me.

I don't believe that I ever felt better in my entire life as I did right then.

no brag, just fact

Can anybody tell me where that line came from? You have to remember old television westerns to cough up the right answer, but I am certain that I have some old farts like ME who recall that show. I'm not gonna give you any hints, but you need to be dragged off and shot if you don't know the right answer.

My daddy always told me that it wasn't braggin' if you could back up your words with deeds. I think that I got my lack of humility from him. He also said, "Talk BIG... but be ready to walk that way, too."

My daddy knew a lot more than most people do today.

do not do this at home!!!

I crawled into my hot tub this morning. The water felt good, so I turned the jets on high and slipped off my bathing suit, the better to feel the water blowing on my bare balls.

I fell asleep in the tub and woke up almost TWO HOURS later. Bejus! I was a prune and wrung-out like a dirty dish-rag. I had great difficulty climbing out of the tub. My dick resembled a stack of dimes forty-cents tall. My knees wouldn't stay together, like a $10 whore on a busy Saturday night.

I was so discombobulated that I forgot about being nekkid until I heard my neighbor call, "Hey, Rob! Put some fucking britches on!" He was riding his lawn mower and probably worried that I was attempting to seduce his wimmen.

I gave him a one-finger salute and staggered inside my house. My bathing suit is still out there on the side of the hot tub, which remains uncovered because I don't have the strength to lift and place the lid right now. My nutsack is hanging so low that I think I stepped on it once on my way inside.

If my fantasy-fuck, Nichole Kidman, threw herself nekkid into my arms right now, I'd have to ask for a rain-check. Put some "be back" powder on that wet pussy, baby! I can't handle it right now. That's a horrible thing to admit, but at least my shoulders don't hurt anymore.

I'm just fortunate that I didn't drown.

a sex post

I don't maintain an erotic diary here, but I may go porno if wimmen such as this one and this one and this one keep encouraging me. I can go slutty. Yep, I can.

But I don't feeeeel the need. I have a picture of me taken at a nudist resort in Key West, where I am surrounded by THREE nekkid wimmen, and I appear to have at least TWO different titties in my grasp while I grin for the camera. You had to be there to appreciate the scene.

(I once slept with a certified Speech Therapist for Chatham County Public schools. She was a natural blonde, who taught ME to speak in tongues.)

I think I'm jaded today. I've been a road musician, I've had NUMEROUS encounters of casual sex, and I don't regret a minute of it. Does that make me a BAD person? I don't think so.

But anybody who blogs about great nipples and flying cockroaches CAN'T be right in the head.

I blog. YOU decide.

it ain't really a joke

A guy goes to Las Vegas for a Shriner's convention and he gets really hot at the blackjack table. He wins $20,000 and the hotel rolls out the Red Carpet for him. He dines on fine wines and caviar, then staggers back to enjoy his Executive Suite, fully-comped by the hotel.

Along the way, a bellhop asks, "Sir, would you like some... uh...companionship tonight?" The guy thinks, "WhythefuckNOT!" He's got $20,000 in his pocket and he's feeling kinda horny. "Yeah," he says. "Send a... bwhahaha... companion to my room."

He checks out the big, luxurious suite and barely has time to appreciate the recessed lighting, the big-screen TV and the surround-sound stereo before he hears a knock on his door. He answers to discover a stunning vision, dressed in slinky, silken clothes and wearing the most attractive come-hither smile he's ever seen.

"I am your date for tonight," she says, "And I charge $100 for the best blow-job you ever had."

The guy recognizes a good deal when he sees one, so he peels off a $100 bill from his roll, drops trou and gets the BEST BLOW-JOB he's EVER had. He's almost comatose at the end, but he thinks about all the money he still has and asks, "I've never had anal sex before. How much would THAT cost me?"

"That would be $500," his date replies... "and I give the best anal sex you've ever had." The guy peels off five $100 bills from his roll and has... THE VERY BEST anal sex he could imagine. Gasping and panting at the end, he asks, "Goddam! If your blow-jobs and anal sex are THAT good, your pussy must be GREAT! How much for a straight fuck?"

His date walks to the window and throws back the curtain. She points to a high-rise hotel and casino across the way. "See that?" she asks. "I OWN that place, and I paid for it by giving great blow-jobs." The guy thinks, yeah, I can believe THAT.

Then his date says, "See that chain of restaurants over THERE?" The guy nods. "I bought those businesses with money I earned from giving anal sex."

The guy says, "You earned it all, and I can see how... but what about my straight fuck?"

His date replies, as "she" scratches her nutsack. "You dumbass. If I had a PUSSY, I'd own this whole damn town!"


did ya?

Did YOU ever sit in your bathtub at 6:00 in the morning and let hot water pour all over you from the shower? Did it feel GOOD? Did you do it for 30 minutes, until the water started running cold because you had exhausted your hot-water heater's capacity?

You haven't done that? Good for you.

I haven't, either.

mother's day

I am going to visit my 94 year-old grandmother today. I'll bring a rose for her, and I'll give her a big ol' hug, too. I don't know how much longer she's gonna be around, and I want her to know how much I love her.

I wish that I could bring Mama a rose today, but I won't go to the cemetary because there's nobody there that I once knew--- just a hole in the ground with a marker on top. It's too late for me to pay homage to her now, and I'll regret the pain I caused her for the rest of my life. Sweet Bejus, but the lyrics to "Momma Tried" sometimes play in my head when I think of her.

I miss you, Mama. Happy Mother's Day.


I just suffered another episode of Tourette's Syndrome in my kitchen. It was horrible.

My trash can was full, so I removed the garbage bag, twist-tied it shut, and reached in the cabinet below my kitchen sink for a fresh bag. I got the bag all right, but it came with more than I bargained for.

A GODDAMFUCKINGBASTARDSHITASSOHMYGAWDSUMBITCH palmetto bug was clinging to the empty bag, and when I fluffed the plastic before sticking it in my garbage can, the nasty fucker RAN UP MY ARM and disappeared INSIDE MY TEE SHIRT!!!

Incredible hilarity ensued...

I forgot all about the pain in my shoulders. I forgot all about my dignity and my self-respect. I screamed like a girl and performed a crazed St. Vitus dance on my kitchen floor as I ripped off my shirt and shook that disgusting roach out. HOLYFUCKMEDEADIMGONNADIEYOUSHITASS!!!! The bastard took wing on me and FLEW RIGHT INTO MY FACE!!!


Even MORE incredible hilarity ensued...

I finally knocked him down and stomped the creature into a soggy mess on my kitchen floor. I then had to grab a paper towel and scrape the bug-guts offa my bare foot. It was a life-and-death struggle for a moment, but I prevailed, if you call "Dancing With Cockroaches At 5:00 AM" any kind of victory. Bejus! What a way to greet the day.

If you live where Palmetto Bugs do not thrive, let me enlighten you about those critters. They are OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITFUCKFUCKFUCK NASTY. They look like cigar butts with legs, they can fly and they make a sound similar to a ladyfinger firecracker exploding when you stomp on them. They are packed with multi-colored guts that stick to your bare foot, too. And they WILL crawl right inside your tee shirt if they get the chance.

Man. I did NOT need that kind of shit to start my day... If it goes downhill from HERE, it's gonna be a real pisser.

this one's for you, jimbo

When I saw this story, I thought of my friend and fellow guitar-picker, jimbo, who has a deathly fear of alligators. I really want to take him down to Catfish Manor some day so that he can listen to 'em bark.

Heh. That sound might send him scurrying back to New Jersey as if his ass was on fire.

The 9-foot, 6-inch alligator was trapped just under the bridge where Yovy Suarez Jimenez, 28, was last seen, Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission spokeswoman Dani Moschella said.

Two human arms were found inside the alligator's belly, Moschella said.

Pretty spooky, right? I just want to assure Jimbo that he has absolutely NOTHING to fear from alligators. A gator might devour a female jogger, but it would leave HIM alone. He has built-in protection growing on top of his head.

No gator alive today could swallow that much hair.

May 13, 2006

reality check

You wanna know what's REAL today? Nothing. We're so got-dam politically-correct and "sensitive" that we swallow bullshit by the mouthful and don't even blink anymore. That's what sticking to a trendy diet will do to you.

Bejus on a no-wheeled bicycle. Remember when Bill Clinton was caught with his presidental dick in a young intern the wringer and people claimed that "character" didn't matter? WTF???

I was fired from the job I performed for 23 years because of my blog, and I NEVER got a blow-job at work. I just wrote the "wrong" things and I was run off on a rail by politically-correct cowards. The company questioned my character, which to ME was a lot like a child-molester criticizing my method of fondling youngsters.

It ain't what you DO anymore. It's all about feeeeelings.

We're being told that illegal immigrants are hard-working, valuable citizens of this country, and we should scoff at our laws and grant amnesty to them all. We have PLENTY of nutless politicians spouting such nonsense, because it feeeeeels right. I beg to disagree.

Read this. No, I take that back. DO NOT read it, because it just MIGHT make you think that you're getting a very unsatisfying blow-job from political whores who don't have the integrity to swallow at the end.

In our population study of 55,322 illegal aliens, we found that they were arrested at least a total of 459,614 times, averaging about 8 arrests per illegal alien. Nearly all had more than 1 arrest. Thirty-eight percent (about 21,000) had between 2 and 5 arrests, 32 percent (about 18,000) had between 6 and 10 arrests, and 26 percent (about 15,000) had 11 or more arrests. Most of the arrests occurred after 1990. They were arrested for a total of about 700,000 criminal offenses, averaging about 13 offenses per illegal alien.

Give us your poor, your tired... and your got-dam criminals. Is this a great country, or what?

If we see an illegal immigrant standing in the street waving a bloody, severed head in his unwashed hands, we cannot judge him. Give the bastard a driver's license and a welfare check. It's all about being "fair," don'cha know?

My aching ass. Let ME miss a month's worth of child support payments and see how fucking compassionate the divorce court judge is with MY case. He'll lock me up and throw away the key. I won't have leftist fuckwits coming to my defense either, because I am WHITE, a taxpayer and a LEGAL citizen of this country.

That's three strikes against me today.

more on nipples

I don't enjoy having MY nipples played with. It's an unpleasant feeling for me.

A lot of wimmen seem to think that that's a highly-erotic thing to do, and I appreciate their sense of adventure, but I would just as soon have 'em stick a finger up my ass. And I don't like THAT, either (thanks to my urologist for making me entirely probed-out).

Still, if you wanna do either thing, go right ahead. If it's good for YOU, it's good for ME, too. I'm all for doing whatever YOU like in bed. (Just don't bitch to me about giving an enthusiastic blow-job after you've rammed a finger up my ass. If I allow you to have YOUR way with me, you should allow me to have MINE. It's only fair.)

But, I digress. I was gonna write about nipples here...

My first wife, the mother of my darlin' daughter, had BIG titties, with a set of nipples that resembled bitten-in-half Vienna sausages. But they had more style than substance, kinda like water balloons that just rolled around on her chest with large warts stuck on them. She was a good-lookin' woman, but a lousy lay.

Looking back now, I wonder why in the hell I ever married her in the first place. I think the fact that she threw away her birth control pills without telling me and then got pregnant had something to do with my decision. Bejus knows that I wouldn't have done it in my right mind.

My darlin' second ex-wife had GREAT nipples. (By the way... someone at the Austin blog-meet asked me NEVER to use the words "Bloodless Cunt" on my blog again, because she found it "offensive." Instead of telling her to go fuck herself, I agreed, so I stored that term on the shelf right next to the forbidden N-word, where they will NEVER be used again.)

My action doesn't take niggers persons of colour out of this world, nor does it keep my darlin' ex-wife from being a Bloodless Cunt, but if it makes even ONE PERSON feel better, I'm willing to do MY part... as soon as I get back on-topic about nipples.

Jennifer didn't have BIG titties, but she had exquisite nipples. Her boobs were a perfect fit for the palm of my hand--- any more would have been a waste--- and she was blessed with dark brown areoles about the size of a quarter, with nipples like .45 longs. They were very much an erogenous zone, too--- she demonstrated MANY times her ability to achieve orgasm JUST from having her nipples stimulated.

I LIKED playing with those things. She liked it when I did it, too.
I still miss those titties today.

But Dora possessed the All-Time Best Boobs I ever had the good fortune to enjoy. She was a genuine red-head, and her breasts were as white as new-fallen snow, with PINK nipples the size of Grand Cameroon cigar butts. She was a woman who didn't LOOK stacked until you saw them critters unleashed--- and then your jaw dropped in pure wonder.

Even today, YEARS after I last saw Dora, I think of HER when I think about excellent, beautiful titties. And I remember the time we made love on a sleeping bag in the wide open outdoors during a hailstorm on top of a mountain in North Carolina. THAT was uninhibited sex in the wild, and the next day I had bruises on my ass from hailstone licks to prove it.

In my journey through life, I have discovered something wonderful. No two titties are alike, even on the same woman.

And I love them all.

i became semi-aroused

Sometimes, I receive some really GOOD emails. Take THIS ONE, for example, using bullet-examples, in reply to my post about nipples:

Mine are as big around as a number 4 buck shot (1/4 inch diameter). Depending on how cold it is, they protrude about a quarter inch. The areola is large, about the size of a half dollar coin, and cafe au lait colored. I have a freckle on the right one. ;-) When it gets cold, the areolas pebble and contract to about half the usual size.

Oh and I LOVE having the nips pinched and pulled. Purrrrrrrrrrrrr

More than ten words, but you got an answer.

Can you believe that shameless hussy? I think I'm in luvvvv... but she COULD be lyin' to me. I feel a powerful need to conduct some hands-on research...

walkin' "the walk"

We have a real crisis in Savannah's public schools. Some students, through no fault of their own, somehow neglected to make the credits or the grades to graduate with their class this year. Great weeping and gnashing of teeth greet this information, and the majority of the opinions I hear say, "Let 'em graduate ANYWAY. They DESERVE to take their walk."

I don't know where this "taking the walk" crap came from (actually, I DO, but I would be racist to mention it), because nobody ever said it when I was in public school. Of course, that was long ago, in the Dark Ages, when schools taught SUBJECTS instead of IDEOLOGY. We've evolved far beyond those benighted times today.

Most "students" who actually bother to go to class and get good grades don't learn diddly-squat anyway, so why the hell should we "discriminate" against those who don't make even THAT modicum of effort? We're all into "equality" today, and penalizing young men and wimmen for being scholarly slackwads is "unfair."

By Gawd, they have a RIGHT to take "The Walk," even if they can't spell their own names. Everybody knows that a high school diploma is pretty much worthless today, so why be so got-dam picky about who gets one? Just hand 'em out like alms for the poor.

I've listened to the Will of the People, and that's what THEY say, so it must be right.

(I know how to fix this problem. We simply need more government.)

a change of direction

I am thinking seriously about giving up this blog-thing I've been doing for the past four years. It's caused me a lot of grief, and the guy who persuaded me to post ads on my page got me banned by Google and NOW owes me money that I never expect to see. How many times do I have to beat my head against a wall before I realize that this shit hurts!?

I am NOT in my right mind. Constant pain is not a friend of mine, and I'm starting to look fondly at a piece of garden hose, a roll of duct tape and the tailpipe of my pickup truck. Yeah, peeps, it's THAT BAD!!! I can't go on like this much longer.

Bejus! All my life, I've believed that a quitter never wins and a winner never quits. I'm starting to question that philosophy now.

I need some fucking relief.

a new high

I don't know if I experienced a new high or a new low this morning. I woke up, rolled over and thought I was gonna DIE from the pain in my shoulders. That shit went far beyond torture, all the way to exquisite agony. I saw SPOTS before my eyes.

Then, I crawled out of bed and became violently sick in the bathroom. I'm no rocket scientist, but my natural intuition tells me that something is terribly WRONG with that picture. If you wake up hurting so badly that you PUKE, you need to go see a doctor.

Come Monday, it'll be all right...

phone sex

I had phone sex last night. I couldn't help myself... aw, BULLSHIT!!! I COULDA helped myself, but I chose NOT to. I'm perverted that way.

Last night, I asked the question and I received an erotic answer. I LOVE IT when a woman has a sense of adventure!

Okay, I'm gonna ask ALL you wimmen readers: If I called you and asked you to describe your NIPPLES for me, would you do it? I have a pretty good ranking system, based on the caliber of bullets that I NEVER shoot from my non-existent guns. Are you a .45 snub-nose, or a .22 long? Do you pack a set of .38 Specials, or a pair of high-impact .30-.30s? Enquiring minds want to KNOW!

I also require information about your background settings... the size and color of the plate that your nipples rest upon. I've seen some that are as big as beach balls, but I prefer small mushroom-caps myself. Those seem to be more appreciative of attention in MY scientific research. But I could be wrong. MORE research is needed.

So, here is my Question of the Day: Can YOU describe YOUR nipples in ten words or less? (You are FORBIDDEN to use the word "rose" or "rosy.")

Go for it.

breaks my heart

Just damn! I think my across-the-street neighbor has gone back to her boozin' and abusin' ex-husband for the third time now. That fact really pisses me off--- not just because the guy is a total asshole, but because I NEED her children. I have Jack and the girls trained to do my yard-work (for Mexican wages), and I spent years setting up that deal.

Now it's all gone... poof!... just like that. It ain't fair, I tell ya! I may have to start getting offa my own dead ass and doing that work myself if drunk-man doesn't hurry up and beat the shit out of his ex-wife again.

He must have a miracle dick a yard long to make her keep going back to him. I don't care if he makes her see Bejus in the sack. He's fucking with my labor-force here. I'm talking priorities, people! Why can't she just sport-fuck him and come back home when she's finished? I need my willing grunts to cut my grass, wash my cars and tell me how wonderful I am. It's all about The Children, for cryin' out loud.

Bah! Why can't SHE go back to Mr. Dickhead and leave the kids for ME? I'll give 'em some work-ethic and put some money in their pockets, too. Plus, I can do what I'm GOOD AT, which is supervising while somebody else does the actual work.

This situation just breaks my heart...

May 12, 2006

old man

When I was a boy, with a head full of sparkling dreams, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I figured that I could DO IT, too, because all it took was hard work and dedication. And I was raised to believe that without hard work and dedication, you didn't DESERVE any success in life.

I wanted to be, (in order) a 1) Professional football player for the Baltimore Colts... 2) an Astronaut, preferably the first to walk on Mars, or 3) a Fireman, with a really cool hat.

THAT'S the sort of thinking a young man OUGHT to be doing when he has a head full of dreams and hasn't yet been kicked in the nuts by the ninja-foot of Life. I wanna PUKE when I hear young people today say, "I want to save the planet" or "I want to live on a government welfare check, have six chil'ren before I'm 24 and die in a drug-related, drive-by shooting in the ghetto, IF a drug overdose doesn't get me first."

Okay, maybe young people don't say that last part, but they're damn sure living it today. And the ones who want to save the planet are just as hopelessly delusional, with no hope of EVER having a clear thought. Combine the two and you have the apathetic leading the clueless, which is a grand formula for success today.

Maybe I'm just a bitter old man, but I miss my old dreams. When I was young, I relished possibilities and my dreams were full of them. Very few ever ended up being realized, but they gave me a target in life, something to WORK FOR, and when they WERE realized, the reward was great.

I'll tell you what's REALLY wrong with this country today: we discourage dreamers. We preach entitlement instead of hard work. We call success "life's lottery" instead of Survival of the Fittest. We promise a check in the mail instead of getting OUT of life exactly what you put INTO it. We glorify losers and punish achievers.

Awwww... fuggedaboudid. Ignore this post. I'm in a got-damn pissy mood. That happens to me sometimes when I don't sleep well.

I really miss my dreams.

if nature abhors a vacuum, then why does the world suck?

I hurt. I'm in a foul mood. I can't read the news without thinking that I am surrounded by idiots. I ain't serene worth a shit. I feel old and I don't remember how I got that way. I pray:

THE SENILITY PRAYER : Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.


gross insensitivity

I don't want to hear any more bitching about greedy oil companies and their fat-cat executive salaries when we have this kind of bullshit coming from lawyers. At least oil companies produce something other than gigantic pains in my ass.

A Los Angeles psychologist who was denied a tote bag during a Mother's Day giveaway at an Angel game is suing the baseball team, alleging sex and age discrimination.

Poor baby!!! Those meanies didn't give him a Mother's Day tote bag. When slammed with that kind of insult, what else is a man to do except whine and sue?

I realize that this IS California, where whining and suing are activities almost as popular as celebrity protests and environmental fuckwittery, but this crap is pure damnfool even by Nutbowl State standards. Gimme a break. If this guy demanded a Mother's Day tote bag, why didn't people simply look at him, furrow their brows and say, "Dude... you ain't right in the head."

THAT would be a common sense reaction--- but common sense died the Death of a Thousand Cuts a long time ago. It was eradicated, piece by piece, in the High Court of Political Correctness and Perpetual Grievance, and I am amazed to realize that I saw it happen in MY lifetime.

People, excuse me, but I'm mourning here. My darling ex-wife was correct when she once accused me of having a "Beaver Cleaver" set of life values.

I thought about that remark long and hard after my divorce and the shit-storm that THAT fiasco involved, and I came to an irrefutable conclusion: I really do.

Believe it or not, but I AM Beaver Cleaver. From my hillbilly roots to the top of my now-thinning gray silver hair, I MUST be, because this case makes no sense to me whatsoever. I see a shitass at work here--- and even little Beaver Cleaver recognized Eddie Haskell for what he really was.

In MY humble opinion, you don't need to be a rocket scientist to tell right from wrong. In fact, it's pretty fucking simple, as long as you don't suffer from sensitivity paralysis, that unreasonable fear of being "insensitive," which drives LOTS of people crazy anymore. (There's a big difference between "sensitivity" and "neurosis," but that line is blurred today.)

So, after much study upon the matter, I have decided to be judgmental: Mr. Cohn and Mr. Rava--- you, sirs, are shameless assholes. If I WERE Beaver Cleaver, I would egg your houses. I would set fire to bags of dogshit on your front porches, ring your doorbells and run away laughing in the night. I would deliver your newspapers by throwing them in the bushes. I know LOTS of childish pranks that I can pull on you.

Kinda like this childish prank of a lawsuit.

coulda been worse

It's bad when a tornado touches down on your house and does tens of thousands of dollars in damages. But it coulda been worse, especially when you live on wizard of oz drive.

You COULD have been talking to Munchkins afterward instead of news reporters.

(Thanks to loyal reader Ruth Moran for the link!)

May 11, 2006

it's a miracle!

The Americans With Disabilities Act is one of the most misbegotten pieces of shit legislation ever passed. To say that it has been mightily abused by sue-happy miscreants would be a huge understatement. But every now and then, a heartwarming case arises to prove the benefit of the law.

Here's one that's absolutely amazing. Thanks to the ADA, a wheelchair-bound, "paralyzed" woman not only learned to WALK again, but she also took off running from the police when they arrested her for fraud.

See? The law works miracles.

(UPDATE: It must. We now have 50 million "disabled" people in this country--- more than one out of every six citizens. Who even imagined that so many people were handicapped when the ADA became law?)

pissin' and moanin'

Sometimes, life just sucks. Last night, I was restless, tossing and turning in my sleep, which meant that I didn't sleep much at all. Every time I tossed or turned, I awoke instantly to the feeling of hot knives, dull corkscrews and live electrical wires being jammed into my shoulders. I don't recall urinating on my pillow during the night, so I assume that it was damp this morning from the tears of pain I shed every time I moved. I had to crawl out of bed in slow, miserable stages.

Got-dam. My appointment with the osteopathic sports-medicine doctor isn't until Monday. I don't know if I can last that long. I swear that the range of motion in my arms is half what it was two weeks ago and the pain is twice as bad. If this progression continues, by Monday I won't be able to wipe my own ass anymore. (If THAT happens, I guess I'll find out who my REAL friends are...)

I've got tomatoes and squash producing like gangbusters in my garden. I'll probably be picking some of those in another week or two. Budding baby bells decorate my pepper plants and my okra is beginning to bloom. The corn and the beans look good, too. But I fear that all my produce is gonna be choked to death by the profusion of weeds rapidly taking over the entire garden. I need to get out there and perform some serious weeding, but I can't because of my ailing shoulders. I'm gonna have to go with alternate plan "B:" just throw enough fertilizer out there to feed EVERYTHING and hope that my plants can compete with the invading alien pod-creatures.

Once upon a time, when I was idealistic and naive, I listened to idiotic politicians saying stupid things and thought, "Nobody is dumb enough to believe THAT shit." I never say that anymore. I now am convinced that NOTHING is too dumb for large numbers of people to believe.

I was curious about what would happen to my blog traffic after I was banned by google on the first of this month (May Day--- coincidence?). I lost a little more than 1,000 visitors per day. I'm pleasantly surprised by that number, because I really believed that it would be a lot worse. I guess that I had more actual readers than I thought. (I notice that "unknown" remains my top referral. What the hell does "unknown" mean on Site Meter?)

I think I'm going to have to give up drinking coffee. Again. I did that once because coffee started upsetting my stomach. Now it just wires the hell out of me. After a couple of cups, I feel as if I'm buzzed on amphetamines and about to crawl right out of my skin. It's not a pleasant feeling.

I'm not going to sail to Beliz this summer. I would love to, but I simply am not physically able to do it with my shoulders as fucked up as they are. Knowing what a lazy bastard Recondo 32 is, I figure that he invited me on the trip just because he needed a deck-monkey to wrestle the sheets and actually operate the boat for him while he sat on his ass and gave orders. I suspect that anyone who will drive three times around a Wal-Mart parking lot to find a handicapped parking spot ain't gonna do much work on a sailboat. He's going to need to recruit another pizz-boy.

Here's some Food For Thought, which I believe applies to most Americans today, especially those who answer opinion polls: "When you never pay attention, everything is a surprise."

long lost brother

My daddy never told me that he visited Scotland when he was in the Navy. He DAMN sure never told me that I had a brother there, but the evidence is hard to deny.

That is some eerie shit.

May 10, 2006

it's not my fault

I just thought that my aching shoulders were a problem. Now I'm afraid that something much worse is happening to me. I think I have Tourette's Syndrome.

I have an involuntary, uncontrollable reaction when I read stories such as this one. My eyes widen, I take a deep breath, and a stream of terrible cursing bursts from my lips. I don't MEAN to do it, but I just can't help myself.

The deaths have prompted a plea by some grieving mothers for new laws that would mandate warning labels about the potential danger of top-heavy or poorly placed TVs.

"If there were warning labels, or if there was any awareness that this could be a danger, believe me, the kind of mother I am, I wouldn't have even let my son have a TV in his room," Michele DeMeo-Bonsangue told the New York Post.

My fuckinggoddamsumbitchshitcocksuckerbastard aching ass! We need warning labels to explain the law of gravity to people who never heard of it before. Oh, yeah! WARNING LABELS, certain to be read, understood and OBEYED by people who have the "awareness" of a box of rocks, IF they bother to read at all.

I can see it now: Put warning labels on televisions that say, "CAUTION!!!! DO NOT put this TV where it might fall and kill that precious rug-rat you have crawling unsupervised around your home. DOUBLE CAUTION!!! The television may not be stable enough for little Junior to climb like monkey bars, and he may get his widdle head crushed like an eggshell if he tries. TRIPLE, REALLY SERIOUS, DOUBLE-CAUTION!!!!! If this television falls, it could hurt somebody!" If we do THAT, no child will EVER be hurt by a falling television again.


Somebody needs to put a warning label on stories such as that one. They are dangerous for ME to read.

quote of the day

"The right to be free from the threat of gun violence deserves as much respect as the right to bear arms."--- saul cornell

Yeah, and the "right" to a living wage deserves as much respect as the right to free speech, too, except for the fact that one ain't mentioned in the US Constitution while the other is. We've got so many got-dam "rights" today that it's hard to keep track of them all.

The right to breathe clean air. The right to have cheap gasoline prices. The right to affordable health care. The right to never hear or see anything "offensive." The right to stick a gerbil up your ass for an erotic thrill.

I have just one question: Why is it that the more imaginary "rights" people invent, the less personal freedom I have?

at last!

Amid the muck of pseudo-scientific scare stories about Global Warming, a real nugget of truth finally emerges. This explanation for climate change is as reasonable as any I've heard from anti-civilization environmentalists. In fact, it's a lot better than most because it exposes Al Gore as the alien he really is.

It's about time we got the facts of the matter.

May 09, 2006

i noticed it, too

What happened to "skyrocketing" gasoline prices? The climbing rocket seems to have... well, run out of gas now. Have YOU noticed the change DOWNWARD where YOU live? I saw gas for $2.59 per gallon at a convenience store yesterday. That's about 25 cents less than it was just a week ago.

Okay, Lucy--- 'splain that to me...

senate in action

Oops! That's a typo in the title of this post. It SHOULD have read "Senate Inaction." Given the chance to enact some reasonable medical malpractice reforms, our concerned Democrat leaders just said no.

Democrats are spinning their cowardice as a bold stand against a "boon" for eeeeevil insurance companies. In reality, it's a lot like their stand against drilling for oil in the ANWR. They're protecting the environment--- in this case, the lush, fertile hunting grounds where sue-happy trial lawyers roam.

Are malpractice lawsuits really a problem for our health care providers today? Ask a physician.

Notice the difference. The insurance company no longer asks if you've been sued. It only asks if you've lost or settled more than one malpractice suit for more than $50,000 in the last five years. The assumption is clearly that many good physicians will not only have been sued in the last five years, but will have lost or settled one case for more than $50,000!

Forget the fact that malpractice lawsuits drive up the cost of health care and even run some doctors out of practicing medicine at all. Democrats are standing up for the Little Guy, the Common Man, by opposing malpractice reform. Democrats certainly are not bought and paid for by trial lawyers. No siree.

Predictably, the trial bar has used its largesse to invest heavily in the political process essential to its business, and has therein gained influence over government surpassing any other industry's (And that includes Halliburton---ed.). The litigation industry has led all others in political contributions for over a decade, and the American Trial Lawyers Association was the largest PAC contributor to the Democratic party in the last full political cycle. Over that same span, every law firm contributing over $1 million was a plaintiffs' firm, and each gave 99 to 100 percent of its contributions to Democrats.

When I look at the Senate, I see the best politicians money can buy.

i got it

The fine folks at Channel 5 News in Atlanta sent me a tape of the report on blogging that they aired last week. I received it in the mail yesterday and I am relieved to discover that I didn't appear to be a complete idiot on television. In fact, I thought that I sounded semi-articulate, vaguely thoughtful and partially intelligent in my interview.

Just goes to show the miracles possible with clever editing.

Does anybody know how I can put that interview on my blog? I know that it CAN be done, but the process is far beyond my own fucktardly computer skills. But I'm willing to try, given the proper guidance.

How do I do it?

robbin' who?

Anybody who believes that this crap is a "Robin Hood" type of crime is a blithering idiot. Unfortunately, we have a lot of those in the world today.

Last week the well-heeled citizens of Hamburg's Altona district got a taste of their antics when 30 of them marched into the city's luxury "Fresh Paradise Goedeken" supermarket and walked out five minutes later with US$15,000 ($23,600) worth of stolen goods. ... The incident was the latest attack perpetrated by this Robin Hood-style gang of so-called "Spontis", whose activities have alarmed and baffled the Hamburg police and the city's well-to-do.

Let's correct a minor misconception here before romanticizing the actions of a bunch of scumbag thieves. Robin Hood DID NOT "rob from the rich and give to the poor." He relieved the king's TAX COLLECTORS of booty they took from the common folk, and he returned it to those who were robbed by government in the first place. That's a far cry from stealing steaks from an upscale grocery store.

A TRUE modern-day Robin Hood would target the Internal Revenue Service or the local tax-man--- NOT "the rich." Robin Hood was NOT a champion of income redistribution as so many ignorant, hate-the-rich dickweeds like to believe. He was a tax rebel, not a starry-eyed socialist.

I hate to see his name slandered by genuine thieves.

quote of the day

"We are not the fringe. We are not the lunatics. They are. We are mainstream America."--- cindy sheehan

Uh huh.

May 08, 2006

input needed

I'm issuing an urgent All Points Bulletin here: Has anyone who reads me suffered torn rotator cuffs and undergone the corrective surgery? I ask because it looks like exactly that shit is headed my way and I would like to know what to expect. I think it's a fair question.

Men (and even a few wimmen) frequently email ME asking about what to expect after a radical prostatectomy, and I ALWAYS respond. I'm no doctor, but I can give a pretty damned good prognosis from a patient's point of view in this case. I wish that I had known more when I had it done.

I believe that I'm fixin' to sail into uncharted waters again, so I'm asking locals to give me some directions. From what I've learned so far, the operation is a piece of cake. Doctors are good at performing it and the surgery is effective to cure the problem. Okay, that's fine with me.

But I ALSO understand that the rehab process is a painful bitch to endure. I have no doubt that I CAN DO IT (humility is not a virture that I possess), but I would like to know something about the enemy I'm likely to face.

If you've had the surgery and gone through the rehab process, please share what you know. I would appreciate it, and I am certain that other readers would, too. I have these questions:

How difficult is rehab? How long does it take? How much does it REALLY hurt? What can happen if I DON'T do it? What does it involve? Can I do it at home, or do I have to trip my Cracker ass to a clinic and pay out the wazoo?

Input is needed desperately here.

i need my head examined

* I went grocery shopping today because I needed milk and bread. I ended up spending almost $100 before I got out of the store. Kroger's had whole beef tenderloins on sale for $6.99 a pound, so I bought TWO of 'em, even though I still have a bunch of New York strips in my freezer from the last time I saw good steaks on sale. Bejus! I am becoming a woman. If it's on sale, I BUY IT... just because it's on sale... and I think about all the money I'm "saving." I have a freezer FULL of fine steaks now. What am I, all by myself, gonna do with all of that meat? Wanna come have dinner with me?

* My sports medicine doctor called yesterday (well... HE didn't call. His receptionist did) and told me to bring my shoulder X-rays with me when I came for my appointment next Monday. I went by Effingham County Hospital today and picked them up. As soon as I got back to my car, I examined the X-rays carefully. I think I'm gonna die.

* I believe that when I start paying CLOSE attention to news articles about "The Best Places To Go To Prison," I have cause to worry about myself.

* I broke a vow I made several years ago and watched 60 Minutes last night. I once swore off that show, but I wanted to see the segment on John Daley, the professional golfer whose problems with alcohol, gambling and divorce kinda remind me of ME. I caught the piece CBS did on ethanol. It set off my bullshit detector and reminded me WHY I stopped watching that show years ago. If I didn't know any better, I would believe that corn juice was the miracle cure for completely ending our dependence on Middle Eastern oil. The show drove home that point with an interview featuring a whacked-out professor of "environmental studies" (or some such idiocy) from UCal at Berkeley. By gawd, THERE'S where you go for rational discourse and clear thinking, isn't it?

* I now have TWO one-gallon plastic bags full of blackberries in my freezer. I have eaten almost that many myself. I have, indeed, shit like a goose for the past few days.

* I am thoroughly convinced that if I wanted to buy a riding lawn mower and had 200 different units to choose from, I would pick the ONE with a leaky tire. I always do.

* Did YOU ever start to make a pot of coffee and spoon about three BIG scoops of gourmet grounds into your coffee-maker before you realized that you forgot to install a coffee filter first? Good. Neither have I. That kinda thing would make ME feel really foolish.

* I had an "I AM NOT WORTHY!!!" moment today. I am reading Marine Sniper, which is a book about Carlos Hathcock, the legendary shootist and slayer of MANY enemy in Vietnam. In 1965, at The Wimbledon Cup National High-Powered Rifle Championship, he won first place by NEVER MISSING the bulls-eye at 1,000 yards in a wind that, without compensation, would blow rounds 190 inches off-target by the time they got downrange. Sweet Bejus! I'll never think of myself as a good shot again.

* I still think I'm good enough to hit a fucking crow at 25 feet from my back door with my pellet rifle. I'm gonna do it, too, if that bastard doesn't stop hogging my bird feeders. The got-dam pirate camps out among the scrub pines in my back yard, and every time other birds stop by for a snack, he comes swooping down, screeching like a bat outta hell to run them off. Then, he sits on top of the feeder-post and preens like a Tall Dog, very proud of himself. He needs a lesson in sniping, given by ME. I HATE that sumbitch and I'm gonna kill him.

* If a judge ever sentenced ME to attend "sensitivity training," I'd jump from my seat and strangle the bastard with my own bare hands, no matter how badly it hurt my ailing shoulders. I'm sensitive that way...

* Does YOUR local newspaper have a feature where people call in to voice their lofty opinions on important issues? Do YOU read that feature and realize that about 95% of the vaunted "American People" is out of its fucking mind?

* I shoulda planted marijuana instead of vegetables in my garden. Weeds appear to thrive out there.

* If I were an inmate on Death Row, facing execution, and the warden granted ME a Last Wish, I would like to screw Nichole Kidman, which proves to ME that Tom Cruise is an ass.

* I have a horrible suspicion that if anyone examined my head, the picture would look a lot like my shoulder X-rays. Nothing but spooky stuff in there...

be still my heart!

I'll be damned. Here is a refreshing moment of sanity in a drunk driving liability case. I find it difficult to believe. A court actually ruled that a person is responsible for his own behavior and it's NOT somebody else's fault when he fucks up.

What a concept! The mind boggles!

It's just too bad that the ruling came in a Canadian court and not here in the USA.

not very tolerant

Wow. This guy needs to be beaten with billy clubs and dragged off for some sensitivity training. He doesn't recognize self-esteem when he sees it.

I think he's guilty of a hate-crime:

The doctrine of rights has borne putrid fruit. In the ward recently was a young woman of the now very extensive slut-babymother class, whose jaw was clenched in a habitual expression of world-destroying hatred. Her glittering saurian eyes swivelled mistrustingly, on the qui vive for infringements of her rights. She exuded grievance as a skunk exudes its odour.

No, forget about sensitivity training. This guy is too far gone for that to do any good. "Slut babymother?" Egad! He's denegrating The Children. He's being insensitive and maybe even worse, judgmental. We cannot tolerate that kind of... intolerance. Drag him off and shoot him!

Those crazy Aussies. Doesn't this guy realize that people have a RIGHT not to hear such awful things?

May 07, 2006

my need to share

Because I'm such a giving kind of guy, I am compelled to share something with you. It's an Amazon review of the movie United 93, written by an obviously deranged individual a thoughtful conspiracy theorist.

This guy really is gonna be pissed when he discovers that his phone is tapped by Karl Rove.

Reviewer: Tom M. Sweeney (Las Cruces, NM) - I see reviews of people praising this movie as a "herioc" moment in Americas history. The truth could not be farther from it.

People in American need to wake up, this kind of propoganda is being fed to the US daily, this movie is nothing more than a lie to back up the "official" government story.

Why did experts on the site of the United 93 describe it as looking as though "someone had dug a ditch, and dropped scrap metal in it".

Why did the official corener on the scene report no blood being seen or gathered?

Why was United 93 reported as landing at an airport, and having the passengers evacuated.

Why did United 93 remain listed as an active airliner, after the 2 jets used in the WTC attacks were removed?

How were passangeres on board the plane able to make cell phone calls when experts have concluded such calls would have a next to the nothing % chance of going through. And why would America Airlines later spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to make it possible to use cell phones in airliners? Because the calls from the airline on 9/11 were lies.

Simple research will tell you the truth.


Our United States Of America was founded because the pilgrams were tired of the leader ship of the King. They stood up against what they knew was wrong. If every person out there, refuses to argue with the governments side of the story, we are letting down the people that died to let this country exsist.

Do not become another blind follwer of propoganda, do proper research yourselves, and the truth will shine upon you.

Do not support this movie.

That's right. DO NOT become another blind follower "follwer" of propaganda.

Just listen to those screaming voices inside your head.

quote of the day

Patrick Kennedy certainly is a Man of the People.

Kennedy's decade in the House has been marked by prodigious fund-raising, occasionally bad behavior (such as shoving an African-American airport security worker) and a tendency to blurt out things he quickly regrets. "I don't need Bush's tax cut," Kennedy shouted to a shocked crowd of young Democrats in 2003. "I have never worked a f-----g day in my life."

The Democratic operative said: "He's like the boss' son who sort of falls into the family business and doesn't really belong."---Lloyd Grove

But he's a Kennedy: A champion of the poor and the downtrodden--- especially those who never worked a fucking day in THEIR lives, either.

Kennedys are known for their Rich Liberal Democrat Compassion. They LOVE to give away taxpayer other people's money to leeches and parasites while keeping their own inherited fortunes for themselves. They also spend a LOT of time just keeping their own spoiled criminal asses out of jail.

That's hard work.

another satisfied customer

Dammit, I'm gonna start asking my friend willy to pay me a commission. I just helped him sell another guitar, which makes seven or eight deals that I'm responsible for. And that's not counting the four guitars I bought from him myself.

Bloggers will bitch about almost anything that irritates them, but I have not heard a single disgruntled complaint from those who bought one of Willy's guitars. That's really saying something, when you consider the fact that this guy and this guy and this guy all are satisfied customers.

All three are master bitchers when they get pissed off, so if they say that they are happy with a new guitar, they mean it. I haven't heard bitch one from ANY of 'em.

If you're looking to buy a nice guitar at a good price, I can help you out--- just as soon as I work out that commission deal...

an old fart

Go say something nice to this guy. Yesterday was his birthday and the old fart is 64 years old--- living proof that only the good die young.

Happy birthday, Guy! (I'm a day late, but it's the thought that counts.)

May 06, 2006

jumbo shrimp

When is a shrimp not a shrimp? When it's a REAL jumbo. (Click on the video to see it. Ignore the got-dam commercial that plays first.)

THAT is a BIG shrimp.

this is spooky

Yeah, it's spooky, but it's not surprising. You didn't think the nanny-state would stop protecting us from ourselves with mere bans on smoking, did you? When we allowed (and even cheered) that kind of violation of personal liberty, we should have known that it wouldn't end there.

In mid-January, the city began legally requiring laboratories that do medical testing to report to the Health Department the results of blood-sugar tests for city residents with diabetes — along with the names, ages, and contact information on those patients.

City officials are not only analyzing these data to assess patterns and changes in diabetes prevalence in the city, but are planning "interventions." Simply put, diabetics will soon receive letters and phone calls from city officials offering advice and counsel on how to effectively deal with their medical condition. If you wish to keep your medical data confidential, you cannot.

See how much government cares about its citizens? Once it starts holding interventions for unhealthy diabetics, government can do the same thing with all sorts of bad lifestyle choices. After all, it's for our own good.

And if interventions don't work to make you mend your errant ways, well....

When the government's phone calls and letters nagging people to eat better, quit smoking, and be more physically active don't work, the next phase of the war on chronic disease may be a harshly punitive one, with fines and other restrictions on those who fail to heed the health warnings. The message will be: Live a healthy life or the government will punish you.
If you applauded when the lifestyle police went after smokers, you'll just love what's coming next.

i blame it on suvs

Bejus! This human-induced global warming stuff is getting waaaay out of hand. It's not just the earth we have to worry about anymore. We had better ratify the Kyoto Treaty before our greenhouse gases fry Jupiter, too.

Jupiter's Great Red Spot suddenly has a sibling, an enormous new spot that some planetary scientists think could be evidence of climate change sweeping the gaseous planet. (emphasis mine)

It's everywhere! It's everywhere! Even in outer space!

Obviously, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!

seeing red

When I read this post, a lot of painful childhood memories came back to me in a blinding flash, much like what I once saw just before I hit the ground unconscious after my Uncle Virgil nailed me right between the eyes with a well-thrown baseball. I'm just glad that the baseball knocked me out without breaking the skin on my forehead; otherwise, my mama would have doctored my wound with mercurochrome (or merthiolate--- whichever one it was that burned like the fires of hell) and I would have screamed like a girl.

Man, I hated that stuff. Now, it's banned by the FDA, a move that occurred about 40 years too late to spare ME from it.

I remember how Mama used to swab that stuff on my open wounds and, in a futile attempt to ease the burning, blow on it, while I howled like a banshee. The stuff left a stain on the skin that resembled dried blood, and it didn't go away until it WORE off.

After I grew old enough to be conniving, I learned to hide my cuts and abrasions from Mama, lest she reach for the mercurochrome and abuse me with it. I was willing to take my chances on developing gangrene--- I was a lot more afraid of mercurochrome than I was of an amputation.

Kids today don't know how good they've got it, the ungrateful little wimps. No wonder we're turning into a nation of pussies. Instead of mercurochrome, they've got stingless antiseptic sprays for their bo-bos. And wussy-assed band aids with Muppet characters on 'em.

Whatever happened to the concept of, "No pain, no gain?" Suffering builds strong character. Mercurochrome gave you some backbone.

Of course, kids today probably don't require the kind of doctoring I got from my mama. It's hard to cut yourself on Gameboy controls.

May 05, 2006

i told you so!

Naw, he wasn't drunk. He simply was stoned out of his fucking gourd somewhat confused on Ambien before he got behind the wheel of a car and neglected to turn his headlights on.

He assures everybody that he wasn't impared, but he doesn't remember what happened, which is NOT the same thing as being impared, according to Kennedy. It was an obvious mistake--- one ANYBODY could make. He thought Ambien was a DRIVING pill, not a SLEEPING pill.

My aching ass. The prick is gonna walk away scot-free from an incident that would have anybody else doing jail time, community service and paying hefty fines. Probably losing their jobs, too, but it won't happen to HIM, because he is a Kennedy. In Massachusettes, home of the brain-dead Democrat political machine, where shit smells like roses as long as you don't stand downwind.

Oh! The rich poor bastard got out of rehab in late December. He TRIED to reform, but he obviously just couldn't do it. We should forgive him, fuggedaboudit grant him a second chance, sing Kumbaya and drink give praise to the Grand Kennedy Courage. They ARE, after all, part of the American Camelot, and Patrick IS going back into rehab after this fiasco slight mistake.

I call bullshit. The Kennedy family is more like an American "cum-a-lot" than the court of King Arthur. They never saw a set of tits and ass that they didn't like, except for their own wives. I am sick and tired of the press (and the VOTERS) giving this degenerate family a free pass for being KENNEDYS!!!!, while ignoring the stench of corruption that eminates from that bunch.

I feel qualified to comment on widdle Patrick's problems, because I recently went through rehab MYSELF. I was released back in NOVEMBER, after 38 days in Willingway Hospital. I have not taken a drink of alcohol since.

Has it been easy? No, HELL NO, it has not been easy. Have I WANTED to drink? Yes, HELL YES I have. But I didn't, because I realized that I was flushing my life down the commode with what I was doing before I quit. I didn't want to leave that sort of self-destructive idiocy as my legacy.

Patrick Kennedy made four months out of rehab before he was drunk on the street and NOT ARRESTED by the DC police. I call that not trying very hard, combined with sheer dumbassery. Even a Kennedy---shit---ESPECIALLY a Kennedy should know better than to get fucked up and then drive a car. Look at what Uncle Teddy did.

Patrick obviously doesn't understand, and he's in charge of making law in this country. At least when I was a drunk, I didn't pass laws telling YOU what to do. I wouldn't have the unmitigated gall to do that.

And I damn sure wouldn't try to worm my way out of ANY problem the way Kennedy is doing, the belly-crawling shitass. But, hey! The Kennedys KNOW what works when a member of the clan steps in shit. Just deny, obfscuate and lie, then get reelected.

That clan may be above the law, but they are beneath MY contempt.

oh, man!

It's good. In the midst of the protests, hand-wringing and political posturing about illegal immigrants, it's almost TOO damned good. Go look. Every time some asshole whines to you about Pedro and Juanita simply seeking a better life by sneaking into this country illegally, show 'em that post.

Tell me that's not GOOD.

hotel food

Why do hotel restaurants usually serve shitty food at expensive prices? Due to circumstances beyond my control (I couldn't arrange transportation to the nearest Burger King), I've been forced to consume hotel restaurant food in the past, and it's ALWAYS been shitty, except at one Holiday Inn in Florida, where I happened to find myself on an "All You Can Eat Snow Crab Legs" night at the buffet.

Even then, the snow crab legs weren't anything to write home about, which is remarkable, because snow crab legs come packaged ALREADY COOKED and all you have to do is HEAT THEM UP. You've got to really TRY to fuck up THAT dish, and the Holiday Inn almost managed. And that was GOOD FOOD by Holiday Inn standards.

I don't understand it. When I was in Austin, I conked out took a power nap brief siesta after sitting in the sun all day and missed the grand Saturday evening blodger exodus to a Tex-Mex restaurant and the Stevie Ray Vaughn Memorial.

I was alone and hungry, so I went to the hotel restaurant and saw this guy dining by himself. I decided to join him. I ordered a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich with french fries. I figured that it was a safe bet.

I was mistaken. I should have known that any restaurant chain capable of fucking up frozen snow crab legs could not possibly handle making a got-dam simple sandwich. They couldn't. The damn thing tasted like old cardboard with onions, bell peppers and melted cheese on it.

Where is the outrage??? Without the Blown-Eyed Writer's Conference discount, rooms in that establishment go for almost $200 per night. At those prices, why do they serve old cardboard as food in their restaurant? Bejus! Some of the microwave-ready frozen burritos you find in 7-11 stores taste better.

I saw the hotel restaurant packed with customers a couple of times, too. They must have been a captive audience with no way to find a decent place to eat, because I think I saw a couple of dogs cross the street to avoid the place when I looked outside. Serving the dishes that place did is lodger abuse, in MY humble opinion, except for maybe the pancakes and bananas--- but you had to be there to appreciate those.

The best food I tasted at the hotel was the kosher wasabi and horseradish flavored capers in a can that he of the horrid flowered shirt served on the sixth floor balcony of the hotel. Those things had a nice "kick" to them, even without beer to wash them down.

Which brings me to my blog-question of the day: Have YOU ever stayed in a hotel that served good food?

didja see it?

Did anybody see me on Atlanta's Channel 5 news yesterday evening? That was supposed to be my Andy Warhol Moment--- my 15 minutes of fame--- and I don't get that station on my cable selection. The guys who filmed my interview said that they would send me a tape of the broadcast (which I hope they DO), but I don't know when that might happen.

I'm just curious about whether I looked like an asshole or not...


I shamelessly stole this video from this guy because I'm all into sharing. Watch it TWICE and see if you don't feel an involuntary puckering of your anus both times.

Bejus! That's what some people do when they try to drive while yapping on a cell phone...

(By the way... you also can find some crap-blogging there, including an idea whose time HAS NOT come. I hope.)

count your blessings

Every time I get down in the dumps and start feeling sorry for myself because I was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the age of 49, I read something like this and realize just how fortunate I am. I'm cancer-free (I had a PSA test done when I visited the doctor about the pain in my shoulders and the results came back a very comforting ZERO.) and I never had to endure any chemo.

I am one lucky guy. Go wish this guy some luck, too.

quote of the day

Speaking of the movie, United 93:

"It was the 11:30am showing...I wasnt expecting much more; especially since the mainstream media has been so aflutter with discussion about how this movie might be "too soon".

As if anyone ever posed that question about Michael Moore's flatulent passing of gas otherwise known as Farenheit 911. That movie was praised as a "courageous" look at 9-11. I guess it all depends on which side of the aisle you're sitting on. Such hypocrisy."--- mr. helpful

Keen observation. I never thought about THAT before. Go read his review of the movie, too.

child support

At the end of last month, I noticed that my April child support check still had not cleared the bank. I sent it off with a letter I wrote to my son, so I wondered if the darlin' ex-wife simply saw the letter and threw it away, along with the check. I hoped not, because it's been a while since she sent sheriff's deputies to my house, and I would prefer to keep it that way.

I sent her an email at work, asking about the check. She replied a day later, saying that she received the check and she just hadn't gotten around to depositing it yet. (That's how badly she needs the money--- that check STILL has not cleared.) I noticed from the address on the email that she must have remarried, because she has a new last name now.

I resent like hell paying her that money. I see it as a got-dam award for shitting all over me. But it could be worse. I could be paying her for somebody else's son.

Florida would become the 17th state since 2001 to alter a centuries-old legal principle that holds men responsible for children born of a marriage regardless of whether the men are the biological fathers, says the Center for Law and Social Policy (CLASP) in Washington, D.C. The principle, which comes from English common law, is designed to keep children from being left without support.

You GO, Florida. I resented being treated as nothing more than a human money-tree in divorce court, and Quinton is MINE (At least I'm pretty sure he is.) If I went through that same experience over a child fathered by somebody else, I might nut up and go postal.

Divorce law treats fathers badly enough when they ARE the daddies. It's a double-clutch fucking when they aren't. That crap just ain't right.

Of course, a woman would NEVER lie to a man about who is the father of her baby, just as a woman would never lie about rape, either.

this ain't the Vietnam war

I've seen it myself (Hell--- I've DONE it myself) and I've read a LOT of blog posts about the same thing. I'm old enough to remember how troops coming home from Vietnam were treated by anti-war protesters and unwashed leftist scum at airports. Cursing and spitting sometimes were involved.

Not anymore, no matter how much that fact chaps the asses of anti-war dickheads and unwashed leftist scum. Our troops, returning or leaving, receive standing ovations and free drinks from grateful civilians in airports today. That's quite a change from the 1960s.

I'm glad to see it, too. I owe my freedom to those young folks.

pot, meet kettle

Congress is outraged by the retirement package received by Exxon Mobil Corporation's former CEO Lee Raymond. I'll admit that the bundle of money Raymond takes away with him seems awfully damned generous to me, but so does this.

Talk about a sweet deal. It may not be as "exorbitant" as the millions Raymond got, but it's one hell of a lot better than what most civilians receive when they retire.

For example, defeated South Dakota Sen. Tom Daschle, 57, the former Democratic leader in the Senate, left Congress in January with an estimated pension of $121,233 and joined the Washington office of Atlanta-based Alston & Bird to provide strategic advice to the law firm's legislative and public policy clients.

Former Rep. W.J. "Billy" Tauzin, R-La., 61, the former chairman of the House Committee on Energy and Commerce with jurisdiction over the drug industry, retired in January with an estimated pension of $85,726 and now heads the Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America at a salary reported to be almost $2 million.

Congress had better be careful with this dog and pony show about outrageous retirement packages for oil executives. Raymond led his company to $7 billion in profits last year. Congress led this country into deficit spending. Exxon provided an essential commodity for consumers. Congress provided... well, a bunch of dog and pony shows, most of them useless and expensive.

More importantly, Exxon paid Raymond with money it EARNED. Congress paid itself with YOUR tax dollars.

Pension payments for 400 retired lawmakers receiving benefits as of Oct. 1, 2004, totaled more than $19 million, according to the Office of Personnel Management. The National Taxpayers Union estimates that taxpayers will begin paying $1.5 million more in pension benefits this year to cover the 22 lawmakers who left Congress in January and qualified for immediate pension payments.

That's a serious chunk of change, especially for people who gnash their teeth about somebody else's retirement package. It may not be as much largesse as what Raymond received, but it sure ain't bad. It's a damn sight better than what I got after working for 23 years at the same place. In fact, it seems kinda "outrageous" to me.

At least I produced something other than bloviation and posturing when I worked, which is something MANY members of congress can't say-- at least not truthfully. Of course, a successful congressman never let the truth stand in the way of a good television sound-bite.

If this ain't a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is.

May 04, 2006

Just some "crackers"

* Tomorrow is my mama's birthday. If she were still alive, she'd be 76 years old. Just damn, but I miss her. It's strange, though--- I still dream about my father a lot, and he's been gone for 13 years. I don't remember dreaming about Mama since she died, just over a year ago.

* My garden may not produce a got-dam thing this year, but I have another bumper crop of blackberries growing wild around my house. I've picked a little more than three pints of berries over the past three days and I still have plenty more that aren't ripe yet.

* I killed a copperhead snake this morning. I was picking blackberries when I saw the sumbitch, curled up under the condensate drain for my home heat-pump unit, about a foot from my hand. I don't know if he was wetting his whistle or hoping for some prey to come along for a drink, and I didn't wait to find out. I used a stick to drag his ass out of the bushes and cave in his head. That little fucker was less than a foot long, but it still scared me half to death and made me hurt my shoulder beating on its head.

* Whatever is wrong with my shoulders is getting worse every day. My range of motion in both arms is pathetic now and I ache like hell, except when I forget and reach for something. Then, I get a blinding, knife-like bone-pain that makes me see stars. (And I ain't talking about Roscoe, either.) I don't see the orthopedic guy until next week, if I can last that long before I'm totally crippled.

* I haven't seen or talked to my son since January. I've been writing him letters, but I don't know if he ever sees them or not. A great sadness settles over me if I let myself think about it. I try NOT to think about it, but it happens anyway.

* Michael Crichton makes another good point in his "Author's Message" at the end of State of Fear. "The 'precautionary principle', properly applied, forbids the precautionary principle." BWHAHAHAAA! Proponents of the precautionary principle don't see the inherent contradiction, which doesn't surprise me, looking at the proponents.

* I'm an English Major and I don't do math. I sometimes don't do spelling very well, either.

* There's a got-dam BIG difference between "tolerance" and "indulgence." It's not politically-correct to notice.

* this guy has an Excel spreadsheet with 468 synonyms for "vagina." If I really tried, I think I could come up with that many synonyms for "testicles." (Balls, cojones, jewels, eggs, stones, nuts, cods, marbles...)

* I believe that I learned more science in the seventh grade than most high school graduates do today. Or COLLEGE GRADUATES, for that matter. I know what chlorophyl is. Do you?

* People who think they're gonna get something for nothing from government should remember what my daddy always said: "Rob, nobody in this world is gonna give you something for nothing except me and your mama--- and even THEN, you'd better wonder what WE get out of it."

the acorn and the tree

like father, like son, I suppose. And I also expect that Robert will walk (if not stagger) away from this incident with no political or legal repercussions--- just the way his daddy did at Chappaquiddik.

Did it ever occur to anyone that Ted Kennedy is responsible for killing more people than global warming is?

no argument

From my comments:

So say you drink a gallon of water each day, represented by a 100 yard football field. Every day, somebody comes by with a vial of liquid mercury and drops some in there, not very much, but some. Say 99 yards, 2 feet and 11 inches represent your clean, fresh spring water, and that one inch now represents your daily dose of mercury. Maybe I just speak for myself, but I don't think I'd be wanting to drink that gallon of water every morning anymore.

Global warming certainly is overhyped and all the "experts" tend to be political fear-mongerers, no argument there. However, just stating proportions in and of themselves doesn't prove anything one way or the other.

Posted by Nathan R. at May 4, 2006 12:52 PM

Just one problem, Nathan. What does drinking mercury have to do with CO2 in the atmosphere? We don't exhale mercury with every breath the way we do CO2, nor do plants need mercury for the process of photosynthesis. I fail to see the connection, or the logic in your argument. But that's typical of what passes for reasoning in the environmental movement today.

To steal a phrase I read the other day--- that's about the non-est of non-sequitors I ever heard.

global bullshit

I just finished reading State of Fear, by Michael Crichton. I recommend that book to all who want to know a few dirty little secrets about environmentalists and the organic fuel (bullshit) that they run with on.

Take the fearsome menace of rising CO2 levels in the earth's atmosphere for example. EVERYBODY "knows" that CO2 is a greenhouse gas that is warming the planet and WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! if we don't do something about it, despite the FACT that CO2 is a trace gas in the atmosphere and it is essential for the existence of plant life.

What are we worrying about? Imagine the earth's atmosphere as a football field. Let's color the field to represent the gases surrounding our delicate planet.

Let's use red for nitrogen, and paint the field RED from one goal line to just over the OTHER 22 yard line. A little more than 78% of our atmosphere is NITROGEN, which is a "toxic" gas if you try to breathe it by itself. (Nitrogen KILLS a few people every year in confined-space entries.

Use blue for oxygen and paint from the 22 yard line down to the one. That's the part of the atmosphere that keeps us alive when we breathe. See what you've got? Yep, with just nitrogen and oxygen, we've covered 99% of the football field with paint. What's left?

Most of it is argon, which we'll paint pink. Whoa! That brings us to within three and a half inches of the goal line. Wait a minute! We're runnin' out of field here. Where's that evil, deadly CO2 we keep hearing about from global warming hysterics "experts?"

It's ONE FUCKING INCH of what's left. Paint it black, but you're gonna need a small brush to do it. As Crichton writes, "That's how much CO2 we have in our atmosphere. One inch in a hundred yard football field."

"But ROB," I hear you ask, "what about the INCREASE in CO2 over the last fifty years? You know... that big, man-made jump in CO2 levels that's being blamed for stronger hurricanes, melting glaciers and rising sea levels? Huh? What about THAT???"

That frightening increase in CO2 would amount to 3/8 of an inch on our football field. Not even HALF of an inch. Try to remember this fact the next time some environmentalist asshole starts screaming and wringing his hands about CO2 levels as proof of man-made global warming. Then, slap the silly bitch for being a got-dam fool.

There's your science lesson for the day.

(UPDATE: Good reading here, too. I still say that when people attempt to scare you to death and then demonize those who question them, they're lying to you.)

quote of the day

"With political correctness, the stupidity never ends. It moves from stupid to bizarre to delusional to dangerous to destructive."--- robert farago

I think we've reached the "destructive" point. We left "stupid" and "delusional" in the rear-view mirror a LONG time ago.

blown-star blodgers

I said I wasn't going to write any more about the Austin blog-meet, and I won't. I'm going to let other people do it.

she did.

So did she.

Of COURSE this guy did.

I knew that he would.

Heh. Even a canterbury tale. Sorta. Gotta work on the iambic pentameter, dude. You're dealing with an English major here.

I didn't get to talk with this guy much (A blogmeet is a moveable feast, kinda like a rolling doughnut...), but I'll rectify that problem, I hope, at the NEXT meet.

Here's the man who gave us the flaming chipmunks. Be forewarned: behind that apple-cheeked, beardless face lurks the mind of an instigator.

Hell, even this lovely gal managed to shake off her blog lethargy and post about it.

Even better, this guy rose from his death-bed to participate. I think he's allegric to blog meets, but he's tough. He can play hurt.

See some texas pitchers and a drive-by from Leslie.

Don't miss what this thrill-seeking stunt driver had to say. (Especially about ME, heh, heh. I love flattery! She's tall and pretty, with red toenails, and I'd like to shinny up her long legs and... never mind.)

You can stop by here and here for a father-daughter summation.

You can even see some pitchers here, but you kinda have to use your imagination because she doesn't know how to operate the flash on her camera.

There are more out there, but I'm about linked out now...

the pussification of America

We need to get rid of "The Star Spangled Banner" as our national anthem. First, the tune was ripped off from and old English drinking song and I think you have to be drunk to sing it. (It's a nut-buster--- especially the high notes.) Because the song is so difficult to sing, we get performances such as the cringe-worthy rendition we heard at this year's Super Bowl. Gawd! That was enough to make me want to hear it in Spanish.

Second, the song is about a battle and everybody knows that war is bad--- very, very bad for children and other living things. Plus, it's a chickenhawk song, full of bloodthirsty stuff like "rocket's red glare" and "bombs bursting in air," written by a guy who wasn't in the fight. He's got his nerve to write or even SAY anything about war. Only real combat veterans, such as John Kerry, have the right to speak of war. Everybody knows THAT.

Naw, the song lacks compassion and sensitivity, and Bejus knows--- that just won't do today.

It is as if we've become sophisticated beyond our intelligence, savvy beyond wisdom. Some might say we are showing a great and careful generosity, as befits a great nation. But maybe we're just, or also, rolling in our high-mindedness like a puppy in the grass. Maybe we are losing some crude old grit. Maybe it's not good we lose it.

What a beautiful line: "...rolling in our high-mindedness like a puppy in the grass." What a perfect description of the empty-headedness that passes for deep thought today. It captures the "enlightenment" of political-correctness in a nutshell.

Yeah, in a heart-warming display of compassion, the jury gave Zacarias Moussaoui life in prison instead of the death penalty. Why?

Rosemary Dillard, whose husband Eddie died in the attacks, said of Moussaoui: "He's a bad man, but we have a fair society." She said of terrorists: "We will treat them with respect no matter what they do to us."

WTF??? We're gonna treat terrorists with "respect no matter what they do to us?" Excuse me while I puke all over my keyboard.

I'm an Old School, vengeful kinda guy. I look at a smirking cumstain such as Moussaoui and I think about all the people who died on 9/11 and I don't feel any "respect" at all for the man. In fact, I hate the bastard. I see blood on his hands. I would LIKE to see him stripped nekkid, smeared with bacon grease and staked out on a large fire ant mound under a blazing southeast Georgia sun.

But my idea is too... icky. Ewwwwww...

I think that this verdict is a perfect example of what this guy calls "The Pussification of America." We've been gelded.

I'm not sure this is progress. It feels not like the higher compassion but the lower evasion. It feels dainty in a way that speaks not of gentleness but fear.

I don't think it's progress, either. We'll never win a war against murderous scumbags such as Moussaoui if we lack the balls to fight it down and dirty, the way THEY play. Moussaoui ain't no child, this ain't no game, and our soccer-mom mentality ain't gonna impress him. After all, he DID clap his hands and say, "America, you lost," when the verdict was announced.

Of course, we could NEVER stake such a man to a fire ant mound. We would have pussies everywhere screaming about how we've gotta show some "respect" for fire ants, too.

Change the national anthem to a more appropriate song, something that reflects the true character of our nation today. I suggest "Feelings," by Barry Manilow.

May 03, 2006

somebody watch it

I just got a call from the folks at Channel 5 in Atlanta. Their news report on bloggers will air at 6:00 PM tomorrow (Thursday) evening. Evidently, I didn't end up on the cutting room floor. So, I have a request for my Atlanta area readers.

Somebody watch it and let me know what you think.

super mom

In all her grief over the death of her son, Cindy simply hasn't had time.

What a mutha.

she's right!

As she says, we didn't see any of these pictures on the news.

Kinda makes you wanna go hug a Mexican, doesn't it?

your tax dollars at work

Here's a good question: "Why does a corporation that made $2.4 billion in profit need another $200 million from American taxpayers to cover a loss they've absorbed in that same year?"

Because trent lott wants it, that's why. No wonder he's sick and tired of Porkbusters looking over his shoulder. The man is a serial looter who doesn't want his activities exposed. Republican, my aching ass.

Then, there's this: "Congress has a rather narrow view of profit in a free-market society. When ExxonMobil makes 10.7% profit, they decry the "windfall profit" of a corporation. When Northrup Grumman makes 7.1%, they qualify for a bailout."

Take pride. Those are YOUR tax dollars at work.

dumb quiz

I shamelessly ripped this one off from this guy, who is "beautiful, in a manly way, of course." (Hmmm... reminds me of ME.) I'm gonna answer the questions just because, like most bloggers, I love talking about myself.

Death’s Door A-Z

Accent: Southern, although this guy recently accused me of the henious crime of "enunciation," whatever the hell THAT is.

Booze: I'll pass, thank you. Just give me a club soda with a slice of lime. I'm allergic to alcohol. It makes me break out in a bad case of the asshead.

Chore I hate: Cleaning my filthy kitchen. Someone recently surveyed my humble abode and said, "Rob, you need a wife." I replied, "No, they're too expensive. I need a maid. They're a lot less costly in the long run, and they go the fuck home when they're finished cleaning."

Dog or cat: What a dumb question.

Essential electronics: My computer, TV, and stereo.

Favorite Cologne: I don't wear cologne. I sometimes apply some Old Spice after shave to my handsome face after a razor-cut, but only rarely. I've discovered that regular use of soap and water in the shower removes the need for cologne. I prefer to radiate a natural, manly scent.

Gold or Silver: Either one. Gold is great and silver is super.

Hometown: The teeming metropolis of Rincon, Georgia.

Insomnia: I seldom have insomnia anymore, but when I first got out of rehab, sleeping AT ALL was a bitch. Got-dam! I thought that I was going crazy there for a while. Maybe I did.

Job Title: Man of leisure.

Kids: Two. One daughter, one son.

Living Arrangements: It's a packed house: Me, myself and I.

Most admirable traits: Steadfast loyalty to my good friends, the courage to stand up for what I believe and a good sense of humor.

Not going to cop to: If I answer THAT question, I've copped to something, haven't I? I call bullshit! Next question...

Overnight hospital stays: Far too many, all of 'em within the last five years.

Phobias: I have a visceral, mind-boggling fear of snakes. I sometimes have snake nightmares and wake up in a cold sweat. I also cannot stand heights, although I think that's more from dizzying vertigo than fear.

Quote: "If it was easy, any asshole could do it." That's what my daddy always said when I whined about how difficult something was to do. That's a great quote on so many different levels and remembering it has served me well in life.

Religion: Rock-ribbed athiest.

Siblings: One--- a brother.

Time I wake up: Whenever I feel like it. Being a man of leisure is goooood!

Unusual talent or skill: I can poke a ten-dollar bill through a raw potato. No shit, I can. Give me a sawbuck and I'll PROVE it, as long as I get to keep the $10 when I'm done. If I CAN'T do it, I'll pay YOU ten dollars.

Vegetable I love: Homegrown tomatoes. Fried okra, too.

Worst habit: Smoking

X-rays: So many that I glow in the dark today.

Yummy foods I make: Too numerous to list. I'll put my oyster stew up against anybody's--- it's DAMN GOOD. Taste my broiled shrimp stuffed with crab meat and you'll slap your mama. I also make barbecued (pork) spare ribs that will melt in your mouth. I grill a mean steak, too--- and if you ask for yours "well done," I'll shove your face into a bed of glowing charcol for suggesting that I ruin a good piece of meat. I LOVE to cook.

Zodiac sign: Aquarius. Just like two of my great heroes: Babe Ruth and Yoko Ono Ronald Reagan.

There you have it: A dumb quiz, A to Z.

want fries with that?

I've eaten some unusual cuisine in my life. I've tried squirrel, rabbit, racoon, deer, quail, squid and even rattlesnake--- although I admit to being very drunk when I ate snake. (Rattlesnake tasted like chicken. A rotten, greasy chicken dipped in shit.) I like poke salad and chitlins, too.

But I've never had the opportunity to eat dog. If I ever get the chance, I'll probably try it, as long as it doesn't bark at me first. Hell, I'll try almost ANYTHING once.

Which makes me wonder--- what breed of dog tastes best?

Chuhuaha? Naw. Not enough meat on the bones. Probably has an aftertaste of refried beans. Generates noxious farts.

Great Dane? Probably pretty good, but a pain in the ass to cook. Requires two strong men to hang it on a spit over an open fire. Requires four more strong men to hold the dog down while you ram the spit up its ass. Feeds an army, if they can tolerate all the yelping and howling involved in the preparation.

Saint Bernard? Fuggedaboudit. Too much hair. Just take the little keg of brandy from around the dog's neck and pet the dog while you drink the brandy and watch an army try to cook a Great Dane.

Dachshund? Cut off the head, tail and legs and it fits perfectly on a hot dog bun. Probably pretty good grilled, with mustard, relish, Vidalia onion and sauerkraut. I'll bet that the ears fry up just like pork rinds.

Dalmation? Hell, the Brits eat spotted dick, so I don't see why we don't eat spotted dog. I, however, would be wary of this dish. If you eat too much, you risk developing a severe case of dumbass, just like the dog.

Mutt That's gotta be the Spam of dogs, especially the free-range ones. Mystery Meat. You never know what you're gonna get. I suspect that it makes wimmen go into heat and gives men an overpowering desire to lick their own balls. Long term effects of mutt consumption include getting arrested for urinating on fire hydrants and getting killed chasing cars. I would stay away from mutt if I were you.

Puppies? I've heard that puppies make an excellent pate when stuffed into a blender and pureed. Excellent served on Ritz crackers with some fresh horseradish and cold beer.

What kind of dog do YOU prefer?

quote of the day

"You can't do satire in a lunatic asylum or in present-day American politics."---tony Blankley

What's the difference?

Here is my second choice for "Quote of the Day," taken from the same editorial:

"Even the Republican president of the United States makes the nonest of non sequiturs, when he justifies doing nothing to enforce the border laws by claiming that these are decent humans just looking for a chance in life. Well, with the exception of the 29 percent of federal prisoners and similar numbers in state prisons, with the exception of those who seek our welfare, rather than a job..."

Kinda reminds me of the Mariel Boat Lift, without the boats.

I don't want to hear any more bullshit about how "hard-working" illegal immigrants are, or how "decent" they are, or how they simply are "seeking a better life." WTF does THAT have to do with ANYTHING? Those people are here ILLEGALLY. Period. They are BREAKING THE LAW. End of discussion.

Or at least it SHOULD be the end. Let ME get caught with 100 pounds of cocaine in my possession and see how willing the DEA is to ignore the law and grant ME amnesty because I'm a decent, hard-working guy simply seeking a better life. ("BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!"--- That's the sound of a federal judge hearing THAT kind of reasoning in his court, right before he hands me a long prison sentence.)

This issue is bigger than just illegal immigration. It's also about government cherry-picking which laws to enforce and which laws to ignore. If government is going to behave that way, what good is our precious "rule of law?"

I can answer that question with one word: nada.

(UPDATE: Nada, indeed.)

animal cruelty

What do you do with a flat cat? One thing you had better NOT do is put it out of its misery.

Colin Vogel, a vet called to give evidence in the trial as an independent expert witness, said the cat had been squashed to within an inch thick at its lower half. "He did the kindest thing, which was to put it out of its misery, whereas if he'd just walked away leaving it injured he could have just as easily faced a charge of animal cruelty."

Some animal lovers didn't see it that way. The RSPCA attempted to prosecute the policeman for animal cruelty and ran up quite a tab (as in "tabby?") in the process.

The RSPCA, funded by voluntary donations, estimated its costs at £12,000. Pc Bell was partially funded by Legal Aid and his bill reached £7,500. Legal experts estimated court costs at £20,000 and the cost to the police, which put up four officers as defence witnesses, at £10,000.

That adds up to be roughly $92,000 (US) for killing a fucking cat that was dying anyway. Gotta love those animal rights people. They're almost as fanatical as environmentalists.

How the hell "the public interest" was served in this case is a mystery to me, but that's what the RSPCA says. I say that somebody should beat the RSPCA to death with a shovel for demonstrating incredible assholery here. But that's just MY humble opinion.

I don't like cats.

May 02, 2006

Austin awards

After this post, I'm not gonna write any more about the Blown-Star Blog Meet except to post an occasional link to some pictures, since I fucked up and didn't take any myself, even though I brought my camera. If you were there, you'll understand my selections. If you WEREN'T there, that's your tough shit. You'll just have to trust me.

best stunt driver. Not only does he jump curbs in a single bound in the hotel parking lot, he also drives a flaming Cadillac. The man obviously is a shameless attention-whore.

oldest fart. Heh. He's got me beat by almost ten years, but he can talk your ears off.

best instigator. This is the man who managed to work "flaming chipmunks" into a one-sided conversation while maintaining a straight face. Everyone listening was impressed. (I think "The Flaming Chipmunks" would make a good name for a rock & roll band.) He also resembles a mime when he wears an excess of sun-screen on his face.

least grouchy. I don't care WHAT he calls himself. He is a pleasure to be around, and a damn good kazoo-player, too.

prettiest smile. What do you expect? Her husband is a dentist. She's got pretty toes, too.

fiestiest mama. NOT Christina--- her mama, who tells hilarious dirty jokes in mixed company and makes some of the best fried won-tons I've ever tasted. I almost filled up eating those before I attacked the delicious barbecue at The Salt Lick. I shoulda told HER a fart-joke. I'll bet she would have laughed.

my favorite yankee (male category). Okay, he's from Joisey and he's a got-dam lawyer. But he plays guitar and has the most enviable head of thick graying silver hair I've ever seen. If I'm ever in deep shit, I want him on my side. I suspect that he may have Mafia connections.

my favorite yankee (female category). This tall, good-looking woman had a long drive to arrive, and she fell asleep at the wheel along the way. this guy had to wake her up. I'm glad that they didn't crash, but she told that story in most excellent fashion. She already had HER toenails painted red for the occasion, dammit! I never had the chance to "do" her. But I'm hoping for a next time...

best zonker. What can I say? A blog-meet is NOT a blog-meet without a Zonker. He's also a very chivalrous Southern gentleman. If you don't believe ME, just ask her. Zonk changed his flight home to protect her (and the bun in the oven) from Homeland Security.

most displaced rebel. This guy needs to move to Jawja. Preferably to Effingham County. I think he would like the fishin,' shootin' and bullshittin' we do around here.

best acorn off the old oak tree. Some don't fall far from the source. Did YOU know that barbecue comes with "Sooo-ah-us" on it? Neither did I, until I heard her say it. If she weren't already taken and I didn't like her father so much, I mighta made a letcherous move on her...

best designated driver. Thank you for everything you did, darlin.' Especially for chauffering my Cracker ass around Texas.

least like what I expected. I'm smoking the cigar he gave me as I type. Marcus is younger and more quiet than the mental image I formed from his blog. But I'll let you in on a secret--- he likes pretty, feminine toes as much as I do.

most dignity, with debauchery. I was gonna name him "My Favorite Jew," but I figured that somebody would get their panties in a wad and denounce me as a racist anti-semite if I did that, so I didn't. He gave me a really nice trophy. I'm kinda sorry that I let loose that prize-winning fart in his car on the way back from the Salt Lick. I'll do ANYTHING for attention.

best tee shirt. It pays to advertise. Since I'm out of Gut Rumbles bumper stickers, I think I'll move into tee shirts next.

father of flaming chipmunks. Don't ask. You had to be there...

biggest risk-taker. She came to the blog-meet not knowing what to expect. Even her worst nightmares didn't come close to what she found. Intrepid, I tell you! Intrepid!

ten pound titty award. Okay, they are a mere nine and one-half pounds now, but they were perfect TENS once upon a time. So SHE says. I'm still trying to figure out how she weighed those things.

Okay, that's enough. If I left you off this link-fest, it's NOT because I don't like you. I just ran out of gas--- that's all.

(UPDATE: I AM NOT in this picture.)

Ha! I was right!

When he allegedly quit blogging, I didn't take him off my blogroll. I had a sneaky feeling that he would be back. He was too good to quit. I once named him "The Best Unknown Blogger Around" before he actually became somewhat well-known and I removed his title and gave it to this guy. Now, even HE is drawing an audience (when the lazy bastard bothers to post), so I'm about to de-throne him, too.

I may announce my newest selection for "Best Unknown Blogger" today, if I get around to it. I have a couple of contenders in mind...

In the meantime, I'll just enjoy saying, "Ha! I was right!".

uno de mayo

My simple, bucholic life proceeded without disruption yesterday. I went to the grocery store, I put a tank of overpriced gas in my car and I bought two cartons of cigarettes at Randall's Liquor Store without buying any liquor.

Effingham County, Georgia, has a large and growing latino population, but I didn't see any of them marching in the streets of downtown Rincon. (We don't really have a "downtown Rincon"--- just a super Wal-Mart and a couple of mini-malls, but you get my point.) I still think yesterday's protests were an incredibly bad idea.

Here's my Quote of the Day:

"So now the line is drawn. A nation has a right to ask three things of immigrants:

- that they obey the law;
- that they learn the language;
- that they respect the citizenry.

We have a large illegal immigrant population in which many feel obligated to fulfill none of these."--- J.R. Dunn

I don't believe that you further your cause if you fling shit in the faces of those that you need on your side. Americans really are a pretty tolerant bunch, but they tend to become angry when somebody tries to push them around. Ask Osama bin Laden if you don't believe me.

A slogan such as "I'm Black and I'm PROUD" resonated during the civil rights movement, even among whites, because blacks WERE American citizens asking only for equal treatment under the law. They had a legitimate bitch about the way they were being treated and their cause was just. Even Joe Sixpack could sympathize with their plight.

But we rebel against "I'm illegal-- so what?" That's a lot like jumping up and screaming "Fuck YOU!" to every law-abiding citizen in this country. That kind of slogan resonates, all right, but the wrong way. It pisses a lot of people off. And that AIN'T the way to win friends and influence people.

That crap may scare the bejezus out of spineless politicians, with visions that extend no further than the next election, but it angers Joe Sixpack. I think a lot of average, tax-paying Americans saw those protests and wished for a fleet of helicopters to drop nets over the demonstrators and haul them off somewhere to check for proof of citizenship. Anyone discovered to be here illegally then could be loaded onto those flooded "Nagan's Navy" buses outside New Orleans and sent back to where they belong--- which AIN'T HERE.

Bejus! Government hassles the hell out of it's legitimate citizens at airports in the name of Homeland Security, while it blithely allows illegals to stream unmolested across our borders. Something is really fucked up in THAT picture.

Another amnesty is NOT the answer. Reward people entering this country in violation of our laws and all you get is more people entering this country illegally. We tried that shit once and look at what happened.

Besides--- not ALL of the illegal immigrants are hard-working, law-abiding citizens, no matter what spineless politicians, including President Bush, have to say. Some of them are criminals and even cold-blooded murderers. There's your "I'm illegal--- so what?" for you. Read that article and weep.

Illegal immigration is a REAL problem, not some trendy, new-wave, crunch-that-granola, feel-good bullshit like global warming or second-hand smoke. I don't believe that our current crop of politicians have the balls to deal with it. If I were king, I WOULD, with a slogan of my own for illegal trespassers... uh... invaders... immigrants.

Chingate, right back at you.

This has been a public service announcement, brought to you by Joe Sixpack (of Club Soda) his ownself, who is pissed off right now.


I learned something yesterday when I read James Kilpatrick's column in the Savannah Morning News. I never knew that "cracker" was a term journalists use to describe "the final sentence in an essay of fewer than 1,000 words."

Just damn! I always thought that a "cracker" was a good ole boy from the great state of Jawja. I frequently refer to myself that way, just to piss off the politically-correct assholes who read me. (Judging from some of the "hurtful" emails I receive, I must be pretty good at it, too.)

I always called that good final sentence in an essay the "closer" or the "tag-line," but I really like the term "cracker" a lot better. I'm surprised that I never heard of it before.

I suppose it's like my daddy always said: "You learn something new every day--- if you start out dumb enough."

a case for school uniforms

I rebelled against the "Dress Code" when I was in high school. In fact, as editor of the school newspaper, I wrote a couple of scathing editorials condemning the idea. I didn't believe that what students wore to school had a damn thing to do with learning anything.

I have since changed my mind. I see kids waiting on the school bus today and I want to bitch-slap their parents. Some of the girls dress like cheap hookers. Some of the boys look like gangstah thugs. If a child of MINE tried to go to school dressed like that, they'd get a taste of Mr. Belt before I made them go change into something decent.

But I believe that this decision is another Ninth Circuit brain-fart, something I've come to expect from those judges. It also bolsters my belief that requiring school uniforms is a good idea.

I agree with this dissenting opinion:

"The types of speech that could be banned by the school authorities under the Poway High School hate policy are practically without limit. Any speech code that has at its heart avoiding offense to others gives anyone with a thin skin a heckler's veto - something the Supreme Court has not approved in the past," Kozinski wrote.

Here we go again, catering to the most neurotic, overly-sensitive whiners among us. Those who think they should NEVER be offended by ANYTHING are in for a rude awakening in the real world, and no court decision is going to change that fact.

WTF is "hurtful" speech anyway? Bejus! Grow a cast iron ass, you simpering pussies. If you think you have some got-dam "right" to go through life without EVER being "offended" by something other people do or say, you're living a rich fantasy life. The world is rough--- wear a helmet.

Or require school uniforms. That way, you protect the delicate flowers among us from getting their feelings crushed by seeing a "hurtful" tee shirt in school. Maybe then, students could concentrate on actually learning something instead of pitching hissy-fits.

And students wouldn't look like Fido's ass when they're waiting on a school bus.

(UPDATE: Maybe parents WANT their kids to look like pimps and whores, even at a VERY young age. I'm offended by that site.)

I am a lightweight

At the Austin Blown-Star Blog-Meet, I was in bed asleep by midnight both nights I was there. Yes, Acidman has turned into a lightweight.

I was a little bit concerned that I might fall off the wagon in Austin, and I'll admit that I WAS tempted a couple of times, especially on Saturday, when I slow-roasted in the sun by the empty swimming pool. A cold beer would have tasted mighty good then, and it was there, right in front of me.

Hell, on Friday evening I grabbed this guy's drink at the hotel bar and took a sip when I mistook HIS gin and tonic for MY club soda. Luckily for me, I never did like gin, even in my drinking days. I didn't repeat that mistake.

I may have seemed "exceedingly quiet" to some folks, because I WAS, by previous blog-meet standards. I didn't get loud and obnoxious and show my ass the way I always did when I was well-lubricated. I don't think I pissed anybody off or made any new enemies who couldn't wait to get home and ceremoniously de-link me. THAT was a refreshing change.

In rehab, one thing the councelors preached loud and long was that I could have fun WITHOUT alcohol. I'm not sure that I believed them at the time, but they were correct. I had a blast in Austin and I stayed sober, too. Old habits may be hard to break, but it CAN be done.

A wise man one said that there's nothing worse than a bunch of drunks when YOU'RE sober, but that's not true. I enjoyed the company at the meet, even though beer and liquor were consumed in copious quantities. But nobody puked in my lap or fell off the sixth floor balcony (Party Central) of the hotel or started a bloody, drunken fistfight with a fellow blogger. We might have been loud, but everybody was fairly civilized.

The best part is, I actually can REMEMBER the people I met for the first time.

The sad part is, I AM a lot more quiet than I used to be. When I played guitar for a living, I always drank a couple of beers before I climbed on stage to perform. It loosened me up and removed some of the butterflies in my stomach. When I played golf, I always drank a couple of beers before I teed off, just to loosen up and keep me from thinking too hard. When I WROTE, I always liked a couple of drinks to summon the muse in me.

If I could stick to just a couple of beers or a couple of drinks, I would have done that at the blog-meet. Alcohol works great to lower my inhibitions and bring out the talker in me. I go from shy to spry after a couple of drinks.

But I reached the point where I couldn't stop after just a couple and I wasn't content until I was shit-faced. That's when I thought I became witty and charming. Everybody else around me just thought I was a loud mouthed drunk.

They were right and I was wrong. I don't want to do that anymore. But damn! I sure do miss that warm, fuzzy cloak I wore after copping a slight buzz. I'm really struggling to reinvent myself today without using alcohol as a crutch to help me overcome my inner fears and inhibitions. That's not an easy thing to do, at least not for ME.

So, if I appeared to be somewhat quiet and withdrawn at the meet, just trust me on one thing--- you really DID NOT want to see me the way I once was. Some of you HAVE.

You know what I mean.

old habits are hard to break

Stuffing pork into necessary spending bills is a disgraceful practice, but some senators seem proud of it. Buncha assholes. If Republicans take a big hit in this year's congressional elections, they've got nobody but themselves to blame.

I think the Porkbusters idea is a damn good one, and one that's long overdue. Politicians don't like it, because it shines a light on their spending shenanigans and they would prefer that YOU stayed in the dark about that dirty business. But it's YOUR got-dam money that they're tossing around like confetti.

If the spending can't stand scrutiny, it needs to be eliminated. I don't want to pay federal taxes in Georgia so that Trent Lott can buy reelection votes in Mississippi with MY money. That's not being "wily." That's being a jerk. And we have a LOT (pun intended) of jerks in congress. Old habits may be hard to break, but larding federal spending with pork is one that needs breaking.

It just may take an election disaster for Republicans to drive that point home.

May 01, 2006

add me to the list

I've achieved another badge of honor for my blog: I have been banned by Google. Several bloggers warned me that I risked banishment if I ran those link-ads on my page, and apparently they were correct. I actually feel honored. The Google bastards will deal with the communist Chinese, but they won't deal with ME. I must present a real threat to their empire.

Fuck 'em. I don't think many (if ANY) of the hits I got from Google searches were people who actually gave a damn about reading my site anyway. Those search hits may have looked good on my site meter, but they didn't say anything about my actual readership. Plus, Google never paid me a fucking dime. My link ads DO. (Or at least they DID. They may stop paying me because of the Google ban.)

As painful as it may be, I'll try my best to endeavor to persevere. I may suffer a drop in visitor stats, but the ones from Google were trash anyway. I believe that I can live without them. I still think that it was a shitty thing to do, and Google can kiss my Cracker ass for being so petulant.

As I said before--- fuck 'em.

(UPDATE: At least I'm in good company. Fuck a Google.)

homeland security

Wanna hear a good joke? Here it is:

"Homeland Security".

If you haven't taken a ride on an airplane lately, you're missing a real treat. All that's missing from the process is a requirement that you moo like a bovine creature as you are herded through the Gates Of "Security" before boarding the plane.

I would like to strangle the imbecilic "Shoe Bomber" with my own bare hands for his contribution to this ridiculous mess. I have a legitimate question. How many shoe bombers have airport screeners caught since they started making EVERYBODY go barefoot through their metal detectors?

None? Well, I suppose that you could call this unblemished record proof that the system works, if you're a complete idiot. I call it absolute bullshit. I'm just surprised that the screening process doesn't include some fat-fingered cretin wearing latex gloves who demands that you drop trou and grab your ankles so that he can probe for a butt-bomb cleverly concealed up your ass.

Oops! I shouldn't have written that last sentence. It may give Homeland Security gurus another brilliant idea about how to herd cattle "protect" us from terrorists. We need to eliminate the threat of a bomb disguised as a hemorroid. (My aching ass, indeed.)

If I thought that this shit did any good, I wouldn't bitch about it. But I think it's a farce. It's a bunch of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

You should have seen the airport security goons personnel leap into action when a sweet young thang in line ahead of me set off the metal detector when she passed through it. To me, she damn sure looked like a terrorist. Long, blonde hair, pinned up in a nice coif. Lovely blue eyes. Pretty red toenails on feminine bare feet. Nice rack. Fine ass. Yep. SHE definitely fit the profile of a crazed jihadi.

In fact, she appeared to be so dangerous that I wouldn't have minded having her sit in my lap in a cramped coach seat all the way to Atlanta. (Hey---I'm willing to do MY part to ensure passenger safety.)

The security alert was triggered by her nice coif, held in place by a bunch of bobby pins, which the metal detector didn't like. She was yanked out of line for a more thorough search, which I would have enjoyed doing myself. (Hey--- I SAID I was willing to do MY part to ensure passenger safety.)

I heard someone behind me whisper, "Ohmygawd! She's not gonna want to take those bobby pins out. She had her hair done for the wedding."

Bridesmaids with exploding bobby pins? Hair-bombs? Don't laugh. It's possible and we must be eternally vigilant, always asking ourselves, "What will the terrorists think of next?"

I passed through the checkpoint without incident, so I never saw what finally became of her. For all I know, she was dragged off and shot for refusing to remove the bobby pins from her hair. Maybe she's rotting away in Gitmo now.

Who knows? Whatever happened, it was in the name of Homeland Security and therefore a small price for her to pay. My plane didn't blow up between Austin and Atlanta, so there's your proof that the system works.

I feel safer just thinking about it.

my trophy

berries 005 (WinCE) (Small).jpg

(It's a shitty picture, but that's fitting, considering the nature of the trophy.)

It suffered some cosmetic damage on the flight home, probably from being molested by ham-handed Homeland Security personnel who thought that it might be a clever terrorist's 'splody-thing, but it's still a fine trophy. I received it in a formal presentation at "The Salt Lick," a fine barbecue restaurant in Austin, where nobody shut up long enough to hear my pithy acceptance speech.

Well, it was as "formal" as we got all weekend... nobody mooned anybody in the restaurant (that activity was saved for the sixth floor balcony of the hotel)... and my pithy acceptance speech was "I am flushed with pride," mumbled around a mouthful of delicious pork ribs.

This unique memento was hand-crafted by an undiscovered artist who put a lot of time, effort and cash creativity into crafting it. I was the envy of all who beheld it, especially those that I goosed in the ass with the plunger handle.

Some people suggested that I modify it to hold a nine-volt battery and a vibrating device, then attach a gold chain and wear it like a necklace to attract lonely wimmen. I may try that idea. It might work on someone with a set of ten pounds apiece boobage. (That's not MY observation. She bragged about 'em to this guy, who just MAY have evidence to confirm the boast. I wasn't present to witness the photo session, but I DID hear rumors...)

In between long sessions of intellectual debate and keen analysis of current events, we managed to squeeze a little fun into the Blown-Star Blog-Meet. Hell--- we even had a flaming cadillac to celebrate the event. (Heh. Some people really know how to burn up the road...)

Gaze upon my trophy and tremble, all ye who THINK you are crap bloggers. I am THE KING, and I have the hardware to prove it.

It's official

berries 006 (WinCE) (Small).jpg

Read it and weep, all you wannabe crap-bloggers.