June 29, 2006
The Memorial Service for Rob Smith will just be getting under way in Savannah, so this post is to invite Acidman's friends and fans to participate in his memorial service the same way we participated in his life; through blog posts and comments.
Please feel free to leave comments about your memories of Acidman, favourite things he said, stories from blogmeets, interactions you've had in person or by email, the effect he's had on your life... whatever you'd like to share. Hopefully this can also be a bit of a conversation between friends who have met as a result of the GutDude's influence as well.
Those who wish to post on their own sites, please trackback to this post. If you have photos to share, please post on your own site and link to them in your comment. If you don't have a place to put up photos, email then to me [lightanddark at gmail dot com] and I'll get them up for you.
SPECIAL REQUEST! If you trace your blog lineage to Acidman (i.e. he's your blogfather, primary influence to blog, or otherwise connected, please indicate that in your comments. We've never really been able to track all of Rob's blog-progeny, and this is the best opportunity we'll have. Later, I'll parse the comments and create a page listing Offspring of Acidman.
Thank you for being here today.
Update June 30:
The mIrc chat has be going steadily all night too. Drop in for a visit. (If you use Firefox & can't get into the web-based version properly, try Internet Exploder. I know, I know, but FF seems to burp on the chat cgi script.)
Should the site become unavailable, trust that we will be working on it, and wait for 20 minutes or so before attempting to reconnect. If you receive an error while commenting, it is because we have had to temporarily disable them to keep the site up. Just wait 10 minutes or so, and try again. Do NOT repeatedly refresh please. (To avoid frustration, I strongly recommend longer comments be written in a text editor, then pasted into the comment form, to avoid potential loss of a valuable comment - hey this is the Internet!)
Rob was a very tolerant man with his comments, and we will attempt to reflect that, but this is for his family as well, so please keep that in mind. Comments will be monitored, and flaming etc. will simply be deleted. I have every expectation that won't be needed.
I have reduced the functionality of the site to just those components necessary to support this one event, so you will find a number of features, including search, updating of monthly archives and RSS feeds etc. have been turned off. These will be reactivated after things have quieted down.
Update from Chablis:
If you are unfamiliar with IRC and prefer a web-based chat, Click here. Fill in your nickname and press Connect Now!
It'll take a few seconds to load and then you'll see the nickname list show up and you'll be all set.
June 28, 2006
Online celebration of Rob's life
It's clear from the outpouring from all over the world that Acidman touched a lot of people's lives, more even than many of us could have suspected.
Since so many of us are too far away to be able honour him by attending his Memorial Service, and since many of us owe our connection to him to the Web, it seems fitting that we participate in his memorial service the same way we participated in his life; through blog posts and comments.
At 4 p.m. Eastern time tomorrow, the same time as the service in Savannah, I'm going to put up a post inviting those who wish to honour Rob to leave a comment describing how he entertained you, challenged you, affected your life. If you have a blog, you can post there and trackback. I especially hope that those of us who were "blogfathered" by Acidman will make that association known. I know many have been doing this in comments already, and I can tell you from communications with Rob's family that they are quite amazed at, and appreciative of the heartfelt response.
It is my hope that this can be a little more interactive, in the way so many of Rob's comments sections became. Hopefully people will talk to each other, as well as just posting rememberances. Rob brought together a huge number of people over the years, and this is a chance for us to get together as we remember Rob and his place in our lives.
Knowing the breadth of timezones and work hours of all of us, I hope folks will be in and out throughout the afternoon and evening, and if we're lucky, a few may be able to drop in after the Savannah service to tell us a little about it.
I will need to make some temporary changes to the site to try to mitigate the load and bandwidth pounding, so please read the instructions in the post tomorrow and abide by the requests in it so we have the best chance of keeping the site up.
Carnival of the Blogfaddah
Chablis has come up with a terrific way of exposing more people to Rob's writing talents, and giving his readers a coordinated way to discuss their favourite Acidman posts.
She's calling it The Carnival of the Blogfaddah, and you can get the information for how to participate at that link.
She also explains how to get to some of Rob's earlier archives, which were messed up during a site failure in 2004. I will bet that Google is likely still indexing those older archives, so if you remember a subject matter, try there too.
[Site note: I was inches away from being able to restore those older archives to the main installation, but with this week's events, that will have to wait. If you are a skilled Perl programmer, I would love to talk to you about helping me customise my script to work out the last little bugs.]
Folks have come through big-time with offers to mirror the file to help spread the load and bandwidth so no one site gets hammered too badly.
Here's the list of links to Rob's song, called My Door Is Always Open. It's a 3 megabyte WMA file. Do NOT play it from these links. Instead, you must right-click on any one of the links and save it as a new file on your own hard drive. (all links are the same song.)
Dizzy-girl has also posted it to Putfile, (this is the only link where you can left-click, to go to the site to listen) where it is streamed, but not downloadable. This might be a good solution for those on dialup (Spork!).
Confabulator also has the song up in Flash format (another link you'll need to left-click) or for download as well. (sorry you got caught by Rob's blacklisting frenzy, Confabulator!)
For those people who offered but don't appear on the list, I'd like to hold your offers in reserve in case some of these sites get too much load.
Thanks for offering to help folks, Rob would have got a real kick out of the number of people who want to hear his music.
If you plan to come to the services, would you please drop me a line at Savannahsam05 [at] yahoo.com and let me know you're coming?
I have left my phone numbers back in Texas so those of you I have talked to over the last couple of days, I want to hear from you.
Thank you everybody for the kind comments.
Details in one place
June 27, 2006
Dave asked that I mention Rob will be cremated as per his wishes, and that in lieu of flowers, donations can be sent to the American Diabetes
Rob's Memorial Service
Rob's brother Dave has posted in the comments about the arrangements for Rob's Memorial Service:
This is Dave, Rob's brother. I just wanted to let somebody know that the arrangements have finally been made. If somebody has the ability to get the word out, please go for it.Arrangements are also being worked out for a way for those of us on the web to participate in the memorial for Rob as well. Details will be available in the next 12 hours or so.
June 26, 2006
This is Sam. Rob has passed away. They found him at 2:00 this morning slumped over on the couch. He did not shoot himself and no pills or alcohol were found in the house. When I find out anything else I'll let you know. Out of respect for my family please do not leave nasty comments.
June 24, 2006
people with good ideas
Did you ever the movie, "Bullets Over Broadway?" I thought it had a lot of really dumb crap in it, just what you get a lot of when "actors" feed a script. Just listen to those morons.
"To be.. or not to be...??? I'm sorry, but I can't undertand this character. What does he MEAN??? What is his MOTIVE??? NOBODY says that kind of stuff.. and besides... I want that skull scene removed from this play. Who is "Yorik," and how did I ever come to know him so well? Were we homosexual lovers? If so, shouldn't I make it obvious who was the pitcher and who was the catcher between we two?"
Nope! I cannot do THIS silly play!!! Get me a GOOD writer... one of those people who publish in the New York Times frequenty. That Maroon Down person would be nice, or maybe that Jetson McVeigh guy they fired for being black. Let THEM write my dialogue and I am convinced that it would be perfect!
By the way, get anybody named Shakespere off of this set and bring me some TRUE writers in here.
i feel better
I think the steroid shots I received the other day made my shoulders feel better. I also suspect that the shots were what made me feel so sick-assed and poorly yesterday, but my shoulders feel a LOT better today. I was able to wash my own hair this morning.
In fact, I may be able to drive 30 miles to see my grandmother tomorrow. I hope so, because I haven't made that trip for a month now. I need to go.
This may be nothing but a temporary quick fix, but it's a lot better than nothing. What I REALLY would like, if they won't cut me or give me copious amounts of drugs, is to give me my own supply of this stuff. I still HAVE a bunch of needles left over from my "fix-a-flat" days and if I could poke a shot in my DICK back then, I KNOW that I can poke my own shoulders now. Just gimme the shit, and I'll do it myself.
I just wish somebody would make up their mind.
I can't continue the way I am, and my goof-assed friend Catfish made certain with his big mouth that no doctor in that clinic is EVER going to give ME any drugs again, because I am a reovering addict, so the consensus seems to be, it's better that I die in agony that take a pill.
Thank you, Cat, for that "He a good guy. He used to be a real drunk, but he stopped doing that, but he's in a lot a pain now. I told him to come see YOU, and you might fix him. He did good in Willingway. He quit drinking for about six months so far." Yeah, Cat. Be sure and tell EVERY OTHER doctor you know about ME going to Willingway for 38 days. That oughta tell 'em, ALL what a good guy I am."
Thanks to those kind words, I IMMEDIATELY went on a medical black-list and the fuckers won't give me ASPIRIN after they know THAT part of my life.
I know you meant well, Cat, but you blabbed personal information that doesn't really need to be "shared" with anyone who would listen to you as you fucked ME to a fare-thee-well by volunteering information to DOCTORS that those pricks didn't NEED to know. Please... Don't EVER do that kind of "favor" for me again. NEVER again.
I would prefer to take my own got-dam chances about my shoulders. I don't NEED anybody telling the doctors ahead of time that I'm a recovering alcoholic who hasn't had a drink in six months. YOU may be proud to say that, but it's a fucking RED ALERT!!! to doctors, warning them NEVER to give me pills, because I might abuse them. Don't EVER say that shit to a doctor about me again.
Please. Remember what I said about the road to hell being paved with good intentions? You ain't making my life any easier when you do that kind of "friendship" blathering.
Please.. NEVER do it again.
If I lived where he does, I would have done it a long time ago. catfish got himself some chickens. He told me about his venture into wildlife farming and I responded by telling HIM to build a decent coop. If he lets those chickens free-range, they'll start sleeping in trees at night and laying their eggs 30 feet off the ground. Gravity is NOT kind to an egg laid from that height.
I offered to help him build a good coop and show him how to set it up--- but I've gotta admit. I'll do a lot more engineering than actual WORK on that project, because I simply am not able to do the things anymore that I once did all the time. But I HAVE been a chicken-farmer and I DO know a little bit about it.
He got several different roosters. That's not really a problem, even though people already are warning him that a coop has room for only ONE dominant rooster. I call bullshit on that idea, because I once ended up with FIVE roosters and 28 hens in my coop. The roosters worked out their own... "pecking order," if you will...
I had a big, mean, three-feet-tall Rhode Island Red that was Cock of the walk in MY coop. The other roosters were scared shitless of that mean old bastid, and they stayed far away from him. Usually by flying up in the rafters and never even bothering to eat unless the Tall Dog's back was turned. But when they saw a ripe opportunity, they'd fly down from the rafters, grab a couple of bites to eat, then plow a hen who was scratching and cooing with her ass stuck up in the air at the time.
Then, they'd fly squawlking back up into the rafters before big boy kicked their asses. If they were too slow, Big Red killed them. Life is brutal in a chicken coop.
But I frequently collected as many as 30 eggs out of that coop every day, because my laying hens did exactly THAT. They LAID a lot of eggs. Just provide them with hay and food. They'll build their own nests and lay like gangbusters.
You've got to watch out for your dominat rooster killing the other males if he can catch them, but something else bad is to have a real, dedicated nesting hen go into full mama-mode on you. She'll lay her own eggs and then steal others to fill her nest. Then she wants to sit there and hatch them, even if doing that means not eating for a while.
You've got to watch out for those, because they'll peck the living shit out of you if you reach under her for the eggs. She gets all hormonal and insane from motherly instincts. But the males don't like those chicklets when they hatch and the males will kill them and EAT THEM, just to eliminate future competition.
A chicken coop is a real jungle.
But If I had a place to put one, I would do it again today. You collect plenty of fresh eggs and get to watch a lot of wild, chicken-sex happening all the time. Give them corn and sweet feed to eat, plus dump any kitchen leftovers into the coop for added variety. You'll grow some good chickens and get lots of fresh eggs that way.
But...beware. Roosters like to crow their asses off every morning to welcome the sunrise. Until you become accustomed to the noise, it will wake you up with a case of the cold shivers. After a while, you beome acustomed to it and pay them no attention anymore, but that takes a while.
Two friends who spent a weekend at my house several years ago asked, in all sincerity, "How do you SLEEP with all that racket in the morning?" I asked, "What racket?" because the truth was... I didn't hear it anymore.
If Cat doesn't coop his chickens, his cats and his alligators will kill them all. If they end up sleeping in trees, he'll NEVER get an egg from them. I'm just offering him good advice.
He can take it or leave it. But I KNOW what I'm talking about here.
i feel his pain...
... but I don't know that he had $400,000 worth. Besides, he got a blue-light special implant, not the top-o-the-line model like MINE.
Those "malleable" implants are a lot like having a length of flex conduit crammed into your wanger. When you feel sexy, you just kinda unroll that rascal, use it, then roll it back up again when you're finished. The Dura II is NOT a pump device. It's more like an attachment you might expect to find included in the gadget-bag that comes with the purchase of a Kirby vacuum cleaner.
Charles "Chick" Lennon, 68, received the steel and plastic implant in about two years before Viagra went on the market. The Dura-II is designed to allow impotent men to position the penis upward for sex, then lower it.
What did Lennon expect? He bought what amounts to a flexible steel rod that is designed to maintain its shape when either straightented out or rolled up. He had that thing implanted in his DICK. Uh... I've got news for this guy. When you opt for one of those, you're gonna get... a flexible steel rod in your dick.
I bitch about the one I have not feeling natural to me or being nearly as good as the original equipment, but at least I ain't packing anything but plastic tubing, a simple pump and a saline pouch inside ME today. I shopped around before I decided on the one I chose.
But Lennon could not position his penis downward. He said he could no longer hug people, ride a bike, swim or wear bathing trunks because of the pain and embarrassment. He has become a recluse and is uncomfortable being around his grandchildren, his lawyer said.
No shit? He's not a "whole person" anymore? Well, just slap my ass and call me Fanny! I'm not "whole" anymore, either--- but I wasn't fool enough to have a roll-up steel hose stuck in ME, either. Just what did this dumbass EXPECT?
The guy has my sympathy. It is NO fun learning to deal with an artificial dick, even one with the best bionics available today. You get one that's nothing more than flexible conduit, and it's going to be even less "natural" than MINE. But you sometimes get what you pay for.
And $400,000? If HIS dick is worth that much, mine was worth a cool million or two. Besides, he's 68 years old. Piss on him. I was 48 when that crap happened to ME. HE should be totally fucked-out by now. I WASN'T when MY dick fell off.
Besides... it really sounds to me that the dumbass never learned to operate it correctly. A jury should have told that whining bastid to go home and practice.
NOT award him $400,000...
now I don't feel so bad
Over the past couple of years, I sold all my stock, exercised all my options and cashed out everything I had in my ex-employer, Kerr McGee. At the time, I felt pretty stupid, because immediately after I sold the stock for around $90 a share, it jumped to $116. I still made a whopping profit, but I COULD have made a lot MORE if I had simply waited a while to sell.
Now, I don't feel so stupid.
Anadarko, based in the Woodlands, Texas, will acquire Kerr-McGee for $16.4 billion, or $70.50 a share — a 40% premium to Kerr-McGee's closing stock price of $50.30 on Thursday.
Looks like I got out at a pretty good time...
June 23, 2006
don't know what it was
Whatever grabbed me last night didn't want to turn loose. I felt feverish and achy and nauseated. I fact, I had a discussion with Ralph and Huey a couple of times before I finally fell asleep and dreamed tumultious, psychotic dreams.
I sweated. I shivered. I got the restless legs syndrome and cramps in my shoulders. I felt like Fido's ass.
I slept a few intermittent, totally-fucked up naps today and felt worse every time I woke up. I drank a bottle of Boost liquid detergent vitamins. I puked it up. I ate a scrambled egg and some grits. Puked THAT up, too. I was having NO fun at all.
But I faced a WORSE problem than the aching, puking, fevered dreams and visions of Hillary Clinton promising to "take care of me" at the height of my extreme misery. No.. it was MUCH WORSE than that.
I was down to five cigarettes remaining in my house.
People, you face a normal crisis, a BAD crisis, and a LIFE-THREATENING, TERRIBLE CRISIS from time to time. You need to recognize the difference and act when you must, no matter HOW difficult that action my be. I saw the challenge. I acted.
I managed to make it to the local Muslim Terrorist store in my vicinity, where I put gas in my car, bought TWO cartons of cigarettes and then purchased some emergency food, such as cheese doodles in those corn-horn shapes, a two-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper and a bag of Sweet-Tart gum with red-hot centers buried in those sticky, sour, chewey things. People, I NEEDED that stuff.
I started cramming my face with THAT medicine, plus some boiled peanuts I cooked yesterday, and I started feeling okay again. The more absolute JUNK I tossed down my neck, the better I felt. You know what ELSE woulda been GREAT!!!??
Some of her mama's fried wontons with some of that spicy red sauce on the side. And a dirty joke to listen to while I suffed my starvin' face with some more of THAT food!!!
I think I may live, now that I believe that the worst is behind me. Plus, I really AM getting hungry again (I caught that wild chihuhua yesterday, broke its neck and cooked it on a stick over a charcol fire, but he tasted a lot like rabid racoon to me. Plus, he looked a lot like a hairless, bulging-eyed rat once I had him skinned.
He might have made some decent taco filling, if I had removed the bones, stuffed his rat-looking ass in a blender and pureed him to the consistancy of potted meat, but that's NOT what I did. I just cooked it on a stick over an open fire and dreamed all night long about it reconstituting itself and gnawing it's way right out of my belly like one of those creatures in the ALIEN! movies.
At least I THINK I did that. Maybe I dreamed that shit, too.
No wonder I didn't sleep well.
But I'm gonna fix that problem tonight. I'm hungry. I want an OMLET SANDWICH, the kind you make by toasting two pieces of whole wheat bread, daubing butter on one piece of bread, some mayonaisse on the other, then putting a piece of cheese on each slice of bread. Try American on one side, and Sharp Jack with halapeno bits on the other.
Multi-task while you're making the toast and a crack a couple of big eggs in a tall glass. Add salt, pepper, a dash of Worchestershire sauce and about three good dashes of Tobasco.
Stir the living crap out of that mixture while you melt a big gob of real butter in a fryin' pan. Add diced pieces of Vidalia onion, Kielbaba sausage, bell pepper, some home-grown tomato and a few green olives, along with a clove of my famous "Smashed Garlic."
Let that stuff simmer until the onions become tender and brown. Then, dump your whipped eggs in the pan. Kinda shake it around a little until the egg-slurry covers the bottom of the pan the the "dressings" you cooked are all spread around neatly and evenly in the egg-slurry.
Let it brown for maybe 90 seconds. then flip the conction carefully to form a beautiful half-moon, with all kinds of stuffing inside, and golden scrambled egg with light brown highlights holding it all together. When it's done, pick the concoction up on your spatula, being careful not to break it apart, and transfer it from the frying pan to one piece of toast.
Immediately slam the other piee of cheese-lined toast on top and squeeze it gently. THAT, my friends, is a REAL scrambled egg sandwich.
Not at all like this this half-assed "feast" that HE brags about. MINE is like a combination of pizza and quiche on whole wheat toast. HIS is... well, okay I suppose... but NOT like mine.
Mine is mo' bettah.
that's how I see it.
Back in 1974, when I took the GRE exam to get into graduate school, I answered one essay question that I thought was a pretty good poser. "Name three inventions that changed the face of America and describe why you chose those three."
I didn't hesitate in stating #1-- The Railroad. #2-- The telegraph. #3-- Barbed Wire.
You might quibble about my selection of barbed wire for #3--- ahead of Henry Ford's Model-T, mass production techniques or even the lowly cotton gin, but I had good reason for picking it then and I still like that pick today. Barbed wire damn sure changed the wild west when it was being settled, by allowing a rancher to confine his cattle on his own land, and (even more importantly) control water where he had it and others did not.
Yep. Barbed wire changed the west.
quote of the day
The guy ain't right in the head, but he's been commenting on my blog for a long time. Every now and then, he lays a land-mine for me, and I damn near destroy my chair when I run across it. Here's one that earned my Quote of the Day:
"See Dick Run. See Jane Spot."
BWHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! Ahem.... excuse me... but I thought that comment was hilarious!!!. Could someone pass me a Kleenex, please? I need to wipe my eyes and blow my nose...
But now I gotta ask a question, and I want a ruthlessly honest answer from you. I saw that comment as EXTREMELY humorous on several different levels. Was it really THAT funny, or is my mind totally gone off, spiralling down a worm-hole into strange, dark regions of space?
I really don't know anymore.
Just check this out. For no good reason whatsoever, while I was typing that post below about closing in on 3 million visitors to this site, I thought about "luck" and from there I jumped to wondering whether I've been lucky or unlucky in life, then waaaay over yonder to remembering when I heard a pro golfer once say, "The harder I work, the luckier I get," then to... who was it?
Ben Hogan? Robert E. Lee? My father? Thomas Jefferson? Willie Mosconi? Johnny Unitas?
I ought to Google it to see who said it, but it's damn sure the truth, not matter WHO first uttered those words. Unfortunately for the future of the human race, we don't bother much with teaching it to "The Children" anymore, which is one of many reasons why we're raising a fucked-up bunch today.
"LUCK is 99% PREPARATION! And if you DON'T prepare, and keep praying for that remaining 1% to bring you YOUR "luck" in life, you're going to be unlucky 99 times out of 100."
Ever heard THAT one? It's clear as MUD, isn't it, to people who believe that the world owes them something for nothing? Say that to ME and you're preaching to the choir. It's kinda like telling somebody to wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which hand fills up first. Or like explaining how armies win battles by saying, "You've got to get there the firstest with the mostest."
Or saying, "If the meek ever inherit the earth, they'll keep it for less than a week before the strong take it away from them." Or "a penny saved is a penny earned--- until the IRS takes it away from you and charges enough in interest and pentalties that they end up taking your HOME over that penny you earned."
Or even that corny one about teaching a man to fish, rather than handing him food stamps, free government cheese and a $2,000 FEMA "debit" card when he's hungry. There's a lot of wisdom in those sayings.
I still think my Daddy's favorite saying was one of the best ever: "If it was easy, ANY asshole could do it."
Notice how every one of those slogans say the same thing, really? You make your OWN luck, good or bad, by the decisions YOU make in life. Champions know it, and losers don't want to admit it, but it's true.
That's why losers hate champions so much.
my advice? leave it alone
This friend of mine has a serious dilemma on his hands. I don't fear many wild animals, especially not if I'm holding a loaded shotgun at the time, but Jim has found one of my exceptions to that rule in his yard.
Somewhere buried in my tangled archives is a post about MY Close Encounter of the Skunk Kind when I was camping on top of Blood Mountain with my partners Cop3 and Steve Hamby many years ago. I pitched my hammock between two good trees, put a plastic garbage back over my pack, and secured it up in one of the trees that my hammock was tied to. I hung the pack on a broken limb as high up the tree as I could reach.
I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of that garbage bag rattling (and not from any wind), then starting to tear. I heard that noise and figured that a hungry racoon was attempting to feed himself a midsnack on MY tab. I've seen those clever bastids to THAT kind of thievery more than once before.
I always slept with a flashlight in my sleepinbg bag with me, for just such occasions. I knew that it wasn't a bear I heard, because a bear would NOT have been that subtle. A bear would simply snatch the pack out of the tree, swipe me right out of my hammock to roll halfway down the mountain, and then rip my pack to shreds while stuffing his mouth with anything he could eat.
Naw. That wasn't a bear I heard. Probably a racoon. I just hoped that the thing was NOT rabid as I rolled over in my hammock, shined my flashlight at the intruder, and slapped my hand on the ground. "GEDDOUDAHERE!" I yelled, in my most fearsome, macho voice.
I almost screamed like a girl and pissed my pants next, as I quickly turned the flashlight off and pulled my sleeping bag quietly over my head, until I was fully cocooned. That was no racoon. That was a SKUNK!!!! A BIG, FAT, honking, wildcat-sized, whipe-striped, grinnin' bastid standing there on its hind legs looking like Pepe le Pew hisownself as it grabbed for my pack with its most terrible and frightening business end pointed right at meeeee!, less than two feet from my farookin' FACE!
I would MUCH rather have see a bear.
The damn thing gave up on my pack, but must have become curious about that trembling, gasping creature cowering in the sleeping bag, because it gave me a most thorough and terrifying examination. It hopped up on its back legs again, started pawing at the top of my sleeping bag and making loud SNUFFLING noises as it checked my scent. That skunk never new just how close it came to getting a blast of its own stink-medicine right then. I almost shit my pants.
The skunk did that paw-walk all the way down my body to the other end of the sleeping bag, dropped to all fours, walked UNDER my hammock and hopped back on its hid legs repeated the pawing, snuffling process back up the other side of me. I don't believe anything else so incredibly... uh... thrilling has EVER happened again in my life.
The skunk finally became bored with attempting to scare me to death and wandered down the slope to where Cop3 had gotten drunk on Scotch that night and left HIS pack just layin' on the ground. He turned on HIS flashlight once, too--- but made a sound kinda like a squeaky hinge on an old, wooden door and put that light out fast. The skunk cleaned him out. Ate EVERYTHING!!!
The next day, I investigated a Wilderness Shelter on top of the mountain and discovered a wire-bound notebook that campers had been making diary entries in for a little over a month. Almost EVERY ONE mentioned the skunk waddling through the front door and making itself at home while everybody in the room suffered massive heart attacks.
It was a female with a litter of at least TWO skunklets, because Mama took her young'uns inside the shelter with her on a couple of occasions. I'm glad I never saw THAT!
So, based on my vast experience with skunks, I'm gonna offer Jimbo this expert advice. DON'T FUCK WITH IT!!! If it wants to live under your shed, let it. In fact, if it wants to walk in your front door and raid your liquor cabinet--- LET IT!!!
It'll leave you alone if you leave it alone, and I think that's a damn good deal, especially for a lawyer, because I believe that you have to be related to such animals to pass a bar exam. But trapping it??? I don't think that's a good idea.
Not unless you can hire a got-dam fool to do it FOR you, while you go out of town for a few days...
i just noticed
I'm not very far away from hitting the THREE MILLION VISITORS mark on my blog. That's even WITH my Cracker ass being banned by Google.
I'm kinda impressed by that number. Hell, I'm probably well over FIVE MILLION "HITS" by now, since I didn't have a Site Meter on my blog until it was almost six months old. I also am very flattered, too.
That ain't bad for a decrepit old Cracker in the teeming metropolis of Rincon, Jawja, which ain't exactly a real hot-spot for commercial blogging. I may never be a Tall Dog in blogdom, but I haven't done too badly, considering that I've never spent ANY time behind-the-scenes here on shameless self-promotion, blatant ass-kissing on other "big-time" blogs or trying to pass myself off as a Serious Journalist by joining a circle-jerk outfit such as Pajamas Media.
Okay... I DID hand out (for FREE!!!) 250 bumper stickers, some of which ended up
I built it, and y'all came.
I get to write the way I've always loved to do and I actually have people who enjoy reading my words. That is VERY flattering to me and I thank everybody (except the got-dam spammers) who ever visited my not-so-humble site and deemed it worthy of a return visit or two.
Thank you, folks. And I hope to keep doing this "ceaseless quest for adoration" a lot longer, too. Every time I get depressed and think about quitting, I get a clever comment or a friendly email and I realize just how much fun this silly, self-aggrandizing exercise has been--- and still IS--- for me.
If y'all are still willing to read, I'm still willing to write. And thank you.
I really MEAN that!
I agree... kinda
Chaining a dog up is cruel. You teach a puppy. My German Shepherds know their yard and stay. Because they were taught that. If you must confine a dog, than use a chain link enclosed run. Hope he's got some shade and fresh water.
I've never liked the idea of keeping a dog chained to a tree, either, but it's better than letting it run wild, raid people's garbage cans and get its fool self killed in the street. Still, I think if you want to keep an outdoor dog, you ought to fence your yard. Have it spayed or neutered, too.
That "teaching them boundaries" works just fine until a female goes into heat anywhere within three miles of an ungelded male. If a male dog gets a whiff of ripe coochie in the wind, he'll forget all about those "boundaries" and follow his dick wherever it leads him. Hell, sometimes they'll even climb a six-foot cyclone fence when
I did know a guy once who set up a pretty good rig for his dog, though. He ran a small line of four-strand wrapped cable, the kind you see used for guy wires on power poles and such, between two trees about 20 yards apart in his yard and kept his dog hooked to that on a sliding tether that allowed the dog to roam pretty much all over the yard, and that worked pretty good until the dog figured out a way to hang himself on it.
I just don't like seeing a dog tied up like that, whether he ends up being hanged or not.
The best thing I EVER saw to keep a dog in its yard was that "invisible fence" thing that you bury underground and then put a shock collar on the dog. When that jolt of electricity bites him on the neck a couple of times, he learns real quick where the boundaries are, and he won't cross them again.
In fact, one neighbor I knew when I had my mini farm got to the point that he didn't even keep his invisible fence powered up after a while. He had TWO dogs, who learned their lessons the hard way and remembered them.
I was amused to watch them come barking and raising hell to the edge of the yard and suddenly STOP DEAD and decide to do their barking from right where they were. Once or twice burnt, they learnt. You couldn't lure them across that invisible Line of Pain with a chunk of raw steak, even when the line didn't exist anymore.
That may sound just as cruel and heartless as chaining a dog to a tree, but it's a hell of a lot better than having to scrape your dog off the road with a shovel or ending up in court because YOUR "loose" dog got carried away and bit a child on a bicycle in the street.
I still say, however, if you want an outside dog, fence your yard.
I had a bad night and felt sickly all day today. That's probably what I get for making my own rice, refried beans and tacos for supper yesterday evening. Just damn! I musta used un gato malo for the taco stuffing...
I like to cook with authentic Mexican ingredients, but I had to settle for what was handy. I never could catch the damned chihuahua that was running around my neighborhood yesterday.
i don't do math
... but I still got eight out of ten correct on this test. I guess I'm not completely ignorant after all. Of course, it WAS only 8th grade math, but still... that's not TOO shabby for an English Major.
It would be nice to know which ones I got wrong.
June 22, 2006
late quote of the day
"I made fun of Cindy Sheehan, calling her "Joan of Crawford," and I insinuated very strongly that she was having a ball with her son's death. And I think she was. But I think she's a special type of soulless parasite; a true worm of a person. Like a rat that feeds on corpses."steve h..
That guy can write.
He says he can cook, too, but I'll believe that when he proves it at a blog-meet. Make me some biscuits, boy! And be quick about it!
I am embarassed. I have some real dumbasses reading my blog, which doesn't say much about me. Maybe I need to start writing more like the "Dick & Jane" authors from my elementary school days.
Naw. Wouldn't work. "See Spot? Run, Spot, run!" would still sail over a lot of flat-heads today. The disturbing part of that realization is knowing that such people don't KNOW they're dumb as a red brick. THEY believe that they are SMART! And they vote, too. For Democrats, such as Ted Kennedy and Cynthia McKinney.
Lemme try to keep this simple... Damn! I'm not sure if I can, since I have to write it, which means you have to READ IT, which probably leaves a lot of people locked out of the door right there. But I'll try.
Ahem... pay attention now... if someone ever says "It's as clear as MUD," that's a... well, you won't understand. Just do this. Take two identical glasses right out of your dishwasher. Fill one up with distilled water and fill the other with MUD. Hold them up to a light.
Notice the difference? The distilled water is clear, while the glass of mud is... NOT CLEAR. Get it? When someone tells you "It's clear as MUD," they mean it's just like that glass of mud you're looking at. The one in your OTHER HAND, dummy, not the one with the distilled water in it.
NO, dammit! NOT THAT HAND!!! The one with the god-dam, cock-sucking, mutha-fucking, MUD in it!!! You fricking idiot! Just stop right where you are. Gimme both glasses. Now...
SMACK! CRASH! SLAM! Okay, I broke BOTH glasses over your pointy, empty head, you moron. So, we can forget that question now, as long as you don't step on the broken glass on the floor. If you do THAT, I'm gonna drag you off and shoot you.
Now... let's try another one. And I really, really want you think hard about this. Concentrate, or it could get nasty. "Wish in one hand and shit in the other, and see which hand fills up first."
NO, got-dammit!! Pull your pants back up! I didn't really mean for you to shit in your hand, you fricking cretin! Oh, never mind. You've already started, so go ahead and finish, you nasty... bejus... By the way, where is your wish? In that empty hand? How are you gonna wipe your ass, with that wish filling up your free hand?
That's great. Just drag your bottom across the carpet like a dog with worms...
All right, let's try this one... "A stitch in time saves nine." What? Yeah, you're right. Who needs stitches when you've got a tube of super-glue. Aw, fuck me dead! Did you just glue your ass-cheeks shut? And you're stuck to the carpet now? Well, I guess you shoulda wished as hard as you shit. Then you wouldn't be in the shape you're in...
One more time: "When the cat's away, the mice will play." No, I don't know the cat's name. Maybe it WAS the one that I shot in the ass with my pellet gun, but that's not relevant here. No, I'm not claiming you as a relative of mine. Where the hell did you get THAT idea? Oh, from holding a handful of shit and having your butt super-glued to the floor? Yeah, THAT'LL make you think, won't it?
NO, got-dammit! That quote has nothing to do with a computer. I'll click and delete your ASS if you ask me another dumbfuck question. I've got your mouse right HERE, danglin'...
Let's start all over again. "It's as clear as MUD to me!"
Anybody got questions now?
i have a question
What is the difference between a blithering idiot and a shining genius?
Tell me. A lot of people don't seem to know anymore.
dog on the run
I went outside to check my mailbox today and saw a big, black dog running around as if it were out of its mind. It was dragging about three feet of chain still attached to its collar as it cavorted merrily along, hither and yon, with a pink tongue flapping in the wind, like a big, hairy spastic.
I recognized the dog. It belonged to my next-door neighbors. They weren't home. (Thank Bejus, or else they would have thrust their stinkin,' squallin,' pukin,' screamin' BABY into my hands again.) It dawned on me that even though I've FED that dog before, lots of times, I didn't know its name.
So, I gave it a name of my own creation. I yelled, "Hey, ASSHOLE!! What are YOU doin' runnin' around loose?" The dog came right up to me, all friendly and tail-wagging and just as happy as a brainless bag of hair can be. I petted the critter and said, "Dumbass. You're gonna get killed if you keep this shit up. C'mon. Let's go back where you belong."
I grabbed the chain hanging off the dog's collar and allowed it to lead ME back to its home. It was just as happy as a dead pig in sunshine. If dogs could talk, that one would have said, "Looky here! See what I done? I got LOOSE!!! All by myself!!!"
I found the other end of the chain and attached it to the broken link, just making it hand-tight, because I didn't have any tools with me at the time. I shook my finger in the dog's face and said, "You sit tight. I'll be right back. Don't you run off again, or I'm gonna be really pissed at you." The dog kicked up a dust storm with its wagging tail and hung its tongue sideways out of its mouth.
I ran (okay... it wasn't exactly like running... it was more like hobbling) back to my garage and I fetched a pair of channel-lock pliers. The dog was waiting obediently for me when I got back, so I repaired the broken chain and petted the dumb bastid again.
The dog started licking and slobbering all over my hand.
I can't help it. I am a got-dam sucker for a good dog, so I sat down in the sand and let the dumb bastid lick my face and crawl all over me, while doing that all-adoring, love-you-so-much crap that dogs like to do. Yeah, I love you, too, you dumb bastid, I thought, as I wallowed in all that shameless adoration. It was a beautiful moment--- a real tear-jerking scenario.
At least he didn't start humping my leg.
I wobbled back to my house and grabbed a piece of Kielbasa sausage from my refrigerator that I had left-over from an omelet I cooked yesterday. I walked back to my neighbor's house and fed it to the dog in tiny pieces that it ate from my hand. That made me feel good.
Know what? I think I like that dumbass dog more than I do that nasty-assed baby they have over there.
"as clear as mud"
I never saw my mama get angry often in my life. She left that pitch-a-fit-stuff for my daddy to do, and he was damn GOOD at it. But I did see my darlin' mama lose her temper one time, over something that a government official came by our home to tell her, for her own good, of course, and my mama damn near exploded.
I don't remember what it was all about, but I DO remember that fuck-head in a coat & tie saying, "Mrs. Smith, I think I've made this perfectly clear to you..."
And he never got to finish his sentence, because Mama yelled, "It's about as clear as MUD to me!" I never will forget hearing her say that. I think she went back to her bedroom and grabbed Daddy's .38 pistol and told that prick to get off her land and NEVER come back, and he ran like the wind.
Mama stood at the door shaking with anger for a moment, with a loaded pistol in her hand. She turned her head, saw me and hissed like a snake. "Go to your room! Stay there until I call you!"
I ran like the wind, too. My mama wasn't very big, but she was a mighty force when she was angry. She damn sure was THAT day.
I never did learn what that crap was all about, but I'll NEVER forget hearing my mama say what she did that day.
"As clear as MUD to me!"
Maybe you have to be a hillbilly to understand...
maybe some light
... and I hope it ain't a train coming at me. I talked to my "Personal Banker" today, and he gave me a name and number to call about my IRS problems. I like the way he summed things up:
"Hell, Rob, I WANNA help you! Trust me... I would much rather have your $60,000 in one of MY managed accounts than see it go to the IRS!!! Guys like YOU are how I make my living!"
Heh. I called the number he gave me and guess what? I think I went to high school with that lawyer's brother. Small world, isn't it?
Reckon that might help me?
cat-lovers in action
Yeah, this is pretty sickening, too.
Corrupt politicians. Nasty cats. Shit-filled houses.
Not much difference, really, is there?
government in action
This is sickening. Try to remember this the next time "War Hero" Murtha jumps up on pedistal to show his unwiped ass.
i never understood it
Leftards started bleating like the sheelpe they are when we went to war in Iraq. "Bush lied, people died!!!" My aching, Cracker ass.
Our troops didn't uncover WMDs right away, so they never existed in the first place. Forget this. It never happened, because Saddam Hussein didn't have any nerve-gas and he NEVER used it on his own people. That's all YOU need to know.
And don't listen to this shit, either, because it'll get you all confused about the "facts" of this matter, and everybody already knows what THOSE are. Iraq had NO weapons of mass destruction, Saddam NEVER gassed any Kurds and he was a really nice guy, when he wasn't feeding people into shredding machines or binding their hands and throwing them off of tall buildings.
If you think with your pussy and not with your brain, it's all plain as day.
War is evil. Bush is a monkey. Cindy Sheehan is a saint. Saddam was just... a really nice guy, if you got to know him. Poisonous gas attacks on Kurds? Never happened, because we didn't find any weapons of mass destruction when we illegally and unethically invaded that peaceful country.
Yeah. And Hitler never killed any Jews, either.
I've been drunk as a skunk MANY times in my life, but I've NEVER worn beer-goggles as thick as leftards wear every day. Reminds me of a song... "living is easy with eyes closed... misunderstanding all you see..."
But it's all right.
Time does take its toll.
We don't have many people still living today who remember World War II. Can you imagine how modern leftards would have squawled, squeeked and pissed down their pants back then? When we carpet-bombed German cities? When we set Tokyo on fire? When we actually had the balls to drop an atomic bomb on our enemy?
Oh, Bejus! My ears ring with the howls that would have come from blithering idiots back then if they were anything like today's "enlightened" and totally pussified leftards. War is bad for children and all living things. Whaaa! Whaaa!
My aching ass. I recently wrote a post where I said that I hoped NEVER to get in another fist-fight in my life. I meant that, too.
But that doesn't mean that I will EVER run away from a real threat. It doesn't mean that fighting is NEVER necessary. Sometimes, pure brute force is all that makes any impression on truly evil people. And if you ain't willin' to do that, the truly evil people will walk over you like sandals on a sidewalk.
That's basic Human Nature 101, people. Read your history. Shit--- grow up on the same playgrounds I did. I learned my lessons about bullies and fighting the hard way, which was by fighting. And any pussy who believes that you can go through life without EVER fighting is gonna end up getting picked on, having his lunch money stolen and wind up sitting on his beat-up ass crying a lot.
I won't do that, and this great nation shouldn't, either. How we EVER got the insane idea in our heads that we can fight a WAR without inflicting ANY civilian casualties is a complete mystery to me. William Sherman didn't think that way when he marched through Georgia. Neither did Dwight Eisenhower when he planned and executed the D-Day invasion. Neither did Harry Truman when he gave the okay to drop an atomic bomb (excuse me... TWO atomic bombs) on Japan.
War is dirty business. The only way to win is to kill the enemy before he kills you. It's a brutal exercise, and if you ain't willin' to be brutal, roll over on your back and surrender now.
Part of the pussification of America today is the bizarre idea that we can just kinda roll over on our side, and semi-fight, because we don't want anybody to be HURT in a war. What kind of bullshit is THAT? It's totally asinine and it gets soldiers killed.
I could NEVER be a politician, and this pussified country damn sure don't want ME as President today. Oh, I'd pull ALL our troops out of Iraq, right now. And as soon as they were in the clear, I'd turn that place into a sheet of glazed glass, using B-52s with atomic bombs falling from 50,000 feet.
Then, go in and start over. Millions of dead wimmen and children? Well.. war is hell, isn't it?
I also would tell Iran, "Hey, fuckhead! See what we just did to your neighbor? Keep going the way you're going. You're NEXT, buddy!" And I would DO IT, too.
But that would be racist and intolerant and politically incorrect. Can't be doin' that shit anymore. Pussy lips would flap enough to generate hurricane winds.
And THAT would be bad for the "environment."
saying good bye
We drove to the airport in Jacksonville. We arrived early and had a couple of hours to kill. We bought some downright obscene, hulking cinamin rolls and two large cups of coffee from a place that smelled so good that you couldn't possibly pass it up. (I don't remember the name, Joanie. Do YOU?)
While she sat on a bench and ate her cinamin rolls and sipped her coffee, I walked to a bookstore and bought a copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a book that I promised to buy her when she first saw downtown Savannah. I borrowed a pen from a girl behind the counter and wrote something witty and clever on the inside cover-page and gave that book to Joanie about 30 minutes before her flight began boarding.
That was a strange goodbye. We hugged. We kissed. And BOTH OF US started crying, right there in the got-dam airport. We both had enjoyed the visit and I hated to see her go. But she had her book and her ticket home and I had a two-hour drive back to Rincon. She walked down the runway, I went back out to my truck, and we never saw each other again.
I didn't learn until the next day that she experienced the Trip from Airline Hell, where she was stranded in Atlanta for a few hours, which meant that she missed ALL of her other connecting flights, so that she didn't make it back home after what SHOULD have been a six-hour plane ride, until almost 16 hours later.
She said the she almost ripped out a charge card and flew BACK to Savannah, just to cut the bullshit. Now, I wish she had. We could have hopped in my car and DRIVEN all the way back to San Diego, as long as she didn't push me for time. I coulda done that southern route through the desert trip I want to do and tooled along the Pacific Coast Highway, too.
But she got home around midnight that evening, thanked me for the trip, and told me that she read the entire book I bought her before she ever landed in California. I was pissed because THAT book is not one you should gobble at one swallow. And I coulda showed her the places and people featured in the story.
But, that's what happened. I'm just glad that she doesn't hate me.
Maybe she would if I ever introduced her to this guy. Savannah would NEVER be the same..
June 21, 2006
i'm going to bed
I hurt and I don't feel very good. But before I turn in for the night, I just want to say a few things:
* Big government is NOT a good thing. The bigger it gets, the worse and more out of touch with the "American People" it becomes. The way I see it now, the only difference between Republicans and Democrats is NOT whether they want big government or not, but what Big Government should demand that you do.
* Don't EVER wonder how Adolph Hitler did what he did. Read some leftoid blogs. Listen to leftoid politicians. That's all you need to know.
* Some wimmen are absolute, insane, constantly-on-the-rag nutballs. If you don't believe me, read some of my comments. Does the name "Tessa" ring a bell?
* Some wimmen are truly kind and wonderful. My mama was like that. So are a few others that I know. Does the name "Chablis" ring a bell?
* The older I get, the less I trust ANYBODY. What causes that?
* Not too many people think today. They react, which is totally different from thinking.
* This country is becoming totally pussified. People who want to eliminate "Risk," are going to kill us all. They'd VOTE for Adolph Hitler today if he promised them safety.
* Guns are NOT dangerous, when handled by people who know what they're doing. They are dangerous when handled by CRIMINALS.
* I dare not write about this shit for fear of being called a racist. Truth is brutal sometimes. And if you run from it, you end up with an Adolph Hitler ruling your country.
Am I crazy? I mean, I see this stuff plain as day in MY eyes. Look at 10,000 years of history. Am I all fucked up for thinking the way I do?
Maybe so. A LOT of people voted for Al Gore. They voted for John Kerry, too. Bejus. Did they really want that kind of jackass running our country? Would they vote for Hitler, too, if he promised them a chicken in every pot and a check in the mail?
I don't know and I don't care. I'm going to bed now. Y'all sleep tight and worry about global warming, or affirmative action or gun control, or free prescription drugs for dottering old farts with a million dollars in the bank.
I'll worry about the IRS taking everything I have.
Guess what? I have a lot more to worry about than YOU DO. And I have my government to thank for THAT!
got harpooned again
Did you ever see a got-dam needle so big and so scary-lookin' that you closed your eyes when the doctor got ready to stick it in you? Did you ever sit there on a table with your shirt off and FEEL that sumbitch scraping BONE as the doctor wiggled it all around inside your shoulder joint? In BOTH shoulders???
Did you feel a kind of icy-hot sensation running from your shoulder, down your arm and then right back up into your friggin' HEART when that happened? Did you think that you just might PASS OUT, right then and there? Not so much from pain, but from FRIGHT???
Did you want to curl up in a fetal position and whine like a baby on the got-dam FLOOR when the doctor told you to put your shirt back on?
Good. I've never done that, either.
Bejus. I hope the shots I got today work for another month or so. I kinda like being able to wipe my own ass. By myself. But I'll tell you one thing, right here and now.
I've pumped up bicycle tires with smaller tools than that doc used on me today.
the one that got away
I once took Dora backpacking with me up to joyce Kilmer State Park in North Carolina. She had never been backpacking before, and I was a damn fool to take her there on her first trip, because that place is one steep bitch to walk. We spent four days in the woods there, and she hung with me like a real trooper all the way.
That's the kinda woman she was.
We hiked the Slickrock Creek trail, all the way to the top of Hangover Mountain. We camped one night at Naked Ground, then went back down the mountain the way we had come. We found a good place to camp on Slickrock Creek and stayed there for three days.
That place is beautiful, but if you go there, you're gonna get rained on a LOT. That place is a rain magnet and it gets more drops per square inch every day than any other place I've ever been. I took a two-person tent with me on that trip, while I usually just tote a hammock and a tarp to keep ME dry. But I pitched that tent and managed to build a fire out of wet wood just so I could dry out MORE wet wood to keep a fire going.
We ate backpacking food, too. Rice and cup-o-soup and salt-cured ham. Snickers bars and Little Debbie star crunches. It was fun, crawling into that tent at night and zipping our sleeping bags together so that we could snuggle up tight and stay warm while listening to Slickrock Creek babble all night long.
We made love in the tent. We made love around the campfire. Hell, we fucked like a couple of wild dogs in the wilderness. Something about camping in the woods brought out the beast in both of us.
The second day at Slickrock Creek, we both admitted that we smelled of sweat, sex and wood-smoke, so we decided to bathe in the creek. I grabbed a bar of soap and we walked a short way down the bank, found a nice waterfall, shed our clothes and jumped into the water.
Holey Moley! That was some COLD water and my dick (that's back when I still had one) shrunk up like a stack of dimes thirty cents tall. Dora's nipples stood out like .30 caliber rifle ammunition. Goosebumps broke out all over both of us.
But we didn't get out of the water. We came there to bathe, and by-gawd, we were gonna do it. We did, too. I soaped her long red hair (which takes a lot of work in a hard-water mountain stream) and she scrubbed my back. Things were starting to get somewhat erotic when a troop of Boy Scouts came marching by on the opposite bank.
I shit you not. Those boys started laughing and pointing at us nekkid in the stream, but I'll give their scout master credit for one thing. (I'll also give Dora credit, too. She just stood there in the water like a red-haired goddess with stiff nipples and didn't try to hide ANYTHING.)
The scout master asked me how far it was to Naked Ground, which I thought was kinda funny, since he was asking a nekkid man that question. I told him that it was only about three miles from where he was, but that he ought to camp at the bottom of the mountain that night and go to the top the next day.
"You can't miss it," I said. "Just follow the trail until you see a creek running off the mountain. The trail heads STEEP uphill from there, and there's no water until you make it to the top. I recommend camping there and hiking the rest of the way tomorrow."
Dora chimed in. "He knows what he's talking about. That is a STEEP trail. It took us six hours to make a little over three miles getting up there."
The scout master thanked us and hearded his flock down the trail, with the boys giggling like maniacs because they saw a nekkid woman taking a bath in the stream. I don't know if they ever got where they were going, but I AM sure that we made memories of that trip that they'll NEVER forget.
I'll never forget it, either. And if I had only ONE CHOICE in my life to take a mulligan on, a do-over, a second chance, it would be ME leaving Dora when I did, the way I did. What a got-dam fool I was, especially when I look now at who I left her for. I need to be dragged off and SHOT!
But I did it. I can't take that back. You don't get mulligans in life.
But I damn sure regret the one that got away.
bejus on a bike!
I use that term a lot when I write. But I've never done it quite so well as she does.
Baby, let's ride!!!!
pussification in progress
You wanna know what annoys the absolute shit out of me today? It's got-dam CAR ALARMS!!! WTF!!!???
Oh, I understand the idea. Those things were supposed to make you "safer" from car thieves, and every got-dam coward-assed, bleeding pussy in this country probably agreed that it was a WONDERFUL idea, and lawyers lined up in long files to sue car manufacturers who didn't install one. What did we end up with?
A lot of fucking NOISE that NOBODY pays attention to anymore. Bejus! I just heard one going off outside my front door and walked outside, NOT to see if a car-theft was in progress, but to make sure it wasn't MY got-dam car making all that noise.
My neighbor across the street was attempting to make a minor mechanical repair to her car and set off the got-dam alarm, then couldn't figure out how to shut it off. She was slamming doors, turning her lights on and off, cranking the engine and turning it off again, doing all kinds of idiot shit. Still, the alarm kept blasting.
I wobbled my way over there and showed her how to pull the fuse. I also recommended that she throw the got-dam thing away and NEVER replace it.
I think the person who invented car-alarms needs to be dragged off and shot, for being an asshole AND a pussy. You wanna know what works better than ANY car alarm? Get a big, mean-ass dog, preferably one that's black, so nothing but his fangs show up at night, and keep it a little bit hungry. Chain it to a tree where it can get to your car but not out into the street.
See if anybody steals your car then.
Bejus on a bike. Car alarms are just one more example of the complete pussification of America that is taking place today. I blame wimmen and government and lawyers for this shit. Drag them ALL off and shoot them.
THAT would make the world a safer place.
I talked to my daughter today and persuaded her and Stacy to come visit me next month. They both have some time off from work, and I told them that I would pay for their travel expenses, let 'em stay at my house and I would take them out to eat at Mrs. Wilkes while they were here.
Who could refuse THAT offer??? They didn't, and they made me very happy.
Plus, the real reason I want Samantha to come visit is that she needs to see her great-grandmother. Mommie ain't doing so well and I don't know how much longer she's gonna be around. She's 96 years old, and bodies wear out over time. I've been too damn decrepit to go visit her the way I should, but I can get the girls to drive me over there if I can't do it myself.
That is a good thing.
Mommie always loved Samantha a lot. She still likes to tell the story of Sam coming to visit her one day, when my daughter was about three years old. (Bejus! TWENTY YEARS AGO!!! Fuck me dead...) I had just wrestled with a flat tire on my truck and Sam watched me doing it.
Mommie was cooking something in her kitchen and Sam looked at Mommie's old, wrinkled hands. Sam said, "Mommie, you need some air in your hands. They look like my daddy's flat tire."
Out of the mouths of babes, right?
another comment on a comment
When I wrote about using super glue to close a gaping, self-inflicted knife wound in my hand the other day, people wrote me about how bad tetanus was. They made it sound really scary. I received this comment:
And, your dick falls off, slowly, and with considerable discomfort. But, you go ahead and do what you think best........
Sorry, buddy, but you can't frighten ME with that shit. My dick fell off in 2001, when I had surgery for prostate cancer. I went 18 months with nothing down there but a piss-nozzle, and even THAT didn't have a good shut-off valve on it anymore. I had to wear diapers and change my sheets almost every day, because I pissed all over the place in my sleep.
It was the most degrading thing that ever happened to me in my life.
I got a fix a flat kit from my urologist, which was a vial of some kind of wonder-drug, along with a box of hypodermic needles. If I wanted an erection, all I had to do was load one of those needles with the wonder drug, then plunge the needle into the base of my penis, and presto!!!! I got an erection.
At the risk of pissing her off, I'm just gonna say, ask her about that. She saw me do it. In fact, with her nursing experience, she even loaded the needle for me once. (Joanie--- if you get angry with me for writing this, I'm sorry. You've been a good friend to me and somebody I'll always remember. But I'm calling on you to testify that I AM NOT making this shit up! You're not embarassed or ashamed about sleeping with me four years ago, are you? I hope not. I don't see anything to be ashamed of. Maybe I shouldn't advertise it over the internet, but I have no regrets about our time together. In fact, I would hop in your britches again tomorrow if you gave me the chance.)
That needle crap was no fun at all. I didn't like doing it and I never knew what I was gonna get from those shots. Yeah, they would stiffen the old wanger, but try a six-hour, painful erection a couple of times, and you'll WANT your dick to fall off. I hated that shit.
So, I got a penile implant. I have bionics now. Whoopie!!! If I want a hard-on, all I have to do is push the button and squeeze. Works every time.
I hate THAT, too.
I once suggested the name "Three-Balled Toad" for a rock & roll band I was playing in, and the other members of the band called me obscene names and told me that I was outta my mind. Maybe they were correct in their harsh judgment of me and my grand imagination. But guess what?
I AM a three-balled toad now. I would be happy to let you check the equipment and see what you think. That pumper-upper device in my nutsack feels a lot like a third testicle down there. Honest. It DOES.
I have to be careful about sitting on it wrong, or else I appear to become aroused when I'm not. And if Roscoe suddenly decides to crawl around and eat ants, I have to go to the bathroom and deflate the sucker with the front of my pants bulging out when I walk.
Plus, it ain't nearly as good as the original equipment. It feels all plastic and artificial to me. Not nearly as BIG, either, and any woman who tells you that size doesn't matter is lying to you. What I have now is better than nothing, but not by much.
Maybe that's why I don't date and chase wimmen anymore. I'm not very interested in sex nowdays. The truth is... I couldn't care less about it.
Don't get me wrong--- I still love wimmen and I like having one in my bed at night. Snugglin' is good. Sex is still fun and very enjoyable to me. But I really prefer someone I can talk to and play guitar for, and sing to, and somebody to hug me when I'm feeling low, which is a LOT of the time anymore. I feel incomplete without a woman in my life.
But I feel even MORE incomplete because my dick really DID fall off... in 2001.
Maybe I got carried away
I've been pretty ruthless with my Blacklisting over the past couple of days, because the spammers have been hitting me hard. Maybe I've been a little careless, too, and inflicted some collateral damage.
If you try to comment on my site and get a message saying, "Your comment is denied due to questionable content," you know got-dam well that THAT is a lie, because your comment could not possibly have any more "questionable content" than most of my posts do.
Try again, without putting your URL in the block that asks for it. If your comment goes through then, I have you blacklisted by mistake. Email me at email@example.com and I'll try to remedy my mistake.
Unless you're a spammer. In THAT case, I hope you die!!! A slow and miserable death, too.
I've had those airport security bastids nit-search ME on five different occasions and they never found anything illegal in my luggage. I didn't like having my shit-stained underwear waved around in public while I stood there like a got-dam criminal, but it could have been worse, I suppose.
I might have been caught with one of these.
THAT might have embarassed me a little. I HAVE been known to play with such toys before, although always in mixed company--- NOT by myself. Just ask my ex-wife. We had a box full of neat stuff, in a locked drawer next to our bed. She liked the motorized ones, and the handcuffs. The nipple-clamps were fun, too.
In fact, we had... never mind. I'm digressing again.
But that's something anti-terrorist experts need to be on the lookout for. A DILDO-BOMB!!!. All greased up and shiny, in a plastic bag.
Yep. You never know what those crazy Islamo-nuts will think of next...
a good bad word
this guy once said that he had listed, in a notebook with the pages all stuck together, 450 words used to describe female genitalia. Whatta pussy!
I once listened to a highly-respected educator lecture about what makes cussin' feel GOOD. It all has to do with a part of the language called "plosives," which made perfect sense to me at the time and still does today. Think about it.
A plosive starts with a blast of breath, then ends with a sudden shut-off. That's why "SHIT!" is such a good cuss-word. Try saying it right now. See what I mean? Feels GOOD, don't it? Especially when you just hit your finger with a hammer, slammed your hand in a car door or dropped a heavy object on your bare foot. SHIT!!! is all you need to say about stuff like that.
Blast of breath, sudden shut-off. Other words that work almost as well are "bitch" and "crap." But the best cuss word of all remains, far above any other, true to the plosive theory... "FUCK!!!"
Fuck is better than shit on a cuss-word scale. Plus, if you look up "fuck" in an unabridged dictionary, you'll find a WHOLE PAGE of definitions for the word. Think about it.
You can fuck up. You can get fucked. Fuck THAT! Aw, fuck me dead. Or fuck me runnin.' She fucked me over. Yeah, I fucked her. Go fuck yourself.
I could go on and on, but I won't because I'm headed for the doctor's office to see about getting my shoulders fixed. I hope this doc don't fuck me around like that last one did.
got me thinking...
I never served in the military. I won the draft lottery in the early 1970s and never donned a uniform or laced up a pair of combat boots. Lucky me.
Naw, I went to Armstrong State College and then to the University of Georgia instead of going to Vietnam. I guess that makes me a "chickenhawk" for supporting our troops today from 5,000 miles away from the shooting and the roadside bombs.
It's probably a good thing that I DID NOT go to Vietnam. I was a young, dumb, full of cum athlete who watched a lot of John Wayne movies. I would have gotten my ass shot off, or ended up more cynical about my government than I am today. (If that last part is possible.)
It's easy for me to sit here at a computer and say "go get 'em!" to young men and wimmen headed for Iraq. All that costs ME is the price of a few meals, a couple of drinks or a standing ovation when they pass by in the Atlanta airport. It ain't like I'm putting MY ass on the line with them.
I'm old and decrepit now... but I wonder... how different would my life be today if I had been drafted or enlisted back in 1972?
My daddy, who served in the Navy and was about as patriotic as any man I ever knew, once told me that he would have financed a trip to Canada for me if I had been drafted when I received my 1-A notice in the mail. I was shocked when I heard him say those words.
MY daddy? Wanting to PAY for me to run to Canada during a WAR? I wouldn't have taken that offer. No way. I did my best to stay OUT of that fight, but if the cards had fallen differently, I would have gone. No question about it.
I didn't like what I saw on CBS News every night, but I trusted my government back then. Besides, being a soldier was an honorable profession to me--- it still IS--- but I'm glad that I didn't have to serve when the time was ripe for me.
Vietnam was a shitty war, and we didn't fight it right. (May Robert MacNamara rot in hell, right beside LBJ, in a seat close to the fire.) I believe that the war in Iraq is what we need to be doing, not just for the good of the country but for the good of the WORLD, too. I just hope we have the guts to fight it right.
Anybody who believes that radical Islam is NOT a threat to this country (including "The Children") is a got-dam fool. If I were a young man now, I would want to enlist and fight in THAT war. It's a just cause. It's the right thing to do.
And if that makes me a 54 year-old chickenhawk, so be it.
I HAD to. I really, really did. I HAD to link it.
This is too good to ignore.
quote of the day
"... the best way to avoid a fight is not to start it." tim cavanaugh
Duh... ya think so?
Those words of wisdom apply to EVERY situation, including law enforcement. If you want to pick a fight, you can usually find one. I know that much just from writing this blog. Hell, be a bar musician for six years and see what you learn about assholes picking fights. It ain't pretty.
My motto today is... "give me three steps toward the door." If you'll do THAT, I'm outta there. I'm gone and YOU WIN!!! I hope I never have another fist-fight in my life, not because I probably would lose, but because there simply ain't no sense in it.
Just don't knock down MY door and come charging into MY house unannounced at night. You'll get a fight then.
And it won't be pretty.
this bothers me
I don't agree with this supreme court ruling. I have NEVER believed that cops dressed up like paramilitary ninjas should be kicking down doors (or using one of those battering rams they have now) to invade a citizen's private property.
That's just un-American to me.
I also believe that this shit is a result (inevitable, once government starts "protecting" us from ourselves) of the War on (some) Drugs. Launch a surprise attack and the alleged perp doesn't have time to flush his illegal drugs down the commode while the cops stand outside. I call bullshit.
Are you familiar with the name corey maye? If not, you should be.
He shot and killed a cop who was part of a no-knock raid (yes--- a DRUG raid) on the WRONG HOUSE, and now he sits on Death Row for doing exactly what I would have done in the same situation.
People, I don't own any guns. I don't keep my non-existent guns loaded, either. I don't have them placed in easy-to-reach locations all around my home, either. But if I DID... it wouldn't be a good idea to knock down MY front door and come barging into MY Crackerbox unannounced.
That's why I don't own any guns. I might get all nervous and disturbed by such an invasion and start shooting at whoever rammed his way into MY home and interrupted my peaceful viewing of Home Box Office at night. I might not miss my target, either.
And I might end up on Death Row for shooting a cop, too.
I call BULLSHIT!!! A man's home is his castle, (even if it has a filthy kitchen), and he has the right to defend it against ANY invader, with whatever force he can muster. What would YOU do if somebody knocked down YOUR front door and came charging into YOUR home at night?
I can think of only ONE reason for cops to come barging into a home the way they do so often now, and that's if a hostage is being held inside. Drugs ain't no excuse for that kinda shit. And the Supreme Court is WRONG by ruling that it's okay for cops to do it.
I'll just give you a good piece of advice, despite what the Supreme Court says. Don't try that shit where I live.
Somebody's gonna get shot.
June 20, 2006
want good food?
If you ever come to Savannah, Jawja, you need to pay a visit to this place. The name has changed since I first started eating there 40 years ago (alas--- Mrs. Wilkes died) but the food is as good as ever.
It used to be called "Mrs. Wilkes' Boarding House," on Jones Lane, and she once kept lodgers upstairs there, but her cooking became so famous and coveted that she threw all the lodgers out and made her place a restaurant. You want to taste REAL Southern cooking? Go there.
When I first started eating at Mrs. Wilkes,' a meal cost $3.00 for all you wanted to eat. I'm talking about sit down at a big table, say grace and pass the plates of fried chicken, pork chops, rice & gravy, green beans, mashed potatoes, fried corn, okra & tomatoes, corn bread, biscuits, real butter and everything else you could imagine, all served with a huge glass of genuine Southern sweet, iced tea, refilled from a big pitcher on the table whenever your glass went empty.
I don't know what it costs to eat there now, but you can bet your ass it's worth it. And THEN some. Just thinking about that place now makes me hungry.
You'll have to stand in line to get through the front door, but it's worth the wait. If you EVER visit Savannah, have a meal there.
You won't regret it.
rain shit on my own head
Something is badly wrong with me.
ONCE I mouthed off at my neighbors about not seeing their new baby when it came home from the hospital. NOW, I can't go outside without making sure they ain't watching, or else I'll get that baby THRUST upon me, in all its squallin,' pukin', stinkin' beauty.
That's really a self-inflicted wound, because if I never had ASKED to see the baby, they probably would have left me alone... but I couldn't keep my big, fat mouth shut. I rain shit on my own head a lot.
I think they might be grooming me for a baby-sitter some day, and I want no part of that. Bejus! If I wanted a baby to sit, I'd STEAL one from an orphanage or something.
That's what I get for being sociable to my neighbors.
Blood on the saddle
I know that YOU have never done this, but I have. In fact, I did it again this afternoon.
I cleaned out my dishwasher and put all the kitchen implements in their proper places. I reloaded the dishwasher with more nasty shit that needed washing. My kitchen was starting to look semi-clean, when I noticed bright red drops of... paint?... food coloring?... dripping all over the floor.
Where the hell did THAT come from?
I found out.
I cut the livin' shit outta myself when I was taking the kitchen knives out of my dishwasher. I sliced myself right in that tender place between thumb and forefinger, where you can do it without feeling it and have blood flow as if it were coming from a faucet. Holey-moley!!! I was bleeding like a stuck hog!!!
I wrapped my wound in a paper towel, then did something that NO Boy Scout First-Aid kit will EVER tell you to do, but it works. Trust me. It works.
I grabbed a tube of Super-Glue, ran a bead across the cut, and squeezed it shut for 30 seconds. PRESTO!!! No more bleeding. Hell--- no more CUT, either. Just a shiny line as if a snail had crawled across my hand.
I sprayed it with Bactine and daubed it with alcohol just to be on the safe side, but I'm gonna tell you right NOW--- Super-Glue works better than stitches when you cut yourself the way I did today.
I figure that I saved about $300 by not going to the Emergency Room. I think I'll heal just fine, too.
Heh. That was better than a mountain poultice...
BWHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! The instapundit himself got dissed!!! He didn't like it, either. BWHAHAHAHAAA!!!
At least his lame-brained, troll-humping, asshole-headed, piece of shit critic didn't call him a RACIST!!! Thank your lucky stars, Glenn.
It coulda been worse.
click and delete
When my blog went tits-up yesterday, I deleted eight pretty good blog entries for no good reason at all. Maybe just to see if bandwidth was my problem. Maybe just because I got mouse-happy.
Whatever. I wish I had 'em back, because a couple of them were pretty funny. But a couple of others were insensitive and racist and all intolerant... so if you never get a chance to read them we're BOTH better off. You won't be offended and I don't have to call you a prick for being offended.
It's a win-win scenario.
i want a new host
Anybody able to host my blog? At a reasonable price? With plenty of bandwidth? Where you can take what I have and transfer it over to YOUR care?
I'm ready for a move. I've had all of Hosting Matters that I can stand.
A lot of you people don't like political posts, so before you stop reading, let me tell you--- this is NOT a political post. It's a Human Nature post.
When I worked at the chemical plant, I was in a position where I made a lot of calls about who received really, really lucrative contracts for doing really, really expensive work in my area. I was offered bribes. OFTEN. FREQUENTLY.
Naw... those weren't bribes... they were GIFTS, given to influence me, just to push me in the proper direction so that I would do the RIGHT THING for the good of the company. If I didn't lock the doors to my truck in the parking lot, I might find a frozen ham, a case of liquor or a few free passes to an expensive golf course over at Hilton Head. Just put there to let me know how much contractors CARED!!! I even had a few guys be so brazen as to pull out a checkbook and ask, "How much?" when a fat contract was up for bid.
Know what I did with that shit? I told the guy with the checkbook to stick it up his ass. I dumped the loot out of my truck and left it in the parking lot. I didn't give a damn WHO picked it up, but it wouldn't be ME. I really wanted to do what was good and proper for my area, and I could NOT be bought. Is that about the dumbest thing you ever heard of?
EVERYBODY ELSE DID IT! I was a damn fool not to do it myself.
I'll admit that I went to a bunch of free lunches while a salesman pitched his wares to me. That wasn't unethical to me. I did it when I was actually interested in what the guy was selling, but the free lunch never had anything to do with my decision to buy it or not.
Look at congress. I was small fry compared to the gadzillions of dollars THEY handle, but the ethics are the same to me. You either CAN be bought, or you CAN'T.
We've got too many people in Congress who take pride in not selling out cheap. As if that makes selling out any different. The only difference between a $2 whore and a $1,000 whore is the price. They're both whores.
And Human Nature? Just damn! We're ALWAYS gonna have whores. Always have, always will. We just shouldn't elect them to Congress.
The problem is... I don't think you can GET to Congress anymore without being a whore to start with.
I had a lot on my mind when I fell asleep last night. I wasn't even aware of falling asleep when it happened. Just all of a sudden, I was standing in Mommie's kitchen, in that old house in Loyal, Kentucky. I was looking out the window and watching the Cumberland River roll by, all shallow and muddy, sixty feet below, down at the bottom of the hill.
I saw a reflection in the window. Someone was walking up behind me. I turned and saw Jennifer, smiling, dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt.
Everything that happened in the past five years vanished (almost) from my memory and I asked, "What are YOU doing here? Did Daddy Longshanks get tired of you, or did you get tired of him? Where is Quinton?"
She didn't answer, but she gave me a big hug. Gawd help me, people, but I never felt so happy in my life. The bad dream was over. All that CRAP never happened. We could be together again and make it work RIGHT this time...
I woke up and almost started crying. That's not the first time I've had dreams similar to that one, but it was the first time the setting was in Mommie's Old Kentucky Home, on the bank of the Cumberland River, where I spent so many happy days of my life.
When my blog breaks, I find good people who fix it for me. And they do it because they are able, and they ask nothing in return. Y'all are GOOD!!!
Now tell me... how do I ever fix a broken heart?
my utmost gratitude
Ladies... I don't know how to thank you. I WOULD offer to come clean your houses, but if you saw MINE... you'd beat me with a broom if I showed up at your front door.
But I am pretty good at cutting grass and making your lawn look good--- at least I was before my shoulders went to shit--- but I know a few kids in my neighborhood who would be DELIGHTED to do the work, and I'll pay 'em for ya. (I know how to negotiate with those little pirates).
All I can say is "Thank You!!!"
And I really mean that...
Well Lookie What We Have Here
You're back up and running, dear :)
June 18, 2006
It's nobody's fault
The IRS is after me, and they're gonna get their pound of flesh. I own a home. I have a bank account. The IRS can find out that much about me and GET what THEY demand, even if they have to take it by force, which they will do, while most citizens of this country snore, or dance a merry jig because they received a $500 income tax refund in the mail.
And when government pisses away that money, it is no big deal. I mean... REALLY... any sane, logical person should understand that BILLIONS of dollars wasted is okay, because that's what government MUST do to help people after a disaster.
I suppose it's like throwing darts, with each dart worth several million dollars. If you put two in the dartboard and three in the wall around the dartboard, that's GREAT! You should look at the several million dollars that hit the target and forget about the gadzillions that hit the wall.
I wonder if that logic will work for ME with the IRS. I've been filing income tax forms since I was 14 years old. I'm 54 now. I should be able to say, "I threw 40 darts at the board. 39 hit the target. How about we just forget the ONE that stuck in the wall?"
Oh, yeah. That'll work with the IRS.
If that idea won't work for ME, when we're talking about MY OWN MONEY, it shouldn't work for government, either. After all, they stuck a lot of MY money in the wall instead of hitting the target with it after Katrina. Now, they want MORE, because darts cost a lot, and with the imprecise aim government uses, it needs PLENTY of darts to put a few where they're aiming.
That bullshit idea may make sense to the LA Times, but it doesn't... um... add up to me.
June 17, 2006
A trackback ping on my blog (deleted because I thought it was VERY racist) led me to garb up in my Haz-Mat suit and explore a couple of leftard blogs today. I may believe that they're all a bunch of tweegatjakkals, but I could be wrong. That's why I like to check 'em every now and then, but I still dress carefully to keep any of their unmitigated shit from rubbing off on me.
I can decontaminate my Haz-Mat suit when I'm done. If their rabid fucktardliness ever infected my brain, I would be doomed. I am convinced that their kind of crap doesn't wash off if it ever gets into you.
I now know what Utopia looks like.
* Utopia is One People, living together in blissful harmony, with lots of big-government rules and regulations to keep them in line.
* No hate... only love... which is why people need to divide up into ethnic groups and cry "racism" or "discrimination" every time life doesn't go exactly their way.
* Mo' MONEY! That's the answer to every problem facing this country today. Government could fix them ALL... if only it had Mo' Money.
* Diversity. Our strength lies in our diversity, which is why, for the good of a free country, we need to break up into as many whining grievance groups as possible. Envy, hate and bigotry are EVIL, and the only way to eliminate such evil from our lives is to learn to envy, hate and be bigoted against the people who deserve it. And that's ANYBODY who isn't exactly like WE ARE, brother!
* George Bush is the anti-Christ. And he's stupid, too. He looks like a monkey, which is what he ought to look like, being Karl Rove's hand-puppet and all... the stupid bastid.
* We need to cut and run from Iraq. Bush lied, people died. Besides, the money we're squandering on that hopeless war could be better squandered at home, on more giveaway social programs.
* WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! And if you don't believe in Global Warming, we're GONNA KILL YOU!!! To Save the Planet, For the Children.
* Second-hand smoke kills THOUSANDS of people every year. Maybe even MILLIONS!!! You want PROOF of that fact? Just read this blog. It's right there, because I said so. I think the United Nations said it, too, and that's all you need to know. EVERYBODY knows it's true.
* Smoking bans on private property increase our freedom. We all have the "right" to breathe clean air.
* Some people have too much. Others have too little. That's a problem that's quickly solved if government takes from the haves and gives to the have-nots. Kinda like Robin Hood. Didn't HE say, "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need?" I think I read that on the internet somewhere...
* Republicans are all heartless bastids who eat the poor and LOVE to drive their big, black capitalist limousines through mud-puddles and splash The Homeless with dirty rainwater, polluted and "toxic" because of Big Oil companies dumping their hazardous waste everywhere. Republicans also like to run over small animals of the Endangered Species variety and SMOKE TOBACCO when they do it.
* Ted Kennedy is a statesman. Hillary Clinton is the greatest woman ever to shit between two thick ankles. Howard Dean is a prophet. Nancy Pelosi has a "plan," which she cleverly conceals by pretending not to have a clue about where the sun rises in the morning. Arlen Specter is a brilliant man. Bill Clinton inspires TRUST everywhere he goes. Al Gore brings intelligence to a whole new, inspiring Brainiac level with his questing, scientific mind. John Kerry was a war hero, and anybody who says differently is a liar.
* Bush stole the Presidential election in 2000. He stole it again in 2004. The Voice of the People has been silenced during his tyrannical reign and dissenters are squashed, like palmetto bugs on a kitchen floor at night, as he clings grimly to undeserved power. He also looks like a monkey.
* GOOD PEOPLE are like mud-puddles in the road. They get run over by BAD PEOPLE driving gas-guzzling SUVs. Ralph Nader is GOOD. Rush Limbaugh is BAD. Cindy Sheehan is GOOD. Swift-Boat veterans are BAD. That's all YOU need to know.
* ALL Republicans are racist.
* All WHITE PEOPLE are racist.
* Jesse Jackson IS NOT racist. In fact, he and Al Sharpton wage a ceaseless war AGAINST racism, expecting no reward for themselves at all. We need more people like THAT in the world, for the sake of racial harmony.
* WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! The globe is warming, Bush is President, the war is evil, the rich get tax breaks, big oil companies rape consumers for windfall profits, Karl Rove escaped his well-deserved prison sentence, Cynthia McKinney didn't do NUTHIN' WRONG (more racism!!!), Ann Coulter is a cold-hearted BITCH (plus a racist, too!), and Bush is a monkey. Or at least he LOOKS like one.
* The Unvarnished Truth pours from the mouth of Al Franken. Fox News tells you LIES!!!
* We're raising a generation of overweight, sedentary, AHDD-suffering children--- and it's all the fault of fast foods and television advertising!!! The ONLY way to correct this awful situation is to sue somebody. Then, get government involved.
* Michael Bloomberg is a visionary.
* Gun control WORKS!!!
* Right-wing, religious nutballs are cruel, vicious and racist. True liberals, on the other hand, are loving, kind, compassionate and always willing to spend somebody else's money to help the less fortunate. Want proof?
Right-wing, religious nutball: "On the Seventh Day God Rested and Liberals Schemed"--- ann Coulter.
Kind-Hearted, Compassionate Liberal:"The entire country may disagree with me, but I don't understand the necessity for patriotism," Maines resumes, through gritted teeth. "Why do you have to be a patriot? About what? This land is our land? Why? You can like where you live and like your life, but as for loving the whole country… I don't see why people care about patriotism."--- Natalie Maines, noted philosopher and fat-assed singer in a band.
* WHAAAAT??? I thought "love" was what defined you leftard folks, the same way "hate" defines those who disagree with you. Isn't saying, "...as far as loving the whole country..." as if suggesting that you don't HAVE to do it, kinda racist? Know what I'm sayin'? Put the same kinda thinking in different words and see how it makes people foam at the mouth. "I don't understand the necessity for loving other races... I don't see why people care..." Same mindset, different words. One is condemned, while the other is praised. Just damn! Truth is unpleasant sometimes, isn't it?
I wrote this post in hopes of being just as obnoxious as I possibly could be. In olden days, emperors and kings killed the message-bearer bringing unpleasant news, because they didn't want to hear that shit. It upset their delicate sensibilities.
Today, we just call that message-carrier a RACIST and condemn him to public scorn and ridicule rather than actually killing him right away. But the underlying mindset is the same. Human behavior has NOT changed in 10,000 years of recorded history.
Hate is hate. People DO hate. They always have and they always will. NO government regulation or "hate-crime" law is gonna change that simple fact.
But it's common practice today to demonstrate just how un-hateful you are by spewing hate in a politically-correct direction, at a politically correct target.
It's still hate, but it makes you feel soooo much better to be with the mob than against it. That's been part of human nature for 10,000 years, too. (You'll notice that I said HUMAN NATURE--- not "white nature," "black nature," "female nature," "Euro-centric nature" or "western nature.") Most people can't stand the truth because they would much rather live a rich fantasy life. ("living is easy with eyes closed...") They'll KILL someone who disturbs their pleasant dreams.
I don't mind wearing that bulls-eye on my back.
it means nothing
Democrats are patriotic Americans. The fact that 149 of them voted against this resolution doesn't change that fact. Just mentioning it probably is racist. Or homophobic. Or a "hate crime."
I like how these dingbats often talk about "speaking truth to power," which is downright hilarious when one considers how little they speak truth about ANYTHING. And how much they covet power. What courageous rebels they are...
My aching ass.
I tend to try and help bloggers in trouble. When I first read about Acidman's tax problems, I was tempted to run a piece suggesting that people donate to help him out, and then the above piece reminded me of what a hateful racist he is and I decided what the hell do I care. It's no wonder even conservatives de-linked him, and that his traffic is in the shitter after being one of the top conservative blogs. Some conservative friends of mine excuse Rob as just a hopeless old codger, but he isn't. Rob is the worst kind of racist. The kind who is actually defiant about his racism.
Good grief! I've done it again. I'm not going to link to the guy's site, but I'll mention that he has ME pegged perfectly, just as Oliver Willis does. I am, indeed, a virulent racist.
I mentioned in a recent post about great brain-farts of the past that school busing and mandatory integration resulted in the dumbing-down of public schools because "blacks couldn't compete." HOW DARE ME suggest such a thing!!!
I would offer public schools today as proof of what happened, but nobody is supposed to notice test scores, or wingnuts suggesting that "Ebonics" be taught as a second language, or that black parents, especially a mama AND a daddy together, are suspiciously absent from PTA meetings. Only "racists" notice stuff like that.
It's also "racist" to mention that 12% of our population makes up over 50% of our prison inmates, or that a certain minority group in this country sports a 70% illegitimate birth-rate. We simply DO NOT SPEAK of such things. It is RACIST to do so.
I have a couple of questions, however: Did the policies government followed over the past 40 years have anything to do with creating and maintaining a permanent underclass in this country? Are low expectations any less racist than using the forbidden N-word? If racism is why American blacks lag behind everybody else in test scores, income and employment in this country, then why do blacks from actual AFRICAN nations come here and prosper?
I wuz just wonderin.'
Three things will REALLY get you in deep shit today. The first is getting crossways with the IRS. That's like having the Gestapo after you. The second is daring to criticize political correctness. That's like refusing to take your Soma in our Brave New World.
The third is having the unmitigated gall to suggest that the very policies that government and "compassionate" people have foisted upon American blacks over the past 40 years have been the same as giving them an incurable dose of a fatal disease. I look at the ghettos, the gang-bangers and the Savannah Crimewatch numbers and I am sickened by them--- NOT because I am racist, but because I believe that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the TRUE racists of today are the assholes who claim to be advocates for "Black People."
Look at what their "help" has done so far. Herd people into public housing like animals in a zoo. Teach them that they "deserve" something for nothing. NEVER expect any individual accountability and cry "RACISM!!!" whenever the group doesn't automatically rise to the top. Change the rules to favor a certain segment of the population, and when that doesn't work to put them on top of the world, change the rules AGAIN.
Treat THEM differently than the way you treat everyone else, then call it a "hate crime" if anyone dares to notice. Make that crap THE LAW!!!
Now... tell me how racist I am again???
June 16, 2006
The Time: late spring, 1970.
The Place: Hilton Head, South Carolina.
Suspects Involved: Acidman, Cop 3 and Junior Walker.
The Reason: Friday night. No female dates.
Contributing Factors: 2 cases of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer (in bottles), four boxes of exotic fireworks, plus 3 young male adults with subhuman brains.
The Instigation: Hunger. DESPERATE HUNGER, because those two cases of beer weren't ALL we brought with us for the purpose of mind-enhancement.
The Situation: Shot up a bunch of fireworks on the beach. Drank a lot of beer. Took medicinal herb by smoke inhalation to calm us down after all that excitement. Became VERY hungry.
Solution: Go get something to eat.
Options: One VERY EXPENSIVE restaurant at the entrance to Sea Pines Plantation --- or a local 7-11 store.
Choice: 7-11 store. We figured that we would not be arrested just for showing up in there smelling like burnt gunpowder, with sand in our hair, and eyes that glowed red in the dark.
Purchases: Six Twinkies. Eight Slim Jim sausages. Two bags of M&Ms. One
Last-Minute Good Ideas: Three ice cream sandwiches, six grape popcicles and a quart of no-name coconut-vanilla ice cream.
SUPER Last-Minute Ideas: Three pickled eggs and a bag full of pickled pig's feet. Plus a jar of regular whole pickles.
(****RED ALERT!!!***--- I am NOT making this shit up!)
We returned to our primitive cottage on the beach and ate EVERY BIT of that shit, including drinking the brine out of the pickle jar, which went well with semi-warm PBR beer we were drinking at the time. We sat back on the a moldy old couch (that smelled exactly like sweaty feet) while we belched and farted in appreciation of such a fine feast.
Cop 3 was the first to start turning green around the gills. He clapped a hand over his mouth and muttered, "MMMGATTABURFROOM!" and off he went. His intended destination may have been the bathroom, but he didn't make it.
He didn't clear the corner of the couch before barely-digested Twinkies, Slim Jims, pickles and ice cream, all bubbling in PBR foam, came shooting outta his neck in a steaming, stinking blast. Not only was the sight totally disgusting, but the smell would have knocked a buzzard right on its ass.
I was okay until I saw and smelled THAT display. I didn't get much farther than Cop 3 did before I was hurling my guts, too, doing even better than HE did, because I hacked up a pickled pig's foot that was still kicking when it came out as if it were trying to run away, all by itself.
Desperate cries for "RALPH!" and "HUEY!" and "URK!" rang throughout the room.
Meanwhile, Junior Walker sat on the moldy, stinking sofa and laughed at us, while eating handfuls of M&Ms. "Damn, boys!" he said, "Want summa THESE to settle your stomachs?" That bastid even took a Twinkie, stuffed it FULL of M&Ms and ate it like a hot dog while he laughed. "Buncha pussies!" he announced.
But he grew silent after a moment. A SWEAR that I saw his complexion change from healthy pink to sickly green in a matter of seconds. He muttered, "Oh, Shit!" and started to go somewhere, but his words came true before he could reach his destination. He took about two steps and stopped cold, because running served no purpose anymore.
He was wearing a semi-wet bathing suit, and suddenly his legs turned from slightly sunburned to mustard yellow. Then to a darker brown with what appeared to be tiny, strange, lumpy insects skiing down his thighs and falling off his knees to splash wetly on the floor.
The stench was BEYOND horrible. Junior got his full payback for being a smartass then--- he started to puke just like me and Cop 3, but every time HE upchucked, he shit himself some more, so that HE was making "URRG! POOOOT! SKURSH! FLLLLLPPPT! URRG!" noises, while forming a puddle of liquid shit between his legs as he puked on the floor in front of himself.
I finally gained enough control over myself to stagger out of there, all the way down to the beach, where I threw myself in the water and hoped that a hungry shark might bite my head off and put me out of my misery. But after smelling some salt air, accidentally drinking some salt water, and bobbing in the surf for a while, I started to feel okay again.
I went back to the beach house.
But I never made it back inside. The unmitigated STENCH comin' outta that place was more than I could stand. I ended up sleeping in a lawn chair on the porch that night--- a SCREEN porch with enough fist-sized holes in it that I lost a pint of blood to mosquitoes that night, all of which probably flew off and died of alcohol poisoning after biting ME. But that was still better than being inside. Greyhound bus station bathrooms smell better than that place did.
I think Cop 3 slept on the back porch that night. I'm pretty sure that Junior Walker passed out on the floor and wallowed in his own vomit and alien-like shit all night long. I'm not certain about that, but I DO know that we didn't clean that mess up until the next day, and even then we didn't have the nerve to deal with it in hand-to-hand combat.
After sunrise, as hung-over and disgusted with ourselves as we could be, we washed the place out with a water hose, then went and napped on the beach until the floors dried off. It was a horrible experience.
But when we got back to the house and discovered that we could stand the smell again, Junior Walker went to the refrigerator, opened a beer, and got himself a pickled pig's foot, which he commenced to eat with lip-smacking gusto. "I'm from TEXAS, boys," he announced proudly. "And where I come from, you gotta climb back on the hoss that threw ya."
To this day he doesn't know how close I came to killing him. Right THEN. With my bare hands. But I was too weak to fight at the time.
Now... was THAT story gross enough?
it's a boy!!!
In case you were wondering, this fine fellow, who I met early in my bloggish days, is not dead. He gave me a call today to inform me that he now is the proud father of an 8.5 pound boy named (I shit you not) Dax Montana A--------y.
(The boy has a real last name, but if I wrote it here, his daddy would be forced to kill me.)
I'm supposed to receive a couple of pictures of the new
Congratulations to you and the lovely Miss Pricilla, buddy. Good to hear from you again.
Now... where's my got-dam cee-gar???
great brain-farts of our time
* The Alternative Minimum Tax. Remember how that fart popped out when Jimmah Carter convinced people that oil companies were making "windfall profits" and "the rich" weren't paying enough taxes because of "loopholes?" (That was right around the time Jimmah himself owed NO federal income taxes on $600,000 worth of peanut-farming profits, but he graciously agreed to pay $6,000 that year, just because everybody needed to contribute their "fair share" to government. ONE PERCENT!!!??? I would stop bitching about income taxes if I could get away with that kinda generosity today. Looking at the note I got from the IRS today, I donated 40% of MY income to them in 2003, and that wasn't enough, so I NOW owe another $60,000--- more than 150% of what I earned over the past three years.)
Anyway, government brain-farted the "Alternative Minimum Tax, to KEEP tax-dodging scroundrels from doing exactly what Jimmah did, and it has become a got-dam pod-creature, sucking the souls from a LOT of people today. Congress keeps promising to "look into it," which Congress may actually do someday--- when pigs fly.
* Richard Nixon. Okay, electing him was a brain-fart--- but it didn't smell so bad when you looked at George McGovern as an alternative. Most people remember him because of Watergate and his confidence-inspiring declaration, "I am NOT a crook!" Unfortunately, people forget about wage & price controls, "Peace with Honor" in Vietnam, the creation of the EPA, the Endangered Species Act, his focus on government-controlled education and several other absolute, wallpaper-curling brain-farts THAT MAN unleashed from the Oval Office. I was going to name them all as individual brain-farts, but since he hatched them, I simply credited the source.
* Silent Spring. Ask me to name the top 10 bloodiest mass-murderers of my lifetime, and Rachael Carson will make my top five. She is the perverted Mommie Dearest of the modern environmentalist movement and is PERSONALLY responsible for the ban on DDT, which has cost MILLIONS (if not BILLIONS) of lives over the years. When you consider the number of people, mostly poor, black children, who have died from malaria since she wrote her infamous book, she makes Joe Stalin, Pol Pot and Saddam Hussein look like pikers.
* School busing. In the late 1950s and all through the 1960s I received a decent education in public, though segregated schools. The situation was racist, deplorable and downright un-American, according to compassionate "experts." Politicians brain-farted mandatory integration of ALL public schools, which resulted in three wonderful results. First, horrible race riots in schools all over the country. Second, a tremendous dumbing-down of expectations because blacks couldn't compete. Third, the extinction of neighborhood schools, which went from being a part of a community to becoming forbidden zones by a faceless, disinterested bureaucracy. There's also a #4 result which is politically-incorrect to mention--- and that's the Balkanization that occurred in "intergrated" schools when kids divided themselves along racial lines on their own, which isn't surprising if you understand human nature. You can't make people less race-conscious when they know the only reason they are forced to go to the schools they are forced to attend is because of race.
* Affirmative Action. One of the most disgusting, boiled egg and cooked cabbage brain-farts ever ripped out of an unwashed anus. Animal Farm come to life. I'll NEVER understand how anyone can preach equality when their basic philosophy is that some people are more "equal" than others.
* Prohibition. Okay, that was long before my time, but I include it here to prove that people NEVER LEARN from stupid mistakes. Prohibition DID NOT stop people from drinking alcohol, but it DID give rise to the "Roaring Twenties" and financed a seriously organized crime syndacate that still exists today. In a brief moment of sanity, we repealed the Eighteenth Amendment, but we didn't learn diddy-squat from the Prohibition mistake. We turned right around a generation or so later and declared a WAR ON (some) DRUGS, which has had EXACTLY the same results. Like death and taxes, brain-farts ALWAYS will be with us.
Roe v Wade. In MY humble opinion, abortion never should have been illegal in the first place. But when we "legalized" it with a Roe v Wade Supreme Brainfart, we created a lot more problems, ones that went FAR beyond abortion, that I'm not convinced we can EVER cure now. That case is the most obvious example of the black-robed witch doctors of our justice system suddenly discovering "penumbras" and "divinations" in the US Constitution that aren't obvious to sane folks. It's also amazing to me how once justices decided that the Constitution was a "living" document, it was okay to KILL babies. Bejus! 'Splain THAT one to me, Lucy!
* Marriage Amendment. I'll offer TWO suggestions on this subject. First, I don't believe that we have a got-dam politician alive today who is intelligent enough to amend the Constitution. Good parents don't allow their kids to play with matches, and we shouldn't let ANY of those sanctimonious gasbags in DC today "play" with the Constitution. We'll ALL end up getting burned.
Second, here is where we finally can stand up and yell, "CUT THE SHIT!" to posturing politicians. We've got enough serious problems in this country today that if our elected clowns were actually doing their jobs, they wouldn't have time to worry about something so insignificant. This issue falls right into the Flag Burning category to me. Nobody changes MY mind about who I am and whether or not I love my country by burning a flag. I don't LIKE IT, and I think only a retarded sumbitch does it, but would much rather see some unwashed, ex-hippy burning a flag that hear John McCain propose another law. One can't hurt ME. The other can.
And I could give a rat's ass about who screws who or what they like to do together in bed. That crap ain't none of my business. And it ain't the government's business, either. But that's the problem today--- EVERYTHING is government's business anymore.
And that's the biggest brain-fart of all.
Some people... Bejus! This guy probably thinks he's smart and an EXCELLENT debater, too.
Rob: *I am anti-big-government. Ward Churchill is anti-America. BIG fuckin' difference.
That's a total crock of blithering illogic, and only a complete fuckwit would be so ignorant as to write it as a clever snark. Big Government is the very antithesis of what the Founding Fathers envisioned for this country. If you studied history, you might have a clue about that fact. YOUR statement is like saying, "You despise Ted Kennedy, but love Ronald Reagan. They're BOTH politicians, so what's the difference? NONE--- at least in the current version of America." Maybe NOT--- in your blind eyes. But I still stand by what I've said MANY times before: I LOVE my country--- but I don't trust my government. If you think there's no difference between the two, you don't get out much, do you?
*I WAS fired for writing my blog, from a place where I worked for 23 years. Ward Churchill still has HIS job.
Yeah, true enough. But it SHOULDN'T be. Ward Churchill is supposed to be an EDUCATOR, who displays a bent mind-set that I don't want inflicted on ANY kids in this country, but he gets a free ride for quotes about "Little Eichmans" dying in the WTC attacks. I wrote politically-incorrect things that frightened the daylights out of Kerr McGee Human Resources dorks, who were scared shitless that the words on my blog might cost the company an EEOC suit some day. I was fired. Immediately. Unlike Ward Churchill, however, I wasn't a paid instructor in a state university, which changes all the rules when it comes to judging bigotry and intolerance in one of their own.
*I am not a plagiarist. Ward Churchill IS.
Whaaaat??? Okay, I'm gonna correct you here, because you ARE wrong. You CAN'T BE A PLAGAIRIST unless you're "published," using words you stole from somebody else without giving proper attribution. What part of "plagiarism" don't you understand? I'll give you another "hmmm" to think about. Try this: "The man couldn't be a rapist, because he was married." Makes as much sense as what you said...
*I never made a career out being an aggrieved Native American.
Actually, I'm just an aggrieved American, sick of drivel-drooling people such as YOU. But I AM an aggrieved Southern American, too---but that's because I happen to ACTUALLY BE a Southern American instead of making that shit up. Churchill, on the other hand, is NOT a Native American. He just PRETENDS to be one. I also have a "very interesting blog" (thank you for that) that I PAY FOR myself and write by myself, using my own got-dam words. I do not GET PAID, or become a department head in a State University by lying about who I am, stealing other people's work as my own or inventing grievance for the sake of claiming victimhood status, which Churchill DOES.
*If we HAD been twins, I would have strangled my "brother" to death in the womb, using his own umbilical cord.
Yeah. Ole Church "looks" like a LOT of things he ain't. Complete phonies have that ability. What is your point here? Do you have one?
*I'm a smart-mouthed Cracker. Ward Churchill is a leftst fucktard.
Here we go again. Ward lying about his heritage, plagiarizing other people's words in "scholarly" writing and even creating his "genuine" Native American artwork by copying it from someone else, and calling 9/11 victims "Little Eichmans" is EXACTLY the same as ME throwing the N-word bomb from time to time. I can't argue with you there. Ward stole parts of everything he ever wrote and ALL that he ever painted. I've made more than 10,000 ORIGINAL POSTS on this blog and used the N-word (just use my search engine to count, if you wish) on a grand total of four posts in almost five years. Yep. I "throw it around a LOT. No difference between me and Ward at all...
Truth is, I admire people like you guys. A strange pairing no doubt - yet all too many these days of "We the People" are turning "soft and squishy". It's good to read people who "stomp the terra."
Thank you for that somewhat back-handed compliment. I DO indeed, enjoy "stomping the terra." Ward Churchill SHITS on it, and he frequently doesn't have the talent or the character to use his own shit when he does it. He steals somebody else's shit and claims it as his own. If you call that a "strange pairing," you are exactly right. Kinda like apples and oranges, if I'm not going over your pointy liddle head with that analogy.
Posted by d. lee at June 16, 2006 01:02 PM
Hmmm... now I have an intellectual question to posit to YOU. Does the "d" in you name stand for "dickless?" Is the "lee" an abbreviation for "leftard?"
I'm just askin'...
Wanna read a really, really GROSS blog entry? Here's one.
I figured that the IRS was gonna fuck me good when I got that mysterious, semi-threatening letter in the mail a month ago. I received Scary Letter, DEFINITE threat, Part UGH! today.
No, that $40,000+ I paid them in 2004 was not NEARLY enough money. I was about $14,000 short of what I SHOULD have paid, according to THEIR calculations. Now, with penalties and interest, I owe them another $60,000. (Actually, it's $60,266, to be precise.)
That's right, folks--- SIXTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!!! On an original tax bill of $56,000, of which $42,000 I already paid. There's government in action for you. I now owe MORE than my original tax bill was.
Bejus on a bicycle. That means my total tax bill for that one year will be $101,894. I haven't worked for more than two years. I've also paid a small fortune in medical bills during that time, because my health has NOT been good. I couldn't work now if I wanted to, with all the physical problems I have.
But my crippled ass may end up homeless, broke and on the street because of my benefecit federal government. And I haven't even heard from the state of Georgia yet, but I already know that if screwed up my federal taxes, I screwed up the state, too. I probably owe those fuckers another $10,000 or so.
In our great nation today, however, that's what I spent 23 years of my life working for--- a chance to give everything I ever earned and everything I ever worked for to the government. But that's really not so bad.
Government spends that money so much more wisely than I do.
(Today, I'm gonna call one of those "Fight the IRS" places and see if I can at least get the penalties and interest reduced, or knocked off entirely. Even if I'm successful doing that, I'm still gonna owe a whopping bunch of money. I may have to start a "Free Acidman" campaign, to beg for help in bailing my ass outta this black hole.
I have 2,000 readers per day visiting this blog. If I could persuade every reader to send me a mere $20, I would have 2/3 of the money I owe, enough so that I could handle paying the rest myself. Just Damn! I could live comfortably for THREE YEARS on $60,000. Government spends more than that every SECOND of every day.
In other words, they're gonna fry my ass, ruin my life and leave me as broke as a segmented worm just to extract a large chunk of my entire life's savings, which they will take less than a second to
But I better think twice about that Blegathon idea. If people DID send me $20 each to pay my taxes, that money would be "income," and I might be in worse trouble next year than I am right now.
I think I'm just plain fucked.
(WAIT!! I've got an idea! I could call my ex-wife, explain my situation and ask for HER help. After all, she makes more than $100,000 per year herself, she just married a wealthy old Dumbo-eared bastid and she hasn't allowed me to see my son in almost six months now. I've paid HER more than enough in child support to cover my tax bill. I'll just ask HER to refund MY money. Then, I can pay the feds with no problem.
She oughta go for that idea. Don'tcha think?)
"caring," Hollywood style
When I first read this story, I passed it off as California nut-balls being California nut balls. A 14-acre inner city "garden," where people have grown flowers and produce for the past 15 years, may vanish because a businessman wants to build a warehouse there.
Sounds terrible, doesn't it? It IS, too--- but not for the reasons you might expect.
So the greens and the green thumbs employed predictable tools of protest, chaining themselves to each other, to 55-gallon, concrete-filled drums and, yes, to a tree.
Yep. Innocent, green-headed nature lovers were victimized, subjected to Gestapo tactics by Los Angles police, when all the greens really wanted was to save a precious piece of the planet. Oh, the humanity!
I might be a little more sympathetic to their cause if the protesters actually OWNED the land, or even if it were "public" property. Unfortunately, they don't and it ain't. And that's where the story becomes downright nauseating.
The land was owned by businessman Ralph Horowitz, who was FORCED to sell it to the city in the 1980s, because the city wanted to build an incenerator on the site. Green-heads and nutball environmental activists immediately went bullshit over THAT idea and put a stop to it. The city turned the property into a "food bank," where gardeners could play in the "free" dirt by growing natural tofu, organic bean sprouts and medicinal marijuana while singing "Kum-ba-yah" a lot. Folks... you could just feel the love there.
Horowitz didn't like having his land basically stolen from him by rich environmrntslists, so he sued and eventually bought his own land back from the government. When Horowitz announced plans to make money off his land by selling it, the "gardeners" turned around and sued him right back, demanding their "right" to KEEP their precious garden, even though the property didn't belong to them.
Here's where the story gets... uh... rich.
Mr. Horowitz offered a reprieve: He gave the gardeners until May 22 to raise $16.3 million to buy the land. Alas, celebrities such as Ms. Hannah, Willie Nelson, Danny Glover and Joan Baez weren't willing to put their money where their mouths were, and the fund-raising drive fell $10 million short. Now, Mr. Horowitz says he's so perturbed at the tactics of the squatters that he won't sell them the land, no matter what the price.
What a cold-hearted bastid! He obviously doesn't love Gaia as much as rich Hollywood celebrities do.
Even when a judge issued the eviction notice, the greens continued doing what they do best: demanding that they be allowed to decide how other people make use of their property. The rights of plants always trump those of landowners, even when someone wants to build a warehouse on land zoned for and surrounded by warehouses and factories. These zealots will stay the course -- if it takes every last cent of Mr. Horowitz's fortune.
You might think that rich celebrities such as Daryl Hannah, Willie Nelson, Danny Glover and Joan Baez, along with their millions of adoring fans, might be willing to cough up some of their OWN money to BUY the land they care so much about. Then, it would belong to THEM and they could do with it as they pleased.
But that's not how deeply-concerned greenies operate. They don't wish to PAY for it. They want to TAKE IT.
...On Tuesday afternoon, after police had cleared the garden site, protesters moved their sideshow to City Hall, where they screamed, "Save the farm!"
Ask me again why I despise environmentalists. They like to protest and file idiotic lawsuits to Save the Planet, but they very seldom are willing to put their own money where their mouths are. They've got loose lips but tight wallets.
Farkin' hypocrites. They somehow deserve what isn't theirs and they want SOMEBODT ELSE to pay for their selfless "caring." Acting like that sure requires a lot of love, dedication and sacrifice, doesn't it? Bah! Environmentalists?
I've got a better name for 'em. Thieves and parasites. Oh, yeah--- assholes, too.
They are more greedy, obxonious and demented than ex-wives.
June 15, 2006
comment of the day
Rob; To be--or not to be: "Fair and Balanced" here... Who condemns the United States Federal Government the more: You or Ward? If you were a prof at a major University, and made -mass media public- the comments you have made on here... well, you guys might well enjoy a rabble-rouser moment in the Unemployment Line.
*I am anti-big-government. Ward Churchill is anti-America. BIG fuckin' difference.
*I WAS fired for writing my blog, from a place where I worked for 23 years. Ward Churchill still has HIS job.
*I am not a plagiarist. Ward Churchill IS.
*I never made a career out being an aggrieved Native American. Ward Churchill HAS--- and he's NOT the half-breed Injun he claims to be. I've got more Injun blood in ME than he has, which eliminates the possibility of us being "twins."
*If we HAD been twins, I would have strangled my "brother" to death in the womb, using his own umbilical cord.
*I'm a smart-mouthed Cracker. Ward Churchill is a leftst fucktard. Another BIG difference.
Sheesh... some people...
Hell, he shoulda been fired YEARS ago, not just for plagiarism, but for being a fake "Native American." I've got more got-dam Native American blood in MY veins than Ward Churchill has in his, but he's made a good career out of pretending to be what he ain't. The guy is a shameless fake, a big-mouthed charlatin and a blithering idiot.
I'm a gambling man. I'll bet you anything you want to risk that the University of Colorado doesn't have the balls to get rid of Churchill. He'll whine, piss and moan, and then rely on his "victim" status to cover his lying ass.
I'll bet you that it works, too.
Here's a challenge for you. And a booger-post that'll gag you.
I've gotta admit. If he maintains THAT level of... of... snottyness, I'll be giving HIM a trophy at the next Jawja blog-meet. I mean... anybody who can go from dingleberries to boogers in a... um... matter of HOURS deserves tremendous praise and fawning adulation.
I'll grant him the praise and adulation, but I back down from NO challenge. I'm gonna fire back with a few posts about ear-wax, eye-loogies, projectile vomiting and day-glow urine. THAT oughta give him something to think about.
Booger-blogging--- bah! It's already passe. GROSSOUT BLOGGING is the wave of the future.
(UPDATE!!! Wow. It didn't take long for someone to catch that wave. Heh.)
this is spooky
A lot of ambitious politicians make my skin crawl. Hillary Clinton does. So does Howard Dean. But this guy makes me want to run, screaming "AIEEEEEE!!" at the top of my lungs. The idea of him being President gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Bloomberg is the most dangerous kind of politician--- the super-nanny. HE knows what is best for YOU, and he'll by-gawd force you to live your life HIS WAY by clubbing you into submission with the big stick of government. He scares the livin' crap out of me.
With the city health commissioner, Thomas Frieden, sitting at a front row table, Mr. Bloomberg touted the city's ban on smoking in restaurants and bars and its new diabetes registry, which tracks patients' blood sugar levels.
I call it bullshit.
Mr. Bloomberg said governments should be using the law to mandate behavior when necessary. He said encouraging people to change behaviors through advertising campaigns is important, but is not enough. He quoted Mark Twain, saying, "Thunder is good. Thunder is impressive, but lightning does the work.
Who decides what's "necessary?" YOU, Mr. Bloomberg, in your infinite wisdom? I don't believe that government has any got-dam business micro-managing MY life, especially not when headed by someone who allowed this kind of crap to happen on his watch as mayor of New York City. I ain't real impressed with his ability to handle money.
Of course, I ain't real impressed with his anti-gun beliefs, either.
In the last few months, Mr. Bloomberg has formed a national coalition of mayors to take on illegal guns, sued gun dealers in and outside New York, and outlined his immigration views on several national television networks. Last month, in his commencement address to the Johns Hopkins medical school in Baltimore, Mr. Bloomberg called on graduates to reject partisanship that has tried to cast doubt on evolution and global warming.
Yeah, he's an air-headed global warming crusader, too. I can just imagine how he might "use the law to mandate behavior" in the name of saving the planet For The Children in THAT arena.
His fear of global warming did not stop HIM from flying home on his private jet, but it might prompt him to decide that everybody else SHOULD ride bicycles everywhere they go, and since they don't want to do what is best them, best for the planet and best For The Children, Bloomberg might recommend a LAW to force people to do it.
The guy is a meddling, egotistical buttmunch. I don't believe the American people are stupid enough to ever elect him President, but the American people have surprised me incredible stupidity before. They elected Bill Clinton twice, so they're obviously capable of voting for a meddling, egotistical buttmunch.
I hope not. Especially not this particular meddling buttmunch.
deep thoughts on a shallow subject
Popeye. Think about it. The guy is a DRUGGIE!!! He's got a tattoo, but no teeth. He appears to keep his head shaved. He smokes a pipe. (Uh, huh!) He lusts after a walking toothpick (hmmm... crack addict, perhaps?) named Olive Oyl and he's always getting his ass whupped in fights with a bearded bully--- until he EATS A BUNCH OF GREEN LEAVES!!!. Then, he begins to hallucinate, grows muscles that have muscles, blows steam out of his pipe with a noise like a Mississippi riverboat, and kicks the bearded bully all the way to the moon. Strawberry Fields Forever.
Wile E. Coyote. Running capitalist dog. That clever hunter spent a gadzillion dollars ordering exotic crap from the Acme Got-It-All catalogue, REALLY cool stuff, like rocket skates, giant sling-shots or big boxes of dynamite, which always blew up in his face, threw him off a cliff, or dropped a big rock on his head. All to catch a scrawny bird that weighed maybe 4.5 ounces WITH the feathers still attached.
Gimme a break! The show never tells how the coyote became so wealthy. Do ya suppose he just might be "disabled?" A "victim" of ADD? Geting a government check in the mail every month? Or was his daddy a Kennedy and he's living an expensive lifestyle with inherited money?
Face it. Wile E. could have spent a FRACTION of that money he pissed away on Acme gadgets and bought himself a vibrating Barcolounger, a big-screen HDTV and had his meals catered, delivered still steaming, right to his cave. The message here? Beats me.
Porky Pig. Okay. We have a chubby, hairless, pink-skinned, walk-with-a-mince stutterer, who always gets fucked by a duck. The only thing missing from Porky Pig cartoons is the city of San Fransisco as his home. Porky was the boar-father of every gay pride parade ever held.
Bugs Bunny. Gawd, but I love Bugs. It's too bad that his character became politically-incorrect at least 10 years ago. Bugs was bold, brash, fearless, and he could think fast on his big, thumping feet. When things seemed darkest, Bugs would crunch a carrot, ask, "Nhaaa... what's up. Doc?" kick his enemy in the balls and escape while that yaddayaddayadda noise played along with the sound of his running footsteps. Bugs is the very antithesis of the modern, metro-sexual man of today. Bugs doesn't whine. He's not "sensitive." I don't believe he's very "tolerant" of assholes, either. I'm gonna mis him when he's gone.
Tweety-Bird. That's the only critter I've ever seen in my life that makes me root for the cat to kill it. I ain't very fond of Grandma, either.
Elmer Fudd. Bejus! I think everybody in this world either worked with a doofus like Elmer, or had one for an uncle that nobody in the family wanted to be around. The worst thing about cartoon Elmer is the fact that he carried a GUN a lot. Tell ME that's not a subliminal gun-control message! I like guns, but the thought of some idjit like ELMER having one gives me the galloping fantods. Elmer should sell his gun, move to San Fransisco and develop a domestic partnership with Porky Pig.
Yosemite Sam. Heh. What's NOT to like about HIM? Except for the fact that he can't shoot for shit--- otherwise Bugs Bunny woulda been dead years ago. I like Sam's attitude. I also like his moustache. And the fact that he's bow-legged kinda warms the hardened cockles of my crusty Cracker heart. Sam is the sort I wouldn't be surprised to see in Webb's Seed & Feed Store outside Springfield, Jawja some day.
The Tasmanian Devil. Reminds me of ME when I get pissed off. Reminds me even MORE of a divorce lawyer who tornadoed my Cracker ass. In fact, ole Taz reminds me of at least ONE of my ex-wives. I think I LOVE him, but I HATE him, too. The Tazmanian Devil may seem like a savage whirling dervish, but if you really think about it, Taz is a very complex character.
That's as deep as I go for now.
June 14, 2006
i truly am blessed
I feel... simply overwhelmed by such generosity. And I KNOW that it's gotta be true because a woman wrote it, and those sweet things NEVER lie:
Dear lovely one, Permit me to inform you about my desire to seek for assistant from you and i got the believe that you are going to help me out successfully. but firstly about myself.
Damn! What an offer!!! I wonder if I could work out a deal... where she KEEPS that 20% reward she's offering in exchange for cleaning my house. I think that's fair, don't you?
I found this colorful critter in my garden today. The picture didn't come out as good as I wanted, but I was having to hold grasshoppah by one of its legs to keep it from getting away while I pulled a one-handed shot with my camera.
That sucker was PRETTY! Big and black, with day-glow red stripes on the body. It was about 3" long, end to end, which maybe you can tell by comparing the bug to my hand. I just wish the picture had been a little better-focused. But I did the best I could under the circumstances.
After I took this picture, I turned it loose, in my front yard instead of in my garden. For all I know, the bastid has some locust heritage and he might like to eat the stuff I grow. But I didn't kill it.
I kinda like grasshoppahs.
same old same old
Illegal immigrant tropical storm Badass Alberto is gone now. I enjoyed all the rain he dumped around here, but when I checked the gauge in my yard this morning, it held a fraction more than 1", which is about 5" less than what we needed to wet the ground decently. Shit. The sun is blazing as mercilessly as usual now and the ground will be as dry as a popcorn fart again by tomorrow.
Still, it was better than nothing.
I picked a lot of tomatoes (no more of the sexually-deviant kind), two bell peppers and some more banana peppers this morning, and I experienced a mockingbird attack while I was out there performing stoop labor. I think those are the same birds who have nested in my back yard scrub-woods for the past four years--- I recognize that big, honking, hostile male--- but they've moved their nest to the other side of my woods from where they've homesteaded in the past.
I was first alerted to their presence by a lot of screeching and shaking of small tree limbs nearby. I tried to ignore them while I picked vegetables. But those birds didn't WANT "peace." They wanted a "PIECE" of ME, dammit, and they set forth to get it, too.
I was swooped upon. I got pecked on my tender noggin. I had some of my thinning
Bad plan. All I accomplished with that tactic was to make those birds more pissed off than they already were and provide a stationary target for their bombing raids. I could hear little baby birds chirping (or maybe cheering) from their nest in a nearby tree, as mama and daddy made me do a non-happy-dance all over my garden. They were tearing into me worse than my own mama ever did with a willow switch.
I finally ran for my life, spilling freshly-picked tomatoes in my wake. Those mean-ass birds chased me all the way to my back door, then roosted on my barbecue grill to laugh at me once I was inside with the door locked. Mean little bastids.
Still, I gotta admit one thing. I kinda ADMIRE those birds. They are fiercely protective of their nest, they ain't afraid of ANYTHING and they work together like a well-trained sniper unit when they attack. Plus, they are marvelous songbirds to listen to in the morning.
They don't eat seed from my bird feeders--- mockers prefer LIVE food--- but they'll perch up there on the T-bar, sing, scold and run off any other critter who dares invade THEIR territory. That includes dogs, cats, other birds and ME. I admire GALL, and they've got plenty of that.
I intend to go out and pick some more goodies from my garden today. But I really need a football helmet, elbow-length gauntlet gloves and a Kevlar vest to armor myself with first. Those hostile little bastids will come after me again, just as sure as Jawja has pine trees, when they spot me on "their" turf.
I ain't gonna shoot 'em. I kinda like their attitudes.
But they don't like ME.
firm, but polite
I received a credit card bill yesterday that totally chapped my Cracker ass. I had a $15 charge on it, which is where my bill for using Hosting Matters goes every month. But that wasn't all...
I showed a charge of $35 for a "late payment fee," which was bullshit, because they received last month's check, one that paid off my balance the way I do EVERY MONTH, a day late, according to them. I also had a $4.93 INTEREST CHARGE tacked on for dessert.
That meant... even though I don't do math, that the $15.00 worth of actual charges on that card amounted to a $54.93 bill when they were finished attempting to gouge the shit out of me. I called their customer service department today.
After punching in my account number and doing the push-button menu-dance to a mechanical voice for about five minutes, I finally was allowed to speak to a real, live PERSON. I explained my problem and said I wanted to resolve it NOW, in one of two ways.
* Option One: I would pay the $54.93. If I did THAT, however, I wanted to cancel my card and never deal with such thieving bastids again in my life.
* Option Two: I would pay the $15.00 I actually owed them and keep my account open... IF they dropped the bullshit late charge and the interest extortion.
The woman I spoke to was very nice and polite (her name was Terry... or maybe Terri...) and she had a sweet voice. She looked up my records on her computer and said that she would drop the
Heh. She also told me that she really liked my "wonderful" accent. I told her that I lived in southeast Georgia and EVERYBODY talks like I do around here. She laughed and replied, "Well... you still have a pleasant voice."
I thanked her for her help and wished her a great day before I hung up. I got what I wanted without cussing or yelling at her. I was polite, but firm. That company doesn't offer the only credit card in the world, so I figured that they needed ME as a customer a lot worse than I needed THEM for a credit card.
What I DID NOT say was what I actually intend to do. I'm gonna cut that card into confetti and never use it again. I'm gonna move my monthly MT bill to a different card, one that's never given me any shit with bogus charges in the past.
Even though I NEVER carry a balance on ANY credit card I have, I looked at the fine print on their statement. When I first got that card, the interest rate was 5.0%. Know what it is NOW??? 23.9%.
I never paid attention to that whopping increase before, because I never carry a balance and I never use a credit card for a cash advance. But 23.9% is more than what credit cards were charging back in 1978, when Jimmah Carter was President, and we had double-digit inflation ravaging the economy.
Charging that kind of interest TODAY sounds like got-dam usury to me--- you can get almost the same deal at one of those thievin' Title Pawn places, and everybody KNOWS that those joints are ridiculous rip-off artists.
But I thought about something else, too. How many customers of that company receive similar bills and just PAY THEM, without question and without bothering to call and bitch about it? I'll wager that a LOT of people get suckered that way.
I didn't. I griped, and I now do not have to pay those invented, usurious charges. And it will NEVER happen to me again, because that card is history to me now.
Bejus. "Buyer Beware" is still good advice.
just what we need
All Hail Diversity!!! By all means, let us do THAT. "Diversity," along with "tolerance," "multicultualism" and that strange notion of NEVER being "judgmental" are the new religions of today, along with environmentalism, of course. I can't think of a better way to preach the new gospel than to have a TV contest, with a $100,000 first prize for the most sensitive, self-flagellating example of "promoting understanding."
"I commend Current TV for recognizing that it is our differences that make us stronger and for encouraging young people to embrace the spirit of tolerance," Haggis said in a statement.
The idea that "it is our differences that make us stronger" has been proven MANY times throughout history. The peaceful, diverse Balkans are a good example. So are the other tribal wars and ethnic cleansing campaigns going on in the world today. Rwanda also is a shining example of what you get when multiculturalism is practiced with religious zeal.
The top winner will also get $15,000 to give to the charity of his or her choice. The prizes are being funded by the Third Millennium Foundation, founded in 2000 to counter intolerance through childhood education and other programs.
Being the intolerant, politically-incorrect swine that I am, I might call these programs "brainwashing" or "indoctrination" or even "propaganda," but that's just me. I'm an unenlightened troglodyte, totally out of touch with progressive
This stuff isn't really a bunch of foolish, dangerous, divisive lies--- it's just an honest, concerted effort to make the world a better place for The Children. Just look at the facts.
Every championship sports team wins because the players all march to the beat of a different drum, doing what "feels" right to them instead of following the same playbook. Victorious armies win wars because every soldier obeys his own heart instead of his officers. All great nations prosper when every citizen speaks a different language, lives in an ethnic enclave, and appreciates his "roots" more than he does his country.
THAT'S what makes a societal utopia. Cohesion comes from hyphenated names adopted by people expressing perpetual grievance. It's the whine that binds.
Listen to the beautiful sound an orchestra makes when nobody plays from the same sheet of music, everybody tunes his instrument differently (that entire idea of "tuning" came from dead white European males) and the conductor is fired for waving his phallic baton in an obvious, though subliminal, act of sexual harassment directed at the female flute players in the band.
No, that whole "e pluribus unum" idea is racist, sexist, bigoted and... and... intolerant. We ALL have the "right" to be An Army of ONE today, and if you think anything different, we'll have you hanged, drawn and quartered, and stick your head on a pike so that crows can peck out your dead eyes, just to prove how important tolerance, diversity and compassion ARE to us today.
It's all about LOVE and UNDERSTANDING, people. And if you don't accept it, we'll KILL YOU!!!
Yeah. All hail diversity.
the party of compassion
Democrats love to praise "diversity"--- as long as it's practiced THEIR way. But when dealing with some uppity black person who runs for office as gasp! a Republican, Democrats display their true... uh... colors.
Last week, in a post on her Web site, Hunter criticized congressional candidate Vernon Robinson for running for office as a Republican, even though the staunch and outspoken conservative lost his bid for state GOP chair at the party's convention in 2005.
Watch out, Ann Coulter! You've got some serious competition in the racist bigotry department. Of course, Hunter, being the compassionate, diversity-loving saint that she is, was quick to correct her insensitive remarks.
On Tuesday, Hunter revised that statement on her Web site, calling Robinson's behavior like that of an "Uncle Tom" -- considered to be a contemptuous term for a black whose behavior toward whites is regarded as fawning or servile.
Oh, that's MUCH better! Did you ever notice that these diversity-worshipping Democrats frequently use such insulting terms to describe blacks who don't kow-tow to the party line? Y'know... those disgusting, lazy, white-actin' ass-kissers such as Colin Powell and Condi Rice? Or Clarence Thomas? Or Thomas Sowell? The ones who ARE NOT "fawning or servile" to the Democrat party?
Democrats NEVER direct such low-blow insults at true credits to their race such as John Lewis, Cynthia McKinney, Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton or William ("Iced Bribes") Jefferson. All hail diversity... as long as the
Just remember when you read such drivel--- Republicans are racists. Democrats aren't.
government in action
When it comes to wasting money, the federal government knows how. Kinda warms the cockles of your heart, doesn't it?
The government doled out as much as $1.4 billion in bogus assistance to victims of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, getting hoodwinked to pay for season football tickets, a tropical vacation and even a divorce lawyer, congressional investigators have found.
Not thousands of wasted dollars. Not even millions of wasted dollars. 1.4 billion wasted dollars. That's a lot of money to piss away. It takes GOVERNMENT to be that stupidly wasteful.
To demonstrate how easy it was to hoodwink FEMA, the GAO told of an individual who used 13 different Social Security numbers - including the person's own - to receive $139,000 in payments on 13 separate registrations for aid. All the payments were sent to a single address.
What's the big deal? It was "free" money and it's government's JOB to give it away just as fast as it can, even to those who don't deserve it. That's "compassion."
That's BULLSHIT, too.
Excuse me for being redundant, mentioning government and bullshit in the same post. But so what? It's only money...
June 13, 2006
Here's another design flaw in the human body: boogers.
I realize that nose hair serves as a kind of filter to catch crap when you breathe. What I DON'T understand is why stuff that you don't want in your lungs builds up to form a booger in your nose. What kind of shit is THAT?
Admit it--- you've seen people picking their noses in a car stopped at a traffic light. Hell, you've probably done it yourself. But it's still pretty gross, don't ya think?
People who would NEVER even CONSIDER masturbating in a car stopped at a traffic light pick their noses with glorious abandon. A few real deviants examine the harvest and then EAT IT when they get a really good one underneath a fingernail. I would rather watch 'em whack off than see disgusting nose-picking. Especially when the results of a deep nose-pick becomes a feast.
I mention this subject because I took a nap to the sound of pleasant rainfall this afternoon, and woke up with a sinus cloggage that obviously was a big BOOGER stuck in my nose. I was all alone. By myself. Maybe not in the dark, but nobody was watching me. I could have stuck half my HAND up my nose for some serious excavation and no one would have seen me.
But I didn't do that. I went to the bathroom, tore off a piece of toilet paper and blew my nose into it.
Oh, MAN! What a relief! I dislodged the booger and felt MUCH better afterward. But when I wadded up the toilet paper and tossed it in my commode, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Bejus!
I had a got-dam loogie, one that resembled a raw oyster, still hanging out of my nose and trying to embed itself in my moustache. That was a disgusting sight. Without thinking first, I grabbed it in my fingers and started to pull on it.
Holey moley! It just kept COMING, out and out and getting bigger and bigger until I thought that my freaking brain-stem might be attached to the other end. It was like dragging the grasping tentacle of a large octopus outta my nose. I horrified myself by doing it.
The GOOD NEWS is, I finally got rid of it. The damn thing musta weighed a pound. I breathe a lot better now. Wanna hear even BETTER NEWS???
I didn't eat it.
(Heh. I'm going after another title. I'm already "King of the Crap-Bloggers." I wanna be "The Baron of Booger-Blogging," too.)
it may have gotten me
Oh, it didn't infect my computer, because I have all kinds of firewalls and virus protection running 24-7, but this is what may have screwed my old email. I saw that LOTS of people having weird crap happening to them over the past few days.
Maybe that virus did it.
oh! the humanity!!!
This just breaks my heart. Reading it made me feel all compassionate and trembling. In fact, I think I just pissed my pants. In sympathy, of course.
Cry me a river. If you think that "brutal" jail is bad, just try a session or four in Divorce Court. At least somebody feeds you in jail.
You get eaten alive in Divorce court.
government in action
Gotta love it.
Especially when government uses our legal system to
People like Patrick Fitzgerald disgust me. They have less integrity but more stealth and sneakiness than a palmetto bug, and they believe that they're worth a lot more than they really are. If I could buy Fitzgerald for what he's worth and sell him for what he thinks he's worth, I'd be forever rich. In MY humble opinion, he's a real shitass.
But he's got POWER. GOVERNMENT POWER!!!
And, like a porch light in the dark, that power-glow tends to attract a lot of really ugly creatures.
(UPDATE: Howard Dean,
i may crap-blog...
... but I don't do bug porn.
I'm not THAT shameless.
(But this guy is.)
just what we need
Alberto the Badass ain't doing much here where I live. That hasn't stopped local news-jerks from becoming hysterical, which is what they do all the time anyway.
"LOOK!!! WHITECAPS at the beach!!!"
"LORDY!!! A tiny pine tree limb blown down in the road!"
"LANDOGOSHEN!!! Rain!! See? A genuine puddle over there!"
"WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!"
What would those people do if we ever had an actual... y'know... disaster on our hands? Probably blame Bush. (We've seen some of that finger-pointing from New Orleans already, and those idiots turned around and reelected Ray Nagin, since they recognized good leaders so well. Dolts.)
I have two gripes about this kinda crap. First, when reporters make a big deal out of nothing, it leaves us wide open to ignoring them when a REAL disaster heads our way. That's dangerous.
Second, hysteria spreads, even when there's nothing to be hysterical about. People panic and do crazy things when they're hysterical. (See New Orleans after Katrina.) News reporters shouldn't be feeding fuel to that kind of fire.
Just reconcile yourself to one simple fact: WHATEVER IT IS, it's probably not as bad as reporters make it out to be. (Like this.) Most reporters aren't very bright to begin with, so don't listen to them when they go into panic mode.
another good comment
Just a random thought, do your shoulders seem to hurt worse with an approaching storm?
You betcha, DC. That's why I ended up sleeping on the floor last night. It was the only place I could get comfortable. My shoulders were telling me loud and clear that rain was coming.
If you get me, Recondo 32 and Catfish in a room together anymore, we'll be your Weather Channel. The three of us are old and beat-up enough that we all have internal barometers that are highly sensitive to changes in the weather, especially rain or cold. We're even more entertaining when we walk around sounding like a string of ladyfinger firecrackers going off with all the popping noises we make.
That's IF we're able to get up and walk around at all.
i'm gonna jump his ass
From my comments:
Contractors need acurate weather.....period
Wes... I like you and you've been commenting on my site for a long time. But if you think I never paid attention to WEATHER FORECASTS in my life, you must have forgotten the fact that I supervised a 900 TPD sulfuric acid plant AND a boiler house for many years of my life. You can't weld in the rain. Especially not when you're dealing with a natural electrolyte such as sulfuric acid to begin with.
I PLANNED shutdowns around the weather. Ya don't do it in the rain. I had to be a got-dam tide-master, too, because we had six heavy-duty 5,000 GPM pumps dragging water out of the Savannah River for cooling purposes, and none could be pulled and serviced except at LOW TIDE.
I kinda thought, y'know... since I was reponsible for scheduling maintenance and ALSO knowing that it cost $10,000 per hour in lost steam production when the acid plant was down... maybe I should pay attention to the weather. AND the tides.
Plus, if you wanted to pull one of the big acid recirc pumps, you damn well better NOT do it in the rain. Pop the lid on one of those pump tanks and let water start running inside, and an explosion results. Very nasty shit.
For you to suggest that I never paid attention to weather or tides when I worked is a got-dam insult to me. That's another reason why I distrust weather forecasters today. They left my ass dangling in the wind a few times by being WRONG about the weather.
But I trust every one of those sumbitches predicting that WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!! from global warming. Predicting climate is oh so much easier than predicting weather.
severe storm warnings
"We interrupt this program to advise... a line of severe thunderstorms, with high winds and marble-sized hail... is detected on Doppler Radar (and I'll give you a bag of freshly boiled green peanuts if you can tell me what a "Doppler Effect" is), moving north by northeast, possibly affecting the areas of Chatham, Effingham, Bryan and Liberty Counties in southeast Georgia. Please remain indoors if severe weather strikes your area and stay tuned to this Emergency Broadcast Channel."
Bring it on.
tomfoolery of our time
* I shop for groceries at a local Kroger's store. They have an ENTIRE AISLE dedicated to "organic food," and that doesn't count the shit in the produce department veggie bins labeled "organic," which look like crap but cost twice what regular food does. I don't buy much "organic" food, except for the blue corn tortilla chips. I LIKE those, but I don't purchase organic salsa to eat with them. Organic, my ass.
* "Tolerance" is supposed to be a high virtue today. I don't get the idea, I don't buy it and I damn sure ain't gonna change my ways to be politicallly correct. Some things are INTOLERABLE and if you're arfaid to call 'em that, you need to be dragged off and shot.
* "The Poor." Bejus! Don't even get me started. When some overweight, big-titted woman with six illegitimate children, all living in a house with cable TV and air conditioning, prance around in designer tennis shoes and start whining about being "poor," I ain't listening to that crap. I've stood behind those people in a line at a Kroger's checkout counter and watched them buy ground chuck to feed a DOG because food stamps can't be used to buy Purina chow, and I've seen them be very careful when pulling out their Welfare Insta-banker cards, to keep from breaking the expensive French-look, manicured fingernails they sported.
* Politicians are NOT "leaders" anymore. They are the scum of the earth. The only full set of testicles you'll find in Washington DC today are dangling from Hillary Clinton, who sports them because she is shameless, not macho. THAT'S a sad state of affairs.
* Ask someone... hell... ask ANYONE you know to name the Bill of Rights. Half the people you ask won't know what in the hell you're talking about. The other half MAY know one or two, especially that one about "separation of church and state," which doesn't exist. Totally ignorant people cannot live free.
* How many people do YOU know who can name BOTH of their senators and their congressman?
* How many people do YOU know who dance a merry jig when they receive an income tax REFUND but never realize that it was THEIR MONEY to begin with?
* If you see an "environmentalist" riding in a limosine, does that make you wanna cry BULLSHIT!!!??
* I was born in 1952. Dwight Eisenhower was President at the time. Since then, I've seen JFK, LBJ, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Jimmah Carter, Ronald Reagan, George Bush I, Bill Clinton and George The Second hold that office. Ask someone else my age to name the Presidents they've seen in THEIR lives. Fewer than one in ten can do it, but they ALL vote.
* True "Democracy" is mob rule. We DO NOT live in a democracy, even though a lot of people think we do, and the mob appears to be taking over today.
* My daddy once told me that those who CAN DO, do. Those who CAN'T DO, teach. And those who can't DO or TEACH go into politics. My daddy was a wise man.
the weather channel
I have the weather channel playing on my television now, mainly so I can see the local radar and learn what's going on with Alberto's bad self. Rain has been falling in a steady drizzle for almost two hours now, and there's a lot more where that came from, at least according to the Weather Channel.
We NEED the rain here.
And I NEED my weather channel. We never had that glitzy crap when I was a boy, so we had to do forecasting the old fashioned way, just as Recondo 32 says today when he's feeling philosophical.
"We had a Weather Channel. It was called The Fuckin' Window! (pronounced "winder" by true red-necks) You looked outside, and if you saw rain, you wore a raincoat. If it was bright and sunny, you didn't want to go outside at all. Too got-dam HOT!"
Technology ain't got a damn thing on old red-necks.
Yep. As of 0800 this morning, when I woke up on my living room FLOOR after a rough night of shoulder problems, (I couldn't get comfortable in my bed or on my couch. I felt violated because I hurt so bad.) rain is drizzling outside. Gawd, but I hope it lasts for a while.
The winds are diddly-squat right now. They don't even shake my back porch wind chimes very well. But I'm getting some rain--- the slow, drizzle-type, which is what my grass needs. Hell--- all of southeast Jawja needs it.
Let it come. It should get better as the day wears on, and I'm hoping that it does. I set my rain gauge out in the open this morning when I fetched the newspaper. I hope the damn thing overflows by tomorrow.
Do me a FAVOR, Mother Nature. Piss all over me.
I got tha "keys" to Acidman's house!
I'm turning wimmen loose on my site to fix it for me.
I'm probably gonna get in BIG trouble here...
Hey Rob! Lil Toni Hea!
Yer chit werks!
June 12, 2006
i'm ready to die
I think I'm gonna do something radical if I EVER get pulled over, roughed and probed-searched by Homeland Security goons. EVER again.
I've been through that nit-search shit while guys with Saudi Arabian passports passed though Customs with out a second glance. Oh yeah--- they were bearded, wild-eyed Muslim MEN between the age of 20 and 40, who tend to commit terrorist attacks, but we would have been guilty of profiling THEM, so the Security goons chose ME, a Chinese woman in a wheelchair and some young, good-looking Texas bridesmaid with hairpins in her hair to humiliate.
Abdul and Fahied might have been wearing bomb belts and our "security" was too politically-correct even to ask. They would rather threaten to stick a finger up MY ass, just to prove that they're not "judgmental." Or competent, either.
Is this entire country absolutely CRAZY anymore? WHY do we put up with this shit???
I think it has something to do with "the corn-fed, no makeup, natural fiber, no-bra-needing, sandal-wearing, hirsute, somewhat fragrant hippie-chick pie wagons they call 'women' at the Democratic National Convention."
Read it yourself and recognize a righteously indignant philosopher when you see one.
Why can't I be treated as wise, compassionate and sensitive when I bitch at airport gestapo for treating me like a criminal? Why can't I be a "victim" when those asswits treat ME like trash? Liberal writers will come to MY defense if I ever get arrested for telling THOSE goons to go fuck themselves. Right?
I doubt it. I think it's all something about Ann Coulter's blonde hair that makes leftards hate her.
twice in two days
I did it yesterday and I did it again today. I really oughta tape the sucker to keep a good piece of American history on hand. The movie is called--- "Blackhawk Down--- a Documentary." Or something like that.
All I know is they showed a lot of live combat footage from that fiasco in Somalia, along with interviews with the guys who lived that nightmare and still breathed to tell about it. It was a jaw-dropping piece of video journalism to me. Man! Those guys were warriors.
Imagine being sent on a mission into a zone of a maze-like city, with people from old men to little children shooting at you with automatic weapons, and you've just seen one of your rescue ships get shot down. Plus two of your buddies almost cut in half. That crap might make you kinda uneasy, right?
So, you get out, scared to death and shitting your pants as you run to safety, or ride, with bullets bouncing around inside your humvee like popcorn popping. Then.. you learn that a lot of your buddies are trapped back there and someone has to go in and get them out, right through the middle of that wild shootin' gallery.
You bite your trembling lip, try to contain your loose bowels, grab a few more mags for your M-16 and say, "Let's go."
And you DO IT!
Gawd! That was a very impressive, almost overpowering show. The guys being interviewed for the film weren't old farts like D-Day veterans. Some of them had silver hair, but not many. They looked half my age.
Hell--- they were KIDS, late teens and early 20s, when that Appallya in Somalia happened to them. They did pretty good. I don't know if I have the balls to be that courageous.
THREE TIMES, those guys went back in there to rescue their comrades. Pilots flying little helicopters did fantastic acts of bravery to defend the escape. They flew down THE STREETS, between the buildings, to stick a missle in a very bad place while sparying 50-cal machine gun bullets everywhere. Even Delta Force guys said later, "I've never seen anybody so brave... or so damn CRAZY in my life. Their spent shell casings were falling on my helmet, and I was burying my face in the dirt, saying "Give 'em HELL!""
Some of the Rangers had to run the "Miracle Mile" to get out of there, chasing their evacuation vehicles, because the UN troops who were supposed to give them a ride home cut and run when THEY got shot at. Thank you, Bill Clinton.
I may have been a little loose on some of the quotes, but that's what I remember. If you ever get a chance to see that movie, DO IT.
It'll make you proud of our troops and ashamed of our politicians.
My darlin' Ann is in all kinds of hot water now, for being a vicious cunt in the eyes of many leftist fucktards. She had the nerve to criticize 9/11 widows for making a whining career out of their husband's deaths. The NERVE of that woman.
I never did learn from any of the stories that I read whether those grieving widows were part of the group that SUED after 9/11, because the riches being offered by the federal government at the time simply weren't enough to assuage their overpowering grief.
I had two problems with that entire affair. First, I didn't believe that the federal government should've been handing out MILLIONS OF DOLLARS to people after the attack. That's what you buy life insurance for.
I ESPECIALLY didn't like it when some of the greedy bitches decided that a mere $500,000 or so wasn't ENOUGH for them, so they sued the city of New York, and anybody else they could think of to milk this gravy train for every dime it was worth.
That was a disgusting thing to do. Almost as bad as what Cindy Sheehan has done by making a lucrative career out of the death of her son.
Shit happens, people. And when bad things happen to you or yours, you ARE NOT automatically "entitled" to a whopping check just... because. Bullshit.
I damn sure don't believe that the world owes you ANYTHING. I look at those "grieving" people on the news and I remember that video that my Uncle George shot in that old cemetary in Clay County, Kentucky a few years ago, where he photographed the tombstones of a LOT of MY relatives, ones I never knew, because...
"Baby Samuel." Born Oct. 22, 1931. Died Oct. 22, 1931.
"Arthur Saylor." Born Feb. 16, 1920. (MY birthday!) Died Dec. 12, 1931. Fever took him.
"Baby Twins, Sara and Joshua." Born Mar. 8, 1928. Died Mar. 9. 1928. "May they rest forever in each other's arms.
Or how about a REALLY good one, when my cousin Ernie and I spent half a day hacking through overgrown, mountain underbrush to locate a cemetary on the side of a mountain where nobody had visited in nearly 30 years. After a lot of searching, I found what I was looking for.
It was a granite tombstone, laying face-down in the jungle, all covered in vines and pushed out of the ground by the roots of trees that had grown under it. I picked it up, turned it over and read... "Robert Smith. Born Feb 12, 1900. Died May 16, 1936."
That was my grandfather. The one I never knew. The one who died when my father was 12 years old. The one who was nicknamed "Pete," and who dabbled in some shady activities when the unions started organizing in southeast the Kentucky coal mines. A man who carried a pistol a lot.
I looked at all those graves and thought... what kind of check did people get in the mail THEN? What talking heads were falling all over themselves to stick a camera in someone's face and ask, "How do you feel, now that you've buried three of your own children?"
Was Ann Coulter "over the top" with what she wrote? I guess so, given our ideas of compassion and political correctness anymore. But the truth hurts, as I have learned very well on this blog. Most people can't take it anymore.
But if those widows hurt so badly, why did they collect all the money they got and then become political activists? It damn sure couldn't be a "HEY!!! LOOK AT ME!!! kinda thing, could it? While the checks kept rolling in?
Guess how many got-dam checks MY relatives received when their children died young or even in infancy, and their wives died in childbirth, or their husbands got injured in the coal mines and couldn't work anymore? Back in THOSE days? I'LL TELL YOU!!!
Not one. Not a got-dam penny.
But they survived and kept right on keepin' on. It wasn't always easy, but they weren't spoon-fed the idea that life is SUPPOSED to be easy. Or "FAIR!"
But we've reached the point in this country today where a strutting display of moral indignance is a lot more important than courage. We've got this crazy notion in our heads that when bad things happen to YOU, somebody OWES YOU something to make it "right." We believe that manna falls from heaven, and NOBODY has to pay for it.
We mistake posturing for spine, weepy rhetoric for true grit, and pitty-pot grievance for ANYTHING except what it really is. "Compassion" is gonna be the death of this country and we're well on our way to getting there.
I just have one question--- where is MY check in the mail? I deserve it more than most people who get one do. I fuckin' PAID for it. Gimme my money back.
By MY calculations, I'm already paying for three mothers on food stamps, 1.5 minority bastard children, child support to a bloodless cunt, property taxes that have doubled since I bought my home five years ago and I DON'T GET SHIT in return.
No... I take that back. I get more SHIT than I want. I think the IRS is gonna rake my nuts over the coals because I didn't pay ENOUGH in taxes in 2003. $40,000+ didn't satisfy them. I may be in trouble.
My achin' ass. Give me MORE of those New York widows whining. I'll bet I can give them a run for their money. I might ask 'em for a loan to pay my tax bill. After all, that's MY money they "earned."
And get off Ann Coulter's ass, you bunch of sanctimonious pricks.
I think my friend catfish may getting sliced and diced today. Or maybe that's gonna happen NEXT Mondy. He wasn't very precise in his post about it. Either way, I'm gonna call tonight and ask Nancy to give me the scoop.
From what I understand, hernia operations were a lot worse once upon a time than they are now. You can get cut, spend a couple of hours all groggy in the recovery room, piss in a bottle for a nurse and then go home the same day. I'm sure that Nancy will take care of him, but if he needs a ride, I'll come get him if he calls me.
I don't have many good friends anymore. Cat's too mean to die, so I ain't worried about THAT happening. But that knife stuff in a hospital ain't NEVER any fun. Bejus knows I speak from personal experience on that subject.
Good luck, buddy. If you need any help from me, just ask and you've got it.
But if you DIE... well, I'm gonna make a move on your old lady. I've ALWAYS liked her, and if you ain't around anymore, well... someone needs to console her in her grief and I can't think of a better person than ME to do it. What are friends for?
THAT'LL make you think twice about dyin,' won't it?
I am shocked!!!
I think this guy is plotting to get some free government money. He's probably hoping that he gets to stay in a Holiday Inn with cable TV and hot showers, all paid for with the taxpayer's dime.
And I KNOW that he was just kidding when he mentioned making strategic cuts with a chain saw on a few trees before the wind kicked up. Hell--- I don't believe it's gonna be a "monster" storm and it'll probably be just about out of gas by the time it reaches where I live.
But still... I have one very annoying pine tree in my yard that I wouldn't mind seeing "blow down" in a storm. Especially if I could pursuade it to fall on my bathroom with the screaming toilet. Let Liberty Mutual fix my got-dam plumbling after that. It's only "fair."
All I'm REALLY hoping for is some rain. I may get it, too, with a little luck.
Something is badly wrong with the guts of my site. I don't know if I did it or not, but it's FUBAR. If this post actually... uh... posts, I think I'm on the right track, but I still don't understand what went wrong.
First the email I've had for three years refused to know me anymore. Now this...
WTF is going on?
they're proud of it
The Savannah Morning News has a new web page. They're very proud of it, but it seems a little too busy for me. (A woman designed it. What do you expect?) But I do like one thing about it--- I don't have to register to read it.
Maybe I can actually, y'know... LINK to stories in my hometown paper now.
I have a rock-ribbed rule that I NEVER violate. If I've got to register to enter a site, I don't read it. Period. And I don't leave comments on blogs that require comment registration, either. I ain't gonna do that. It violates my KISS theory and it looks uppity to me. Just what makes YOU so fucking special, anyway?
I ain't gonna find out how great you are if I have to register first. Blow me.
I read this story in the dead-tree version of the paper yesterday. It's typical of what happens a LOT in downtown Savannah anymore.
Dontre Graham, 27, and Okirike Lfere Okirike, 26, were arrested. Graham is charged with three counts of aggravated assault. Okirike is charged with being a party to aggravated assault. He also has been charged with numerous traffic violations, including driving under the influence, Wilson said.
They shot three Fort Stewart soldiers after an argument over beer. These gangtsa gunslingers were damned good shots, too. The victims?
They have been identified as Robert Williams, 23, Devin Drennon, 21, and Shadrack Sims, 19, all soldiers who are stationed at Fort Stewart.
Bejus. That's what happens when you watch a lot of movies and learn to hold a pistol sideways 'n chit, while waving it around like a REAL tough guy. The shooter is lucky that he didn't blow his own dick off. Asshole.
I don't mean to brag or threaten here, but
Hell, I'll bet that I coulda made him see the error of his ways myself. That's IF I owned any guns, of course...
(Speaking of shootings... here's another good lawsuit. It's the bar's fault. Or the bank that owns the bar. Whatever.)
I ain't sure what he said, but I think he said it well. Reminds me of a poster I kept on my office wall at work for a number of years.
It was a picture of a frog being swallowed by a wading bird. But the frog wasn't being eaten without a fight. He had both hands wrapped around the bird's neck, choking with all his might as his head was going down the bird's gullet and the motto was: "NEVER give up!!!"
Heh. I don't know why I liked that picture so much.
this is good news
I hope southeast Jawja gets some rain out of this. We damn sure could use it.
I've been watering my garden a lot lately and I've started to notice the same thing I ALWAYS get when we have a lot of dry weather. The water coming out of my taps smells like sulphur. Yeah, like nasty egg-poots. I have to go back 10 years to remember another spring as dry as this one has been.
That storm may be a blessing. It won't blow the roof offa my house, but it MIGHT give the ground a good soaking of rainfall. I hope so.
It's dry as a popcorn fart around here.
It's not a good picture, even though I used a flash, but I'm gonna post it anyway. That's a got-dam palmetto bug, missing half of his ass after I stomped on him, posing dead next to a AA battery, just to give you an idea of the size. The bastid was strolling around my living room this morning as if he owned the place.
I was forced to prove him wrong.
Bejus! I HATE those got-dam things.
Keep a barf-bag handy when you read this. I cannot think of a better example of what's wrong with government today.
It's got too much power. Government intrudes into EVERY aspect of our lives today, and it is run by people who behave like vandals, looting and sacking the national treasury and then BRAGGING about it.
"When I become chairman [of a House appropriations subcommittee], I’m going to earmark the s—t out of it,” Moran buoyantly told a crowd of 450 attending the event.”
My aching ass. I'm just sorry that I can't vote for HIM, the prick. He's exactly the kind of politician who make ME want to secede from the Union today.
I'll bet he gets elected.
I've posted the recipe before, but I'll do it again for those who missed it. Boiled peanuts are a true Jawja delicacy--- and you need to start with GREEN PEANUTS, not the dried kind. (You see a lot of those dried ones in North Carolina and they taste like blackeyed peas when boiled. Fresh green ones are a LOT better.)
Put 'em in a pot. Add enough water to cover them up. Throw about a half cup of salt in, then bring the water to a boil. Then, lower heat to a nice simmer and cover the pot with a lid. Leave it alone for about an hour.
Then turn the burner off, but leave the peanuts in the pot to soak for another 30 minutes, so they get nice and salty. Then... eat 'em.
They taste GREAT!!!
(You CAN add seafood seasoning, red pepper or hot sauce if you want 'em spicy. You can also add some bacon grease to make 'em a little on the slimey side. I use just salt, but that's me.)
June 11, 2006
reminds me of me
I just watched the movie "Five Easy Pieces" again. For about the 50th time, but it's been a while since I last saw it.
The character Jack Nicholson plays in that movie reminds me of ME. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not, but he acts a lot like I do, without cameras rolling.
Bejus. I would feel better if I laid Karen Black. Then, I could be as idiotic as I ever wanted to be and NEVER feel guilty about it.
that's the way ya do it
I made a trip to the grocery store today. That's five pounds of fresh green peanuts, cookin' on my stove. They cost $1.49 a pound, which I didn't think was too bad a price for this time of year. They should be done in about an hour, plus another 30 minutes to let 'em soak up some salt from the brine.
People, I'm tellin' ya--- and I wouldn't lie about something so important--- them's gonna be GOOD EATING.
When I was a child, I wasn't expected to say "yessir!" or "yes, ma'am" to my mama and daddy. I was expected to say it to other adults, but home was different.
We never said grace at the table before a meal.
Mama was very religious, but Daddy wasn't, and he worked shiftwork for a lot of his life. Bejus! If my brother or I EVER woke him up when he was working midnight shifts and sleeping during the day, we could DEPEND on a rude visit from Mr. Belt and that wasn't any fun at all. You paid for that mistake because you had been told better.
I think back, since both of my parents are dead now, and I remember seeing my father come home from work in the morning, eat a plate of bacon and eggs, go to sleep and arise at about 7:00 in the evening to eat ANOTHER plate of bacon and eggs before he went back to work. He liked breakfast, even late at night.
Mama loved him, and I did, too. But when he slept after working a midnight shift, Gawd help you if you woke him up. THAT was a really bad no-no.
The most miserable week of my life came when I was 10 years old and Mama went into the hospital for a hysterectomy. I didn't know what the hell that was... and when I asked Daddy about it, he started talking about wimmen's internals and samouri swords and I became all confused. It sounded spooky as all get-out to me. I was worried that Mama might DIE!!!
She didn't. But my brother and I almost did from eating a week of Daddy's cooking.
That man was a fine person... about the very best I've ever met in this world...but he couldn't boil water right on a stove. HIS idea of a gourmet meal was chicken a la king on burnt toast. Or tomato soup and crackers. Or TV dinners still half-frozen because he never put them in the oven long enough.
He couldn't make a decent peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
He fed that crap to me and my brother and tolerated no bitchin' about it. Shut up and eat, or go to bed. Pick one option.
I always loved my mama, but I REALLY wanted to hug and kiss her when she came back home from the hospital. Bejus! I tasted REAL FOOD again, and it was good. Biscuits! Gravy! Home fries!!! Pork roast! Fried chicken! Y'know... HOME COOKIN'!!! Just damn!!!
My daddy was a good carpenter, a jackleg electrician, a decent brick-layer and he could handle explosives. But he couldn't cook for shit. It's a damn good thing that mama was fairly healthy for most of her life, or my brother and I would have starved to death. My daddy could build model ships from 1,000 tiny parts in a box, but he never learned to boil an egg in his life.
Maybe that's why I like to cook today. It's survival instinct.
working on it
I have a new email address. It's firstname.lastname@example.org. (Clever, isn't it? It's made up from my daughter's name, my son's name and my old football number.) I threw in the towel on my old one and started fresh. I'll fix it so my comments go there, because I need that to maintain my spam Blacklist, which has been overrun in just the past day.
I also set up a Comcast email service, which is for special friends only. Once I make sure that it works, I may let a few people know THAT address, but it won't be many.
I'm a computer fucktard, but I'm doin' the best I can. If you're bored, send me an email. I wanna see if I get it. The address is email@example.com.
If you're REALLY nice, I may give you the Comcast address, too.
enough is enough
I think I'm gonna start my "Reprobates in 2008" campaign again. I've swum in muddy swamps before, so I could probably handle politics. I may not enjoy the experience, but sometimes you have to do things you don't like for the good of the country.
* When I'm in charge, you can forget about withdrawing troops from Iraq. We will WIN that war. I wanna withdraw about half of the people in Congress and put them where they belong: Either in jail or in a mental institution.
* I'm gonna declare peace in the War on (some) Drugs. Yeah. I'll withdraw ALL troops from that senseless battle, and save a lot of lives. And a LOT of money. And a lot of doctors. too.
* Talk about a tax cut? See what I propose. KEEP the money YOU earn. Those who don't work? Feed 'em beans. Anybody who enters politics broke and becomes a millionaire two years later, goes to jail. Period. Thieving bastid.
* Illegal immigration. I'd put a bounty on border-jumpers. Wetbacks damn sure ain't an endangered species, and I think we should pay $50 a head for shooting them when they cross the border. Knock down six at once and get a $100 bonus for good shooting.
* Israel? That's the only got-dam friend we have in the Middle East, and I admire their toughness. I would blow Hamas into never-never (again) land and hand Israel the whole damn sandpile over there. Give the Jews a few oil fields and they'll run 'em right. We get cheap gasoline and reward people who actually WORK for a livin.' It's a win-win scenario.
* Envoronmentalism? Heh. I'd cut off ALL federal funding for those nut-jobs, just to see how fast the Global Warming scare goes away after that. I would make Al Gore go to Israel and work on a kibbutz. If he ever plowed the Tennessee sidehills behind a mule, he oughta be a fuckin' EXPERT at growing dates and figs.
* I propose death by firing squad for ANYBODY who suggests that we amend the Constitution.
* I want to place the entire Supreme Court on a desert island, where they cannot hurt anybody with random brain-farts, ever again.
* I'll give California back to Mexico. Take it. It's a canker-sore on the genitals of America, so YOU enjoy wallowing there. Most of you assholes speak Spanish already, and the rest DESERVE the likes of you. Go hug a fish, enjoy your smoke-free "environment" and drive a battery-powered car. Just leave ME the fuck alone.
* Anybody who jumps up and bitches about saving whales, saving the planet or cutting CO2 emissions gets dragged off and shot. Bullets use a lot less hot air than they do.
* I would drill the living shit out of ANWR. But I wouldn't give any of the oil discovered there to environmentalists. I would drag them off and SHOOT THEM, then tool down the road in my SUV.
* I would conduct a big, televised show-trial, where I had Hillary Clinton dragged in front of the tribunal in chains and an orange body suit. I'd have a burly, uniformed baliff tear the jumpsuit from her body to reveal a big set of hairy balls and a bent dick where her pussy should be. Most people wouldn't notice, because they'd be looking at her fat thighs and oak-tree ankles. Right before she was dragged off and shot.
* If I'm elected President, I'll staff my entire cabinet with CHILDREN--- no one older than the age of 10. After all, THOSE are the people government cares about today, so why not let 'em GOVERN? If liddle Johnny pulls liddle Sally's pigtails in the middle of a serious debate, I'll whup his ass with a willow switch until he votes for my next Homeland Security proposal.
* I will DEMAND that Congress, the Supreme Court and even the President ALWAYS speak to the American People while totally nude. And you can't stand behind no podium, either. Let it ALL hang out, right there for the TV cameras. See how seriously people take government after they see Teddy Kennedy nekkid.
I'm gonna run. I think I have a lot of good ideas.
i may vote after all
I really wish I had a "NONE of the Above" lever to pull in a voting booth instead of actually having to pick one of the many assholes running for public office today. Maybe I'll write my own name in, just as a protest vote.
Bejus knows that I don't want this idiot holding any reins of power. I've shit better turds in my life than that guy is as a human being.
"If we prevail as I hope and know we will and return to the majority this next Congress, I have decided to run for the open seat of the majority leader," Murtha, a Pennsylvanian, said in a letter sent to House Democrats.
My aching ass. This guy is an ex-marine, and I thought those folks carried bizarre notions of duty and honor from boot camp through the rest of their lives. I musta been wrong about that. Chesty Puller would spit in Murtha's face.
Murtha, a hawk on military matters who started out as a supporter of the Iraq war, soured on the conflict and went public with his criticism last November, calling for an American troop withdrawal.
"Withdrawal" is something his daddy shoulda done years ago, before he sired this prick for a son.
I wonder every day... why do we elect so many total pricks to public office today? Are they really the best we can do?
the beat goes on
What is the truth? I don't think we really want to know, at least not in this case. It may not be politically-correct.
The second dancer in the Duke lacrosse case told police early on that allegations of rape were a "crock" and that she was with the accuser the entire evening except for a period of less than five minutes.
Damn lyin' slut. Who are you gonna believe? HER... or your own fevered imagination?
Prosecutors and police have said that the accuser was hit, kicked and strangled while she was sexually assaulted anally, vaginally and orally.
Welcome to the glorious world of political theater.
couldn't happen to a nicer guy
I KNEW it!!! We killed one of the nastiest bastards on the face of the planet, but we didn't do it RIGHT. Our troops "beat" the poor man as he lay dying.
The witness said he saw the man lying on the ground, badly wounded but still alive. He said U.S. troops arriving on the scene wrapped the man's head in an Arab robe and began beating him. His account cannot be independently verified.
Oh? His account cannot be "verified," but you're gonna REPORT IT ANYWAY, because that's like... your job, right? Make US troops appear to be murderous thugs. Spin this story some way to make it seem like anything BUT good news.
Bejus. The troops shoulda beat the livin' shit out of that reporter.
Posts like this one are why I read Steve every day. Or almost every day. Sometimes, I just sit on my dead ass and vegetate in front of the computer, and I don't read ANYBODY. But if I DO READ, I check him early on, before I fall asleep in my chair.
I've been "checked" by the Coast Guard, the DOI (That's the Department of the Interior, I think. No, wait a minute--- it's the DNR-- Department of Natural Resources. They have boats, they wear uniforms and they specialize in anal probes.) and Game Wardens MANY times in the past, and without fail, those are some of the most obnoxious pricks you'll ever deal with in your got-dam life.
That's another reason why I'm glad I didn't sail to Belize with Recondo 32 and Georgia this summer. If Jawja and South Carolina cops-in-a-boat are so totally disgusting, I can only imagine what Mexicans or Bahamanians are like. Bejus! My skin crawls at the thought.
If you've never been to a place where merdida is the basic law of the land, you ain't gonna like seeing it for the first time. You've gotta pay one guy, so that he can pay another guy, who kicks back a portion of that money to some overlord, who can get you laid or thrown in a filthy-assed jail, depending on his whim.
Hell, I've paid "the bite" in Costa Rica, just to make my life a lot easier. That's how things work in those countries. And if you ever get tangled up crossways down THERE, you'd grab the legs of a Jawja game warden and gratefully kiss his ass, rather than deal with what you've got facing you THERE.
So... when I go fishing offshore, I make damn sure we've got everything on that boat that we're supposed to have. I've been nit-searched too many times to fuck that up. And if I'm fishing with YOU and you get a wild hair, wanting to keep a red snapper or a grouper that's undersized, I'll jump overboard and SWIM HOME before I'll ride back to the dock with YOU.
I've seen the game wardens lyin' in wait too many times to fall for that trick. Plus, they'll take your boat, all of your fishing gear and even your got-dam TRUCK before they lock your ass in jail. They'll fine the beejeus outta you, too, and keep your illegal fish for themselves. And THAT'S in the good ole US of A. Think about what MEXICAN cops might do to you.
It ain't worth the risk. Do it right, or don't do it at all.
I may not agree with all the rules (I never understood the wisdom in tossing a red snapper back in the water, after I hauled him up from 110 feet so that his eyes popped out and his intestines were comin' outta his mouth, just because he was 1" too short. That ain't no way to "save" a fish in MY way of thinking.), but I abide by them. Mostly, anyhow.
In my drinkin' days, I sunk many a beer can in the water because tossing an empty on the boat may have cost us a BWI (boating while intoxicated). I turned into a POLLUTER, because I was worried about the boat-cops getting me.
If you think they're not assholes, just ask my ex-sister-in-law who received a $45 ticket for tanning on a float in Clark Hill Lake when she wasn't wearing a floatation device. The float was on a line attached to a boat and even though the boat was anchored at the time, the law is the law, and she violated it.
The South Carolina judge upped her fine to $75 when she went to court and dared to bitch about the ticket. I'm just tellin' you people--- DO NOT fuck with cops in a boat. You'll be sorry you did.
I would take a boat ride with Steve. I think we're on the same page.
why i blog
What gives you the opportunity to sit on your dead ass and talk to people from all over the world? Blogging does. I can't think of anything else.
I have some big ambitions that I doubt I'll ever fulfill. I want to make another cross-country driving trip, even though getting to the got-dam grocery store and back is a challenge to me now. I want to go to Australia, even though I think the airplane ride would KILL my bony ass today. Plus, if I ever got there, some deadly critter probably would bite me or sting me and give me an agonizing death.
I want to learn to scuba-dive and I want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane with a parachute strapped to my back, just to brag about doing it, if I survive. I want to bounce a grandchild on my knee, dote all over it like a real papaw and spoil the livin' shit out of that child.
I want to take a ride into outer space.
That crap may not happen to me, but I'll settle for second best. And that's blogging. People play half-rubber in Australia today because I sent 'em the rules. Sexy wimmen in Indonesia read me, and send me pictures of their red toenails. Pale, freckled redheads in Ireland visit my blog regularly. Gals AND guys.
Not bad for a Jawja Cracker.
June 10, 2006
should I worry?
The past two days have NOT been good. I think those harpoon shots in my shoulders wore off and I hurt like hell again. Maybe I over-stressed myself when I killed that rattlesnake in my garden. Maybe I screwed up when I did all that dancing in my kitchen the other night.
Maybe I had this coming to me, just for being the sinful bastid that I am. All I know is, I'm back to stacking up the pillows and pinning myself flat on my back for sleeping anymore. I'm remembering how to keep my elbows tucked in close to my sides whenever I move. I'm thinking that I feel a lot older than I actually am.
What the hell. I see another doctor next week.
If he doesn't cure me, I'm gonna kill HIM!!! Just to show him that misery loves company.
customer service warning
If you've emailed me within the last 24 hours and you didn't get a reply, it ain't because I don't like you. My Yahoo email account has gone tits-up and I can't get into it. It doesn't know who I am anymore.
If it doesn't fix itself, I give up.
I am a horrible person.
Today is Saturday, so the local kids were bored. They descended on my house today, wanting to "earn" some money. They KNOW that I'm a sucker, because I'm an old fart who doesn't do much yardwork himself anymore. I pay cash, too.
So, I had my grass cut, my weeds whacked, my driveway edged and all the crap around my garden picked up and stuffed into my trash can. I paid those kids $10.00 for the whole job, and they ran off just as happy as they could be.
That made me think... MY SON is afraid of ME???
Every got-dam kid in this neighborhood likes to come see Mr. Rob, because he tells good stories and he always pays you if you work over there. Plus, he says it's okay to pick blackberries--- all you want! as long as you tell him what you're gonna do first. Wanna shoot some hoops? Use Mr. Rob's goal in HIS driveway--- just ring the doorbell and ask him. He's gonna say "yes," because he always does.
Fuck me dead. I've got a serious question.
My son was NEVER "scared" of me until Jennifer remarried. If you've followed this blog for a while, you KNOW how much I enjoyed watching my boy play basketball. He always gave me a grin and a "thumbs-up" when I came to his games, and I never missed a one. But right around Christmas last year...
I can't explain it. My daughter didn't start to hate me or FEAR me then. The rest of the kids over here in southeast Jawja don't. (Young Jack STILL says that I'm his step-daddy.)
I learned a long time ago in the chemical plant that when something went wrong, the first question to ask yourself was... "what has changed? The place was built to run one way, day after day, 24-7. When it DIDN'T, I knew. I could HEAR IT!!!
After many years of midnight shifts, I could LISTEN to the place and tell you when it was running right or what was going wrong. That's what made me good at my job.
I can't do that, not no more. I'll admit that I'm a shitty pilot for my own airplane today, and I really do wish that I had crashed and burned in a glorious warrior's death several years ago. I can't listen to things and know what I'm hearing anymore. But I'm not totally brain-dead. Not yet.
Jennifer got remarried. I got sober. Quinton started to hate and "fear" me. I haven't seen or talked to my son since January. Musta been something I did.
It damn sure couldn't be Jennifer. Or that Dumbo-eared fuck she married, either.
In the late 1970s, I was playing guitar for a living when the Shah was de-throned in Iran. A WHOLE BUNCH of Iranian students were attending college at that lower institution of higher learning called Savannah State College at the time. They hung out in the bars where I played and they did NOT want to go back "home."
In fact, a lot of 'em "married" American wimmen to KEEP from being sent back home. It was a fine deal for the wimmen. Get paid $10,000 for SAYING that you married somebody you never knew until he waved a checkbook under your nose. It wasn't like you actually had to fuck him. Just take the money and run.
I have to admit, being a heterosexual guy and all, that I woulda fucked some of those Iranian men for a lot less than $10,000 if I had a pussy. They weren't bad-lookin,' if you're into the dark-haired, swarthy kinda thing.
I knew MANY girls who did exactly that. In fact, a waitress at "Steak'n Ale" when I was playing there told me that she "married" THREE of them, at $10,000 a pop, just to keep them from being deported. I fucked her, but her "husbands" never did.
I've seen a lot of fire and rain in this world. I've seen what some people will do for money, and I've known some others who can't be bought. I HOPE I fit into the latter category, but I have trouble finding my center anymore.
It's just too damn easy and rewarding to sell out. I HOPE I never do it. But if I do, I hope that one of my very few good friends will have the compassion and mercy to do what needs to be done.
Drag me off and SHOOT me.
i don't do ceremony
Several blogs remain on my blogroll that I NEVER will visit again, for my own personal reasons. I didn't de-link them. I didn't do a ceremony telling people WHY they pissed me off.
I don't operate that way. But they DID piss me off--- not in a disagreement kinda way, but by being so offensive to MY non-delicate sensibliies that I want nothing to do with them EVER again. They were total assholes to ME.
But they're still on my roll. Read them if YOU want to. I won't. But if YOU do, that's okay. It will be one cold day in hell when I ever have anything to do with them again, but I'm not going to inflict my choice on you.
It oughta be a free world. Make your own choices.
I've made mine.
ohmygawd!!! What have i done???
I'm growing Mutant Tomatoes in my garden now. Just look at THOSE TWO!!!
If they don't make you think obscene things... you need to be dragged off and shot.
Bejus! I'm afraid to eat 'em.
we're all gonna die!!!
Here's more proof.
The 300-mile-wide crater lies hidden more than a mile beneath a sheet of ice and was discovered by scientists using satellite data, Ohio State University geologist Ralph von Frese said Wednesday.
My only question is... what is this "evidence" doing under a sheet of ICE??? When Global Warming is gonna kill us?
I give up. I'm gonna crawl in my bedroom closet, curl up in a fetal position and wait for the end to come. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
I may as well prepare for it.
I wanna update this post because I feel kinda guilty about writing it. Neither my mama, my grandmother nor my aunts EVER abused me when I was a child.
Oh, they TORE MY ASS UP frequently, using willow switches, wooden spoons, a Bo-Lo paddle, a belt or a bare hand, but they did it for my own good. I know that for a fact, because they TOLD ME SO, while they were beating the livin' shit outta me, as I danced a crying jig in a circle while being held by one arm.
Did YOUR folks ever say what I heard? "This hurts ME worse than it does YOU!"
I never yelled "BULLSHIT!" at the time, because I was smart enough to know NOT to pull that kinda smart-mouth if I ever wanted the whippin' to stop, but I damn sure THOUGHT IT a lot. I was the one getting welts like worms laid on ME. How the hell could that possibly hurt Mama worse than it did me?
She wasn't the one being held by one arm and dancing in a circle while getting hunks of hide tore offa HER bottom. But I remember her crying a few times when she spanked me.
Doing that really DID break her heart.
Looking back now, I had it coming. I richly deserved every spanking I ever got, and if the truth be told, I missed out on a lot of others that I SHOULD have gotten, but I wasn't caught doing the spank-worthy things I did.
It's tough being a good parent.
Boys will be boys.
Girls, eat your hearts out!
this isn't funny
Nosiree. It ain't funny at all. I know.
Hell--- MY titties do that now, and I'm not a woman.
a good whippin'
Did you ever have to go pick a switch off a willow tree and bring it back to your mama, your grandmother or your aunt, so that she could grab you by one arm and make you dance a circular jig while she laid welts all over you? Did you scream like a girl while that switch was tattooing your ass?
You never did that? Good. Neither did I. But I'll bet it hurt, even though that NEVER happened to ME.
I'll also bet that you never fucked up like THAT again, either, did ya? Once burnt, twice learnt.
I was an abused child.
don't press--- kiss
This is a damn good question.
June 09, 2006
story of my life, part II
A modern day cowboy has spent many days crossing the Texas plains without water. His horse has already died of thirst.
He turned into a tampon.
The moral of the story: If the government offers you anything, there's going to be a string attached.
(sent to me by loyal reader Marla Phillips, who needs to be dragged off and... never mind...)
He did it to me again!! He included one song on his pathetic "Friday 10" list that struck me right in the gut.
I hope his got-dam DICK falls off before he ever gets a chance to use it again.
"Strawberry Fields?" Oh, man. THAT song was so much a part of my misspent youth that I can't stand to hear it today, despite the fact that I still remember all the words.
"...living is easy with eyes closed..."
Elisson, I like you. I think you're a good blogger. You have a nice wife and a sexy young daughter, with pretty red toenails. But if you EVER throw THAT song in my face again... well... I'm gonna be forced to KILL YOU!!!
Don't do that to me.
Years ago, I got a call from a friend to alert me that someone we both knew had died. It was an odd revelation, because I once dated his wife back in high school. She gave me my first French kiss after a Junior High sock-hop, and I played football with her husband for eight years.
I went to the funeral.
After that somber occasion, Nancy asked me to come home with her. I did, thinking that a good friend might be able to console her after a traumatic life-experience. I ended up sleeping with her that night.
That's NOT what I was aiming for. Yeah, we had sex. But I held her all night long while she cried in her sleep and left salty trails all over my bare chest. She twisted and moaned, NOT from the touch of MY hand, but from what was running through her mind. I didn't sleep much that night. I just held her.
In the morning, she cooked me a good breakfast of scrambled eggs, grits and bacon. She wore a flannel housecoat, and as she walked by me once, I grabbed it and opened it up. Yep. She was nekkid underneath. That was a wonderful sight.
We dated for a while after that, but she eventually moved to California and went all crazy-liberal. She married a Chinese-American guy and lived happily ever after, I suppose, because I haven't heard from her in more than 10 years now.
Damn! Would YOU feel guilty for layin' the widow on the night of her husband's funeral?
I don't. MY mistake was lettin' that natural blonde girl get away when I had the chance to catch her.
ain't nothing funnier than the truth
I am regretful that my friend catfish wasn't around today when I went outside to check my garden. I had some ripe tomatoes, some more bell peppers and a LOT of banana peppers that needed picking. I also have a lot of green beans that look as if they're gonna MAKE SOMETHING, if I keep watering the way I've been doing.
So... there I am... barefoot and wearing nothing but a set of cut-off blue jeans... when I scare up a fucking RATTLESNAKE!!! AIEEEE!!! In my GARDEN!!! Alone. All by myself.
Okay, it wasn't IN THE DARK, but who cares about such piddly details when you see something like THAT??? AIEEEE!!!
I realized that I didn't have a weapon handy. That nasty bastid was all stretched out, enjoying the sunshine and oblivious to ME, so I backed away carefully, grabbed a shovel, and returned to chop him (or HER) into liddle biddy pieces, as I screamed like a girl, jumped up and down, and probably convinced my neighbors that YES--- a CRAZY MAN lives over THERE!!!
Bejus! That snake was only about 2 1/2 feet long, with three rattles and a button on his (or HER) tail. The critter looks like diced 'n sliced snake sausage NOW... but it scared the livin' SHIT out of me this morning.
You shoulda been there to SEE me in my garden today. It woulda been like watchin' a live cartoon.
who am i?
I've been doing a lot of existential thinking lately. I'm trying to figure out who I am.
Oh... I know my name, social security number, home address and I have a passport that's been stamped by several different foreign countries, but that crap doesn't define ME, at least not to MY satisfaction. Who am I?
I really don't know. I'm 54 years old now, and the older I get, the less I can define MYSELF by my own rules. I tried to do that self-defining thing once before, just by living my own life, but I got beat with a baseball bat for having the unmitigated NERVE to try THAT SHIT today.
I've gotta find a category that I fit into, because THAT'S what defines a person anymore. I can't BE Rob Smith. That ain't enough.
I've gotta be a VICTIM, owed something for my suffering. Or a member of a grievance group DEMANDING something. I've looked around... hey---I'm a smart guy... and I should be able to find an avenue to cry GIMME here, somewhere.
Damn near everybody ELSE in this country is doin' it.
But I can't. I had good parents. They loved me and my brother and they did the best they could to raise us right. They never had much MONEY, but they gave me something a lot better than THAT. They gave me food on the table, a bed to sleep in and a work ethic that has served me well in life.
They're both dead now. And I would give EVERYTHING I HAVE for a chance to talk to them again. Just ONCE. You never fully appreciate what you HAD until it's gone.
Ain't gonna happen for me. I need to crank up my pissed-off quotient and be like Cindy Sheehan, or Jesse Jackson. I could make a damn good living and tour the world on somebody else's dime if I learned to whine like the professionals do.
But that's not who I am, whoever that person is. I may whine and piss and moan on this blog, but I PAY for that platform all by myself. In the end...I ain't asking nobody for nothin.'
And that's a stupid way to be today.
I don't know WHO I am, but I know WHAT I am. Maybe I should just settle for that.
quote of the day
“We want to give you the joyous news of the martyrdom of the mujahed sheik Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. The death of our leaders is life for us. It will only increase our persistence in continuing holy war so that the word of God will be supreme.” . . .
I learn some really neat things from my comments. When someone threw the word "twatburger" in a comment on a post I wrote about boiled peanuts, I almost fell outta my chair.
"Twatburger." BWHAHAHAAAA!!! I think I heard that word years ago, but I had forgotten all about it. After reading that comment, I realized that I've eaten a LOT of those things over the years--- both the fresh, pink, delicious kind, AND the ones served up stale and moldy in Divorce Court.
To ME, a good twatburger is served raw, marinated in its own natural juices. You may have to crack it open a little with your fingers, but it's worth that modicum of effort for the sweet taste you get as a result.
I don't like the Organic Ones, with weeds growing all over. If I have to hack through that kind of underbrush with my TEETH, I end up with annoying pieces of thatch stuck all inside my mouth the next morning, and it's hell to get rid of that shit with floss and a toothbrush.
But I don't like the newborn-baby look, either. I'm NOT a child molester. Don't show me a bare twatburger with NO dressing on it and expect ME to eat it. Got-dam! If I wanted THAT, I would respond to one of those spam-things I receive regularly, advertising pre-school girls fucking barnyard animals. Sorry... but I'll pass on THAT.
A GOOD-LOOKIN' twatburger should have some decoration on it, kinda like a parsley sprig on a dish of rare steak. I wear a beard, but I keep it nicely trimmed. Wimmen should do the same thing.
It's all in the presentation, people!!! Show me a twatburger with a Van Dyke cut, that doesn't spray stray growth out from under the elastic of a bikini bottom, but still displays a sign of MATURITY underneath the bikini bottom, and I'll jump in there with...uh... lip-smacking gusto. (BOTH sets of lips--- mine AND hers)
But that shaved, totally nekkid thing? I'm sorry. YOU may think it's hygenic or sexy, but I DON'T. I prefer MY wimmen to LOOK like wimmen--- NOT like little girls.
Bejus! Writing this post made me hungry. For a good, old-fashioned TWATBURGER. Bring it to me
June 08, 2006
i'm NOT insensitive
I have spent most of today deleting and blacklisting spam-slammers from my site. Yeah, I've had another attack, but I'm accustomed to that shit by now. I don't like it, but... sometimes... if you can turn off that decency-control in your mind, you can enjoy them.
Here are some of the really GOOD ones--- the kinda thing I want to spend MY whole day sending out, just to make my mama proud of me:
* "Barnyard sex," complete with 50 links.
* "Teenage sex," complete with 100 links.
* "Black lesbian sex," with a mere 25 links. WTF??? Black, teenage lesbian wimmen don't have sex with barnyard animals??? Bejus! My spammer is RACIST!!!
* "Viagra. Cialis." If you're an old fart like ME, and you ever hook up with a teenaged black woman who wants sex with barnyard animals, you're gonna NEED some of that shit to make you competitive.
* "Texas hold-em, on-line blackjack and ALWAYS WIN slots." Why not??? How the hell else are you gonna get the money to pay for black, lesbian teenagers fucking barnyard animals while dealing cards at the same time?
* "Little boys and golden showers." Oh, Bejus!!! How got-dam sick can you get? I think that THAT deviant spammer was sent to me by a Master's Degree holder, a real stable person, named "Beth."
* "Discount cathouse visits!!!" Save money NOW... by pre-ordering your black, lesbian whore and a barnyard animal, complete with a pissin' little boy... and GET TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!!!
* "Bibles. The Complete King James version, signed by King James himself." I bought two. It WAS 6/6/6 when I did it.
* "College Degrees While-U-Wait!!!" Hmmm... I may have to go back to work, sooner or later. I bought SIX of those, at $49.99 apiece. I now have diplomas in Sociology, African-American Studies, Teacher's Education, Disgruntled Lesbian Studies, Economics, and Basket-Weaving for Quadraplegics. Put those with my legitimate English Lit degree, and I'm bound to go far in this world.
* "Wimmen fucking dogs!!! Dogs fucking college professors!!! Dogs fucking other dogs who have fucked wimmen AND college professsors!!! Order NOW and get a college degree FREE!!" I ordered two dogs... but I asked for only ONE college degree.
Okay... I'm being a real smartass here.
But did YOU ever notice... what those spammers offer isn't much different from the same idiotic shit that leftist politicians say every day? Vote for GORE--- or Hillary--- get a FREE black woman, a REAL lesbian, pissin' on a little white boy in front of a bunch of barnyard animals, PLUS insurance against Global Warming!!! Get some FREE MONEY, too!!!
Read the news, and what I just wrote doesn't sound totally ridiculous.
bite my cracker ass
I have a fatwah that I'm gonna issue to every reader who called ME an infidel for suggesting that SOMETIMES... it's a good idea to put homegrown tomatoes in the refrigerator. Back up, shut up and listen to ME! I have a bomb-belt strapped to my waist and I wish to he HEARD!!!
Yesterday, I picked several more fresh tomatoes, a few banana peppers, and one bell pepper from my garden. I brought them inside and I put them IN MY REFRIGERATOR. Oh, YES... I DID.
While those fresh vegetables were "chillin," I cut up a beautiful hunk of beef tenderlion, into bite-sized pieces, along with a BIG-ASSED Vidalia onion, and I tossed a big slab of REAL butter and some smashed garlic into a pan to simmer.
(ASIDE!!!--- when I refer to "smashed garlic" in a recipe, I mean the whole-clove kind, where you pick out a nice bud, peel it, and then SMASH IT with the broad side of a knife to bust it up. Then you dice that mess and use it to cook with. Doin' THAT when you sautee will keep vampires away and also make your food taste pretty good.)
While my pan was sizzling and smelling up my nasty kitchen with the aroma of butter and fresh, SMASHED garlic, I tossed in the Vidalia onion slices and let them brown. Shortly after that, I added the beef-chucks and some sliced bell pepper.
I stirred, and waltzed around with a bottle of soy sauce in one hand, and a bottle of Worchestershire Sauce in the other. I did behind-the back, over-the shoulder, between-the-legs sauce addition, and I'm really regretful that nobody else was here to see me do it, OR see the spills that I made on my tee shirt.
I resembled a got-dam ballet dancer. (I was listening to "Sultans of Swing," playing LOUD on my stereo at the time.) I probably needed to be dragged off and shot, but I was enjoying myself.
While that wonderful-smelling delight cooked on my stove, I sliced up some CHILLED tomatoes, some CHILLED banana pepper, some CHILLED bell pepper, another Vidalia onion, and I dragged some kinda Mexican salsa stuff out of a can that I bought in the "Illegal Immigrant" section of the grocery store couple of weeks ago.
I threw all of of that stuff into a Tupperware bowl, soaked it with oilve oil and vinegar, added some super-secret spices, (including terragon and chives) and put a lid on top. I danced a cha-cha all over my kitchen while I shook the hell out of the bowl. I made it rattle like a cheap set of maraccas.
When I was finished... guess what I had?
Too bad, if you don't already know. I AIN'T GONNA TELL YOU!!! Go to MacDonald's and ask THEM. See if you can get the same dish THERE, with extra-large fries!!! BWHAHAHAAAA!!!
Rob can COOK!!! That's all YOU need to know.
I think I've called this commenter a "bloodless cunt" once before, and I banned her. But she's BACK, under a different name.
I see sobriety is still a goal. Sometimes we come across those consitutiionally incapable of being rigorously honest. You seem to be one of those..
BWHAHAHAAAA!!!! I left this cunt off my "Ideal Democrats" post because I haven't heard from her in a while. (If it IS a "her." I suspect that the writer just MAY be a fat, pimply-faced BOY who masturbates a lot in his mama's basement because he's never had a piece of ass in his life.) "She" must have discovered a way around my Blacklist, but I'm gonna fix that problem right quick. Still, it was good to hear from her, just to refresh my idea of "compassion" from a "therapist" with a "Master's Degree."
BWHAHAHAAAA!!! Where do such people COME FROM??? Goddam! Do I have an asshole magnet strapped to my forehead? One that glows in the dark and attracts all sorts of night-crawlers and crazy-bugs? I must.
Snork. Phfffft! BWAH! (Gimme a break! I'm tryin' to CONTAIN myself here!) Snuffffleteehee! BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!)
Sorry. I think I need a good "therapist," preferably one with a Master's Degree, to teach me to control my laughter.
(By the way, darlin.' I just ummm... edited your comment to make it reflect what you REALLY meant to say!! BWHAHAHAHAAA!!!)
more on titty-sucking
I received a kinda make-peace email from a fellow blogger the other day, who said that he ceremoniously de-linked me before, but put me back on his blogroll after a two-year pout, once I seemed to have "come to my senses." He de-linked me because, "you have been rude to my friends."
Oh, REALLY? Which "friends" were those? The ones I bought airplane tickets for? The ones that I paid the motel bills for? The ones who cried poormouth so badly that I paid for their meals? The ones who were so desperately broke that they couldn't afford gas money unless I handed them a $100 bill to get back home?
Naw. It COULDN'T be those people, because they all showed up at a blog-meet in New Orleans two months later, whooping, hollering and drinking Hurricanes in front of a camera. I wonder who paid for THAT?
I must be a real fucktard. Ticks get along well in this world. I've been a got-dam fool to try and pay my own way.
nothing is "free"
Every day, WITHOUT FAIL, if I bother to answer my phone when it rings, I get some dingbat offering me a can't-miss, something-for nothin' deal. Today was no different.
The phone rang. I answered it. I was greeted by a woman named "Teresa," who launched into some kind of spiel, and I cut rudely into her prepared speech, interrupting her in mid-pitch.
"Darlin,' I don't intend be rude, but WHAT are you selling that I don't want?"
"Mr. Smith! I'm not selling ANYTHING!!! I'm just offering you a wonderful opportunity, sponsored by Marriot Hotels, because you have been a good customer in the past. You can enjoy three days and two nights of FREE LODGING at a Marriot Hotel if you simply will..."
I cut her off right there, being all rude, and I hung up on her.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, even though it falls on a lot of deaf ears today. NOTHING in this world is "free." AIN'T NO SUCH THING, people, and the sooner you realize and accept that fact, the better off you're gonna be, unless your ambition in life is to be a fucking TICK, sucking off a host to keep you alive.
That's great, as long as you can swell up and get fat offa somebody else's blood. But what happens when you drain your host dry and he ups and DIES on you? What do you do THEN??? We're approaching THAT "tipping point" in this country today.
I have TWO people who are my "friends"--- even though I disagree with their approach to life--- who have made a fantastic career out of being TICKS for the past 20 years. They don't work, and they haven't worked for a LONG, LONG time now. They don't have to. They glom onto a lot of "free" stuff that OTHER PEOPLE pay for, and they constantly look for new ways to get MORE "free" money.
They FIND IT, too, because it's out there--- for those who don't mind grubbing for it. Those folks haven't talked to me for a while now, because the last time I saw them, they became all avaricious, with day-glow eyes and dollar signs dancing in their heads, when I told them that my shoulders were fucked up and I have trouble living a normal life today.
Holy Bejus!!! I got ADVICE!!! LOTS of "good" advice. I should bug Social Security until I get classified as "disabled." THEN--- I'll get a "free" check in the mail for the rest of my life, and if I KEEP bugging them, I get BIGGER and BIGGER checks--- all "free" in the mail.
Oh, yeah. Are my shoulder problems "work related?" If so, I should be able to bug Workman's Comp and my ex-employer to convince THEM to send me a check in the mail every month, once again for "free."
Something else I should consider. Since I'm not working anymore, I need to get a WHOLE BUNCH of credit cards, run them up to the max, and then declare bankruptcy so that I don't have to pay them off. HAR-HAR-HAR!!!
My creditors can't very well garnish a paycheck that I don't HAVE, can they? It's a LAW now that my creditors can't take my HOME. HAR-HAR-HAR!!! The joke will be on THEM, once I take 'em to the cleaners, because it's against the LAW for creditors to garnish disability payments or Social Security handouts.
I told them to go fuck themselves, and they laughed at my ignorance and my distorted sense of "honor." They've done it TWICE already, so they should know.
My aching ass. If they poured half as much time and effort into actually WORKING for a living instead of looking for new ways to get something for nothing, they'd probably both be rich instead of counting on the next "free" check in the mail to keep the wolves from their door.
They spend as much on buying gasoline as they "earn" by driving all over the place to different government agencies to get their children classified as ADD, and therefore disabled and deserving of a check in the mail, or fighting over a dead relative so that they can "inherit" some cash or property.
Know what REALLY chaps my ass? THEY think they're "smart." And they think I'm "stupid" for NOT doing what they do.
I suppose that they are correct and I am mistaken. They aren't alone when they ride on a "free" gravy train today. The only thing THEY regret is the fact that they are WHITE. If they were black, they could get a lot MORE "free" money than they already do. For NOT working. For bitchin.' For being ticks.
They're right. I've been a complete dumbass, thinking that I was supposed to take care of MYSELF in my own life. BWHAHAHAHAAA! What a ridiculous notion.
Just wait for that check in the mail. THAT'S the way to live today.
the idiot party
If Al Gore is a "model Democrat," it's no damn wonder that I despise that political party. Al Gore is a spooky kinda guy to me, even when he's NOT wearing earth-tones and coloring his face bright orange so that he looks attractive to wimmen in a Presidential debate.
In MY humble opinion, Al Gore is a crazed, evangelical doomsday-preacher, with an imagination far better than his memory. And an IQ far lower than that of an amoeba.
But to put Al in his proper perspective, we need to compare him to some other "model" Democrats.
* Hillary Clinton: Crooked, bitchful, lying, self-inflated and cruel. If you ever buy frozen vegetables in the grocery store and you're not close to a refrigerator and you don't want the vegetables to thaw, just get Hillary to hold them between her legs for you. Better than a freezer. No damn wonder that her husband is always on the lookout for other pussy.
* Howard Dean: Raving, lunatic, spittle-spraying nut-ball, who wants to grow up to be a space cadet. If you ever hope to see a genuine "grass-roots" political campaign, stay away from Howard, because his followers have already smoked too much grass. Right down to the roots.
* Bill Clinton: Master weeper. Master apologizer for other people's sins. Master LIAR when it comes to his OWN sins. A "brilliant" man who doesn't know what the definition of "is" is. A fearless defender of wimmen's rights... who abuses wimmen. A man whose entire Presidency was based on taking credit for things other people did, and defined by a cum-stained dress once worn by a 19 year-old intern in the Oval Office.
* Ted Kennedy: Somebody who actually belongs in a leper colony instead of the US Senate. Somebody who would be tossed OUT of a self-respecting leper colony by lepers who thought that Ted was more disgusting than they are, because he kept getting drunk and wanting to fuck their wimmen. A rich sumbitch who never had a real job in his life, but claims to be a champion of the poor. A drunk-driving MURDERER who cheated his way through college and who was such a disgusting politician that even Jimmah Carter once whupped his fat ass. A complete butt-wipe.
* Barbra Streisand: BWHAHAHAAAA! Excuse me, but when I try to think of Barbra as intelligent, I... BWHAHAHAAAA!!! I'm sorry... BWHAHAHAAAAA!!!
* Nancy Pelosi: Just think "leadership" when you think of her. Kinda like the way you think "GIANT, DISGUSTING, WINGED COCKROACH!!!" when you see a palmetto bug.
* William Jefferson: Ain't it difficult to keep from saying "Clinton" at the end of THAT name, whenever you see it in print? The two guys ARE a lot alike. One was laid low by a cum-stained intern's dress in a refrigerator. The other is GONNA be laid low by a bunch ($90,000 worth) of bribery money discovered in his freezer, IF Congress gets off its dead ass and actually investigates one of their own. As soon as they empty their OWN freezers of similar goods.
* Arlen Specter: Wait a minute. He's a Republican, isn't he? Maybe so, on paper. But he still looks (and ACTS) like an ideal Democrat to me... with less integrity than Al Gore, less morality than Ted Kennedy, less leadership ability than Nancy Pelosi and less sense than Barbra Streisand.
Ideal Democrats, one and all.
the story of my life
I have a lot of money stuck in stocks and mutual funds now. See... I had this weird idea that if I invested well after I retired, I might actually... y'know... MAKE MONEY from betting on my country. I think I may have fucked up.
I've lost my hat, shirt and a large chunk of my ass, on paper at least, over the past couple of weeks. And I DO NOT understand why. The economy isn't doing badly. We don't have runaway inflation or soaring interest rates. Unemployment figures don't signal the beginning of a new Great Depression. (Most of the "unemployed" don't want a fucking job, because they make more money sitting on their asses than they do working today.)
Those horrendous oil prices that everybody is screaming about now aren't THAT high, when compared to what we experienced in the late 1970s. Yeah, the smaller-government, lower-federal-spending Republicans lied when they ran for office and are on a drunken spending spree now, but that's nothing worse than what we've seen government do in the past.
The war in Iraq? I ain't buying THAT as an excuse. It's less expensive than farm subsidies and MUCH LESS expensive than social spending outlays.
The stock market is tanking, even as I see once-rural Effingham County, Georgia sinking under the weight of new home-building. I just don't get it.
I'm GETTING IT, though, right in the nutsack of my investment portfolio. If this crap keeps up, I may be forced to (gag!) get a job and go back to work again. Or find me a fat tit on the government nipple to suck, the way so many other people do today.
I don't understand WHY, if things are so damned bad in our economy, that my house has been reassessed, for tax purposes, at a value 30% higher than what I paid for it five years ago.
But that's the story of my life--- a day late, a dollar short and ALWAYS behind the curve, especially when it comes to money.
Here's just one more example of what a quagmire we've bogged ourselves into in Iraq. But least WE'RE "bogged down" in the real world. Many of our enemies now find themselves wandering around lost in the afterlife, if there is one.
Al-Zarqawi and seven aides, including spiritual adviser Sheik Abdul Rahman, were killed Wednesday evening in a remote area 30 miles northeast of Baghdad in the volatile province of Diyala, just east of the provincial capital of Baqouba, officials said.
We can't be winning, of course, because we haven't caught Osama yet. The bastid hasn't been SEEN in a long, long time, but that's beside the point. He's still out there, and we're bogged in a quagmire.
A good thing about this story is: Maybe one of Al-Zarqawi's 72 virgins can show him how to handle an automatic rifle. He looked like a monkey fucking a football tryin' it when he was... alive.
Which he ain't now.
a brick in the wall
I'm one in the wall here. Along with several other people that I recognize.
June 07, 2006
Hmmmmm.... does linking this story make me a racist? Just curious.
The article contains a word nobody is supposed to use today--- except for members of a certain special, government-certified victim group, who use it all the time. But that's okay, because it's not a racial slur when THEY say it. It's a "term of endearment."
I'm confused. Maybe I'm looking at the issue the wrong way because of my hateful, racist nature... BUT...
Couldn't we take this debate to the next logical step and say that "fuck" is a dirty, profane word--- unless fuckers use it, which changes it from an obscenity to a "gesture of solidarity?"
I'm just askin'...
I received a care package today from a reader in Florida who obviously felt my shoulder pain and wanted to cheer me up. When I first opened it, I thought she was playing a cruel joke on me. I saw a box for a Samsung T-mobile cell phone, complete with a hands-free headset. I almost wrapped it back up and stuck a "Return to Sender" notice on it.
But I decided to open the box and I'm glad I did. It wasn't a cell phone at all, thank Bejus. I LIKE beef jerky and Slim Jims. I'm just wondering now if that "Classic Woody" tee shirt is evidence of sarcastic wit on her part. She DID, after all, include a book of Sudoku puzzles and a bottle of OTC Pepcid that I left out of the picture.
Thank you, darlin.' That was mighty thoughtful of you.
Here is a wonderful delicacy. I can almost smell them cooking just by looking at the picture, and that is a mighty fine aroma.
Heh. Read some of the yankee comments on that post. What a sad, benighted bunch they are...
Forget about a helping hand. Some sorry bastards need a FOOT--- one bogged squarely in their lazy, leeching asses. If that statement makes me sound cold-hearted, then I suppose that I am.
Here's a "victim" of Hurricane Katrina for you:
After being flown here for free back in September, Johnson’s been at the Holiday Inn since Super Bowl Sunday. On April 21, the hotel served Johnson with three notices of occupancy termination, saying that it would begin court proceedings if he wasn’t out by May 9. He wasn’t, so it did. If the court boots him, Johnson could end up in one of the city’s homeless shelters. He’s been broke for over a month now. fema sent him $9,000 in housing aid, but he spent it all on booze, cigarettes, some clothes, and food—partying, mostly. “I spent my money just the way I wanted, and I think [fema] should send me some more,” he says. But it won’t. Johnson’s caseworker says fema offered to buy him a ticket home to New Orleans in February, but he didn’t take it. fema won’t now. So he’s stuck, at least until the Holiday Inn pays him to leave.
Johnson is "stuck?" I don't think so. In MY humble opinion, Johnson is the one DOING the sticking, and he's putting it in deep, too.
And Johnson, 49, isn’t that motivated to leave. For one thing, AMC’s in the middle of its “Thrill Me” marathon. Next up, Gothika. “Halle Berry,” he says with lazy lust. These days he’s usually up all night—it’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach. When he has to, he’ll go outside and beg for change, but he doesn’t really like that too much. Most days he just showers and gets back in bed, showers and gets back in bed. Once a week he and another evacuee, a diabetic named Larry, walk to a church off the Van Wyck and get canned goods. When Johnson’s caseworker, Sharon, comes around, she gives him some bus passes and maybe a few bucks, but she’s getting frustrated. “They sit around on their butts watching TV. There’s only but so much I can do if they’re not willing to help themselves.”
Poor guy. Thanks to New York City's compassionate squatter's rights law, Johnson can't be kicked out of his "free" room at the Holiday Inn without a judge's court order to evict him. And Johnson has plenty of reasons to stay right where he is. The free room with free cable TV is nice, but even better is the prospect of receiving some more free money.
Attorneys with the Legal Aid Society have been negotiating a buyout deal for Johnson and the remaining evacuees, and expect a settlement—he heard about $1,200—imminently. He says he’ll use the money to get a room for a few nights and have some fun before flying back to his little house in New Orleans’ Third Ward.
Yeah, and I suspect that when this sackashit is forced to return to "his little house" in New Orleans, the only thing he'll fix is his mailbox, so government will have a place to send him welfare checks and food stamps.
I've got a cold heart, all right. I think it comes from stories such as this one making my ass ache.
war of the worlds
Have you seen the remake-movie The War of the Worlds? It's playing on one of my cable channels now and I made the mistake of watching it this morning. Gawd! That's a real stinker. But it did confirm something I've suspected for a while.
Tom Cruise needs to be dragged off and shot.
Some pictures simply speak for themselves. I may submit a caption just as soon as I clean all the Mountain Dew offa my computer monitor and keyboard.
I saw that photo and suffered one of those chuckle, choke and chum incidents--- you know--- the kind where the beverage I was drinking made a U-turn on the way down and sprayed right outta my nose.
Go check it out, but be forewarned. Put your drink down first, or the same thing could happen to you.
(Speaking of pictures... here's one of a lovely wedding at the beach.)
politicians at work--- again
If that article doesn't make you want to puke, you have a stronger stomach than I do.
Try to remember it when you hear Hillary Clinton and Chuck Schumer bitchin' about an $80 million
Okay... that $80 million cut is MORE than the $10 million in 9/11 cash that was "embezzled by a senior member of the New York medical examiners office," but it's still chicken feed when you compare it to the BILLIONS OF TAXPAYER DOLLARS already pissed away, stolen or simply "gone unaccounted for" so far.
Politicians at work. Just another example of how we DON'T get what we pay for from those gasbags.
i see it coming
My body has been falling apart on me for the past ten years. Lately, I've become convinced that I'm going crazy, too. Now I see the connection.
The first sign of dementia, including Alzheimer's disease, may not be mental decline. Instead, it's quite likely to be physical decline, especially difficulty walking and maintaining balance.
If that's true, I am doomed. I'm already semi-delusional. I don't have far to go to become a drooling, deranged idiot, who can't remember his own name and who wears a Depends diaper except for when he pisses in his bedroom closet at night because he mistook it for his bathroom. All the surgical scars, the vertigo and the screwed-up shoulders I have today are early warning signs of impending dementia.
I see it coming.
i want my feelings hurt
There's GOLD in them there slurs. A total of $61 million worth, if you're lucky enough to find a really sensitive jury.
As Walter Olsen observes on his excellent site, overlawyered:
...the award works out to $15 million per epithet-year, $290,000 per slur-week, or $40,000 per imprecation-day.
Wow! $40,000 PER DAY for being "insulted?" Holey moley! That's more money than a corrupt Congress-critter can steal, even by taking bribes with both hands and selling favors the way Ben & Jerry sell ice cream.
If it pays THAT well, I want MY feelings hurt, too.
It must be the coming of the Antichrist. the numbers don't lie.
Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.
June 06, 2006
*I consistently am amazed to see an african-american immigrant who understands the concept of freedom better than most native-born Americans do.
* DON'T KILL IT!!! I've never understood why snakes give me a galloping case of the fantods, yet I LIKE lizards. It must be a thing about legs, I guess. I'm just asking a blog-friend here... please don't kill it!!!. Go kick a cat or shoot a tree-rat, if you've gotta lay some righteous wrath on a deserving creature. Just give that lizard a break.
* This sweet thang called me two days ago and offered (actually... she volunteered her husband to do the dirty deed, since he works not too far from where I live) to bring me any groceries, cigarettes, or emergency supplies that I needed while I was laid up. She also told me that she and her spouse just bought seven acres of land up nearby in the boonies, and I'm invited to their house-warming party when they get settled in. I turned down the offer of a drive-by delivery service, but I'll take 'em up on the housewarming thing, if Mr. MomIsNuts wants to listen while I tell him how to bag a deer or two on his own land, just by shooting a good rifle out of his open bedroom window.
* You never know WHAT you may find here. But I KNOW why he seems kinda... odd sometimes. He's sweltering in Hot-'Lanta now, when his blood is accustomed to Alaskan weather. To quote the noted philosopher, Mr. T: "I pity the fool."
* If I wasn't worried about her mean-little-old-lady mama tracking me down and shooting me, I might sneak up from behind (Alone. In the dark. All by myself...) and kiss her. Of course, SHE probably would shoot me her ownself if I did THAT... but it might be worth it. I like to live dangerously.
* This woman has been on my blogroll since I first had one. She is so got-dam sweet that she makes my belly hurt sometimes, but I've got a theory about "sweet" wimmen like that. Get 'em alone. In the dark. All by themselves, except for YOU. Those kind of sweetnesses have an inner
* In blogdom, you find the good, the bad, and the ugly. I still haven't discovered a classification for this guy. I think he suffers from oxygen deficiency to his brain from having big, nasty CATS sleep on his face at night.
* When I get a little older, I hope that I mellow out the way this guy has done in his dotage.
* Heh. I know her innermost secrets. YES, I do! I read them written on the wall of the men's bathroom in a biker bar in Daytona, Florida several years ago. I am NOT making that shit up. Look at my innocent face. Would I lie to you about something like THAT?
I'm so got-damn clever sometimes that I scare myself...
Worth a look
I don't read many purely political blogs, for three damn good reasons. First, most of 'em are poorly written, and I don't like that. Piss on a breathless, semi-literate, Pajamas-Media exclusive report, complete with a Podcast, videocams and a link by Glenn Reynolds, on a story that nobody in the got-dam WORLD cares about, except for back-slapping PJM cronies and NZB Ecosystem denizens of the "one-celled amoeba" caste, who want to be linked by somebody--- anybody "important," even if they have to perform a blow-job on a dog to get there.
(Excuse me. I was in danger of becoming overwrought for a moment... lemme get back on-topic. Where was I?)
Oh, yeah...piercing, insightful, cutting-edge, "tipping point" political blogs? Fuck 'em. I would MUCH rather relax and read this guy, even when he spends two weeks on the blog-version of Moby Dick, all wordy and boring, about building a got-dam outdoor TV cabinet. At least something that I was totally disinterested in was expressed well with words. You can't say the same about this site. (Well... you COULD, but you'd be a goddam liar.)
Second, political theater disgusts me today. And THAT'S what 90% of politics IS anymore--- pure theater. Oh, I rant about politics a lot, but I do that mainly to demonstrate that I DO read the news and I DO follow current events.
Most people don't. Most people can tell you who won the last show of "American Idol," and they can tell you what's been going on behind the scenes in "Survivor," but they can't name their own senators. THOSE are the people that political theater-performers are targeting. THOSE are the people who elect the clowns we have in office today.
Third, arguing politics is a lot like arguing religion. You're not REALLY gonna change a kool-ade-drinking idjit's mind about what that dingbat already believes, no matter how badly confused the person is, no matter how well you present your case, and no matter how many facts are on your side.
Sometimes, deliberate ignorance is etched in stone. It don't wipe off.
Anyway, in a long, rambling, around-about way, I finally reached my point. As political blogs go, this one isn't too bad. I tried it, and I liked it.
It's worth a look.
I just checked my email and found a missive from somebody I never heard of before who wants to interview me for a "project" he is doing, as some kind of feature on "fascinating bloggers." Here is my EXACT response.
"Fire away. There ain't nothing in this world that I would rather talk about than ME. In fact, being totally HUMBLE and all, I am convinced that I am one of the most fascinating people that you'll EVER encounter in your entire life. Even if you live to be 100 years old.
I can't wait to see what kind of reply I receive.
slow down, boy
I'll be damned! I figgered out how to make my camera WORK now, so I've been taking pictures all over the place for about the last hour or so. They ALL came out nice--- not blurry at all.
I don't think I'm gonna post any of 'em. I took several pitchers of home-grown vegetables and my filthy kitchen, but I also photographed a lot of guitars, guns, ammo, a Gut Rumbles bumper-sticker and I even took one shot of my bony, nekkid ass in my bathroom mirror. I can't post that shit! I need to consider The Children.
I'm just delighted to know that I can operate my camera now.
how could it happen here?
No wonder people are stunned. SHOCKED!!! When you ignore the obvious, bend over backward to appease bullies, maintain staunch political correctness and basically KISS ASS every chance you get to do it... WHY would crazed Muslim men want to target YOU for a terrorist attack?
I dunno. Beats the shit out of me, too.
As the authorities have said, "It's important to note this operation in no way reflects negatively on any specific community or ethnocultural group" - right before revealing a list of suspect names that read like a cast list for Osama bin Laden's "E! True Hollywood Story."
Don't mention THAT fact. It's racist. It's judgmental!. It's politically-incorrect. It may be the TRUTH, but we don't wanna hear that shit anymore. The truth offends our delicate ears. We much rather would hear sweet little lies.
How could crazed murderers want to attack US, right here in Canuckistan, when we've tried so hard to make 'em happy? Where is their gratitude? Where is the LOVE???
Fuck me dead. We've got too many bleeding-heart dipshits in the world today who didn't grow up on the same school playgrounds that I did. If THEY ever learned to deal with malevolent bullies and FIGHT THEM, rather than choosing to hand over their lunch money and grovel to avoid a conflict, they'd already know better than to ask such stupid questions.
Watch the movie, True Grit. Pay attention to the scene where Rooster Cogburn "negotiates" with a grain-stealing RAT in Chin Lee's back room.
That's all you need to know.
he's good, too
If you don't read him already, I want to point you toward another good wordsmith. The guy is good.
Of course, professional black victimhood-brokers don't like him. He's nothing but a house-slave and a porch-monkey to compassionate black "leaders" such as Jesse Jackson and John Conyers. They don't like ANY intelligent, self-made individual, especially when that person is a black male.
The guy doesn't whine and ooze grievance all the time. That's just WRONG in today's world.
Read this money-quote about Congress and its posturing about "tough" border control:
This is one of the most reckless gambles with the future of this nation ever taken by supposedly responsible members of Congress. The idea that we must consult with Mexico before controlling our own borders is staggering -- and revealing.
Also notice what Arlen Specter did on this issue, with his usual display of statesmanship and courage. Which makes me wonder...
If Thomas Sowell is a porch-monkey, just what the hell is Arlen Specter?
how 'bout this?
Okay, I checked my garden again today. All but ONE of those tomatoes will sit on the ledge of my kitchen window for a day or two until they become fully ripe. (I AIN'T putting 'em in my refrigerator!!!) The big 'un, I intend to eat with supper tonight.
I didn't grow the Vidalia onion--- I bought it at Kroger's--- but I just threw it in the photo for the hell of it. Some of the banana pepper look kinda scrawney, but they're ready to eat, so I picked 'em.
But best of all--- LOOKIT THE PITCHER!!! I used a flash, which is what several readers recommended that I try, and it came out IN FOCUS!!! I'll be damned. Maybe I can figure out how to work my camera after all.
BWHAHAHAAA! I just LOVE IT when a plan comes together.
make me puke
If I lived in New York (state), I would be ashamed to tell people where I was from. In a kind of perverse way, I can understand a bunch of nincompoops electing Hillary Clinton as their senator. After all, people still send money to Jimmy Swaggert and Jim Bakker, too. When "rapture" strikes, good sense flies right out the window. We really DO have a lot of insane, delusional, slack-jawed, mouth-breathing people in this country.
But otherwise normal-looking folks who keep electing this assclown to high office simply need to be dragged off and shot for the good of the human gene pool. Bejus! They obviously carry a lot of recessive, warped chromosomes in their DNA, because they can't smell SHIT when it's flung right in their faces.
Sen. Charles Schumer, who has likened $7 million in federal cuts to New York's bioterrorism programs to "rubbing salt in an open wound," voted to cut those programs by 10.4 percent last year, according to Senate records.
I don't care WHAT lies are in printed in that lying liars bunch of senate records. Chuckie says that he didn't vote that way, so he DIDN'T, by damn!
He read the bill, wrestled with his conscience over it, but was distracted at the last minute by being busy brain-farting new gun-control laws, which is what the people of
Get off his back, goddamit!
Speaking at a housing announcement in Westbury yesterday, Schumer suggested that the White House have (have?? There's proof of a right-wing conspiracy for you!) begun steering bioterror and homeland security funding to states with Republican majorities at the expense of Democratic-dominated areas such as
See? It's that evil, conniving George Bush, being Karl Rove's hand-puppet again. Oh! The humanity!!!. How would this nation EVER survive without a capable and trustworthy hand such as Chuck Schumer's on the Ship of State's tiller?
"This could well be political ... 2006 is a very tough election year and they want to send the money to the red states," he said, adding that the cuts "definitely disadvantage blue areas over red areas ... To treat us as a sort of second-class citizen is really un-American."
Spoken like a TRUE statesman, Chuck. YOU are an expert on what's "un-American" today, and I truly believe that you DO KNOW--- because you've made a got-dam career out of doing exactly THAT at every opportunity you've ever seen, you self-aggrandizing, over-inflated gasbag.
I'm ashamed of some of the political shitwads that my beloved state of Jawja has produced over the years. I ain't one bit proud of Herman Talmadge, Jimmah Carter, Roscoe Dean, JB Stoner or Cynthia McKinney.
But New Grok belly-crawling scum can trump ANYTHING that Jawja politicians ever thought of in terms of crookdom, lying, pandering and blantant assholery. Mario Cuamo. Hillary Clinton.
Looking at the political track record of that state, I can say only one good thing about New York: It ain't QUITE as fucked up as California. At least not yet.
But it's trying hard to be #1.
some people get all the breaks
Last night, I was bombarded with bible-spam, while this guy got an opportunity too good to pass up.
Life just ain't fair.
speaking of taste
My mama was raised on a farm. I've noticed a common trait among ALL people who tended their own live animals for a while, then slaughtered and ate those critters. They like their meat cooked to a crisp.
We never had steak at home when I was growing up. We couldn't afford it, for one thing, but I'm kinda glad we ate simple foods the way we did. My mama was a wonderful cook, but she woulda fucked up a decent steak by burning the crap out of it when I was a boy.
HER idea of a well-cooked piece of meat was one that she either boiled into a tender mush (like chicken in dumplings) or blackened like asphalt and cooked as stiff as a roof shingle (like sausage).
When I moved out on my own and started cooking my own suppers, I became pretty good at it. I never mastered the art of making biscuits and gravy the way Mama did, but I made BETTER hamburgers and I could cook a damngood steak.
I decided to treat my parents to a culinary delight once, years ago, so I bought several rib-eye steaks, some salad fixings, a few BIG-assed Idaho potatoes and a fat loaf of garlic bread. I went back to the old homestead and starting preparing supper for me, my brother, his darlin' wife, Mom and Dad. I got really imaginative and brought some candles to light and place strategically on the kitchen table, to create a romantic ambiance.
When I started to cook the steaks, I asked everybody how they wanted theirs. "Medium rare" was the choice of everybody but Mama. "I want mine well-done," she said.
I looked at those beautiful, marbled rib-eyes. I thought about the obscenity of cooking one of those to "well-done" and I wanted to poke Mama in the eye with a long-handled grill-fork for asking me to commit that kind of sin. So, I cheated. I LIED to my mama.
I cooked all four steaks medium rare, but when I served them, I made a big deal out of telling Mama, "Okay. This one is YOURS--- well-done, just the way you like it."
I figured that I could get away with the hoax. That's one of the really good things about dining by candle light, besides the romantic ambiance. You can't see the food very well, either.
Mama tore into that steak and ate it as if she had been starving for a week--- she even made those contented, blow-through-your nose "Ummmm" noises while she chewed. When she was finished, she said, "Rob, I believe that you just cooked the best steak I ever tasted. You've gotta tell me what kind of spices you use."
When we cleared the dirty dishes from the table, Mama turned on the kitchen light and was shocked by what she saw. "ROB!!! There's BLOOD on my plate!!! YOU told me that my steak was well-done!!!"
I told her that her steak WAS well-done (technically... it WAS, because... I DONE IT and she liked it VERY WELL) and she probably mistook some spilled salad dressing or KETCHUP for blood on her plate. "Mama," I said, "Would I lie to you about something like THAT?"
She didn't answer that question, because she knew what I had done. But I changed her life that day. She never WOULD ask for a medium-rare steak after that. She just said, "Cook it like you did the last one I had. That was pretty good." Heh. Don't ask, don't tell wasn't invented by Bill Clinton.
Sometimes, you've just gotta do things like that... for somebody else's own good.
what's wrong with that?
From my comments: "Whats wrong with ketchup on filet?"--- Buddy
If you don't already know the answer to that question, there ain't a damn thing that I can do to explain just how wrong that is. Ketchup has its place in this world, but it's gotta be the most abused seasoning in the world. And anybody who would put KETCHUP on a filet of beautiful beef tenderloin just needs to be dragged off and shot. Period.
Ketchup is good on crisp, golden-brown french fries. It's good on a grill-roasted hot dog. I use it when I make a two-fisted, grease-dripping hamburger, too. But I feel an almost irresistable urge to bitch-slap people who:
* Put ketchup on scrambled eggs.
* Slather ketchup on a good steak.
* Use ketchup as a "dip" when they eat raw vegetables such as broccoli, cucumber or carrots.
* Add it to home-made chili, to give it a "better" taste.
* Drown an otherwise perfectly good piece of chicken in it.
What the hell is WRONG with some of you people?
I slept good again last night. In fact, I dreamed sweet dreams and might have laid in the sack like a lightly-snoring corpse until sometime this afternoon, except for one small problem.
I awoke at 9:30 AM feeling the torture of the damned. I developed a CRAMP in my right FOOT and the thing hurt like hell. I started cussing and saying, "OY! OY! OY!" as I kicked off the covers and checked to see if I had a rusty knife stuck in my foot. Nope. No knife, but it WAS a bizarre sight to behold.
My delicate (but masculine) bare right foot was contorted with all
That was NOT a pretty sight, being that I'm an old, skinny Cracker who sleeps nekkid, and the term "monkey fucking a football" popped into my mind the way it does so often anymore when I observe my own behavior. But I got rid of the cramp, finally.
I think I know what caused it. That's what I get for eating a half-dozen home-grown tomatoes that I chilled in the refrigerator first, in spite of all the good-for-me advice that people gave me about NOT putting those tomatoes in the refrigerator. That'll learn ME to ignore good advice.
I ain't never gonna do THAT again!
Dayum! We've got some really blue-nosed tomato-nannies in this world today. Yesterday, I posted a picture of some 'maters that I picked from my garden, and I had the unmitigated gall to write that I intended to put them in the refrigerator to give them a nice chill before I ate them.
I might as well have said that I was gonna barbecue a neighbor's pet cat, too. Read the comments on that post and TRUST ME about the haughty, up-yours emails I received over that post. The bottom line is: I need to be dragged off and shot for even thinking about putting my tomatoes in the refrigerator. That's some kind of terrible, blasphemous thing to do to a tomato.
Well, folks, it's too late now. I never intended to KEEP the tomatoes in the refrigerator. I just wanted them chilled before I ATE THEM--- which I did last night--- with just a little salt on them. They were delicious, too. MUCH better than they would have tasted at room temperature.
If I offended you by chilling my tomatoes--- MINE, not YOURS!!!--- before I ate them, or if I rubbed your back-fur the wrong way by saying that I was gonna do it, well, I ain't apologizing to ya. Treat YOUR tomatoes any way you want to. Just don't hector me about how I should treat mine.
Good grief! People... why can't we all just get along?
If you ever wonder where anti-smoking Nazis, fat police and drug warriors come from, just tell folks that you're gonna put some home-grown, fresh tomatoes in your refrigerator. You'll find out. Do-gooders come swarming out of the dark to club you with aluminium baseball bats and string your intestines like ribbons from nearby trees.
Just for your own good, of course.
quote of the day
He's afraid, too:
"Believers in the literal truth of the Book of Revelations are collectively Shitting a Peach Pit, for 666 is the Number of the Beast. Whereas, 36D is the Number of the Breast."--- elisson
That guy is just begging to be hit by a lightning bolt from a clear, blue sky. He even scoffs at "Auntie Christ" and mentions that 666 is the area code for Arkham, Massachusetts.
I TOLD you folks that he was a got-dam Philistine!
(UPDATE!!! Now I know how he feeds his imagination.)
I don't think it's coincidence. Today is 6/6/6. I was hit with a 'lanche of BIBLE SPAM last night, starting just after midnight.
I am not making that shit up. Somebody nailed about 50 of my old posts with link-filled spam, advertising BIBLES for sale on line. Is that sick, or what?
I believe that the Antichrist is behind it.
more zero tolerance
What else is a school supposed to do? You've gotta treat a criminal like a criminal. If school officials don't hammer the boy now, he may grow up to graduate from eating a "staff member's" cookie today to robbing banks and molesting children tomorrow.
Gotta nip that crap in the BUD!
this is depressing
Holey-moley! Don't look at these pictures if you're easily depressed.
I don't understand why the place still looks the way it does so long after Katrina. When hurricane Hugo hit Charleston back in 1989, it whipped the livin' crap out of that city. I visited Charleston about six months after the storm and damage was still obvious in places, but nothing like what you see in New Orleans.
What causes that?
(UPDATE: Maybe the former residents of New Orleans are just waiting for FEMA to do this before they move back home.)
it makes me go...hmmm...
He takes better pictures than I do, but I swear... this guy ain't right in the head. He seems to think that the term "lightning bug" is quaint and charming, as if he never heard it before. WHATTHEHELL DO YOU CALL THEM, Mr. Smarty-pants? Huh?
Some romantic, beatnick, unbathed and venerial-diseased buttwipes call them "fireflys." Some stoned, long-haired, unbathed and venerial-diseased ex-hippies call them "Holyshit bugs" as in... "HOLY SHIT!!! Did you just see a bug go flying by with it's ASS on fire?"
Are those critters rare in Africa? I ain't believin' that shit. Africa has more creatures-per-square-inch that look like they came out of a 1930s science fiction pulp magazine than any other place on earth... except for maybe Austraila. You have red-assed baboons, blood-encrusted lions, dead zebras and...and... all kinds of scary African things around you all the time, but you decided to write a post about LIGHTNING BUGS???
Oh, man. Your priorities are...never mind. You probably play some kind of National Pastime Game involving a big deadwood stick, a zebra's amputated head and a bunch of hyena entrails wrapped in a lion skin and decorated with snake-blood.
Y'all all whoop and holler when somebody scores a "goal," by swinging that stick and knocking the amputated zebra's head up a dead water buffalo's ass. Then the losing team has to EAT the hyena's entrails, RAW---right out of the lion's skin.
Whoo-hoo! THAT'S what I call a contest.
Bejus. I think y'all could use a few lightning bugs in your life. Along with fewer poisonous snakes, not so many red-assed baboons and maybe John Kerry. Take him. For free
Got-dayum! Something made me think of the word "tweegatjakkals right now, but I don't know why. You started writing about
Get your monkeys to do that job... as long as they have a picture ID and don't cross the US border from the south. I need to be... I mean YOU need to be dragged off and shot. But I want your camera first.
Mine ain't worth a good diddly-squat, and I like to take pitchers.
June 05, 2006
an internet poll
I love internet polls and this is a good one. In MY humble opinion, he should hang a couple of big, pink, day-glow Christmas tree balls on it and name it "Roscoe," but that's just ME.
What do YOU think of a dogwood tree that sprouts... real wood?
I TOLD you folks that I can't take a good picture with my exotic, high-priced digital camera. It's a Fuji S-3100, will all the bells and whistles, including a 6X zoom lens.
Every got-dam picture I take with it turns out blurry. Like this one. I took about a dozen pictures of a beautiful nekkid woman on my last trip to Costa Rica, but those all turned out fucked up, so that you can't tell if the subject is a man or a woman, pretty or ugly, alive or a cheap inflatable love-doll. That's why I never posted any of them.
I HATE that camera.
But I managed to hobble out to my garden today to see if the hailstorm last night destroyed anything. Some of the plants look a little beat-down, but I still had some ripe tomatoes, a bell pepper and a few banana peppers that needed picking.
I took a shitty picture of them, which does NOT do them justice.
I put the tomatoes in the refrigerator, and when they get a nice chill on them, I'm gonna eat them like apples, with just a little salt on them.
I also have a LOT more where those came from.
When I posted about good writers being a lot like carpenters, I was thinking of Mark Steyn as a perfect example of what I meant. The guy is GOOD at his craft. You want to see skill? Go read him. He's DAMNED GOOD.
Check this one for quality workmanship. See what I mean?
Steyn is one of those writers that I read religiously, knowing that I will appreciate what he says, whether I agree with his point or not. He simply always says it so well that read it, then I hang my head and think, "I am not worthy."
HE is a true wordsmith.
i read the new today, oh boy...
Let's see what we have here in the Savannah Morning News. Ummm... we have a law requiring a picture ID before you can vote and a lot of people don't have one. IT'S A CRISIS!!! The government was supposed to provide picture IDs to welfare queens and dead Democrats, but government hasn't done that yet.
The excuse is, according to Sandra Williams, Chatham County's voter registration director, "We're still waiting for complete information from the state... they haven't said when it will be forthcoming."
Government in action.
Another front-page article says, "Have No Fear as 6-6-06 Draws Near." That's comforting to read, but I am disturbed by "the nexus of theology, mathematics and commercialism" that makes a big deal out of what really is a perfectly ordinary day.
I can't express stupidity any better than this: "Many people avoid the number; they're afraid of it almost and there's absolutely no reason to be afraid of it... It is not supposed to be taken as a timetable for when the world is going to end."
Heh. Tell that to Al Gore. The anti-Christ isn't going to get us. Global Warming WILL, and we've already reached a "tipping point," where WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
Page Two: I believe Al Gore. The seven day weather forecast for Chatham County predicts temperatures with highs in the 90s and lows around 65 degrees, with a 10% chance of rain every day. Without a doubt... WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
Also... some kids in Rice Mills Subdivision, about six miles away from where I live, ignited "Molotov Cocktails" in the woods nearby and actually set fire to one of those orange traffic cones that non-working "construction" assholes place along the road so that they can sleep peacefully in a DOT truck when they're supposed to be performing road repairs. Police are on Red Alert about that.
Bejus! Those kids have no imagination at all. If they had any vision, they'd be launching home-made rockets with toads strapped to them they way I did when I was young. But a Coke bottle filled with gasoline that has a rag stuffed in the top is a "poor man's hand grenade," and I think Homeland Security may become involved before THIS kind of terrorism is thwarted.
The cops are calling it an investigation of "explosives." They are urging residents of that subdivision to be "extra vigilant" and "report any suspicious activity." Fuck me dead. I oughta call them and report a suspicious-looking COP prowling my neighborhood and see what they do about THAT.
Somebody's "civil rights" were allegedly violated by the Tybee Island Police. BWHAHAHAHAAAA!!! A disgruntled citizen of Tybee put up a bunch of signs in his yard that said the Tybee cops were "gestapo." To prove him wrong, Tybee cops came with a search warrant and raided his home. The story gets confusing after that, because the cops cuffed a 14 year-old "child" and put that menace to society in a squad car while they searched the home.
Hey Catfish!!! Ever been fucked with by Tybee cops? Me, neither. BWHAHAHAAA!!
In the local news, yesterday was a slow day. No black yoots shot and killed any other black yoots. That's rare. But the police DID arrest two white shitasses for committing church burglaries. At first, I thought, "WTF did they want to steal from a CHURCH???" They took televisions and a CD player, plus a wireless microphone. Mster criminals, both locked up in the Chatham County jail now.
On the sports page, some guy I never heard of before collected over $1 million for winning a golf tournament in Dublin, Ohio. I looked at the final scores and realized that I never heard of ANYBODY in the top ten, except for Phil Mickelson, who won $237,000 for finishing in a tie for sixth place. David Duvall made the cut, but he shot 82 in the final round and finished dead last. He still collected $11,040 dollars.
I don't pay much attention to professional golf anymore. I think it's becoming obscene.
The Atlanta Braves lost again. Nadia Comaneci (remember her?) had a baby, fathered by Bart Conner (remember HIM?). I wonder what two Olympic gymnasts look like when they sport-fuck. Reckon they indulge in some very intriguing positions?
Somebody in a decal-covered car won a NASCAR race in Dover, Delaware. That's another "sport" that I don't pay attention to anymore, especially when they race in Delaware. If they ain't down South, it ain't really a NASCAR race, in MY humble opinion. And if I don't have $10 invested in a race pool, I don't give a shit who wins.
The magazine section had a decent crossword puzzle that took me almost 20 minutes to finish. The Dilbert comic strip was pretty good, and Hagar wasn't bad, either. I don't do math, so I don't understand the fascination with Sudoku puzzles. I've NEVER been able to solve one of those, not even when I try the ones designed for six year-olds. Fuck a Sudoko.
Home Depot has Poulan chain saws and Ryobi weed-whackers on sale. If I could drive that far, I might go buy one of each. I LIKE power tools, even when all they do is sit unused in my garage.
Oh, something else, too. The Morning News has a couple of BLOGS on it now. I've never read them, because the SMN requires registration to read their on-line stuff, and I don't register for ANYBODY. Who the hell do they think they are anyway? And if they want a GOOD local blogger, they should hire ME.
The newspaper. I just don't know what I would do without it.
jobs i don't want
I finally felt well enough to drive to the bank today to deposit a check that's been laying on my coffee table for three weeks now. I filled out a deposit slip before I left the Crackerbox and I wanted $100 in cash, and the rest of the money put in my checking account.
I saw an amazing thing at the bank. The cashier asked for a picture ID, so I showed her my driver's license. Then, she punched some numbers into a machine on her desk, and the damn thing spit out five $20 bills and gave me a receipt for my deposit.
I asked her... (her name was "Dawn," which I learned by reading the name-tag she wore on her ample bosum)... "Darlin'... does that machine count ALL of the money that you handle? You don't get to... like... actually COUNT IT YOURSELF anymore?"
She grinned and replied, "No, sir. This machine is BETTER than I am at counting money. It never makes a mistake and it's made my job easier."
I took my $100 and walked out of there stunned. WHY would you ever want to work in a bank if you can't handle a LOT of money, even if it's not yours? Banks will give you a TITLE, like Vice President of something, but they don't pay SHIT for wages.
I couldn't do that for a living. I would rather rob the bank and count all the money MYSELF!
Another job I don't want is being a pharmacist. The last precription I had filled was for Pepcid, and the young GIRL, about my daughter's age, gave me the pills after she entered all kinds of crap on a computer, then handed me a bottle of 30 pills that boasted... in her own handwriting... "triple counted."
Bejus. She "triple counted" PEPCID???
If I worked there, I would end up stealing a grocery bag full of hydrocodone and hopping the next flight to Costa Rica. I MIGHT "triple count" every pill I stole after I made it through Customs with that shit duct-taped to my crotch and encased in a condom that I stuck up my ass.
Those are two jobs that I don't want.
WHY work in a bank if YOU can't count the money? WHY work in a pharmacy if you have to nit-count PEPCID, for cryin' out loud? Naw... those jobs aren't for me.
I would end up with about $100,000 that wasn't mine (blame THAT error on "the machine") and I would be driving a fork lift to haul pain-killers on a pallet out of the drug store. I would end up in Costa Rica with lots of stolen money and gallon jugs full of Vicodin and Perocet decorating every shelf in my rented home, on the beach, complete with a maid who not only cleaned my house, but slept with me, too.
I also would have my picture thumbtacked to the wall in every post office in this country, where they serve up posters for "America's Most Wanted" criminals. BWHAHAAAA!!!
I could live with that, which is why I don't want to work in a bank or in a pharmacy.
Hell... if I were a cop, I would wanna conduct a strip-search of this woman. Um... the handcuff idea appeals to the beast in me, too.
A spanking... her bent over a squad car... Oh, MY!!!
I may be a half-crippled old fart, but that fantasy kinda makes me wanna flash my blue lights and sound my siren. In the Name of the Law, of course.
I think the barrel of my pistol just got longer, too.
(By the way, darlin'... about half of your pictures didn't post.)
(UPDATE!!! Never mind. I can see them now. What the hell causes THAT???)
When I was in Willingway Hospital, I could always count on getting three things whenever I wanted them. Those were good food, lots of strong coffee and peppermint candy. No matter how much coffee people drank there, everybody had sweet-smelling breath from eating peppermint candy.
Peppermint candy. It was piled in little baskets outside every meeting room I entered. People crackled when they walked from having pieces of that plastic-wrapped stuff in their pockets. That place was a dentist's wet dream, with everybody sucking on sugary mints all the time.
Hell--- to this day, I keep a big tub of candy on my coffee table. All that sugar is supposed to satisfy your craving for alcohol, so I eat it like... well... candy all the time. Friends love to come visit, because they can help themselves to Hershey Bars and miniature Milky Ways, plus bubble gum and Sweet Tarts if they want them. It's like Halloween every day at MY house.
That's what government tries to do today, except for the first two. Food? We've got the Fat Police looking into THAT part of our lives. Strong coffee? That's got caffiene in it, and we have the Drug Police looking into THAT part of our lives. But peppermint candy?
That's what government FEEDS US today. It tastes sweet. The nutritional value may be zilch, but--- it's FREE!!!--- and everybody likes something for nothing.
Listen to politicians speak today. They ALL promise FREE CANDY for EVERYBODY. Ain't they GREAT???
If they were honest, they'd say, "Suck on THIS!" because that's what they really do once elected to office.
quote of the day
Speaking of the Marriage Amendment that I ranted about a few posts below this one:
"Given the WSJ poll that showed earmarks and immigration as the #1 and #2 concerns of voters, why not try addressing those issues sensibly, instead of trying to run on symbolism? Just a thought . . . ."--- glenn reynolds
I believe that Glenn is an intelligent man, but that's a dumb-fucknut question. Politicians today are scared shitless of "addressing... issues sensibly." They don't wish to be accountable for anything, so they choose to posture rather than lead.
When I was a supervisor in a chemical plant, I had to make decisions every day. I may not have been controlling the fate of this nation, but at least I did something when somebody needed to step up to the plate and swing. I didn't cower and pontificate while staying the hell away from the batter's box.
Where is a Thomas Jefferson or even a Ronald Reagan today? WE'VE got George (never veto NOTHING!) Bush and Nancy Pelosi (ODC of IP---Official Dingbat in Charge of the Idiot Party). Bejus save us once again.
I agree with Glenn when he says, "The 1990s were a fool's paradise," because we had a fool running the country at the time. That man wanted to be President so that he could get LAID. If Bill Clinton was the best we could do then, no wonder we elect clowns such as Arlen Specter and Cynthia McKinney now. We are a NATION of damn fools.
I wanna secede from the Union. I don't WANT such idiots telling ME what to do. They're all about as bright as 20-watt light bulbs and they all have the spines of jellyfish. THAT bunch of cretins should be wallowing in a filthy bed of hay and biting the heads off live chickens in a carnival geek-show instead of pretending to "lead" this country.
If I sound pissed off, that's because I AM!
My friend Catfish is on some new drugs now. He's missing a couple of discs in his back and I think he's got more problems with pain than I do. He's already been dead once, but the emergency room folks managed to jump-start his heart and he lived to tell that story. (He also told me that he didn't see any bright light or feel the hand of God when he was clinically DEAD. He said that he didn't see or feel ANYTHING. He died and didn't even know it, until he woke up in the hospital.)
He's on Duragesic Patches now, which are a time-release type of morphene.
I remember the last time I saw the best friend I've ever had--- steve hamby. He was in the last stages of dying from prostate cancer and he wore the same kind of patches plastered all over his chest. Not just one or two, but six or seven at a time, the heavy-duty 100mg kind.
That should have been enough morphene to kill a horse, but Steve didn't act fucked up when he was patched up. In fact, he took me for a car ride all over Augusta once when I went to visit him and he drove better than most other people on the road.
I talked to Cat today and he says he can't tell that the patches are doing anything for him. I told him what Steve told me: the patches don't get you HIGH, but they dull bone cancer pain fairly well. Steve wore so many at once that he resembled a well-wrapped mummy when he took his shirt off.
I hope the patches work for Cat. Hell, if I could get my hands on some, I might try to chew 'em up and swallow them. Hurtin' all the time ain't no fun at all.
Besides--- if Cat gets too decrepit to walk anymore, where am I gonna go fishing and shoot my non-existant guns?
Somebody gave me a Christmas present a couple of years ago that came in an Indian River Fruit Company cardboard box. I don't remember what the present was, but I kept the box because it's a heavy-duty, double-thick, built-to-last container, perfect for storing potatoes, onions, grapefruit, oranges and other such edibles that don't require refrigeration.
Just don't leave 'em in the box too long.
Two days ago, I started noticing fruit flies buzzing around in various rooms of my house. The little bastards don't bite, but they are annoying as hell. I killed a bunch of them, but I kept finding more of 'em every day.
I checked my kitchen garbage can. Nope. No fruit flies there. The kitchen sink had a few dirty dishes in it, but no fruit flies. I wondered where the pestiferous bastids were coming from, and I thought about the box of fruit in the corner.
I grabbed a can of Raid, walked over to the storage box and gave it a swift kick. Fruit flies came boiling out of there. I gassed them with Raid, then searched for their home base.
It wasn't the potatoes or the Vidalea onions. It wasn't the grapefruit or the oranges. It was a got-dam PINEAPPLE I bought at Kroger's a couple of weeks ago when they had a Two-For-One sale in the produce department. I ate one of the pineapples and totally forgot about the other one.
Bejus! That pineapple became slightly... uh... over-ripe and gave birth to a bumper crop of fruit flies. I stuffed the squishy pineapple into a plastic bag, which stirred up ANOTHER swarm of fruit flies, so I gassed them, then I took the
I still have a few stray bugs flying around the Crackerbox, but I got rid of most of 'em. I'll pick off the rest one by one.
Think about THIS the next time you eat "fresh" fruit from a grocery store:
The reproductive potential of fruit flies is enormous; given the opportunity, they will lay about 500 eggs. The entire lifecycle from egg to adult can be completed in about a week.
You've probably eaten the larvae without noticing them. And if you store fruits and vegetables in a cardboard box in your kitchen, you're asking for trouble.
Trust me on that one.
I was watching TV last night when the movie I chose to see was interrupted by a severe weather warning. A dangerous thunderstorm, complete with high winds and marble-sized hail, was headed east toward MacIntosh County. All residents of that area were alerted and told to stay indoors, hunker down, and DON'T go outside waving a golf club in the air.
I saw lightning flashing in the distance and heard the rolling thunder off to the west of where I live. I thought, "Just damn! I could USE some of that!" But the weather service said that all the excitement would occur to the south of the Crackerbox.
The weather service lied. At 11:30 last night, the sky opened up and rain poured down. Lightning flashed as if photographers were taking a lot of pictures right outside my windows. The house shook with the force of thunder. Hail started bouncing off my roof and it sounded like someone beating the shingles with drumsticks.
The show tapered off at about 1:00 in the morning. I fell asleep on my couch with the comforting sound of water running through the rain gutters and pounding the sidewalk as if someone were taking a good shower outside my front door.
I slept like a baby in a cradle until almost noon today.
I wobbled outside to pick up the morning paper and I decided to check my rain gauge, which has been so dry for so long that spiders were living there the last time I looked at it. I had slightly more than 1" of rain in slightly less than two hours last night. The spiders were washed out of their home. The grass is already turning green again. The morning air smelled sweet, as if it has been run through a scrubber and perfumed, just for me.
I talked on the phone to my friend, catfish, who lives in MacIntosh County, and he said that he didn't get a DROP of rain last night. His land still is as dry as a popcorn fart. So much for the accuracy of weather forecasters.
All I have to say is... "Gimme MORE of what I got last night!" I enjoy seeing a good thunderstorm, and Bejus knows that we need some rain around here.
I'll take all you've got to offer, even if you DO interrupt the movie I was watching to tell me that it's headed somewhere else.
Tomorrow's date is 6/6/6. I'm not worried about it. I believe that satan tried to get here for the occasion, but he chose the wrong host
He fucked up when he imbedded himself in a fucked up duck.
My Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary defines "obscene" as "disgusting to the senses: replusive; abhorrent to morality or virtue; COARSE." I can't think of a better word to describe this crap.
With all the serious problems facing the country today, our government decides to "tackle" one that is purely symbolic. It's a bunch of sound and fury, signifying nothing, which is what government seems to do best anymore.
``Ages of experience have taught us that the commitment of a husband and wife to love and to serve one another promotes the welfare of children and the stability of society,'' Bush said in his weekly radio address. ``Government, by recognizing and protecting marriage, serves the interests of all.''
Bejus. It's "For The Children." Run for your life when a politician uses those words.
I don't think we have a politician alive now who has any business amending the Constitution for ANYTHING, especially when those idiots regularly wipe their butts with the Constitution we already have--- one written by people with a lot more integrity than any gasbag you'll find posturing in Washington DC today. Just listen to the rhetoric:
``A vote for this amendment is a vote for bigotry pure and simple,'' said Democratic Sen. Edward M. Kennedy of Massachusetts, where the state Supreme Court legalized gay marriages in 2003.
When THAT pillar of morality speaks, we need to pay attention.
``It's politics. It's pandering and it's placating a core constituency, the evangelicals,'' Newsom (Mayor of San Francisco---ed) said on ABC's ``Good Morning America.''
C'mon, people. It's BULLSHIT. That's what it IS, and both sides are showing their asses on this issue. As for myself, I oppose ANY amendment to the Constitution--- but I could tolerate this one, for purely selfish reasons, just because it upsets a feminist applecart.
It would damn sure change the way divorce is handled in court.
Let Mary take Sally as a lawfully wedded... wife?... life partner?... spouse? Then let them divorce, especially if they are allowed to adopt a few children during their "marriage."
How is a judge gonna handle THAT case when he's accustomed to simply throwing the book at the MAN in a divorce? Who gets custody of the kids? Who pays alimony and child support? Who is the "victim" then?
Hot dayum! That kind of confusion can't do anything but benefit ME in the long run.
``In our free society, people have the right to choose how they live their lives,'' Bush said. ``And in a free society, decisions about such a fundamental social institution as marriage should be made by the people, not by the courts.''
What planet is Bush living on? It ain't earth, and it damn sure ain't in the United States today. Government already tries to micro-manage our "free" society right down to the molecular level. We, as "free" people, aren't allowed to make many decisions anymore, because we might choose WRONG. Government intrudes into EVERY aspect of our lives today, simply for our own good.
That's why you need an ID to purchase Sudafed in a drug store today.
The proposed amendment is foolish, politically-motivated and totally unneccessary. It's bound to fail, but it remains a perfect example of how overgrown and arrogant government has become.
June 04, 2006
I've always liked to write, but I also always suffered from a curse that I believe is common for English-language users. I can't spell worth a damn.
Usually, I can explain away a mangled, misspelled word by calling it a typo, but I ain't foolin' myself when I do that. I'm just trying to fool YOU.
I learned all the "rules" of grammar and spelling back when I was still in elementary school. But as I grew older and I tried to PRACTICE those rules, I realized just how ridiculous they are. "'I' before 'E,' except after 'C.'" Right.
Betcha a dollar that I can show you a couple of "exceptions" to that rule, which is another got-dam thing I never understood about English or English teachers: "The exception proves the rule." What kind of happy horseshit is THAT??? In MY humble opinion, any rule with that many exceptions ain't a farooking RULE. It's a "suggestion," and one that may frequently be WRONG.
I've said before that writing, for someone who likes to write, isn't so much a creative exercise as it is a display of craftsmanship, much like a skilled carpenter building a house. The carpenter has the right tools and he knows how to use them. Give him a stack of lumber, a few boxes of nails and a building permit, and he'll MAKE a house out of it.
Writing isn't much different, except for the fact that it's one hell of a lot easier to cut a 2" X 4" piece of wood into proper lengths with a circular saw than it is to string a lot of words together and have them all match up when you're finished. Plus, I can build something out of wood and tell by looking at it when it's finished whether I did a good job or not.
I can't do the same when I write. I may think that I got all the angles precise, ran all the pipes plumb and wired it flawlessly, but I never know for sure until somebody else opens the front door, flips a light switch and flushes the commode a few times. For all I know, the door isn't on its hinges, the lights aren't on and there's an elephant trying to give birth in a screaming toilet.
Strange, but true. I can LOOK at a piece of wood and tell whether it's any good or not. One that's nice and smooth, with a straight grain and no ugly knots in it OBVIOUSLY is better for a building project than that warped, knotty, gap-cut, splinter-encrusted piece of shit right next to it on the shelf at Home Depot. When an 8' length costs the same price for either one, which are YOU gonna buy?
I may fuck up that board when I get back home and begin sawing and driving nails into it, but at least I started with the right raw material. Set out with that warped, knotty sucker and how well you can use a tape measure, how well you can operate a saw, or how straight you can drive a nail doesn't matter. You were doomed from the beginning.
Words are like those lengths of wood in Home Depot. When you want to build something pretty, use the good stuff. Buy smart. Cut straight. But if you have no higher ambition than to slap up an outhouse in the back yard and let rampaging kudzu vines cover it up so that you never have to paint it, who cares what kind of wood you use? That ain't important.
Good wordsmiths can tell the difference and they chose wood from the shelf depending on what it's going to be used for when the building begins. If they want pretty, they build pretty, using pretty wood. But ugly also has its place in this world. A rose is a rose and it oughta look like one... but an outhouse is an outhouse and it should LOOK like one, too.
The English language ain't the straightest nail a carpenter ever tried to hammer into a good piece of wood. Don't get me wrong--- I believe that the language is beautiful, and it lends itself wonderfully to melodious poetry, descriptive writing and poignant song lyrics. But damn if it isn't an unweildy tool sometimes, especially with the odd spelling.
(My daddy always told me that I would never find a better dog than an ugly mutt. "Mutts KNOW they're ugly. They'll eat anything, and they're just grateful to have a home. Be good to one and it'll be the best friend you ever had."
He said that once at the kitchen table when he was feeling all philosophical after he came home from work and quaffed a big glass of Jim Beam and water. Mama was cooking supper and I couldn't resist my feral impulses. I knew that she heard what he said, so I asked, "Hey, Mama! Is that why Daddy married YOU? You were a mutt, needin' a good home?"
She flicked a piece of biscuit dough at me. "Yeah, that's right. Your daddy was a bastard who married a mutt. Whaddya you think that makes YOU?"
No wonder I turned out so warped, growing up in a home like that.)
But, I digress. The problem with English is that... it IS a MUTT!!! It's got Germanic roots, all tangled in Romantic sub-roots, mixed up with slang and idioms that vary from coast to coast in the same country, confusing regional accents and Gawd only knows what else thrown in, with acronyms and hip-talk seasoning the gumbo. And it keeps evolving (or mutating) every year.
I'm doing the best I can just to SPEAK English anymore. Don't expect me to spell it, too.
* You may have to produce a photo ID to purchase Sudafed in a drug store anymore, but you don't need ID papers to vote. I'm confused by that idea, but obviously I mistook her true meaning, even if her words are on tape. Ya see... she never said that... and if she DID, the tape simply distorts her true meaning, which was... I dunno... something other than what she actually said.
* I read about this story yesterday and immediately searched a few leftoid blogs to see what THEY had to say about it. They said NOTHING, of course, because it doesn't fit their "Blame Bush For Everything" agenda. And we don't really face any terrorist threats anyway. 9/11 and the collapse of the World Trade Center was an elaborate hoax. It NEVER HAPPENED!!! What we REALLY have to fear is Bush. Bejus. Read this and realize exactly who WANTS us to lose the war that ain't really a war.
* Roger Ebert is a dickhead. I love his review of An Inconvienent Truth," a movie tailor-made for his kind.
I want to write this review so every reader will begin it and finish it. I am a liberal, but I do not intend this as a review reflecting any kind of politics. It reflects the truth as I understand it, and it represents, I believe, agreement among the world's experts.
Yep. And I believe that the artificial butter-flavored substitute poured on movie-theater popcorn kills massive numbers of brain cells, too, as well as destroying delicate rain-forests and turning strange-looking dipwits into scientists. Read this statement carefully. It's how Roger "understands" things.
Gore says that although there is "100 percent agreement" among scientists, a database search of newspaper and magazine articles shows that 57 percent question the fact of global warming, while 43 percent support it. These figures are the result, he says, of a disinformation campaign started in the 1990s by the energy industries to "reposition global warming as a debate." It is the same strategy used for years by the defenders of tobacco. My father was a Luckys smoker who died of lung cancer in 1960, and 20 years later it was still "debatable" that there was a link between smoking and lung cancer. (In 1980? Really???--ed.) Now we are talking about the death of the future, starting in the lives of those now living.
Lemme get this straight. "Scientists," including such reknowned experts as dermatolgists, herbalists, Tarot-card readers and movie-reviewers are in "100% agreement" about human-induced Global Warming being a fact, except for the 57% who don't agree. And the people who say that man-made Global Warming is a steaming crock of absolute bullshit are responsible for causing cancer deaths by Lucky Strike cigarettes, which is what killed Roger's father, which proves how evil ALL wetland-draining, suntan-getting, gas-guzzling, SUV-driving, CO2-spewing, ignorant drones that people are, ...or something like that. The connection is obvious to anyone who makes a living by sitting in air-conditioned movie theaters and eating grease-encrusted, butter-flavored popcorn. Just dayum. It's tough to argue with that kind of thinking. In fact, you CAN'T. That's a lot like arguing with an unplugged refrigerator and believing that the meat inside spoiled because of climate change instead of a lack of electricity. Chalk up another victory for science when Roger climbs on board the GW bandwagon. (It's just unfortunate that Roger's father didn't die before he produced a blithering idiot for a son.)
* A skinny, wimp-looking moonbat IS a special forces soldier if he CLAIMS to be one, especially when he doesn't like the military or the war in Iraq. Leftoids LOVED that guy, and they sucked up every word he had to say like warm milk from Mama's tit--- until he was exposed as a total fraud--- but that doesn't mean that he wasn't absolutely correct in everything he said about the military.
* I saw the sun rise in the WEST this morning. Honest. I really DID! And the sun was trailing a big banner behind it that said, "BUSH LIED!!! Brought to you by the thousands of innocent American citizens currently rotting in the Guantanamo Bay gulag today, without being charged with any crime and without access to a lawyer." I wouldn't lie to you about something like THAT!
Oh--- before I forget. Remember the post I wrote about dropping a full ashtray behind my bass guitar amp and spilling cigarette butts and ashes all over my floor yesterday? Well, I looked behind my amp this morning and the carpet is as clean as a mound of freshly-fallen snow. No spilled ashtray. No cigarette butts or ashes. No mess AT ALL.
See? It never happened... because it just didn't fit with what I want this world to be like. And if I WISH hard enough, I can make my fantasies become real. Or close enough that I can comfortably ignore things that I don't want to see.
Try it! It works!
Does anybody know WHO it is or WHY I've picked up a trackback spammer who keeps bombing me with a "Blog Verification" notice that uses a different six-digit number every time he (or she) drops by to beshit my site? It's just a number with no hyperlink attached, so I don't understand what that crap is all about.
One of you computer-whiz people need to explain to me exactly how that kind of vandalism is supposed to work. WTF is the purpose behind it? I've blacklisted the butt-plug about a dozen times now and deleted his grafitti, but it keeps coming back with a DIFFERENT six-digit number every time I blacklist one, and every time it's a "Blog Verification," whatever the hell THAT is.
I HAVE a blog. If you want to "verify" that fact, just try www.gutrumbles.com. That will take you right to my Home Page.
DUH!!?? What am I missing here?
I have an appointment to go see another orthopedic specalist about my shoulders. I think I'm gonna ask the guy to harpoon me with steroids again, because I really DO believe that the last shots I took helped some. They didn't CURE me, but they did lessen the severity of the problem and they did increase the range of motion I have in my arms.
But that was a temporary fix and it's wearing off now. I think I could use a booster shot or two.
I also intend to tell THIS guy to stop beating around the bush and give me a straight answer. If I need surgery, let's go ahead and do it. Tomorrow. ASAP. At his earliest convenience. Whatever.
I don't think that's too much to ask.
it's a conspiracy!
I blame terrorists. Or drug pushers. Or disgruntled postal workers.
All I know for sure is... I've seen several stories like this one lately, and that crap frightens the hell out of me.
It's one thing to shoot at me, wire my automobile ignition switch to a bomb under the driver's seat, or sic a divorce lawyer on my ass with the intention of stealing everything that I own. In a perverse sort of way, I can UNDERSTAND that kind of mindless behavior. Some angry people really enjoy being total assholes.
But when nut-balls start planting SNAKES in cars and airplanes... well, that's just going a step too far in viciousness and cruelty. I would much rather have somebody throw a live hand grenade at me than leave a got-dam snake in my vehicle.
Not even one of my ex-wives has stooped THAT low yet, and they both can limbo under a stick layin' flat on the ground. They may get some really good ideas for making me miserable or dead that they haven't tried yet if they keep reading such stories in the news.
Snakes!!!. Sweet Bejus! I ain't afraid of dying, but I damn sure don't want to do it of a heart attack while I drown in my own shit. In a car or an airplane. In the dark. When I'm alone... with a got-damn snake crawling over me!
We live in a crazy world.
June 03, 2006
At the risk of being politically-INcorrect, I'm gonna lay some plain truth on the line here. If I offend your delicate sensibilities, I'm sorry, even if I do think that you're just oversensitive. You can run, you can hide, and you can stick you head under a blanket while shouting, "I can't heeeeear you!" and that's not gonna change the facts.
We have stereotypes because they are well-deserved by stereotyped people, because they display certain traits consistently. Look around. You can see it for yourself.
* The Irish are natural-born pacifists. Maybe if that tea-totalling bunch would take a drink every now and then, they'd quit being such wimps and learn to FIGHT instead of whimpering in fear all the time. They're very bigoted, too, because they hate cops and red-headed people.
* The Chinese have rhythm. Their kids are born dancing and they never stop. Something in their genetic makeup causes them to be averse to learning to read and write, so the Chinese have a well-deserved reputation for producing offspring who are poor students in school. But they HAVE tried to assimilate in this country. They realized years ago that naming a child "Fang" or "Wonton" or "Chow" might make him an object of ridicule, so they started giving their children American names, such as "Placenta," "Turdell" and "LaToyota."
* Jews are just crazy. They run around siring illegitimate children all over the place and about 70% of 'em live on welfare. The other 30% are in jail for murder. They have NO sense of family whatsoever. They're all drunks, too. Just go look at a Jewish neighborhood. There's a got-dam bar on every corner, and drunk Jews passed out in the street and sleeping on bus stop benches, right between the crack-dealers and the pimps.
* Blacks just won't get with the program. How do they EVER expect to earn equality in this country when black kids just want to READ all the time? Bejus! Tell that young'un to get his nose out of that book, steal himself a set of boxer drawers and a pair of pants two sizes too large. DRESS for SUCCESS. Learn to say "muthafuckah" at least twice in every sentence uttered, in between "y'know?" and "know what I be sayin'?" And what's with this wanting a JOB and working all the time? SHEESH! You be crazy?
* Southern Men shouldn't be so feminine. Gawd! What is it about hot weather that makes those men such pussies? Show 'em a gun and they scream like a woman. Hell, show 'em TWO GUNS and they piss their pants. And they have absolutely NO IDEA about how to treat a lady, because they have NO got-dam manners whatsoever. No wonder the South lost the Civil War if THAT'S the best the South could muster.
* Southern Wimmen shouldn't be so masculine. Them wimmen walk around scratching their BALLS, people! They chew tobacco and target-spit. They pull ticks off dogs by using their TEETH, if they've still got any. They're about the most UN-FEMININE creature you'll ever encounter outside a National Forest. They sweat like mules and smell about the same. If THEY fought in the Civil War, the South woulda won.
* Yankees are the most civilized people on earth. They speak with melodious accents that make you think of cold molasses pouring from a ewer and the wimmen are all thin, dainty and totally devoid of facial hair. The men have strong, muscular legs, which look better than ever when decorated with black socks and sandals. These people tan easily and often become so darkly-bronzed by late spring that they are mistaken for African-Americans, except for places such as Detroit and Chicago, where they actually ARE African-Americans.
* Californians are remarkable for their stability and rock-ribbed conservatism. Not the type to be hypnotized by glitter, glamor and glitz, Californians display an independent, self-reliant nature that is reminescent of the early pioneers who first settled this wild country. About half of all Californians have coke spoons wedged up their noses, but that still leaves the other 50% who merely have lots of tattoos, body-piercings and memories of a previous life as a palmetto bug. In this nutty world, it's nice to have California as a center of stability today.
* Hillbillies are just plain pathetic. They won't work, they're dishonest and they inbreed a lot. They develop a warped view of life because they grow up walking sidehill all the time, which is enough to make ANYBODY fucked up. (YOU try it for a while and you'll see what I mean!) They all cook moonshine, let their kids run around with no pants on, and have at least three old trucks up on blocks outside the mobile home with the leaking roof where they live, six families to the single-wide. With a kudzu-covered, wooden outhouse out back.
* Greeks all look like Anthony Quinn (even the wimmen). They like to dance a perverted-lookin' polka-thing, and they drink a melted-licorice syrup called "uzo," which will knock you right on your ass if you ain't careful with THAT stuff. No wonder Greeks act goofy all the time. They DO, however, know how to pitch one hell of a wedding celebration, but I would NEVER marry a Greek woman. I've got this thing about not being attracted to wimmen who have thicker beards than I do... which may also apply to Greek men, which explains why they drink so much uzo.
Politicians may come from any state, any community or any background. But they all have one thing in common: they want to do "GOOD," while getting rich at the same time. I have a litmus test that I want to give to a LOT of politicians today. If I can brush the flies off a dog turd, stick it in a person's mouth and that person can continue grinning and talking while just kinda tonguing that dog turd between cheek and gum like a chaw of tobacco, without ever missing a beat, I'll show you a REAL politician. We elect such people to high office all the time.
I'm just glad that I don't "stereotype" people. I'm too enlightened for that kind of crap.
two ripe tomatoes
I picked two baseball-sized ripe tomatoes from my garden this morning. I also harvested two more squash and a pretty good-looking bell pepper, plus 13 banana peppers and a double-handful of new potatoes (that I collected by just kicking down about a foot of mound, and then rolling the potatoes out with my bare foot. Diggin' bothers my shoulders.)
Now, I gotta figure out what I'm going to do with my bounty. I put a nice 2" thick New York Strip steak out to thaw, and I think I'll sautee the new potatoes in real butter with shredded cheese and smashed garlic, with some chives, salt and pepper sprinkled all over. Maybe slice the squash and cook it with the potatoes.
I'm gonna stick the tomatoes and the banana peppers in the refrigerator for a couple of hours, then slice them up and make veggie-bobs, with some bell pepper, pineapple chunks and Vidalea onion stuck on the skewers, too. I'll douse that stuff with some soy sauce, a little squeeze-on margerine, salt and pepper, then sizzle 'em on the grill when I cook my steak, with some damp mesquite chips scattered in the charcol... and lots of good-smelling smoke... OOO-RAH!!!
Just damn! If I wasn't back on the wagon again, I'd like to have a nice glass of burgandy wine to go with that meal. Oh, well... I'll just have to make do with decaffienated iced tea, very sweet and VERY strong.
Just think about it!!! Except for the steak and the Vidalea onion, the chives and the margerine, and the garlic and the soy sauce, the charcol and the mesquite chips and the pineapple and the tea.... I GREW IT ALL MYSELF!!!
I'm damn PROUD of it, too.
I very seldom delete a post I wrote, just as I VERY seldom delete any of my comments. Oh, I may do some creative editing on the words of a scum-sucking, idiotic troll, but usually I let feces stick the to wall wherever it was flung in my comments, whether I agree, disagree or even think that the asshole who dropped a load of dung there needs to be dragged off and shot.
But I DID have an epipheny of some kind last night, and I had it over the phone. I don't LIKE to talk on the phone, I HATE 99% of the phone calls I receive, and I often am tempted to drag my got-dam PHONE outside and shoot it, especially when it rings at night.
But every now and then... I make the call... and such goodness falls right into my undeserving lap from thousands of miles away, that I talk to someone with time flying by unnoticed, and when I finally hang up, I feel... happy. Bouyed! HOPEFUL--- bathed in sunshine after I've been looking up from the bottom of a deep, dark hole for quite a while.
Darlin'... I wanna send you flowers. Hell!! I wanna come cut your grass, cook you a nice dinner and rub your back until you fall asleep by candlelight. (Just don't ask me to clean your kitchen. The phone call wasn't THAT good.)
Thanks, sweetness. I mean that from the bottom of my old, jaded, balding-Cracker heart. And you KNOW who you are.
I'm not usually a clumsy person. I have GOOD hand-eye coordination. I play several different musical instruments, I'm a fairly good shot with both pistol and rifle, and I can juggle. In fact, I can thread a needle all by myself, if I wear some heavy-duty reading glasses so that I can see what I'm doing.
But I just fucked up. Did a blunder. Made a faux pas. Created a mess.
The ashtray on the table next to my computer was almost full. I decided to empty it. I picked it up, turned to walk to the nearest trash can, and bumped my elbow on the corner of my bass guitar amp. The ashtray flew from my hand, executed a perfect half-flip on the way down, and landed semi-sideways on the floor behind my bass amp. Cigarette butts and ashes went flying everywhere.
Now... I have a dilemma. With my fucked-up shoulders, I can't reach behind the amp to retrieve the ashtray. I'm not gonna be able to clean up the RIDICULOUS mess I made without moving the amp, fetching my vacuum cleaner and getting down on my hands and knees to do the job right.
Know what I'm thinking? Who the hell is gonna know if I DON'T clean it up? I have several other ashtrays, so it's not as if I have to stop smoking if I can't reach the one I dropped. And I'm not selling any prepared food or mixed drinks here at Rob's Bar & Grill, so I don't have to worry about a government inspector dropping by to fine me and yank my license for violating any Health Code regulations.
The more I try to wrap my mind around this problem, the more convinced I am to just fuggedaboudit. The carpet isn't on fire. That bass amp is heavy, even if it does ride on castor wheels. I'll have to do a lot of WORK to clean up that mess.
So, here's my story, and I'm gonna stick to it: "What ashtray? WHAT mess? I don't know what you're talking about!"
It's like a tree falling in the forest when I'm the only person around to hear it fall. It NEVER HAPPENED unless I say that it did. And I'm now sayin'... that ashtry spill NEVER HAPPENED!
It didn't either. Just trust me about that...
protecting our borders
Government is really interested in protecting our borders, at least when that "border" is the thin line between being either fat or skinny. I am certain that when the Founding Fathers wrote the US Constitution, they fully intended for government to become what it is today.
``We must take a serious look at the impact these foods are having on our waistlines,'' said Penelope Slade Royall, director of the health promotion office at the Department of Health and Human Services.
That's government's job today. After all, people have a "right" to eat healthy food, and if they won't do it of their own free will, government will MAKE them do it, for their own damn good. That's how much Big Nanny cares about her
Think of the hard-working bureaucrat who comes home from the office late at night, sits exhausted in his easy chair and quaffs a bottle of designer water while watching "American Idol" after a rough battle with paperwork in the trenches of government. The wife asks, "Hon... how was your day?"
The bureaucrat sighs, while examining a paper cut on his well-manicured, uncallosed pinky. "It's a jungle out there, Hon," he replies. "But I saved a lot of lives. I banned super-sized french fries today, and issued arrest warrants for a couple of fast-food restaurant managers. It's dirty work, but somebody has to do it. People will eat unhealthy food and get fat if I don't stop them."
``At this point in time, it's not a matter of more authority, it's using the authority we have,'' von Eschenbach said.
Yep. Government must USE that "authority," because it's granted to government right there in the US Constitution, somewhere in the fine print, near where the Constitution states clearly: "YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!"
I think it's in the Umpteenth Amendment, which says, "Government knows that you WILL do what is good for you, or face huge fines, long prison sentences and a session with a stomach pump if you fail to comply with GOOD FOR YOU regulations. Trust us. You really don't want to go there. Now, shut up and eat your government-approved tofu."
When government requires that the entire wrapper on your next double-greaseburger be covered with warning labels, people won't read them, so the next logical step is to ban greaseburgers. Or lay a whopping "fat tax" on 'em. And if people, the dumbasses, CONTINUE to eat greaseburgers, lock 'em up. It's for their own good.
Government can't live on a budget, it can't protect our borders and it howls in protest when a
Plus, it's a compassion thing. And that's right there in the Umpty-First Amendment--- "Government compassion trumps every right you ever thought you had. Big Brother... uh... I mean Big Mama knows what is best for you."
Ain't it GREAT to live in The Land of the Free? And the home of the Brave New World?
June 02, 2006
I received an email tonight from a friendly reader who does NOT wish to stab me in the back and who says that she loves my blog, despite the fact that I never sent her a bumper-sticker when she first asked for one about a year ago. I NEEDED that. I've seen some people go altogether feral on me lately, and do some things that I really didn't expect them to do.
Yeah, I was suprised by that crap. But I'll get over it.
In the meantime, I'm sending her TWO bumper stickers. I have only four left, but she deserves half of 'em.
Thank you, darlin'... for putting some sunshine into an otherwise dark day.
the war on drugs
Thank Bejus that we have the federal government watching over us. Otherwise, you might be able to buy over-the-counter cold medicines without having to show a picture ID first.
We NEED that kind of watchdog prowling the drugstores of America, because we have a REAL problem with "The Children" mainlining Contac and snorting Sudafed. I think I read somewhere (I can't recall where, but I'm sure that I read it... somewhere...) that if you break up Hall's Mentholated Cough Drops into little, tiny pieces and smoke them in a crack-pipe, you get a real, eucalyptus buzz offa those insidious things.
In fact, I think Peptol-Bismol is addictive. Yeah, I know that it tastes like pink chalk, but that's just a clever disguise for drug-pushers to use when they "hook" The Children. If you mix it with Alka-Seltzer Plus and strain it through a piece of cheesecloth, you end up with the new "Hillbilly Heroin," perfect for sucking up in a hypodermic needle and sticking into a vein.
Some of you people probably thought that laxatives were an unpleasant, but necessary part of life, if you suffer from clogged bowels. NOT SO!!! I think that The National Enquirer recently reported that Ex-Lax, when mixed with aspirin and club soda, makes a cheap version of crystal meth if you do it right in an "underground drug-lab" (THOSE are scary places!!!). That information came straight from space aliens who were pregnant with Hillary Clinton's love-child, so you KNOW that it's gotta be true.
In fact, some lawmakers today want to ban oregano, because it looks like marijuana, and that's reason enough to make it illegal. For The Children.
The War on (some) Drugs is a ceaseless battle, requiring eternal vigilance, because the drug pushers are SO damn clever. If the DEA and local
Recently, I think I might remember maybe reading an article somewhere that suggested perhaps, possibly, in the right environment, given an undergroud lab, run by outlaw motorcycle gangs, with child pornography pasted all over the walls, and racist literature found within 50 miles of the place, with NO wheelchair access in clear violation of the ADA, plus a Sears catalogue with the wimmen's underwear section all stuck together with I-don't-know-WHAT kind of glue, some people with lots of tattoos and piercings all over their bodies--- including NIPPLE-RINGS!!!---were mixing Tang powder and Bisquick together and selling it in plastic bags as a "self-rising, Vitamin C Rush!!!"
The Children were buying that stuff and... and... fucking when they got a dose of it up their young noses!!! THAT CRAP HAS TO BE NIPPED!!! Nip it! Nip it! Nip it in the bud.
Our drug cops TRY, but they have a very frustrating job. People just keep on being people, no matter how much the government doesn't like it. That's why drug cops act like storm troopers so often. The more you harass, intimidate and arrest people for being people... the more the assholes insist on acting like PEOPLE, the same way they've done for 10,000 years of recorded history. The nerve of those shits!!!
Busting horrible, illegal drugs is a lot like trying to turn the tide away from the sand castle you just spent hours building on the beach. You can't stop it, but you'll feel much better if you turn around as your castle washes into the sea and beat the livin' shit out of an innocent bystander with your sand-shovel. At least you did SOMETHING to protect The Children.
Oh... let's not forget that we need to ban charcol-lighter fluid, Certs breath-mints and... oh, hell... just pick something. M&Ms. Klondike Bars. Gatorade. Whatever... just call it a "drug" and nobody is gonna question your motives, especially when you declare that you're doing it For The Children.
I'm a very unfortunate man today. I suffer from chronic pain and it's NOT going to go away unless I have something fairly drastic done to me. I'm willing to do whatever that takes, because I cannot continue to live hurting as bad as I do every day. But doctors are frightened to death to prescribe any pain medication to me.
I can't blame 'em for thinking that way, either. Those docs spent a long time and they invested a lot of hard work into getting that medical degree that allows them to open a practice. If I were in their shoes and I saw a patient with severe, chronic pain, I would make the same calculation that they do.
"Hmmm... I can give this guy medicine that takes away the pain, or I can tell him to suck it up. If I give him the medicine, I'll have the Feds crawling all over me and I may flush all of my study and all of my hard work right down the commode. I could lose my license to practice medicine if I give him what he really needs. So, fuck him. I'm gonna tell him to suck it up."
And that's what doctors DO today. I'm not blaming them. Hell--- they almost HAVE to work that way, thanks to the federal government being so worried about The Children while it fights a useless and totally ill-defined War on (some)Drugs. FORGET about The Patient. The Children and The Government are a lot more important than that piddling question of whether I can get out of bed in the morning or not.
Besides--- I learned a long time ago, from my government AND from Divorce Court. I don't matter. The Children do.
Whoever the hell THEY are.
I gotta question: How did I EVER end up on a mailing list run by PETA, Friends of Hillary, John Kerry for President and Moveon.org? I could understand the NRA or the RNC emailing me to ask for monetary contributions or voting support, but PETA? HILLARY? JOHN FUCKING KERRY? (Who served
Bejus!!! They've obviously got the wrong guy here. I get DOZENS of emails every farooking day from those people. I know good and well that they didn't get MY name and address from a check I sent them, so why do they keep bugging me?
I have a sneaking suspicion... y'see... I have some friends who are very clever practical jokers. THEY probably put my name on those mailing lists and cackled like hyenas when they did. "BWHAHAHA!!! THIS oughta get a rise outta Rob! BWHAHAAAA!"
Guys, if you did that, it worked. You got a rise outta me. And if I ever find out FOR CERTAIN that you assholes did it, I'll beat every one of you to death, one by one, with a cheap, out-of-tune guitar. At night. In the dark. When you're by yourself.
I can't really be too angry, though. As a very clever joke back when I was still in college, I put a friend's name on a pornographic fuck-mill's mailing list after he got a job teaching in an elementary school.
I'm just glad now that I put his home address in the reply box instead of the address for the school where he worked. Heh. It was funny having that nasty stuff mailed to his home, because his wife kept asking him how he got put on THAT mailing list, but I could've gotten him fired and had him put on a police roster for sexual predators if I sent that crap to his school.
I finally 'fessed up to him AND his wife about why all those plain brown-wrapper porno fliers kept coming to his mailbox with his name on them. They forgave me, but they didn't see the same humor in the situation that I did.
I don't see it as funny anymore, either. I coulda cost my friend a lot by doing what I did in a moment of selfish, mindless frivolity. I NEVER would do such a thing again--- although that one WAS funny, once it all worked out okay. (The guy's name was Andy, and he was named "America's Teacher of the Year," complete with an appearance on the Today show and a visit to the White House to have President Bill Clinton give him the award and shake his hand a few years ago.)
I could have, unintentionally, fucked up his whole life with what I did back then. Of course, it would be totally understandable if he were an alcoholic who ever drank again after quiting for seven months. Then, if I aired his dirty laundry in public, using the biggest forum I could find, it would be for his own good, because somebody HAD to do it.
Who better than a "friend" to cut off his balls and try to destroy him? That's what friends are for... right?
the incredible, screaming toilet
I can't figure out what's going on here.
I was in Willingway Hospital for 38 days, and when I got back home, I needed to drain the old lizard, so I went to the "master bathroom," my own special sanctuary attached the the Master Bedroom, and I took a leak. Then, I flushed the commode.
HOLY BEJUS!!! The pipes inside the wall voiced this horrible, moaning sound that made me think of a she-elephant giving birth to a 500-pound baby elephant with full-grown tusks. "WHOA-OA-OA-OOOOO...BUMBUMBUM...SQUEEEECHSQUEECH!!! BUMBUMHEEEEE...THUMPATHUMPA!!!"
Damn! I thought the wall was about to explode. Once the noise simmered down, I flushed the commode again, and it did the SAME THING! "WHOA-OA-OA-OOOOH...BUMBUMBUM... SQUEECHSQUEECH...BUM! BUM! THUMPTHUMP...HISSSSSSS!!!"
When that problem first started, my daughter called me one night, and just for the hell of it, I said, "Hey, Sam. Listen to THIS and tell me what it is." I took the phone in the bathroom, I flushed the commode and I held the phone up while all the elephant-noises came bellowing from the wall.
When I put the phone back to my ear, I heard Sam laughing. "Daddy... what kind of animal are you KILLING in your house?" When I told her that I wasn't killing anything--- that my got-dam commode was making that noise, she said, "Daddy... did you ever think about moving out of there?"
I figured at first that I just had a bunch of air trapped in my pipes from lack of use and I would get rid of the problem if I just flushed the commode a few times... say maybe about 100 times, back-to-back, just as fast as the tank filled back up after each flush. I tried that and sure enough, the noise stopped.
But it didn't go away. Now, it's intermittent. Sometimes, the toilet flushes just the way it should, with no weird sound-effects afterward. But other times, it not only sounds like a she-elephant giving birth, but it's got a bull elephant in there screwing her, too.
WTF causes THAT???
I'll tell you one thing. When you wake up in the middle of the night needing to urinate and you've forgotten all about the horny elephants in your commode, you get a mighty rude awakening when you stumble to the bathroom, take a leak, flush and try to stumble back to bed only to hear that gawd-awful noise coming after you. At night. In the dark. When you're ALONE!!!
Just dayum! I'm surprised that one of my neighbors hasn't called the cops to report some kind of satanic ritual involving the sacrifice of live animals in my house. At night. In the dark. When I'm alone...
The commode works fine, and it doesn't make that screaming noise all the time with every flush. That's what lulls me into forgetting about it, so that it's always a hair-raising, surprise experience when it DOES happen anymore. The damn thing did it again just a few minutes ago. I almost jumped right out of my skin.
Do I have any plumbers who read me? Can YOU tell me how to fix that problem? It's not exactly life-threatening, but it surely is spooky.
And if I ever walk into that bathroom and discover a baby elephant on the floor, I don't know WHAT I'm gonna do. At night. In the dark. All by myself...
i learned it at school
When I first came to Savannah, I was a little, skinny kid who spoke with a terrible Kentucky-mountain, hillbilly accent. I was "different," and because of that fact, I was picked on a LOT. That's how I learned to fight with my fists.
It was either FIGHT NOW, or be picked on for the rest of my life. I chose door #1, because it was the less painful option in the long run. I decided to take my chances of an ass-whoopin' NOW as a trade-off to keep the rest of my life from being absolutely miserable. And guess what? When the bullies learned that I WOULD fight them, they started leaving me alone.
That's why I don't understand the thinking of the cut-and-run-from-Iraq assholery that leftoids are preaching now. They obviously did not grow up on the same school playgrounds that I did.
Human nature has NEVER changed, not a single time in 10,000 years of recorded history. If you don't believe that money, sex and power STILL motivate ALL of politics and almost all personal interaction today, you've been asleep under a rock for a long time. Or you're just a naive dreamer, who votes Democrat.
I learned when I was eight years old that giving in to a bully will guarantee that the bully terrorizes you every chance he gets for as long as he can. Fight him once, give a good account of yourself even if you lose the fight, and he will leave you alone and go pick on weaker prey after you show that you're willing to stand up to him.
We're now fighting a war against
Those cowardly wimps wouldn't stomp a palmetto bug on their own kitchen floor at 5:00 in the morning. They feel the bug's pain and express a lot of empathy for the bug. After all--- nasty-assed insects have just as much "right" to eat in my kitchen as I do, even if the bugs DON'T make my house payment every month. It's all about "fairness," or some similar kind of delusional crap that I don't understand.
But dream-riddled leftoids know how to win a war, which is by killing the enemy with kindness. Instead of bombs, we need to be launching COMPASSSION into Islamic strongholds. Send 'em daisy-cutters filled with REAL DAISYS and that'll bring 'em to their knees fast when we bomb the with flowers. Then, we can finish 'em off with a chorus of "Kum-bah-ya."
Every time the MSM starts whining about Vietnam or "quagmires" when they talk about Iraq, I see the schoolyard bully grin. He's winning without having to lift a hand when that shit happens. That's how bullies become successful bullies in the first place. It's INTIMIDATION that works for them.
They don't really want to fight. And they usually surround themselves with a few toadies who run around behind the scenes saying, "Oooh! You'd better not fuck with
Cowards listen to that crap. I never have and I never will. I KNOW better, from what I learned about bullies on school playgrounds.
Bejus! Can you imagine what the headlines would be TODAY, if we were dealing with WWII all over again? From the NYT: "Japanese Bomb Pearl Harbor!!! Some Say President at Fault!!!" Or... from the LA Times "Hitler--- Evil, or a Consequence of What We Deserve?"
Robert Fisk would have a field day reporting on THAT war. "I, MYSELF, toured Nazi Germany today, and there ARE no concentration camps and there IS no threat to the world here. The trains run on time. The mail is delivered every day. The German people are happy, healthy and not at all warlike. This country is a shining example of what government efficiency can do when handled by a great, compassionate man such as Adolph Hitler.
"Yes, some slogan-shouting patriots wearing swastica armbands and brown shirts beat the living shit out of me the other day, stole my clothes and threatened to shoot me in the street, but that happened because I represent all the evil of Western Civilization, except for the thriving, successful example of Nazi Germany. The very evil that these noble people are struggling to cast off, like the yoke upon a mindless yak's shoulders, put there by America and Europe, with their capitalistic fantasies of oppressive freedom, FORCED these peace-loving people into a war that they didn't really want.
"No, those weren't thugs and hooligans, sadists or monsters who attacked ME. Those were downtrodden, freedom-loving insurgents, displaying a sane, logical reaction to what I represent--- which is an Evil Empire of HAVES---supressing the HAVE-NOTS of this world.
"In fact, looking at the world from THEIR point of view, I really wanted to beat the shit out of MYSELF, because I deserved it."
Once upon a time, long, long ago, this country had balls. I'm talking about WAAAAY back at the beginning. We fought a rebellion against the most powerful nation on the face of the planet, and we won. We refused to pay tribute to lawless pirates when many in this country wanted to try to buy 'em off at the time. We won that battle, too.
The bloodiest war we EVER fought in our entire history was against EACH OTHER, circa 1861-1865. 600,000 dead men, all sacrificed to "preserve the Union," so that we could mutate into having spineless assholes such as Nancy Pelosi, Ted Kennedy and Trent Lott run our country today, as we pay about 60% of our incomes in taxes to feed the rapacious maw of government.... IF anybody still bothers to work at all.
Oh, yeah. That war "freed the slaves," too--- so that blacks could live in ghettos on welfare, hatch illegitimate children like chickens in a coop and slaughter each other by the dozens every weekend night, over dope deals gone bad or some kind of "disrespect" that one illiterate, degenerate thug gave another illiterate, degenerate thug, while rap music played on and on in the background.
Of course, GUNS are to blame for that problem. NOT government. And certainly not the PEOPLE actually wallowing in the illiterate, degenerate life-style of the ghetto, with all the futile fantasy, fucking and failure involved in breeding like rats, buying groceries with food stamps and spending $50 a day on Cash Three lotto tickets. Somehow, when government finishes spinning those FACTS, it's all MY FAULT for being born with white skin and not paying enough of MY money in taxes to help the "poor," who obviously cannot be expected to help themselves.
Oh... don't forget what a good job government is doing today with
I had one of the last BIG ARGUMENTS with my darling ex-wife after Quinton came home crying from school in the second grade because he was being "picked on" by a schoolyard bully. I told him to knock the living piss outta the guy, and I gave him a couple of boxing lessons to show him how to do it.
Jennifer almost shit her delicate, feminine panties when she saw what I was doing. Totally aghast, she said, "Rob, school isn't like it was when YOU went. If Quinton gets into a fight today, he'll be SUSPENDED, and probably expelled!"
I looked at her, and I looked at my son, who was afraid to go to school because of that bully. I said, "You speak as if that's a BAD thing..." but that's as far as I got. She did everything but jump up and down on my head and call me a dumbass cave-man for teaching my boy to fight. OhMyGawd!!! The RISK!!!
Whatever. Quinton went to school the next day and kicked the bully's ass. Quinton, despite being half the bully's size, beat that troglodyte like a drum, all over the playground. His teacher was glad to see it happen and she covered everything up.
Quinton never told his mama about doing that. But he told ME. "Daddy, I did what you said, and you were right. That guy didn't really want to fight. I don't think I have to worry about him any more." And he didn't, either.
But somehow... the war on terror is different from what I learned on the playground years ago. Somehow... we can TALK our way out of having to fight a bully today. And somehow... cutting and running is NOT the same thing as kissing the bully's ass and grovelling at his feet, because we're more enlightened than that. Somehow, cowardice is courage, or diplomacy is dignity, or compassion is whatever you wish for it to be... if you spin it the right way.
Bullshit. Sometimes, you've just GOTTA fight. And when you DO, you had better to it full-tilt-boogie with no holding back, especially when you're dealing with an enemy who doesn't understand or appreciate anything other than brute force. "Nuance" doesn't work on a mule, and it won't work on Islamo-fascists, either. Hit 'em hard, hit 'em often and make it hurt as much as you can.
That's how you fight a schoolyard bully. That's ALSO how you fight an alleged war on terror. Either go BIG, or go home.
And if you don't have the guts to do that, roll over and quit now. If that's what you're gonna do anyway, save everybody the trouble of watching you wring your hands and posture about it. Get the ugly over with right now. Give up. Cut and run. Kiss the bully's ass and call it a victory. Roll over on your back and piss straight up in the air. When the piss lands back in your face, call it rainfall and tell everybody that it tastes...sweet.
That's all it takes to "win" this war by leftoid standards. And we've got far too many people who want to "fight" it that way.
i'll fall short
The menfolk in the Smith family tend to die young. My father set the all-time record for longevity for as far back as we can look up the family tree, and he lived to be 62 years old. It's a curse, I tell you!
I don't believe that I'll ever see the age of 62. I've gotta make eight more years to get there, and I'm logical enough to know that my track record of health over the past five years doesn't bode well for me. I'm not exactly robust and enjoying life anymore.
I find myself just trying my best to survive, and that hurts like hell every fucking day. I mean... c'mon, people... when you can't reach cans of soup in your kitchen cabinet anymore without knocking them to the floor with a broomstick, THAT ain't exactly like living the High Life.
When you have to go through all sorts of contortions and gyrations to put on a fucking tee-shirt in the morning, and you end up hurting so bad that you're seeing spots before your eyes and breathing heavily when you're done, that ain't LIVING, in my book. That's just being too stubborn to die.
I cannot enjoy life anymore. Hell, I always feared that arthritus (it runs in my family) would take my hands and I wouldn't be able to play musical instruments in my dotage. My fingers are fine now, but I don't play anymore because my SHOULDERS hurt when I try.
Living like this all by myself is amusing sometimes, in a perverse sort of way. When I wake up in the morning (if I sleep at all), I start a process of GETTING UP, which involves turning carefully and slowly onto my side, which hurts, and then trying to throw my legs over the side of the bed to kinda JACK myself into a sitting position without using my arms. I usually make a lot of "Oh! Oh, SHIT! FUCK! Goddam! Ow!" noises when I do that, but it works to get me outta bed. At least it has so far.
Once I get my feet on the floor, it's just a matter of lifting my bony ass off the bed with my legs (Pat Roberson--- eat your heart out), and then I sally forth the greet the new day.
I don't know how much longer I can keep doing that crap every morning. It's beginning to wear me down. When constant pain becomes the elevator music playing in your life, you begin to ignore it, until something turns the volume up REALLY LOUD all of a sudden. I never know when that's going to happen, but it does, every got-dam day.
When I talked to my buddy catfish the other day, I told him to let me know when the fish start biting in his pond. I think I can still wet a line and catch some fish if I cast while keeping both elbows tucked in close to my sides so that I don't use my shoulders at all. My days of trout-fishing in salt water are over, because I can't toss a line into a good drop using the pussy-assed technique I have to work with today.
But I still like to fish.
Hell... I still like pussy, too... but I've had all of THAT gash I ever wanted. At least when I catch a fish, I can either throw it into a bucket, take it home and eat it, or let it go back into the water. Wimmen are a lot like fish, except for the fact that you can't EVER throw one of them back. If they can't crawl into your vessel and stay there, saying that you OWE them something, they'll try to sink your fucking boat, as ANY sane, logical creature would do, given the same situation.
But... I digress...
I can't fish worth a shit anymore. I hurt all the time, every got-dam day. I have trouble showering or dressing myself.
Bejus. If I caught ME as a fish today, I would throw one of those back in the water.
yeah, it's rough
I feel their pain. It must be really rough to be an obvious Muslim boarding an airline flight today. Oh, the humanity!!!
As someone who has been subject to a "Nit-Search" the last FOUR TIMES that I've taken an international airplane ride, I know exactly what it feels like to be humiliated and treated like a big, breathing sack of excrement by Homeland Security goons.
Of course, I was not alone. I saw the same thing happening to elderly white wimmen in wheelchairs (AHA!!! A WHEELCHAIR BOMB!!! Gotta watch out for THAT!!!) and one beautiful, young, blonde bridesmaid in Austin who was suspected of having bobby-pin bombs in her hair.
They were publicly humiliated, too, while guys who resembled Apu and Mohammed, with heavy beards, swarthy complexions and a glowering, insane look in their eyes, walked right through the rat-maze of security without even slowing down. Picking on THEM would constitute "racial profiling," and we are FAR too politically-correct to do THAT kind of shit anymore.
Naw. Look! THERE'S an oriental woman on crutches!!! PULL HER OUT OF LINE AND CHECK HER!!! Seeing that kinda crap over and over, and EXPERIENCING IT MYSELF surely gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling about Homeland Security. In fact, it makes me reluctant to fly anymore, because I am sick and tired of being treated like a terrorist when I AIN'T ONE!
You might think, with all the computer data-base shit and the government peering at all of our phone records, that I might catch a break after being nit-searched so many times. The government computer ought to say, "Checked this guy FIVE TIMES already so far, right down to his shit-stained underwear. Never found anything," and they just MIGHT decide that I was not a major terrorist threat to my own got-dam country.
But the system doesn't work that way. I still get the "treatment," along with big, fat black wimmen (CAREFUL!!! She might be carrying a BOSUM BOMB in those huge titties she wears!) and skinny yankee men wearing black socks and sandals (CAREFUL!!! He might have a black sock bomb!!!) and we ALL are treated like shit in the airport.
A number of American Muslims similarly upset by how federal agents treated them and their families are seeking relief through the courts. About eight men with Muslim or Arab roots are joining a suit already filed last year by the American Civil Liberties Union ...
"ABOUT EIGHT MEN???" With Muslin or Arab roots??? THEY believe that their civil rights were violated and they're gonna SUE over it?
Well, Gawd bless their delicate sensibilities. The last time I looked, EVERY terrorist attack launched against this country was done by Muslim or Arab MEN, between the ages of 20 and 40. NO elderly wimmen in wheelchairs, NO fat, black wimmen with big boobs, and NO balding, skinny Crackers EVER committed a terrorist attack against this country. But those people get nit-searched, too.
Got-dam! WE ought to be suing THE FUCKING ARAB MEN!!! YOU assholes are the ones who made going through airport security such a monumental pain the the ass today. And in MY humble opinion, you Apus and Mohammeds have a lot of fricking nerve to bitch about ANYTHING that happens to YOU in an airport today.
The next time an old, balding Cracker man teams up with an elderly oriental woman in a wheelchair and a fat black woman with big titties to hijack an airplane and fly it into a skyscraper, I MAY change my mind. But until then, I call bullshit on this whole flying circus.
And I DAMN SURE call bullshit on that lawsuit.
June 01, 2006
When I was in high school, I thought that having a LOT of "friends" was IMPORTANT. In fact, I had the bizarre notion that popularity equalled worth back in those days. And I tried very hard to be worthy.
As I grew older, I changed my mind. I realized that TRUE friends are few and far between, and "friendships" had nothing whatsoever to do with popularity or whether you dated a certain cheerleader or not. Friendship came from trust, and a certainty that you could count on THAT person when you were down and out.
True friends accept you as you are, warts and all. THEY know your flaws better than you do yourself, and they still believe that you're worth having as a friend. I'm very lucky to have a few of those people in my life today. I've known them for YEARS, and they've seen me at my very best and at my very worst, too.
THEY would never turn on me, kick me when I was down or slander my name all over the internet, even if they thought that I deserved it. Friends just DON'T DO THAT.
My ex-wife got all pissed off at me when I received a phone call at 2:00 in the morning from two of my REAL FRIENDS who were stranded on the road with car trouble on Highway 25, somewhere between Savannah and Augusta. I crawled out of bed and went to rescue them, while my darling wife harped at me, saying "YOU have to go to work in the morning! Let 'em find their OWN way home!!!"
I drove through the darkness up Highway 25 until I found them. Then, I gave them both a ride to their homes. THEN, I went to work, two hours late, but I called my boss and TOLD HIM ahead of time that I would be "a little late" getting to work, because I had "personal business" to conduct at 2:00 in the morning.
He asked no questions. Hell--- I NEVER missed work and I NEVER showed up late, so I had a lot of markers in reserve for me to use in a situation such as that one. I cashed a few of 'em that day for my FRIENDS. That's what I was saving them for.
When I got off work that day, I picked up one of MY FRIENDS, drove back up Highway 25 until we found his dead vehicle, hooked his car to my truck with a strap, and I TOWED his defunct vehicle all the way back to Savannah. I didn't get home again until well after dark.
The wife continued to bitch at me. "Are you outta your MIND, Rob? You spent half of last night and most of today doing something STUPID!!! Do you think that those guys would have done that for YOU???"
I didn't answer that question, but I knew the answer. The ex-wife simply could not understand the concept of friendship the way that I did. (She never had many friends--- I wonder why?) I thought, YES!!! Those guys WOULD have done the same thing for me, with no questions asked. That's what friends DO.
Those guys also know some of my deepest, darkest secrets, and they've never "shared" those with ANYBODY else that I'm aware of. Friends don't do that kinda catty, cuntly stuff. It's that pesky TRUST thing that makes friendships difficult to maintain for untrustworthy people.
Trust is the one thing in this world that can't be repaired once you break it.
If I received the same call tonight, I would do the same thing again. I also have no doubt in my mind that if I were stranded on the road and I called THEM, they would come and get me. Those guys are MY FRIENDS, and they would be there if I needed them. I haven't played that card many times in my life, but when I DID, my friends were there when I asked for help.
I suffer a lot of physical pain now, but I can cope with that. Hell, a human being can become comfortable with HANGING if he dangles from the rope long enough. But there's one thing that hurts worse than any physical pain you'll EVER experience in life.
That's BETRAYAL. When you trust someone and they betray that trust, it creates a wound that takes a long time to heal, if it ever does heal at all.
Jennifer did that to me, and I'm still reeling from it. Somebody else just did it, too, but I really didn't expect anything different from her. If you put your trust in a despicable person, you're just asking for trouble. I shoulda known better.
But I LOVE the soap opera brewing now. It's VERY interesting to see the people who defend what she did. I damn sure don't want THOSE assholes as "friends," because they are about as trustworthy and reliable as a screaming Global Warming freaktoid.
If I catch THEIR drift, it pretty much says, "You SHOULD fuck your friends!!! Especially if it's ROB!!! We never liked him anyway! There ARE no secrets in this world and YOU are the victim here because Acidman is pissed off!!! GOOD FOR YOU!!! Any sane, logical person woulda done the same thing that YOU did, given the chance!!! Don't be ashamed of being a big-mouthed, lunatic shitass!!! Be PROUD of it!!! He had it coming to him!!!"
As I said before, "with friends like that, I don't need enemies."
And anybody who applauds a vicious, vindictive bitch for being a vicious, vindictive bitch is NOT someone I want for a friend anyway. Y'all have fun together. Birds of a feather, and all of that.
Just be careful about "sharing" any secrets with people who have a trust-quotient below that of a rabid racoon. They'll BITE you, and it'll make you feel VERY STUPID when that happens. You'll kick yourself, because you shoulda recognized a Charles Manson personality when you saw it.
Oh, I SAW it... but I didn't heed my own good sense. I told her things I never should have said to a person so unstable and so fucked-up in the head. She is absolutely correct when she says that it's ALL MY FAULT!!! It is. I trusted someone who didn't deserve it. I ignored all of my good instincts and tried to be nice to a very un-nice person. But I'm gonna try my best NEVER to make that same mistake again.
Ask me again why I just want to be left ALONE. When I'm by myself, I KNOW who I can trust.
Bejus knows that I can't say the same thing when other people get involved in my life. I don't know about YOU, but I don't like it when people stick knives in my back. And I ESPECIALLY don't like it when other people cheer the stabber.
Y'all have some really screwed up values. Don't have many FRIENDS, either, do ya?
I just found a spammer slamming me with ads for olive oil. Not the character in Popeye cartoons, but genuine, cook-with OLIVE OIL. THAT was a new one on me.
I deleted and Blacklisted his ass, but I gotta wonder... MAYBE I should have checked out his ads. I think olive oil is EXCELLENT for cooking, especially for making sauteed dishes, or creating home-made salad dressings. I ALWAYS keep a big bottle of it handy.
I DO NOT keep child pornography, one-line poker games, black lesbians doing threesomes, date-a-hooker phone numbers, pictures of wimmen fucking barnyard animals, teenage golden showers, penis-enhancement drugs, discount Viagra, FREE loans from the Federal government or any of the other GOTTA HAVE things that spammers hype all over my blog comments. But olive oil???
Maybe I shoulda checked that one out.
Yep, after almost two months of NO RAIN AT ALL, I finally got wet. A little, ill-tempered thundercloud rolled over the Crackerbox today and dropped a load. Rain POURED from the sky!
It lasted about 90 seconds; then, the cloud roared off to tantalize somebody else, over toward the coast. The downpour didn't even wet my driveway good, and now the sun is steaming everything off. In an hour, you won't be able to tell that it happened at all.
Bejus! I never thought that I would find myself wishing for a tropical storm, but I am now. The ground around here needs a good soaking. That "rain" we had today does NOT qualify as a soaker.
It was a cruel joke.
the ice cream truck
One of the most consistently exciting, heart-pounding experiences of my youth came when my friends and I heard the sound of the ice cream truck tooling through my neighborhood. It had big loudspeakers mounted on top, from which issued a tinkly, static-plagued version of "London Bridge (is falling down!)" to alert "The Children" of its presence.
When we heard that sound, we dropped whatever we were doing, shot home to shake a dime out of the trusty piggy bank, then ran barefoot down the street in hot pursuit of the truck. It was piloted by a cranky old man named "Shorty" and I don't believe that he liked kids at ALL, the bastid.
He would SEE us coming, yelling and waving frantically, and he just kept going, purely to make us suffer. Sometimes, we chased him for BLOCKS before he finally pulled over and stopped. Then, he acted as if he were doing us all a BIG favor by selling us ice cream.
Looking back now, I think that "Shorty" maybe had this problem. The old bastid was as surly as a mongrel dog and just downright mean to kids. The Ice Cream Man ain't supposed to be that way, but Shorty WAS.
But we still wanted the goods he carried, and we all were fascinated by the coin-dispenser that he wore on his belt. You remember those, don't you? That thing-a-ma-jig that had cylinders for pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters, with a button on top of each cylinder, much like the keys on a trumpet. Shorty made change by pushing those buttons and having coins shoot out the bottom of the device. It was really cool.
Ice cream trucks don't come where I live now. In fact, I haven't even SEEN one in years. Do they still operate? Are they still piloted by malevolent assholes like Shorty? Do they still play that horrible, static-plagued music over big loudspeakers on the truck? Do excited kids still chase them down the street SOMEWHERE in this country?
Did ice cream trucks go the way of the drive-in movie and just fade away to extinction? Or do they still operate in the inner city--- selling crack cocaine as their "snow" cones and dealing joints instead of popcicles? Maybe instead of becoming extinct, ice cream trucks EVOLVED to fit a new market.
I don't know, because I haven't seen an ice cream truck for a long, long time now. If kids today never have the chance to chase one, they're missing a memorable experience in life. I WISH that I could chase one today.
What a sight that would be: a decrepit old Cracker, hobbling down the street and yelling at the ice cream truck to STOP!!! Heh. Chances are that a good, drunk-driving ice cream man would turn around and run OVER me, for the good of humanity.
Maybe it's a nostalgia thing, imbedded deep in my psyche, but the Mexican popcicles I buy in the grocery store today don't taste NEARLY as good as the popcicles I remember buying off the ice cream truck when I was a kid.
Maybe part of that goodness was the thrill of the chase when I was young. Now, if I'm expected to chase ANYTHING, I don't, because I don't want it THAT much. Growing old sucks.
And if we don't have ice cream trucks anymore, well... that sucks, too.
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