Gut Rumbles

December 31, 2008

The ten commandments

Originally published December 24, 2004

I'll bet that I've seen The Ten Commanments at LEAST 50 times. In my early college years, that movie played at the drive-in a lot, and my friends and I would go see it frequently. Armed with a couple of six-packs, a bottle or two of Boone's Farm and a pockeful of hand-rolled cigarettes, we had many a religious experience while watching that drama unfold.

That's where I first leaned that Moses was named by idiots with no imagination whatsoever. His full name was Moses Moses Moses. Just watch the movie and COUNT how many times people call him by his full name. "Oh, Moses, Moses, Moses!" EVERYBODY does that, all the way through the movie.

Yul Brenner was a fantastic Pharoh, even with his bikini-waxed chest. When it came time for someone to stagger off to the concession stand to buy some popcorn and Jordan almonds to satisfy our munchies, we matched coins to pick a victim. If you were odd-man out, everybody in the car said. "YOU LOSE!!! So let it be written, so let it be done!" and off you went to get the goodies.

Remember when Moses Moses Moses climbed the mountain and experienced the burning bush? Remember how he changed after that experience? Remember those bloodshot eyes, that maniacal hair and the expression of pure ecstacy on his face?

Sit in a 1962 Dodge Dart at the drive-in with enough dope-smoke in the car to cut with a knife and haul out in solid cubes under your arm. Then look at the person sitting next to you. HOLY BEJUS!!! He looks just like Moses Moses Moses!!!

That's what a burning bush will do to you.

Plus, when Moses Moses Moses parted the Red Sea, we all climbed out and pissed next to the car. It was a ritual.

I wish some cable station was showing that movie tonight. I'd like to see it again. If I really tried, I might even be able to scrounge up some burning bush to smoke while I ate popcorn and shouted, "SO LET IT BE WRITTEN!!! SO LET IT BE DONE!!! when I wanted another beer. I'd have to go get the beer myself, but I'd Pharoh my ass off anyway.

I LIKE that movie.

December 30, 2008


Originally published July 26, 2005

Anybody who has read my blog for a while (or anyone willing to go back in the archives) knows that I whine here. I STARTED to blog as a place to whine because my other option was to blow my own brains out. Life was VERY rough for a while, and it really hasn't gotten much better over the past four years.

But I learned that if I vented HERE, I didn't grab that pistol and put it to my head in the morning when the alarm clock went off. I got out of bed and went to work.

Well, shit happens and my blog cost me my job. That really turned out to be a GOOD thing, because I was starting to hate that job anyway. Besides, I don't want to work for a bunch of pussies who would "retire" me rather than having the balls to FIRE ME over something like that. Nutless wonders.

So, I whine here. Poor, poor pitiful ME! WHAAAAHHH! My mama and daddy are dead! I can't see my son anymore! My ex-wife is a bloodless cunt! I PAY HER every month for being a bloodless cunt! My feet are swollen!! WHAAAHH!!!

I just have one thing to say: If you don't like what I write here, don't read it. Nobody FORCES you to come here. It ain't like paying child support, you fucking maroons. You ain't going to jail if you don't visit my site.

I was blogging when I had 30 visitors a day, and I'll keep it up if I go BACK to 30 visitors a day. Unlike a court order, I give you a choice about what you want to do. I don't REQUIRE that you read me.

So... DON'T, if I piss you off that badly.

December 29, 2008

Feed it to the dog

Originally published December 24, 2004

Did you ever find something really questionable in your refrigerator, open the lid and SMELL IT, searching for a clue about whether it was fit to eat or not? Of course not. NOBODY does that.

When it didn't smell bad, even if you couldn't remember exactly what it was, did you remain uncertain about actually EATING it, even though you were desperately hungry and you had no other food in the house? Of course not. NOBODY does that.

Did you ever try it out on your dog? You know, to see if HE'LL eat it. You've gotta figure that if HE eats it and doesn't die, it probably won't kill YOU either. Of course not. NOBODY does that.

Did you ever watch your dog scarf that stuff with his tail wagging and then decide to have a bowl for yourself? Did you eat it and think, "That wasn't bad," and then watch your dog start making "ACK! ACK! ACK!" noises right before he puked all over the carpet? Of course not. NOBODY does that.

Did you ever reach for the phone to call 911 to report self-poisoning, only to watch your dog eat his own puke right off the carpet, then waddle happily off to his bed for a nap? Did you decide then NOT to call 911 and just wait to see what happened next? Of course not. NOBODY does that.

I certainly never have.

December 28, 2008

A star map

Originally published July 26, 2005

Did you ever have a star map when you were young? I did, and I got really clever with it. I punched strategic holes in the thing so that I could lie on my back at night, hold it up in front of me and match the constellations with the map by lining the holes up with the stars.

I wish I still had that thing. It stirred my imagination.

One of my favorite "Cult Classic" movies is Quest For Fire, which I've seen at least 20 or 30 times. I love the way the movie ends, with the hero and his lover looking at the stars.

To me, that scene captured EVERYTHING that brought man out of the cave all the way to the moon. Curiosity. Wonder. Ambition combined with well-reasoned fear. Boldness. The willingness to take a chance.

If you've never seen that movie, go rent it. Pay close attention, too. It's fucking GREAT!

December 27, 2008

Don't tell her you've been crying

Originally published December 24, 2004

I talked to Quinton about an hour ago. He's bouncing like a superball, all excited about Christmas, and he told me that it would be okay if I picked him up tomorrow and took him to mama's house for breakfast. My heart soared like a hawk. He seemed really happy about the idea, too.

I said that I would be there at 9:30 in the morning. Maybe Christmas could be worth a shit after all this year!

Ten minutes later, the Bloodless Cunt called. "Rob, I don't want you picking Quinton up. That's a violation of the court order and I don't know where Quinton got the idea that I said it was okay. I would rather drop him off or..."

I ended the conversation right there. I said, "Well, Merry Fucking Christmas to YOU, TOO!!! Do whatever you want to do, because that's what you're gonna do anyway. You've always enjoyed hurting other people. After all, you ARE the center of the universe," and I hung up the phone. Then, I cried like a baby.

Mama called almost as soon as I hung up the phone. "Guess who I just talked to?" she asked excitedly. I tried to straighten out my voice and get my vision working again.

"Probably Quinton," I responded. "But, mama, he's a little off-target about tomorrow. I'll be there, but he won't be coming with me."

"What? He said everything was planned."

"Plans have changed and I don't want to talk about it. I love you and I'll see you tomorrow." I got off the phone as quickly as I could.

I'm still crying; I just didn't want mama to know. She's got enough on her plate without worrying about me, too.

Show me another picture of some Iraqi asswipe with panties on his head and talk to ME about "torture." If I don't show a whole lot of sympathy, you'll just have to forgive my hard heart or kiss my Cracker ass. I believe that I have a pretty good idea of what torture is all about. I've had a god-dam bellyfull of it over the past three years and I'm not sure how much more I can take.

Excuse me. I've got some more crying to do.

December 26, 2008

A beautiful casket

Originally published July 26, 2005

People remarked at my mama's funeral about what a lovely casket she had. My brother picked it out and I am certain that he did a good job, because he's good at everything he does.

I didn't care about it one way or the other. That box didn't hold my mama, any more than the box I bought for my father held him. We buried the shells they wore in life, and I don't care how much money was spent or how fine the coffin was. They were dead, and all that remained of them were the memories of how they lived.

I cherish those. I don't give a shit about a box in the ground.

We have a "family plot" at the cemetary, but I never go there to visit. I don't want to be buried there, either. When I finally fold my last hand, I want to be cremated, and I don't care if someone puts my ashes in a cigar box and flushes them down a commode in a Greyhound bus station. It won't make a damn bit of difference to me by then.

I just hope that some people remember me. That's all that really matters.

(Pardon me for being morbid. Henry's funeral is tomorrow and I don't want to go).

December 25, 2008

Merry Christmas

Originally published December 24, 2004

To you, for being a good friend for a long, long time.

To you for welcoming me warmly into the Axis of Weevils, where I am honored to be.

To you for making me horny every time I see you.

To you for appreciating Tuco as much as I do.

To you (Sam, his daughter) for finally getting your shit in one sock. You really had me worried for a while there.

To you, dear one, for doing something nobody else had the balls to do once upon a time.

And to everybody else I didn't mention. Merry Christmas. May you ALL live long and prosper.

December 24, 2008

I am whipped

Originally published July 27, 2005

I did a lot of tooling around today. I didn't WANT to do it, but I did. Henry got planted and I went to the grocery store. I bought a nice-looking ribeye steak and a GIANT potato that I intend to eat this evening.

I also went by Randall's Liquor Store for a carton of cigarettes and a six-pack of Shiner Bock beer. I intend to dine well tonight.

But I'll tell you one thing--- it is as hot as the gates of hell outside. Nary a breeze stirring and the humidity is so thick that I believe that you could swim through the air if you tried. I was exhausted and covered in sweat just after hauling my groceries from my truck to the Crackerbox.

BEJUS! It's been a while since I saw weather like this. I think the last time was around 1995, when I played golf and had somebody pass out in our foresome from the heat. THAT was one hot summer, but Mother Nature seems to be doing it again this year.

That bitch.

December 23, 2008

What did I do?

Originally published July 27, 2005

Maybe a better question is, "what has changed?"

This makes two nights in a row that Quinton called me just to talk. He said tonight that he's going to call every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, plus twice on the weekends from now on.

He doesn't know how happy he made me.

December 22, 2008


Originally published December 11, 2005

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

I'm even losing my appetite for food again.

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

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

December 21, 2008

The "zero hero"

Originally published July 27, 2005

I had a lot of entertainment talking to Quinton tonight. He's a troop in some paint-ball league that goes out and fights in the woods about twice every week. His nickname is "The Zero Hero" because he slays his enemies without mercy, ravishes their wimmen and sacks their villages, driving everything into complete panic before him as he cackles in glee and drinks mead from a ram-horn. My son is a barbarian.

I am proud of him.

Well... I'm kinda exaggerating here. Quinton is called the "Zero Hero" because he seldom gets "killed" on the battlefield, and he's the one who usually captures the enemy flag. As he told me tonight,

"Daddy, if I stay low and move fast, they never hit me. Well, sometimes they do. You oughta see the knot on the backa my head right now. I never saw that guy. He was dug in and he jumped up and shot me when I ran by.

Oh! I've got this big bruise on my back, too. But that guy cheated. He was dead already and shot me anyway. Know what I did? I turned around and unloaded my whole gun into him. I bet he has more bruises than I do now."

I am certain that some "psychologists" will see all sorts of warning signs in what I just wrote. Quinton is a gun-loving maniac, just like his father!!! BEJUS!!! KILL THEM BOTH!!! THE ACORN NEVER FALLS FAR FROM THE TREE!!!

I just wish we'd had paintball games when I was Quinton's age. Damn! That's got to be a lot of fun.

You know what I thought about tonight when I talked to him? I thought about that single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle that I bought I almost bought to teach Quinton and Jack to shoot. That's an exact replica of the first "real" gun I ever shot in my life and I think it is the ideal rifle to teach young boys to shoot.

One round at a time. You have to learn to operate the gun. You have to think before every shot. I can't conceive of a better way to do it.

I taught 'em to shoot BB guns, and Quinton has fired my pellet rifle a few times, but he's old enough now to get GOOD at that stuff. And I don't care what some of you GFWs have to say about teaching a boy to shoot. That is one of the closest bonding experiences I ever had with my father and my grandfather.

They both wore Old Spice after-shave. TO THIS DAY, if I smell gunpowder and Old Spice at the same time, I get all misted up, and I remember plunking with that .22 rifle on the banks of the Cumberland river.

I want my son to have memories like that.

December 20, 2008

Busy, busy, busy

Originally published December 13, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 19, 2008

I am losing my mind

Originally published July 27, 2005

I went into the kitchen to re-heat my steak (It's a big 'un. I'm taking this one in two shifts) and I heard that horrible "beee-weee-WEEP!" sound that you get when you dialed a wrong number on the telephone. I checked my phone, and it wasn't making that noise.

I checked my stove, where I was re-heating my supper. It wasn't making that noise, either. I knew damn well that the ice-maker didn't produce that sound, even on a very bad ice-maker day. I checked the refrigerator anyway. No, that wasn't it. I wondered if I had some sentient fungus calling for its mama from my sink.

Nope, nothing there but dirty dishes.

By this time, I had put myself into a "I need to piss" mode, so I went to the bathroom to relieve myself. The sound followed me into the bathroom. A horrible idea washed over me: "IT'S MY DICK!!! MY DICK IS MAKING THAT NOISE!!!"


Um... I have to admit that I over-reacted. Have you ever had a "whistling booger" stuck in your nose that you didn't realize was there? Did you walk around for damn near 30 minutes trying to find where the "beee-weee-WEEP!" sound was coming from, only to discover that it was coming out of your NOSE??? Did you blow your nose and solve the problem?

Good. That's never happened to ME, either.

December 18, 2008

I'm better... I think

Originally published December 14, 2005

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

Got-dam! I NEEDED that!

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

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

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

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

It ain't easy to re-invent yourself.

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

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

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

December 17, 2008

Quote of the day

Originally published July 28, 2005

Some thoughts on Iraqi prisoner abuse from Texas:

"If hooking up an Iraqi prisoner's scrotum to a car's battery cables will save one American GI's life, then I have just two things to say:

"Red is positive"
"Black is negative"

Bubba Bechtol, part time City Councilman from Midland, TX.

December 16, 2008


Originally published December 14, 2005

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

I wouldn't want it done to me.

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

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

December 15, 2008

It's your job

Originally published July 28, 2005

I got a little bit misted up reading this post. I almost threw in another "Quote of the Day" when I saw this:

"That is the most painful moment in a parentís life - and the happiest. For as much as we want our children to be children forever, we also want them to be Fully Functional and Happy Adults, which means establishing their own lives and making their own way in the world. We did it, back in the day - and now itís their turn."

I remember talking to mama and daddy long after my brother and I hopped from the nest and flew out on our own. They went through some serious readjustment blues when that happened. They had been PARENTS for 20-odd years, and suddenly they were just husband and wife again.

That took some getting used to.

But they finally realized that they had done a pretty good job raising two boys, and once we were out of college and gone, they had more money than they'd ever known before. (I've mentioned before that money was tight when I grew up. Feeding and clothing two grocery-eating, growing boys is an expensive proposition.)

I believe that my parents had about 10 really good years before my father died. They were a lot older, but I saw them behave like newlyweds, once my brother and I were out of their hair.

I always thought I might get to do the same thing. That plan didn't work out, but I damn sure know the feeling. Even the mockingbirds in my back yard know it.

Teach your children, then send them out to cope for themselves. If you did a good job, they'll be fine. After that, love the one you've been with through the hard times. Now is your chance to enjoy.

Not many people do that kind of thing anymore. And I think it's a crying shame.

December 14, 2008

Damned good question

Originally published December 14, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

Piss on caviar. I prefer boiled peanuts.

December 13, 2008

Yeah. I'm proud of it

Originally published July 28, 2005

PJ is a typical leftist troll. Every now and then, the prick surprises me by actually having something rational to say, but those incidents are few and far between. Take this comment, for example:

Your grandfather planned to go out and KILL another human being with his gun. And this was something you were proud to tell about. What is respectable about that and how does that make for a bonding thing with a son? and WTF does wearing Old Spice have to do with shooting a fucking gun or killing another human being? If that is what you count on to get laid, I would hate to meet the women you attract Acidbrain. The only thing you are passing to the boy are insecurities you could never seem to make up for except to try your damndest to be some kind of Marlboro man...but I believe you have fallen a little short on that goal pardner.


Posted by PJ at July 28, 2005 02:51 AM

My grandfather bought a pistol and FULLY INTENDED to kill somebody with it. He went looking for the man who tried to rape my grandmother, and only the fact that she was a mean-assed farm woman saved her from that fate when that bastard attacked her.

PJ obviously knows NOTHING about Harlan County, Kentucky back in those days (1935). You couldn't call 911, because nobody had a phone. Hell, my family lived so far up in the hollow that nobody could pump SUNSHINE into that place. You either took care of yourself and your own, or you were fucked.

Yeah. My grandfather WAS gonna kill that man if he found him. And I AM proud of the way he reacted. Pussies won't understand, but I do. In those times, the law wasn't always handy. A sheriff might take half a day to ride on horseback to your cabin, AFTER you sent somebody running or riding to report a crime.

If my grandfather HAD found that man and shot him dead in cold blood, no jury in Harlan would have convicted him for it. PJ will never understand what it means to take care of yourself, by whatever means necessary. The "Code of the Hills" is lost on a leftist asshole.

PJ, what would YOU do in those circumstances? Just say the rape was inevitable and my grandmother should have relaxed and enjoyed it? FORGIVE the escaped con and chalk it up as "shit happens?" Invite the bastard over for supper so you can "communicate" with him? Suggest some "anger management" classes?

Sit down and sing "Kum-Ba-Ya?" If that's what you believe, I should be able to rape your mama and receive nothing but "love" from you.

Fuck you. You wouldn't have survived a month in those hills thinking the way you do.

You are a perfect example of why America is becoming so pussified today.

December 12, 2008

Pissed him off

Originally published December 15, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 11, 2008

Another quote of the day

Originally published July 28, 2005

JB (who is NOT the same person as PJ) and I had our first falling out several years ago when he went off on a rant about his sons being drafted and sent off to be cannon-fodder in Iraq. When I had the unmitigated gall to point out that we DON'T have a draft anymore, he went ape-shit on me. Somehow, his sons were going to be drafted anyway.

Evidently, the idea of all-volunteer armed forces still hasn't penetrated his pointy head.

I've written before that I believe the military is a GOOD thing for people who get out of high school and don't have a clue about what they intend to do in life. The pay may not be great, but you can learn some valuable skills if you're willing, (the best E&I guys I ever worked with learned their craft in the Navy) and it's a good way to fill in that gap between boyhood and manhood that is so confusing in western society.

I will not deny that some troops die young in a time of war. But SWEET BEJUS, people! How many "yoots" die every got-dam day in drive-by shootings and gang wars? Why aren't the leftists bitching about THAT waste of life?

I've seen those men and wimmen in uniform at airports all over this country, and they make me proud. They are there because they CHOSE to be there, and I admire them all. What they do takes courage and determination, which are qualities sorely lacking among leftists.

"What part of volunteer army do you cry babies not understand? I don't want someone who doesn't want to be here serving next to me. Truthfully, nobody really wants to be here. But some of us ( mostly the right ) understand that sacrifices sometimes have to be made. You sad sacks of shite on the left can't or refuse to understand this. Freedom is not a natural circumstance in this world, it must be fought for and maintained. For most of the left, there is nothing worth fighting for. That is why I believe freedom scares the left more than anything else."

Posted by matterson at July 28, 2005 01:49 PM

I want to hear PJ and JB shoot THAT quote down. Oh... never mind. They think guns are evil and nothing is worth fighting for.

PJ will say the guy is brainwashed and JB will shriek something about the Constitution. Fuck 'em both.

Matterson, you have my respect and admiration.

December 10, 2008

What would I do?

Originally published December 15, 2005

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

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

I vote big softy...

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

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

And a potato gun...

December 09, 2008

I'm not gonna declare victory

Orignally published July 28, 2005

They may be back. They've done it before.

The ants got so bad around my house that I had to take extreme measures. I was smart enough to buy TWO 50-pound bags of Diazanon right after the tree-hugging EPA banned it. Even in this sweltering heat, I was pissed off enough to spread 90 pounds of it over my yard and around my house. I kept 10 pounds for emergency back-up.

BWHAHAHAHAAA!!! I don't have ants in my yard anymore, but my neighbors do. And THEY don't have any Diazanon. I hope I killed a gadzillion ants, but I really think I just ran them off and stuck my neighbors with them.

Tough shit. That's THEIR problem now--- not mine. I hope they do the wookie-dance the next time they're bitten and thank the EPA for banning Chlordane, too.

December 08, 2008

Resetting the clock

Originally published December 17, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 07, 2008

Things I remember

Originally published July 28, 2005

#1) I showed up unannounced at my parents house one evening and discovered them skinny-dipping in the pool together when they were 60 years old. I was sorry I interrupted their fun.

#2) I found a small bag in Mama's cedar chest that had "ROB" written on it. Inside, I found every baby tooth I put under my pillow for the "Tooth Fairy" to find. She had another bag just like it with my brother's name on it. She saved every one of those teeth.

#3) I once dated a waitress who was willing to go to jail for a crime she DID NOT commit. I finally talked her out of confessing, and I'm glad that I did. But as she put it at the time, "I can handle jail better than she can. If they lock her up, she'll die. She's like my sister, Rob. I can't let that happen to her." The guilty party got off with a plea-bargain and nobody had to go to jail. But I damn sure saw somebody willing to do it for somebody else.

#4) I once saw my Uncle Gene get banned at a Turkey-Shoot. He was fresh out of the 82nd Airborne and a crack shot with a rifle. The guy running the show ran him off because he didn't want Gene to win ALL the prizes. He made us leave, but he let Gene keep everything he'd won up to then. Gene laughed all the way home.

#5) I once thought that I might die of hypothermia on a backbacking trip. The temperature was about 26 degrees and sleet was coming down from the sky. I was wet as a drowned duck, too. I couldn't stop walking because I started to shiver when I did that. I just kept going to the top of the mountain.

Once there, I managed to build a fire in the rain, strip nekkid, wrap myself in plastic garbage bags to stay warm, rig a clothesline to dry my clothes and even have my tarp and hammock pitched before the rest of my crew made it to the top of the mountain. By the next morning, I was warm and cozy, with dry clothes.

#5) I survived a T-Bone automobile collision on highway 278 in South Carolina where a friend and I TOTALLED his brand-new Chrystler LeBaron. It wasn't our fault (a dumbass did something stupid right in front of us), but we absolutely destroyed that car. Neither one of us was wearing a seat-belt. I put my head through the windshield and we both bounced around that car like ping-pong balls. We BOTH should be dead!

We walked away with sore heads and a few scratches. But I ALWAYS wear a seat belt now.

#6) Getting my driver's license--- the FIRST TIME!!! Weren't you proud of yourself when YOU did it?

#7) The who, what, when, where and how of the first time I ever got laid. And I also remember wondering why I didn't feel different after that happened.

#8) Hearing an older friend tell me about masturbation and me calling bullshit on that idea. That was a lotta crap and lies! So, I went home and tried it that night. HOLY BEJUS!!! He was telling the truth.

#9) The birth of both of my children. You talk about a RUSH??? You're worried. You have no control. You're scared shitless. Something is gonna go wrong. You want to DO SOMETHING, but there's nothing you can do. Then, everything works out fine and you smell the breath of a newborn baby. And you bubble inside with so many emotions that you spend the next 20 years trying to figure them out.

#10) My first new car. A 1982 Camaro. Swift and very evil-looking. It appeared to be speeding when it was stopped at a traffic light. I called it "The Silver Bullet," and I LOVED that car. I've owned several new vehicles since then, but there's nothing like that first one.

December 06, 2008

Eleven days

Originally published December 17, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

I threw the letter and the form away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 05, 2008

I did it again

Originally published July 29, 2005

Yes, I deleted all of JB's comments from a post below. I think he managed to spew out a mere 10,000 words this time.

At least PJ can make an ass out of himself with just a paragraph or two. JB always seems to be trying to beat my comments to death with QUANTITY, not quality. If you have to write that many words to make your point, you have no point to make.

Can you imagine the U.S. Constitution (which he claims to love so much) written by JB? The damn thing would be 5,000 pages long, single-spaced, with asides and digressions, and NOBODY would understand it.

Much like his comments.

December 04, 2008

I claimed it

Originally published December 19, 2005

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

That's the kind of asshole I am.

December 03, 2008

Merry Christmas to me

Originally published December 19, 2005

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

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

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

December 02, 2008

Weekend warriors

Originally published July 29, 2005

I have some interesting comments on this post. I'm gonna give MY humble opinion on the matter.

I worked with a LOT of people who were in the National Guard or some military reserve unit. Most of 'em thought it was a gravy train. You get paid, you pile up more years for retirement, and you go to drill one weekend a month, then spend two weeks in the summer sleeping at Fort Stewart. Rough work.

Then, the gravy train derailed and they were asked to do what they were being paid to do, for all of those years that they did nothing. Go fight.

Got-Dam! That wasn't a free ride anymore and they couldn't smirk about drawing a "free" check every month for attending "duty" that involved no duty. Those fuckers are trying to bail out left and right now. I hope they do, beause we don't need those lazy bastards anyway.

I just have one question to ask: If you ENLIST in the National Guard or retain your reserve status when you exit the military, just what the fuck did you expect? Were you betting that you'd NEVER be called to active duty? Were you scamming the system for some bucks? Was the CHECK all you were in it for, and now that you're being asked to EARN the money, you don't want it anymore?

I don't buy that shit.

That's about as smart as saying, "I want to be a prize-fighter, I want to be paid for it, but I NEVER want to step into a ring." BEJUS! They all knew the job was dangerous when they took it. But it didn't SEEM dangerous at the time, and the checks just kept rolling in. Fat and happy, sucking the government tit. Life was good.

But now that it IS dangerous, they don't want the job. Good. We don't want that kind anyway, and the sooner they get their pussy asses out of the military, the better off the military will be.

Don't ever sign a check that your ass isn't willing to cash.

December 01, 2008

Hasta la vista, Baby

Originally published December 20, 2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's downright Southern.