May 28, 2011
here is how stupid some assholes can be
Originally published September 29, 2004
I offer for your consideration a true dumbass in action:
If Rob doesn't want comments that disagree with his opinions, why does he have them? If it's only to get praise for what he writes that's pretty boring. And why is it stupid to leave a comment against what he says and it's not stupid to leave a comment about what a troll says? And what is a troll anyway? Just somebody who doesn't agree? Beth leaves a lot of comments. Is she a troll? If Rob only wants comments from people he agrees with he should say so.
Randi, you scum-sucking asswipe, I NEVER CENSOR ANYONE. I enjoy arguing with people who really want to question my ideas and make a counter-argument. But when people LIKE YOU call my site "pretty boring," I have to wonder what the fuck you're doing here in the first place. Go masturbate. You're probably a lot better at that than you are at writing because you've had a lot more practice at flogging your wanger than you have at putting coherent words on a page. It might do you a world of good to have a woman do it for once in your life. You'll probably have to pay for it, but in YOUR case it'll be worth the money.
You'll never get laid otherwise.
If my son was ANYTHING like you, I would strangle him in his sleep for the good of the universe.
Did you ever have a literate English teacher in school? If so, you never paid attention in class, did you? If you ever had a fucking original idea in your head, it would die of loneliness, because you don't do a lot of original thinking. Pathetic buttwipe.
And YES, Beth is a goddam Troll. She never wants to debate an idea with me. She wants to insult me and my readers with her pseudo-psychological bullshit. Well, that infantile bed-wetting cunt can BITE ME. You and she should get married and raise morons. As If either one of you could figure out what "outie" goes in what "innie."
There's never been a fence around my ass. I just don't like people who won't come through the gate that doesn't exist but still want to trash my yard. That cowardly bullshit is what makes you both fucking trolls. Dumpster-Heads.
The truth is, you both envy the hell out of me, and that fact bugs the shit out of you. I get lots of visitors per day on a popular blog, I have more cash money in the bank than you'll ever see in your trolling life and I have the Crackerbox, my own domain name, five weeks of vacation every year and a bionic dick, all bought and paid for.
You WISH you were ME.
But you're not and you never will be. BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
May 21, 2011
things I thought about today
Originally published September 29, 2003
* I thought about Palestinian fathers who strap bomb-belts on their sons and daughters and send them off to die. Then, I thought about the pie-fight I had with Quinton and Jack this weekend. How can ANY father love his son and still strap an explosive belt on him, and tell him to go detonate himself in the middle of a cafe? What kind of savages are those people? I would throw myself on a hand grenade to save Quinton's life. I would NEVER take pride in seeing him become a "martyr" in a totally useless, totally stupid cause.
* I thought about my job. I thought long and hard about the fact that I don't qualify for the package that's being offered to people that are a mere three and one-half years older than I am. I wish I could take it. Hell, I would throw my clock number in the hat RIGHT NOW if they would let me. I can retire with reduced benefits on February 16th of next year. If they would sever me NOW and throw in about two years worth of pay, I could do what I really want to do.
I could write, full time, and see how much I could sell.
* I thought about football. I did a lot of coaching with Quinton this weekend about how to line up a tackle in the open field and how to "lead" a runner when he's trying to cut the corner. I also told him to use his helmet first and shoulders second when making a tackle. I don't give a shit what some have-no-clue-about-football pussy such as this one has to say:
admit I have misgivings about Rob's attitudes and values. To teach his son to 'hit to kill" in a game of football does not strike me as wholesome. Macho yes. But wise? I don't think so. It's okay to encourage competitiveness, but that's not the same thing as what Rob said he wanted to encourage.
Dumbfuck. DID YOU EVER PLAY FOOTBALL??? It AIN'T a NICE-GUY GAME. If you are not willing to "hit to kill," your pussy ass has no business on a football field. That ain't fucking soccer you're playing out there. The helmet and shoulder pads protect you, but they are WEAPONS, too. If you can't use them as such, you don't need to jock up and go out there.
If you EXPECT to hit or GET hit on every play, you're ready for it. You learn how to take a lick, how to fall, how to give a lick and keep on your feet. You learn to stay ALERT all the time. People who go to sleep on the football field get hurt. If I stay on my toes all the time, I'LL be the one who hurts YOU. I don't see anything wrong with teaching my son to play football the way I played it. He gives away a lot of size out there, the same way I did. I am showing him how to WIN in spite of physical shortcomings.
Sometimes, in football, it boils down to who wants it badly enough. If you won't hit, hang up your jock and go home. Football just ain't your game. It's a collision sport. If you ain't willing to collide, you'd better just quit, RIGHT NOW.
And mamas who can't handle that fact should NEVER let their darling, precious boys play football. Buy them some goddam Barbie Dolls to play with. You always wanted a fucking girl anyway.
* I thought about Blood Mountain. For some reason, I dreamed last night about being back in the cabin. I dreamed that I had slept all day (Bejus! I wish I could!) and I was late for the blog-meet. I was alone and I couldn't find my car keys. I went into a panic. (I have this real anal part of me that demands total punctuality in everything I do. I live and die by deadlines at work and I'm still alive.) I went running out of the cabin with no pants on and realized that I couldn't ride to Dahlonega UNDRESSED the way I was. I started back to the cabin to find my pants and woke up at 4:20 this morning.
Yes, I dream vividly that way.
* I thought about my mama. We didn't go visit her this weekend. Me and the boys had pie-fights and football games, and I am a shitty son for doing that instead of visiting my mama.
That's what I thought about today.
May 14, 2011
i really don't want to
Originally published September 30, 2003
How many times have I said that to people who want me to play guitar on stage again? I don't know, but it's been a lot since I quit for good in 1990. Okay, I didn't quit in 1990. I got lured into the Company Band in 1999 and played with them for a while. But that was work-related and the fucking PLANT MANAGER "suggested" that I participate, because I was a known guitar player, so I had very little choice in the matter. I played.
I didn't like it. I wasn't particularly fond of the people I was playing with, I didn't want to do it in the first place, and the music just didn't thrill me anymore. But I did it, and we actually became a pretty damned good band.
One thing I like about music is the fact that you can take five people who have never played together before and make a GOOD band out of them in two weeks, if they've played in bands before.
That wasn't the case with The Company Band. We had two people who had never played before in a group. They set the rest of the band back a long way. The problem wasn't that they couldn't play... they just didn't know how to play as part of a group. If you've never played in a band before, you may not know what I'm talking about, but TOTAL SOUND is what you're looking for, not individual musicianship. Our drummer and one guitar player just never really wrapped that idea around their heads.
The drummer wanted to be Ginger Baker on every song, without Ginger's ability, and the guitar player always thought he needed to be louder than anyone else. That doesn't make for building a good band. I did not tackle that situation and try to fix it. I just promised myself that if I ever got OUT OF IT, I would never put my Cracker ass back in it again.
And I haven't since then. I'm being recruited again for the same type of thing, but I am flat saying "NO" this time. I don't want to play with those people and I don't want to play at work. If I ever make music on stage again, it'll be bluegrass or acoustic, not rock-and-roll. I don't mind playing electric with my friends, but fuck if it's ever going to be a job for me again. Don't ask me to do that.
I really don't want to.
May 07, 2011
Originally published October 1, 2003
I've been blogging for 21 months now. I almost quit once because I felt totally stressed out by it. But that experience allowed me to take a step back and realize what I really wanted to do here.
I just write. I don't want to go fang and claw in competition with other bloggers for popularity or links. I got caught up in that nonsense once and it really fucked me up. I'm not doing that crap ever again.
Don't get me wrong. I like my readers and the really clever comments I receive from them. That "ceaseless quest for adoration from people who don't know me" is part of my motivation and I'm not going to lie about that. I like attention. I put up with the trolls even though they piss me off. I don't know why anyone wants to be a troll, but I really don't know why I want to blog the way I do, either.
I've used this analogy before, but the longer I write this blog the more I believe that it's true. The internet is a big, vast, surging ocean. I like to stand on the shore, watch the waves and stick a note in a bottle. I then throw the bottle into that big, vast, surging ocean on the outgoing tide just to see where it might land.
The note may be read, or it may not. Maybe nobody ever finds the bottle. Maybe somebody does and passes the note to other people. Maybe, after they read my note, THEY start throwing bottles in the ocean, too. That can happen.
I just like blogging a lot better since I stopped whoring for links and checking the Ecosystem every day to see where I stood in the rankings. I could give a shit about that anymore. What I put here will be here every day, just because I want to do it.
Pick up that bottle you found on the beach and read the note inside if you want to. Otherwise, don't. It really doesn't matter one way or the other. I'll still keep putting the notes in bottles and tossing them into the ocean.
That's what I do.
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