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        Tuesday, August 31, 2004

    Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dust-bunny...

    Early this morning, I heard a disturbance coming from the kid's room...panicky, tiny, breathless shrieks, thumping feet, the sounds of fighting...I raced to the door...

    There was my three year old daughter, in mortal combat with a cloud of mutant, radioactive bees, twisting, turning, gasping, transfixed in the bars of morning light streaming through the spinning blades of her window fan...she was beset on all sides by glowing, supernatural, darting faeries, and she danced and fought like a warrior princess...well, at least until she fell on her ass and noticed me stifling hysterics in the doorway.

    Well, those were some big-ass dust motes, I'm here to tell you. She kept a wary eye on those spinning dust devils as she edged around the light, towards me, and then fled down the stairs to regale her mother with tales of battle.

    A Bronze Star, at the very least.

        Monday, August 30, 2004

    It is not often...

    ...that I hear a blonde joke I have not heard before. To get seven, all at once, is a miracle, and just another sign of the impending apocalypse. To bring on Abaddon more quickly, I bring you:

    Seven Degrees of Blonde...

    A married couple were asleep when the phone rang at 2 in the morning.The wife (undoubtedly blonde), picked up the phone, listened a moment and said, "How should I know, that's 200 miles from here!" and hung up.The husband said, "Who was that?"The wife said, "I don't know, some woman wanting to know if the coast is clear."
    Two blondes are walking down the street. One notices a compact on the sidewalk and leans down to pick it up. She opens it, looks in the mirror and says, "Hmm, this person looks familiar."The second blonde says, "Here, let me see!"So the first blonde hands her the compact. The second one looks in the mirror and says, "You dummy, it's me!"
    A blonde suspects her boyfriend of cheating on her, so she goes outand buys a gun. She goes to his apartment unexpectedly and when she opens the door she finds him in the arms of a redhead. Well, the blonde is really angry. She opens her purse to take out the gun, and as she does so, she is overcome with grief. She takes the gun and puts it to her head. The boyfriend yells, "No, honey, don't do it!!!" The blonde replies, "Shut up, you're next!"
    A blonde was bragging about her knowledge of state capitals. She proudly says, "Go ahead, ask me, I know all of them."A friend says, "OK, what's the capital of Wisconsin?"The blonde replies, "Oh, that's easy: W."
    FIFTH DEGREE What did the blonde ask her doctor when he told her she was pregnant? "Is it mine?"
    Bambi, a blonde in her fourth year as a UCLA freshman, sat in her US government class. The professor asked Bambi if she knew what Roe vs. Wade was about. Bambi pondered the question then finally said, "That was the decision George Washington had to make before he crossed the Delaware."
    Returning home from work, a blonde was shocked to find her house ransacked and burglarized. She telephoned the police at once and reported the crime. The police dispatcher broadcast the call on the radio, and a K-9 unit, patrolling nearby was the first to respond. As the K-9 officer approached the house with his dog on a leash, the blonde ran out on the porch, shuddered at the sight of the cop and his dog, then sat down on the steps. Putting her face in her hands, she moaned, "I come home to find all my possessions stolen. I call the police for help, and what do they do? They send me a BLIND policeman."

    Now, go stock up on canned goods and ipod downloads.



    It has been pointed out, here and there, sometimes even charitably, that I have a way with words.

    Maybe because that is because I believe that the Dictionary is a living, breathing document, to be manipulated at our conversational will. I like to knee its covers apart, and lay full length upon it while I sow my mutant seed.

    For instance, a fat chick might be pretty, hot even. You would describe her thusly as ‘flabulous’. If she is inclined to hysterics, you might describe her as ‘going flabistic’, or being prone to ‘engaging in flabionics’. See? There has to be some sort of rule, here, while you conjugalistically defroculate the English language. Without standards, are we not just barbarians?

    So, to review, what do we say when we see a sexy flat chick? Yes! She is flatulous! If you don’t screw her, but remain friends, you are in a ‘flatonic relationship’.

    The wind you expel just before you are executed is ‘flatulistic’, an inevitable exhalassation of primordial dookie-wind.

    Anybody can do this…it’s just a wonder we don’t have more languages than we already do.

    Now, class, conjugate the verb fart



    If you didn't catch Giuliani's speech just now, you missed out. Kicked some serious ass.

    There will be several places historians will look to argue which event destroyed Kerry's candidacy. If nothing else comes up between now and election, I think this speech will win.


    Yeah, what he said...

    Update, Pt Deux:

    I swore off Michael Savage tonight. He imploded like that mosquito in the Tabasco ad, flying off to go off and explode over the yard. What a fuckhead. I feel dirty, wasting any time at all listening to his ignorant blather. He hooked me initially with his anti-fag rant, and I thought to myself "finally, a man, standing up, and getting it right..."

    Sad. I am right on with him and his 'borders/languages' stance, but he has shown himself to be nothing better than any other Libertarianarchist gasbag...ineffectual, a blind kitten, clawlessly pawing for it's mother's teat.



    Once you've finished flogging the dolphin to Japanese Catholic schoolgirl porn on the internet, while the strains of the music to Blue's Clues floats up from downstairs, your day is pretty much all downhill from there.

    My first Monday off work in a while, and already bored to tears. What is it with that Ambiguously Gay Duo, Steve and Joe, anyway? And how is it that I know their names? And the names of Dora's friends and relatives, as well as the lyrics to the 'Chocolata Song'? Sad.

    Dora: Do you know what this is?

    Me: A turd!

    My Baby Daughter: Thass not uh turd!

    Dora: You're right!

    Me: See? Told ya.

    Molding young minds is a grave responsibility, and I am honored to be entrusted with such. I do suppose I should quit threatening to "off Barney" when they misbehave, though. Maybe use Santa instead. He's not real.

        Sunday, August 29, 2004

    Praise The Lord!

    What have I been telling you about the sharp turn the kids today are gonna make?

    Watch, and learn, my children.

    Wheels within wheels...

    And I am watching Geraldo, right this second, interviewing Kerry's most powerful defender, Bill wife has just rushed from the room, making the gorge sound.

    Two words: Zell Miller.


    Help Wanted...

    Hey, what's a brutha gotta do to get a writing job? Nobody's beating down my door, and, other than buying a Writers Digest and trying to wade through all of the bullshit, I haven't a clue. Do I need a pimp? Some tough negroe who will get me jobs, and smack the trade around if they get too rough?

    I sit here, dead in the water, my sides raked by cannonade, drifting...sails drooping...rudderless, fires licking avidly towards my powder magazine..."From Hell's heart, I stab at thee. For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee!"

    ...or just give me a dollar. I need a friggin beer.


    I Love It...

    I don't like to repeat myself, so I'll have these Kerry haters do it for me.

    Meanwhile, "Bush hatred" - another losing hand the Democrats put too many chips on - has peaked, and any saggy nudists or trust-fund anarchists who succeed in pulling off some camera-worthy stunt in Manhattan this week will only be boosting the President.

    Ahhh, lines I wish I had written...


    But wait! There's more!

    Why reinvent the wheel, when there are so many of them running over his dumb, lying, psycho ass.


    Must Read...

    This is some beautiful writing, folks. And the rest of his blog shines as well.

    Update: Dammit, it looks like I did it right, but it keeps popping back up to the top of the page. Fucking Blogger. Oh well, scroll down to 'Song of My Self Esteem' and you'll see what I'm talking about. And if you get distracted along the trip downward, no harm done.


    I Don't have Any Friends...

    Well, there is my little Gloryhole of a blog, but that's not what I consider friendship. Random strangers, meeting for a quick, furtive conversations.

    No, I mean a friend. Someone who is a non-relative that I would consider killing or dying for if need be. Well, there is my wife. We were friends first, then Best Friends, then lovers, and we excluded pretty much everybody out of our lives for a long time, we were so consumed with each other. She has friends, church friends and such, but I do not.

    In the last ten years or so, I have actually had several guys ask me directly to be their friend. Hmmmm. To me friendship just day you both notice you are friends, and it feels right. Maybe at some point, you make some sort of a commitment, perhaps engage in some sort of bonding event, and you realize you have become more than friends, have become in fact Best Friends. A group of these, hanging together, is a joyous thing. And it has been a very long time since I've experienced such a thing.

    No, it has been my experience that a friend is just some guy who will fuck your wife/girlfriend/sister if he gets a snootful and half a chance. Some guy who will borrow your money and your stuff and then balk when the favor needs returning. Some guy who will listen to you drunkenly spill your innermost secrets, and then laugh about them and share them with people you do not like.

    I'll admit it...I may have one or two character flaws. One of them is that when I commit, truly commit to a friendship, I will do anything and everything for that person that they need...kind of a Knights of the Round Table meets Bushido sort of thing. But! I expect him or her, to the best of their abilities, to do the same for me.

    There's the rub. And, in a nutshell, why I don't have any friends. I both fear and expect commitment, and it is easier to stay alone, and nurture the one friend I've got.

    A True Friend is someone who:

    ...when they spray puke all around your bathroom, cleans it up cleaner than it was before, and leaves you the cleaning supplies they had to buy, as penance.

    ...takes the smack in the head that was meant for you, and grabs the guy around the knees as they crumple so you can beat the shit out of the suckerpuncher.

    ...knows when to bring beer over, and knows that maybe now is not the right time, leaves, and leaves the beer cuz you look like you could use a few beers.

    ...if a guys wife makes a drunken, boozy pass at him, tells her to cut that shit out or he'll tell, and then doesn't tell, cuz who wants to hear shit like that? This hasn't happened with any of my wives (that I know of), but I've done that favor more than once for my friends, and been thanked later by their hung over, embarrassed wives. just plain there for you, because they know that you would move Heaven and Earth to do the same for them.

    I think my standards are too high...thus, I remain,


        Saturday, August 28, 2004

    Happy Accidents...

    Let me introduce you to The Army of Mom, another worthy blog. She left a random comment, I followed, and was pleasantly surprised. Go, and admire her cervix.

    And play nice. Don't make me come up there!

        Friday, August 27, 2004


    They take daydreaming to it's extreme, where the dreams enter your waking life and consume it.

    Who is this Michael Badenov, you ask? I dunno, either. Don't care. I understand he is dreaming of becoming our President. Dream on. Hearing lib drivel is like opening your front door to a Jehovah's Witness. Smile, make excuses, and walk away. They're harmless, and if you work with one, you can have a pleasant conversation with him or her, as long as you don't tread down certain creepy, shaded pathways. Stay in the light!

    I like to think of our government as a big, mean homosexual rapist, let's call him Mongo, that I've been thrown into the same cell with. He is 6' 8" and 400 pounds of muscle from working out every day for years. He is also proficient at Krav Maga and Shotokan Karate and, basically, at this point, all I can hope is that he has a little dick. I can't even kill him in his sleep, because he has got a gang of feral faggot bastards that watch me while he sleeps, and bang pans on the bars to wake him up, and I get raped again. He has told me that if I bite, he will knock each and every one of my teeth out and I'll still have to blow him. He and I have a life sentence together, so again, at this point, all I can hope for is a loving and caring family on the outside who sends me lots of chapstick and Astro-Glide. And mouthwash.

    The facts of the case are them, boys and girls, and all of our macho posturing isn't going to be able to keep ourselves from crying ourselves to sleep...if he lets us...with a bunghole that won't even notice it much after it has been broke in good and proper. Maybe, after a while, things will settle down and we can knit curtains together.

    ANY other thoughts are just futile, bullshit daydreaming. Watch how The State manhandles these poor ijjit agitators during the convention next week. It will be shown, too. They want you to learn your place, and the futility of resistance. We were assimilated a long time ago, and yes, that means you, too, Mr and Mrs Iconoclast. Any freedom you enjoy is either illusion, or because you have earned and bought yourselves into the protected class...

    ...Mongo will get around to you eventually.


    An Amusing Story...

    Yes, this is funny, but that's not what struck my eye.

    That would be this, from the article:

    Sulkers' remains were discovered Wednesday. Manitoba's chief medical examiner, Dr. Thambirajah Balachandra, determined he had died of natural causes.

    Sulkers, believed to be in his 50s, had multiple sclerosis. Balachandra said there were no signs of trauma and he was able to quickly rule out homicide, suicide or accident as a cause of death. But because the body was in a mummified state, he could not determine an exact cause.

    Fucking Communist Canada. Hope they're real happy with a raghead in charge of who decides which death is important. From the sounds of that paragraph, it appears that Dr Thamumbadumba passed by the body on the way to get a snack from a vending machine and said "Yep, he is most assuredly dead..."

    Oh, Canada...

        Thursday, August 26, 2004

    Omega Doom...

    Two enthusiastic, opposable thumbs up. Delightful Sci-Fi Schlock. Don't ask me to explain it. Rutger Hauer. Rent it. Loosen your fore-brain, and enjoy.



    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go and worship...

    Unusual for Her Rage-ness, she goes off the road in her last paragraph, and leaves me feeling like she choked me off just before the clouds and rain. Almost disappointing, and I steer perilously close to blasphemy, here. Good points, though.

    Speaking of Fred Reed, this latest column surprises me, and restores a brick or two in the crumbling wall of my enjoyment of him. He does lose rigidity a time or two, and goes a bit limp, but I appreciate the overall theme.

    I am aware of the importance of Al Sadr to the Shiite-heads, and of the intricacies of the tribal moon ghod worshipping situation in Najaf/Fallujah...I just cannot understand why we give a shit, and why we are spending American lives in this farce.

    Let me repeat myself, I understand and applaud the strategy of raising heck in the enemies back yard, and drawing those who would into the kill zone. Better there than here...pip pip and all that rot. The British Empire played that game for a century or so. I get it. It just better be worth it, is all I'm saying.

    This generation, who goes and fights and raises the next generation, is going to reform the face of the earth in the next twenty years or so. If our current leaders lack a long term strategy, it will be forced upon them by circumstances they appear to be too stupid to foresee.

    And all of our children will pay whatever price is demanded.

        Wednesday, August 25, 2004

    Tonight Is My Friday...

    How long will Friday last this time, I wonder? I pick up my last check in the morning. Turn in my keys. Come home. The government sends me checks. Does life get any better than this? I think not.

    And no, I'm not being a brave little soldier, keeping a stiff upper lip, pip pip and all that rot. My son is coming home on leave next week (2 weeks!) and my daughter is getting married then. I was wondering how to get the time off...problem solved!

    Has anybody noticed how I insert unrelated sub-themes into my posts (See: Aural Sex) and folks pick at the meringue, and avoid the gelatinous mass that was the dark, beating heart of the post?

    Yes, I do sometimes enjoy making you uncomfortable. If I were to, say, relate a story of an officer I saw one time, freshly sacked, stepping out of his office in full dress uniform and, putting his pistol underneath his chin BLAM!! fuck! and his hat, full of brains, was transfixed by the bullet into the ceiling above him...and then the brains began to patter down and make small splatty sounds on the linoleum, and little plops as they landed on his startled, dead face...

    See? Wubbawubbawubba...shake it off. Now, there...don't you feel better? Now you can say "Hey, Bane, enjoy your time with your son!" or "Hope it's not raining on the day of your daughters wedding..."

    You are either born cruel, or life makes you cruel. Sometimes it's a little of both. As I look around me, I am thinking that it is time for many of you to decide whether you are Eloi or Morlock, and to act accordingly.

    There is a cloud, the size of a man's fist, just over the horizon...



    If you go here, and put your cursor over Natalie Portman's nose, you can make snot drip out of it. Too bad they don't show anything below the waist.


    The Unter-Goddess Speaks...

    Go and worship.

    I am using Sweet Michelle as a dowsing rod for whether someone who is talking to me should be paid attention to, or not. When I hear someone casually (or worse, seriously) dismiss The Goddess Ann, or the Goddess Michelle, or Rush, I turn the rest of the conversation into white noise, smile, and nod. Start to talk about Pat Buchanan and Alan Keyes having any worth at all, and my smile turns upside down, and I turn and walk away.


        Tuesday, August 24, 2004

    The Shepherd May 'Know' The Sheep...Too Well...


    Lyin To Da Kids...

    They're only young once, and they need to learn the valuable lesson to 'Trust No One'...I am here for you, My Little Ones.

    In the shower tonight, I heard my little boys cheery voice outside the curtain..."Hi Daddy!" Ah, yesss My Precioussss...I pop the curtain back a bit and holler cheerily "Good Morning!"

    Hesitantly..."Daddy, what're you doing?"

    "I'm getting ready for work, son!" Now run downstairs and get some breakfast!" He peers outside at the darkening sky...suddenly, in his tiny monkey brain, he has lost twelve hours, and needs to reboot. My work here is through.

    Last night, I convinced my sweet little three year old daughter that a spoonfull of green chili was 'green applesauce'. Oho, my mirth was acute!

    My oldest four, adults now, were convinced into their teens that 'hill cows' had legs shorter on one side, and could only go in one direction, around and around the hill. My older boys ate their pizza crusts religiously because they wanted to be able to "grow a moustache like Daddy..." I told them that one when they were, like, three or four, and then one day in their teens, I couldn't get them to leave their crusts behind so we wouldn't be late to a movie. Ahhhh, the gift that keeps on giving.

    My rewards come in fits and starts, and at unexpected times. Tonight, my youngest Marine calls me on his cell, from a car, inside a car wash...I hear cursing and choking, and my sons mad laughter...he had just honked a turd-fart in the middle of a car wash, and his compatriot was suffocating.

    I brushed away a tear, and keeping my voice strong for him, I said "You make your Father very proud today, Son..."

    I hope this has touched you as much as it has touched me...

        Monday, August 23, 2004

    Turd Posts...

    Many bloggers do them...some do them well. A select few are even called to Mastery. Sometimes they do it just because that was the most significant event in their day. There is a reason why "Look at that shit!" is in the lexicon. Sometimes, one just looks at the latest Nessie they have wrought, serpentine head thrusting proudly from the water, and they just are overcome with a need to proselytize. To share.

    I have pondered on this for some time. Why does a pooty little fart generate so much mirth? Why are our eliminations the grist of so many of our comedians mills? Do you suppose a Bangladeshi, up to his neck in sewage from the latest catastrophe to smite his pagan-ass country thinks "Hey! This shit is funny!"? I doubt it.

    No, I doubt that gas and ass humor was appreciated much when folks had to wade through rivers of shit...when horses ruled the roadways, and toilets consisted of pans you flung the contents thereof out of your window to the street below. I bet nobody said "Pull my finger!" when their guts were gurgling with the latest bacteria to storm their intestinal walls.

    Someone, anthropologically inclined, should do a study of potty humor through the ages. Were I not so lazy, I mayhap could snap on the glove of Google to find several proctological Indiana Jones types have already snaked that particular line.

    One way or another, I would bet that the study showed peaks, where potty humor was popular amongst the middle and upper classes, during times of progress, enlightenment, and a strong central government. The lower classes, who live in shit, and struggling peoples in upheaval, do not have the time or the inclination to amuse themselves with their doots and poots.

    I bet that it would also be found that nomadic peoples, from Cro Magnon times to the present, have a delightfully rude and crude sense of comedy.

    Well, I can hear that my next door neighbor is getting shagged again, tonight. I know that a) her boyfriend is married (fucks for 6 hours and then leaves quickly in a pretty fine Lexus) and b) is on Viagra (see: fucks for 6 hours). You would have to use Viagra to achieve priapacy, as her hindquarters look like a big sackfull of ass...well, with the competitive tan, and the cellulite, it could be a Dali rendering of a burlap bag full of rotten apples. Hey, whatever image floats your love log down the sewage-choaked river, eh?

    Hey! Who says you can't blog drunk!

    for Gypsy, whose farts I am sure smell like violets...

        Sunday, August 22, 2004

    Praise The Lord!

    ...and belly up to the bar...



    I have been banned from my first site, ever. I have voluntarily quit posting on sites before, but I have never been banned, until now.

    Seems someone twisted her own panties into a bunch...



    I Don't Do Links...

    Too lazy, and don't really give a shit. But if I had links, this guy would be on the list. A competent, interesting writer, he deserves a read, and if nothing else, a few attaboys.

    Thank you.


    Aural Sex...

    The first time I heard Ozzy's No More a cat licking my brain. I swear, I think I orgasm'd. Sabbath Bloody Sabbath....ditto. Paranoid? How did the Ozzman get into my head and figure me out like that?

    The first time I listened to my new 45 of Behind Blue Eyes, one of my girlfriends snatched it off of the turntable, ran out onto the deck, and frisbee'd it into the canyon. I stepped out, pissed and incredulous, and she turned to me, tear-stained face and nostril goo rampant, and screamed, while jabbing a finger at me like a gun barrel, "That song is so fuckin you, and I finally get what it is about you!!...Fucker!!" She stormed out, and I never saw her again.

    Hey, what'd I say?

    Heart's Barracuda punched me back into the seat of my pickup, and made me pull over until it was done. Yeah, big wet spot on that one. I went straight away to Tower Records and was frantically snapping through albums to find it, and when I pulled it up, the brunette on the cover just stunned me. I was fucking her twin, and that added special sauce to what was left of our relationship. She took an overdose of pills to get my attention. I didn't have much regard for a mother of two who liked to be nailed in her teenage daughters bed, but she did buy me booze and let me use her gas credit card to feed my '64 Impala SS's appetite for dinosaur piss, so I let her down easy. I stood by her bed in ICU, and told her calmly that a razor, lengthwize down the main veins in her wrists in a nice warm tub would have been more effective. I was 19 or 20. Years later, I had the odd and bizzarre pleasure to be working the suicide crisis line in a locked 5150 county mental health facility when she called in 'in crisis'. It didn't take me long to figure out who she was (she thought I was psychic when I guessed her name). I managed to steer the conversation to her past, and focused on me, because, hey, you just don't get this opportunity every day. I got a glimpse twenty years into the past that you rarely get. "He always had a gun, and that frightened me, but God, the sex..." Slut.

    Oh, music. Deep Purple...Perfect Strangers...more brain lickage. I find I have a real affinity for the Hammond B3. Mountain...Mississippi Queen...SPURT!!

    Type O Negative. One of several bands I sacrifice to God. I don't listen to them, because my animal side loves them inordinately, and they make the skin of my spiritual side crawl. Ditto Rob Zombie, Rammstein, et al. Though I would like to see Type O Negative do a children's album. AC/DC, all the devil lovers. Fukkem.

    I have been listening to Uriah Heeps 'Sweet Freedom' album off and on all day, and it has put me in a weird place. Stealin came out in 1973, the year I graddyated high school. There was so much going on then. Life was so very very very different. The purity of this music makes me almost ashamed to listen to and enjoy any of this processed cheese they call music today.

    Ah, well. Life goes on.


        Saturday, August 21, 2004

    If You Have...

    ...a decent singing voice (and I do), the next time you're around a group of Catholics (and hopefully some Joos) try singing Hava Negila to the tune of Ave' Maria. Watch their faces. Priceless.

    On a related note, I was working with a Joo yesterday, and I couldn't resist wiping my brow and saying "Damn, it's hotter'n an oven in here...oh, sorry." He gave me The Look.

    Later, he was bragging about how he just couldn't spend money, and loved to save. When life hands me a double like that, you can bet I am going to hit it out of the park.

    I am now blissfully bereft of employment. Yep, got laid off Thursday. "Can't afford me." Man spends more on lunch in a month than I pay on rent, and he 'can't afford me'. Man buys $45,000 dollar milling machines on a whim from ebay, and he can't afford me. Right. I have til August 31st, or until I finish this particular batch of work. As you may imagine, I am making turtles look fast. If I had any pride, I would have walked off the job Thursday, but my ex got all my pride in the settlement, so I am free of that particular sin. Oh well.

    Will write for food...

    ...or beer.



    My second favorite song, ever...

    Take me across the water
    cause I need some place to hide
    I done the rancher’s daughter
    And I sure did hurt his pride...

    Well, there’s a hundred miles of desert
    Lies between his hide and mine
    I don’t need no food and no water, lord
    cos I’m running out of time...
    Fightin’, killin’, wine and women
    Gonna put me to my grave...
    Runnin’, hidin’, losin’, cryin’
    Nothing left to save...
    but my life

    Stood on a ridge
    And shunned religion
    Thinking the world was mine
    I made my break and a big mistake
    Stealin’, when i should’ve been buyin’
    All that fightin’, killin’Wine and those women
    Gonna put me to an early grave
    Runnin’, hidin’, losin’, cryin’
    Nothing left to save but my life, life...

    So I stood on a ridge and shunned religion
    Thinking the world was mine
    I made my break and a big mistake
    Stealin’, when i
    Should’ve been buyin’
    I was stealin’
    When I should’ve been buyin’
    I was stealin’
    When I should’ve been buyin’
    Stealin’, when i should’ve been buyin’ ..
    I was stealin’ ...

    Story of my life...

        Thursday, August 19, 2004

    I just had an ugly growth removed from my anus, and the doctor gave it to me in a jar of alcohol to keep...



    ...a nutshell.


    The Goddess Kicks More Ass!

    Go, and worship.

    All I can do after reading this is root for Al Queda, and pray for Apocalypse.


        Wednesday, August 18, 2004



    The Goddess...

    ...gets some competition. What a great article, and I agree with every damn word. I've heard a bunch of rascist ninny-nannies whining about their civil rights today, with their strongest arguments being that she hurt their feelings and she is a gook. Puhleeze.

    You hear two kinds of people whine about their civil rights...zealots, and the guilty. Truth to tell, we were right to intern the Japanese in WW2, and the cops are right today to be tipping up the fridge and looking for roaches.

    Both Ann Coulter and Michelle Malkin know that they will get the anal probe from the traitors and the ninny-nannies, so they research meticulously, and footnote to an annoying degree (it really fucks with my ADD), and yet still the ninny-nannies and zealots whine.

    "Oh boo hoo tocqueville...Bill of Rights...slippery slope...blah blah fucking blahdy blah..."

    If you are a Bad Guy, or even a potential Bad Guy, I want hot lights in your face, electrodes on your nipples, and a gloved fist up your ass. If you turn out to be innocent, here's a tube of Preparation H, go whine somewhere else..."Next!"

    The same goes for you anti drug war a-holes. All this behavior goes hand in glove with the decline of Western Civilization. That 'privacy of my own home' line is bullshit, too. If you are fucking up in your home, you need to be rousted. We live in a country filled with hundreds of millions of people, now, not some agrarian fantasy land, and shit can go real bad real quick if a measure of control isn't asserted.

    These little anarchist assholes that want to disrupt the Republican Convention aren't exercising their rights, they are trying to take away, by violence if neccesary, the rights of others.

    If they want to play, I want them to pay.


    For want of a nail...

        Tuesday, August 17, 2004

    I Blog In My Sleep...

    Puts me in mind of a T-shirt National Lampoon used to sell. It said "I Dump In My Sleep" on it. I always wanted one.

    I do blog in my sleep, though. They say you can't read when you are asleep, or see colors. Bullshit. I dream in Glorious Living Color (anybody remember that one?) and when I fire a gun in my dreams, it sometimes wakes me up, and I can taste cordite.

    I have a vast store of dream blogs saved up. Too bad I am busy surviving, or I could maybe, cure cancer or something. This little white box is so seductive.

    Hey! Why do so many of you fuckers blogses look like you are all using the same Wermacht Template? I'm just saying. I click on a link and think my 'puter fucked up and I went back to the same page. 'Marching in lockstep' comes to mind. Cut it out.

    Do any of you find that you don't take bloggers who don't use Blogger as serious? Maybe it's just me. If you wanna be 'King of the Wild Frontier', don't brag about your fucking webmaster and put your arcane posting systems in our face. Fuck, I almost feel guilty for having a paid Haloscan account. Seriously.

    Man, the wife and I SO got the shits from bad fish last night. Good thing we hoarded it from the kids, and that we had two bathrooms. I was fucked up for most of today, Democrapping out of both ends, and then peace, while my asshole smoked like the front end of Governor Whatsisname's chain-gun in Predator after he shot up the bushes. That could have been a slogan for that movie, if only they had known..."Get out da Bushes!!" Dang, my bung feels like an overcooked chitlin, or mebbe a stale pork rind, dipped in poop sauce.

    Whew! Good thing we don't smoke in this house, or have a gas stove. You coulda seen the explosion from space. The kids were scandalized. I had to lay about myself with a belaying pin a time or two to stifle the mutinous cries of "You stink!" Little bastards. I farted on more than one little nappy head today, I'll tell ya.

    And fuck you, I truly enjoy the Teletubbies, and so will you, even if I have to duct tape your philistinian ass to the company couch and alligator-clip your eyelids open.

    Now fuck off. I gotta shit again.


        Sunday, August 15, 2004

    Too Much...

    ...time on my hands.

    When government gets intrusive to this level, it is time that government gets itself fucked up.



    As If You Needed Another Reason... kill liberals wherever they crawl, here's another.


    If I Was A Billionaire...

    I would start an 'All War' news channel, and only show images of Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Sudan, and other places where things are hot.

    I would hire Geraldo, and others of his ilk, and develop close ties with the US government and our military, and get as many contacts inside as I could.

    I would devote entire hour-long shows every day to live interviews with military personnel, and for two-way contact between the deployed and their families.

    24 hours a day, you could tune in and get a look at how we are doing. I would have camera crews with Afghani and Iraqi military units, and I would broadcast throughout the Muddle East and the world.

    I would show the good, and the not so good. Recruiters would have the TV's in their offices tuned to my channel at all times, leaving the TV in the window when they are closed.

    And I would be able to charge the highest rates of any channel for advertising anybody has ever gotten, including the Super Bowl.



    Women are no longer to be called women. They are to be known as 'Vaginal Americans'.

    That is all.


    Could Somebody...

    ...explain this to me? Am I missing out on a moneymaking opportunity, here?

    Do a CTRL+F search for 'bane' on the page. This is kinda freaking me out.

        Saturday, August 14, 2004

    The Goddess Roars!

    Please, those of you with blogs, or just computers, spread this around. Please.

    Pretty please.



    Hey! I have a big dick, and I'm 6' tall...but I do empathise a lot with him...


    Fag Retards?

    Has anyone ever seen one? A retard flamer? I sure haven't, and I've worked quite a bit in the past with tards. Oh, to be sure, some of them will fuck a snake if you hold it still for them, but I've never seen a fagtard or mongohomo.

    Kinda belies the whole 'naturally occurring' business, don't it.

    And what the fuck is wrong with you people? I ran across a picture while surfing a while ago of this beautiful blonde, all rared back naked and holding her own knees apart, her face squinched up, and farting this huge spray of cum out of her ass at the camera! Fuck, I hate people. I could sure do without that image in the ole mammary banks, I'll tell you. (How many of you freaks thought that was a link and clicked on it? Thought so.)

    There should be a Supreme Court test that says if it grosses me out, it should be illegal. There is some shit that just should not see the light of day, and the 'net allows it to pop right up there and there you go, some chick is sucking a horse's dick and it just puts you right off yer burrito.

    I had a hijack site the other day redirect me to a kiddie porn site that left me sick the whole day, and gave me nightmares that night. Tried to slap me with a couple dozen trojans, worms, backdoors, and viruses, to. Come to think of it, aren't those all faggot related terms? Damn.

    No child molester should ever make it into prison, let alone out of it. The fact that the State lets them out and pays their rent to live in a halfway house near you and your kids says quite a lot about the State.

    Fuck, I am in a pissy mood. I guess I'll go slug back a pint of whiskey and see 'Aliens vs Predators' and try to cheer up. Mayhem has that effect on me...

        Friday, August 13, 2004

    Prayer Job...

    Hey guys, I dont often ask for anything, but I need to ask for something now. My son, and his team, are on hurricane rescue duty, flying into this monster storm to save the lives of those who refused to evacuate, and will soon be dangling from the end of a rappelling cable beneath an HH60 helicopter, pulling people out of harm's way. Please, can you send up a prayer for him, and for his team, as they risk their lives 'so that others may live?'Bane, please? Barb

    So, what are you waiting for?

        Thursday, August 12, 2004

    Dull & Void...

    If fag marriage can be overturned in California, I'm thinking death throes, here. And yet, as I have the news on in the background, I hear about something homosexual about every seven minutes. No agenda here, eh? Tell me again how 2% of the population can't control our news?

    And that Governor has one hottie of a wife. So, he's some sort of out of control omnisexual, and they let him sit behind the wheel of an entire state.

    God Bless America.

    Perhaps the most crucial battle since the fall of Baghdad is going on in Najaf, and I have seen literally one minute of footage since I've searched for it after getting off work. But I sure as heck know all about current faggotry...

    Like it or not.

        Wednesday, August 11, 2004

    Fuck This Fat Bitch...

    I'm glad she's dead.

    Geez Louise...


    Dead Bang...

    Lee gets it absolutely fucking right.



    Best Present...

    ...ever. Well, almost...anything Punisher trumps it, but I'm just sayin.

    The one on the link is different than mine. Mine is more like the assault version of the one shown. It is bigger, red, and has dartboard style plastic targeting markers on it...and the wires are more like blades, and they are in a crosshatch pattern.

    My daughter and future son-in-law brought it to me on Father's Day, and I went apeshit when I saw it. It is so frigging cool. I tore the package open, popped in the batteries, and just had to test it. I turned it on and touched it with my pinky, and my left arm was paralyzed for a fucking half hour. OW!! DAMMIT!! My little boy cried til he puked because he thought his Daddy had been kilt.

    I love to find a spider, dropping on it's web, and position my toy underneath...ZAP!sparklesparkle...smoke rises to the ceiling. Actually, this is not a toy, it says so right on the handle. Well, not a kids toy, anyway.You could kill a mouse or a bird with this, and I am not kidding about the pain. I've been stun-gunned and Taser'd, and it never hurt like this.

    I took it out with me tonight while I put fresh attractant in the yellow jacket trap. My little boy got stung today, and I tend to torture and kill things that threaten my family.

    As I hurriedly tried to close up the trap, a horny yellow jacket showed up and threatened to stinger-fuck me...I finished snapping on the base, and swung my toy up and engaged the beast. Sweet! It blew his legs off and he convulsed and smoked and twitched and, yes, it WAS good for me, thank you.

    The perfect red-neck, white-trash gift for any occasion.



    Rat Spleen has gotten out of prison, and is blogging again. "O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"He chortled in his joy.

    Go give him some love. Just kidding about the prison was more of a sex-change thing or something, but it hasn't dampened or thwarted his writing ability any.

    With friends like me...

        Tuesday, August 10, 2004

    Must Reads...

    There was only one blog I can think of, Bad News Hughes, that I ever went back and read all their archives. Okay, I lie, Dong Resin got the same treatment, and I posted both their links here way back.

    And then I find, thanks to the Great and powerful Kim du Toit, this blog, and via him, this blog.

    Absolutely mesmerizing reading, and I am working my way from the back to the front now and enjoying every minute of it. If I seem distracted, it's because I'm busy, okay!?!

    Dammit. Now go read and enjoy.

        Monday, August 09, 2004


    ...reincarnated. Praise be to his feathers, and his tiny balls.


    Get Your Ass On Over... Read the latest post on gang signs and weep. Just another sand through the hourglass of what is left of the days of our lives.

        Sunday, August 08, 2004

    Lipstick On A Pig...

    I just saw a makeup ad featuring Queen Latifah as the 'spokesmodel'...

    What the fuck? Now, I admire her, and I think she's hot, in a bufferilla sort of way, but...

    C'mon. Really?


    Nagasaki Smokes a Phatty...

    Happy Bomb Day, Nagasaki!


    I Think I'm Getting Tired OF Fred...

    He takes several pages in his snooty, college boy way to call us dumb, again. Us, as in USA. Seems if you don't have a passport, yer dumb. If you haven't squatted in some third world, rat and muslum infested country and cooked over some burning cow shit, you are dumb.

    He gets one thing right, though. Why do we need to learn their shitty gobbledygook language? And why travel to their dirty little decayed, run down countries, many of which are smaller than some counties in our Great Land?

    This is still the freeist (is that a word?) country on earth, and you have to work pretty hard or have pretty shitty luck to get shot by a government official...for now, anyway. You're so free, you can leave, and many do. We see them on videos routinely, lately it seems, getting their heads sawn off or being zipped up to get sent back here in a box.

    And old Fred is free to leave it, too. I wish him luck if we are ever lain so low as a country that their shitty, tin-pot corrupt 'governments' no longer have to fear a Marine bayonet twisting in their rotten yellow guts. I have an idea that Americans abroad will become something other than 'expats'.

    We call these things 'targets'.

        Saturday, August 07, 2004

    A Great New Link... me, anyway. Check this out.


    Kill All 'American' Muslims...

    Right now. Especially the ones in the military.

    It has, quite literally, become 'us or them'. With the internet, and cell phones, any of these traitors in our midst could be calling in fire on any of our positions at any time. Heck, many cell phones can be tracked passively...our carriers are so at risk it terrifies me.

    One tanker, carrying a nuclear bomb, in a legitimate shipping lane, crossing the path of a carrier battle group...

    Just one.

        Friday, August 06, 2004

    Another Reason...

    Why 'Libertarian' and 'Loser' start with the same letter:

    Marine Offensive in Afghanistan called unprecedented, A Shock to Taliban

    By Jon R. Anderson, Stars and StripesEuropean edition, Tuesday, July 27, 2004 KANDAHAR AIRFIELD, Afghanistan -

    Top military leaders in Afghanistan are hailing a Marine offensive deep inside southern Afghanistan's Uruzgan Province as the most successful operation here since the 2001 invasion.Tucked away in southern Afghanistan's rugged mountains, the province has provided a sanctuary for Taliban holdouts and their al-Qaida supporters, say officials. But not anymore.The Marine offensive, which began in March and is just now wrapping up, was the first incursion into the area by conventional forces.The Marines are credited with killing more than 100 Taliban and al-Qaida fighters during weeks of running gunbattles in an area completely avoided by conventional U.S. forces until their arrival."You're the best this place has ever seen," Army Maj. Gen. Eric Olson, the top field commander in Afghanistan, told a gathering Marines at Kandahar Airfield this weekend.The Marines' offensive, he said, put the Taliban on the run in their own back yard."Never again can they use that place as a sanctuary," said Olson. "You proved to the world the United States of America is going to take this fight to the most dangerous part of Afghanistan unafraid and absolutely determined."Olson said the Marine offensive also caught the Taliban off guard."You rocked him back on his heels. You knocked him on his ass."You went places that has never seen an American."You went to find him on his turf, on his terms, on his ground and kicked him in the ass."And that surprised him." Olson said the MEU's performance had also "made an impression on the most senior leaders."Quoting Lt. Gen. David Barno, the overall commander of U.S. efforts in Afghanistan, Olson said,"Never in the history of Operation Enduring Freedom has there been an offensive operation like the one the 22nd MEU conducted. Never have we been this successful. You have made history here."


    Fuck You, Japan!

    Happy Bomb Day!

        Thursday, August 05, 2004

    I Guess I Don't Miss Mr Rogers so Much, Now...

    Just six months after the Sept. 11 attacks, Teresa Heinz Kerry urged Americans
    to try to "understand the roots of international terror," while contending that
    the Sept. 11 attacks were best viewed as an "isolated catastrophe."In a March
    10, 2002, Boston Globe op-ed piece co-written with the late children's TV star
    Fred Rogers, the would-be first lady said:

    "We pray that one day we will view Sept. 11 as an isolated catastrophe,
    triggering a successful world campaign to try to understand the roots of
    international terror as well as to work cooperatively to remove it."
    rest of the editorial focused primarily on advice to parents on how to help
    their children cope with the 9/11 attacks.
    It's not clear why she and her
    co-author departed from the topic at hand in order to urge understanding for
    global terrorists.

    Somebody go take a nice hot piss on that PBS motherfuckers grave for me, would you?


    Have a nice day!

    ...a little companion piece to the post below...


    God Is Great...

    but allah sucks balls...


    She Shoots, She Scores!

    A reader named Kevin sent me this lovely homage to the Goddess Ann. I love it!

        Wednesday, August 04, 2004

    Hey, Marines!

    Try this, you Sand Doggies. Get some sort of lubricant, some anonymous looking white salve that won't fuck up your guns...

    Sit around your hootches, while your 'Arab Interpreter' is in the vicinity...

    Busily, professionally, lube your bullets with Q-Tips as you snap them into your mags...

    When Hajii asks you what you are doing, reply "I'm just puttin some pig fat on my rounds, to send the next terrorist fuck straight to hell..."

    Repeat as neccesary...


    Lest It Disappear...

    The Godess keeps it alive.

    And God Bless her for it.

    Go ye, and worship. [Note: I am devouring 'Treason', and I had to remove the cover, because every time I see her slinkyness, the blood rushes from my cognitive parts to my spongioform parts and I lose my place and get all stupid and want to masturbate]

        Tuesday, August 03, 2004



    Drive By Polling...

    I missed a Golden Opportunity tonight because I was in the shower when the phone rang. I heard it ring, and while I was drying off, I checked caller ID and saw the 800 number, realized my wife had been on the phone for ten minutes, and knew I had missed a poll. Fuck.

    The kids were, of course, going apeshit. "Mom's on the phone so let's go Visigoth!" She was idly batting them in their heads and laughing, and speaking full sentences into the phone. Hmmmmm.

    I figured 'Kerry Campaign', and marched naked into the living room chanting "Four more years!" and she shushed me and got back into her confab. Intrigued, I listened...

    Long-convoluted-story-made-short, turns out it was a corporation (she thinks it was Procto & Gamble) asking many questions about our families attitude on animal testing. Ahhhh, that explains the line I heard her use when she said "If it says 'no animal testing', I don't buy it...I don't want to be their Guinea Pig..."

    Gotta love her. I am just bereft at not being able to tell whomever about my desire for bestial necrophilia after their labs are done with the various extinct fuzzy creatures..."Go for the eyes, Boo! Go for the eyes!"



    ...Wang Chung tonight...

    If that don't pucker your poo-poo a little, I just can't help ya'll.