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        Thursday, September 30, 2004


    If you haven't seen this movie, you need to.

    I am talking here to people who have appreciated my reviews before, not you idiots.

    Thank you.


    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship.

    She is especially full of pith today.

        Wednesday, September 29, 2004

    Fuckin A...

    This right here is the kind of thing the internet is for.

    Please, pass this around to everyone you know. Heck, you're gonna buy ammo anyway, do it then. I do this every year. I can ill afford it this year, but I'm gonna do it anyway.

    This is a worthwhile event.


    No, Massa!

    Please don' be trowin dis ole nigra off the plantation!

    Finally, Congress gets some balls, and listen to the plantation niggers shriek. Problem for them is that every good black man and woman who goes to bed tonight with a legal, loaded gun within reach, is going to feel a thousand times safer than they did last night.

    And who do they have to thank for that? White Republicans again, just like the ones who gave them their civil rights in the 60's, while Democrats were trying to keep them down.

    Think this will swing any black votes to Republicans this November? I doubt it.


    I guess I failed civics class. I forgot the worthless Senate, and I just heard that they were going to let it die. I dunno, but prognosis is not good. Shuffle back to the plantation, black people. You are not worthy, or capable of owning firearms, slaves. Just shut up and go pick my cotton.


    What Bane Likes...

    If there ever was a better song than Cornflake girl by Tori Amos, I cannot think of it right this minute. Wow. She is one of the few artists I can put on shuffle/repeat for hours and enjoy. That short list includes Guns N Roses, Robin Trower, Shubert (March Militaire fucking rawks).

    I natter on a lot about what I hate. That's easy. The list includes darn near everything, and probably you. What makes me happy, in those rare moments when I am? My kids, but they're gone. With the wife gone, too, I rarely eat. Food has never been a real pleasure for me, more of a chore. The Sci-Fi novels promised full meals in one or two pills. I'm still waiting, but that would suit me just fine.

    What do I like? And how sad is it that I can't think of anything else, offhand? It's the contrasts that are glaring. I hate chocolate, but I love Nutella. I hate hippy douchebags, but I love Tori Amos. Heck, throw Sinead O'Conner on there, too. Love her. I hate ragheads, but I love Bollywood. I love Indian music, too. Sigh.

    I'm getting tremulous emails. "Are you okay man? You seem a" Like I've ever been 'on'. This separation from my kids and my wife is trying my soul, and poor little dark thing that it is, my soul is barely up to the task. I thought it would be a blast. Heaven. Who could ask for more. I didn't count on the restless nights of dreams, or what finding a little sock mixed up with your big ones can do to you, just out of the blue.

    And one of the little shits left a sandwich or something somewhere in the house, and I can't find it, and the rot smell is really pissing me off. I think I have found it, move the couch or whatever, and the stench moves somewhere else.

    Oh well.

        Tuesday, September 28, 2004

    If You Had To Be Queer...

    Who would you do?

    I'm only asking this question of the guys. You ask any woman, and if she's being honest with you, she can come up with some woman she could do. Angelina Jolie has gotten the most votes in my informal survey.

    Nope, guys, here's the scenario. You are strapped to a table, and some Evil Homo Mastermind is going to inject you with a serum that will absolutely, irrevocably turn you queer. There is nothing you can do about it, but the Evil Homo has given you a choice of any man in the world you want, and he'll turn him, too, for you, and make him your helpless love slave.

    Who do you want? Sports figure? Movie star? Your best friend from the 10th grade? Anybody...any man at all...

    Well, if your thoughts cast about to any man at all, you are some level of homo. When I was asked this question, I was wondering how I could swallow my tongue and die, or free a wrist and chew through my own veins.

    So, how many queers we got here?

        Monday, September 27, 2004

    More Zombie Fun...


    Monday Night Football...

    I have hated the Redskins since I was in the womb. I used to be a big-time Cowboys fan. I spent an unbelievable cocaine-hazed weekend in a Dallas hotel room with 4-7 Cowboys cheerleaders, depending on if my hand was over one of my eyes. I'd like to see a calendar of that.

    What is with these little negroes beating on their plastic lard buckets with drumsticks? PC run amok. It offends me. Stop it.

    I'll take Dallas by 10+ points.

    I was at an Aggies game back in the day when a fan pulled a Winchester lever action from under his duster and shot a field goal out of the air before it could pass through the uprights. Now that's a fan.



    I swiped this from SondraK's site.

    If you don't tear up a little, yer a fag. I'm just saying.

    Note: You must have Flash and have it enabled to view this, and there's music, so if you're at work, turn your speakers down.



    I could have written this letter. I wonder if this guy reads my humble blog?

    Words to live by.

        Sunday, September 26, 2004

    Bane The Blogslayer...

    Well, another one bites the dust. That makes two women who have blamed me and gone off and deleted their blogs. First Sweet Barb, and now Sweet Sarah. Unbelievable. This seems to be a broadcentric behavior. I have never seen, nor could imagine a man doing this. It gives me a little glimpse into the whirling morass that is the female mind. I'm a little closer to understanding how a mother can hold her children under the water in the tub, one by one.

    With that in mind, I am now going to delete my blog.


    Just kidding!

    Gotcha. I look there to the left at my archives, and I cannot imagine sending them into oblivion. I'm not proud of all of them. Many are poorly written, and even less thought out. But they're mine, dammit, and I treasure every one. I note with some surprise that I have passed a landmark of some sort. Has it really been two years?

    I know for a fact that I have inspired more than one person to start a blog. I hope they outnumber those I have driven to destroy their own blogs.

    I have said it all along. I do this for me. Not for you. If you happen to come along and enjoy the ride, more power to you. If I lost this blog for some reason, I would rise from its ashes in some new incarnation. Not for you. For me. If you find you are doing something for someone else, and your heart is not in it, shame on you. I want you to be selfish. I want to read writing written for the pure exuberance of writing, not because you feel a need to please a bunch of anonymous strangers, or meet some self-imposed posting requirement.

    All that being said, Barb and Sarah's biggest weakness was what lead to their demise. They were too sweet, too good, and doubted themselves too much. If you ladies start up another blog, I promise to read, and not comment. I bring my darkness with me, and its negative energy can sometimes suck the life from the room. Celebrate yourselves, and remember, it is all about you.


    My New Crush...

    May I present Janice Dean. Her photo doesn't do her justice. She is doing the Fox News weather this morning. She enunciates so sexily, her lips look so talented and cultured.

    Like I said below, you could see the cumshot from space...

        Saturday, September 25, 2004


    I just finished watching this movie. I've seen 'fringe' movies about this subject before, but none that make me want to take up arms so savagely.

    Don't talk to me unless you've seen it. Then maybe we can discuss it.

    I watched this all unfold on live TV, and have seen and studied much in relation. This movie centers it all like I have never seen before., rent, watch, discuss.


    Sins Of The Fathers?

    How far back does it have to go before you let it go?

    Does this story trouble me? If I take it at face value, heck yes. If it is a sly Carvillian attack, heck yes. If it is a complete fabrication by a European newspaper, heck yes.

    I doubt GW had much of the notoriously fickle Jewish vote, anyway, though he did appear to be making headway as an apparent staunch supporter of Israel. With this story, any support he had is headed for the tall grass.

    I can't wait to see how the Kerry campaign handles this. I've been smelling this fart for months, now, but 'they' just took the originating dump right on the floor for everybody to see.

    We shall see. Interesting times...


    As If You Needed...

    ...another reason to home school.

    If that was my kid, I would hunt he or she down and fracture their jaw. Maybe a kick or two in the ribs for grins.


    If you 'can't afford' to homeschool, you do not give a shit about your kids. If I can do it, anybody can do it. Quit a job, change your lifestyle, cut back, sacrifice, whatever. Or adopt them out to someone who cares.


    I've Said This Before...

    The smartest thing the Kurds could do would be to welcome American forces with open arms, and offer them carte blanche to build bases and airstrips all over their country.

    In the coming, inevitable civil war, when the Kurds inevitably declare their own enclave just to survive, this would cool the Turks jets, and make the Sunnis think twice about any of their nonsense.

    The Kurds should make themselves a huge economic power in their region. I mean, like inviting Costco and Wal-Mart in. Make themselves a mecca (mecca, get it?) for people to travel to and shop. Hotels, casinos, the whole nine yards.

    Like Japan, with an occupying, benign military force in their midst, protecting them from all comers, they could experience prosperity beyond imagining, while building up their own professional military force, and bringing in mercenary Shiites to help build it up. With their new prosperity they could buy the arms they need to make any pisspot islamist asshole dictator or false priest think twice about taking them on.

    They could also offer to take in displaced Christians and Jews and anyone else who wants to flee the mullahs.

    Think they'll do it?

        Friday, September 24, 2004

    Bye, Sweetie...


    Andromeda Tonight!

    7pm, Sci-Fi channel. Season Premiere. Boy am I stoked.

        Thursday, September 23, 2004

    Farting Nemo...

    Do fish fart? I don't think so. I've watched a lot of fish, and I've never seen a fart trail. As a matter of fact, I had a goldfish that swoled all up and exploded so hard it sloshed water all over my mothers Bible. Probably still holding a grudge for that whole 'five loaves and two fish' incident.

    I know mice can't burp. An old timey bartender taught me the soda trick. The last thing I'd do before leaving the bar at night would be to put a couple of jar lids full of pepsi out on the backbar underneath the chips and nuts. I'd come in the next day, and there would be one or two bloated, bug-eyed mice, deader'n nits, not a foot away from the soda that decided their doom.

    I'm betting that fish can't fart. As a matter of fact, I've smelled plenty of nasty-ass cat farts, but I've never heard one. They fart like women, sneaky and quiet. I think there is something about womens nether structures that allow them to set their anus on 'whisper mode', and queef out these throat-choakers that qualify as WMD's as far as I'm concerned.

    Seriously, I think Boeing or somebody needs to look into the female labial structure as it applies to sound dampening. There could be a patent there somewhere.


    At Your Liesure... this, and let me know what you think. I have come to the same conclusion myself, and it bothers me to see this word being blithely bounced around on some libertarian leaning (or full on) sites I enjoy.

    I will have no truck with anyone who is anti-Jew. That is a special no warning banishment category in and of itself. I'm not so stupid as to think there are not Jewish plots afoot here and there, just as I hope you are not so stupid as to think that there are no caucasian or negroid or asian plots abrewing.

    Interesting times, indeed.


    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go ye, and worship.

    I love how she wraps things up and puts them in perspective. I hear other people trying to make themselves sound smart and important by putting down her writing and I just shake my head. When they start in on her looks, you know they've lost it completely. I will make fun of someone's looks in a heartbeat, but not as some lame attempt to denigrate their thoughts or writings. If looks were the measure of a man, William F. Buckley and Steven Hawkings would be idiots, while Alec Baldwin would rule the world. Now, Michael Moore is just a big fat idiot, and that's all there is to that. It's obvious, so let's just move on.


    State Of The Blog Address...

    Lousy. Cloudy with a chance of a shower of dead puppies. Blahgh. Fuck pj's, I've hardly the strength to get dressed.

    The wife packed up the kids and left for the mountains last Sunday. For a month. Don't ask why, it was nothing marital. One of her friends has a 5th wheel and 160 acres and my little family is going to have a time. Farm dogs, farm cats, oodles of kids their own age to play with, all of them home-schooled, polite little angels, to hear her tell me over the phone today. Farm fresh eggs and milk and meat, no city traffic or noise. Heaven...

    And here I sit, all broken hearted, paid a nickle to shit and only farted. The whole house to myself. For a month. I'm already so bored I may buy a pet. A nice tarantula, or a hissing cockroach. I can poke him with a pencil and pretend we are having a conversation. "Hush now, CSI NYC is coming on now, stop all that hissing!"

    CSI NYC sucked big donkey dicks. I like Gary Sinise, but he is as out of place there as a turd in a punch bowl. And his annoyingly feminist female side-person is there strictly as eye candy. Spinoffs rarely do well, Angel being the happy exception, RIP. I love CSI with a passion, but Miami and NYC are just boring, exploitive trash.

    Okay, I look around, and I'm still alone. Normally, this would be Nirvana, but I like having a kid burst in on me for no reason and give me a hug. I like having the wife come in and rub my neck just because. Don't get me wrong, I still hate people, but the ones that have security clearance to get through my force field leave a big gap when they're gone. I have successfully avoided several social invites. Just because I miss some people, don't mean I miss all people. They always seem so shocked when I say no thank you.

    I did go see Sky Captain with my daughter and her breeder, but they're family, so that don't count. I have eaten one small waffle today, and that made me gag. I had some tuna on Waverlys yesterday. Maybe I should take a multi-vitamin so my teeth don't fall out. I think I may be pining. Is this what it looks like?

    All the things I have to do and I can't bear to do them. And I'm not really even depressed, is what's weird. Maybe she'll find us a place up there and me a job and we can move. Put a crimp in my blogging, I hear it's pretty primitive up there.

    Oh well...

        Tuesday, September 21, 2004

    Down With The Sickness...

    Who is that damn band, anyway? What a cool song. Reminds me of why I don't listen to music much. Makes my Viking blood boil. I wanna run amok and fuck a girlscout right in the brownie.

    2pm, and I'm getting down wit da vino, and preparing to go see 'Sky Captain' with my ex-daughter and her new husband.

    Wait, was that just a knock I heard? Man, I'll grind her into her damn cookies...


    The Elephant In The Room...

    The question I don't hear being asked is the one I hear screaming in my head today as I watch the news:


    Is this stuff so hard? Hey, I'd love to address the UN, too. How does Fuckface rate? I didn't see his speech. I retch when he comes on the tube. Literally. But, seriously, how come I don't see any newsfucks looking incredulous when they report that he was there?

    Unprecedented bullshit.

        Monday, September 20, 2004

    Sig Sauer P226. Greatest gun ever! Feel special.
    Beautiful and reliable but can still scare the
    living bejesus outta anyone.

    Crap, if I had to be a Sig, I'd wanna be the P220. Oh well, I am pretty.


    I wrote this Friday, June 18th of this year. I repost it in honor of the American who was beheaded by Islamist scum today in Iraq:

    It's Your Dad...

    Or your brother. Or your son. Lying there in a bloody heap. His head sawn off by people you do not and can not ever know or understand.

    The press is outside, with their painfully bright camera lights. All you hear throughout the house is crying. Sobbing. Occasional outbursts of anger that descend into sobbing and snuffling. And helicopters, whupping furtively overhead, like buzzards hoping for a nice, tasty, smelly portion of what used to be your life, cameras at the ready...

    Is your computer on? Is the glow calling to you? An email to a well-wisher is currently up, unfinished. You ran out of letters...every one you typed seem to evaporate off the screen. Someone has used a rusty garden trowel to scoop out your intestines, and when you breath in through your nose you smell blood, and your heart pounds sometimes in rythyms that tell you you could die, right here, right now, and nothing anybody can do can save you, and you wouldn't want that anyway because if it happened you would clench your teeth and crawl off to somewhere dark and die as quietly as you could because the pain would stop and maybe, just maybe, you could be with him again, and hold him and comfort him and put your hand over his mouth and silence the scream and rub his hair and tell him that it is all right, we're with Jesus now, and nobody can ever hurt us again.

    Ahhh, the comfort of the computer. A familiar thing. Pull the chair back, minimize the email, and go to Drudge. You've done this a hundred times a day for's a comfort place. A link. The word 'photos' catches your eye. You haven't seen him in months, and you...

    You just click. That's all you do. Just one click.



    I have spent an hour researching this on the net, and I can't find it. Could someone direct me to any reference to Nietzsche cutting off his own penis? I learned that in college, but I haven't run across it since.

    Thanks. Oh, and was it before or after the syphilitic horse incident?


    I Just Stole This From Somewhere...

    The Top 16 Rejected Fast Food Menu Ideas

    16- White Castle Ugly, Poor 'n' Depressed Meal
    15- McRibbed (for Her Pleasure) Sandwich
    14- Sourdough Jackal
    13- Al Goredita
    12- McHaggis
    11- Peregrine Falconburger
    10- Eggs McAnthrax
    9- French Guys
    8- McDonald's Happy Eel
    7- Bacon Double Chinburger
    6- KFC Bucket o' Chum
    5- The McSenior EasyChew Burger
    4- Clams 'n' Lutefisk on a Stick
    3- The Prove-You-Ain't-Muslim Pork 'n' Bacon Gordita
    2- Piggie Thighs

    The Number 1 Rejected Fast Food Menu Idea...

    1- Wendy's "Tender Breast of Dave" Sandwich


    Kill Your Neighbors...

    I input my zip code into this, and found out I was outnumbered 20-1 by the kind of people who give money to Democrats. With those odds, there's a pretty good chance that I could step out my front door and the first person I see will be a Kerry supporter. BLAM!

    And I'm talking giving big money, too. There were so many giving $2000 that it makes one ponder if the Dirty Dems are running some sort of money laundering scheme, using their willing zombies as mules. A whole lotta money from University people. That's to be expected. But $2000 from literally dozens of people who list themselves as retirees? Hmmmmm.

    There were some $2K donors on the Repub side, too. Owners of businesses and so on. and then it tapered on down right quick to the $25 and $50 range you would expect.

    I wish I had the energy to look into this, but I don't. But I know what rat smells like, and this stinks of it.

        Sunday, September 19, 2004

    I Don't Trust Hope...

    BUT! Fox News is ripping the UN 'Oil For Food' program a new one right now.

    Catch the replay if you get a chance. It is damning.

        Saturday, September 18, 2004


    This movie rocks. And, as the greatest Punisher fan in existence, I nominate Richard Burgi to play the Punisher in every movie from now on. Amen.


    Head Or Gut? which is it gonna be, motherfucker?

    Now that I think about it, Kerry did live amongst the seamen, didn't he? I bet he swam upstream a buncha times. 30 seconds into it, I bet Theresa hollers out "There blows my little swift boat!", grabs a handful of tissues, and wanders off to find a pool boy.


    I Think...

    ...that this pretty much tells you all you need to know.


    A Worthy Blog...

    This phrase alone:

    Speaking of liberal illogic listening to the Dimocrats squawking about Bush's National Guard service when they supported a draft dodger is the height of liberal illogic, not to mention blatant hypocrisy. worth the price of admission. Why I haven't been reading this blog is beyond me. I shall rectify this toot sweet.


    Fresh Meat...

    How fresh is too fresh? How young is too young? I've been doing it since I was 12, and got seduced by my (female) baptismal coach at 13. I did not mind. Girls have been dragging me off into the bushes as long as I can remember. This 14 year stretch of monogamy amazes both my wife and I.

    So what's too young? Before I married my final wife, the year I was 35, I dated several 18 and 19 year olds. One of them could have been lying about her age, I dunno. She was still in high school. I am visually attracted to nubile young girls. Don't get me wrong, I'd do Laura Bush in a heartbeat, and age has never been a factor in my choice of a receptacle. My oldest was 63. 'Course, she ran 15 miles a day and could screw me into the ground like a tent peg, but that's pretty old when you're 18.

    But under 18 tends to equal illegal. Can a female under 18 give informed consent for sex to a male adult? I think she can. I think the illegal age limit should perhaps start at 12 and below, where it becomes a death or life without possibility for touching a child. 12-13 should be protected time, where the young person is informed of the birds and bees (if they've missed that part) and at 13, they are free to make an informed decision. I think we should bring back seduction laws, where a man over 18 can be busted hard for lying and conniving to get in her pants, and then dumps her.

    I'm not talking (just) screwing, here. I am talking loving relationships, likely to end up in marriage, here. I was a dog, and my life is no proper example. But I dropped all of my under 18 girlfriends the day of my 18th birthday, and a great weeping and gnashing of teeth was heard throughout the land. A couple of those girls I miss to this very day. Who knows what could have come of things had I been allowed to continue to see them? They certainly wanted to see me, but I had friends who had run afoul of the statutory rape laws, where vengeful parents had prosecuted against their daughters will, and I wanted no part of it.

    So how young? Should there be different standards for males and females? I dated college and older all through high school. Occasionally the me being jailbait subject would come up and I just had to laugh. Some of them seemed really nervous about it, at first. Silly.

    I've known girls who were more of a woman at 13 than some women I've known in their 30's. I've seen 14 year old guys that looked like men and shaved. The best boss I ever had was 17 years old and could pick up a 300 pound snubbing bowl and toss it in the back of the truck. I was 25, and I thought he was my age. He owned his own condo, and had two Trans Ams. We fought back to back in bars all across the Oklahoma and Texas oil patch.

    I asked on Vox's blog if there was someplace in the Bible that denotes an age of consent. Any 'Thou Shalt Not' trumps any argument I might have for it immediately.

    I don't recall any.


    I Love Spanish women...

    I get two channels of Spanish TV. I love their women so much.

    "Do you like my tits? Okay, I'll just wear something skimpy and let you stare at them...want me to jiggle a bit? Okay. Wanna see my butt? Okay...sure, I'll wear the hot pants..."

    Of course, I watch it with the sound off. Who needs to hear that alien Klingon jibber jabber...sounds like they're talking with a mouthful of testicles. But those babes...and no little fat tortilla benders, either. Your average Spanish show could pack up and go win a Miss Universe contest, or feel comfortable at a Playboy photo shoot. Ay carumba.

    Near as I can figure out, the shows are about shows that are coming on at some later date that never quite gets here. These shows are apparently filled with hysteria, drama, fighting, and the men overact worse than William Shatner. Lots of tears and snot and knife fighting. And tits. Big Tits. El Grande Supreme Stuffed Burrito Filled With Rice And Beans And Cheese Tits. I know tits, and these tits don't look fake. Bet you could magic marker the entire alphabet in one inch letters around the circumference of each mighty mammary. And she'd let you. You can just tell.

    The women are queenly and beautiful, and the men are greasy little toads. Or gay fag supermodels who can't seem to button their shirts properly. Or old guys. These women swoon over the old guy.

    I gotta tell you, in all my years as a cocksman, Spanish women were the most difficult to get with, unless you were willing to pay for it. They make xenophobia an art form. You, a painfully handsome white guy will get shot down, and then you see her with some greasy little splay-toothed acne farm and go "Huh?"

    Oh, well. I wouldn't want to hear all that cucaracha nattering, or have to listen to their shitty polka music. But if this one will just hold still for one more minute...

    ...and jiggle...ahhhh, there...

        Friday, September 17, 2004

    Martial Law...

    I have banned several of you tonight for posting via different IP's. I think some of you are 'gooks on the wire'. email me and convince me that you are you, or fuck off and die.

    I lifted all my bans yesterday, and some of you are slipping your hands up my skirt already.

    Naughty naughty.


    I'm Getting Wet!

    If you buy this for me, I'll shoot anybody you want.


    End Of Days...


    Preemptive Strike...

    I have said this before, if you own a pitbull, and you live near me, and I find out about it, one or both of you is going to die. There is absolutely nothing you can do or say about it. I will terminate the dog, one way or another, and a pit bull owner is too stupid to live. I will hear no argument on this.

        Thursday, September 16, 2004

    Celebrating Perversity...

    I repost this every few months or so. It was one of the first things I wrote in this blog:

    A female friend of mine asked for my help in getting an abortion back in the 70's. I forget how far along she was, but she was at least a few months along. It wasn't my baby, so I didn't care and said sure. She paid my gas and bought beer, and we went to the clinic and she asked me to come in with her. The staff assumed I was the father, so there was no problem with me going in. They gloved me up and gave her a big old shot of Pitocin, and left me alone with her. Some time passed, and she began looking for all the world like she was having a baby. The nurse came in once and told me to encourage her to push, and went back out to help other girls kill their babies. After one particularly huge pushing event, I heard a squishy, popping sound, and I looked under her drape and there was a, wait, it was a little dark haired baby...for some reason I picked it up in my hands. It filled my cupped hands, its tennis ball sized head covered with dark brown hair, its little legs going back along my wrists. Through the gloves, I could feel it's warmth...its moved a little as it died, probably because no one came to clear its lungs. The girl just stared up at the ceiling, breathing hard...tears running down her cheeks into her ears. Touched for some reason, I held it until the nurse came and took it from me and put it in a pan and took it away. She came back in a couple of minutes and helped me dress the girl. She looked at us with a strange light in her eyes and said "it was a girl"...I think she was upset. The girl sobbed softly and we didn't talk on the trip back.


    The Goddess Speaks!

    ...and ties a nice bow on the finished package of all this Rathergate nonsense.

        Wednesday, September 15, 2004

    Nanny Nanny Boo Boo...

    Isn't that what you said when you were little, and one of your playmates got a well deserved comeuppance? Nanny nanny boo boo, or some variation thereof. Universal code for 'You get what you pay for'.

    I was heading upstairs this evening to play a little Doom 3, when I spied the headline on our local fishwrapper, and read the story. 2 dead, several wounded in Iraq. Local boys, from the unit out of our NG Armory. Nanny nanny boo boo. First thought in my head.

    When my son first came home from his tour in Iraq, he got leave right away and came home. He would just walk around town all day, seeing old friends, going to old haunts, soaking us back up. Reimprinting the Real World over the mad cartoon that has been playing in his head for a year since he went to Kuwait, and thence gunning into Iraq on GW's Wild Ride.

    He came home one day and threw himself on the couch, angry, fairly bristling, muttering. "Fukkem" he said, "stupid motherfuckers wanna die, just fukkem." Seems his pilgrimage had taken him past our local armory, and the unit was assembled, working haphazardly at their gear. My son, I am sure was drawn to them like a bee to honey, having been only lately among civilians, yet living in the military world for nearly two years. The lure must have been irresistible, to be near an offshoot of your tribe, around the familiar green.

    It was a sham. He introduced himself to the NCOIC, told him he was fresh back, and wondered if they had any questions they'd like to ask him. He was given the equivalent of 'Go away kid, ya bother me'. Now, when I was active duty, I used to train the Oregon National Guard. They were hopeless. We called them the 'Nasty Guard', and they were an enthusiastically sorry bunch, with the usual few exceptions. This NCO was one of the rules. No headgear, boots unbloused, fat gut pushing a sweaty t-shirt out of his BDU pants. When my unit was around them, there was hero worship. We never had to buy drinks. We were the real deal, and they thought we were gods. We nearly were. But there was always the envy, just underneath, the hatred for us because we reflected their weakness back at them.

    So, when my son, his hair high and tight, sporting a fresh tan from the desert sun, looking sharp and military even in his civvies, came up and engaged this slob of an E7 in conversation, I know that the E7 must have just been burning. A smarter man would have dropped everything and called a huddle of his men in the shade somewhere. If they were under orders to complete some mundane task, a good NCO would have set up an opportunity to get together at another time and pump my sons head dry of invaluable intel, intel that is in no training or field manual, and can't be bought except through hard experience. But no, he turned him away with barely concealed contempt.

    Are those men dead because of that? I don't know. Are those men crippled for life because of a fat slobs decision? I couldn't tell you. All I know is the first thought that popped into my head while I was reading the story...

    Nanny nanny boo boo.


    Fucking Bastards...

    I just finished reading this, and now I want to kill some hippy and puke on their dying body.

    That link may disappear, so I'll direct you to Sanity's Edge, Blackfive, and Little Green Footballs, who are all over this.

    This is what the internet is for. If you ever enter another Borders, you need to be shot.

    Amazon it is from now on for me.

        Tuesday, September 14, 2004


    You know why they call it history, people? Because it's in the past! DUH!

    Who gives a shit? It's like yesterdays dump, all decayed and smelly, and if you choose to live in it, you have just held your nose and jumped into the septic tank of Dead Moments.

    Reminiscing is fine, but don't try to bring up Thermopylae to impress me as we discuss some satellite guided battle of today.

    An infantryman of today has about as much in common with a Roman infantryman as the M1 tank has with an Egyptian chariot. Puhleeze, don't take any similarities to the bank. So many of you who study history, have no visceral concept of how absolutely different the past of even thirty years ago is from today.


    Babys Got New Shoes...

    My own personal Nat came into my personal space just now. I was relieved to see her, because from the noise, I expected a herd of cattle. She was in nothing but panties and her new Dora clodhoppers, and was stomping to beat the band in order to demonstrate the light show her new electronic flashing shoes make....impressive.

    How do these shoes make it onto an airplane? I'd like to see a squad of bovine negroid TSA slobs try to get these shoes off of her without a few of them ending up in triage.

    Darn good thing I'm not epileptic. Those shoes flash like a sumbitch. Dora, being mexican, is getting stomped down there, so it's all good. And that damn monkey, too. Whatever happened to sweet, calm Pooh? Sigh.

    Okay, ladies, I have reestablished my warm and fuzzy street cred, so you can safely go and comment on my dick post. It's okay...just..touch it.

        Monday, September 13, 2004

    Boy, Do I have A Big Dick...

    You don't hear women bragging about their corresponding organ in the same fashion, do you. "Boy, do I have a big pussy!" Nope, ain't gonna happen, even if it's true. Course, I've never met a big pussy, me havin a Big Dick and all. I have only known two women out of my hundreds that have said they've ever had a dick bigger than mine, and they winced and got a fearful look on their face when recounting their encounter with the Pole of Doom.

    I figger I will write some cleverly penile bon mots, in case some producer from the Family Channel or Parenting Magazine comes through here and wants a writing sample.

    So, where was I? Oh yeah...Big Dick. So anyway, I grabbed the bottle of Astroglide and the Old Lady and the three of us (she and I and the aforementioned Big Dick) snuck into her bedroom for a nooner today, and yes, it was precisely noon, thank you very much.

    Now, guys, if you've never tried Astroglide, you just gotta, but be careful putting it on because it might go off while you are oiling it. Oh, and let her oil your unit for you. The hand/penis connection, when practiced by the male, is well known to cause prematurity, and it's rude to spunk on her sheets (or her back) without her getting off, too. A man should have at least one good dump and one good orgasm a day. Any more than three is becoming a problem.

    Female orgasm, you ask? Well, ole Doctor Bane is gonna tell you. During a quickie, such as today, when you have a Dora tape in which hopefully gives you at least 20 minutes of fuckage, she should have anywhere from one to three good hard orgasms, but not so hard that she can't get up to deal with it if one of your kids runs past the room on fire. Or go get you a sandwich. Save the rubber-leggers for early morning, or for after the kids are in bed for the night. If she tends to noise, have a belt ready for her to bite down on. Do not put your hand over her mouth, because she will either blow boogers into your hand fur, or bite, either of which can have a tendency to 'knock the sap from your wood', so to speak. As Ted Nugent says so eloquently, you should be able to "Make her pussy purr with a touch of your hand..." If you cannot do this, ask her how. She has been beating off since she she still had Teddy Bears in her bed, and knows all of the tricks.

    So, there I am, Astrolubed and primed, my pistil frantically plunging her ova receptor, the ICBM of Love is preparing to MRV and scatter baby-bomblets over the cervix of opportunity and BAMBAMBAM"Mommy! Dora's over!" and I turn to the door to scream "Go away or Daddy's gonna kill you!" but she grabs my ass and sticks her tongue in my ear and SPOOOOSH!! and instead I let out this Howard Dean on helium scream that hurts my throat and damn, but it's good to be married.

    Maybe I should print this out and give it to my newly married daughter and her new husband. Naaahhh, they are probably humping like rabbits this very minute.



    Resident Evil...Apocalypse

    If you've seen the first one and enjoyed it, go see this one...a lot. I want them to make more.

    It is rated R for a reason, and makes the first one look G. This may be the best movie in this genre I have ever seen. It is a film, a comic book, and a video game all rolled up into one big bloody tampon and jammed down your retching short, I really really loved it.

    They kept setting up scenes and I kept saying "Oh no, you're not going to go there..." and yes, they not only went, they jumped into the gaping wound with combat boots until the blood splashed. But it was tasteful. And oh, the dogs...

    If you've seen it, please, no spoilers for at least a week, and then fukkem, let'r rip, cuz y'all shoulda been in the theatre yesterday for this. If you are one of those dorks that 'waits for the DVD', you are missing out on a badass widescreen extravaganza. That corpulent fagroid Eberts gave it half a star, so you just know it's gonna kick ass.

    It does. And let me know what you think about Milla's nipples.

        Sunday, September 12, 2004

    Dan Rather Blather...

    So, this shit is coming as some sort of surprise to you? The surprise to me is that anyone even watched this fucker while he was lying his ass off and trumpeting forged documents last week.

    So many others are doing yeomans work on this that I hardly even feel compelled to add my dos centavos, but what the heck...


    Hope that clears things up for you.

        Saturday, September 11, 2004

    Goodness Snakes Alive!

    "Hello, Dad...?"

    "Duh, you dialed me..."

    "Uh...I don't want you to freak out, but..."

    "But what?!?"

    "Uhhhh, I'm in the hospital..."


    "Uhhhh, I got bit by a rattlesnake..."

    (Sounds of hysterical laughter issuing from me...)..."what kind of dipshit lets himself get bit by a rattlesnake?" (more hysterical, relieved laughter)...

    "Well, (sounding a little miffed) I guess, me..."

    "What the fuck were you doing?"

    "Well, we were moving into the new barracks and it was in..."

    "And you didn't stomp the shit out of it?"

    "...the room in the corner..."


    "Uh, it was a baby snake..."

    "Yeah, those little cocksuckers dump their full load in one bite because they can't control it yet and it's worse than an adult bite!"

    Jeez Louise. He makes it through a tour in Iraq, with all of it's accompanying venemous insects, reptiles, and muslums, only to end up in an ICU at Camp Pendleton getting pumped full of $12,000 worth of anti-venin.

    Your tax dollars at work.



    I woke up with a start this morning around 5:45. I sensed a disturbance in the force. The wife is gone for the weekend, and my skin was crawling. I grabbed my .45 and went to check the kids. Fine. Perimeter? Secure. I put away the pistol and lay back down. I flick on the TV just because, and there is President Bush, asking for a moment of silence, and he and Laura bow their heads. My clock above the TV says 5:46.

    My sentiments as to that day are best expressed by this, and then by this. All else is just pathetic, weepy bullshit.

    They take a bit of time to load, and you'll need Realplayer. Here is the main site for your amusement and edification.

        Friday, September 10, 2004

    Ain't This Some Shit...

    My Beloved Raiders have won three out of four games, though to be sure, all four games were really close. And I missed every damn one of them. Crap.

    Even worse, they play the Steelers Sunday morning at 10am, while The Saints play the vile Seahawks, which is not even a real damn bird.

    I've got to get up early on a Sunday and switch between the two games and try to not damage my clicker finger and have to sit out the season.

    ...and then the 49ers (hopefully) begin beating up on the Falcons at 1pm. The Falcon is, in fact, a real bird, though diminutive and screechy, and prone to farts that stink of rodent.

    This looks to be a busy Sunday. *Happy Sigh*

    I love September...


    Grave Robbers...

    Oh, this is rich. This nonsense, all of these medal thieves from the Dimocratic Party pissing on the graves of our honorable war dead, really sets me off.

    I find that little torso Max Cleland the most repellant of them all, frankly. Blows himself up with his own grenade outside of a bar while drunk, and then lets himself be trundled around to political events so Repugs can't say anything against him as they fear being labeled a Cripple Whacker. Fuck him. I'd love to roll his lying, posturing ass down a ramp and in front of a bus.

    And before you try any of that "well, did you go to Viet Nam?" bullshit, none of you ever served in the Civil War, either, so I guess you have no right to talk about it, eh?

    Putting it in a resume is one thing. If you did it, it's part of your life and the people who are wondering whether to vote for you or not need to know about it. But carping about it daily and wearing it like some kind of armor against your being examined for your behavior during the last 30 years is just egotistically disengenuous. Actually, it paints a single question mark about both your veracity and your sanity with one brush stroke.


    Die Delta, Die!

    I found this tidbit over at Kim's blog. There is no earthly reason this soldier should have been put off of that plane. There are always extra crew seats, including in the cabin. If she had been a Delta pilot, the crew would have found her a place to sit, I guarantee it.

    Southwest, Horizon, Alaska, yes, but never again Delta.

        Thursday, September 09, 2004

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Even though it is not her best work, go and worship.

        Tuesday, September 07, 2004


    Hey, Fuckface, got room for just one more nail?


    A Worthy Blog...

    I saw this guy taking it to Vox on Vox's blog, and checked him out. So should you. I don't have the stamina to beat the same horse over and over, but I do enjoy watching a good beating.

    Let's see if Vox hands him his head on Vox Populi. The Palooka has made a couple of cogent points, and Vox is a little OCD on this issue.

    I'm gonna sit back and eat popcorn.


    For the record, I think that the government is us. We bought it, and we pay for it. I am glad we interned the Japs, and I wish we would do the same favor to all the ragheads here until we can get things sorted out. I would personally man the machine guns or stoke the ovens if I could be sure they were muslum murderers going up in smoke. If any of this bothers you, then you are a pussy and your genes don't belong in the pool.

    I am sick of all this fantasy land liberaltarianarchist agrarian society bullshit. This is what we've got, and this is what we have to deal with. Technology has shrunk the world, and there are no more places to hide. While you have your head in the sand and your ass in the air, some grinning, crazy-ass buttfucker is dropping his pants and heading for your bung.

    If wishes were horses, dogfood would be a lot cheaper.


    Fuck You...

    ...I'm busy. Well, okay, maybe I've got time for a handjob. Damn that was good.

    Some samples you ask? Here ya go...

    Eh. It’s a waste of electrons to tarry on such nonsense, and all you can do is pity such a fellow. Given the words to describe a hurricane, he spends them on denouncing a hair drier. Who will listen to these people should things ever get worse?

    Europe is only too happy to see a Jew smoke. They even built special places where they could do it together.

    Ahhh, yet again, things I wish I'd said. Brilliant.

        Sunday, September 05, 2004

    Nazi Piss...

    Except for the one and only can of Ranier Ale I dumped out on the lawn, I have never met a beer I didn't like. So, spotting a bottle of Beck's from a six-pack my wife bought last night, I figured it would go well with my microwaved day old soggy nachos. EGAD!!! Tasted like backwash from gramma's enema. Ptui ptui ptui!!!


    Insult to injury? As I'm recapping it (I don't shitcan other peoples 'beer') I see the fine print...'Non-Alchoholic'...FUCK!!!

    I shoulda known better. My wife doesn't drink. I hope my mouth doesn't taste like Granny's bung all day. GAK!! that shit is awful.

    I bet a beer-fart from that swill could kill several people. Maybe I should alert the local hazmat people. My wife is in church right now.


    Redneck Church...

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the finance committee refuses to provide funds for the purchase of a chandelier because none of the members knows how to play one.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... people ask, when they learn that Jesus fed the 5000, whether the two fish were bass or catfish, and what bait was used to catch 'em.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... when the pastor says, "I'd like to ask Bubba to help take up the offering," five guys and two women stand up.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... opening day of deer season is recognized as an official church holiday.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if... a member of the church requests to be buried in his 4-wheel-drive truck because "It ain't never been in a hole it couldn't get out of."

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... in a congregation of 500 members, there are only seven last names in the church directory.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... high notes on the organ set the dogs on the floor to howling.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... people think "rapture" is what you get when you lift something too heavy.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the baptismal pool is a #2 galvanized washtub.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the choir robes were donated by (and embroidered with the logo from) Billy Bob's Barbecue.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the collection plates are really hub caps from a '56 Chevy.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... instead of a bell, you are called to service by a duck call.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the minister and his wife drive matching pickup trucks.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the communion wine is Boone's Farm "Tickled Pink."

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if... "Thou shalt not covet" applies to hunting dogs, too.

    You Know Your Church Is A Redneck Church if ... the final words of the benediction are, "Y'all come back now y'heer?"


    In Case You Were Wondering...

    I would fuck the FOX News weather girl to death. We would probably both die. You could see the cumshot from space.

    I'm not sure if my wife knows it, but she should really appreciate hurricane season. "C'mere honey, I need you...badly..."

    I think I'm in love...

        Saturday, September 04, 2004

    You Need To See This...

    I was sent this link today, along with this:

    Numerous press sources and whispered rumors among hippy-types are accusing that Arnold lied about his Austrian childhood memories of seeing Soviet tanks, claiming he's fudging Austrian history for the Bush campaign. Even Austria's leftwing Social Democrats are getting in on it.... Leave it to them to tell a lie *about* ignorance that can be written off *to* ignorance. Check it out...

    Never miss a chance to ram it up a libtards ass and break it off, I always say. If Aaron's story has any holes in it, let me know. I'm getting drunk tonight. I married off my daughter today, and my ex was there. Weirdness was had by all...

    I still think this link is important enough to dip my nose out of the trough long enough to post it.

    Now, git.

        Friday, September 03, 2004

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Kneel, and worship.

    You know, I don't think there's enough room around the rim of Kerry's coffin for any more nails.

    And I would just love to be Clinton's heart surgeon about now...oh yeah.

        Thursday, September 02, 2004

    Zell Miller For President!!!

    I wonder how many times today, on how many blogs, that title was typed?

    I'm not kidding, I would vote for that man if I had the choice, and was in the booth right now.

    Yeoman's work, to eclipse Rudi's speach. I'd love to see the pedigree of that rant...did it arrive on the scene fresh from his bile duct, or is it some well-crafted Frankenstein's Monsterant, cobbled together by various Neocon hitpersons?

    Regardless, I am heartily impressed. Now, let's see if GW buh buh buh buh Bush can make it through his moment without swallowing his tongue.

    Fingers crossed!


    Proper People...

    I feel curiously exposed, here, because of all of the Smooth Trade passing through here lately, like a Southerner must feel compelled to quit sodomizing his dog because the Mayor's limo just pulled up. Company's comin, go lock the three-eyed kids with humps in the back shed for a bit.

    Naaaahhh. The Trade that don't belong here'll realize they took a wrong turn somewhere and scoot like a diverticulus old woman, and the rest'll settle in. Besides, Old Blue here growls at me when I quit, an I'm too drunk to defend against a nut-nip. So wander into the house, pour a shot or three of 'shine, and give me a few more minutes.

    Mind the young'uns...little fuckers bite.


    Sowing Confusion...

    There seems to be some doubt among the Heathen as to the veracity of my parenting skills and tales. I shall endevour to clarify.

    When your little child comes up to you,rubbing their eyes from their near-nap experience and asks you "Daddy, where's Mommy?", do you say "She's outside working on her roses...", or do you say "I'm sorry, son, we had to have her put down..."? Well? I thought as much. And do you, in light of an unfortunate recent bladder episode on her part, due I am sure to just a UTI, and not that she is getting old even though she is 8 years younger than you, 'spice it up a bit' by throwing in a movie reference thusly: "We had to have Old Yeller put down..."? I rest my case.

    Bonus points if the front door is open and she is within earshot. Darn lucky thing I'm good in bed...