I Found A Picture Of Tom Cruise...

...and dang, he's hot. I'd do him.





















For more utterly unredeeming, filthy porn, go here.

Spankarama!

Bane, giving lonely single men something to do on Friday nights since 2003.


.

By Their Fruits, Ye Shall Know Them...

And these people are fruits, all right.

I can hardly wait until the shooting starts. I can start in my own neighborhood.

Update:

Meet America's Palestinians.

And we see how well that has worked out for the Israelis.

Countdown to Free-Fire Zone in 1...2...3...


.

This Is Disgraceful...

I don't care much for Ollie North, but he's got a good article here.

I can understand an employer being leery of hiring someone with PTSD. Those are some twitchy sonsabitches, and many recent vets of the GWOT have been in some pretty horrific, brutal combat. But employers should be opening their arms to these returning vets, and at least taking the chance.

Had I a business, I would staff it 100% with vets if I could, especially 'handicapped' vets, if appropriate.

Sometimes my countrymen make me sick.

Or should I say cuntrymen.


.

Yet More Parenting Tips...

The wife made her 'World Famous Split Pea Soup With Shredded Corned Beast In It' last night. Heavenly. She always makes a huge pot, and we eat it for days, and enjoy every bowl.

Today, for lunch, the kids wanted PBJ's, but that was too much work for me, plus we had the leftover soup, so I nuked soup, and they whined. Until I brought out the bag of crunchy Cheetos, and began poking them into their bowls of soup. They goggled, as I confirmed my coolness.

Make food look cool, and use plenty of butter, that is my parenting tip. I also cut sandwiches into fourths. Little hands handle them better, and there is far less mess and wastage. This includes hamburgers. When not grilling, I like to lay out hamburger in a baking dish, and cook it in the microwave with a saucer under one end. The grease runs down to the other end, and you can pour it out. You might have to do this a couple of times during cooking.

You can then cut out bread sized squares of meat with a spatula. Hamburger buns tend to be too thick for a little kids mouth. I toast the bread lightly so it can stand up to the condiments and the heat of the meat. Hamburger cooked in this fashion makes a fine cold sandwich for another meal.

We buy big packs of wooden clothes pins at the Dollar Store, and keep them in a big gallon sized freezer bag (tougher plastic) in the living room. We also keep several lap blankets folded on the backs of our couches. I had to teach the kids to play this way, but now when the mood hits them, they drag chairs out of the dining room, and clothespin blankets to them, and to the back of the couch.

Nat is currently playing in the 'Styling Salon' she set up. She has a doll high chair, and it is her 'styling chair', and her dolls are getting a makeover.

We have these long, brightly colored strings, from these cardboard cards with holes in them and pictures of shoes and such. Instead, Nat and Johnny use them to play elevator. They tie one end to the handles of these plastic Easter baskets we gave them last year, throw the string over a chair, and run the baskets up and down to each other.

The point? They have plenty of toys, but we try to give them an outlet for creative play. They LOVE doing crafts, and the Dollar Store comes in handy again, because Play-Doh goes to shit after a while, and needs to be replaced, and Dollar Stores have plenty of chink knock-offs. Same thing with crayons.

You have to get down on the floor or whatever with them, and teach them to play. You can't just hand them a bag of army soldiers, and expect them to know how to play with them. Get their box of blocks, and make a fort, and put the army men on it, and have the bad yellow army men attack the good green army men, and get them involved, and then the light goes on, and all sorts of fantasy play erupts.

They will begin to come up with things you never thought of, but it is you who have to light the pilot light for them.

Another tip we found out by accident: we bought a baby monitor recently so we could listen to Johnny while he sleeps with his CPAP machine and face mask on. Now, we have always had a problem with Nat and John jazz-assing around at nap time. She sings, and sneaks over and torments her brother and such.

On a whim, one day, I turned on the baby monitor at nap time, and warned her that I would be listening to her. She was asleep in five minutes.

Baby monitors...not just for babies any more.

So there you go.


.

Urgent Prayer Call!

Yeah, I'm asking you to pray for an Iraqi. Sue me.

Hit your knees, people, this is worthy.

Thanks.


.

BRAINSS!

[I wrote this back when the blog was good, last July or so. I reprint it here, so you will see what a real rant looks like. Enjoy...]

Fuck you, Michael J. Fox, you fucking little has-been midget cannibal, I hope you die, and then I hope your family dies, you cannibalistic little fuck.

So, you wanna harvest the cells of murdered babies, to keep your sorry, one-trick-pony ass perambulating?

I want to pour gasoline over you and set you on fire so bad I can smell the hydrocarbons...and I want to see Glenn Reynolds twitching in the flames beside you, too, the Instafucker...

And Nancy Reagan? You vile witch. You and your homo kids can just shut up and die, too. You are the reason I never took your husband seriously. Lincoln had his Crazy Mary, and Ronnie had you. He never had a chance, and good Marines remain unavenged because of him. Fuck all you Reagans.

Thank goodness Christopher Reeves is dead. I despise horses, but the one that snapped his foul liberal neck should have statues erected to it all over the country.

The only thing I hate worse than a liberal, is a crippled liberal, especially one that they roll out to try to intimidate the rubes, every so often.

You hear that, Max Cleland, you fake-ass 'Viet Nam Veteran'?

Yeah, roll a grenade off a jeep, outside of a bar while drunk, and make hay on your self-inflicted wounds for decades, you little torso. Fuck you, you crippled cunt. I hope you die...I hope you choke on some pudding, and your handler runs off in a panic, and you choke your miserable life out into the rug while your eyes bug and...

...well, I just really fucking hate you. All you cocksuckers who want to continue your worthless existences by stealing the lives of innocents...

Just fucking die, you worthless whores. You vampires. You ghouls. You mindless, greedy, shuffling zombies.

If a cure for Johnny came to us from the detritus of murdered infants, I would kill my own wife before I allowed her to use it to restore him.

Ponder that, fucker.

Yeah, go ahead on and justify your baby raping. Give me a good reason.

Try.


.

The Mouse That Roared...

Any of you nerds know anything about mice? I've got a Microsoft Optical Wheel Mouse, and I have been getting a double-click effect from a single click.

Am I screwed? Is is time for a new mouse? It tells me I have the latest drivers, and I've cranked the sensitivity way down, and still, when I go to close one window in my tabbed browser, it will close two, sometimes more.

In Outlook, I click on my In Box, and it sometimes collapses the whole tree of folders. Very annoying.

Help!


.

I Made A Sandwich...

We had some leftover corned beast, so I cut the thick slices into strips. I took two slices of good, moistly soft black bread, and spread one side with whipped cream cheese and creamed horseradish, and the other side with plenty of Kraft horseradish spread, and brown deli mustard. Then I put KFC (there is none better, so don't even go there) cole slaw over the meat.

DEEliscious, as Johnny would say. When I finish the other half tonight, I will probably put some Vlasic Dill Pickle slices on it.

Hardly a day goes by without me thanking God at some point for creating the Earl of Sandwich.


.

Fuck The FCC!

What a piece of shit those fucking cocksuckers are. And fuck Donald Wildmon and all the insufferable nanny cocksucking motherfuckers like him. I'd like to go back in time and pay for their mother's abortion. Fuckers.

The same cocksucking shit-eating asshole FCC that routinely allows motherfuckers on TV to take my God's name in vain, gets bent over the word shit? The fucking shit-eaters?

What's black and brown, and looks good on a 'Family Advocate'?

A fucking Doberman, that's what. Stupid hypocritical intrusive fucking cocksucking baby-rapers.

FUCK! I hate people.

Hey, Al Queda, get off your lazy goat-fucking asses, and nuke Washington already, will ya?

Fucking gay-ass rag-pussies. Did you know Teddy Kennedy is having a page wipe his ass right now with pages from the Koran? It's true!

Siccem...


.

Good Morning, Iran!

Here's your wake up call!

Have a nice day...rest in pieces.

I have aversions to Persians...


.

I Haven't Been In A Bookstore In Years...

And here is one very good reason why.

I go to Amazon, and I don't have to smell any patchouli, or face the angry glares of feminists, as they finger their Mace holster meditatively.

If I need an old book, and Amazon doesn't carry it, I go to ebay, and I find it every time.

Fuck a book store.


.

I Think I May Have Done This Before...

...but I'm gonna do it again. J. Lee Roy's Dippin Sauce is quite simply the best I have ever tasted, bar none, ever. His Seafood Sauce is awesome, too.

The wife and I are going to order the squeeze bottle (Deluxe) gift set as soon as we get some money, because we just ran out, and we are jonesing, bad. There is almost nothing that these sauces do not enhance. Literally. Beef, chicken, fish, pork. The seafood sauce has horseradish in it, and is awesome on corned beef as well as fish. And I'm a guy who does not ever eat cocktail sauce. I have the waitress bring me tartar sauce. But I adore this seafood sauce.

The wife is (was) personal friends with J. Lee Roy and his family. One time, shortly after we were married, he asked her to help serve at an event he was catering. If you go to his website, look at that cooker he makes himself and sells. The wife brought home various meats from the meal, and I have never had anything better before or since. It is no wonder that other cooks tremble when he rolls in towing his cooker, because they don't stand a chance.

I think he has won just about every chili cook-off there is, too. The man is just a wizard with spices and flavors. That rub he sells is incredible, and goes on anything. I'm not a huge fan of the pork chop, but between his rub, and his sauce, it makes it magical.

Order that $21.95 Deluxe Gift Box, and you'll thank me.

I mean it.


.

A Cautionary Tale...

This is why I do not use a debit card to pay for ANYthing.

And why I think you are a fool if you do.


.

Judge Not...

...lest ye be judged.

Who wants to bet that this guy will still be a judge a year from now? I bet he will.


.

R.I.P. Instagranny...

I don't know Glenn Reynolds from Adam, and I am generally appalled at his political leanings, but his grandma died, and it touched me for some reason.

Maybe it was the old pics of his grandparents in their prime, and that there, too, but for the Grace of God, etc.

Made me maudlin.


.

Fuck The Feebs...

This does not bode well. The Kurds are probably the closest thing we have to a friend in that shithole of Iraq. And we have a bunch of fumble-fingered fuck-ups tormenting them?

Jesus wept...


.

Like Slapping A Puppy On The Nose...

This is really, really good. Well said, pip pip, and all that rot.

I don't read newspapers, they are such rubbish, anymore, but those of you who do should write letters like the above all of the time.

My local rag is just appalling shit, and the letters to the editor page is an anuerysm looking for a place to happen. I knew, that when the only thing I was reading it for were the comics, we needed to cancel it.

If you do have a subscription, threaten to cancel it in your letters. I bet that makes em nervous, seeing as how readership is falling off everywhere.

Fukkem all.


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

You can tell how right and good someone is, and how effective they are being, by how much Libtards hate them. Ann must be doing really, really well, because they hate her most of all.

You go, girl.


.

I Repost This, Just Because...

August 31st, 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.


.

I Wonder At The Significance...

...of my 167,666th reader being from DEARBORN MICHIGAN!

Hmmmmmm?


.

"I'm Not Spot!"

Nat does not appreciate her new name. The wife is appalled, too. John has joined in quite cheerfully, though, to his potential doom.
Nat has two big marks on her nose, and one on her cheek, thus, her appellation. Her much unappreciated appellation.

The wife made scones this morning, and they are quite good. She knows I don't like scones, because of the dryness factor, so she made these moist(ish), and they are yummy. Chock full of dried cranberries and blueberries. Like finding a little rat foetus in every bite. Yeah, I could have said 'fetus', but that looks too much like 'Cletus', a name I have always associated with child molest and retardation. Besides, 'foetus' just looks so much more... foetusy.

So anyway, the car is fixed. To the tune of $135. Fortunately, the wife had a stash of grocery money set aside for next month, so we can pay the bill. Her boss has offered her a little Ford Escort that apparently has just been cluttering up her yard. We don't know yet if it is 'give' or 'sell', but the boss values my wife, and likes her, so, fingers crossed.

It seems our car, during the period it was running so rough because the tank was half full of water, tore some important mounts loose, one of them being a transmission mount. The mechanic/owner of our car place told us that for that much water to get in, it had to have either been a dose of bad gas from a station, or somebody deliberately poured it in (it was gallons).
We only buy gas at one station, and we eliminated them as the source, so...

And you wonder why I'm paranoid...


.

Nope Nope Nope...

...no terrorism here.

Move along. Nothing to see here...


.

Motorcycles, And Other Forms Of Death...

I understand a woman riding a Harley. Really, I do. It is quite possibly the most expensive and efficient vibrator in the world. And it's all fun until somebody gets all of the skin flayed from their body after skidding two hundred feet on the asphalt.

I saw a Hell's Angel buddy of mine, one time, skid many yards on his face. The slug trail he left went for a hundred feet or so, and went up between his spraddled legs, and his head looked like he had put his face into a hole up to his ears.

Yummy.

Kick my car as much as you want. Oh, is that your bike over there? My turn. Let's see which one falls over first.

Now, watch all the bikers come out of the woodwork, and argue like athiests. Do NOT attack their religion! Fuck, I've probably owned and ridden more motorcycles than most of you have. Probably wrecked more cars, too. Reality check: there are far more cars than scoots, so don't go there. Just compare the fatalities between two wheels vs four, on an equitable basis.

Four wheels good, two wheels bad. And stupid, if I do say so my judgmental self.

Hey, I have always said that suicide is the sincerest form of self criticism, and I stand by that. I, too, enjoy watching the bungie jumper come to no good end, abruptly, and with spatter. By the same token, I enjoy watching Mr Kneivel, and his spawn, clattering into obstacles, and struggling for life with tubes up their noses, and I bet they all own their own custom, two-piece autographed neck braces, too.

Darwin, meet motorcycle rider. Rider, meet Darwin.

If you wouldn't make toast, with a toaster on the edge of your tub, while you take a nice bubble bath, why ever would you purchase, let alone ride, a crotch rocket?

Ooops, I did it again...


.

Hey!

Could you, using the process of sublimation, or screen printing, or a bit of both; and using special inks, make a 'shield' for a deadly weapon like a knife, or a gun, or a bomb, to get it through the X-Ray machines and onto a plane?

Say, make two sides of a 'comb', and put a Kabar between them? Or make a pistol look like a blow dryer?

Oh, sorry, you thought those TSA retards were protecting you? Half of them are from terrorist countries, anyway. Oh, you thought all of the Islamic students we've been educating for decades couldn't come up with this idea?

Dumbass.

Happy flying!


.

Sorry...

This is gonna distract you for a while...

Oh, and make you feel stupid.



.

Dark Kingdom: The Dragon King

I can't recommend this, because I haven't seen it yet. But I can tell you that both parts one and two are on the Sci-Fi channel all evening tonight, and I am taping them, because it looks pretty cool.

No spoilers in my comments, assholes who've seen it.

I love movies like this, generally. BTW, if you haven't seen 'King Arthur', get to it. A beautiful movie, directed by Antoine Fuqua, who has made several of my favorite movies (Tears of the Sun, The Replacement Killers, etc.).

Enjoy!


.

At A Loss For Words...

Oh, I can always work up a good ramble, but I am remarkably rant free, today. Heck, lately.

I go here and there, and read comments, and the stupidity is sometimes just breathtaking...enervating. You read shit so dumb that you just have to go lie down.

I like blogging, and bloggers, and I think it is only going to grow, but it's like some people should just not waste money on baby pictures, if you know what I mean.
Which reminds me, do any of you nasty ugly fat bitches that post your photos to dating sites ever look at them first? What were you thinking? Get back under your bridge, and wait for a billy-goat to come along.

The wife just helped a screaming Nat into the house. Seems Nat took advantage of the fact that John got sent up to his room for being a turd. So Nat jacks his big special ed trike and is tooling it around while the wife works in the garage, and the dummy put on the hand brake while making a sharp turn, and once again proved the inherent instability of a tripod, and smacked her face into the cement a good one.

I applied an emergency Otter Pop, and gave her an ice pack. She looks like an abused child.

Our car is up in the shop, again. It is like a Frenchman: every so often, it works. We will be car-less for a couple of days. Yay. Well, it is a beautiful day, and French persons are getting the shit beat out of them by French police. This contents Bane. It further contents him to know that they put tear gas in the tanks that feed their water cannons.

Why can't we be more like the French? I would love to knock Mother Sheehan on her ass with a water cannon, and then douche her up her dessicated snatch with Mace Kool-Aid.

That would make Bane sport a world-class chubby, right there. So hard a cat couldn't scratch it.


.

Happy Thoughts...

Man, I like this guys ideas. I doubt that our government has the nuts to follow through as he suggests, but a boy can dream, can't he?

I just wish we would do it yesterday, already. It's inevitable, let's get it over with.


.

Dang, I'm Sore...

Spent most of the afternoon working on the garage with the wife, while the kids ran amok outside. 'Twas a beautiful day, cloudy, yet bright and warm(ish).

My Dad scrounged me a set of 48" bolt cutters, for free, and I got what I paid for. These fuckers are solid steel, at least fifty pounds, and duller than gramma's gums. I wanted to chop up the kid's swing set, which has grown decrepit beyond belief, with the occasional chain snapping, and launching one of the nongers off on an apogee that ends with a good thud into the fence.

Kinda funny, really. But I can't afford the medical bills, so the attractive nuisance has to go. So these worthless bolt cutters acted more as a large pair of pliers, and I wrenched all of the dangly bits off the thing, as well as the central support, and tomorrow, rain willing, I shall disassemble the frame, and dumpsterize it.

Right now, it looks like a gallows, from which several athiests would dangle nicely, their toes pointed downward, dripping their last burst of effluent on this earth onto the grass.

Sigh...we can dream...

So, I checked out what it would take for me to have a P.O. Box today. $51 dollars for six months, including the 'setup fee'. Hmmmm, small obstacle, there. Oh well. Can't have everything. Good news is that I can have it as 'Bane'. That's cool. I wouldn't have considered it, otherwise.

Just a note to some of you grouchy bitches: Come home. Daddy is willing to take you back. All is forgiven, no need to keep being a crank about things. Lighten up! P-p-p-p-puhleeze?

Fuck, I am sore. I need days like this more often. Maybe I'll actually finish the garage, this year.


.

The Very Epitome Of...

...good news/bad news.

Man, you just cannot hate on the Ay-rabs and Muslims enough.


.

Try To Defend...

...the indefensible.

Just try.

All Muslims must die.

More...


h/t, Grouchy Old Cripple.


.

I Saw A Man Die Today...

...and it made me sad. My hard little heart immediately jumped to his family, having to see the Formula One car their loved one was in, careening in circles, then blasted to bits by a direct hit.

Fox, of course, lingered lovingly over the carnage, replaying it in slow motion, over and over...
to her credit, the Fox girl looked appalled and disgusted, as the producer held out this dead man's bleeding heart. "Here, here it is, lick it!" And to my discredit, I ate up every second of it.

I see that the Air Force is testing a plane-mounted laser today. Too little, too late? And does China have one yet, and how many? We are so fucked. I see that we also want to put a base on the moon. Better hurry, before the Japs or Chinks or whoever take the high ground. I don't know how many of you have read 'The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress' by Heinlein, but it would be smart of you to.

So, the Afghani's are supposedly letting that Christian convert go. I hope we put him in an armored vehicle, and spirit him away and out of that shithole country, cuz his life isn't worth a Tinker's Damn right now. If I was him, I'd try to find a way to go shoot that ex-wife of his in the face. You hear she was the one who ratted him out? I couldn't shoot my daughters, though, even though they were in on it.

I don't think I could kill one of my kids for any reason, even in self defense. Maybe if they were a direct threat to Nattie or John or the wife. Or if they raped one of those three. Yeah, maybe then, but it'd sure be hard.

Nat ran and refilled my bottle of water a bit ago, and brought it back to me here in front of the computer. She was Nattering on about something, and I did a little sniff, and something broke loose from my sinuses, and snapped into the back of my throat. I horked it out into a kleenex, and Nat was scandalized beyond words. I asked her if she wanted to eat it, and she fled, gagging and shrieking.

Good Parenting is a skill.

But this booger thing looked like one of those damn implant thingies from the X-Files. In a fine stew of liquous snot. Whatever, it's probably at the sewer plant by now. I was gonna look at it under a magnifying glass, but I got distracted.

Oh well...


.

I Can Think Of No Cooler Hobby...

...than to catch fuckers like this the way that guy did.


.

I Love This Kind Of Stuff...

Having been 'in the occult' myself, I know the glee with which it's practitioners take in doing things like this film addresses.

I don't know how it is now, but at one time the Avon catalog was a huge source for occult jewelry, and unsuspecting consumers were hanging symbols of witchcraft and Satanism around their necks, and had no idea what they were wearing.

One thing about these occultists, they LOVE the occult, or 'hidden' part of it. They love to infiltrate a Christian church and raise heck. They love their secretive rituals, and their groves, and their caves, and their basements. Got a closed down church building? Odds are you'll find traces of black and red wax drippings up on the altar area. And it would amaze you to find out the pillars of your community who are into the occult.

Back in my badass days, before I moved to Oklahoma, I had a married woman-friend that was pregnant, and she and her husband had opted to have the child at home, with a midwife. Now I'm not saying all midwives are occultists, but I wish you good luck in finding one who is not.
(Much of your nursing staff in your average hopital are occultists as well, one reason I never leave Johnny alone.)

So, anyway, this broad comes beating on my door early one morning, in a panic, still in her PJ's, with a fresh-born baby in her arms, still so fresh it had dried blood in it's hair. This woman was hysterical, but I finally gathered that she wanted protection from her husband and his coven for her and her baby.

Seems the midwife had induced her pregnancy for some reason, with the idea that it be born on a certain schedule, in the very early morn. Everything went okay, and my friend was resting and breast-feeding the baby, when she smelled cooking meat, and heard some strange sounds coming from downstairs. She burped the baby and laid it down, and staggered on downstairs to investigate. While still on the stairs, she could plainly see into the kitchen, and that her husband was tending to her placenta in a big skillet, and there was a group of people in robes that, other than the midwife, she had never seen before, and they were chanting softly.

One would assume that placenta was on the morning's menu.

She snuck back upstairs, grabbed the baby and her car keys, snuck down the back stairwell to her car, and came straight to my house. I got another female friend to come pick her up and take her to her apartment, she called her family back East somewhere, and bugged out that day. Last I ever saw or heard from her.

As you can imagine, there's an untold story here, and a back-story or two, and whatnot. I pride myself, it is a matter of personal honor to me that I have never lied or embellished on this blog, though I expect scoffing. Though it irritates me some, it amuses me more. Be as fat, dumb and happy as you please.

Maybe one day I'll tell you about the female police lieutenant I knew and worked with occasionally, who was a dedicated occult crimes investigator. Dedicated as in 'that's all she did', what she was hired to do.
I could have happily gone the rest of my life without seeing her photo collection. Her department loaned her out all over the state. She had dead eyes, like a store mannequin. I don't think I ever saw her smile. Once.

Let me let you in on a little secret. I hear people bullshit about how 'there's no evidence of all these human sacrifices'. Well, in the Bible, when making a sacrifice to God, you knew you were successful when the sacrifice 'was consumed'.

Since the devil seeks to counterfit the works of God, what do you think happens to sacrifices made to he and his demons?

Think about it...


.

Hey, Bacon Eating Athiest Jew!

Here's your thread! Now go shine, shine like the star that you are!


.

Some Dirty Filthy Porn...

If you have dial-up, you are SOL. If not, go here and enjoy. Man, she has nipples like .45 slugs.

I have never had nor ever will have a lap dance. You keep your skanky ass up there on the pole, bitch, I don't want you touching me. Who knows where you've been.

Actually, I think I just hate strip bars. They just make me sad, not horny. If you have to pay a chick to pretend to like you, well you're kinda sad, too.

Oh well, God Bless Capitalism.


.

I'd Say She Supports The Military...

I can't figure out what those medals are above the name tag.















.

I Think This Is...

...a fantastic idea.

Only trouble is, I think you'd need a big freezer, and ours is barely adequate. Oh well, we've none of these around here, anyway.

But I still think it is a really cool idea. We're too poor to use Swan's any more, but when we were flush, their truck was a regular feature at our house. We bought meals from them, and they were wonderful.

How cool to have a place where you can put together your own custom meals, though.


.

More Debunking Of The Left...

This has got to just stick in their craw. Hopefully these young men will be good officers, and not get their men killed over stupid shit.


.

Mortuary...

This is tonight's Sci Fi Channel Main Event. Let's see...

A family moves to a rural town and takes over an abandoned funeral home rumored to be haunted.
Adult Situations; Language; Nudity; Graphic Violence.
Cast: Dan Byrd, Stephanie Patton, Alexandra Adi, Denise Crosby, Courtney Peldon, Bug Hall, Rocky Marquette, Tarah Paige, Lee Garlington, Adam Gierasch.
Director(s): Tobe Hooper.
Writer(s): Jace Anderson, Adam Gierasch

Do my eyes decieve me? Could it be directed by the great Tobe Hooper? Let's see if he just phones it in. It's a little disturbing when the only name I recognize in the cast is Denise Crosby, and she doesn't even get top billing.

Bug Hall? Any movie with a guy in it that lets people call him 'Bug' has got to be good.

I'm stoked...


.

I Took This Test...

It is surprising how some of these things 'know' you.





My Personal Dna Report


I got this from Northwoods Woman...thanks, Livey.


.

Doctor Who Reminder!

Eight Pee Em tonight, be there. The first one is a rerun from last week, and the next one is 'new'.

I am really enjoying this show.


.

Growl vs Howl...

Growl wins.

The death of Allen Ginsberg is one of my Happy Places, where I go when I need to cheer myself up. He resides in there with Arafat and Lennon, and The Pope.

The only thing 'Beat Poets' beat was their meat. Has a generation EVER been more full of themselves?


.

A Blanket Thank-You...

...to those of you who have hit my tip jar, this month, right up to this week. You are all the wind beneath my cheeks, and I am very grateful.

On a semi-related note, I am considering starting a membership only blog, and charging $5 a month for you to watch me write my novel. Is there any interest in that? Contributors would get a free autographed copy (and find out my real name!) if I ever get it published.

I would put up all the drafts, and my notes, and character studies, and musings, and stuff. I don't know if I'd have comments, or not.

Anybody?


.

Does Anyone Know...

...if I am linked to on any Pajamas Media's blogroll? I don't think I am, but I don't know. Oh wait, Baldilocks blogrolls me, but I think that's it.

No big deal, I'm just curious. Thanks.


.

Who Owns The Internet?

This is pretty fascinating.

I don't understand what he means by this 'last mile' stuff, though.

Anybody?


.

Calling All Nerds!

Does anyone know where I can find the old Star Trek game from back in the 70's that every IT nerd put on the library servers and we played it for hours instead of studying?

The space ships were made up of carats and asterisks, and you had to type in movement and fire commands. It was a blast.

Thanks.


.

Why I Don't Have Any Friends...

It seems, from my emails, that I ruffled a few feathers with my divorce post. Oddly, they are all from women. Apparently, when I tell it like I think it is, people get mad. Or hurt, which amounts to the same thing.

I am an unrepentant asshole. It is bone deep, and I cannot help it. I'm not sure I would if I could.

Oh well.

I have been taken to task for making 'generalizations'. Well, I challenge anyone to engage in punditry without using generalizations. One assumes that one's readers are aware that their mileage may vary, and that if the slipper does not fit, do not attempt to slip your hoof into it.

And this is one of many reasons I do not have any friends. Another is that I can't be around any woman for long, married, unmarried, or lesbian, without her at some point giving off the vibe that she'd like to take my peenie for a test drive. She either goes for it, or is appalled at her feelings, and blames me. Either way is not conducive to friendship.

As for guys, I have very tough standards, most of them learned through hard knocks over the years. I have very tough standards, as a result, and that winnows out, well, everybody. It does not help that I generally do not like men. Plus, there's that whole 'I'm an asshole' thing I've got going.

When I tell someone I am going to be somewhere or do something, I will move heaven and earth to acccomplish it, and I expect the same from someone else who would call me friend. I am invariably disappointed.

If I borrow money, I pay it back as soon as I can, any way I can. I loan freely, and expect the same pay-back behavior from my 'friends'. Not a lot of luck with that.
And if someone who would be my friend has certain behaviors or habits I find disgusting or reprehensible, I cannot abide having them in my home, or entering theirs.

I am very judgemental. You can scrape the mold off of something and eat it, I choose not to. Life is too short to hang out with a person or persons who irritate you. I like myself just fine, and have been entertaining myself just fine for decades. If you want into my life, you had better be offering something special, and that just ain't likely to happen.

The wife has her circle of friends, and she is my only one.

It works for me.


.

Thanks, Bill Clinton!

Look upon the results of his perfidy, and shudder.


.

Welcome To The Police State...

Go here, and here, and enjoy your subjugation.

Ready for revolution yet?


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

She is 100% right.


.

UltraViolet...

Need I say more? Okay, read this.

Still not convinced? Okay...













Are you still being a twat? Okay...















Dammit! Okay, one more...















My Dad and I went and saw and thoroughly enjoyed this movie today. It surprised me a bit he liked it, but not much. It was a superb movie, superbly acted and filmed.

I saw and suspected someone's fingerprints all over it, and sure enough, when I got home I found that the wonderful Kurt Wimmer had directed it. He also made the almost equally fantastic Equilibrium, which you should be dropping everything to rush out and rent right this very second.

UltraViolet rocks, people, from beginning to end, and the soundtrack rocks just as hard. There should be international law that in order to call your film an 'action movie', it has to rock at least as hard as this movie.

Good luck with that...


.

Floppy Eyelid Syndrome...

I thought Asian eye doctah wa pray tlick on round-eye, but was not ah-so.

Okay, I laughed in his face, but he insisted. He suspects that my recent dramatic weight loss left my eyelids...well, just a-floppin away. Oh, don't worry, I am still one gorgeous sonofabitch, but mechanically, my eyelids are acting like worn out windshield wipers.

Floppy.

When I sleep, they sometimes pull up from friction on the pillow, and I rub my eyeball on the fabric. This hurts. Ow. And the tears just run. I have to use saline, a lot.

The wife is out buying me a nice silk eye-shield as we speak. And some Preparation H suppositories for me to rub on my eyelids. I used the full strength stuff from the tube, yesterday, and burnt the livid shit outta my eyelids. I was in agony, in the bathroom, rubbing Johnson's Baby Soap on my eyes and rinsing frantically. Fuhuck me...

Like I say, if I'da known getting old was gonna suck like this, I'd have been more reckless in my youth.

Update:

I bet if I bought some of that stuff from my ad over there, that it could cure what ails me.

Hmmmm...


.

Casualty Figures...

I find this fascinating.


.

Large Buttocks Are Pleasing to Me...

...Nor Am I Able to Lie Concerning This Matter...

Sir Mix-A-Lot, in Latin.


.

Dee-Eye-Vee-Oh-Are-Cee-Eee...

I am a victim of divorce. So are my kids. So is my ex-wife. And it was her idea.

It usually is.

No Fault divorce has made it so that a woman can change husbands on a whim, like shoes, or drapes. I think divorce is the most destructive force in the world, and I hate it. I think that when either party files for divorce, and there are children involved, that the State should be empowered to step in and sieze the children. If there are no willing or qualified family members available to take them in, they should be put in special orphanages, run by churches, subsidized by monies siezed from the divorcing couples in the form of fines.

Both parents should get very limited visitation, supervised, for the first year. After that, the kids should be allowed to choose which parent they wish to live with, and what, if any, visitation the other parent gets. If the child is too young to make a decision, then a panel of married parents should interview both divorcing parents and choose the best parent, and what if any visitation arrangements.

On a sliding scale, depending on net worth and income, the State should fine both divorcing parties right down to the poverty level, and put that money towards the children's care and future.

Neither party should be able to get married again to someone else for ten years.

I'm serious.

Never happen, of course, the women run the country, now, along with their feminized men, so the family will continue to remain under assault because of the ephemeral concept of happiness, and a determined belief that one must be happy at all times, or else.

It is no longer an advantage in this country to be a man (or for that matter, a white man).

My ex divorced me several times, each time to get her own way on something, or to attempt to control me in some way. She had kids for the same reason. During my last divorce, I sat in court all day and watched the female judge rape man after man that came before her, grandstanding and acting like Queen of the May. She was enjoying it, revelling in it. My case was no different.

I am going to stop now, because I am just winding myself up over crap from fifteen years ago.

Of course there are certain situations where divorce is appropriate. Child molest, continuous gross physical abuse, etc. There should be a pre-divorce panel that you go before, made up equally of married and divorced panelists, and they should determine if it will be No-Fault, or what I have described above.

Yeah, dream on.


.

I Know, I Know...

I generally scoff at 'light-posting' posts, but to keep you from coming back here every ten minutes snuffling for pearls, I just want you to know that I'm going to be flitting here and there for the next couple of days on personal business, and taking family time, and whatnot.

Oh well, I've got plenty of archives.

Enjoy.


.

When A Blog Dies...

It always startles me, like I'm a waist gunner in a B-24, and I turn to shout something to the starboard gunner, and see him, or rather the lower half of him, hanging there in the harness, the rest of him shot away, somewhere, by Messerschmitt cannon fire.

Or she. Whatever.

You get used to stopping at a place along the highway, and you learn to time your bladder and gas gauge to it, and then when you pull in, you note the shuttered windows. The sign is gone. Instead of gas pumps, empty pipes stick up like broken teeth.
Hey! Just last week, I stopped here and filled up, pissed, and went in and bought a vanilla Moon Pie and two Schlitz brown labels, and now this?

Perfidy.

You bloggers are a bunch of moody cunts. It is a good thing I am so well-balanced and sane. Sheesh.

I suspect the decline starts when you feel like you 'owe your readers something'. Like you must produce, or else. In other words, Ego Inflatus Egregioso.

Fuck these people, people. They will be just as quick to dance around your pyre, as they were to heap praises and flowers on you. Check that ego at the door, crack your knuckles, and write. Or not.

I knew I was gonna write something when I started this. I had no idea what, just that I had to write, or I might dislocate something. This post is what occurred, but it could just as easily been...well, anything.

Any time I start to feel like hot shit with my 500 or so readers a day, I just go look at SteveH's sitemeter at Hog on Ice, and remember that he thinks his 5,000 or so readers a day ain't shit.

Perspective, people, perspective.

This is supposed to be fun. If it was work, I wouldn't be doing it.

Think about it...


.

Maybe There's Hope For Johnny...

...yet.


.

A Scholarly Treatise...

...on The Bubba Wave.

I'm here to tell ya, it's dead on accurate, too.


.

Another Good Reason...

...not to file your taxes.

Hey, if we all said 'fukkit', what are they gonna do? If someone doesn't do the job right for you, you don't pay them, right?

Do we work for them, or do they work for us?

Hmmmmm...


.

I Would PAY...

...this woman to have sex with my 14 year old son. Thank goodness they dropped the charges.

Wanna fire her? Fine, you should have the right to hire and fire who you want. But all this chest-beating and posturing just makes me sick.

Some of my fondest memories are of porking my French teacher and her assistant. The only time I was actually 'molested', was by this church lady who was supposed to be teaching me my pre-baptism stuff. Sadly, once things started, my mind goes blank, and I can't remember it. I suppose she sat on my face, or something. Whatevah, didn't put me off of muff-diving, thank God for that.

I got my cherry busted when I was twelve, and I'll always be greatful for that little gal (I think she was 14) dragging me away from those insipid campfire songs, away from the bonfire, and shagging the piss out of me.

Thank goodness for horny women. The wife is in heat, so I may be posting with a stutter for a couple of days.

I love biology...


.

Can You All Just Shut The Fuck Up Now...

...about there being no WMD's in Iraq and Bush took us in with a lie?

Please?

Pretty please?

Thanks...


.

On Manliness...

I hear Rush holding forth on the subject this morning, and I have heard this topic being discussed a lot, here and there, on the blogs and elsewhere, so I feel a need to chime in and put the bow on this.

I am the only man I know intimately. I had my Dad as my example, but I still feel like I don't completely know him, even though we are very close. My sons are males, becoming men, and I am proud of them, even the pothead.

But it is me I know, and I have not once, ever, questioned my manliness. So, using myself as an example, I will state what I feel a man is:

A man will cry any damn time he wants to, and not look to anybody else for approval or disapproval.

A man can hold his hand out, and his wife will stop talking, and listen. With a word or a sound, he can stop his children dead in their tracks in a crosswalk, until the car swishes past.

A man knows his limitations, strives to exceed them, and doesn't whine when it doesn't work.

A man understands that women are lovely, bewildering creatures, and that he will never completely understand them, but that he is not whole without one. As an aside, the only damn reason in the world I can see to get married is to have children, and/or to cheat the taxman. Otherwise, live as friends and roomates, and break clean if you must.

A man doesn't sit around agonizing over whether he is a man or not. So I'm done.

My Dad could go get some junk wood at a demolition site, swing by the hardware store, and then knock out an addition to the house. He could lay the cement, install the plumbing, put in all the electric, frame the walls, roof it, put up the siding, install the windows, and he never had one certificate or license to do so. And he could finish-paint an entire house inside without using a dropcloth.

His Dad was a painter by trade, and showed up on the job site in a suit and a tie. He took the coat off, put it in the car, put on his painters bib, and set to work. Painters like him never lacked for work, even through the Depression.

My Dad wasn't a mechanic, but he did all of his own engine and transmission work. The only thing stopping him now is his health and mobility issues.

Yes, I believe they were 'Manly'. And I never once in my life heard either of them discuss whether they or any other man were Manly. The thought would never cross their minds. My parents fought, to be sure, but he never once hit my Mother, and rarely raised his voice, even when she was shrieking like a banshee.

I think all of this discussion of Manliness is due to the continuous assault on manhood by the Left, over decades. I think it's a trap. I think one of the deleterious side effects is the rise of a kind of confused 'Hyper-Man', a spastic sort of psuedo-man, trying to act like he thinks a man acts, like he thinks society wants a man to act.

You see this in the Hip Hop culture a lot. How many times have I been faced with a black gangsta, beating his chest and shouting at me that I can't do this to him, because he is a man! A fucking MAN, baby!

Well, if you have to tell me, son, maybe you ain't. And 'sides, a'ight? A Man doesn't leave his woman in a bloody heap like that, in front of her crying children. A Man knows whether those are his kids or not. A Man would not be needing to have his ass kicked and hooked up in about five seconds, and a Man will not sit screaming in the back of the car, handcuffed, banging his stupid head against the window glass until several of us hog-tie him until he screams with pain and his own snots run down over his chin while he cries like a little bitch all the way to jail.

No, I am pretty sure men do not act like that.

Men? Just be one.


.

Anybody...

...seen this?

Update:

But wait, there's more! I love the choice of music.


.

My Favorite Uncle Sent Me This...

Tokyo Rose...

During WWII, the Japanese were searching for a way to demoralize the American forces that they faced. Their Psychological Warfare experts came up with a message that they thought would work well.
They gave the script to their famous broadcaster 'Tokyo Rose' and every day she would broadcast this same message, packaged in various ways, hoping to have an impact on American GI morale.

What was the message? It had three main points:

1. Your President is lying to you.

2. This war is illegal.

3. You cannot win the war.

Sound familiar? Maybe it's because the Democrat Party has picked up the same message, and is broadcasting it to our troops. The only difference is that they claim to support our troops before they demoralize them. Come to think of it, Tokyo Rose used to tell the troops she was on their side.

Think about this next Election Day. Let's see how many people vote for Tokyo Harry, Tokyo Teddy, Tokyo Nancy, Tokyo Murtha, Tokyo John, or Tokyo Hillary.


Amen...


.

Irrelevancies...

I Tivo'd Buckaroo Banzai (directed by W.D. Richter, who also has a writing credit on Big Trouble In Little China, one of my other favorite movies) last night. I say Tivo, because most of you wouldn't understand 'DVR'. Bloody primitives. Tivo is the new kleenex. Or polaroid. Or q-tips.

The kids are thrumming on root beer floats and watching The Amazing Spiderman cartoon I Tivo'd yesterday. They are bouncing off the walls, and performing superhero moves. As you know, I do not subcribe to the notion that sugar fires up (most) children, and that is true...unless you inject corn syrup and milk fats directly into them via a nice big root beer float. Shake it off...

We had tuna sandwiches, too. The farts later should be worth canning. I make the perfect batch of tuna. Star-Kist in water (drained, duh) mayo (to texture) paprika, lemon juice (I like a lot, it's fish, dammit) and horseradish. Mayo the bread (soft wheat), yellow mustard one side, and voila...bliss.

The kids like American Cheese slices on theirs, the wretched curs. Bleahcchh.

Speaking of wretched curs, my parents insane dog didn't eat the kids yesterday, though I did have to kick him good in the slats, once, for trying. An attitude adjustment. Hey, if God hadn't have meant me to kick him, he wouldn't have made him look so much like a football.

My parents think I am just a big old hyper-protective meanie, but then, they, too, are insane, so it balances out. Nat just went to walk by my Mom and the little bastard launched himself at her, snarling. Thus, the punt, and subsequent banishment, involving a thick nylon rope, which he promptly set to gnawing through so he could go back for them.

I would not own a Boston Terrier, but my parents love them. Every one they've owned has been hyper-aggressive, and died from stupidity. I've met many, and they all seem like little fanged retards in serious need of medication.

Now watch, someone will come along and swear they knew of one that was just the sweetest thing...allow me to say a cheery 'Fuck You!' in advance.

And my parents whine because we so seldom come over.

Hey! How alla you worker bees doin today? Workin hard, or hardly workin? HA! I kill me. It's 3pm and I have yet to take a shower (or shed my sleepwear) but at least the wife got all the lawns mowed, so that's something...what?! Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Hmmmm, what else...well, I read the news today, oh boy, about a lucky man who made the grade...

Can you believe it? Try to get your kid into Yale (if you're stupid, and do not value your kid's education). Just try. This pisses me off on so many levels, that I choose to ignore it forthwith, as there is not only nothing that can be done about it, but it is only going to get worse, as Evil American traitors war against Good American Patriots.

Life is too short. Trust me.


Update:

It was bugging the heck out of me where I had heard the voice actor who voiced Juggernaut today on The Amazing Spiderman And His Friends (1981). Then it hit me, it was William Marshall, of Blacula fame. It must have really bugged him to do the voice for a white character on a cartoon, him being a Shakespearean actor and all.

He'd also found work a few years earlier playing Dr Richard Daystrom on the Star Trek episode 'The Ultimate Computer'.

What a voice. Irrelevant, huh. He died in 2003 from Alzheimers. Dammit.


.

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know...

...about Communist Cuban propaganda. Gleaned from this site here, of which Dennis The Peasant states:

If you aren't reading Watching America on a regular basis, you are missing some fascinating stuff you can't get from Michelle and Markos...

Hmmmm...is that so. Very interesting.

And revealing?


.

I Don't Know Who She Is...

...but I'm at the top of her blogroll, so I guess that means she dreams of me, you know, being on top?

Yes, men are pigs.

Anyway, go check out SmugNugget, which appears to be a serviceable, interesting blog.


.

Which Is It?

Are Palestinians just bad shots? Or is this just a Dog and Pony Show?

All that activity, and nobody dies? As bad a shot as the Rags are purported to be, this looks like a dumb-show, to confuse the rubes, to make it appear as if there is a rift between Hamas and Fatah that doesn't actually exist.

There are wheels within wheels here, people.

I would like to assume that Israel has a plan...


Update:

Apparently, they do...

Not a good one, but a plan.


.

Judge For Yourself...

In the end, it's all subjective. I would not eat a Brussel Sprout if it contained eternal life. Some people smoke through the hole in their throat as they die. Some people eat poo, and that's all I care to say or hear about that.

Read what thou wilt, look, listen, learn, and no matter what, in the end, you're going to do what you want. Even Mother Theresa did all that self sacrificing because she wanted to, because it made her feel better to do it.

Whenever I hear someone say that God 'called them' to do something or other, I snort to myself and say 'sheeya, right...' and put my hand on my wallet. He may call, but you don't have to go. Hello! Free Will!

Sure, He knocked Saul on his ass on the road to Damascus, but Saul could have got right back up, flipped the bird, and shuffled off to find his donkey. Instead, he made a choice to follow God.

So can you. Or not. I really don't give a shit. Like I say, you not in Heaven, means more room for me.

BaneRants is not a 'ministry'. No one (well, very few) throws money in my plates. I don't even pass them, just leave them hanging over there, like the Poor-Box.
I am a piss-poor example of anything, let alone of someone to follow. Take up thy cloak, and follow someone else, cuz I sure as shit have no idea where I'm going. Hopes and dreams, to be sure, but a calling? Let alone a plan? Sheeeit...nigga puhleeze.

I have a Real Bad Feeling that we are headed into the New Dark Ages, and my heart trembles for my family and the few other people I care about. If I lived in a major city, I would be filling a Ryder truck with what my family wanted to save, and heading somewhere, anywhere, where the Eye of Sauron couldn't find me, hopefully, or at least not give too much of a shit about me to waste any resources on me...for awhile.

The Mayan's excellent calendar says it all ends in 2012. Works for me. I think there is gonna be a dark and winding road, though, first, with fiery chasms on either side, before this Age winks out, and whatever New Thing comes aborning from the ripped and bloody womb of The Old.

I am no Oracle, and rely strictly on my finely tuned observational skills. Skills which postulate that there must be a God, in much the same way an astrophysicist postulates that there must be a Black Hole, or a hidden planet. You cannot see it, but you can detect it from it's effect upon it's surroundings.

Plus, He left the manual. It's kinda like cheating, but in a good way.

So, should you stay or should you go now?

You be the judge.


.

Of A Sunday...

Any of you scientifical types know anything about this? Sounds plausible to me.

I have many theories about this and about that, some I have shared here, most I have not. When my brain gets idle time, I set to pondering, and I've had decades to do it in, and much information has ebbed and flowed through my skull.

I have seen enough theories shot out of the water, that I have come to distrust them all (I'm looking at you, Evolution!). I've seen theories fall out of favor, and fall back in. I've seen them proved an absolute lie, made up from whole cloth by fraudsters and pranksters, even though the 'scientific community' swallowed them whole until they were proven erroneus.

I am particularly enjoying this latest 'Big Bang' hubbub. I have no problem believing that at some point in time, God flipped the switch, and the universe appeared. None at all.

In the beginning there was God, and He was all by Himself. That can't have been too much fun. He is called 'The Creator'. It's what He does.

One of my pet theories is that, prior to the Eden story in Genesis, there had been a whole lot of stuff going on, probably for countless millenia. Athiests, and other deluded whiners, like to joke that there had to have been incest going on to populate the earth, ignoring the fact that after God banished Cain for the murder of his brother, Cain went out into the 'Land of Nod', already a fully functional community of proto-humans; Adam and Eve being merely the first humans created directly by the hand of God, and destined to become the lineage of Jesus.

Jesus was obviously needed, because the rest of the planet(s) had already been fucked up by Satan and his Fallen. Eden is where the story of Redemption begins, not the beginning of the entirety of human history. Time gets fuzzy in the Bible...

I may or may not finish this, but right now, I have to go eat lunch at my parents place, and try to keep their insane dog from eating my kids.

Later...


.

Racing Towards Death...

I sit and listen to the 'baby' monitor, and I hear the frogs singing through it, from out back, and my son's steady breathing, there in his mask, air pumping slowly and steadily through him, he asleep.

Nat may be faking, but she knows Big Brother listens, and she may be playing possum, though she, doubtless, is asleep as well, it having been a long day for her.

I realize, here, alone, tonight, that there is no member of my family I care to see die before me. I have always put them ahead of me when I can, but this time, I claim 'Me First' rights.

Selfish? Absolutely. But, I know my limitations.

I watched the fabulous Warren Zevon tribute on VH1 today, and my man went out nobly, and before his kids. To such, I aspire. Not for me, to sob on a coffin, clawing at it and screaming to God.

I suspect that the end is like watching a brilliant sunset, at the cusp 'tween day and night, through a shattered stained glass window, and then...

Who knows. Though I both believe, and, suspect...

No, I've lived large, and long enough, though I'll not pull the eject handle myself, for that is not my way.

Some people leave cookies and milk out for Santa. I leave them out for the robed figure with the scythe.

I'm ready...


.

Honorable Mention...

I believe that would go to Livey, whom I consistently enjoy.

Not to mention, her life can get SO fucked up, it makes me feel better about mine.


[Ya'll will note that I haven't bothered with any males...it's a Man Thing, you wouldn't understand...]


.

Nawlins...

Saint Peter was manning the 'Pearly Gates', when 40 people from New Orleans showed up. Never having seen anyone from 'The Big Easy' before, Saint Peter said he would have to check.

After hearing the news, God instructed him to admit the 10 most virtuous people from the group.

A few minutes later, Saint Peter returned to God breathless and said...."They're gone!!!!!!!!!"

"What????? All of the New Orleans people are gone??" asked God...

"No..." replied Saint Peter, "The Pearly Gates!"


Hey, don't blame me, my Uncle sent me this.


.

I May Live To Regret This...

...but I am going to issue the First Annual BaneRants New Blogger Award, for consistencey in creativity, and prodigiosity of output.

She really does shine, folks. I present to you FrothMistress.

You other three broads, look where you are in my sidebar, and no whining. You know I love you.

Kim, you consistently kick ass, no matter how frazzled you get, and you frequently descend into levels of incoherency that even I dare not go, and you make it work for you.

If I had my way, I would put you over there, just below Dilbert.

I hear you like a man on top of you....


.

I Don't Get It...

...but some people really appear to like Mardi Gras.

This one is for Li'l Toni...damn she's pretty.

God Bless Our Troops, and God Bless George Bush, so he doesn't make fucked up decisions that get them kilt.

Amen.


.

My Dear Readers...

This is what some people out there think about you. And me.

It always amazes me when a certain type (what I like to call 'The Bitter Blogger') of person can write post after post about how blogging and bloggers and blog-readers suck. I mean, this is his FIFTH POST on the subject!

Now that's stamina.

They piss in the pool, and then complain because the water's yellow.

Oh well, that's his schtick, and he's welcome to it. He and the other smoochers of Muslim butt can validate themselves, and smirk at the rest of us.

Sigh...


.

This Is Very...

...cool.

Go over to the Nerd Side...


via The Bastard.


.

Warrior Races...

I have done a lot of thinking about this, and I have come to the conclusion that there has been and continues to be only one warrior race on the face of this planet, and that is the white race.

I think in order to qualify for the title, you have to have taken on all other races, throughout history, and dominated, subjugated, and even enslaved them, pretty much at will, and even cause extinctions, including among large carniverous beasts that used to inhabit your land, but no longer do.

You have to be able to project your power into other race's countries, and defeat them on a fairly regular basis.

This is not, per se, a value judgement, but merely an observation, and I don't think you can refute it. You can cry 'Nazi!' and 'Racist!' all you want, but that will not change the historical record.

We beat back Mighty China at their own back door in Korea. While many races can produce good, even great warriors, it is not in them as a people to be warriors, and they weaken themselves with caste systems. Only amongst the white race, can you dip into the average population, and field formidable armies within weeks.

I encountered a group of Mexican warriors last night in a truck stop on I5. Hardcore gang bangers from Southern California somewhere, from the looks of them, and they were strutting their stuff, confident in their power. One big one braced me in line at the cash register, saying to no one and to me that he didn't want anyone getting mad at him because he was gonna go over and get him some chicken, and leave his stuff there, and then he focused on me and I smiled sweetly and slipped my thumb over my Spyderco and said to myself 'Aw, shit!' because there was no way I could take this monster fair. And he had homies.

So I began to calculate odds and plans of attack, and he picked up his stuff and sauntered in to the little Popeye's chicken place and got in line, there.

I doubt seriously that I'd done anything to frighten him, and these guys have to kill someone to get in the gang. He frightened me, and showed me how old and feeble I have really become. I resolved to have my pistol on my person from now on, when out and about. This valley is becoming infested with these invaders. If he would have frightened the wife like that, she may have just opened up on him right there, and shot her way outside to her bigger guns. And God help you if you get near the kids.

The warrior is in the white race's blood. It is born, not made. Training just helps. All the training in the world can't make an Arab a good fighter, even though many of them are tremendously strong, resilient men.

In fiction, the Klingon's are always considered the Warrior Race, and much is made of it, yet skinny bald men routinely best them in combat.

Being enthusiastic about something, does not always mean you are any good at it.

Will the other races, from foreign lands, ever learn this? Sadly, I think not.

To their doom.

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Unto Us A Blog Is Given...

He likes Bud Light, but I guess nobody's perfect. Go here to see how a blogger restarts after a four year hiatus.

Play nice, his Momma reads there, apparently.

Good luck, Bastard!


.

Move Along...

...no terrorism to see here, or here.

Just move along.


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

Liberals hate America, and they prove it every day. Thank you, Goddess, for shining the light of truth under their rock.


.

Doctor Who! Tonight!

Premieres at 9pm, with two new shows, on Sci-Fi! I think the previews look great. This used to be my favorite show back when Tom Baker was the Doctor.

I am stoked...


.

So, I'm Allergic To Sulfites...

I cut out hard liquor and beer for the most part) a while back, and drank only red wine, trying to settle down and get healthy, and nearly killed myself. I have developed an allergy to Sulfites, and the wine I drink is full of them.

I now have to turn into one of those label readers, and learn to avoid ordering foods in restaurants that may contain sulfites. Damn. I hate people like that, and now I'm one of them.

I don't mind dyin, but I hate feeling like death warmed over. Gosh, I have been sick.

I dumped all of my wine last night, we can't even cook with it. No more cheap wine for Bane, and that is just sad.

So, I was in the hospital for two days, getting tested for just about everything. My favorite was when this pretty little gal made me take my pants off and lie down and gave my legs ultrasound, looking for blood clots. She spooted out this warm goo from a squeeze bottle onto my legs, and worked her way up to my balls, which she gently moved up out of the way, securing my package with a towel, but not before giving them each a gentle rub. I moaned. She smiled, Then she rubbed and massaged my legs with her hand and the emitter, and it was bliss. Then she toweled me off.

I was tempted to ask for Happy Ending. Tempted.

No clots, that is good. They are eliminating the things, one by one, that could be wrong with me, and the things that are left are the scary ones. Oh well.

I know I have sleep apnea, which can enlarge your heart, among other things, and is very stressful to your system, so they gave me a sleep study Wednesday night, which may be the most unpleasant and uncomfortable night I have ever spent when not in uniform and gear.

First, the wires and bullshit they hook you up to from head to toe are miserable. Then I got to worrying about the wife and kids, and I had a very vivid waking fantasy of them being murdered while I was not there to protect them.

Then, when I finally went to sleep, I dreamed of my pothead son and my ex wife and some of their pothead friends going to my house and slaughtering the wife and kids, and writing messages to me on the walls in their blood, and all sorts of fun shit.

The sleep study guy told me that at some point in the night, he was going to come put a C-PAP machine on me if I had a lot of Apnea, and send me home with the machine. He never did. He mumbled something in the morning about me not having slept enough, and not having Apnea. Folks, I counted 12 instances of me waking full awake from choking, gasping for breath, and then settling back down to sleep. There were several other times where I just choked myself barely to the surface. This turd either slept through it, or his readings were wrong. He had to change out leads that weren't working several times, so I suspect a little bit of both.

Let me tell ya, folks, Sleep Apnea can kill you, or worse, make your life miserable. You can 'sleep' 10 hours a night, and be so fatigued the next day, you can't hardly move. And it stresses your entire body. If I could afford the damn machine, I'd buy one outright.

Okay, the bitching is out of the way, now let's get to Praising The Lord.

I asked for prayer, and got it, and it showed.

First, a VA Hospital is a machine, no, more like a digestive tract, that you go into one end of, and are shit out of the other end, after having gone through many twists and turns.

The prayer showed on so many levels. I left with $50, and came back with $100. The elevators, always a problem, opened when I pushed the button, and took me right where I wanted to go. You'd have to spend a few days there to understand how this is a miracle. Normally, you are facing a pack of smelly people, and it takes you twenty minutes to get to your destination, stopping at every floor, waiting while wheelchairs jockey on and off. And the elevators won't move or close their doors if it decides there are too many people on it.

I had to shuttle between the clinic and the hospital (on foot, and by elevator) and they had managed to combine all of my appointments (7) on one day. Unheard of. I got done with each, in record time. I would take a number, and be called before I could be seated. They would come up with some new test they wanted me to try, and call, and sure, they could take me right away.

When I arrived across the way in record time, it would startle them. I heard several times yesterday "Well, I just got off the phone with your doctor, she hasn't had time to fax the request...." and the fax would roll out of the machine and then "Well, let me go see if we have anybody who can take care of this..." and a minute or less later the door opens and I am waved on in.

And I got my balls greased by a pretty twenty-five year old. Tell me God isn't good.

Still and all, the whole thing was exhausting, and I am still in a bit of a daze. By the way, I am the one who discovered my Sulfite allergy, last night. I hadn't had any wine since Tuesday evening, and I poured and drank myself a glass. Within five minutes, my nose was stuffy, my sinuses clogged and aching, and my chest began to rattle with crap.

I couldn't believe how stupid I've been. It's been right there in front of me the whole time, but the parasite, alcohol, kept me blind to it, and it has nearly kilt me.

Oh well, better late than ever, I suppose. I think I will cut through all of the stages of grief for losing my dear friend alcohol, and go straight to acceptance. I still don't know if I am going to quit completely. I may try to find some non-sulfite brandy I can enjoy a knock of every so often. Maybe make some hard cider of my own. I dunno. The Doc tells me it's time to give my enlarged liver and pancreas a rest, or else, so I grudgingly agreed.

I can and have quit for a day, a week, a month, or a year, but in the end, I like to get high, dammit. Not blotto, just mellow. Too bad pot makes you stupid.

Oh well. Are there sulfites in beer?


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I'm Back, And I'm Exhausted...

...and I am going to sit down and watch Survivor with the family, and veg.

Thanks for all the prayers and such, they really helped.

I hope Acidman's okay.

More to come...


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Prayer Alert...

Blogger down. If Acidman has got Peritonitis, he's hurtin fer certain.

He could very easily die, and I hope he finds God with a quickness, cuz I'd like to meet him one day, and I'll likely never get to Georgia, so it's gonna have to be Heaven.

While you got God on the line, throw one in for me, too. I feel like shit.

Thanks.


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How Can You NOT Be For The Death Penalty...

...for the purveyors and consumers of this sort of shit?

I would shoot my own Dad or son for this if I found out.


.

Okay...

...I haven't seen a photo of old guys sucking cock for a while, so I think I can recommend this blog again. I don't know why she hangs out with that liberal loser Tony Pierce, but whatevah, she writes like an angel.

I think she snuck into Tony's apartment one night and stole all his mojo, cuz she is kicking major ass, while he staggers around the streets of L.A. looking for brains.


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Poor Communication...

Many of you email me. Or comment here. I understand the need to touch the hem of the Master's robe. I get it.

S'cuse me, writing that paragraph made me laugh, and now I need to pour more wine...

Okay, I'm back...

Anyway, I am terrible about returning email, unless you are somebody who has given me something, or a regular, or I have pictures of your tits.

Bane is nothing, if not a complete and utter whore.

FURTHERmore, I often do not respond to your comments, though I really do try to. I think it is important for the host to mingle with the guests, though I try to provide an interesting enough party to where it won't completely collapse if I lock myself in a closet with the hat-check girl for awhile.

Such a day will be tomorrow, and most especially Thursday. I shall be busy, and away from this infernal box. A vacation, of sorts.

Be strong, intrepids. Persevere. Don't be a homo, buy shit from my ad. And stuff.

Or not. If caring was gasoline, I wouldn't have enough for a pissant's moped to make a complete circuit around a dingleberry, but...

I love you all. Really really I do...


.

This Cracks Me Up...

...every time I see it. Feel free to post it and pass it around. I'd vote for this guy for President.

The funniest part is how the homos who present the video label it.


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8th Grade Education...

Catfish sent me this:

What it took to get an 8th grade education in 1895...

Remember when grandparents and great-grandparents stated that they only had an 8th grade education? Well, check this out. Could any of us have passed the 8th grade in 1895?

This is the eighth-grade final exam from 1895 in Salina, Kansas, USA. It was taken from the original document on file at the Smokey Valley Genealogical Society and Library in Salina, KS, and reprinted by the Salina Journal.

8th Grade Final Exam: Salina, KS -1895

Grammar (Time, one hour)

1. Give nine rules for the use of capital letters.
2. Name the parts of speech and define those that have no modifications.
3. Define verse, stanza and paragraph
4. What are the principal parts of a verb? Give principal parts of "lie," "play," and "run."
5. Define case; Illustrate each case.
6 What is punctuation? Give rules for principal marks of punctuation.
7 - 10. Write a composition of about 150 words and show therein that you understand the practical use of the rules of grammar.

Arithmetic (Time, 1:25 hours)

1. Name and define the Fundamental Rules of Arithmetic.
2. A wagon box is 2 ft. deep, 10 feet long, and 3 ft. wide. How many bushels of wheat will it hold?
3. If a load of wheat weighs 3942 lbs., what is it worth at 50cts/bushel, deducting 1050 lbs. for tare?
4 District No 33 has a valuation of $35,000. What is the necessary levy to carry on a school seven months at $50 per month, and have $104 for incidentals?
5. Find the cost of 6720 lbs. coal at $6.00 per ton.
6. Find the interest of $512.60 for 8 months and 18 days at 7 percent.
7. What is the cost of 40 boards 12 inches wide and 16 ft. long at $20 per metre?
8. Find bank discount on $300 for 90 days (no grace) at 10 percent.
9. What is the cost of a square farm at $15 per acre, the distance of which is 640 rods?
10. Write a Bank Check, a Promissory Note, and a Receipt

U.S. History (Time, 45 minutes)

1. Give the epochs into which U.S. History is divided
2. Give an account of the discovery of America by Columbus.
3. Relate the causes and results of the Revolutionary War.
4. Show the territorial growth of the United States.
5. Tell what you can of the history of Kansas.
6. Describe three of the most prominent battles of the Rebellion.
7. Who were the following: Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn, and Howe?
8. Name events connected with the following dates: 1607, 1620, 1800, 1849, 1865.

Orthography (Time, one hour) Do we even know what this is??

1. What is meant by the following: Alphabet, phonetic, orthography, etymology, syllabication
2. What are elementary sounds? How classified?
3. What are the following, and give examples of each: Trigraph, subvocals, diphthong, cognate letters, linguals.
4. Give four substitutes for caret 'u.' (HUH?)
5. Give two rules for spelling words with final ! 'e.' Name two exceptions under each rule.
6. Give two uses of silent letters in spelling. Illustrate each.
7. Define the following prefixes and use in connection with a word: bi, dis, mis, pre, semi, post, non, inter, mono, sup.
8. Mark diacritically and divide into syllables the following, and name the sign that indicates the sound: card, ball, mercy, sir, odd, cell, rise, blood, fare, last.
9. Use the following correctly in sentences: cite, site, sight, fane, fain, feign, vane, vain, vein, raze, raise, rays.
10. Write 10 words frequently mispronounced and indicate pronunciation by use of diacritical marks and by syllabication.

Geography (Time, one hour)

1 What is climate? Upon what does climate depend?
2. How do you account for the extremes of climate in Kansas?
3 Of what use are rivers? Of what use is the ocean?
4. Describe the mountains of North America
5. Name and describe the following: Monrovia, Odessa, Denver, Manitoba, Hecla, Yukon, St. Helena, Juan Fernandez, Aspinwall and Orinoco.
6. Name and locate the principal trade centers of the U.S
7. Name all the republics of Europe and give the capital of each.
8. Why is the Atlantic Coast colder than the Pacific in the same latitude?
9. Describe the process by which the water of the ocean returns to the sources of rivers.
10. Describe the movements of the earth. Give the inclination of the earth.

Notice that the exam took FIVE HOURS to complete. Gives the saying "he only had an 8th grade education" a whole new meaning, doesn't it?!

Also shows you how poor our education system has become... and, NO I don't have the answers to this test.

Wow.

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My New Ad...

My Blog Guru LL is working on my template as we speak. Until then, I will use this post to move the one I care about down and out of the way. Plus, I want you to click on the ad and buy the stuff. BUY IT! YOU CHEAP BASTARDS!

It actually looks pretty cool. I've always wanted a smooth scrotum.

MY SCROTUM, you pervs.


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On Socialization...

I mostly think it's bullshit. At least the way the public school fans swing it around as if it is the be all end all most important thing in the universe.

That said, a home-schooled only child just may be the most tragic thing I can imagine, the poor little quasi-adult. But with two kids or more in the family, there is all the socialization you'll ever need. Think 'Little House On The Prairie'.

That said, I wanna get my kids some of that there socialization. The wife and I have just begun to discuss it. There are many problems. Nat is bigger and smarter than any kids in her age group, and she is an alpha-toddler. John is a crip, but smart(ish) and I don't want him hanging around a bunch of feebs and picking up their weirdness, nor being in a group of normals and slowing them down, or getting tormented.

The wife said 'Royal Rangers' right away. I forget the name of the chick version. Paramilitary kid organizations alarm me, where adults give themselves military ranks, and everybody wears uniforms. And neckerchiefs are just gay.

Can't we just have a semi-organized group of kids where they play group games, do crafts and projects, and get stories read to them and sing songs? Geez Louise...

Fuck, I hate adults. Toss out a soccer ball, and next thing you know, some asshole is running around blowing a whistle and making rules. A kid should come in the house every evening, sweaty and filthy, and get yelled at for tracking in dirt. I used to shower and watch the mud just run off me for minutes, and find dirt-clods in my hair in bed, later. And scabs. Does anybody remember scabs? Not with all of this fucking safety equipment they burden the poor little bastards with today.

How are you supposed to learn to not fall down if it never hurts? Man, I was a walking fucking scab, sometimes from head to toe. Ever make a shitty box-car, and have the front axle fall off on you while going down a steep gravel road? Walk stiffly home so your thick jeans wouldn't rub on your tore up skin? Pick gravel out of your forehead in the mirror? Have your Dad laugh, and then beat your ass for tearing your good jeans and making your Mom patch them, and dammit boy, those jeans cost money! And money doesn't grow on trees!

One of today's mothers would doubtless go into a coma and rush the kid to the hospital when she woke up from it.

Socialization. Hordes of kids, going house to house, asking if so-and-so can come out to play, and bring your mitt, and when you have enough for two teams, you stop somewhere, and have a game. Does anybody do that anymore? Or is it all 'play dates' and soccer teams, now. Sad.

We made our own fun, and the world stopped when The Lone Ranger and Superman and The Invisible Man came on, and then the shrieking began again, and Mom's everywhere could cuddle up with their 'face massagers' for a bit before starting dinner.

Socialization. Nat and John got a bit of it the other day, at the park. They met a few kids in their age range who were not retards or psychopaths, and I could see an immediate and positive change in them when they got home. I want more of that.

Now, just how best to go about getting it...


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My Kind Of...

...drink recipe.



.

Martial Arts For The Kiddies...

I am now officially against it. I do not think you should take a kid into a dojo until at least the age of 12 or 13.

What part of 'martial' confuses you?

Yeah, I'm really glad you've taught your eight year old to kill my eight year old. Thanks.

I have been teaching Nat 'sticky hands', and other various techniques, but in play, so she can have the skill, but not know that she does. Can you imagine that little bitch knowing how to do a palm-heel nose strike? You know what they say about how forests wouldn't be safe to enter if shrews were the size of squirrels? Yeah, like that.

Fuck all that bullshit about 'teaching discipline' and all that crap. Kids just wanna kick someone's ass, and most of you have no idea what credentials or kind of person your kid's sensei has or is.

My recommendations? No shit? Ballet. Tumbling. Gymnastics. Golf. Darts. Ping pong. Crouquet. Pool. Swimming.

No shit.

Give them the foundations mentioned above, and when they do enter a dojo, they won't look like a monkey trying to fuck a football, and they will just be learning a new skill.

Tennis. If you can dodge a tennis ball with your face, you can surely dodge a fist. I only went to dojos to seek knowledge I didn't have (or thought I didn't have). I was already in shape, and had the basic skill sets. Trust me, if they are all wearing gi's in there, you are in the wrong place. And fuck bowing, too. What are you, a Jap? Cut it out. You bow to me, and you're getting a fist-hammer strike to the back of your head. And my gratitude for not making me sweat for the victory.

Honor is walking away from a downed opponent, relatively intact, and able to straighten your clothing and not bleed on it.

I learned what I came for, and then left and practiced it and practiced it until my muscles could do it in my sleep.

My recommendations for when it's time (Kid at least 12...)? Judo first (NO GI'S, DAMMIT!) then maybe one of the 'kidos. I know virtually (well, very little) about Krav Maga, but if I was training a kid now (and I have trained people) I would have them do one day a week of Judo and one of Krav Maga. Karate? Shotokan, and then mostly only for the kicks. Find an instructor who teaches how to 'fight from the floor'. Very useful.

I, personally, finished with Ninjutsu, and never looked back. It is very difficult to find an instructor who is not a complete poseur, and just out for your money.

That's another thing, if you are paying, you are probably getting fucked, unless you are taking boxing, which I highly recommend. Boxing teaches you how to take a punch better than your step-dad did.

Just remember, most martial arts were invented by little tiny people, to whup on other little tiny people. That is useful if you are a woman, not so much if you are going up against six foot men who weigh over 200 pounds. Think about it.

Use all of your training, and go up against a drunk 6'4" asshole in a bar, and pull out all the stops.

If you get your ass whipped, it may be time to become proficient with weapons.

But let's not lose sight of my original point, which is the training of kids. I truly believe it is a bad idea to teach them violence while their soul is still basically unformed.

The theme for the day: Garbage In, Garbage out...


.

Uh Oh...

I'm bored. This cannot bode well.

Perhaps I'll duct tape the kid's heads together, and toss a cookie on the floor. That's always good for some laughs. Or Saran Wrap them back to back. Pour ice water down their backs.

I've always said, only boring people get bored. I must be boring.

The wife committed to working all day. I told her the bitch would just start using her more and more, and it's happening. Sigh. The love of money...

Would you hire a baby-sitter who drinks whiskey and curses?

Oh yeah...it's called 'a parent'.


.

Dammit!

Now this is some scary shit.


.

You Can't Have Your Golden Calf...

...and eat it too.

So, I was sitting over a bowl of steaming man-biscuits a bit ago, and it struck me how much people want to hang on to their shit.

Take pot, for instance. It 'lessens' you as a person, but it's afficianadoes would abandon their own mothers to keep their access to their beloved pot. All dopers have their excuses.

We all do it, I guess. Self-justification. Rose-colored glasses. We despise those moments of clarity when life rips away the gauze, and the bright light of reality shows us our nakedness in all it's warty glory.

It's hard to say 'I'm a drunk' or 'I'm a spouse abuser', and even worse to hear someone else say it.

Sometimes it's good to take stock, to make a list of all of your faults, and address them. Far easier to excuse them, though, isn't it? "It's just a quirk...I'm 'quirky'. Look at me being so quirky."

Nope.

Odds are, yer just an asshole.



Update:

There are people who read this post, and it freaked them out so badly, they are never coming back here again, because the pot told them not to.

This makes Bane chuckle.

Update:

...sardonically.


.

Fuck The 'Sopranos'...

I am proud to say, that crap show is one of the reasons I dumped my cable movie package, along with all the faggotry displayed on Showtime.

Fuck all of those degenerate assholes, and fuck YOU if you consume that shit. A shit-eater by any other name is still a shit eater.

Look! Over here! Me! Condemning you!

Fucker.

If I knew of an operation as what is going on in 'The Sopranos', and of a family like Tony's, and I was in the FBI or whatever, I would develop a file on them for my own self, obtain proper weapons on the sly, and go murder each and every one of them without mercy.

I promise.

You complain about the state of our society, and then you glorify fuckholes like this with your subscriber dollars...

Fuck you.


.

Now THIS Is News...

...that is fit to print.


Via the Christian Science Monitor.

Update:

I am told that one or both of the above links contain a Trojan virus. Whatever. It didn't try to get me. Buyer beware.


.

Talking Just To Hear Your Brains Rattle...

You ever get accused of that? My Dad used to say that to me when I was little. But sometimes you just need to blatter out your brain batter and get it out of your system, even if you don't particularly have anything to say.

This is why blogging will never die. It is and has become an important avenue of the maintenance of the mental health for millions of people, world-wide.

I see people with zero comment blogs, just singing away, like canaries, there in their cage, but singing like a free bird.

This makes me happy.

I slept on the floor beside Johnny last night. It was the second night of his C-Pap machine, and the first night didn't go so well. He panicked, and took it off (read: ripped) because the mask shifted and blew air into his eyes.

So I laid on the floor beside him, with a pillow and a blanket, and the pain of a hard floor vs my arthritic hips, kept me at just the threshhold of sleep to where I could hear him shift, and wake up and adjust him; where I could hear the mask begin to bubble like a hookah, and wake up and adjust him; he'd start to keen, and I'd wake up and adjust him.

I am exhausted, and I feel like I have been hammered by Rwandans, but he had a great night's sleep, and he is very vibrant and frisky today.

Apparently, oxygen is good for you.

He is outside my room as we speak. Some Donater bought him a Hot Wheels Volcano, that launches Hot Wheel cars up and through the volcano, and he has set up the track to fire them down the stairs. He has a LOT of cars, and he says "YAY!" each time. He goes down with a bucket to collect them when he runs out of cars. Thanks, Donaters.

I think.

Well, I've been picking at this post for an hour, between cheering on Johnny, and cuddling Nat while she spazzes over 'Mighty Joe Young'...she FREAKED over the baby in the fire rescue scene...

Okay, just got off the phone with oldest daughter: 1:15pm my time. Thanks for calling, baby!

I can't believe no Jawja bloggers have offered to take my daughter and her 2nd Lieutenant out on the town.

Hurt, I am.


.

So, Ya Wanna Work For The CIA?

Maybe not...


.

I'm An Asshole...

I am 92% Asshole/Bitch.

I am one of those people that love to hear the sound of their voice. That and my lousy attitude make for a mixture as toxic next-day-mexican-dinner-ass-drip.

Take the
Asshole/Bitch Test
@ FualiDotCom

As if there was any doubt...

.

Dear Iran...

You are about to get fucked up. I have nothing against Persians, personally, but you have brought a lot of ill will towards yourselves over the centuries, and the rent is coming due.

Sorry.

There are many, many ways that this can happen, and no way at all I can conceive of that it won't. Even if you hold your hands up in surrender, and put your kids in front of you as a shield, you are gonna get so fucked up.

Again, sorry. I'm really gonna miss the rugs. Is it you guys who make those? Whatever. Your broads are hot, too, but now they're just gonna be hot with radiation, their tits sloughing off into curdled puddles of dessicated fat. What a waste.

You have pissed off (read: 'scared') people in High Places. People who were looking for a convenient scapegoat, in the right place.

Guess what! Yep...tag, you're it.

Nobody wants your 'territory', so we're just gonna blow it up, okay? We have all of the goats and nuts and stuff we need, thank you, and as you are going to soon find out, we have all of the bombs we need, too.

You have nothing to offer, and you've been offering it for a long time, and now, well, prepare to get kicked to the curb of history.

Bye bye, now. And again, sorry.

This is going to sting, a bit.

Say hello to the Scythian's...


.

The GoDaddy Girl...

...and she's movin on up.

















What a goddess. I wish Candice Michelle all the luck in the world.

If I had a beautiful body like that, I would present it for worship, too.

.

You Have Just Got To See...

...this.


.

If You Blog It, They Will Come...

Others have written elsewhere on the paucity of visitation over the weekend, and the futility of posting during such. I call bullshit.

I write on the weekends, and I get visitors. People who know they can generally count on free ice cream from your humble bloggerator.

Oh to be sure, traffic is lighter. Most folks check in from work, I suspect, and not so many work on the weekend.

Regardless, take every statement from a blogger re blogging with a grain of salt, even my statements. Check it out for yourself. That is one of the reasons I leave my sitemeters open. Full disclosure, even though I am one paranoid sonofabitch.

If you write it, and they've grown to like it, they will come. Probably drunker than usual, but they will stop in. And you can take a little break on Monday when the rest of the slackers check in to see what you've been up to.

From my stats, it appears that Tuesday is my highest traffic day of the week, followed closely by Monday.

It seems folks are 'finding my rythym'.


.

If You Haven't Seen It Yet...

...in my post waaay below, what is wrong with you?

Get on it!

Insty gets it right, for once. Follow his links to the video, and watch it, dammit.

Now, Islam is still a piece of shit, and she is an athiest cunt, but at least this is a positive sign that even they themselves are beginning to see the Emporer, naked.


.

Here's Why He Died...

Or rather, was killed:

His trial, which has continued in fits and starts since it began in February 2002, recessed just last week while the court weighed whether to grant his request to subpoena former President Bill Clinton as a witness.

I like the Serbs, and they can genocide all the Muslims they want. I think our war on them was terrible and wrong, as anything Bill Clinton did was, ipso facto, evil. Was the UN involved? Ditto. And fuck NATO. What a terrible idea it was.

Oh well, they finally killed the old monster, and merely for Bill Clinton's convenience. I am sticking my neck out, merely writing this.

Must be the whiskey.

Rest In Peace, Slobo.


.

Whiskey For Breakfast...

My wife sensed what ailed me, yesterday, and being who she is, and near perfect enough to be translated straight to Heaven, she bought me a bottle of whiskey to self-medicate my troubles away.

Now, I have nearly foresworn the hard stuff, except for the occasional shot during my rare forays into restaurantdom, but this morning, I had a lovely goblet of orange juice while I read my blog and my comments. I read my first post from yesterday, and took my empty yet sullied glass down to the kitchen to fetch some ice.

Time to call in reinforcements.

So, a few shots of whiskey, and some Seven-Up, and now I have a glass full of Sea Monkeys. The pulp from the OJ is swimming around with the bubbles from the soda, and I have a happy little kingdom of little subjects that are going to go down my gullet and comfort me.

Watched 'The Black Cauldron' with the kids, this morning. Peter Jackson totally ripped it off for his 'Rings' movies. It is blatant. 'Cauldron' is some of my favoritist animation, ever. My favorite? 'Wizards'. Go, rent it for tonight. If anybody loves me, they will buy me the DVD. It is in my top five favorite movies, ever.

The wife is working, the kids are ensorceled by the television, I am melting holes in my forebrain with toxic chemicals, and all is right with the world.

Until you think about it.


.

Oh, The Hours I Spent...

...heck, weeks, months, years, playing this game.


.

I Don't Like To Breastfeed...

It makes my nipples sore.

I get emails, consisting basically of "Huh?" and that is just too bad, because I left a trail of bread crumbs, you just weren't paying attention.

Take notes. If you can't see it, maybe you weren't meant to.

Capiche?

I'm not being coy. I (mostly) don't want to disturb the water...draw attention to myself...from people, places, and... things.

It really is that simple. I assume a basic skill set when you enter here, freely, and of your own free will, and you can stay, or you can go. Many do.

How many times have I seen a new blogger credit me for the inspiration, and then every post is 'Bane said this!' and 'Bane said that!' and then...silence.

I am gone from their blogroll (where I'd been, at the top) and they are off to the races.

This delights me. Fly, little blogger!

I suppose I benefit by never having read a blog before starting mine (as I've said).
Starting cold, a Rebel Without A Clue.

I have no Blogfather. I have no Blogmother. I was born from nothing, and I am still happily ensconced in it.

If I have one point of pride, it is that when I check my referrals, the vast majority of them are looking for ME. ME ME ME ME ME! Even the search engine searches mostly contain the word 'banerants' in the string, and I like that just fine.

If I ever develop an ego, I'll sell it on ebay...


.

Something To Keep You Busy...

...all weekend.

I already use a lot of that software, but as always, download and use at your own risk.

Highly bookmarkable site.


.

Emergency Islam Update!!!

I found a picture of The Prophet Mohammud's (piss on his unholy name) favorite wife! And now we can all beat our filthy infidel meat over that fine ass all weekend! Man, I'd like to let her blow me through that veil...

















Via, who else, but American Drumslinger.

DAMN but if that pic don't make me randy...


.

I Needed Something Awesome...

...and this is fucking awesome.

Oh, the possibilities...


.

A Reader Sends Me...

...this.

It is a long, but necessary reading. I've known nearly all this, but this is the first place I can recall seeing it all together in one place.

If you want to have an opinion on the world today, you need to have knowledge like this, otherwise, just shut up.


.

I'm Going To Need Psyche Meds...

...if this keeps up.

I woke bolt upright, a bit ago, from a dream or a vision of one of my sons screaming and dying in the back of a freshly rocketed truck. Think Nick Berg video scream, add gurgling, and a horrified voice trying to tell everybody through blood and a shattered jaw that "...they shot my fuckin mouth off!" in horror and surprise and rage and pain.

It was as if I was in a Predator Drone, circling overhead, and watching as the column came under ambush, and vehicles began to get crippled and scatter, and machine gun fire poured into them and all any of them could think about was un-assing the vehicles and then a team of rags set up a quick tripod and fired a large rocket into the back of the truck my son was in and it was all 'Saving Private Ryan' in the landing craft scene, and I just want to puke.

Seriously.

I circled in close to see the activity in the back of the truck, and the automatic safeties in my mind saved me, and turned them all into plastic G.I.Joe dolls, though I could still hear him screaming for a second after I awoke with a jolt.

Can we please just pull our troops out and nuke Iraq from space? Please? Man, if it's this bad now, how'm I gonna be when my sons are actually over there? I have a standing request that He take me before I have to see any of my kids dead. The horror of that is more than I can bear, and He promised me He would not give me more than I can bear.

And this is it.


.

Hi, My Name Is Bane...

...and I am a Survivor addict...

...hi Bane...










LOOK AT THAT CLEAVAGE!! LOOK!!!

Is it a sin for me to be praying to God to help Danielle win? Is it? She has got the most perfectest breassesses in the known or unknown universe, and she is sexy, and she kicks ass, and the wife is tired of sponging my spooge off the screen after each episode.

I am not going to check this post's comments until after 9pm my time, because I don't want some fag thinking they're funny getting banned so fast their pin head will spin for posting tonight's loser.

Dear Lord, please don't let it be Danielle.

This has been the best Survivor yet, I think. Jeff is self-confident and bored, a wicked combination; he is doing really fun things to these people. I love a clever sadist. These are some of the most whacked out, dysfunctional people since Flava Flav and his abortion of a show on VH1 which I refuse to watch.

And that cleavage! Goodness, what a rack.

If you don't like this show, you are a gay Muslim homosexual.

.

Off...

...the deep end. Lynch has always been more than a little bit nuts, and this explains a lot.

Still not homeschooling?

Soylent Pink...

I bet this happens a lot.

Tell Me Again...

...about those 'moderate Muslims'?

Yeah, right...


.

Still Want To Hire...

...a babysitter?

It Made Me Sad...

Once upon a time, my youngest Marine was even younger. He and his little sister, now my oldest daughter, were just children, once, and they broke my heart.

I was divorced, and lived hours away, and my ex let them run wild, little feral beasts. It is difficult to parent remotely, and when you only see them on the rare weekend.

One day, my children decided they wanted candy, so they held a yard sale, and sold all of the toys I had bought them out of love and adoration, and then they went and bought candy. They announced the sale throughout the neighborhood, but only to other children, so no adult was involved in this.

A lot of kids got a lot of really good deals, that day.

Out of guilt, and because I loved him, I bought that boy a complete Estes model rocketry set, including launcher and extra motors. He did not have me around to supervise him, so he busted up the whole thing, and cut apart the motors and tried to light the chemicals. I understand he made quite a mess.

My mother gave my oldest son her Baldwin upright piano, worth several thousand dollars, because he evinced interest in learning to play it. He learned to play it very well, and was a joy to listen to. Shortly after he joined the Marines, my ex wife sold it and used the money to pay bills and buy booze. Now mind you, I had already paid and struggled to get her a nursing license, and she made good money, whenever she wanted to.

My Dad's fondest wish was to have one of his grandsons play the trumpet. My youngest Marine, still a child then, feigned interest to please his grandfather, and recieved a very expensive trumpet as a gift, for his troubles. When visitation was over, he went back to my ex's house, and promptly left the trumpet under the bushes in the yard, all winter.

Discovering it, belatedly, next Spring, ruined, of course, he threw it away.

Just in case you think your kids will never disappoint you...


.

One Snowy Day...

Yes, we are beset with the Devil's Dandruff. The White Stuff.

I was hoping to exit Winter unmolested by snow, but Nat and I awoke to the muffled glare of a snow-covered world. The wife is driving back down with Johnny, from his sleep study, and she woke me at eight with a phone call, wondering about road conditions.

I had not known it was snowing, but I could have told you something was wrong, from the quality of the light coming through the curtains, and the quality of every sound my newly woken ears beheld.

Fuck, I hate snow.

Nat loves it, of course, and is enthralled, of course. She threw open every curtain in the house, and rushed from window to window, each one a new doorway into Winter. She wanted to go out in it, but that would mean me going out in it, too, and civilized people just don't 'do' snow.

To assuage my guilt, I gave her two cupcakes, and one of those big, thick, red Twizzler ropes of licorice. For breakfast. And a cup of milk. Is that stuff even actually licorice? I doubt it. Another damn lie foisted on the American consumer.

Nat is mourning the death of her snow. There is one last hardy holdout, a patch on our patio table, but even it is turning into gray shplutt, and fading away. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, for the loss of childhood, or the inexorable advance of age, or something, but I'm not up for it.

All this snow has made my bones cold.


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

On behalf of red state America, let me be the first to say: "Screw you, Hollywood."

Amen, sister. Amen.


.

Just...

...Ewwwwwww!

Thanks, immigrunts and foreigners! You have enriched our country SO much.

I Absolutely LOVE...

...this kind of shit.

This could give me blog-fodder for the next five years. Except we won't be around that long.

Sorry.


Update:

Here is a page full of such vids. Enjoy!



.

Opinions Are Like Assholes...

...everybody is one.

Sure, I try to sway opinion, here and there, and I'm pretty sure I've had my opinion changed here and there. But seriously.

I suppose there is no better, more clear example of the disconnect between us all, than the pizza discussions going on here, and here.

I don't care about what you think about Jesus and pizza, and you are not going to change my opinion of either one.

So let's discuss pizza. I know we are rushing to the edge of the cliff, that we are in the End Times, and doom could descend upon us tomorrow, but pizza is important. Perhaps the most important topic of our times.

None of you born after 1975 has ever had a decent pizza, so just shut up. There was a time when restaurants competed to see who could have the biggest 'Large' pizza pan. I have seen pans so big that you could hardly keep your plate on the table, and it would tilt up over the crust of the pizza. It nearly filled an average round table-top. The so-called 'large' pan they use today is what they'd use to bring you the bread sticks. We used to go to this place called 'Old Town Pizza', and two people would make our combo. They would bring it to our table, one girl on each side, on a giant tray with handles, and barely be able to get it up on the table.

I described how they made it to the wife, and she marveled, and then said "You couldn't make a pizza like that today." No, you probably couldn't, for less than $100. We paid around $15, as I recall. Maybe $16. You would order it, and the girls would go to the fridge and drag out these white, five gallon buckets full of toppings, and take them to this huge round of dough, and then reach into the buckets with both hands and bring out double handfuls of topping, say grated cheese, and walk around it dumping it on in piles, and then smoothing it down. And then adding more, and so on.

Oh yeah, someone came in early, and used the meat slicer and the cheese grinder, to make everything fresh. Nothing came out of a pre-processed bag. Fresh. Bell Pepper? Fresh. Italian sausage? Cut up and cooked fresh, this morning. Hamburger? Fresh. Dough? Fresh. Pepperoni? Sliced fresh, and none of this nickle-sized bullshit, either. Discs three to four inches wide. Salami? Five inches. Pineapple? You guessed it: Fresh.

That pizza was called 'The Family Size', and would feed six adults to bursting, and everybody would take home a box of leftovers that you would eat on for the next few days. The next size down was just called 'Large', and if an average man held the rim of the pan to his chest, and wrapped his arms around it, there would be 20 inches between his fingertips (I just measured).

The 'large's' they have on their walls in the shops today barely make a decent dinner plate.

I just measured again, by holding my fingers apart, and the average depth of that family size pizza was an average of three to four inches. It was definately a fork and knife pizza. The more I hear about New York pizza, the more I am sure I'd hate it. If I want thin, cracker crust, I'll go to Safeway and pay .99 cents for a Jeno's with kibble topping 'pizza', and save $20.

My family's favorite pizza is a Papa John's Spinach Alfredo pizza, with added Italian Sausage. If you don't like it, tough shit. If I ever hit the lottery, I'll have one delivered every day. Our local take and bake makes a killer Chicago style stuffed pizza, basically just a giant, round Calzone.

I know I'm just rambling, here, and that the basic theme of this post is how opinions differ...hey, wait, I'm still doing okay, I can already smell the disagreement, and I haven't hit 'publish' yet.

If I cared to, I could take you to places where your 'facts' don't work, and your opinions will be so challenged, you will never trust one again. I certainly question every one of mine, on a routine basis. If you have been slapped in the face a thousand times by a hand, and then suddenly that self-same hand reaches inside your pants and jerks you off, that might seriously impact your general, overall opinion of the hand.

Simplistic, but effective, I think.

Just my opinion...


[Blogger Note: I started this at 10:19 this morning, and I'm posting it at 12:20 this afternoon. Life intrudes on blogging? Or blogging intrudes on life?]


.

Well, This Is...

...fascinating.

Too bad the owner of that blog is going to Hell if he doesn't change his evil ways.


.

Hey...

...bring an airsickness bag...

We are all so doomed.


.

Does This Post Make My Ass Look Racist?

I was on a conference call with a couple of Marines last night, telling them of my lovely meal of Crawdads yesterday, when I belched in a stately and manly fashion. Now, these Crawdads are shipped up to this restaurant fresh from New Orleans every day, and it suddenly struck me, and I spoke the thought aloud: "Hey, now I know what nigger tastes like!" to their great merriment and chortle-ation.

They got it that Crawdads are bottom feeders, and that they had doubtless had a harvest of black Americans to feast on, and in feasting on the scavengers, I was communing, as it were, with some of Kunta Kinte's future ancestors.

And they get it that I am the furthest thing from racist. Hey, Muslim is a religion, not a race. I will hate a white one just as quick as a black one. But there is no reason other than fate and accident that all of my kids couldn't have been born half black or Japanese or whatever, as I just don't care.

Oh, don't try to bring up Mexicans, either. I hate their government, and their invaders of this country, but I otherwise have no botheration with them. I think we should destroy everyone in their government, declare Mexico an American state, make them all citizens, and tax the fuck out of them for a while until they've paid off their debt to America, and then have them pay the same taxes as the rest of us. Do the same thing with every other shitheel country South of our current border.

Now, what I said to those Marines, I would not have said to the black chef who owns the restaurant, out of respect for both he and my jaw. I do not know him that well, and who knows what a close friendship could bring. Different relationships and people have different boundaries.

I just gotta tell you, this restaurant may be the second or third best place I have ever eaten in my life, and I've eaten in places where most of you couldn't afford the appetizers. Everything is made with such attention to detail that it brings a tear to your eye. The plating is superb. I have never had a better home fry in my life. You spend most of the meal moaning as if you are getting head.

The Monte Christo has fallen out of favor with me, because so few make it well. He is one of the few. You can tell everything is fresh, and picked out that day. He learned his trade in New Orleans, with his brother who is also a chef there. He doubtless had to come here ahead of the law. You know how those people are.
And his prices are insanely reasonable. Dinner gets a little high, but it is all worthwhile, gourmet food. His lunch prices are competitive with a Burger King or McDonald's combo meal price, with no comparision as to quality. Not cheap, but inexpensive.
Not like, you know, those Jews...

See? We can get away with that, here, because it is just us, joshing and ribbing, and that is the point, I think. Every ethnic group/clique/religion/
whatever has their private way of talking about others. I read a partial list of Jewish racial slang one time and was, quite frankly, stunned. They have more words (and insults) for race than Inuits do for snow.

And if you want an education, sit around with some black people and listen to all the different names they have for each other! The first time I ever heard it, it made me nervous. 'Why aren't these people killing each other? I'd have been dead 50 syllables ago...'

I hate a black racist like Louise Fukkacon as much as I hate some white Nazi skinhead retard. The only smart white KKK type racists I ever met were not overly burdened with sanity. Okay, let's be frank, they were all bughouse, crazy as shithouse rats, starkers, and I wouldn't let any one of them babysit my dog. If I had a dog.

Rodney, I can tell you why we all can't just get along. It is because most human beings, regardless of race, creed, or religion, are fucking immensely stupid and self-centered, and most of the smart ones recognize this, then take advantage of it and make it worse, for their own personal gain and evil intent.

Still, it bugs me that you can say 'Stupid Christian' in public, but you can't say 'Stupid Nigger' without fear of retribution.

There's something that just seems...out of balance, here.

Oh well, you can't fix all the problems of the world, all you can do is chronicle them, and try to do your own personal best.

Me? Well, I think I may go see my new black friend tomorrow while Johnny's up at hospital, and take Nat with me and we'll split a sandwich, and if we're lucky, maybe he's made fresh ice cream.

'Course, you know how those people get around white women...


.

National Hate A Muslim Day...

We should have a day like that, and then right after that, have a National Love A Muslim Day.

On Hate day, every non-Muslim American just be awful to them. Rude. Refuse to serve them. Give them mean, surly looks, you know, like the ones I get from them in stores all the time? Yeah, like those. Wing one if he gets surly. Just make it suck to be a Muslim, be they man, woman, or child.

Then the very next day, smile at them, be nice. Pay for their lunch, hold open doors, give their kids treats. Give them the day off to go somewhere with their family. Have Muslim Discounts at all stores and restaurants.

On the third day, have Bush give a nationally televised speach and just ask them "Well, Muslim's, which day did you like the best. You choose by your future actions, and choose wisely, because we are sure ready to pick one for ya..."

Yeah, right...


.

An Amazing Day...

I tend to hermitage, of late. To shut myself away, retreat...hide. I hate people, they bother me, and even my family consists of them.

I realize this is a pathology, and take fitful steps to improve things. I go downstairs and interact with the children. Speak to the wife. It is hard. I have my fill, and retreat. Everybody is so needy, and I have no more to give. Heck, I didn't have all that much to begin with.

I am mindful that my parents miss me, as well as their future is uncertain, and that I could be left with nothing but my regrets at any time. So I forced myself out of the house, with my Dad, yesterday.

It was fun. Saw '16 Blocks'. Great movie. Had a mess of crawdads, and drank beer. Went back to their house and fixed up all of their fucked up computer problems. The worst thing they do to their PC's is touch them.

Yesterday was also my oldest son's birthday. He will be a Gunnery Sergeant soon. My son will be a Gunny. Weird.

Sigh. Maudlin much? Not me. I think I'll nap all day...


.

Derka Derka, Mohamad Jihad...

Because I have no idea how to post a video that has been emailed to me, I link to this wonderful blog (but she's a bitch!) so you can enjoy it.

I sent it to my sons, so now it is probably all over Marine World.

Hey, you, active duty guy who sent it to me: I'll happily give you the credit for it, but I don't want to get you in trouble without your permission. Email me if you want credit.

Thanks.


.

Hey, Internet!

In your face!

THIS is what the internet was made for!


Update:

How could I leave out this!


.

Out Of Service

Between my internet connection and Blogger, I have been down for most of the day. I was just barely able to post my latest screed.

Suffice it to say, that I am spotting into my pad, and I am mightily frustrated. Oh well, I bet there's still a lot of my shit that you haven't read yet.

Enjoy, and see you around.

Maybe.

Some Things I Have Never Seen...

A female garbage person.

A military woman who didn't 'salute like a girl'.

A female Greyhound Bus driver.

A female longshoreman.

A female SWAT Team member.

A female rodeo bull rider.

A female helicopter pilot. Maybe there are some, I've just never seen one.

A female proctologist.

I have never ever talked to a female technical support person on the phone. Not once, ever.

A female NFL coach.

A female NBA coach.

A female rocket scientist.

In all my life, I have only ever had one female repair person answer a service call. It was to fix our drier, from Sears, and she was a big ole dyke. We thought she was a man, at first. A very nice woman, but a man had to come out a week later and fix it again.

I had a better list last night as I was falling asleep, but all I could remember from it was 'garbage man' this morning.

I have never ever had a woman deliver water or milk or whatever to my home or place of business. I have never bought a magazine or newspaper from a female magazine stand operator, or a hot dog from a female street vendor.

I have never ridden on or seen a female operator of a merry go round, or ferris wheel.

I have never flown on a plane piloted by a woman, or seen a female commercial pilot. I'm sure there must be some, I've just never seen one.

I have never seen a female boat or ship captain. Yet Science Fiction is full of female starship captains and admirals and such. Odd.

Women are always under foot, yet it is amazing the places they're not, when you think about it.

Ever see a female janitor? I mean a real janitor, not a maid. Me either. Female doorman? Parking valet? Wine steward? Maitre d'? Has a woman ever flambeed your food in a restaurant?

Have you ever met a straight women's sports coach?

Let the hissing begin...

.

I Laughed...

...I cried.

All too true. Behold, The Master.


.

More On Sheathing...

There are many ways to carry and conceal weapons. Perhaps my least favorite is the boot/ankle carry. It is uncomfortable, and difficult to reach, in most cases. It is effective, though, in bars, or other places where you are going to be seated, and able to cross your legs. Still, you must practice practice practice to not look stupid, i.e., not drop the weapon and/or cut/shoot yourself.

I do not generally wear a holster, as it speaks to intent in a courtroom. I carry illegally, as it keeps me sharp, and focused, and humble.

I make an exception when I carry my metal knuckles. I have several cheap belt-clip holsters I have purchased at various gun shows over the years. They are barely three inches wide, and appear to be made of kangaroo or something, and they are black.

My knucks slip in and out of them quite smoothly. I put them in upside down, and the draw begins with my little finger, hooking them out by the small hole, then flipping them up onto my fingers, and getting to work. I shall offer a primer on the proper use of knuckles another time, maybe. Just know, you, that they are a very deadly weapon, and I know of no state where they are legal, even though they are sold openly in Pakistani-owned Qwiki-Marts.

Knives...

The sheath it came with is not always the best option. A great resource for leather is these pitiful Renaissance Faires and such-like, where craftsmen, worthy of their hire, often show up with really nice stuff, and can also make things to order for you. Beware of booth's just reselling ebay bullshit. Find a real Leather Man.

As I've said, most 'tactical' stuff is bullshit. There are exceptions, but I can't think of any off hand. Put two of the same knives on each hip, one in leather, one in nylon, both unsnapped, and run across a football field. Tell me which one is still on your belt when you stop running. Still not convinced? Okay, unsnap both sheaths, and do a handstand. If you dare. Have a medic standing by.

Same with a pistol, by the way, as anyone who has ever had their pistol squirt out of their 'ballistic nylon' holster and clatter across a kitchen floor whilst wrestling with a miscreant can attest to.

Now, there's a buzz-kill.

I love my pocket-clip Spyderco's, and yet I have spent an evening, here and there, with a flashlight, searching for the fucking thing in the car, because the seatbelt or something schlucked it out of my pocket.

I sometimes carry a Schrade folder, a substantial knife, mounted on my belt in a horizontal velcro'd sheath. The sheath is done in camouflage, and people just don't seem to notice it. The sheath is made from nylon. Go figure. This one is perfect for it's application. It is also not that 'cheese grater' nylon that so many companies seem to want to use. It is a finely woven cross between cotton and leather, and I love it. Point? Shop.

My son promised me a Leatherman, but he seems to have reneged. I am sad. So will he be, when he realizes that his Daddy died without owning a Marine issue Kabar or Leatherman...

Everybody, hang your heads in shame with me, at the perfidy of children...

Hey, Man...

...nice shot.

We Should Be Making A Real Effort...

...to get these people to emigrate here.

What a beautiful infusion of ready-made Americans they would be. Offset some of our own trash.

I Love A Good...

...campfire. They could have made S'mores.

Fuck the 'homeless'. It's just a myth. Another word for 'they won't let us lock your crazy fuckin ass up and throw away the key like we should'.

Sure, anybody can become homeless. And I've seen churches and communities rally many many times to take care of people and families upon which tragedy has descended.

Fuck these shabby, zombie loons that wander our land. Shoot them in the head. That always seems to work.

Fire is good, too.


.

Have You...

...taken your acid today?

How To Waste A Sunday...

All you'll ever need, right here.

For bonus points, what is that song? The original is my current favorite song, and I have no idea who does it.

Extra bonus points to whoever can direct me to where I can download it.

I love the version on this game, though, too.

HEY!!!

Urgent television alert!

Tonight on PBS (check your local listings) is the finest most awesomest concert I have ever seen: Celtic Woman. It is two hours of some of the most glorious music I have ever heard.

Oh Dear God, I thank you for such beauty and wonderfullness. What a lovely counterpoint to the vile Oscars, due to which I cannot turn on my television today without being assaulted by imagery of 'Brokebutt Mount-him'.


.

Just Out Of Curiousity...

I noticed that I had just knocked out two posts in under 15 minutes, so I cut and pasted them into Word, and did a word count, and it was almost a thousand words.

I rock.

The Back Story...

I leave out a lot of details when I tell a story. I believe in K.I.S.S., and brevity, and maintaining a linear flow. Sometimes details just screw things up. This is why we get DVD's with deleted scenes we can watch. You enjoyed the movie perfectly well, but the Director chose to trim this or that for this or that reason.

For instance, in my Febreeze narrative, below, I did not want to make myself the center of the narrative. I wanted you to focus on the product, the little demo girl, the crowd of shoppers. I left out the part where I had the wife sniff my armpit, and grimace. And then I Febreezed it, and had her sniff it again, which she approached with some trepidation, and then snuffled in amazement, to the assembled throngs delight. See? That would have distracted from the piece I was trying to create...the mood, as it were.

I am a natural showman, an entertainer. I have been invited to join the Toastmaster's Club on many occasions, by men who have seen me extemporaneously handle and mesmerize a crowd. I never joined, because I am shy.

I had those people in the store laughing, snorting, and giggling, and I sold that product, made them want it, and get home and doubtless wonder why in the fuck they had four bottles of it.

I sold three Kirby vacuums, at $1,270 apiece, in one day, for cash.

In writing, as I see it, you have to figure out what it is you want to sell. Then who you're selling it to. Then, finally, how best to sell it. Are you going to be the pushy used car salesman? See, I could have inserted a few descriptive terms, there, his clothing, his hair, but I left it alone. Your mind filled in the blank with your idea of a used car salesman, and any description from me would have wasted both of our time.

Sometimes you want to paint a picture, sometimes you want to hand your reader a paint by numbers picture and let them fill it in themselves. If I say 'blood', I shouldn't have to say what color, unless I am writing science fiction. See? Your mind just went to green and blue and maybe purple, without me having to waste the pixels.

People have Macros in their heads, and you can use them to your advantage. You can say 'a sunlit country road, in the late afternoon' and the description pops right into their head, and you do not have to paint every blade of grass, tilted mailbox, straggly barbed wire fence, or tumbled stone wall. Unless you want to. Some writers paint with words, and it is a joy to behold.

Some just wear you the fuck out.

Back to our used car salesman, what kind of day is it? He's standing there, smiling a toothy grin, and we'd both like to know. Is it windy? No No No, do you tell, or do you show?

Show the flags, the banners snapping, the metal hardware going tink tink tink against the poles, his bad comb-over blowing over to the other side, to his annoyance, as he forms it back over his head with his hand, and then holds that self-same hand out for you to shake, in front of a red AMC Pacer that some wag has written 'YOU SUCK!' in the dust that is shmutting the hood of it.

I don't even think shmutting is a real word, but you got it, and I mean to say that language is your playground, and it is sad when writers (and editors) fence themselves into it. Oh, to be sure, there needs to be some discipline, or you get abominations like 'Finnegan's Wake' and 'On The Road', self important clap-trap.

Sorry, Sunday is not actually a school day, is it? Though Johnny wanted to do and did reading class, yesterday, so I guess the paradigm is shifting, a little bit.

I sure hope so.


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I Couldn't Sleep At All Last Night...

I went to bed around midnight, and fell promptly asleep, as is my wont. I woke bolt upright at 1am, and having been there, and done that, and knowing what I was in for, I took a Valerian Root capsule (535 mg) and two Ibuprofen with a small glass of wine, and bam, out like a light. Woke up at 11am, a bit ago.

From a most troubling dream, I might add. There was a volcano going off up the street from us, and we were watching it on the news. Then I shook myself and said what the fuck? we can just look out the damn window. We did, and this weird blue lava was just at the edge of our yard, and homes and trees were burning. I yelled at the wife to get the kids into the car, and she rushed to do so. Then I went to my gun cabinet and begin laying guns and bags of ammo out to run to the car. That was all I could save, and I figured we might need them, and I didn't want to lose them.

The pile grew bigger and bigger, and I was in a torment. I knew I had best leave the house and save my family, yet which guns to choose? And I'll need ammo, and look, that cleaning kit, oh, and knives, save the knives.

I looked up, and blue flame was licking through the wall of the kids bedroom, and I realized I was not going to get out with anything and...

I woke up.

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Someone Wants To...

...plug me.


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My Totem...

Thanks, Li.

He Is Risen...

Oh, that is gonna so fuck with his head...deal with it, Billy D.

Good to have you back blogging! Even if your blog does look like baby shit.


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Why We Fight...

My intellect is so far above all of yours, I don't even know why I bother to speak to you at all, it is like trying to communicate with apes, but...sigh...I shall try...

At least that is the impression I get from roughly 98% of most commenters on most blogs where they are 'passionately' gnawing at the meatless bones of some issue or other.

I get shit for not 'contributing anything substantive'. Hey, I left a big old turd! That ain't 'substantive'