I Don't Believe It...

...but I'm willing to test it out.

I just heard an ad on the radio that says that all the various blood-carrying tubules in the human body, if stretched out, would be 60,000 miles worth.

I think this hypothesis needs testing. Child molester? Step right up. Trust us, it's for Science.

Let (make) the folks who run child-porn websites do the testing. Give them a dissection kit, and tell them to have at it, or they're next.

Our prisons are filled with all sorts of incorrigible volunteers.

Let's get to it...


.

Now That's...

...some funny shit, right there.

He probly stole it from somewhere, but it's still some funny shit.


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

"If Congress adopts the Bush plan and gives amnesty to illegal aliens, Senate Republicans will be asking President Cheney for a pardon.

The Senate bill also forgives illegal aliens who have committed identity theft by stealing American Social Security numbers to get jobs. So in addition to the Two Years Tax-Free plan for illegals, they get one free felony. Also, illegal immigrants from Mexico qualify for affirmative action, allowing them to get into U.S. colleges with lower grades and scores than Americans."


.

Hey, Prayer Warriors...

...get to work.


.

Oh, How I Laughed...

The Strength Of 100 Men

Before the final match, the American wrestler's trainer came to him and
said, "Now don't forget all the research we've done on this Russian. He's
never lost a match because of this "pretzel" hold he has. Whatever you
do, don't let him get you in this hold! If he does, you're finished!"
The wrestler nodded in agreement.

Now, to the match: The American and the Russian circled each other
several times looking for an opening. All of a sudden the Russian lunged
forward, grabbing the American and wrapping him up in the dreaded pretzel
hold!

A sigh of disappointment went up from the crowd, and the trainer buried
his face in his hands for he knew all was lost. He couldn't watch the
ending.

Suddenly there was a scream, a cheer from the crowd, and the trainer
raised his eye just in time to see the Russian flying up in the air. The
Russian's back hit the mat with a thud, and the American weakly collapsed
on top of him, getting the pin and winning the match.

The trainer was astounded! When he finally got the American wrestler
alone, he asked, "How did you ever get out of that hold? No one has ever
done it before!"

The wrestler answered, "Well, I was ready to give up when he got me in
that hold, but at the last moment, I opened my eyes and saw this pair of
balls right in front of my face. I thought I had nothing to lose, so with
my last ounce of strength I stretched out my neck and bit those babies
just as hard as I could.
You'd be amazed how strong you get when you bite
your own balls!"


Via Catfish.


.

Truly Alarming...

I find this profoundly disturbing, on too many levels to describe.

I'll let you in on a little secret. I was given an opportunity to write for money, to do a review of sorts on the Left Behind series of books. And I tried. I really tried. I had already tried reading the first book some years ago, and it was so awful, I just threw it away. But here was my chance to get published, so I got all the books from my parents, and tucked into them.

Let's leave out the fact that my parents had read one of them, let alone all of them, I failed in my task miserably, and had to tell the editor of my inability to stomach the project.

They are truly terrible books, on several levels. And I see the video game of the referenced link as pure Anti-Christ, as well as the 'Purpose Driven Life' movement behind it.

The phrase 'wolves in sheep's clothing' comes to mind. And 'stealth' my ass. You can bet I'm going to be cocking a jaundiced eye towards these sunsabitches from now on.


.

Blatant Linkwhoring...

One of my readers has another chick blog. This is how it's done, if you care to be read by anybody outside your family and friends.

Blogging is networking. Oh, to be sure, you could buy an ad on some bigger bloggers site, but nobody's gonna click on it unless it has tits on it, and then you'll just be bringing in the riff-raff monkey-spanks.

I don't have a huge readership, but in order to reach the crowd I reach every day, I'd have to rent a hall. Think about that. I have visitors from all over the country, from all over the world. If I hired a hall, I would only get local people, and perhaps a rare few who travelled for a ways.

Here, I get world-wide exposure. When I first realized that, some years ago, I almost got stage fright. Since then, I have tried to develop a 'sense of audience'. Like I've said before, it is very much like being up on stage, the lights in your face, and seeing indistinct shapes sitting out there, watching you.

You have to just shake it off, and do your thing. And I do nude scenes. Think about that, too. Would you, could you get naked in front of an audience of strangers? Strangers, even though some of them buy tickets for every performance, and you have come to recognize some of them?

If the answer to that is 'no', then you might be just running a superficial vanity site. Which is fine. Do your thing.

But try doing mental nudity, every so often. It's pretty liberating.


.

The Communist Manifesto...

Go here, if you dare, and read true perfidy. Anchovies indeed...you animal!

I agree with the beer and Gewertztraweiner, though. That is some good wine with food, right there.


.

Check The Timestamp...

...on this post, and you may get an idea how I may have gotten an insight into Andrea Yates state of mind, when she exercised the 'Terminal Bathing' option on her kids.

Yes, I have been up, doing puked-on laundry. Johnny had himself an 'episode', and thank God he didn't puke into his CPAP mask, or he'd likely be dead right now.

I was SO angry at the wife. She stumbled out of her room, blind as a bat without her glasses, had no idea what she was doing, or what to do, and I had to go all drill instructor on their asses, or puke would have been strung thither and yon, and the entire room would have been compromised.

Oh, and let's not forget the possible dead kid.

Shiite, I am exhausted.

To bed, for me. Just wanted to vent...

G'night.


Update:

It is morning, the birds grackle in the trees outside, and the wife and I are sitting around in the debris of our day, like survivors of The Blitz.

The wife heads out to mow the lawns. She is whining. I tried to make her feel better by telling her that heck, you're already miserable, so you may as well do something miserable. I'm not sure it worked.

I am considering helping her, but I broke a nail last night, and besides, I'm retaining, I think. Or maybe I just need to take a good dump.

One batch of our neighbors are PC experts, and run their own shop. They came over last night and said they wanted to build Johnny a PC for homeschool and games and such. I gave them the wife's Pentium PC that I can't get to work, so she hasn't had her own PC in a while. Two birds with one stone, I think. He uses it more than she does, but she'll have the internet and such.

What a world. I am blessed.


.

Someone Who Dreams...

...like I do.


.

BILF...

Blogger I'd Like to Fuck.

From her, comes the best quote of the month:

If you have an opinion about this blog, leave a comment. Otherwise, suck a fart out of my asshole.

The irrepressible Smug Nugget. I am not ashamed to be out-Baned by a woman.

It makes me proud.


.

Fat Chance...

So, I was toodling around my local newspaper's website, checking out the employment section, and I see they have an opening to become a reporter for their newspaper.

I toyed briefly with the idea of putting up the HR persons email address, and seeing if you people would contact her on my behalf, and then I sobered up and realized that she is doubtless a Kerry voter, and merely skimming through this blog could leave her dead from apoplexia.

They also want you to have had some journalism school and newspaper experience, neither of which I possess.

All I am is a trained professional interrogator, who can write thousands of entertaining words a day, with a very high IQ, and over 160 units of college education.

Guess I couldn't be a reporter...


Update:

Okay, dammit, I'm gonna do it, just for grins, if nothing else. Here is her email address:

teresa.stout@lee.net

If she emails me and tells me any of you behaved like turds, I will send your ass into the Outer Darkness, where Cthulu will offend your nethers with his tentacles.

I refuse to apply in the normal, cattle call way. My work speaks, or perhaps stutters, for itself. Love me, or leave me.

I haven't a clue as to how to retain my anonymity.

This ranks up there with the oddest thing I have ever done, and that was pretty damned odd, I'll tell you. And I smile, thinking about her (perhaps) coming here, and the first post (above) that will greet her.

Oh, I feel a chortle abuilding...

Update:

LL just sent me this:

Thank you for your e-mail regarding Bane's blog. However, persons who are interested in the reporter position will need to submit a resume, cover sheet and samples of their work for consideration.

Heh. Like I said, fat chance.


.

You May Have Noticed...

...that I have been more snappish at my beloved readers, lately. I write this because I have received several emails to that effect, apologising to me, and whatnot.

Let me explain, yet again...

I write this blog for me, and yet some of you patronize me with money and gifts, so I realize that I have a certain obligation to perform well, here. I would do so, anyway, or so I'd like to think, but when I put something up, here, and/or link to something, it is because it caught my attention, and I either enjoyed or was scandalized by it, and I wanted to share it with you.

When you jump my shit for it, it is like you just spit on a present I offered to you, and that is not how I perceive mannerly behavior to be, and hospitality to be best treated.

So, already perpetually peeved, I get even angrier, and being mostly human, I react. Sometimes I step on toes that I would not otherwise choose to step upon. I have grown to like and appreciate you people, and remain pleasantly surprised at how civil the discourse tends to be around here.

So, I guess this is a warning, wrapped in an apology, and coated with sugar.

Settle down, Beavis. Kick back and relax...

It's just a damn blog.


.

Rescue Me...

The season premire is tonight at 10pm. What? You've never seen it? Shame! It's just some of the best acting and writing ever, including TV and theatre.

Go and rent all the DVD's, and tape tonights episode.

Stars Dennis Leary. Need I say more?

I didn't think so.


.

Oh, I'm Sorry...

...did you want to work today?

Then don't click on this timewaster.


.

How To Sink...

...an American aircraft carrier.

Another Memorial Day post, I think.


.

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier...

LL did this for me, cuz I am a retard. Feel free to spread it around:

This is really an awesome sight to watch if you've never had the chance. Very fascinating.


Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

1. How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the
tomb of the Unknowns and why?

21 steps. It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute, which is the
highest honor given any military or foreign dignitary.

2. How long does he hesitate after his about face to begin his
return walk and why?



21 seconds for the same reason as answer number 1.



3. Why are his gloves wet?


His gloves are moistened to prevent his losing his grip on the
rifle.



4. Does he carry his rifle on the same shoulder all the time
and if not, why not?


He carries the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb.
After his march across the path, he executes an about face
and moves the rifle to the outside shoulder.



5. How often are the guards changed?


Guards are changed every thirty minutes,
twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year.



6. What are the physical traits of the guards limited to?


For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, he must be
between 5' 10" and 6' 2" tall and his waist size cannot exceed 30." Other
requirements of the Guard: They must commit 2 years of life to guard the
tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on
or off duty for the rest of their lives. They cannot swear in public for the
rest of their lives and cannot disgrace the uniform {fighting} or the tomb in
any way. After two years, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on
their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only
400 presently worn. The guard must obey these rules for the rest of their
lives or give up the wreath pin.


The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat
and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the
top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt
There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform. Guards dress for duty
in front of a full-length mirror.


The first six months of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone, nor
watch TV. All off duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid
to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. A guard must memorize who they are
and where they are interred. Among the notables are: President Taft, Joe
E. Lewis {the boxer} and Medal of Honor winner Audie Murphy, {the most
decorated soldier of WWII} of Hollywood fame.
Every guard spends five hours a day getting his uniforms ready for
guard duty.



ETERNAL REST GRANT THEM O LORD, AND LET PERPETUAL LIGHT SHINE UPON THEM.


In 2003 as Hurricane Isabelle was approaching Washington, DC, our
US Senate/House took 2 days off with anticipation of the storm. On the ABC
evening news, it was reported that because of the dangers from the
hurricane, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of
the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They
respectfully declined the offer, "No way, Sir!" Soaked to the skin,
marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding
the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be
afforded to a serviceperson. The tomb has been patrolled continuously,
24/7, since 1930.



God Bless and keep them.

.

Ask!

I dumped Google again, today, and for the final time, both for their affront to Veterans, and because they just generally suck ass, and are hippies.

I took up Ask.com. They are now my home page, because Google pissed me off, and because I was madly searching for something Google gave me about a dozen incorrect hits for, and Ask gave me like eighteen pages of relevant, useful hits for. I now use Dogpile as my secondary. Fuck Yahoo, too.

So there.


.

This Guy ROCKS!

I'm only half way through watching this, but I think this guy is really fantastic. I really can't understand why the British don't still rule the world, with minds like that available to them.

It's 45 minutes long, and damn well worth it.


.

Blowed Up, Sir!

Get the reference?

Anyway, the first thing I see when I wake up this morning is that the rags have blowed themselves up a CBS news crew, and the first thought that popped into my head was "Good! Now maybe these assholes will become invested with our side, instead of being spokespersons for the enemy!"

Yeah. Fat chance. Well, maybe. The talking heads on CNN looked pretty glum. Betrayed. Like "Hey, we've been carrying water for you guys for years, and you blow us up? Ingrates!"

We'll see if they get on board.

It's doubtful. As I tool around the right of center blogs this morning, I find a reference to 'bringing our troops home, now!'

With weak-sister bullshit like that, we doom ourselves from the inside.

When America falls, it will not be from outside attack, but from the boll-weevils in our midst.


.

Bleg...

When playing Generals, when I put my cursor on the right side of the screen, it has stopped scrolling, and I have to compensate with the arrows.

I have the correct drivers, and everything.

Any suggestions?


.

A Little Perspective...

...shall we?

Pay special attention to the description of Haditha, where this incident occurred.

And isn't it special how our communist Islamo-Nazi sympathizing media and politicians pick this weekend to publicize the shit out of all this?

Let's all talk about what a whore-bag Princess Diana was on the next anniversary of her death...


Update:

Need I say more?

Except that Murtha is a cunt, I mean.


.

Bathroom Ceiling Fans...

...really work.

I was sitting underneath one of mine, a bit ago, enthroned, and I could feel the air pulling in underneath the door, across my toe hairs. Rustling them, as I made my offering to the gods of Islam.

I imagined two crows, up on the roof, by the vent, surveying the neighborhood, looking for babies eyes to pluck out, or kittens to carry off. Nasty birds...

Bird One turns to Bird Two and says "Motherfucker...you been eating roadkill again?"

Bird Two says "No, why?" and then gags and hops away from Bird One "Jeezly crow, you nasty bastard!"

Bird One ruffles it's feathers and sneezes "...wasn't me..."

B2 says "Sheah, right, and blame it on me, prick..."

B1 says "Ooooh, look! Kitten!" and they both fly off.

I loves me my ceiling fans. Spreading my goodness through neighborhoods since, well, whenever.

Though the wife still gags and staggers back when she walks into The Wall O' Doom.

Heh.


.

Hey, Mom!

Thanks for the birth defect!


.

A Well Regulated Militia...

...and just listen to the pussies whine about it.

I would recommend that every upstanding young man or woman in America find one of these schools and take the course, even if (especially if) you already plan on joining the military. As long as they screen for lunatics and/or criminals, I am enthusiastically all for this.

Hearing stuff like this makes Bane happy.


.

Your Mileage May Vary...

...but this story just alarms the shit out of me, as a parent.

I am all for my kids not suffering from disease, but I already know what it is like to look into the eyes of a child of mine that is likely altered forever, never to be the same again, and the thought of taking my child in to a doctor and doing that to them on purpose just makes me want to vomit.

The saddest part is, is that our 'health care professionals' (Witch Doctors and Shamen) seem to have shrugged and decided that thousands of autistic children is an acceptable risk, or indeed, that there is no risk at all.

Well, all except for a few doctors like the one in the referenced story, who still do research.

Let the record show that I am not one bit alarmed that terrorists might keep my government from coming to my door and taking my guns and poisoning my children, because said terrorists blew my government up.

In fact, I have my fingers crossed, and am quite looking forward to it.


.

Someone...

...gets it right.

It's a shame when skinheads have to get credit for doing the right thing, what all normal human beings should be doing.

Homosexual activism devalues the currency of humanity, and reduces us all to their lowest common denominator.

Disagree? So, you support NAMBLA like they do? Then go fuck yourself, I do not care what you think about anything.


.

The Puddle Jumper...

I awoke this morning, the first time, to the most invigorous splashing, downstairs, outside my window.

Still slightly in the muzz of sleep, I thought at first that it was a seabird cracking an oyster on the ledge outside my window, so I rolled over and lifted back the curtain to shoo it away. And there was the wife, trying to wrangle Nat into the car and her car seat, and out in the driveway behind her, Johnny, in his Sunday best, joyfully hopping from puddle to puddle, with the obvious determination that no puddle shall remain unrippled.

SMAK...SMAK...SMAK...SMAK...

Literally jumping for joy.

It has been raining for days, here, a joyous relief from the terrible, threatening heat. Why, it got into the 90's, once! Just awful. It meandered back down into the 80's, and we put away the oil-filled radiators and brought out the fans, which blades have remained unspun for several glorious days of cool weather, now. Oh Lord, may it continue.

Yesterday, I was sitting here typing something or other, and Nat and Johnny bustled in, all aflutter and adither, Nat with this big old keyboard I let them play with, and John with a dead mouse. He proceeded to plug the mouse's cord into me, and Nat tucked her cord down the back of my shirt, and they began the oral sound effects as they 'downloaded me onto the internet'.

Whatever happened to cowboys and indians? They had watched some sort of cartoon (Amazing Spiderman, I think) where the hero had 'gone into the internet', and they were much impressed, and went running around the house, downloading anything and everybody.

I know who the most beautiful woman in the world is, now. The wife and I watched the two hour season finale of Boston Legal last night, and Jeri Ryan was on it, and her pussy contains the One Ring To Rule Them All.

I would happily mate with her, and then let her chew my head off. And she is more perfect now than when she was on Voyager. Age has perfected her. I tried to watch her on Boston Public, but that show had gone from very good to hideously bad overnight, and I could not bear it, even for her. I see she was born in 1968. She is just now becoming the perfect age, in my opinion.

So, is it 12:30 on a Sunday already? My, how time flies when you are rushing towards death. Oh, not you, of course. I'm sure you all will be just fine. Everybody dies but you. My email alert is ringing off the hook with offers of some shit called 'Hoodia' which is alleged to suppress my appetite. If my appetite gets any more suppressed, I'm gonna look like a Jew in a certain German summer camp.

The wife has resorted to tricks to get me to eat. Last night I was ooohing and ahing over Alton Brown making homemade tortillas, so she whipped up a batch of flour tortillas. They were wonderful. She had made scratch refried beans, anyway, and we forewent the storebought tortillas and ate the homemade. The kids were skeptical, at first, because they do not look like storebought, but one bite and it was off to the races.

I have recorded the Alton Brown Coq au Vin episode, and have shown some excitement over that, so I expect that meal will be in my future, as well.

I took a codiene for pain, last night, and darned if I didn't have the weirdest damn dreams. And in them, I couldn't talk very well, more like a head injury victim, and I was clumsy. I tried to hit this guy who was putting his crap in my garage, and I missed! I never miss! And he laughed at me.

I was so confounded and befuddled by all this, that my concious brain lifted it's eyelid just long enough to inform me that I was sleeping on my arm, and it had gone all pins and needles, and I was sleeping with my mouth open, and my tongue was as dry as a stick.

Suddenly, I realized that even in sleep, I subvocalize and move my tongue, and if the tongue is not working in the waking world, I talk like a retard in my dreams. And I must also use my body's nervous system to control my dream avatar, because my avatar's arm was just as useless as my own physical arm.

Weird.

Oh, and the kids pulled in just now, and rushed into the house to give me a Memorial Day present they had put together at church for me because I am a Veteran. A bag of snacks, and one of those gravestone flags, which now resides proudly in my pen cup. As to the snack bag, apparently our honored Veterans of D-Day and the like were rather fond of Goldfish Crackers, M&Ms, almonds, and Hershey's Kisses. And Pistachios, because "Those are your favorite, Daddy!"

A tradition of which I was unaware.

Anyway, all you Vets, and family of Vets, and any Good American (and yes, there are Bad ones) out there, have a good Memorial Day. Why don't you think about buying a few cartons of cigarettes and boxes of candy bars, and visiting a Veterans hospital? If they'll even let you in, that is. Call first.

1pm, signing off, for now.

Update:

Apparently, codiene is bad for you. I just slap-dashed the above together, and it looked fine to me, but rereading it just now, I found about a dozen misspellings and mistakes. Ugh.

Sorry.


.

What Went Wrong...

I woke up a bit ago, sat up in bed, and was greeted by Fox News, showing a pile of what used to be a perfectly good woman, now a dead heap on the ground, from a skydiving accident.

The perky little blonde talking head was just signing off from the story, and she finished with "...investigators are trying to find out what went wrong."

I said to the TV screen "I'll tell you what went wrong...dumb bitch jumped out of an airplane, that's what went wrong..."

Duh.

Why is this so hard for some people?


.

I Stole Another One From Acidman...

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

.

Am I The Only One...

...who does not give a shit whether any bear lives or dies?

I take that back. I am enthusiastically all for their extinction, and will do everything in my part to assure it.

Fuck bears.


.

Breaking News!

John Kerry, still a big fat liar!


.

Fucking Savages...

Yet another reason why we can never peacefully coexist with these people.

They are all bad seed, and not to be trusted. If you knew of a breed of dog that, while mostly cute and cuddly, occasionally turned spontaneously rabid and went on a killing rampage, you would, and quite correctly, destroy that breed of dog. down to the last puppy.

It is no different with these 'people'.

Update:

Pray for these Marines. Gee, I hope their captors aren't putting panties on their heads, or making them be close to any women or dogs.

Actually, for all of our sakes, and theirs, I think I hope they just died in the crash.

Update:

Need I say more?


.

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know...

...about why members of Congress are NOT immune from criminal prosecution.

Nuff said.


.

This Made The Wife And I Laugh Out Loud...

Via Grouchy Old Cripple. Thanks, Denny.

.

My Man Doc In The Box...

For alla you Sad Sacks of shit headed into the Sandbox, this post's for you.

Yes, this means you, son(s?).

If you don't study and do your homework, don't come crying to me when you do something stupid and get fucked up.


.

Hmmmmm...

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Via Acidman...

.

Wherein I Am Emasculated...

The balls, the center of a man... if not gone, at least severely reduced, and bruised. I wish I could lay on the couch and lick them. Well, I've always wished that, anyway, but...

Remember how I was crowing about how mighty I was at C&C Generals? What a stud I was?

I even destroyed three Normal Armies at a time!

Then I slid the slider over to 'Hard Army', and got so brutally sodomized, that my Roid nearly fled back up the cavern in fear and terror. As an aside, I am considering giving my conjoined twin a name. The Bane-Roid, perhaps. But I digress...

Fuck me, but I felt like a guy with two hooks in a masturbation contest. When I did manage to find my dick, it hurt. Bad. Or should that be 'badly'? Whatever.

It was like playing Koreans. Those of you who know, know. I am retreating into a monastery for a while, to contemplate the Zen of C&C strategy, and then I shall come back with a vengeance, and (hopefully) slaughter those little fuckers in their thousands.

MAN did I get raped. I went USA, against China, and they were nuking me within minutes, and shooting down my Chinooks, and overrunning my bases (I had built several, or it would have been over in five minutes) and crushing me like a small bucket full of grapes.

Oh, don't make me think about your doom...go beyond reflexes, and begin to actively plan it.

I SHALL DESTROY YOU ALL!!!


Update:

A question for the class...okay, Ingemar, and how come you're the only one who ever puts up their hand? Anyway, If you give the enemy Hard Army, do you have to give it to yourself, too?

I finally turned off the computer in disgust at 12:30 this morning, I was getting my ass kicked so bad. I had appeared to do everything right, and then China came in with jets and destroyed all my Chinooks and dozers, then nuked my base, hard, and I was broke and no way to make more.

Game fucking Over.

The game cheats, of course. I was destroying their trucks and oil rigs right and left, and their War Factories and airports were still pumping out planes and tanks like crazy. My Particle Beams barely dented their buildings, and their dozers repaired them in record time.

Fog of War? Don't make me laugh. They knew where everything was, and had pinpoint accuracy. One flyby wiped out 8 of my Comanches. One pass.

I think I'm gonna give myself a USA Hard Army, and take on another USA Hard Army to see how they play.

I don't like it too easy, but this is ridiculous. I hate to even think about what it's like to play a computer enemy with it set on Brutal, the highest difficulty setting.


.

As If We Needed...(NSFW)

...another good reason to invade Russia.


Update:

I'd invade her, too.

Repeatedly.


Update:

...and her...


.

The Mysteries Of Stonefridge...

Truly deep and profound.


.

Flying In The Face Of Convention...

Yet again, Steve holds forth. Once again I am amused and tickled, yet not terribly surprised. One underlying, dark theme of his blog I have noted over the years, is a strong tendency towards self-destruction. Shoot-yourself-in-the-footism.

It's funny that I say that, because my first impulse upon writing this post was to announce some beheadings, and hand out warnings, much of it designed to deliberately choke off much of my traffic. Then I read Steve's post, and decided to lead with it, because it tickled me.

You see, he thinks size really does matter. I don't. If size mattered, Danielle Steele and Oprah would be good writers. I rest my case.

I get around 500 visitors a day, and as I've said, I'm happy with that. 50,000, Steve's magic number that somehow proves relevance, would disturb and alarm me. I prefer the coffee shop atmosphere over the ambiance of, say, Gilley's.

I'd be just as happy with 250, so, with that in mind, the 250 or so of you who disagree with everything I say and enjoy saying so, please feel free to go start your own blogs and say whatever you want. No, really. Shoo. Or stay, whatever. Just behave yourselves.

I did me some banning, last night. This is my turf, and I do not suffer fools, and I gots me my rules, and I change them on a whim. Sometimes you get three strikes, sometimes, not so much.

I don't mind a little discussion, and back and forth, and I've even had my opinion altered a time or two, but this blog is about me and what I think and believe and experience, so like I say, feel free to go start your own blog. I promise, I rarely if ever will drop by to disagree with you. Vox is the only one I do that to, and even then, very rarely. And I doubt he cares.

I, on the other hand, do care. My ego is fragile, and I have a sensitive, caring nature...okay, I just don't want to put up with your shit.

This does not apply, necessarily, to Old-Timers, and people with vaginas. For the most part. I generally do not like men; men make me uncomfortable, and a challenge from a man makes juices flow in me that lead to frustration, when combat is denied due to the vaporous nature of this medium, and Lord knows I have enough stress in my life already.

The one exception, I think, is my military and ex-military readers. I value your input on a relevant topic. As well as anybody who has personal knowledge and experience of whatever topic at hand.

Otherwise, it's just your opinion, and I probably don't care.

Just sayin.

Update:

Heh, Indeed.

I rest my case.

Too bad all my links to his former brilliance are likely now dead.

I really mean that. This is up there with the burning of the library at Alexandria. Sad.


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The Bile Also Rises...

Everything I hear about this Senate and Congressional 'Immigration Bill' just makes me sick, and fills me more and more with hate.

But...

I got to thinking yesterday, while I was driving, that the one thing that could seriously put a crimp in illegal immigration would be to make American employers, those venal quislings that hire illegal labor, treat them according to the laws put in place to cover American labor.

And now I hear that is exactly what those dolts in Washington are about to do. They are doing it because they are kiss-ass pseudo-compassionate mental dwarves, but I suspect that it is going to have some unforeseen effects on illegal immigration.

Imagine, if you will, that you are one of these assholes that rely on illegal labor to enrich yourself. You hire them because you can abuse them by paying them less than an American, and sexually harass their women, and fire and otherwise abuse them in any manner you please.

Now, imagine that you will have to pay that same person the prevailing wage. Give them Family Leave, when they pop kids out like rabbits. Pay their Social Security. Insurance. Provide daycare.

Does that little brown bugger look so good to you now? The one who can't speak a word of English? I think the employer should have to provide housing for our illustrious Guest Workers, too. Hey, they're Guests! I can't get any college education without paying for it, nor can my own American children, but heck, you're our guests! Here, have all the free education and medical care you need!

Our Guests only make up 25% of the agricultural labor market, but forget the other 75% of American workers, we need to treat our Guests to benefits the American worker can only dream of. Want a strings-free SBA loan? You got it! A home? Here ya go!

The American Wet Dream.


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Anybody Heard About This?

I got this in email today:


Do you think this is truth...or something people have made up?

Donna Danna (25 May 2006) "Secret FEMA Plan To Use Pastors as Pacifiers in Preparation For Martial Law"

Secret FEMA Plan To Use Pastors as Pacifiers in Preparation For Martial LawNationwide initiative trains volunteers to teach congregations to "obey the government" during seizure of guns, property, forced inoculations and forced relocation
Paul Joseph Watson/Prison Planet.com May 24 2006
http://www.prisonplanet.com/articles/may2006/240506femaplan.htm

A Pastor has come forward to blow the whistle on a nationwide FEMA program which is training Pastors and other religious representatives to become secret police enforcers who teach their congregations to "obey the government" in preparation for a declaration of martial law, property and firearm seizures, and forced relocation.

In March of this year the Pastor, who we shall refer to as Pastor Revere, was invited to attend a meeting of his local FEMA chapter which circulated around preparedness for a potential bio-terrorist attack, any natural disaster or a nationally declared emergency.

The FEMA directors told the Pastors that attended that it was their job to help implement FEMA and Homeland Security directives in anticipation of any of these eventualities. The first directive was for Pastors to preach to their congregations Romans 13, the often taken out of context bible passage that was used by Hitler to hoodwink Christians into supporting him, in order to teach them to "obey the government" when martial law is declared.

It was related to the Pastors that quarantines, martial law and forced relocation were a problem for state authorities when enforcing federal mandates due to the "cowboy mentality" of citizens standing up for their property and second amendment rights as well as farmers defending their crops and livestock from seizure. It was stressed that the Pastors needed to preach subservience to the authorities ahead of time in preparation for the round-ups and to make it clear to the congregation that "this is for their own good."

We have received confirmation from other preachers and Pastors that this program is a nationwide initiative and a literal Soviet model whereby the churches are being systematically infiltrated by government volunteers and used as conduits for martial law training and conditioning. The Pastor was told that over 13,000 counties were already on board.
It falls under the umbrella of the NVOAD program which is training volunteers in a "Peer to Peer" program in a neighborhood setting.

Pastors were told that they would be backed up by law enforcement in controlling uncooperative individuals and that they would even lead SWAT teams in attempting to quell resistance.

"We get the the picture that we're going to be standing at the end of some farmer's lane while he's standing there with his double barrel, saying we have to confiscate your cows, your chickens, your firearms," said Pastor Revere.

The Pastor elaborated on how the directives were being smoke screened by an Orwellian alteration of their names.
"They're not using the term 'quarantine' - this is the term they're going to be using - it's called 'social distancing' don't you like that one," said the Pastor.

He also highlighted how detention camps had been renamed to give them a friendly warm veneer.

"Three months ago it was quarantine and relocation centers and now it's 'community centers' and these are going to be activated at the local schools," he said.

Pastor Revere outlined the plan to carry out mass vaccination and enforced drugging programs in times of crisis such as a bird flu outbreak.

"In the event of an outbreak or a bio-terrorist attack, there'd be a mass vaccination....they have a program nationwide 'Pills in People's Palm In 48 Hours'," said the Pastor who was told that Walmart had been designated as the central outlet of this procedure.

Pastor Revere said that many attendees believed in the necessity of the program and were completely unaware to the motivations behind its true purpose and were offered incentives to become volunteers such as preferential treatment and first access for themselves and their families to vaccines and food shipments in times of emergency.

Which roads to close off after martial law was declared had also already been mapped out.
The precedent for mass gun confiscation in times of real or manufactured emergency was set during Hurricane Katrina when police and national guard patrols forced homeowners even in areas unaffected by the hurricane to hand over their legally owned firearms at gunpoint as is detailed in the video below.

In the following video Alex Jones exposes FEMA's deliberate sabotage of Hurricane Katrina relief efforts which were used as a platform for a beat test of forced relocation and gun confiscation.

Alex Jones' 2001 documentary film 9/11: The Road to Tyranny featured footage from a FEMA symposium given to firefighters and other emergency personnel in Kansas City in which it was stated that the founding fathers, Christians and homeschoolers were terrorists and should be treated with the utmost suspicion and brutality in times of national emergency.

We have highlighted previous training manuals issues by state and federal government bodies which identify whole swathes of the population as potential terrorists. A Texas Department of Public Safety Criminal Law Enforcement pamphlet gives the public characteristics to identify terrorists that include buying baby formula, beer, wearing Levi jeans, carrying identifying documents like a drivers license and traveling with women or children.

A Virginia training manual used to help state employees recognize terrorists lists anti-government and property rights activists as terrorists and includes binoculars, video cameras, pads and notebooks in a compendium of terrorist tools.

Shortly after 9/11 a Phoenix FBI manual that was disseminated amongst federal employees at the end of the Clinton term caused waves on the Internet after it was revealed that potential terrorists included, "defenders of the US Constitution against federal government and the UN, " and individuals who "make numerous references to the US Constitution." Lawyers everywhere cowered in fear at being shipped off to Gitmo.

In December 2003 the FBI warned Americans nationwide to be on the lookout for people reading Almanacs as this could indicate an act of terrorism in planning. Almanacs are popular glove box inventory of any vehicle and this ludicrous fearmongering was met with a raucous response from satirists and news commentators.

In another twilight zone Nazi-like spectacle, Pastors were asked to make a pledge or an affirmation during the meeting to fulfil the roles ascribed to them by FEMA. They were given assurances that they would be covered by full compensation in the event of resisters injuring them during property seizures and round-ups.

The Pastor said that his county had already succumbed to a tattle-tale like mentality where neighbors were reporting neighbors to the authorities for things like having chickens in their back yard. The brown shirt precedent has been set whereby people immediately turn to the authorities in fealty whenever their paranoid suspicions, fueled by zealous government and media fearmongering, are heightened.

Pastor Revere said the completion of the first stage of the program was slated for August 31st. At this point all the counties within the United States would be networked as part of the so-called disaster relief program.

We issue a challenge to all of our readers to print off this article and the supporting documents and confront their local preacher with it. If they don't receive a response within a week they should investigate further into whether their preacher is involved and hand out information to other members of the congregation.

Click here to listen to the Pastor's interview on the Alex Jones Show.
_______________________________

So, whadda ya'll think?


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Another Day...

...another finger up the butt. At least I hope it was his finger. I told him "You know, this makes us legally married in at least twelve states, and four foreign countries..." and he said "Damn, I wish we'd registered..."

Funny, Doc.

He admired my Roid. "Nice Roid!" he said enviously. And proceeded to write me prescriptions for lots of butt-stuff. Cool! Even if I heal up, I'm still gonna use it, cuz it's FREE!

Try to contain your envy.

I asked him "Say, when that doc lays the pipe next month..." and he started to giggle "...do ya think he's gonna push that sucker back up there?" and he couldn't answer me, because he seemed to be experiencing some sort of Petit Mal event. The lack of professionalism in some people is appalling.

The drive up there and back was wonderful, today, all stormy and squally, bright silver, treacherous roadways, populated by suicidal idiots. I always pray for a Road Rager to shoot, but I remain becalmed on that front, and never get to run out my guns.

I kept hoping for a great conflagration of spinning machinery, BOOM!BOOM!BOOM! and trash and metal flying everywhere in a cheery, festive display of brightly colored aluminum and plastic, while I maneuver through it as usual, unscathed, and enjoy it in my rear view mirror as I pull away.

Sigh. Everybody behaved. As crowded a freeway traveling at 70 MPH as I've ever seen, terrible crosswinds, and blinding rain, and not ONE of those slackers could reach down to pick up a CD, or have a cigarette cherry fall up their shorts leg and land on their balls? That really hurts, by the way.

Oh well, at least I got the Family Size Poo Collection Kit by Mattel, so's I can have a legal, and socially acceptable reason to root through a big steaming pile of my man-biscuits, and scoop it into various jars, ampoules, tubes, and various other Containers O'Fun.

I even get to scrape some onto these cute little paper cards with a tiny stick. Do NOT call them Scratch N Sniff cards, or the lab tech will also develop some sort of speech impediment, and further discussion will become...problematic.

So, kiddies, how was YOUR day?


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Light Duty...

I'm going to be out and about, in and out, here and there, all day today.

There's plenty of stuff here to read, and some of it is even not utter crap.

I had a bad night of shitty dreams, anyway, and my mind is in a dark place. Best I not take you there with me.

For all this Global Warming (it's more important if you capitalize it) I sure am freezing my ass off today, in the denouement of May, just prior to June, which is FUCKING SUMMER!

I think we successfully beat back the ant invasion, between the Terro (good stuff!) and the Death Earth. Man, they walk up to a line of that shit, and stagger back coughing. The few that tried to cross it, died in the middle of it. If dogs have souls, so do ants, and I hope they all go to Hell.

I wonder if Terro would work on Fire Ants? Some of these little black bastards had wings. I thought only termites and ant queens had wings? Weird.

I'm all for mindless entertainment. I loves my Survivor as much as anyone. But it makes me sick to hear the media carry on about American Idol, for some reason. I like to consider myself to be pretty egalitarian, but that show brings out the snob in me.

Badly.

So Lost was weird, last night. I have to hold a couch pillow over my face when Michael is on screen, to keep from screaming curses and disturbing the wife. I hate him and his stupid kid so bad, and I hope they die, but I'm sure I will be tortured by them the next season. The only character I like on that whole damn show is Sawyer. I empathize with him. I don't know why I watch the show, frankly, but I'm hooked.

Sigh. I already hate today.

Oh well.

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The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

Have I mentioned how much I hate John McCain? In a contest between the two, I'd vote for Hillary, just for spite.


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Let's Just Surrender...

I hear that everywhere amongst the punditry, and the psuedo-punditry (bloggers).

We can't win the war on drugs. Let's just surrender.

We can't win the war on Islam. Let's just surrender.

Math is hard. Let's just teach Feminist Studies. Blacks flunk out and carry guns, let's just turn our schools into armed Special Ed Centers.

Let's just give up.

Who was it who said "Not with a bang, but a whimper..." T.S. Eliot? Yes, indeed, we are become The Hollow Men.

Let's just give up. It's easier this way. You'll probably be dead before black-garbed fanatics enter your neighborhood with long knives, looking for fat infidel throats to cut. Or before you see your child, now grown, convulsing and foaming at the mouth from an overdose.

Heck, I'd like to be able to go down to the drugstore right now, and get myself a nice pop of morphine, and some Qualuudes to get me through the night.

Let's just give up. Why not? All the Cool Kids are doing it. I wanna be cool, don't you? I can't fight this battle on my own, and nobody else seems to want to, so fukkit.

Time to surrender.



Update:

Writing the above got me to thinking, that it's been awhile since I read that wonderful poem, so I Googled, and without further ado, I present you:

The Hollow Men...

.

Desperation Review...

The wife and I really enjoyed it. I wasn't sure if she was gonna make it all the way through. It was pretty brutal.

It was very close to the book, but it seems as if Stephen King has had some sort of Christian epiphany between the writing of the book and the writing of this teleplay. It was very spiritual, much more so than the book, which had surprised me with it's level of Christian spirituality.

Oh well, if Anne Rice can go over to the Light Side, I suppose it's possible for anybody to. I suppose getting hit by a van can knock some sense into you.

The production values of this movie were very good. I believed it all the way, and the musical score was perfect, and alternatingly creepy, and haunting. The piano score was beautiful, and really set the mood.

I got totally schooled by Mister King, and given a real writing lesson with this one. He managed to take entire chapters of his book, and reduce them to thirty second scenes, and still get everything across that all those pages in the book had had to do. There were several examples of this, but the best one was where he showed how one of the characters was a recovering alcoholic, interacting with another character who was an alcoholic, and what had taken chapters of character development in the book, was achieved in less than one minute of film time.

Brilliant.

I get the feeling there is going to be an extended DVD set coming out. This movie should have been a mini-series, and there was some pretty clumsy editing where I could tell the cast was headed into something and then the film jumped as if the projectionist had left out a roll.

But still, no complaints, and I look forward to renting it. I bet there's another two hours on the DVD set.

Ron Perlman could very well be my favorite actor of all time. Put him in the role, and he becomes the role, and he is terrifying in this one. And I love his voice. I think his voice is better than James Earl Jones'...more real, less modulated and forced. I told the wife I wish I sounded like him, and she said I sound better. Yeah, right. Whatever.

Anyway, I really really loved this movie. Very gory, for TV, or even the theatre, yet the wife, a known wimp-skin, handled it all the way through. Though she did turn away a couple of times, to my mockage.

If you didn't see it, I highly recommend catching it on the rebound, or better yet, renting it when it comes out, which should be pretty soon.

Enjoy!

PS: If you haven't seen it, there are bound to be spoilers in the comments. And there are some pretty hellacious plot twists in the movie, so, just be aware.


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Obligatory Post...

I got nuthin. Except maybe this, sent to me by ajw308. Is that real? Or hacked? Pretty damn funny, either way.

I just got into a fight with the wife. Well, a tiff, one of those marital impasse moments. She claims Diatamaceous Earth is the deadliest poison known to man, and I say no, as I sprinkle it over an ant invasion coming in under our front door. The warnings on the bag have her up in arms, and I say that if we paid attention to the warnings on packaging, we would never buy anything.

Bah.

The kids have been watching a Tom & Jerry marathon. This is the cartoon that got TV banished from my house for years when I was a kid. My parents claim it turned me into a violent psychotic. I am keeping an eye on Nat, as the show enthralls her. John, not so much. He watches a bit, then wanders off, bored.

T&J do engage in quite a bit of knife play, and use fire a lot. We shall see. The Dad giveth, and the Dad can taketh away.

You'll be delighted to hear that my bung appears to be healing. Yeah, I know, I was worried, too. A serviceable bung is a thing of beauty, and something to strive to attain and maintain. My Dear Bung, I shall not abuse you so, ever again. And no more dildo play. Or other household implements. Nossir.

Ladies, this does not mean you should withhold your own bungs from us. Your tubings are designed by God from sterner stuff, and meant to be frolicked within by men, so give it up. For God.

Sacrifice is good. If you do it.

Update:

In retrospect, 'romp in your rump' would sound funnier than 'frolicked within'. Make a note of it.


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Hey, WordPress Luzers!

I have noted my old Wordpress blog is getting the shit spammed out of it. It's easy enough to get rid of, but annoying.

Blogger? Not one spam. Ever. Google seems to be good for something.


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About Fucking...

...time.


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Sociopath You are 57% Rational, 42% Extroverted, 100% Brutal, and 57% Arrogant.

You are the Sociopath! As a result of your cold, calculating rationality, your introversion (and ability to keep quiet), your brutality, and your arrogance, you would make a very cunning serial killer. You are confident and capable of social interaction, but you prefer the silence of dead bodies to the loud, twittering nitwits you normally encounter in your daily life. You care very little for the feelings of others, possibly because you are not a very emotional person. You are also very calculating and intelligent, making you a perfect criminal mastermind. Also, you are a very arrogant person, tending to see yourself as better than others, providing you with a strong ability to perceive others as weak little animals, so tiny and small. You take great pleasure in the misery of others, and there is nothing sweeter to you than the sweet glory of using someone else's shattered failure to project yourself to success. Except sugar. That just may be sweeter. In short, your personality defect is the fact that you could easily be a sociopath, because you are calculating, unemotional, brutal, and arrogant. Please don't kill me for writing mean things about you! I have a 101 mile-long knife! Don't make me use it! To put it less negatively: 1. You are more RATIONAL than intuitive. 2. You are more INTROVERTED than extroverted. 3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle. 4. You are more ARROGANT than humble. Compatibility: Your exact opposite is the Hippie. Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Spiteful Loner, the Smartass, and the Capitalist Pig. * * If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits. The other personality types: The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant. Be sure to take my Sublime Philosophical Crap Test if you are interested in taking a slightly more intellectual test that has just as many insane ramblings as this one does!

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Rationality You scored higher than 99% on Extroversion You scored higher than 99% on Brutality You scored higher than 99% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Desperation...

Tonight, 8pm, on ABC. Three hours long. I am SO stoked. A truly terrifying book by Stephen King, and the previews I've seen looked wonderfully horrifying.

Must see TV.


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You're Only A Kid Once...

The wife is taking the kids out in town today. John is dressed conservatively, as is his wont, though his pockets sag under the burden of Hot Wheels.

Nat, on the other hand, is a frightening vision of pink, like some sort of fluffy alien weed.

She is wearing a pink t-shirt, of course, with some sort of child-relevant statement written by an adult on it. Then there are the violently pink and swirly and oh so 70's capri pants, with their hip and happenin LSD invoking swirl patterns, and the coop duh grace, some sort of tutu-like overskirt, with ruffles, that she insists on ruffling by doing the 'booty-dance', an activity which I have previously mentioned that disturbs and alarms me.

I am afraid she is going to ask for a pole and a pole-dancing video for Christmas.

I swear, if Elton John had been in town around the time Nat was conceived, I'd be giving the wife the fish-eye about now. No, Nat, you can't wear the feather boa out in town, too. That's for around the house, only.

But the point is, assuming I have one, is that sure, you have to maintain a certain level of discipline...'no honey, we don't put our finger in that part of the doggie', but otherwise let the friggen kid be a friggen kid. Just because a behavior drives you nuts, doesn't make it wrong. Unless it is chewing with their mouth open. Stifle the piss out of that one. Please.

I guess I'm saying, for the most part, give them plenty of leash. If you're letting them do creative food play at lunch time, do not wince when they make a peanut butter and baloney and jelly bean sandwich. They will moan and groan over how good it is, and I bet you never see them make another one again.

And watch out for other adults, especially family members, who feel they have a God-given right to parent your children.

I tell my sister 'Kids make noise, you are getting free food, shut up and leave them alone'. In their house? Sure, they make the rules, within reason, but I reserve my right to warn once, then leave. I have my own house. I need neither yours, nor your bullshit.

It's okay to be a kid. You wanna hang out with adults? Fine. Go make some adult friends.

But leave those kids alone.


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A China Question...

Some of you are smart, and may know the answer to this:

Where does China get it's money?

What do they produce? The gimcrackery they pimp to Wal-Mart can't be buying all the oil and steel neccesary to build their military and governmental infrastructure. Do they sell huge amounts of food to the world? What? Don't try to tell me they've got a kewpie-doll economy, cuz I don't buy it.

They must be printing money like a mother, and everybody agrees that it is worth something, but I'd sure hate to be holding any paper on China should there be some sort of crash. Or a war with the US.

I could be wrong, but it looks to me like they are in a scramble to build up as fast as they can, and then do something drastic so someone doesn't call their economic bluff. If I did business with China, for some reason, I would demand payment in gold, or they could just kiss my ass. They remind me of someone financing a new business on credit card debt. Sooner or later, that big-ass chicken is gonna come home to roost.

I could be wrong.

But history seems to me to show that simply financing a huge military machine, and government beauracracy by printing money, leads to an eventual downfall, as one day the salaries and debts can't be paid.

And I don't see any Americans packing it up in boats and heading for China for a better life.

Any (intelligent) insight will be appreciated.


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George Bush Writes Back...

...I wish.


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Wherein I Blow A Ring...

Our vocabulary words for the day, children, are as follows:

-Suppository

-Anal Fissure

-Hemorrhoid

-Disgusting

-Stool Softener

-Laxative

-Diarrhea

-Mucus

Still with me? Yes, these will be on the test, so take good notes. And take my hand, and we'll go on a tour of my Grand Canyon, which has recently, and quite involuntarily on my part, developed a new and disturbing terrain feature, an outcropping of alarming and painful purportions, yea verily, a veritable Peninsula of Pain.

Yes, I was doing big grunties, last Friday or Saturday, and I was barely dilated, when the urge to push overcame me. I wasn't ready yet, and hadn't received my episiotomy, so a portion of my intestine took this opportunity to make a leap to freedom (Free at ass! Free at ass!) and now hangs there, looking a little embarrassed, and causing me a great deal of discomfort.

Toidy Time has become quite the little adventure (will there be pain?); and I can load a bullet up my colon blindfolded. "Lock and load one 7.62 round of PH full tinfoil jacket into the breach of your weapon!"

Remove the tinfoil first, is my advice. And if you drop it to the bathroom floor, the five-second rule does apply, but you should probably blow it off, before insertion.

And don't fart for awhile, no matter how bad the urge. Trust me on this.

I have grown uncomfortably familiar with my nethers, of late. Of course, we all wipe, usually every day, but it is a brusque thing, like a kiss from Grandma. This new closeness is more like French-kissing your sister. Really deeply.

Disconcerting.

My Mother, the RN, emailed me specific instructions on how the wife needs to do the various treatments and insertions, and offered to send over gloves. I emailed back, "Are you fucking nuts?! Wait, belay that..."

I mean, thanks for the suppositories and all, but just sheesh. I read the email to the wife, and her face crinkled and she burst out with "Is she fucking nuts?!" You be the judge.

The wife told me that if I ever mentioned her pooty parts, my death would be a slow, and painful one, so let's all just forget any previous mention of such, shall we?

I'm in enough pain already...


.

Something Stupid, Last Night...

Well, this morning, actually. Early. Something woke me up, and I couldn't get back to sleep, and being a might peckish, I went downstairs and sought out the cookie jar and a flagon of milk, for dipping.

I shall have to chide the wife, as they were bloody crispy, too crispy by half, and even in milk, they were like eating wet shingles, but that is not the cause of my pisstivitation. No, indeed.

For you see, I turned on the television, which can be quite tricky when the rest of the household is abed. It was doubtless left on full blast, at bedtime, so one must simultaneously turn it on and then turn it down (frantically) so there is a brief blat of sound and then nothing, and then you sneak it back up to where you can just barely hear it, which I did.

I turned on Fox News, and of course they were beating the Natalie Holloway horse to death. Fox has become completely unwatchable, as of late. No wonder Tony Snow watches CNN on Air Force One. Which is what I turned to.

And here's where the stupid starts. They had some 'This Just In!' propaganda film from Al Jazeera or something, and were tut-tut-tutting with long, grave faces over it, and warning the viewer that 'this might be graphic', and it was one of those fake dog and pony shows the rags put on any time we bomb the shit out of them and kill a hundred or so of their finest troops, i.e., the ones who got to hold the AK and the bullet today.

The piece of film was allegedly of 'wounded civilians' being brought in to an 'Afghani hospital' and 'treated'.

And it was complete bunkum, of the sort we have come to know and love from our beloved Palestinian over-actors.

The 'victims' all appeared to be Afghani men in their early twenties to mid-thirties, in full tribal garb. No blood, anywhere. Especially not out the nose and ears, as one would expect from exposure to high explosives. No kids. No women. Nobody was dirty, as from debris, or from frantically taking cover. The men all retained their tribal diaper-gear upon their heads. Neat trick, that.

'Doctors', well, men in otherwise traditional Afghani male attire, but with the addition of a white lab coat, were 'starting IV's', and by 'starting IV's', I mean hanging bags of fluid busily from stands, but curiously, not inserting them into the arms of these 'terribly wounded men'.

And oh, how they all moaned, and groaned, and suffered. Is it Taliban Sweeps Week?

But those CNN choads just continued to shake their heads in horror, and tut-tut, and the Anti-America crowd will eat this shit up, because they want to.

And the people who make it, our enemies, damn well know it.

Sigh...


.

My New Obsession...

Whoever bought me this game is probably kicking themselves about now. "Dammit, I want more stories about poo, and ranty stuff! I'm tired of all this game crap!"

If Steve can go on about hogs, and Vox can express his crush for Michelle Malkin in a passive aggressive, yet acceptably manly way, I can be forgiven a few days of slacking, I'd like to think.

Besides, I just finished stomping the SHIT out of a bunch of Arabs with my massive Chinese Army. Crikey, I was making these tanks that are just HUGE. I think the Chinks call them the Monster Tank or something.

I had a nuke built and armed, and 8 Migs in a numbered group. I had these huge tanks poised at the edge of where I thought their base might be. Then I summoned my Migs and had them do a flyover of the area to clear the fog of war, and rushed back and selected my nuke and then went back and waited; sure enough, their stingers spotted my Migs and started whacking them, but I spotted their Command Center and nuked it. Then I moved my tanks in while all the enemy Stinger emplacements wasted my Migs, but I didn't need them any more.

I used dismounted infantry and my huge tanks and just wasted their base. It was so easy, I was disappointed. I had reserves planted all over the place, ready to pounce from all directions, but I didn't need them.

Isn't this exciting!?! I know! I wanna go back in and give the rags three armies, just to make it fair. Resupply as USA is easy. They use Chinooks. The Chinks use trucks, so it's not so easy to make money. Chink base defense rocks, and is cheap and quick to build, and you can surround every building with land mines.

Migs are weak. USA Apaches kick major ass. I don't think the rags have air. In a big campaign against other human players, I would seriously consider playing Chink if I had lots of available supply centers.

I'm gonna go play as the rags right now, and then go back and see how USA does against them.

Bye!


Update:

I know you're just dying to know, so here goes:

I kicked Chinese ass as a raghead! The rags have no air power, but damn if those scuds ain't effective. The rags have the advantage of speed, and their major tank is nearly as effective as the Chinese 'Overlord', the largest Chink tank.

A swarm of GLA armor, a mix of medium and heavy tanks, rocket buggies, and using 'Technicals' (pickups with heavy machine guns, very fast) to clean out the fog of war and scout, and I was all over the Chinese base. I am going to have to add extra opponents if I am to have any sort of a challenge, here.

The GLA gather resources by hand, one raghead at a time, so you gotta make a lot of peasants, and like in Warcraft, they can do anything from gathering supplies, to building and repairing structures. The other two (USA and China) use bulldozers for that.

AI pathfinding (for your enemy) is for shit, and as long as you don't antagonize them at first, they will always attack at the same place. I've been surprised a couple of times, but not badly. There is a slider you can use to make them smarter, I think I'll try that. Set it to 'Demoralize'.

As you get more and more promotions, it gives you access to more and more cool stuff.

This is like looking for your High School prom date and finding out she's not only still hot, but that she really has missed you and just wants to fuck and then go pick you up a pizza and beer.

It's that good.


Update:

I poised 6 peasants, and had them each start building a Scud Storm within a couple of seconds of each other, so they would all come online pretty much together. Between them, they destroyed the entire Chinese base in about ten seconds.

Kind of anti-climactic. But way cool.

Update:

Oh baby! I never knew this, but as long as the USA particle cannon is firing, you can move it (the cursor) around and fry shit! Is that cool, or what? This Blue Finger of Doom just comes down from the heavens, and makes TOAST of your enemy. It helps if you have made several of them, and have them all on line at the same time. Have a dozer whose only job is to make power plants.

USA is by far the easiest unit to resupply, and the slowest one to get up to speed.

The Patriot Missile System is the best area defense weapon in the game, but you're fucked if the power goes down. So put three rocket guys by each Patriot in the beginning, until you have more power than you need.

GLA is not power dependant at all, and has many (as yet untapped) possibilities for strategy. If you play as GLA (or China, for that matter) separate your defensive units enough so that hopefully the Particle Beam runs out of time before it rips them up.

USA planes are useless, except for maybe the Stealths, which I have yet to use. Choppers rule.

Fill Humvee's with rocket guys, group them in squads of ten, and you can take out a base. Be sure to put a few machine-gunners in there.

When you go in, and those little flying machine-gunny repair thingies of yours are all around you, enemy anti-air will whack them, so have your units grouped by number, and every few, select that number, and if the icon for those flying thingy's is colored, click it until it's not, to give your USA units back their flying baby-sitter. Those may be the most valuable unit in the whole game.

If USA, USE your drones! You will OWN the battlefield. With practice, you can keep them just outside of range of enemy anti-air. Put your drones over piles of supplies you find, so your Chinooks can find them.

Only infantry can capture buildings (figures). Rocket guys are useless for that.

GLA has some very interesting troops, that I have yet to explore.

Endit.

.

The Implications...

...of this are staggering.

I always thought it was foolish to take all of Einstien's proclamations as the unchangeable word of God, and apparently some other folks thought the same thing.

Bravo.


.

Use A Knife, Go To Jail...

Well, actually, even carrying a knife can seem to endanger you.

Oh, those wacky Scots.

At this rate, one day it will be illegal to form your hand into a fist.


.

Styles Of Attack...

Now that I am back into Strategy Gaming, it has got me to thinking about how the way people attack reveals things about them.

I am not, per se, talking about person to person, in single combat, though to be sure, that can be revealing if you have many many fights of theirs to study.

No, I'm thinking larger scale. For instance, my youngest Marine will sit back and build defenses, gather resources, and build offensive vehicles, and then bum rush you with an overwhelming assault. If there are tricks to use, such as cloaking devices, he will use them, and then blot out the screen with his planes, or spaceships or whatever.

Me, I begin to explore the map and attack almost immediately. I ruthlessy expend men and resources to damage and/or destroy you, if I can, and to leave you reeling and recovering, if I can't. And while you are busy killing my people, I am making more, and sending them in in waves. I tend to forego the tech route, and build lots of tanks and other shooty things. When it comes time to swarm your base, I will sell my major buildings in a heartbeat to buy more men and equipment, or leave them as bait to draw you in to attack them.

The few times the son and I have played against others at LAN parties, we have just owned them, most severely. We've taken on several guys at once, because our two styles compliment each other.

I hate playing against him, because I will likely nearly always lose, because that is how I like to play the game, and he knows it.

Playing the computer is different. We all know the computer cheats. It is just a matter of how, and how to play to it's weakness. The PC is brilliant, and all knowing, but doesn't understand a distraction or a sacrifice when it sees one, so is very easy to demoralize.

Yes, I said demoralize. A game engine is probably the closest thing we have to true, self-aware artificial intelligence right now. I have watched the computer, it's back to the wall, about to lose, get mopey and morose. Men who were attacking fiercely a moment ago, just stop, and either just stand around, or walk away. Sometimes they commit suicide, folding up their buildings and rushing everything it has at me in a futile end game. They attack things that will hurt me, even though it has no chance to win.

That always amazes me, and I've seen it in too many diverse places to think it is a quirk of one single programmer.

Oh well, back to work...


.

Hmmmmm...

So, these two ragheads get on a bus...


.

You Owe Me A Book Report, Mister!

The dear and departed LL has been nagging me to finish 'Enders Game', by Orson Scott Card, so I did, last night.

First off, why does he need two first names? Isn't that a little pretentious? I think so, and rawther gay.

And I think pretentious is the theme throughout the book. Asking me to swallow several major premises without giving me the slightest reason or incentive as to why I should. So I didn't.

The book would have made a great novella, but like the children of the story might, at times, it suffered from swollen glands, and it's own stuffy prose and presumptions.

There were a couple of neat twists at the end, that were interesting and caught my attention, but it seemed like the author had gotten bored, and wanted to finish up. Just when it was getting interesting.

And I am SO tired of that Sci-Fi meme that states that if a monster or race is evil and wicked and murderous and scary all through the book, by the end, it must have just all been a misunderstanding, so why can't we all just get along?

I got yer fucking cocoon right here, baby. Two words...KER! and UUUNCH!!

Mister Card's physical descriptions of action were excellent. I always felt oriented in the space of his creation. But, I had not an ounce of sympathy for any of the characters. Not one ounce. And that is usually death for a book, to me, but I soldiered on and finished this one for LL.

I was never given a reason as to why Humanity deserved to survive at all, and in fact, began to actively root against it.

There was no joy in Mudville. That's what I took away. Joyless, gray people, existing merely to exist, and that, my friends, is why I do not read Science Fiction any more.


.

Uh Oh...

My DVD for XP copy of 'Command & Conquer: The First Decade' just arrived in the mail. Every game in the series. Every. Game. Full install of 9.8 Gigabytes. Every game, plus all the add-ons.

All.

You may not hear from me for awhile.

Thanks, anonymous donater! I love you!

Update:

I just now am barely half way through the BONUS DVD! that came with it, and I didn't expect. It is so chock full of C&C goodness, it will make you wet. ALL the videos, trailers...interviews with the creators...music, on and on and on.

And then I cleaned up my PC, deleted all my old C&C installs, and here we go!

Woo hoo!

Update:

Every game plays exactly as you remember it. No better, no worse. I have yet to go into the actual gameplay DVD and root around, I have been frolicking so through all the old familiar places. Generals is the best, most funnerest of all. I beat the shit out of the Chinese on a large skirmish map, and I saw it, and it was good.

So far, I haven't been able to figure out how to get into the expansion packs, right off the bat. Do I have to beat the first game? I don't know.

This is like Christmas.

Update:

Okay, you DO get the later missions and equipment from the expansion packs, available right away. They have combined each game with it's expansion packs and patches as one large install.

I have been playing all of them, except for C&C, Renegade, which I didn't even bother to install. One big game screen comes up, and everything you've installed shows up there, with the not-installed stuff still showing, just grayed out.

The games play flawlessly on my P4 2.66, with not one hiccup or bit of lag, even in C&C Generals, during major battles. I have yet to see the game access the DVD, and the hard drive rarely accesses, so it must be mostly playing in RAM, of which I have over a Gig.

I'm thinking Generals is the most fun. All the stuff you had to micromanage before, resources and building and repair, you can set up to do on it's own, if you want, and just concentrate on strategy. I just beat the shit out of China last night.

But it's still a blast to go into the original C&C and play a mission, and see the places where refinements are needed, and know where in the C&C future they will be introduced. And marvel at how amazing and fun the game still is, even though it's twelve years old.

Westwood made NOX, too, and if you ever see it in a bargain bin, snap it up. It's a blast. Same with Dune 2.

Oh well, later...


.

Happy Armed Forces Day...

Man, that's some good shit...

Oxycontin beats Percodan by a mile. The pain oozed out, and warm cotton settled in, and I slept like a dang baby from the time I signed off that last post til nearly noon.

Good, productive, peaceful sleep.

Trouble is, all pain medicines, from over the counter, to prescription, mess my gut up in some way. I can handle Ibuprofen pretty well, but I really worry about it's cumulative effect on my liver. I have beaten on that poor organ pretty badly, over the years, and I fear that one fine day, it shall turn me yellow, in revenge.

And yellow is not my color.

And Twenty Major and Livey calling me a drama queen? Oh, that's rich, right there. I chortled an ironic chortle over that, I'll tell you.

So the wife is out toiling over a hot lawn, and I am here inside, and my fingers still feel a bit like sausages. I puked a bit ago, which is always fun. The kids are settling down to sandwiches and milk. Least I can do to help out my Yard Slave, I think, and pretty big of me if I do say so myself.

Oh, and Happy Armed Forces Day, everyone. I used to go to parades on this day when I was a kid. Parades that went on for hours, with marching soldiers, and military vehicles, and marching bands.

Today, there is a small ceremony at the National Guard Armory, that we didn't go to, because there will doubtless be demonstrators there, as well, and I don't want the kids to see Daddy kill a hippy. Or for them to be exposed to foul hippiasma and germs.

And there's the part where I'm still a little fucked up.

You know, I think it's the weather. My ass is like a damn barometer, and when the weather changes, as it is today, my hips ache to where, if I was your dog, you'd put me to sleep

High, leaden clouds have replaced the hot, cobalt sky that has tormented us, and kept the fans on of late. There is a sense of pressure in the air, a pressing. Everything is unusually quiet, for a Saturday. Breathing. Waiting.

The clouds pass over us, sprinkle a little rain, and then move on East to crash into the mountains, creating giant, brilliantly white gobs of soft-serve that reach up thousands of feet into the sky. The folks underneath them probably do not appreciate it much.

The heat is causing the mountains around here to shrug, and shake off their blanket of snow, and the snow morphs back into water and rushes down to the valleys, and drowns little children and puppies, playing too close to riverbanks when the wall passes through.

So that's how my Armed Forces Day is going. Have any of you ever owned a Beagle? They seem like they'd be a good family dog. Good around kids. I'd want a sweet dog, if I got one, that would have the decency to not die until the kids are grown. Yet, considering the current and potential future of the world, I am nearly compelled to buy a Rottweiler. But you have to get them as puppies, and I doubt there will be time to raise a puppy into a good dog.

And damn if my ass doesn't hurt again.


.

I Am Just Disgusted...

I seriously considered closing down this blog last night. Just going into the template, and deleting with extreme prejudice.

One of the very few people on the face of this shit-ball we all live on, that I consider to be a friend, and trusted with, well, pretty much everything, has shut down her blog, and it just makes me sick.

And I am in actual physical pain. I just took some oxycontin and told the wife to not expect to see me much today. I've tossed and turned all night, and if it wasn't for family, I would cheerfully shoot myself right now.

If I can live, so can just about anybody, so don't be a pussy.

I was pissed yesterday, and I'm even more pissed today, and I'm sorry to take you all along for the ride.

People sometimes appear to forget that real people read these things, and these things can have a real effect in the real world.

And FUCK! but I'm out of wine. Apparently not out of whine, though.

It's interesting, sitting here, feeling the painkillers take effect...like watching a skyscraper at night, as the lights go out, floor by floor.

There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ships smoke on the horizon...

Anyway, I'll be back. I think. When I go to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, but He keeps giving it back. I would embrace Death, just give him a big old hug. Oh, well.

My fingers have become comfortably numb. I am only coming through in waves. Man, this is some good shit.

All better now...


.

On Being 'Published'...

Jimmy Carter has been.

Bill and Hillary, too.

Ted Kennedy.

Noam Chompsky.

Hitler.

Need I say more?


.

Just Procrastinating...

I just sent the wife off to work with these exact words:

"Get out there an make me some money, bitch..." using my best Huggy Bear imitation. She gave me the finger, so Huggy Bear said "Is dat yore IQ, or yo number of white parents?"

I kill me.

I am expected to finish the lawn, and I do not want to. There is a cloud out there, and it looks to be up to no good. And I fear a lightning strike might be bad for my hair. And there are bees.

Plus, one of you bought me some wine. CRAPPY wine, but nevertheless, we know how that can go. And no damn beer. Yard work demands beer. Otherwise, it is a sin against nature, and it makes the Baby Al Gore cry.

Fuck, that did it. Now I have to go back out.

Dammit.


.

I Just Got This Email...

What everyone should know about cops...


1- When you see an emergency vehicle behind you with its lights and sirens on, pull to the RIGHT, and Stop. We are usually required to pass cars on the left.

2- When you're driving in the fast lane and you see a cop behind you, don't go 5 mph under the speed limit. We are not impressed by how safe of a driver you can be, we're trying to go help someone (or catch that guy in the SUV that just cut you off). Safely move over and let us pass please.

3- If you get a warning instead of a ticket from a motorcycle cop, go buy a lottery ticket, because you've already beaten the odds.

4- When you see an officer conducting a traffic stop, or with a suspect in handcuffs, it is generally not a good idea to approach him and ask for directions. If you do, don't expect the officer to be nice when he tells you to get lost, and don't expect the officer to take the time to explain.

5- If a cop causes a car accident we usually get a ticket, and sometimes we get suspended. When is the last time you got 3 days off [without pay] for rear-ending a guy at Wal-Mart?

6- If you think you can fan all the pot smoke out of the car before we smell it, good luck.

7- We know you've had more than 2 beers. When I've had two beers, I didn't hit six parked cars or drive my car through the front doors of a Toys-R-Us, pissed my pants, or passed out at a traffic light.

8- Here's how to get out of a ticket: DON'T BREAK THE LAW!

9- If you drive a piece of crap, THAT is why you're getting pulled over.

10- In one week, I pulled over 10 cars for minor equipment violations:
5 out of 10 had no vehicle insurance.
3 out of 10 had suspended driver's licenses.
2 out of 10 had warrants.
1 out of 10 had felony warrants.
1 was a known sex offender with his 12 year old niece in the car without her mother's knowledge.

11- If you've just been pulled over doing 70 in a 35, do not greet the officer with "what seems to be the problem, officer".

12- We get coffee breaks too, and sometimes we run into stores and do some shopping during them.

13- When you're the victim of a burglary, take the time you spend waiting for the officer to find the model numbers and the serial numbers of the stuff that was taken.

14- Some cops are just jerks, but take heart in the fact that other cops don't like them either.

15- If it's nighttime and you're driving a vehicle with tinted windows and I pull you over, it's not because of your skin color. I usually can't tell if the vehicle even has a driver until the windows are rolled down.

16- Every time you hear on the news about people running away from a crazed gunman, someone's son or daughter in a police uniform is running TOWARD that crazed gunman.

17- Yes, it's true; cops usually don't give other cops tickets. Think of it as an employee discount, perk or benefit. Other cops are family and you wouldn't give your brother a ticket if you were a cop either.

18- If your local police agency has a helicopter, everyone knows it's loud and annoying, but did you know it can cover the same area as 15-20 patrol officers, and safely chase criminals that are driving 90 MPH through city streets. Many times the guy has no idea it's there and slows down.

19- Your 5 year old kid getting pushed down by another 5 y ear old kid is NOT a police matter - talk to the other kid's parents, not the police.

20- If your kid won't do his homework or do his chores, 911 is not the answer for a uniformed parent.

21- Police work is...writing reports.

22- If you rob a gas station you're only going to get $20, but I get to see a K-9 dog use your arm as a chew toy. For all I care you can keep the $20.

23- In 1 year of patrol work in a large city only about 10 minutes would be cool enough to be on the television show, COPS. But if COPS was about report writing and accident reports, each show would be a year long.

24- Every traffic stop could end in gunfire, but we have to be polite and professional until that time.

25- I've taken about the same amount of men and women to jail for domestic violence, so NO it's not always the man.

26 -People love fire fighters. WHY?

27- If you find crack pipes in the ladies purse, there is a good chance they belong to her.

28- If the light WAS yellow, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

29- Cops know you pay taxes and that your taxes pay cops' salaries. Cops also pay taxes, which also pay cops' salaries so, hey, this traffic stop is on me. Now sign here - press hard, there are five copies.


[Ed. Note: gosh, I SO could have written this...but I didn't]


.

Deport The Alligators...

...to the rivers along our border with Mexico.

If I were wealthy, I'd be stocking those river areas with alligators. Maybe Nile Crocodiles, too.

Brilliant!

Update:

Dammit. This is weird. I go to Hog On Ice, and they're discussing doing this in their comments. Then I go to WND, and find this right at the top of the page!

Are they channeling me, or am I channeling them?


.

Nat Finds Her Inner Ow-Doggie...

Those of you (and very few are left) old-timers, may recall some years ago, when Nat, newly granted speach, walked by the wife's PC, and noted the howling wolf the wife had chosen as her wallpaper.

Nat said "Look! An OooDoggie!" I said 'What?' and raised an eyebrow, Nat threw her head back and howled "Ooooooooooo..."

Duh. I felt dim, and rightly so.

A bit ago, she was an 'Owdoggie'. Why? "Owwwwwww!", with head thrown back. Duh.

She snarled at me..."I'm gonna charge ya!" she there, crouched, coiled, the perfect predator.

How much are you going to charge me? I asked.

Her eyeballs clicked, and did the 'does not compute' thing for a few seconds, and then the register rang ka-ching! and she said "I mean ATTACK you!"

She did not add "...stupid!" and for that, I am grateful.

Soon after, she morphed into The Queen Of Toyland, complete with a tutu, a silver plastic crown, and a length of Johnny's 'twain twack' as her Scepter. And Threatening Thingy.

She punctuates every word and gesture with a shake of her 'sceptre', and roars commands. Apparently Queens roar. I am beginning to think 'Alice In Wonderland' may have been a bad idea to let her watch.

She is very fierce.

She has made me her Knight. John does not want to play at all. She alarms him.

She alarms me.

The wife arrives home, and intervenes. The wife is now The Queen Of Dinner.

Perhaps we can soothe this savage breast...


.

Wherein I Bash Johnny's Brains Out...

Well, nearly.

Though down for naps, I heard a noise, and went to the bathroom, and the door was closed, the light on, so naturally I whipped it open, whereupon the doorknob met with Johnny's skull, a rebuilt, if you recall, he bent over, struggling to get his sweaty shorts up with his misshapen and ill-performing fingers.

Dammit.

I am consoling him, and the phone rings, and I put the wife to his ear to service distracting him and consoling him. I know they are real tears when they squirt out. He is trying to not condemn me, but I am the source of his pain, so pain mixes with betrayal, and he has drunk a bitter brew, indeed.

And yes, I feel like shit.

Many hugs were hugged. Consolences and condolences and kleenex after kleenex, and then we went back to the scene of the crime, to perform pants raising/bathroom door drills.

I had him drop his pants, then pull them up again, while shuffling him closer and closer to the door. Of course, this time, I am watching him in the mirror, and when I first swing the door open, he nearly staggers back and falls into the toilet. I catch him.

We repeat this, until he is laughing, and eyeballing that door out of one crooked eye, and he knows his safe zone.

I'd really rather not endure all this drama again, thank you very much.


.

Some Of You May Have Noticed...

...that Nat and Johnny have developed some pretty bizarre tastes, as involves their 'Wish List' over there.

Yes, I'm piggybacking. And thanks for the Red Alert game, whoever. I am shivering like a puppy with anticipation. And they really do stand behind me and cheer me on while I crush the tiny men, and with the new game being XP compatible, perhaps I'll win occasionally.

Anyway, thanks to you know who, too, for the Cuisenart for the wife. She wanted to send you flowers, and bear your surrogate children, until she remembered, "Hello! No tubes!" But she is floating around like the angel she is, thanks to you.

I understand, from emails, that the soaps are a mystery to some people, as is the mink oil.

I explained to them, that when she came to me, the wife was the fresh ex-wife of a millionaire (she divorced him, to marry me...long story) and had developed expensive and refined tastes, for which I have not been able to provide for her since I became unable to work; well, actually, since the government destroyed the company we started together, but that, too, is another story.

Anyway, I asked her if she wanted anything, and she brought me this tattered, elegant box, that smelt of some wondrous essence, and said that this brand used to be her favorite. She had kept the box folded up in her jewelry box, so there you go.

The Shirley books? I would like to write some more horror for the blog, and commercially, as well, and he inspires me.

The monitor? Remember when my beautiful 19" monitor blew, some time back? I am using Johnny's shitty old 15" one, and it is tearing my already fucked up eyes apart. Which brings us to...

The mink oil. Perhaps the last thing that stands between me and corrective surgery to my eyelids, which jeebs me out to the point that I would consider quitting reading and writing before I'd let someone cut around my eyes.

So, that's just about it. I feel exceptionally grateful for what we have received so far, and not a bit guilty for people who tell me that they love my writing, and enjoy me every day, putting their money where their mouth is.

I mean, you read a book once, and onto the shelf it goes. I unfold like an escalator.

Still, I feel remarkably humbled, and blessed.

Anyway, people who want to send me stuff are nagging me that Amazon won't let them send things rated Mature, or big stuff, to a post office box. If you want me to get it anyway, the only way I know of right now is for you to put the money for it into my Amazon or Paypal tip-jar, and tell me in email what it is it's for, and I'll order it through my own Amazon account.

Stupid Amazon.

Thanks again, people, you rock. I'd write anyway, but your cheers from the sidelines drive me to greater achievement.

God Bless...


.

On Christians, And Titties...

I know some people come here, for one reason or another, who consider themselves 'Devout Christians'...then they read a title or a paragraph, and they scamper back across my lawn as fast as they can, holding their skirts or pantslegs up, and hoping to goodness they don't step in anything on the way out.

It is you, specifically, to whom I speak, right now.

You need to toughen up, Bunky. He's not the kind of God you call up on Sunday, and someday soon, you just may be given the choice of seeing your entire family beheaded in front of you, or choosing whether you want the Mark in your forehead, or in your hand.

If I could, I'd slap you awake. Instead of training grounds for Christian Soldiers, churches are fashion shows, and pot-luck lunch factories. The Word of God has been turned into The Word of Man, and you people just make me want to puke.

I am afraid that when the Anti-Christ shows his head, you robots will be all too ready to serve him, because it will be...

Comfortable.

Step out of your comfort zone, and look back at yourself, and tell yourself what you see.

I think you all need a good slappin, but maybe that's just me...


.

I'll Look At Your Titties...

...but I'll not likely read your sex stories. No matter how well written.

Oh, I'll read about your poos, but I've likely had more and better sex than you, and frankly, it bores me. Just doesn't tickle that spot in my brain. Make a connection.

Oh, I've had great phone sex, and some damn good email sex, but there is a connection, there, some sort of psychic bridge that gets the right juices flowing.

And now, for something completely different...

I went downstairs just now, armed with my .45, because I heard an odd noise. The kids are anap, and the wife is not due home for hours. I crept to their doors, and verified they were there, and then went downstairs, a veritable killing machine.

It was nothing, unfortunately, so being all dressed up, with nowhere to go, as it were, I did some target acquisition drills for a few minutes, then came back up here to this screen.

I tell you, there is not much more that will make you feel...effective, than the look and feel of a .45 in your hand. Even a novice, and/or a poor shot, is going to knock someone down with one at combat range. Go, buy one now.

I don't care if it is a rattly Spanish Llama from a pawn shop, buy it.

Ladies? Small-handed men? There is nothing wrong with being the way God made you, and someone has developed a .45 for you, out there somewhere. Even if it is a .45 ACP derringer, Remington style, two barrels, over and under. Gosh, I would love one of those. If you need more than two shots, it is time for the knife, because they are on top of you.

Or time to run, if you can.

Buy 'Shotgun News' at a decent bookstore. Haunt the gun shows. The gun shops. Gun people love to yammer away at you, and to educate you, and to 'hold forth'. Please, don't buy a Glock.

Whatever, a revolver in .45 is a thing of beauty, too. There are several South American and German companies making bargain guns, too. Probably some former Eastern Bloc countries as well.

In my personal opinion, the recoil and noise from a 9mm is more distracting than that of my .45. My 10mm, well, I know that I am about to unleash hell, so I have trained and prepared for it. That is more a pistol for, if not an expert, at least someone who can afford the ammo and will be able to practice a lot.

But I look down at my Parkerized .45, knifing through the air in front of me, like a sleek destroyer knifes through the water, seeking something to...well, destroy, and the swell of the grip and the cool of good American steel gives me comfort.

Cold, cold comfort.

I could stop there, but the smell of beef ribs crocking in some kind of plum sauce they use for Mushu Pork is wafting up here and driving me mad. The wife came home from one job today and conjured over the crock pot like an alchemist, peering and pondering, mixing and tasting and hummy-humming, and I think she has a hit on her hands.

These are the ribs she didn't use for her Mother's Day meal. Those, she baked, using a recipe her dead mother used to use when the wife was growing up. I suspect the wife had some difficulty swallowing, here and there, due to the lump in her throat.

Women...

I, on the other hand, stuffed like the Mighty Man Beast that I am.

Well, okay, I could only eat one, and a small potato. But it was really good.

And stuff...


.

Okay, Settle Down...

I have it on good authority that some of you have been going over there and whacking to her photo, and that is just wrong.

What you do, is copy the photo, and then Photoshop the head onto the bottom part of some female physique that appeals to you (as she stubbornly refuses to put up so much as a swimsuit shot) and use it at your leisure.

Win-Win.

Not that I did that, or anything. I'm just sayin...


.

This Da Vinci Code Nonsense...

Like I always say, anything that riles up Catholics and/or Muslims is a Good Thing, and I am all for it, even if it is egregious trash, or an unfunny cartoon. It's the thought that counts.

And the day I go to a movie reviewer (other than Joe Bob Briggs) for an opinion on anything, is the day I shoot my own dumb self. That's like going to a gay man for fashion advice. Unless you want to look like a gay man. Or a Space Whore.

All that said, you all (should) know by now that I think absolutely that Jesus not only had to have been (and still is) married, and had to have had children. There is simply no other way to substantiate the statement that He was 'tempted in all things'. You can flap your gums on this, but unless you agree with me, I am not even hearing you.

No, I have not read the book. Unless one among you whose opinion I at least half way respect tells me it's very good, I shall not read it. I've heard enough bad things about it, and my reading time is so limited, that I'll not waste time otherwise.

I will rent the DVD when it comes out. I can't afford to go see it, and I don't want to get blown up by some wild eyed Catholic...

Wait, never mind, wrong fanatical religion. Sorry.

So, Da Vinci Code: may or may not be total nonsense, I don't care. I doubt very sincerely that it is blasphemous. Go, see it if you want. Or not. There's enough buzz over it, I would like to go see it, and I am intrigued, but not enough to buy the book. Unless one or more of you rave about it. Preferrably one of each sex, as men and women clearly have different tastes.

Speaking of 'taste', Google 'x-ray blowjob', and check out the images.

I laughed and laughed.


.

Glut...

Do I write too much? The Famous JonnyB toodled through my comments today, and I nearly piddled myself with delight. I shall never wash this blog again.

Anyway, the point is, he's got the near-perfect blog. One post a day, usually, of a manageable size, pithy, piquant, informative...

Me, I slap-dab crap up all over the place, little things that have caught my eye, bits of lunacy, and whatnot, and any gems I may have produced in this manure pile get moved on down the queue and disappear.

And some were getting a butt-load of comments, but folks seem to tire of scrolling. I have arranged my archives by the month, to make searching easier (I hope) but even when I go to look for something, I sigh and say 'dang, but if this isn't a fuck-all huge pile of shit'.

Trouble is, I'm not sure I can throttle back if I try.


.

Man...

I couldn't even finish reading this article. I have no idea how she was able to watch the video.

It would have killed me.

On the upside, this article cheered me right back up.


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!

Bush calls this the "rational middle ground" because it recognizes the difference between "an illegal immigrant who crossed the border recently and someone who has worked here for many years." Yes, the difference is: One of them has been breaking the law longer. If our criminal justice system used that logic, a single murder would get you the death penalty, while serial killers would get probation.

Yep.

Press "1" for English; press "2" for a new president ...

2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!
2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!2!



.

Parenting Tip # 3,116.2b

If you need to wake your daughter so she can have a meal and pull herself together before her mother carts her off to the para-military Christian church psuedo-Girl-Scouts organizational meeting and crayon extravaganza, it is perfectly acceptable, and quite effective, to turn on your new-fangled vibrating razor and stick the tip of the handle in her ear, keeping one's hand cupped safely over the multiple blades

[Note to self: Self, next time remove blades and leave in bathroom before attempting waking procedure]

to avoid the wildly flailing hand that thinks a bumblebee just flew in it's ear.

Hollering "BUMBLEBEE! BUMBLEBEE!" is just a bonus, and not actually necessary as part of the waking process.

And no, I did not use the razor I used for, uh, that other thing I did with it. That would just be nasty. And sick and wrong.

Besides, the five-blader vibrates more.

Duh.


.

If I Had A Wine Cellar...

...I would be standing in it, about now, appalled at the state of disrepair and, well, overall emptiness of it.

Some kind person just gifted me with $20 a bit ago, but those fiends at Amazon have decided to hold onto it until next Monday, by which time I shall be parched, and dry, and no doubt in the throes of delerium tremens.

As an aside, can you tell when I have been reading the Great and Powerful JonnyB? Yes, my contractions uncontract, and I begin to sound all pip-pippy and Britishistical. Especially when I am catching up on two months of him, which I am.

Perhaps the reading thereof will bring fog rolling in, which would be a good thing, as it is hot here today. Or perhaps he will note my link to him, and as he fancies alcohol himself, quite a bit, apparently, he will see fit, and considering his new status as a television star, to send his American Cousin a few dollars with which to purchase more wine.

Ahem.

Anything else would just be quite rude, don't you think?



Update:

Well that was quick. Thanks!


.

Oh, How...

...I laughed!

You know, I have a statue of him on the dash of my car, and bow Eastwards five times a day, when I fart towards Mecca, thereby completing two acts of worship at once?

I do!

I once claimed the title of Anti-Lileks. I even have a daughter named Nat! But he shames me daily, and shows me the punyness of my ways, and causes me to fret, and enshrinkens my penis, where not even the poking of my finger up my bum and crying "SNAKE!" can make it crawl back out.

I am bereft...


.

Back To School...

SteveH is doing what SteveH does, and that would be 'holding forth'. Heck, we all do it, but he and Vox are the Masters of the art of Holding Forth.

It's a pretty funny article, and I larfed and enjoyed it, and he's mostly right. But being mostly right implies that one is also partly wrong, and he is.

The first example that pops into my mind, I think I may have discussed here somewhere before. I was 18 or 19, and had been toughening my hands for years. I had deliberately killed all the pain receptors in the skin of my knuckles, and built up tremendous callous on both the knuckles and the edges of my hands.

I was very strong, too, but Steve is right, no one man is strong enough to break a fresh 2x6 from strength alone. That requires something more, the spooky part, and why many Christians eschew martial arts, because it looks and acts like magic.

It all came together for me when I was breaking boards one afternoon in the breezeway of my Dad's house. He had been doing some construction, so there was lots of fresh wood of all sizes, grades, and whatnot laying around in piles. We had a fireplace, so I had been making myself useful by breaking up 1x6's and stuff into kindling and putting the pieces in 5 gallon plastic buckets. I was using the edges of my hand, and alternating, and had been seeking that inner place I had been assured that I could go to for power, though different people call it by different names.

For convenience, I call it 'chi'.

I started graduating to larger and larger pieces. I would visualize a place on the other side of it that I wanted my hand to go to, and I would send it there, and wood would fly.

I began to feel this warm feeling around my hand, as if someone was blowing warm air over it with a blow drier. On impulse, I picked up a three foot piece of fresh 2x4, and placed it between the two sawhorses I was using, at just about waist height. I put my palm on the wood and felt of it, and then I raised my hand and snapped through to the other side.

The two broken ends slapped together very hard and then bounced away. The slap noise startled me awake, is the only way I can describe it. Like when you come back to the surface after reading a good novel, or playing a piece of music, or exercising really hard and chowing on the endorphins.

Stunned, I recovered the two pieces. I had felt a burst of extra hot heat as my hand passed through, and I almost expected to see charring. My right hand tingled, but didn't hurt. The edges I had made were perfectly straight, though the wood inside was ragged, as it looks when you jump hard on a long board, and make it snap.

The oddest part was, I had put out no more discernable effort than as if it had been a piece of styrofoam I was striking. I hadn't wound up at all, simply raised my hand up by my right ear, and then swiftly chopped downwards. I hadn't even put my body into it. An observer would have seen me make a move like an umpire calling a strike or something, and yet I had focused enough force to where the two pieces made a sound like a gunshot as they came together, and each flew over ten feet away from the sawhorses.

To tell you the truth, it startled and weirded me out. I felt as if I had summoned something.

Whatever, that feeling of warmth, and of 'otherwhereness' had gone, and the next 2x4 I tried it with laughed at me. I began to read where people training like I was had shown signs of blood in their urine, and had even suffered from strokes, so I cut it out and switched to heavy bags and such.

But I will never forget the dreamy feeling of watching my own hand pass through that board as if it was a hologram of a board. It was literally that easy, as if I had passed my hand through a stream of warm air.

One of my sensei's and I were walking across a university campus one night, when someone who didn't like him stepped out from around a corner and swung (swang?) a goodly length of 2x4 at his head. I saw him hold up his hand to stop it, and the wood just exploded.

Stunned, his assailant just stood there, looking equal parts of dumbfounded and afraid, amidst a collection of splinters and shards that had once been a decent piece of lumber.

My sensei, who was also a friend of mine, reached down and picked up a two foot, jaggedy piece, and held it up to the guys face and asked him quite calmly if he would like the piece shoved up his ass?

The guy turned and ran, and my friend told me to shut my mouth and quit qawping.

I have observed plenty of other such oddities over the years. Navy SEAL's are extraordinary human beings. If I heard that a SEAL Team was after me, I would just shoot myself to keep them from the satisfaction.

Oh well, I love you too, Steve, but even I can't be right all of the time.

I know, hard to believe, but there it is.


.

Utterly Filthy Porn...

If you open this at work, you WILL get fired.

We clear?

If so, you may now enjoy the sexiest video I have ever seen.

And then there are miles and miles of ass, right here.

I need a cigarette...


.

.

Honorable...

...Mention.

This is your brain on Nuggets.


.

111...

...and counting.

Just sayin.

Not that this is a contest or anything.

Wuss.


.

BLAM!

That is the third way. The only other two ways that you should touch your personal sidearm is when you place it on your person, and when you remove it to put it away.

Only three choices, and the third choice is only BLAM! Train for it, prepare for it, learn to recognize a situation when such an event is about to occur, and then just stand there, primed.

I'll let you look up the concept of 'lunging distance' on your own, but trust me, if you have let an attacker get within it, you are likely fucked.

Unless you have trained. Like a magician. Compulsively. Obsessively. Like a machine.

Watch a cat, alarmed. Note how they puff, sidle, and prepare. The hair on your own arms should be waving, lazily, like seaweed. You should have your opponent(s) in your forward looking, predator's vision. Fear? Duh! Use it, add tension to your springs with it.

And then uncoil and draw and fire and kill without a second's thought. Cry later, if you're that way.

BLAM! and the look of surprise; check to see if they need more pellets, they are frightened, too, and don't yet understand that they are dead, and you cannot be sure they do not have compatriots behind you, or merely even others with their own gun, excited, and afraid from what they have just observed.

If anyone, and yes, I mean anyone, moves to draw their own weapon, shoot them in the face without thinking. Is that badge a cop? Or a paid goon from wherever you're at, who does not have your own best interests at heart. You, and you alone, decide in the blink of an eye who lives, and who dies here.

Otherwise, maybe you should have just left that gun at home, eh?

Think about it...


.

The Pink Taco...

...is now my favorite article of the day.

“We aren’t focusing on that flap at all,” said Lisa Perez, the restaurant’s spokeswoman...

Does it get any better than this? Does it?

I think not...


.

She Gets It Right...

...about Being A Mom.

I think it kinda works for being a Dad, too, but whatevah. She is just great.

Go read.


.

Hmmmmm...

Discuss.


Update:

Some perspective...


.

Case...

...closed.

I'm satisfied.


.

More...

...beautiful art.

I love this kinda stuff.


.

Bane, The Musical...

With feel-good numbers like 'Looking At My Poo, And Thinking Of You', and 'Pissing In The Sink', how could it not be a huge Broadway hit?

'Dance Of The Little Crippled Spazz' would bring a tear to every eye in the house, and then we could lighten things up with the 'Natalie Beer Can-Can' dance, where a troop of small girl dancers fling their legs up and down while being pelted in the head from offstage by empty cans of Pabst.

I sense a Tony in my future...


.

Death By Doorbell...

So, a bit ago, the doorbell goes off, and keeps going off, over and over, like someone is really laying on it...

I snatch up the .45 and signal the wife, who is already there, that I've got her covered from above and she snatches open the door, and there's our neighbor, all apologetic, saying he only touched it once and he's really sorry and it must be stuck and he just wants the keys to the tool shed, so I don't shoot him.

We unplugged the ringer, and replugged it, and it reset itself, and he never knew the Angel of Death had brushed by him.

And now, the buzz of the weed eater...


.

Why We Will Win...

Because of things like this.


Update:

And this...

"Don't move, or the raghead gets it!"


.

More Kolyada...

That's done in regular ball-point pen, folks. Click to enlarge.











You can find more, here, and a recent interview of him here. And of course, more there on his website there in my blogroll.

Hey, Serhiy, could you do me up a simple drawing of a menacing, full-helmed Crusader, he with a sword, and a cross prominent on his tunic? I would like to put it in my blog template to piss off the (many) ragheads that drop by here. Well, you could make it as fancy as you want, I just need to have it look clear when it is shrunk down to a couple of inches.

Thanks.

And I love your work.


.

Fucking Oregon...

You never know what you're gonna get...

... Record high temperatures around the area...
A strong ridge of high pressure brought hot temperatures to the area today. East winds down the west slopes of the Coast Range brought extremely hot temperatures to the coastal cities... in many cases the hottest temperatures recorded so early in the Spring. However... the temperatures along the coast have already plumeted some 15 to 20 degrees since 2:30pm as the cooler marine air is already invading the coastal regions. In the valleys many locations set new record highs for the date. Most of the new record highs for this date were not the hottest ever recorded for valley locations. And... even the valley locations will see much cooler temperatures as the cooler air pushes in from the coast overnight.

It is 7pm, and 91 degrees right now. And tonight, I'll wake up at 3am freezing my hairy ass off.

Dammit.


.

Slouching Towards 200,000...

Someone from Arruiz, Spain, just became my 191,666th visitor. Hope they're Catholic!

At this rate, 5-600 a day or so, I should hit 200,000 this month. Yippee.

Thanks for your patronage, folks. It's been fun.


Update:

LL sends me this. Check out your status, lowly worms. Compare your tiny penis with my mighty one, and despair!


Double Secret Update:

On so-called 'link-whoring'. It is not even worthy of a post, so I shall insert this insignificant tidbit, here.

There are some (and you KNOW who you are!) kvetching about people who link to other people and such, and suggesting, apparently, that it is some sort of kindergarten bid for attention.

People, it's called BLOGGING! Linking is what makes blogging blogging. You link to things you found interesting, link to things you think others should see, and link to BLOGGERS YOU LIKE! AND/OR WANT TO SEE SUCCEED!

If that's whoring, I'd hate to see what their definition of good manners and hospitality is. "Thanks, but I don't need a blowjob right now..."

I'm a big-time linker, and I challenge you to go through my archives and find where I've kissed anybody's ass for anything. Heck, I've lost more readers than Katrina took welfare recipients, and been delinked more times than a cattle car in a Kansas City train yard.

Well, I have begged for titty pics.

Okay, you got me.


.

Kids Are So Gullible...

We have an intercom function on our phones. so the wife let the kids call me just now, from downstairs, to tell me how much they love me.

I told them I was up in Portland, and even though they saw me just ten minutes ago, they bought it, the little suckers.

We hung up, and then one by one, they each snuck up to my room to double check. The looks on their faces were priceless when they saw me.

And happy. To see me.

Weird.


.

Of All People, An Arab...

...finally gets it right.

Maybe we let this one live.


.

I Have No Idea...

...what this means, but I was Googling myself, and this thing spurted out.

Weird.

Note the 50 POSTS A WEEK!

Ha! In your face, amateurs...hey, wait...


.

Down With People...

I don't like audiences. Oh, I love you people. You are smart, and have good taste, as evinced by your decision to come here. If I could, I would buy you all oral sex, to show my gratitude and appreciation of you.

But I listen to Rush, for Rush, and then he ruins it by allowing some dim-wad to call in and spoil everything. And worse, he lets Liberals talk! I lunge for the off switch on those occasions.

And the audience shows on Fox News are just execrable. Unwatchable. And their 'talents' mug for the audience and the camera shamelessly. Just a bunch of pitiable clowns.

And 'town hall meetings', what's up with that? "Scamper out and find me a group of idiots and give them some stupid questions, chop chop!" I think that must be how it works.

People should be seen, and not heard. The producers of America's Funniest Home Videos get it right. They have their host stand in front of several of the hottest chicks in the audience that they have clumped together behind him to give me a boner. That show is perfect, hot chicks, and stupid people getting hit in the nuts. I just cannot get enough of that.

The fact that they still even sell trampolines is proof that humanity does not need to be allowed to go out and tarnish other planets. I have written on this before. Trampolines are like flypaper for stupid. They attract stupid, and stupid breaks their neck on it, and we move on.

When I get old, well, if I get old, and the kids have moved on, I want to move into a neighborhood full of other people's kids, and put a trampoline out, so I can enjoy the pitter patter of dripping blood. I'll rock there, on the porch, cackling into my beer as the next bundle of poorly assembled chromosomes launches itself into the Yucca plants I shall plant next to the cacti, because they are a beautiful, hardy plant.

I'll leave the lawn darts out, too.

Of course, should I ever get grandkids, and should my spawn ever be foolish kind enough to ever let them visit, I will hide away the implements of death and bring out the Nerf Toys.

I'm not stupid, you know.


.

With Friends Like These...

...who needs enemies?

A high school teacher has apologized for asking students to write about who they would kill and how they would do it, and officials said he will likely keep his job.

Jesus wept...

Update:

Now the Baby Jesus is crying his eyes out.


.

An Interesting Article...

...right here. And an interesting discussion in the comments.

You, of course, know my attitude already.


Update:

Another good one.


.

I've Made Up My Mind...

Politics bores the piss out of me,

BUT!

I am going to vote against things this time around.

I don't care if he's a Democrat transvestite gay prostitute, if he has a good anti-illegal immigrant plan, he gets my vote.

I am voting against everybody who is an incumbent. Everybody.

Vox talks his sillyness about voting, and I smile indulgently, and pat him on his head. Hush, the Big People are talking, run along.

I hate it that my vote counts, and I hate it that I voted for Bush. I'll not debate anybody on this, but merely ridicule them and touch their inner child on the naughty spot, because I truly do not give a shit about any of this.

I just know that voting is the last shot we have that does not involve actual live ammunition.

And I'm more than ready for that, too.


.

The First Article Of The Day...

...I've read, is already the best article of the day.

Amen, sister.

And fuck Jorge Bush.


.

Stress Vets...

Read this, and tell me what jumps out at you...

YES! It is well proven that the so-called anti-depressants are well known contributors to suicide! Dipshits!

Hey, sure, you can get your dick/pussy blown off every day by an IED or an RPG, there are bounties on all your heads, you've seen your friends turned into fruit salad, and seen cars full of little kids turned into hash in a flash.

Gee, I wonder if you might get a little depressed...

FUCK YEAH!! YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS!!

That's why God gave us alcohol, and to buy into the Muslim prohibition against such, is to enable those goat-fuckers as what doesn't deserve enabling.

DUMBASS!!

Throw those pills away, or better yet, hand them out to little Iraqi kids, and tell em it's candy. Calm the little fuckers down, and let them commit your suicide.

Good Lord, I joined the military with a 168 IQ, so I know you all can't be retards.

WAR IS SOME DEPRESSING SCARY-ASS SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER, SO DEAL, AND DRIVE ON, AND SHUT YOUR FUCKING WHINING, AND FRAG ANY MOTHERFUCKER WHO WON'T LET YOU GET DRUNK WHEN IT GETS TO BE TOO MUCH!!! WE CLEAR? YOU QUEER?

Good.

Endit.


.

Beautiful...

A must read.


.

The Wife And I Get Separated...

...eggs, this morning. In the waffle batter I made and cooked up for her. If you want incredible waffles, just follow the basic Betty Crocker scratch waffle recipe. They're so light, they float. With Knott's Berry Farm Boysenberry syrup (and gobs of butter) they are literally to die for. Whip the separated whites into a meringue, while slowly adding in about 3/4 of a teaspoon of Cream of Tartar. That part isn't in the recipe. Then just fold it into the other ingredients you have already blended with a fork.
We use 2% milk, but you can use cream or evaporated milk, or even buttermilk, which is decadent.

I did the dishes, too. I have been a regular house negroe this morning. The kids thrilled her heart with their pitiful crafts from church, and one of my wonderful readers has the wife walking on air with their incredible generosity. Go to Nat and John's Wish List and sort it by 'purchased' if you want to see.
I am astounded. Pleasantly. Got me off the hook, too, cuz I had nothin but waffles and slavery to offer. It's 11:30 am, and I am already beat.

Well, I hope all you Mothers got/are getting spoiled today. It just might be the toughest job there is. I parent a lot, but at the end of the day, it is her, bustling around behind the scene like a combination Set Dresser/
Caterer/Scullery Maid that keeps the house from falling apart, and I know it.

I try to show her I know it all the time, but it doesn't hurt to really celebrate it one day a year.

I'm going to try and save up my pennies, and next year, send her to a hotel with room service and a spa for the day, if not the whole weekend. You should have seen her eyes sparkle when I mentioned that to her.

Oh well, gotta run. She's ringing her little bell...


.

Hey! Iran!

Pay attention!


.

Mother's Suck...

...and you don't get to pick yours.

All those bitches do is campaign against drunk driving and guns, two of my most favorite things, might I add, and yet we are s'posed to get all maudlin once a year over them?

You should love your country all year long, but apparently, we only get together and do it once a year, on July 4th.

Jesus gets two days, cuz he's like, God, and stuff.

If you are grinding your teeth, and condemning me at this very moment, it is likely that your own Mother is dead, and the imminence of 'her day' is causing you the stress borne of your own guilt...by the way, guilt that SHE LIKELY PUT THERE!

You know what mothers I liked? Other people's mothers. They were always so cool, like TV moms. And as I grew up, and began to have sex with them, I began to appreciate them even more.

I have memories I can't remember, thanks to my mom. My dear auld lesbian aunt, who stayed with us, she as a young'n during that time period, couldn't even bear to tell me what went on, several years ago, when we found ourselves together.
I bear a piece of wooden pencil lead still, to this very day, lodged in my belly, next to my umbilicus. I am looking at it, now.

And no, I don't 'have issues'. I strangled those demons senseless many years ago, and locked them in a box, and let them scream in hopelessness and loss to this very day.

And one thing I learned from it all...

If you can't trust your Mom, who can you trust?

Yep...



Update:

The wife is the perfect wife and mother. I am sure there are others. The above was for those of us who have had, shall we say, less than perfect...


.

85...

...and counting.

That's how many posts I have put up so far this month.

So, how you doing? Not that this is a contest, or anything. Some of the posts are original essays, many are links to things I have found to be interesting, and several are pic posts of women who have caught my eye, here and there.

I still do what I do, for me, and I like what I do. Before you laugh, or cry, I already have, and that's the way I like it.

I have noted that I seem to output more, when money and gifts are steady. This is merely an observation, not a threat or a plea. I am very satisfied with the State of the Blog. I am working on doing the BaneCast thing, as I think both you and I will have fun with it.

I just got an email, asking essentially what the fuck can Nat and/or Johnny do with a Cuisenart Blender, and I replied that many of you have mentioned that the wife deserves an award for putting up with me, so there, smartypants.

Besides, it's out of stock, but that is the one that makes her moist. And John and Nat are kitchen helpers of the first order, anyway. You should see him there, in one of her aprons, on a stool, the hand blender clutched precariously in his wretched fingers, concentrating away as he blends up a bowl of something or other.

Or Nat, concentrating like a explosives ordnance disposal person, standing there on another stool, another apron down to her toes, as she cracks eggs into a bowl; I can't actually watch this for long. I don't know how the wife can take it.

We haven't graduated to knives, as yet, because unlike baby teeth, fingers do not grow back. Thus, the Cuisenart. Yes, honey, you may push the button, and make the slices.

I know I'm pushing it with the Red Alert thing, but you should see the kids, arrayed behind me, cheering me on as I crush the tiny men, and agonizing when enemy planes and tanks begin to plunder my base. Gettem hating commies young, I always say. Someone sent me the money to buy that, anyway. When it clears the bank, that game will be MINE! ALL MINE!

I just leave it up because I like to go look at it.

Anyway, the wife is still on the ragged edge of her cold, so I am doomed to parenting, and of course tomorrow, I shall be expected to kiss her ass all day, but that is fodder for another post...


.

G'night, Mrs. Calabash...

...wherever you are...

I am to bed, and with this preponderance of ponderance of how, exactly, does a booger, once flicked, and violently, end up BACK on a finger of the same flickish hand!

Evidence of the Supernatural, indeed...

I, to sleep, perchance to scream...


.

Wherein Nat Shits Teeth...

That's an expression I have used to discourage many a miscreant, in my time. Curl up your fist, show it to them, and tell them they'll "be shitting teeth for a week..."

It gives them pause for thought.

So, yestereve, Nat is standing in front of me, I on the couch, and she is touching one of her lower teeth in a questioning fashion. A tooth I have been keeping an eye on. A questionable tooth, indeed, a rickety picket amongst the picketry, and I do so fear the choking upon of such.
An unsound tooth.

I hie her hence into the kitchen, to fetch me a paper towel, and she submits, but with an accompanying wail, winding up, she becoming a veritable Civil Defense siren.

You see, she knows, you know.

I take teeth like a Ninja, rapidly, and with no warning, other than the sure knowledge that I am coming. As in arriving. One does not 'come' in ones daughters mouth, unless one is a Mormon, or some other vile and disgusting pervert, such as an Islamic.

So, brave Viking mini-wench that she is, she presents herself bravely before me, and sings her Death Song, screeching so as to frighten away any demon that might enter her at the moment the tooth leaves, and I reach in and snap the tooth out.

Snippy-snap.

The best laid plans, and Mad Ninja Skilz notwithstanding, her tongue waggles and the sudden spurt of blood startles her gag reflex, and the little bint gurgles and swallows her tooth full away.

Urk...

Nattie, you just swallowed your tooth. (Johnny goggles, off to the side, astounded)

"Whuh?"

You just swallowed your tooth, and now the Tooth Fairy is going to have to come find it in your butt tonight...(Johnny grimaces in dawning horror...the wife turns away and ducks into the kitchen with her hand over her mouth)

"Whuh?"

Or maybe it will chew it's way out of your butt tonight while you sleep...

"WHUH!?!"

I'm sorry, but I told you to stand still...

(general wailing, and sopping of blood)

I have done tole you people, parenting is an art form.

A bit ago, this very eve, I heard a plaintive cry from the bathroom. Nat was pinching a loaf. She had already woke up with four quarters under her pillow this morning, and was thrilled. But now, ape-like grunting and squeals came at me, and pleas for help. I enter the bathroom.

Sweetie, is the tooth biting you?

"I think so..."

Well quick, push it out! Daddy has to pee...

"Uhhhnnnnkayyy..." grunting ensues; cue plopping and splashing...

So, I wiped off her little butt, and sent her packing, and unrolled my hose, and searched the troubled waters for my target of opportunity. This tooth, I declared, would I suspend in Lucite, and use it as a paperweight.

Nothing was immediately obvious, so I raked the decks with bladder-fire, bursting open her compact sausages with my mighty man-stream, and still, nothing. Well, you guessed it...

I said 'fukkit', and flushed it all away.

A golden opportunity, flushed into the ages...


.

I Want You To See...

...what an idiot sounds like.

I normally would not link to this loon, but I want you to read, and fisk this asshole, in the privacy of your own mind, and just taste the nutty flavor of insanity.

Funny, how people who scoff at poor old Lyndon LaRouche, embrace this insane cocksucker, and say dumb shit like "Well, uh, well, he has a POINT! He, uh, makes like, sense, and stuff..."

Maybe.

To other loons.


.

Screw Blogads...

You'll note that I did not say 'Fuck Blogads!', as is my wont when I am pissed. Just screw them.

I have not made a single red cent from them, I have had to look at an ad for some swine I despise (Keith Olbermann, for mercy sakes!) when I visit my own blog, and their code messes up my template.

They have been completely pleasant to work with, but I think it is time to let go.

LL, when you get some spare time, if you would please excise them, they tax me so.

Thank you.

.

A Sign...

...of The End.

Trim your wicks, people, and buy extra oil...


.

Hey, No Fair!

Go look at this picture, and then tell me why I can't legally wear a pair of brass knuckles in public.


.

I Just Had An Idea...

If I was shipping out to one of the sandpits, or already there, I would want to have the materials with which to make alcoholic beverages, and the skill to not make myself go blind whilst doing so and drinking it.

Let's have a little discussion, here, on which booze would be the best to make, and how to make it, and how (and what) to get the supplies needed for such into the hands of our beloved troops. And books, and/or websites that give instructions, that you have used before to make good, healthy elixers.

I see issues around young troopies getting blind drunk, and that affecting OPSEC, so maybe there should be some knowledge of how to make light alcoholic drinks for social drinking, and then how to distill hard liquor, for when you want something 'stiffer'.

Yes, I know the hajis will sell you booze, but do you really want to drink something that has been handled by them, and enrich them while doing it?

I say, nay.

Those of you who have been or are in, feel free to contribute your knowledge.

Let's partay in the sandbox!


.

I Think It's Almost Time...

...to begin the extermination.


.

I Don't Know Where They're From...

...all I know is that I've seen them before.


.

If Wishes Were Horses...

...dog food would be a heck of a lot cheaper.

I just wanted to get that off my chest. And to really really thank those of you who have hit Nat and John's wish list over there. I shall enjoy reading to them the new Coulter book, and having them read to me their new kid's books.

I can't thank you personally, cuz yer all anonymous, so just thanks.

Thank you very much.

Update:

Holy Crap! Thanks!

I've been told that Amazon does not ship software to PO Boxes, so just dang.

Oh well.


.

Howsabout A BaneCast?

Anybody interested in hearing one? I have a mike, but no knowledge on how to record the wonder that is me.

You could hear me abuse the children! Live!

You could hear Nat and John! The wife carp at me! Get it? Carpet me? Just kidding, no porn.

You in? I have no idea how to do it, but if you help me, I'll put out.

Let me know...


.

Lest I Seem Pedantic, Re: Macs...

I could not afford one, if I wished to. Perhaps they have become Good Dogs, as opposed to Bad Dogs. I'll doubtless never know.

So there.

I can easier collect the parts, and cheaper, and stuff them in my Windows box, than I (or you) can afford a new Mac, and one that will run my Windows bullshit.

That is all.

For those of you who sleep with your Mac under your pillow, and occasionally make little spurty stains on it's sterile, aluminium, robotic looking, capable of being used by the retarded in The Home, but not Good For Much Else cyber-toasters...

I am heartily sorry for having offended thee.

Trust me...


.

If You've Got The Nuts For It...

Link to this little beauty. And risk DEATH!!!

They, and by 'they', I mean child-buggering murderous sodomite homosexual (not that there is anything WRONG with that) Islamic Fuckamentalists, have been playing 'Whack A Jew' with Aaron's blog for weeks, now. Piss on their unholy names, and fuck the prophet sideways up the ass with a broken Coke bottle.

My hatred for Islam and all of it's adherents has plateaued, and has been not shaken, but stirred, and I am ready to fold, spindle, and mutilate each and every one of the vile, two-faced, lying, murderous, goat-fucking cocksuckers. And their families, and their little dogs, too.

Salt their earth...

Wait, never mind, it's silly to bother fucking up sand.

Okay...focus...

Just kill them all. And everybody who looks like them. And all their appeasers.

Amen.


.

I Just Wanted To Write Something...

I'm half loaded on cold medication, rehydrating with wine, the kids are downstairs watching Alice In Wonderland, and my fingers are restless.

I don't care to write anything serious, i.e., for potential renumeration, yet I have a colon full of backed up words, and I'm not sure where or how I want to expel them. Just if. Yes.

I was going to blat out some dark fairy tale, as if told to Nat, some scary, wretched thing that would make you gasp, and think ill of me. I had a little blond girl, all ready to meet her maker at the hands of shape-shifting Keebler Elves, but I got bored. Oh, and there were the spirits of angry, vengeful gerbils, cursed gerbils, just achin for some payback, and headed for a colon near you.

I am somewhat concerned that I may be developing an anal fixation. I also fear being drugged, put under, control removed from me; that when the Doc lays the pipe to me, I'll moan and groan out "Yeah, give it to me baby!" and arch my back as I spatter cum all over his pretty nurse assistant.

Or not.

I told the wife that, and got the 'please share less in the future' look. With a side of appallment, and perhaps a bit of 'need to puke, a little, or maybe just spit'.

As I've said, I already have a trained prostate, and who knows what it will do, without me around to supervise?

I am beset and beflustered. I made myself sick for three days before going to yesterday's appointment. I anticipate. And I have one heck of an imagination. I wanted nothing more than to not go, but the wife mocked and threatened, so I went, and endured not even so much as the snap of one glove. Not one anal probe.

As I left, I told him "Well, Doc, I'm almost a little disappointed that I had the wife braid my butt hair...all fixed up, and nobody asks me to dance..."

He giggled. In German. I shall call him Doctor Giggles, and he shall find a new way to a man's heart. Well, he's going for the stomach, first, but then he is headed for hitherto uncharted waters. 'Here, there be dyngleberryes'...

I am tempted to shove some of Johnny's little toy signs up my ass, from his construction set. Can you imagine, rounding a bend in the Hershey Highway, and seeing a yellow warning sign loom into the scope? ROAD CLOSED! DANGER! Maybe a squad of those little tiny Army soldiers, giving him the fisheye...

If I do have cancer, I hope it's that fast-acting kind. None of that time-released bullshit for me, thank you. I'm already writing the script for my final hours.

There will be drama...

Update:

I am strongly considering showing up, drunk as a lord, with an empty bottle of Everclear dangling from one hand...

"Hey, Doc...you nasty nazi ass-fucker...you said 'clear liquids only', righ? HUH!?! RIGH? MUHFUGGAH?!"


.

Hey!

I thought this couldn't happen!


.

Another Interesting Perspective...

...on the Iran Letter.


.

Hanging Ourselves...

...with our own rope.


.

Well, This Is...

...interesting.

I ran across most of this when I was researching an anthropology paper. I focused mostly on the Celts, but my teacher was Roman-Centric, so as I recall, I only got a middling grade.

Oh well.


.

The Sickness Bug Is Not For Me...

...but I'm as sick as I can be.

And so is the wife. It is one of those rare occasions where we are both down simultaneously. And the kids feel just fine. This is a bad thing.

Thank God for television. Though Nat is peskily insisting on 'playing games' and crap like that, and trying to draw Johnny into her perfidy. I have discouraged such hyper-social behavior most vigorously.

The wife was dragging around, collecting laundry, and other such chore-like behavior, and I snapped at her: "Honey, dammit, cut that shit out. We've got enough clothes that you wouldn't have to do laundry for two weeks...at least. Now lay your ass down somewhere and get some rest."

I gave us each about a million units of Vitamin C, and she is conked out on her bed. I shall grab a pillow, and go find a couch to lay on, so as to keep a weather eye on Nat, who has been known to plot plots.

I just took a Benadryl, which is like a shot of heroin to my finely tuned and massive brain. I shall need to stay fairly close to the floor.

And I really need to teach these kids to make their own sandwiches someday soon. Oh well, I can just point weakly to the cookie jar, and they know where the milk is.

I fade...


.

The Goddess Speaks!

Go, and worship!


.

Well, Isn't This Special?

Hepatitis Risk for East Asians in New York
By RICHARD PÉREZ-PEÑA and MARC SANTORA 3 minutes ago
One in seven East Asian immigrants in New York City carries the hepatitis B virus, a new study has found.

If you think this is only in Nuevo York, I've got a couple of their bridges to sell you.


.

A Question For The Ages...

To change Os's, or not to change OS's?

Physics Geek has an interesting article (and blog) that discusses this subject.

I must confess, that I am at the cusp. Microsoft has busted me, and will no longer let me download any security updates without first installing it's wonderful new 'Windows Validating System' to protect me from my own pirated version.

Fuckers.

That little tool totally hosed my sister's PC, as you may recall (a few weeks back), and now they're on to me. Problem (one of many) is I own a couple of copies of XP, legitimate, registered copies, but you have to go suck Bill Gates's dick every time you have to reinstall your OS, because you fucked up something whilst dicking around with it.

Piss on that noise.

If I go to Linux, can I still play Red Alert, and my other Windoze games? What about my Outlook? My email? Windows Media Player files? My browser, with all my favorites?

I do not want to dual boot. I'm lazy, and besides, Windows buggy hacker magnet doesn't need to be running anywhere in my house, if they just wanna fuck with me.

Oh well, geeks, let us hash this out together. Am I just doomed to buy Bill's next buggy piece of bloatware?


.

Once More, Into The Breach, Dear Friends...

...and I shall doubtless not even get a kiss.

Yes, Dear Readers, Bane is going to have a man going down his throat, and up his ass, and thankfully, hopefully, mercifully, the promised drugs will make Bane forget his brutal molest.

And the guy looks just like Tom Noonan, and has a German accent. And big, soft, pokey hands.

Hey, let's play 'Guess Where Bane Has Been All Fucking Damn Day!'

On the upside, Bane somehow finagled a (FREE!) prescription of Viagra, today. WooHoo! Any of you geezers take this shit? I do not need some all-day boner, and Mrs Bane would doubtless take after it with a hoe after a couple of hours or so. One hour is my max, and that's been it, lately. But I'd like to try for more, but I'm thinkin I need to cut the pill in fourths, or something. Anybody know about this? I want a rigid tuber of man-steel, so hard a cat couldn't scratch it, that vibrates like a drag boat.
Mine, I mean. To be that way.

Maybe I should rent a goat, and test this stuff out.

But let's get back to my asshole, so far inviolate, except for the odd dildo, string of pearls, fingers, and once, a zucchini. Peeled, of course. I'm not stupid. Oh, and there was the vibrating razor handle that time, and...

But no tongue! Lips that have touched anus, shall never touch mine, and you can take that to the bank.

I would rather die than have a man going up my ass, but the wife is insistent. I would also rather die, than wake up tied down to the marital bed, the wife crouched behind me with a flashlight and a garden trowel, and a copy of Gray's Anatomy propped open on my naked back, as she squints and ponders her next move.

She has informed me that I am not allowed to die, and that she will take grave measures to forestall such a blessed event, if necessary, and I believe her, so Doktor Mengele will soon be mengling my pooter with Herr Roto-Rooter.

I just let out a little whimper, here all alone in my room. Like a dog.

I asked him "Doc, I'm not likely to wake up with a frikking colostomy bag, am I?" He snickered, and assured me that no, they would wake me up and get me to sign for that, first. Well, there are times when I have wished "Dang, I really could use a bag of shit right now..." but you just never expect that sort of miracle to occur.

"Hey, hippy, check this out!"

Hmmmm...possibilities...

So, soon, intrepid explorers will be wending their way up my Manama Canal, prodding, and snooping, and perhaps snipping, here and there. Taking souvenirs, a little 'something for later'.

Oh, and don't forget, going down my fucking throat, as well. I suppose that is somewhat better than 'coming down my fucking throat', but not by much. I do so hope the good doctor washes his hands between procedures.

Hygiene is important.


.

By Way Of Explanation...

...yet again.

I only recently have a blogroll, there to your left. Chromed Curses is there at the top, because she earned it by doing what no one else could do, fix my fucked up blog. And she writes very well, and honestly, but she'd have had top spot, anyway, just for being so good to me. I feel vindicated that she more than earns top spot every week.

The others are there for my convenience, because I read them every day. Some, like Vox, is who I get at least 80% of my 'hits' from. G-Man and V-Man just plain rock.

I use all their blogrolls (bloated as fuck, by the way, if I may say so) to travel elsewhere. Those blogs to the left, are the center of my own personal blogoverse, and are the portals to nearly every place I go.

I also have a list of blogs I go to, probably including yours, that is 6 columns wide, from the top of the screen to the bottom, in my favorites, in a folder called 'blogs'.

I never fail to follow a commenters URL if they leave one. Sometimes I save the URL. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes you suck. Or not. You should be doing this for you, anyway.

My rules here are few:

Don't take the Lord's name in vain, or invoke the powers of darkness.

Don't post as someone else, and keep the same 'handle' that you post with. Do not fuck with my ADD.

Act like you are in my house, and like I have 40 acres out back, and a backhoe.

If you're gonna cuss, cuss. Asterisks are for pussies, and it's still a f***ing cuss-word.

I am an arbitrary and fickle host, and sometimes I am drunk, or just in a pissy mood. I never know what I'm gonna get, so why should you? So no whining.

Can anybody remember any more? I think that may be it.

Enjoy, or not. Stay, or go. Money is always nice. Thanks to ya'll, Nat will be peddling around a Big Wheel pretty soon.

Anyway, I like doing this, and it appears I am as yet unable to stop. I am considering, while the novel plods along, gathering up my family life stories from here, padding them out, adding some stuff, and putting out a book called 'Proud White Trash', or maybe 'Proud American White Trash'.

Laws knows I've written enough bullshit, here...


Update:

And NO RACIALISTICAL BULLSHIT!

Ahem...James...

Unless it's from me. Or a bona-fide racialistical person, and I DO check IP's on this shit.


.

Your Honor, I Plead Guilty...

...to the crime of 647.L, being Asshole in Public, to wit:

Multiple counts of barging in to other people's blogs, and swinging my dick around and being a general all around dingus.

In my defense, your honor, I was often invited, and in some cases begged by the owners of said blogs, to come in and be, what I didn't know I was being at the time, their dancing monkey. The Draw.

Oh, I could raise heck with the best of them, and give shit for shat, and I loved a good tussle as much as anyone.

But then, things got ugly. And personal. And I realized that I was going to other places as well, where I was not wanted, and performing the same monkey dance, because I knew it, it was familiar, and...
it stopped being fun.

I still backslide, Your Honor. When I go somewhere and see something so egregiously stupid, I sometimes commit an outburst, and for that, I am heartily sorry.

I now know th