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::Previous::
  • I Present To You...

  • Gosh, How Did I Become A Kindred Spirit...

  • Breaking News From Lebanon!

  • I...

  • Well This...

  • Guess What Color...

  • Fucking...

  • Of Reprehensible Character...

  • Because You Need To See This...

  • A Friendly...

  • I Heart...

  • Hey, Shitheads...

  • Let Me State, For The Record...

  • Thanks!

  • As I Awoke...

  • I Present To You...

  • Try To Not Sprain Your Wrist...

  • This Guy...

  • See? Astronauts Are Human...

  • Spread This Around...

  • Insert Missile...

  • You May Have Noticed Already...

  • How Nerdy Is This?

  • I'm Afraid To Write...

  • Blast From The Past...

  • I Kinda Wanna Write Something...

  • Oh My Goodness...

  • You've Gotta See This...

  • A Place For Everything...

  • A Dog's Life...

  • Down The Lane...

  • What Happens Next...

  • Judge, Not...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Some Damn Good...

  • Product Placement...

  • You Need To Read...

  • Thanks!

  • The Sun Also Sets...

  • Instant Messaging...

  • Better By Me...

  • I See...

  • The Phrase 'Made In China'...

  • Israel Issues Timetable Today...

  • Another Nail...

  • If You Read USA Today...

  • So...

  • Guten...

  • I, Having Been Blessed By God...

  • More...

  • Tunnel Rats...

  • He's Got A Point...

  • I Love...

  • Call Your Boss Over...

  • Is This...

  • Disneyland, Back Then...

  • Man, I Really Really...

  • Medical Acronyms...

  • Curb Your Retard...

  • Fuck You...

  • I Normally Hate Clowns...

  • Sunday Riff...

  • Oooops!

  • Dear God, It's Hot...

  • The DaVinci Choad...

  • Not Good...

  • Another Nail...

  • Call In Direct Fire...

  • Wherein I Call Bullshit...

  • I Knew It...

  • Some Positive Thinking...

  • Fuck This...

  • Like Reptiles...

  • Hmmmmm...

  • Bad News...

  • HA HA!

  • My Take On 'Education'...

  • It's Hot...

  • Death Takes A Holiday...

  • Posted...

  • You Really Need To Read...

  • For The Man Who Has Everything...

  • How Do You Explain Liberals To A Child?

  • An Email, From My Beloved Uncle...

  • Liar Liar...

  • Dream Spray...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • The Chosen People?

  • How To Attain...

  • You Might Be Surprised...

  • An Update...

  • All The Fucks...

  • Is It Wrong...

  • I LOVE This Idea...

  • For Once I Mourn...

  • Queer Alert...

  • Jesus...

  • I AM A Sexual Tyrannosaurus!

  • All I Can Say Is...

  • The World...

  • We're Here To Pick Up Your Bridge...

  • Scary Shit...

  • A Very Good...

  • Libonics...

  • Sharkboy & LavaGirl, A Review...

  • Housekeeping Note...

  • Still Sexy!

  • An Open Thread For America-Haters (Liberals)

  • I've Seen A Dragon...



  • ::Past::
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  • September 2012







  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Monday, July 31, 2006

    I Present To You...

    ...for your general amusement...


    .




       

    Gosh, How Did I Become A Kindred Spirit...

    ...with this asshole.

    The father, I mean, not the son. Well, the son's not an asshole. Okay, I'm confused.

    Sometimes, life comes at you weird.


    .




       

    Breaking News From Lebanon!

    I have pictures!

    First, a Muslim kidnapper runs off with an old lady, while his prostitute wife's tits bobble most fetchingly. Nice tits, hooker!

    Then, the old woman, being a Wiccan, calls out a curse on her captor, causing his testicles to burst into flames.

    Here, she cops a Coptic squat over a Koran, and the miracle of Transubstantiation turns her aged urine into menstrual blood, thereby proving that Islam sucks, and God hates it.

    See? Look how easy this 'making up the news' shit is?


    .




       

    I...

    ...volunteer.


    .




       

    Well This...

    ...is messed up.

    One more good reason to be careful who you put in the White House.


    .




       

    Guess What Color...

    ...the killer is.

    Hint: There's no mention of it in the news report.

    Though they do describe his clothing...


    .




        Sunday, July 30, 2006

    Fucking...

    ...idiots.

    I wash my hands of Israel. They are in Gods hands.

    I have no use for fools. The Bible is full of stories of how these people are willing to fuck themselves, and this is just one more of them.

    Just for the record, every one of those dead children was killed by Hizbollah. And I would have happily shot each and every one of them in their cribs myself.

    No, I am not kidding. I hate it that I even have to say that.

    If you don't want to be in a war, surrender.


    .




       

    Of Reprehensible Character...

    I wanted to create the worst hero, ever.

    I think I am succeeding.

    I'm not terribly worried about anyone stealing him, because A) it would be obvious and B) I'd go kill their mom in her rest home, and then spend a few hours of quality time with the thief in a wet basement somewhere, brushing up on my human anatomy skills.

    The worst of men, the best of men. Most of you people genuinely have no idea. Really.

    Hitler would pet his dog, and then order troop trains diverted to kill Jews, regardless of what it cost him.

    Churchill would pet his Bulldog, and order bombers to flatten German cities full of women and children.

    Pick your maniac.

    Who do you want on your side when the Orcs are coming over the wall?

    I am putting so much of myself into this character, that it has grown uncomfortable. Some.
    Oh, I'm still working on it, my Opus, if you will. All else I've done appears frivolous, to me. This thing encompasses my life, my knowledge, my awareness of life, how it truly is, the things just on the other side, in Otherwhere, that most of you scoff at, are blind to, and cheerfully remain blissfully unaware of.

    Yet still, you see them press their faces against the sheet, the outline shows through, and the madness, and the rampant teeth, and the spreading stain, there in a sea of white, the stain of someone who has gone down before you.

    The stain that tells you you're next.

    Unless...


    .




       

    Because You Need To See This...

    Because there are sick, perverted bastards out there that would cover this in a bag.





















    If you are offended by this, kill yourself now. You were raised wrong, and there's something terribly wrong with you.


    .




       

    A Friendly...

    ...warning.

    I post this as a friendly warning for many of my new bloggers, that I may have inspired to blog. Oh, otay, the rest of you can read it, too.

    Don't try to keep up with the Jones's. For instance, I tend to write a lot. I have a unique life situation, plus, I write a lot. I write here, I write on my laptop, I write in pencil, in notebooks. It's what I do.

    If you don't, or can't, don't sweat it. Blogging is not necessarily writing. I'd like to think mine is. I know damn well (Lileks, SteveH) others are.

    Blogs tend to sort themselves into several categories.

    I'd like to think I fall under 'other'.

    I'm just a rebel that way.


    .




       

    I Heart...

    ...Jean.

    Of course, the quickest way to this man's heart is via distilled spirits.

    There is something special about a woman who senses a need, and fills it.

    Sorry, guys, I just like broads better. Though I could hug a couple of you.

    In a manly way.

    Of course.


    .




        Saturday, July 29, 2006

    Hey, Shitheads...

    Wake the fuck up.

    The problem of this misnaming of the war manifests itself in many ways. It allows opponents of the liberation of Iraq to claim that it had nothing to do with the war, because somehow "terrorist" has been rendered synonymous with Al Qaeda and bin Laden, and as we all know (at least those of us fundamentally and perhaps willfully ignorant of the actual history), Al Qaeda would have nothing to do with Saddam, and vice versa. By focusing exclusively on the "terrorists" that are Al Qaeda, it obscures the much larger enemy. And it allows the "authorities" to absurdly claim that the Pakistani who just went on the shooting spree in Seattle isn't a "terrorist," because he didn't bring along his Al Qaeda membership card and decoder ring.


    Fucking duh.


    .




       

    Let Me State, For The Record...

    ...that I seriously recommend shooting up mosques.

    And whatever else Roach Motel the Islamolice hide in.

    I do not subscribe to the notion of holy places...sacred places. Heck, if I knew for an absolute fact that I was at the Tomb of Joseph, the actual tomb where Christ rose from the dead, and if I knew Nasrallah was in there with a few of his henchpersons, I'd nuke the site in a heartbeat.

    It's the only way to be sure.

    This notion I keep encountering of us 'not lowering ourselves to their level' is just silly, and misguided, and quite possibly, gay.

    You've just gotta ask yourself one question, punk...'do I feel lucky?'

    Well, do ya?


    .




       

    Thanks!

    I have received so many complimentary emails and comments, that I just wanna say THANKS! to you all. Even my trolls. Talking shit, taking the time to talk shit, proves you care. You love me, you really do, and I just want to thank you, too, and thanks to your Dad, for not wearing a rubber, that time, with the crack-whore. Really.

    If he'd of had another quarter, you'd have been born black. Count your blessings.

    Anyway, I'm all fucked up in the head because of my son deploying to IED Land this weekend, so if anyone wants to hit Paypal hard and buy me some booze, think of it as the 'Burn Bane's Brain Out' fund, if you like, well, please feel free to.

    Paypal is the only way I can get immediate gratification. Amazon sucks for that. Takes a week.

    Hurry, I'm sobering up.

    Whatever.

    Thanks to one of my several favorite people, okay, few, okay, VERY few favorite people, the wife and I lounged on the couch last night and watched the first episode of Firefly on my new compilation DVD set.

    I cannot believe how beautiful it is. Someone needs to stab Rupert fucking Murdoch in the fucking neck. What an idiot. This show just takes my breath away, every time. I've seen it over and over, and it is a joy each time. There's like, two, three movies that do that for me. The Terminator, Army of Darkness, and The 13th Warrior come to mind.

    It's a lovely gray day, here, to match my mood. Darkish, and cold. ColdER. 80 max, today, chill, now. I love it. This is what Oregon is all about.

    The wife has been sickish. She went camping, as I said, and brought home some Poison Oak and a couple of spider bites. I think a little lawn mowing will do her some good, so I said so. After I plied her with a lovely breakfast after letting her sleep in, of course.

    I am not an animal.

    I cooked up a skillet of barely scrambled eggs. 10 eggs, a half cup of cream, salt, pepper, and pepper jack cheese. And another skillet of bacon. I make bacon exactly how I like it, and she loves it, but can't make it herself. This is because her Phaser only has one setting: High.

    If the electric burner is not red hot, apparently the stove is not working properly, or so she would have you believe.

    Me, I cook the bacon at about 2.5, with a lid on the skillet for most of the time, and then brown it at the last. Johnny ate like, six pieces this morning. Nat chokes it down. I taught her how to mix it with her eggs, and dip it in ketchup. Little philistine.

    Shit, it's not even noon, and I already could go back to bed for the rest of the day.

    Hey, son? Call me?


    .




       

    As I Awoke...

    Six in the fucking Ay Em. To the dulcet tones of a retard parrot, wolf-whistling limpidly next door, like some lothario who was just doing it out of habit, not because his heart was in it.

    And I was thinking, who do we get to kill?

    John Wayne Gacy snuffs a whole passel of homosexuals, and instead of getting a medal, he gets a needle.

    Audie Murphy, on the other hand, guns down a huge pile of German engineers with a fifty caliber machine gun, and he gets the Congressional Medal of Honor, and a lucrative film career.

    I don't get it. Yeah yeah yeah, wartime and all that blah blah blah, but I'll trade you a basement full of dead faggots for some live German engineers hands down, any day.

    Have you ever seen someone hit with a .50 cal round? Dayum! Talk about your meat pinata.

    I think Audie was compensating for being a short little fucker. Of course, to my knowledge, he never dressed up as a clown, so there is that.

    The Jews killed Jesus, and I like them just fine; Muslims killed piles of French and Spanish people, and I hate the fuckers.

    Go figure.

    Life doesn't make sense, death makes even less, and then you get a parrot for a neighbor.

    That's my philosophy on life, right there. My new one. Makes about as much sense as anything else, I guess.

    I am going to finish this glass of wine, and go back to bed. No, don't try to stop me. My mind is made up.

    Besides, the parrot has fallen silent. Here's hoping he's dead. I assume it's a he. Oh great, now the crows are cutting loose.

    Fuck, I hate birds. And homosexuals.

    I've always wondered how old John Wayne G. would have fared if he had moved to The Castro in San Francisco before he started his career in Subterranean Dead Faggot Management.

    Or if Audie had been 4F, and stayed behind, selling shoes.

    Oh well, gotta run. Those sheep aren't gonna count themselves.


    .




       

    I Present To You...

    The anger and majesty that is SteveH. He tends to take honest stuff like this down, later, so I present it here, in its glorious entirety, preserved for Western Civilization...
    Because as usual, he says exactly what's on my mind:



    July 29, 2006

    Congratulations, Brave Muslim Warriors

    Seattle is Safe From Pregnant Jewish Women

    When will the political left figure out the difference between Israel and the Muslims? Notice I don't say "Muslim extremists." That's because the "extremists" have the moral and financial support of Muslims everywhere, and because the Islam we call "moderate" is more intolerant than the Klan.

    The left excoriates Israel constantly for its "brutality," complaining that Israel kills civilians. Yes, Israel kills civilians. So does every country that engages in military action. Like all civilized (i.e. "non-Muslim") nations, and to a greater degree than most, Israel strives to avoid civilian casualties, but they still happen. As a result of Muslim provocation, of course. No one bothers to point that out.

    Muslims, on the other hand, target civilians deliberately. The USUAL goal of armed Muslims is to kill civilians. Partly because they're barbarians, and partly because they generally lack the guts to take on soldiers.

    Israel attacks a missile battery. The Muslims shell a suburb. Israel destroys an ammunition dump. The Muslims shoot up a playground. This is the way it has always worked. Yet the political left squeals in outrage when a Muslim civilian dies, and they accept dead Jewish civilians as though being a Jew justifies murder.

    The left wets itself when anyone dares suggest that Muslim immigrants and resident aliens need special scrutiny, or that they might turn out to be disloyal. But the left isn't around to pick up the pieces when British Muslims or American Muslims who have never been oppressed in their lives blow up a subway train or kill random citizens with a sniper rifle. Actually, they ARE around. To tell us we brought it on ourselves.

    Now another mighty Muslim warrior--an American citizen--has reminded us how brave and moral Muslims are, and how loyal Muslim citizens are, by breaking into a Jewish community center and shooting six women, one of them pregnant. Way to go, Muslim Avenger. I'll bet Allah is really impressed. Maybe next time you could break into a maternity ward and shoot Jewish babies. By Muslim standards, that would be a major military victory.

    Why stop there? Come on down to Florida. We still have some retired Jews here. Go to a retirement community and shoot a bunch of tiny octogenarians with walkers. Allah is great! He will protect you when they try to hit you with their canes and miss because they have cataracts.
    How can Muslims call themselves men when they support cowardly attacks on women and babies? How can they look Americans and Israelis in the eye, when we take such great pains to spare their non-combatants? What a bunch of pansies. No wonder they go through life screeching about how emasculated they feel. They are emasculated. They emasculate themselves every day by indulging their cowardice. We aren't dealing with men. We're dealing with a culture of little boys in men's bodies. And when I say that, I realize I'm being unfair to little boys.

    If Muslims don't develop a little dignity and learn to behave like adults, there will come a day when the rest of the world occupies their backward little countries, disarms them, and takes over the business of distributing their oil. I used to think imperialism was wrong, but that was before I understood the Muslim mind. As long as they behave like monkeys, they have no right to run their own countries and maintain armies, and they should be conquered and forced into submission. And because they're such lousy soldiers, the rest of the world is very capable of doing that. That's what happens when you learn to fight by shooting old people and toddlers. When a real army shows up, you last about a week.

    Congratulations on another victory for Mohammed, that revered gangster and pedophile. That proud, manly proponent of wife-beating. And take comfort in the fact that provocations like this are going to help a whole bunch of you meet up with your imaginary virgins.

    I don't know why the left calls conservatives "chickenhawks" and claims we're afraid of Muslims because we don't all join the military. When you're in a war with Muslims, the military is the safest place to be, because the military is the thing the Muslims are least likely to attack.


    .




        Friday, July 28, 2006

    Try To Not Sprain Your Wrist...





















    Oh yesssss, there's more...


    Update:

    This chick is filthy...


    Update:

    Can you mouse left-handed?


    .




       

    This Guy...

    ...doesn't appear to like women very much.

    This being Friday night and all, maybe you broads should be a little more careful?

    Just sayin.

    I know The Pill and everything is all Liberating, and all, but fuck, if you can't be safe in a motel bar, I mean, where can you be safe?


    .




       

    See? Astronauts Are Human...

    ...too.


    .




       

    Spread This Around...

    I love this. I'd love to see video of female IDF soldiers stuffing used tampons into Hizzie bullet wounds, and sticking used pads in their mouths.



    Via Atlas Shrugs.


    .




       

    Insert Missile...

    ...here.


    Update:

    Speaking of missiles, I think this is just a bad fucking idea.

    Dammit! Who puts these idiots in charge!

    Oh yeah, other idiots. Sorry. Forgot.


    .




       

    You May Have Noticed Already...

    ...but in case you haven't, there's a link to Haunted Soldier, my other blog, there on the sidebar now.

    I gathered up all of the scraps of my story I could find, and put it all together in one long post, above my haunted barracks story.

    The barracks story is true, the rest is all fiction.

    For the most part...

    Update:

    The more I think about it, I think I'm not gonna write any more fiction on this blog. It parallels my own life enough to be confusing, and that is not my intent.

    I'm gonna do it all on one or the other of my other blogs, the fiction, that is. And maybe my really long true stories, like the haunted house/barracks one, which I did over a period of time, as a serial.

    I may even collect all of the Nat and Johnny stuff on one blog. I dunno. Sounds like work.

    Speaking of, I just found out for the first time that Lileks's kid has the same name as mine! Natalie! Is that cool, or what? He's just always called his Gnat, and I call mine Nat, and that's that.

    He has been writing about attending his High School reunion. I'm not sure how that would work out for me. All that ammo gets heavy after a while.


    .




       

    How Nerdy Is This?








       

    I'm Afraid To Write...

    I am in such a foul mood, and I don't want to spread it around. Well, there's a couple of you I'd like to mess up, but in general, I understand what it's like to leave a blog in a pissy mood because the blogger is spreading the pain that day for some reason.

    Rush isn't helping any, either. I wish he wouldn't play clips of Libtards nattering. What's the point? Like everybody doesn't know they're all assholes already.

    Saw The Goddess Ann on Hardball last night. I understand why she feels a need to put herself on these shows, I just wish she wouldn't. It was funny though, watching her hand Libtards' heads back to them. She was ruthless.

    Hey, I have it on DVR, maybe watching it again would cheer me up. It was funny watching Chris Matthews suck up to her, because he knew damn well that her presence was the only thing getting him any viewers at all.

    Oh well, have a good Friday.


    .




        Thursday, July 27, 2006

    Blast From The Past...

    Long Live The Demoticon!


    .




       

    I Kinda Wanna Write Something...

    ...and I kinda wanna go take a shit on a nun. Decisions, decisions.

    Oh, I know, you've all been there, don't try to lie to me. Who among you has not handed out tablets of Alka Seltzer to toddlers in a mall, in line, waiting for a photo op with Santa? And told them they were giant Sweet Tarts?

    Bonus if they're black kids. Extra bonus if you scream "Rabies!!!" and splat open a packet of ketchup from the food court on your arm, and claim some little fat bastard bit you. Double Extra Secret Points if you begin to foam at the mouth, yourself. Super King Of The Universe Points if you then throw yourself onto the hot female 'Elf' assistant and feign an epilectic fit.

    Oh, the shit I have done in public.

    That I haven't done time in prison, is a tribute to that old saying that 'the devil doesn't want competition in hell'.

    That guy with the lightbulb up his ass in Pakistan? Yep, that'd have been me, only it would have involved an extension cord, as well, and several small snakes.

    Oh shut up, don't try to tell me you don't think watching several backlit snakes, swirling around in some Mohammadan's belly, wouldn't be hecka cool.

    Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I was implying that I would allow appliances and reptiles up my own bung?

    Well, aren't you just a sorry turd, and there now, look, you have driven me into a nappish situation.

    I justify it, because much of the world honors the Siesta. Of course, that part of the world that does so, blows, but do not try to cloud the issue with facts. Fucker.

    Facts. Fucker. Am I amazing, or what? Don't try this at home, folks.

    All that being said, next time a box of Marvel SuperHero popsicles enters this house, I get first fucking dibs on the Venom one. The Hulk one looks like something he shit when he was really, really pissed, and maybe had a himahrhoid (as opposed to a herarhoid, duh) but it tastes really good.

    Wolverine's is more piquant, lemony, and light, as befits someone who cannot masturbate for fear of cutting his entire package off spontaneously. What a homo.

    Spiderman's looks like an Eskimo's dead poodles dick. But it tastes pretty good, too.

    Well, you all have your assignments, so get out there.

    Spread the joy.


    .




       

    Oh My Goodness...

    This is hysterical.

    Gosh I hate clowns.


    .




       

    You've Gotta See This...

    Via this excellent post, I find this video.

    I couldn't have planned a better, more efficient ambush myself.

    Simply amazing, and doesn't surprise me at all.


    Update:

    Welcome to Pallywood.

    Thanks, ajw308.


    .




        Wednesday, July 26, 2006

    A Place For Everything...

    ...and everything in its place.




       

    A Dog's Life...

    He comes running at me, across the yard, his happy tongue flapping about like a pink fish, a handsome Yellow Lab.

    I raise the .50, and core him out like an apple, brown and red sauce exploding out of his ass like thrown oatmeal. Dogs will still make noise, even when mortally cored, so I flicker out the Browning .380 and phut two into his skull, and there's nothing left but the twitching.

    Chasing rabbits in Hell, I suppose.

    I stride purposefully towards the front door, and find it unlocked, as I expected. Just makes it easier.

    His wife is crossing the hallway, down near what I'd bet is a kitchen, so I shoot her ankle out from under her, and she flips like a Cirque Soliel acrobat and her skull thocks to the floor like a dropped melon.

    I see the judge, out on the back deck, his fish forgotten, looking up and around, like he's sniffing the air, like he suspects something is wrong.

    Sheah...ya think?


    .




       

    Down The Lane...

    The pavement ends after about five hundred yards, and turns into that fine whitish gravel rich people use. I wind through the woods, at the first turn, something in the trunk shifts, and there is a moist thump.

    The tires crackle like they're popping a long, continuous sheet of bubble wrap, the tiny stuff, that you use to wrap crystal, and Hummel Figurines, and such. The cruiser's nose finally pokes out of the woods, and I see a small lake, or a large pond, a thing of beauty, green lawn oozing up out of the water at the far side, crawling up a gentle slope to a fine, lemon-yellow house. A manse, really.

    I hate yellow.

    The brakes squeal slightly as I crunch to a stop, to take it all in. Across the way, at the land-side end of a small dock, I see my target. He sees me, too, and waves. He points down to a gaggle of fish on a stringer in one hand, using the segments of a fishing pole, already disassembled, in his other hand, as a pointer.

    I, there, a distant silhouette in my borrowed Smoky Bear hat, raise my left arm out the window, and wave lazily. Sure, welcome me in.
    There's a box on the passenger seat, that I brought with me. I flick a switch, and all cell phone and radio traffic for a half mile radius ceases. No matter, I have no one to call.
    I nose the cruiser around the pond, the pursuit engine growling like a hunting beast, not caring who holds its leash.

    The circular driveway at the front of the house is finished concrete, and I pull to a stop, and kill the engine. The engine clicks and tinks, and air conditioner coolant hisses and spatters on the hot parts, like baby fat, frying.

    I step out of the car, and toss the hat back in. The key alarm dings softly, a few times, until I gently shut the door....


    .




       

    What Happens Next...

    Oh, I'm sorry, I just checked, and my computer is out of ink. I'd go purchase some more, but silly me, my purse is empty of everything but lint!

    I know, I know, egg on my face.

    Well, too bad. I had such plans. Nope, no car ride. Nice guess, though. I had every intent of shooting a perfectly good dog. And a woman. There may have been torture.

    You'd put a quarter in the door if you had to shit, so...


    .




       

    Judge, Not...

    About a half a mile from my destination, at the top of a private drive, sat a sheriff's car, its occupant dozing, as again, I coasted up to him.

    It's easy. Just remember, your car pushes a cushion of heat in front of it, so don't aim it at your target, and give yourself thirty feet, or so. Practice gently using the parking brake to stop. It's the least stressed item in your car, and done properly, it is quiet. Leave the car in neutral, shifting into park makes noise.

    I'd opened the well-greased door about 500 feet ago, or so, so I slipped out silently, and tread softly, on little cat's feet, towards the cruiser.

    I had no need to draw my pistol, a noisy operation at best, as it was already on the car seat beside me. Besides, deploying a .50 Desert Eagle, with attached silencer, is damn near like deploying a crew-served weapon. Silencer, you ask? Well, let's just say, it muzzles the bear. A well made can will tame damn near anything, and the more weight on the front of that fucker, the better.

    His hat is down over his eyes, and I reach in and take it, and put it on my own head. He, being a pinhead, makes his lid a tight fit, but all I want is the silhouette, anyway.

    He startles...

    Staring down the equivalent of a drainage pipe will do that to you, I guess.

    "Hi!" I say, cheerily, while motioning to his hands that they should really be on the steering wheel. They comply.

    His throat is making a dry clicking sound, like when the battery goes bad on your wall clock. I am taking it all in. The Judge has a cool mailbox. A nearly exact representation of the courthouse downtown, across from the pretty park, with the bandstand in the middle of it, scarred by the Satanic graffiti carved up in its ceiling.

    He's got some 'splaining' to do, that Judge...okay, belay that, he just needs to pay for certain, shall we say, misguided decisions? Yes, that'll do.

    I open the car door with my left hand, wide, and point to the trunk release. The gun stays steady, centered on his face. He reaches down with his left hand, and pops the release. Gosh, I like working with professionals.

    I give him the 'come to me' gesture, and he rises out of the car. His ass fell asleep with the rest of him, so he's a bit creaky. I direct him back towards the trunk, and a teensy flicker of hope dawns in his eyes. I'm five feet away. He can lunge at me, if he wants. He doesn't want. His shoulders drop, and he shuffles back around to stand in front of the open trunk.

    There's two rifle cases in there, and all kinds of boxes and cases of this and that. This is like sending a kid to their room. All their stuff is there. The hope glows like a blown-on ember. Am I that stupid? Well, let's just play along and see!

    I give him one last chance to die like a man.

    I wave the gun out and at him, using it like a pointer, to tell him where I want him, which is in the trunk. He sits on the rubberized edge, and swings his feet up and over and inside, and lowers himself into his coffin.

    I sigh.

    I direct him to move where I want, with his head up against the spare tire. I step back several feet, and his eyes begin to widen "I've got a wife and two kids!" he blurts, like I give a shit, and I take careful aim, and squeeze the trigger. The huge bullet phumps into his head and thence into the steel wheel with a 'ptank!' and I am greatly relieved. I bend down and pick up an empty cartridge nearly the size of a lipstick, and drop it into my duster pocket.

    Between all of the ammo and flares in there, not to mention the gas tank, I was really worried, because I needed that car...

    .





       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    .




       

    Some Damn Good...

    ...advice.

    I'm mostly putting that up as a link to his links, for me. I know all that stuff, but a refresher never hurts.

    Every man, woman, and child should know and be able to demonstrate:

    -How to start a fire, especially with wet wood.

    -How to build a basic shelter, for any weather.

    -How to snare and trap live food. And how to safely butcher and cook it.

    Those are my bare minimum requirements. You may want to look into learning some human anatomy, because there may come a time when you have to eat one.


    .




       

    Product Placement...

    I was totally craving a McDonald's biscuit sandwich, and as I do not get hungry very often, the wife takes these rare opportunities to get me what I want.

    She called me from the parking lot there and told me they had just stopped serving breakfast when she pulled in. Bastards. Fifteen minutes early, too, the punks.

    I said oh well, thanks for trying, and she said she was going to Safeway, and did I want anything, and I said they had a Jimmy Dean biscuit sandwich there I had been dying to try, so she said okay.

    Man, these are good. I have yet to meet a Jimmy Dean product that is not wonderful. Sara Lee (another goddess) biscuit, cheese, egg, and Jimmy Dean sausage patty. Wonderful.

    Don't follow the directions on the box, though, or you'll fuck it up. Cook it for about 3 minutes on power level 5. Start checking after two minutes. I cooked it on a glass plate, too, with a paper towel over it. Frankly, next one I have, I'm gonna put the biscuit in the toaster, and cook the guts on a plate, then put them in the biscuit. See how that goes.

    These are just yummy morsels, four to a box, and one was enough for me.


    .




       

    You Need To Read...

    ...this.

    If I ever see a blue helmet in my neighborhood, I'm putting a bullet hole in it.

    I promise.

    Update:

    ...and this.


    .




       

    Thanks!

    What a nice thing to wake up to in the morning. A great big huge THANK YOU! to whosomever got me the Serenity movie and the entire series of Firefly.

    I shall have a less shitty day than I expected, thanks to you.


    .




        Tuesday, July 25, 2006

    The Sun Also Sets...

    Desert sand licks up to the edge of the place like a receding ocean, dust swirling like dead foam.

    The setting sun glints painfully off the chrome of crotch rockets, and dully, from the dead eyes of the blacked out windows of several vans, SUV's, and a couple of battered motor homes.

    I cut the motor at 500 yards, and coast up to the edge of the parking lot. I get out, and walk like a normal, heavy footed man, across the sand, to the double doors. They are used to this sound, and it should draw no alarm, just amusement.

    The constabulary in these parts are either bought and paid for, or...have other reason to, shall we say, be complacent...

    I place my hand on the door. Feel. Breathe. An entrance is so important, perhaps even more so than accessorizing.

    I pull the pin from one of my accessories, flick it away into the sand, and palm the sphere up the left sleeve of my duster, and push my way in. The dying light glints off of several sets of glinting green eyes, set aside from the chemically red ones who squint, and turn away from the glare.

    I'm in the right place.

    I stomp, in my boots, towards the bar, waving a sheaf of 20's in my right hand, and, hollering in perfect biker, "Drinks for the house!"

    Music to most ears, not to all. Pitchers are grabbed off tables, wasted waitresses are galvanized, and head to the bar, and the Still Ones, in the back, there, eye me balefully.

    I have disturbed their feeding ground.

    No one lives, tonight, if I can help it, but best to eliminate the A-Team first, so I let the spoon fly out of my sleeve, and as green eyes widen in shock, the door still creaking shut on its rusty springs, I let my greeting bump and thump across the floor into the middle of them...


    .




       

    Instant Messaging...

    In honor of my youngest Marine's imminent deployment, I present you this, from Feb 2004:


    My Son says:
    soory, had to leave for a second

    Simon says:
    I'm soory, too

    My Son says:
    I just found out that some marines are leaving tonight and I left to tell them I''ll miss them and that I wish

    My Son says:
    I am worried about thrm dad

    My Son says:
    its a weird feeling saying goodbye to all these guys

    Simon says:
    yep

    Simon says:
    give out lotsa free hugs

    Simon says:
    party hard with your bros

    Simon says:
    keep a shoulder free

    My Son says:
    I would hate to be a family member saying goodbye to their son or doughter. these are my friends and it feels

    My Son says:
    I cant explain it

    My Son says:
    I am so worrie dfor them

    Simon says:
    yep

    Simon says:
    sorry

    My Son says:
    I hate this

    Simon says:
    yep

    Simon says:
    me too

    My Son says:
    i'll be back, gtg

    Simon says:
    kay

    My Son says:
    had to go get more hugs, you were right

    Simon says:
    yep

    My Son says:
    all the times we spent working together playing together laughing together are over

    My Son says:
    I cant believe it

    Simon says:
    tellem to buy batteries

    Simon says:
    and pop tarts

    My Son says:
    there will be a px were they are going

    My Son says:
    that sells pop tarts and batteries

    Simon says:
    not for a few days while they in process

    My Son says:
    I still remember my first phone call to you guys when I was in iraq

    Simon says:
    me, too

    My Son says:
    "hey its ME, I'm in IRAQ!"

    My Son says:
    can you hear me now

    Simon says:
    you homesick?

    My Son says:
    for what?

    Simon says:
    Iraq

    My Son says:
    it was a good life out there

    Simon says:
    count your blessings

    My Son says:
    except for the acual living conditions

    Simon says:
    and the dying conditions

    My Son says:
    got to know people real well

    Simon says:
    go to summer camp

    My Son says:
    yeah, and the dying conditions

    My Son says:
    but the first week I was in tsb one of my friends fell off the third floor in the barracks and died

    Simon says:
    ouch

    My Son says:
    no matter where you go people die

    Simon says:
    not as fast

    My Son says:
    but out there we were brothers. here everyone is on their own program

    Simon says:
    yep

    Simon says:
    maybe

    My Son says:
    I would rather be here, but its hard to explain

    Simon says:
    not to me

    Simon says:
    I get it

    My Son says:
    I know

    Simon says:
    what's wrong with crying?

    My Son says:
    its just weird how this shit affects you

    My Son says:
    off to war

    My Son says:
    where someone dies every day

    My Son says:
    will it be the guy I drank with an laughed with and ate dinner at his house with his family?

    Simon says:
    you think too much

    My Son says:
    I know, probably nothing is going to happen

    My Son says:
    but I have had bad experiances with iraq

    Simon says:
    yep

    My Son says:
    I think I am just going to sleep on it

    My Son says:
    I love you dad

    My Son says:
    goodnight

    Simon says:
    love you forever

    Simon says:
    like you for always

    Simon says:
    as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be...

    My Son says:
    I'm already emotional as it is. thanks for bringing up that old story. I love you to dad, glad your in my life

    Simon says:
    me, too

    My Son says:
    goodnight sir

    Simon says:
    goodnight, my son


    _______________


    Thanks, Jean, for reminding me.


    .




       

    Better By Me...

    ...better than you.

    A hidden, dark grotto, on the net...


    .




       

    I See...

    ...by my sitemeter that I am gonna hit 230,000 or so tonight, or tomorrow.

    Do you realize that if each of those had given me a dollar...heck, 50 cents! that I could sponsor a little eighteen year old Brazilian orphan girl? And her buxom twin?

    I hate all...well, most of you, for the pain and loss I have suffered because of your callous disregard for my needs.

    Just one billionaire with too much time on his hands, and a skewed world view...is that too much to ask for?

    Where's fucking Howard Hughes when you need him...


    .




       

    The Phrase 'Made In China'...

    ...means something. It refers to quality, well, the utter lack thereof.

    Keeping that in mind, this should pucker your pooter.


    .




       

    Israel Issues Timetable Today...

    Gives the United States 10-14 days to subdue the Iraqi insurgency, and the resurgent Taliban in Afghanistan, and then withdraw its forces.

    Good luck with that!


    .




       

    Another Nail...

    ...in Evolutions Coffin.

    Haven't we established already that there is no more room for nails, and we're using chains, now?

    Good. Clarity is important.


    .




       

    If You Read USA Today...

    ...you are a sucker. And an idiot.

    But then, you read USA Today...


    .




       

    So...

    I was chasing Nat around the house with a booger a bit ago, and I began to question whether I have maturity issues.

    I told myself I was teaching her Escape and Evasion, which I was, but still, what kind of grown man chases a five year old girl around the house with a booger?

    Well, me, I guess. You should have seen her, though, butt-naked except for flappy pink panties, her hair flying back like a little horsey's mane (I'm too lazy to try to figure out how to pluralize 'pony') and a determined look on her face. If I catch her, I rub some un-boogered finger across her teeth, and she spazzes and spits in place for a bit.

    Good times.

    Johnny wants to play, too, and waits for my malevolent gaze to fall upon him with great glee. There is no chasing Johnny around the house. Johnny crashes around the house, with all the grace of a drunken Goony Bird. So when confronted by The Booger, he makes the most effective martial arts move of all, in order to evade an approaching object: complete collapse.

    He drops like one of those Fainting Goats, like a sack of Tinker Toys, in a heap.

    I woke myself up this morning by hitting him in the face. In a dream. I act out on him violently a lot in my dreams. I never strike him when I'm awake, couldn't bear to, but I sure have a lot of aggression in my sleep.

    I was dreaming about him eating mac & cheese in his room, and he was making a mess, and he wasn't listening to me, and the kids are never to have food in their room anyway, so I grabbed his head on one side with one hand, and with the other, I slapped him in the face, hard.

    In reality, I slapped my own arm that my hand had been resting on, and jolted myself awake. I'm surprised I don't have a damn bruise.

    Stephen King told me one night, when both of us were pretty bombed, "Every father wants secretly wants to kill his kids..."
    Having just seen a preview screening of The Shining with him, I found that statement somewhat...disconcerting.

    Could explain a lot.


    .




       

    Guten...

    ...Morgen...


    Und Guten Tag...


    .




        Monday, July 24, 2006

    I, Having Been Blessed By God...

    ...with a certain, shall we say, understanding? Insight? Denied, for the most part, feelings of my own, I am cursed/blessed with an empathy for those of others, and it vexes me.

    You see, should my time come, I would have no problem standing in a sterile, white shower room, and inhaling Zyklon-B. I would welcome it, actually, stretching my arms to Heaven, and sucking it down in great draughts.

    Now, if I was a naked seven year old girl, watching my Mother, who I was seeing naked for the first time in my life, as she screams and dies in front of my eyes while my own eyes burn and tear, and I choke from what I was told would just be a shower, well...

    And the Mother, watching her daughter turn blue, unable to help, because I'm dying, tearing my own throat out with my fingernails in order to breathe...

    And the grandmother, watching the entire female line of my family die, from my clouding eyes, there on the floor, the foot of some other dying woman in my face, kicking my already broken nose over and over, in a mindless spasm of death...

    And they took away my teeth! My fucking teeth! And my glasses! So I can barely see!

    So you can see why the heirarchy of Iran needs to die. And why Hizbollah needs to be utterly destroyed, down to the last man, woman, child, and sympathizer, right?

    You do see that, right?

    Right?



    .




       

    More...

    ...from the 'Stick A Fork In Us, Cuz We're Done' files.

    The workers were "foreign nationals," according to a news release from the 2nd Bomb Wing that did not specify countries of origin.

    I'm guessing that if they were Mexican, the report would have said so?

    The workers did not have access to secure information, 2nd Bomb Wing spokesman Lt. Frank Hartnett said.

    Hey asshole, you didn't even know they were there, and now you expect us to believe you about what they did or did not have access to? And have you ever heard of a camera phone, dipshit? Did any of these assholes ever go into a boulding to 'use the restroom'? Vending machines? Cafeteria?

    Oh well...


    .




       

    Tunnel Rats...

    Being related to rats, and other vermin, Arabs tend to tunnel, and both we and the Israelis have encountered their tunneling before, quite often to our detriment.

    Why haven't we developed some sort of pest control for this activity?

    Would bursts of microwave energy work? Or big sound trucks, that would pull up and deploy giant, bell shaped speakers, and fire sound down through the earth? Thunder machines, with giant pile-drivers, that pound up and down?

    I thought about making long, relatively fragile tubes of glass, like giant test tubes, and filling them with a terrible acid, and boring deep holes in the ground along the fence, and putting them down in it. Wouldn't want to be the first one to hit one of those with a shovel now, would you. Put an alarm in them that floats at the top, and goes off if the level begins to drop.

    Bury depth charges, here and there, with proximity alerts buried all around them.

    My favorite idea, since I used to work in the oil fields, and on drilling rigs, would be to make a militarized portable drilling rig. Just go along the border where tunnelling activity is suspected, sinking random holes. Have the thing set up to where, should the bit break through a tunnel ceiling and begin spinning freely, without resistence, an attached tanker truck full of a caustic, lighter than air red-colored gas begins to pump it furiously into the tunnel. Keep pumping until you see a cloud of red gas rising above a Palestenian house, and people running screaming out of it.

    Then send in a platoon of tanks and dismounted infantry, and flatten it.

    I like that idea best, I think.


    Update:

    Do any of you know if Israel has Spectre 'Spooky' gunships? I'd think those would be particularly effective against the Hizzies right about now.


    Update:

    Interesting...


    .




       

    He's Got A Point...

    Do you think all the peaceniks who are fellating Condilesbo Rice will ever get it?

    Guerrillas like to hide behind civilians.

    Muslim guerrillas take it a step further: "Civilians" are a weapon to them -- as much a part of the fight as the AK-47 or RPG they carry.

    Those who have visited any Hezbollah installation in Lebanon over the years always remark on the fact that there are families, women and children, in and around the place. "Secret" bases are usually hidden in plain site. Houses or apartment buildings become weapons storage or even operations centers.
    An innocent shed or garage may contain a Toyota or a missile launcher.

    Seldom, if ever, has a guerrilla movement been able to so openly and exquisitely weave itself into the fabric of a society as Hezbollah has done in Lebanon.

    If the civilians in and around what are in effect operational bases happen to be of Hezbollah's own brand of Islam they automatically become a part of the "sacrificial," suicidal equation. Often without choice or foreknowledge, they die an "honorable" death in the battle against infidels or apostates.

    If the civilians happen to be of some other persuasion, Islamic or otherwise, their deaths are not even worth a shrug. However, these mangled bodies and wailing women with arms outstretched do provide an immense propaganda payoff, especially in the Western "crusader" media -- which still places a quaint value on human life.
    [emphasis mine]

    We will not ever know peace as long as any Islamist draws breath.

    Man, woman, or child.


    Update:

    Fuck Islam.

    Oh, there's lots more evidence of the traitors in our midst from here.

    And fuck Allah, while you're at it. I hate fake gods as much as I hate the murderous morons who follow them. Yeah, I'm lookin at you, too, Mormons.


    .




       

    I Love...

    ...strange statues.


    .




       

    Call Your Boss Over...

    ...and then click on this link.

    Dare ya.


    .




       

    Is This...

    ...you?

    It sure is me. Though I have had to severely modify due to the tyranny of the wife and kids.

    If I ever become alone again, though, I'll revert right back.


    .




       

    Disneyland, Back Then...

    If you're like me, old and nostalgic, this will make you a little maudlin.

    The changes in the Matterhorn and the Swiss Family tree house bother me the most, I think.

    And gosh, but I loved the submarine ride...


    .




       

    Man, I Really Really...

    ...want this! (hint hint)

    Make sure to enlarge the picture. Creepy, huh. And what a great idea for a story!

    Just chilling.


    .




       

    Medical Acronyms...

    ...from A to Z.

    And incidentally, why I will not be entering a hospital any time soon.

    Okay, ever.


    .




        Sunday, July 23, 2006

    Curb Your Retard...

    I do mine.

    A cautionary tale.


    .




       

    Fuck You...

    It's too hot to type.

    And it's not like you're paying me for this shit.

    You know what a new mother's t-shirt looks like when her infant cries? Yeah, that's pretty much the front of mine, right now, in 104 temp.

    Damn.


    .




       

    I Normally Hate Clowns...

    ...but...


    .




       

    Sunday Riff...

    This is nice.

    I could maybe hang out with this guy.

    Maybe...


    .




        Saturday, July 22, 2006

    Oooops!

    I'm sure it was just some sort of oversight.

    Won't happen again. Really really sorry, an all that.


    .




       

    Dear God, It's Hot...

    That's a prayer. Or more accurately, a complaint. Hey, Big Guy, could you turn it down a bit?

    104.

    In the shade.

    The shade cooks like a restless spirit. Vibrates, really. Afraid to peer around the back of the house, and catch a face full of fire. So it hides, back there, waiting for night.

    The wife's job died today. Well, she was 95, so she was way past her sell-by date, but still, it is both a sad thing, and an impact upon our income. Ours is a settled pool, we up to our noses in it, and when the Devil goes water-skiing, well...

    I told her to have faith, but as religious as she is, there lies her struggle. I sometimes...okay, all the time, think that our financial struggle is meant to hone her faith, as I have no problem with it.

    Oh, I can kvetch with the best of them, but my first impulse at disaster is to throw myself into my Father's arms, and hers is to fret, and look to herself for the solution.

    Sometimes, I have to sit on her. Her eyes roll, like a calf caught out in a thunderstorm, and I have to shepherd her to the Great Shepherd, and let He and His crook and His loving heart deal with her, because I cannot, for a bit, until He sends her back, and I can comfort her.

    And Dear Lord, it is hot. I know, almost with compleat certainty, how far away from me that Sun is, and yet I could swear it has snuck up recently on its fiery, tippy toes, and is fanning its robe at me, so as to increase the heat.

    Times of other heat crowd my nearly full memory. Sitting in an Oklahoma beer hall, listening to the cooler motors' labor, the squeak squeak squeak of the fan belts as they work to keep the beer tepid, the squeal of the bearing in the fan over the far pool table, going bad, but still whacking the fat, thick air into hot slices, to settle over us like warm dough.

    Crouching up in the rocks, the valley below a shimmering pool of boiled air, watching in awe as an A-10 Warthog comes in on a gun run, the main gun roaring like a mad animal, smoke pouring back over the cockpit, seeming to hang there in the air from the recoil alone, and then the whapwhapwhap crackle of the rounds spacking in.

    Lolling on the hot steel of an LSAT, listening to the motors grind as we head to shore, hearing the pop of mortars in the distance, feeling the spray of the ocean licking up at me like a very sensuous dead woman's tongue, me there, chafing in my kapok.

    Or me there, quivering on my cane, watching the box of my Beloved lower into the ground, the wind whipping at my pants, and trying to freeze my tears.

    Ahhhh, see what can happen when you summon? I was looking for a cold day, and I found one, one where my heart was as cold as ice, at the edge of a bitter winter, on the worst day of my life.

    Be careful what you wish for...


    .




       

    The DaVinci Choad...

    Yeah, it got ya whacked up, di'nt it, you Catholic turd?

    Ha!

    Rest In Pieces.


    .




       

    Not Good...

    ...very bad.

    Which reminds me, of all the stuff on my personal Wish List, I want the DVD of 'Wizards' more than anything. Even the air conditioners.

    Anyway, I have a solution, as usual. Have Special Forces kill all the heroin producing fat cats, and pay all the harvesters and other low-end workers the equivalent wage they would be making if they were out in the fields busting their asses harvesting opium.

    Pay them, provide them with electricity, DVD's, guns, money, booze, whatever it takes, and kill much of the worlds narcotics trade.

    Any questions?


    .




       

    Another Nail...

    ...in Evolution's coffin.

    I'm not sure there's any more room around the edge for nails. Now we just need to start wrapping it with chains, so we can sink that tired old bit of nonsense in a nice, deep septic tank, somewhere.


    .




       

    Call In Direct Fire...

    Looks like Fox and CNN are doing a bang-up job for the Hizzies on this one. If I was Nostrilallah, I would have my boys watching them full time, getting corrections to redirect my fires, and to see places where Israeli troops were in the open, and whatnot.

    Thanks, MSM!

    And how much money do you think these news organizations pay these terrorist organizations to keep their talent and staff from remaining unmolested, and get their footage, and be able to travel around and not end up on a beheading video?

    Watch Fox News, buy a rocket for Hizbollah.

    And how honest do you think one of these talking heads is gonna be, when they've got a Hizbollah handler just off camera listening to their every word?

    Just wondering...


    .




       

    Wherein I Call Bullshit...

    Read this article and see if you don't.

    Christians are always strutting around, throwing their chests out, and crowing like a rooster who has no clue he's what's for dinner that night, and it makes me sick, and I'm tired of it. It's my fucking lifestyle, and I'm tired of hearing about it.

    I'm sick of hearing about the Gay Lifestyle, and I'm sick of Christians trying to out-gay the gays. Fuck alla you and your silly boycotts and your decision as to what is or is not safe for my family.

    Blow me, Donald Wildmon. I'd love the opportunity to punch that pompous fuck in the mouth.

    Hollywood is in business for two reasons: to make money, and to work as an agent of change in this world for the dark god of this world, and yes, it is that simple.

    All else is bullshit and masturbation.

    And if I want to watch a horror movie, I'm gonna fucking watch a horror movie, and alla you damn Goodie Little Two Shoes' out there better not fuck it up for me. Jeez, no wonder everybody wants to persecute you. It's just to get you to shut the fuck up.

    Those people buying the abortion clinics and shutting them down have the right frigging idea. Brilliant! And long overdue!

    If ya'll want to get together and make 'family friendly' (whose family?) movies for kids, do it! Nobody is stopping you! If you make it, they may come. Or not. But keep your fucking laws offa my DVD's.

    Just bug the fuck off, and leave me and mine alone.


    .




       

    I Knew It...

    UN complicit in kidnap and murder of Israeli soldiers.


    .




       

    Some Positive Thinking...

    ...that sums up my feelings about the whole Middle East muddle.

    Thanks, Jean.


    Update:

    As is my wont, I shall make a correction. Jean deseved her own post, linking her wonderful writing. I was thinking of her for some reason when I posted this link, sent to me by someone calling themself 'MWH'.

    They are welcome to take credit, and pimp their link, in my comments.

    Sorry. Senior moment.


    .




        Friday, July 21, 2006

    Fuck This...

    Okay, I've had it. When 95 feels cool, and you open up your windows and suck in the breezes, and you have two air conditioners in the garage, well, you are a boob.

    Here is my plan, critique it:

    I'm gonna bring them in tomorrow morning, and set one up in the tub upstairs, and one downstairs in a small kiddie pool. These fuckers drool water like a bastard. I'm not gonna bother with the covers, since I figure that is to protect them from the elements, and these'll be inside.

    I don't want to go through any mounting in the window bullshit, because this is Oregon, and it could just as easily be snowing next week.

    Plus, cops have a phrase for window mounted A/C's: The Burglar Entrance.

    I just want to defeat the heat for a spell, and then shuck them back in the garage.

    Anyone see a problem with this?


    .




       

    Like Reptiles...

    ...we hide from the heat.

    Fans whir everywhere, as does our electric meter, I'm sure, probably around 33rpm. Another soon to be forgotten term, if not already so.

    I'm about to go lie down, and the kids are dancing to praise music. And then they stop, and lay somnolent near a fan, until the sweat dries. The thermometer I keep by my computer says 95 or better, the internal PC meter reads 105.

    I skidmarked the shape of a mushroom cloud into my shorts a while ago. Hope it's an omen. Israel is massing at the border. Gosh, I'd love to be there, with a .50 cal Barrett. Exploding the Hizzies from a great distance. Cutting them down in heaps. I love the pics of the little rag-bitch the news keeps showing, the one where tears are running down her face.

    Good. Cry bitch, I just killed your Daddy. Too many people don't make it personal enough. I heard Shepherd Smith, yesterday, and all of any respect I may have had for him floated out and away, and he achieved asshole status with one question he asked of an Israeli pilot, as the pilot was about to get into the cockpit of his jet:

    "Do you think of all the pain you are causing down there with your bombing?"

    Asshole.

    I'da been like "Fuck yeah! I love it! watching them little cocksuckers scatter into chunks. Unfortunately, the high explosive shock wave kills the little motherfuckers instantly, before they have a chance to feel it."

    If you wanna play, you're gonna pay, Muslim cocksuckers. Sew the wind, reap a big-ass fucking bomb in your living room while you're watching propaganda on TV about how badass you people are. Buhbye!

    Fuck, it is hot. I'm like a fucking Polar Bear. I wish my keeper would hang a big ice ball from a tree limb for me, full of bottled beers and little airline bottles of Stoli Citron. Man, that is some good shit.

    Now the kids are in the tub, which they unassed at a high rate of speed right off because Nat shat a dingleberry into it while trying to make a fart. You'd a thought someone had thrown a fucking Water Moccasin in there. Hilarity ensued. The wife was disgusted, as she'd just cleaned the tub.

    I shall get to call Nat 'Poop Girl' for the rest of the day. Bonus.

    I am supposed to go to the relatives tonight, and have ice cream. I do not like either relatives, nor ice cream. But the kids are stoked.

    Every time I take a sip of my iced wine, a cold drop of condensation drips down onto the head of my dick, through my house shorts. I like it. It happens naturally, but if I had to, I would aim.

    Those fuckers over at Vox's blog have been talking about some area chain called Zantigo's (they have a website, check it out) and now I am craving a green chili Chilito something fierce, though I have never actually had one. Looking over their menu makes me shiver with lust, like a chiwowa. No, I'm not going to look up the correct spelling. You're lucky to be getting this, as I have a policy of 'no movement when my nipples are sweating'.

    If you think about it, if you have kids, it is really kind of redundant to have a dog.


    .




       

    Hmmmmm...

    This is interesting.


    .




       

    Bad News...

    ...for Spanish Jews.

    Talk about your history repeating itself. And does that spic PM look like a serious child molester, or what?


    .




       

    HA HA!

    ...dumbass.


    .




       

    My Take On 'Education'...

    ...written by somebody else.


    .




        Thursday, July 20, 2006

    It's Hot...

    ...enough to melt your dick. All heat and no cool makes Bane a sluggard. And the trend shows the promise of continuing on into next week.

    Good news is, old people will die. I hate old people. And our local raghead bitches will chafe under their burden of clothing. I hope. Though this is likely an 'unseasonable chill' for those sweathogs, Allah piss a big ole bladderful on them.

    Fuck, I'm gonna go lay in front of a fan. I have two perfectly good air conditioners in the garage, but, well, you know.

    Man, I hate weather. And it's a toss-up as to which I hate worse, a weather-person, or a sportscaster.

    Okay, sportscaster, but weather fag comes close. Oddly, I like weather twats. There they are, just a posing away, stretching their bosoms towards me, hoping somebody from corporate who they can blow notices them and takes them onward and upward.

    Have I whacked it to the Weather Channel? You be the judge. 'Course, I may, I repeat MAY have whacked it to Lazytown, so my judgment in these matters may be considered, shall we say, 'a little suspect'.

    But NEVER to Sesame Street, though Miss Piggy has given me a stir or two with her 'come fuck me' outfits. Where'd that bitch go, anyway? And that queer, Kermit? Hmmmm, long time, no see. When Muppeteers get too old to Muppet, I guess.

    Hey, speaking of Love-Puppets, someone needs to make an all blow-up doll porn movie. Or maybe one with those cool 'Living Doll' fuck-puppets. Damn, I'd love one of those. A girl one.

    The preceding brought to you by excessive heat, and perhaps the most teensiest bit of alcohol.

    I rock...


    .




       

    Death Takes A Holiday...

    Or at least a brief time out.

    We now pause this war for a word from our sponsors.

    It jolts me every time they cut away to commercial.


    .




       

    Posted...

    ...without comment, because there's nothing to say.


    .




       

    You Really Need To Read...

    ...this.

    And follow the links.


    .




       

    For The Man Who Has Everything...



    Via Catfish, of course.

    .





       

    How Do You Explain Liberals To A Child?

    Try it. Just try.

    I haven't done it for my kids, yet, and frankly, I find the task daunting.

    I mock and rant against Liberals all the time, here on the blog, but how to warn a five year old who has just asked you to take her to the library, of the dangers she would face from uncaged Liberals in their native habitat? One of just many places they have co-opted from decent human society?

    "Honey, they want to put bad things in your bottom."

    Nope.

    "Honey, there are people who want to tell you bad lies while they smile at you and talk sweetly..."

    Maybe.

    "...and then put bad things up your butt!"

    Nope.

    Needs work.


    .




        Wednesday, July 19, 2006

    An Email, From My Beloved Uncle...

    Posted: June 27, 2006 1:00 a.m. Eastern
    By Mychal Massie (c) 2006 WorldNetDaily.com

    There's a reason a pet will continue to use your finest oriental rug as a urinal - it's because you clean the rug instead of removing the pet.

    If the pet is cute, perhaps cuddly, wags its tail and slobbers - it enjoys an "avoid paying the consequences for its actions card." In brief, you're loyal to a carpet-wetting mutt that will wag its tail at anyone with a bone.

    Such is the case with liberal Democrats and Republicans alike. Blind ideology trumps the courage and conviction of voters to do what is right.

    Pfc. Kristian Menchaca and Pfc. Thomas L. Tucker were kidnapped, tortured and slaughtered while on patrol. Their mutilated bodies were found dumped on the roadside and wired with bombs. Just so we're on the same page, by mutilated I mean: They had their eyes gouged out, their limbs had been hacked off, they were beheaded and some reports indicate their genitals had been removed and stuffed in the mouths of their severed heads. Their bodies had been savaged to the point of not being recognizable - DNA testing was needed to ensure proper identification.

    Were there rushed resolutions put forth by Congress condemning this animalism? Of course not. What we saw was John Kerry, D-Mass., from the bowels of Congress (sarcasm intended), lecturing the newly formed Iraqi government on its need to engage in self-help - while lecturing America on its need to "cut and run." His timeline for "cutting and running" had gone from Dec. 31 at the beginning of the week to July 2007 three days later - showing even his diatribes are fraught with indecision.

    Dick Durbin, D-Ill., Ted Kennedy, D-Mass., Harry Reid, D-Nev., et al. expressed not one word of outrage at the swine who perpetrated these atrocities - not one - zip - nada. They were too busy assailing the president, the Iraqi government and the troops for war crimes.

    There was no condemnation from the "Hollywooders" either. John Murtha, D-Pa., wasn't even willing to acknowledge a half-ton of ordnance was responsible for killing Abu Musab al-Zarqawi - waiting instead to see if there would be opportunity to further bastardize our troops as barbaric murderers raging out of control, slaughtering innocent civilians.

    I digress to say, if Murtha is so averse to our military, he should stop collecting his military pension and benefits. In that there is talk he has aligned himself with the group Code Pink, they can pay his pension. After all, if they can give $650,000, as has been alleged, to terrorists in Fallujah - Murtha's compensation wouldn't amount to a hill of beans (pun intended).

    There has been no outcry from human-rights organizations or the International Red Cross - who are ever quick to condemn American treatment of terrorist prisoners as inhumane. Their cacophony of silence speaks volumes about where their true sympathies lie.

    There is no such demonstrative silence when it comes to blaming American troops for even a hint of misdeed. With Murtha cast in the role of pied piper, Media Research Center reports that "ABC, CBS and NBC have poured on the coverage [of Haditha], with more than three and a half hours of coverage in just the past three weeks. In contrast, a review of nearly five years of coverage finds those same networks have allotted only 52 minutes of airtime to telling the stories of America's highly decorated heroes in the war on terror."

    Liberal Democrats, such as Jack Reed, D-R.I., (Republican Lincoln Chaffee's Democrat mirror image), advocate "cut and run," complaining it's been three years. "The president has no plan," they whine, to which I respond: "What kind of plan is 'cut and run'?" Where is the strategic planning in running home to mama? What do they envision as the aftermath of such a liquescent act of courage? Do they believe the fledgling Iraqi government will be able to withstand the assault from within that is sure to follow?

    The proponents of "cut and run" and those who portray isolated incidents as evidence of pandemic American wrongdoing are not leaders. They are not supporters of our troops or military. They are the equivalent of mutts repeatedly messing the floor. And they will continue to do so until you, the voters, take matters into your own hands. Just like the mutt that thinks wagging its tail and slobbering somehow impairs our olfactory senses pursuant to the soiled carpet - these people think that a smile, a few lies and "Bush is wrong" slogans, is all it takes to get re-elected or have you watch their networks, while they continue insulting our intelligence and patriotism.

    In my mind - the fact that not one of the aforementioned has expressed outrage over American civilians being beheaded, the mutilations of American troops at Fallujah and now, of these two fine young men cinches it. They are unfit to represent voters or express opinion. Our troops have been accused of the worst offenses, by Kerry, Murtha, Howard Dean, Durbin, et al., only to have the allegations shown false.

    Voters should be filled with righteous indignation that refuses to be sated until every one of them is driven out of office, no matter how long it takes.

    Mychal Massie is a nationally recognized political activist, pundit and columnist. He is host of the widely popular talk show "Straight Talk." He has appeared on the Fox News Channel, CNN, MSNBC, NBC, Comcast Cable and talk radio programming nationwide. He is a former self-employed business owner of over 30 years and a member of the conservative public policy institute National Center for Public Policy Research-Project 21.


    .




       

    Liar Liar...

    ...pants on fire.

    Hezbollah denied that any of its "leaders or members" died in the strike in the Bourj al-Barajneh district of south Beirut. The explosives did not blast a leadership bunker, but a mosque under construction...

    You know you are seriously kicking raghead ass when they start this kind of shit.

    Or when they ask for a ceasefire.

    Don't fall for it.


    .




       

    Dream Spray...

    Bad Dream Spray, actually. We got tired of Nat waking us up, screaming, so I invented it, and the wife implemented it. Took an expired hair product spray bottle, wrote 'Dream Spray' large on it with black magic (Magic...get it?) marker, filled it with distilled water, and put it on Nat's dresser, by her big cross, and her light up angel, and her little Beauty and the Beast lamp.

    I blame the Catholics.

    Of course, Jews have just as many silly rituals and gimcracks, but I love them, so we won't go there. Hummanahummanuhummanuh.

    Nat puked the other night, a whole gutload of blueberries and such, but this time she made it to the toilet, and both the wife and I each thought the other of us was in there with her. I got in there about the time the wife did, she glassesless, blinking like an owl, and blind as a bat. I turned on the bathroom light (the night light was on, all the strategic points in my house are lit so) and there's Nat, hurking and horking away, and keeping her hair back out of it!

    That's MY girl.

    Some of you may have noticed that the wife is gone. Yes, camping with church friends. I expect her home tonight, but I hope she calls and asks for another day. Doubtful, as Johnny has an appointment tomorrow to have his feet checked, preparatory to surgery. Like I always say, work in progress, work in progress.

    Poor little bastard.

    Ah well. We head into the hot zone, this week, so I hear. 90's to 100's. I do not handle the heat well. It chafes me so. One is not meant to have to free one's testes from ones penis, in order to micturate. I suppose sex, even chemically induced sex, will be out of the question.

    Gone, far gone, are the days when one put a 45rpm of 'Rocky Mountain Way', the absolute best song to fuck to, ever, on replay, and whiled away a hot, sweaty afternoon atop some shrieking doxy.

    For me, anyway. Oh, I might could do it, but then again, I like broccoli now, too.

    The more things change, the more things change. Today, a day lasts like a thousand minutes. What? Night again? Already? Cool.

    The idea of pissing away an afternoon floating in a pool on an air mattress, or laying out on the lawn slathered in grease, just appalls me.

    Yet I just woke up from a two hour nap.

    Yet Nat still slumbers. Though John is wiggling, and anxious to hit the computer.

    I have threatened him most dire, should he make a peep. Or a thump.

    Last night, on a whim, whilst kissing him goodnight, I placed my lips against his skull, and made a buzzing sound that I am sure resonated throughout his skull.

    He laughed, and then he burst into desperate tears, and I remembered his skull reconstructive surgeries.

    Sorry, little guy.



    .




       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Something to tide you over until her column comes out.


    Update:

    Whew! I needed this.


    .




       

    The Chosen People?

    Or just good duckers?

    You be the judge.


    .




       

    How To Attain...

    ...asshole status.

    Too bad. I liked the little fucker.

    No more. Explains the pussy-mouth beard, too. Always bugged me.


    Update:

    All the more reason to hate the little cocksucker.


    .




       

    You Might Be Surprised...

    ...to learn that the first thing to pop into my head when I saw this was 'Hey! I bet I could get a great blowjob from that thing!'

    Or not. Be surprised, I mean.

    Need to splice some hooker genes with that fish's genes, and make a proper suckerfish. Or maybe somebody already did that.

    Regardless, if you see some guy with his pants around his ankles, floating face down on an inner-tube on that lake, it's me, trolling for suckerfish.

    Hope there's no carp in there.


    .




       

    An Update...

    ...on the Goldstein/Frisch kerfluffle.

    Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the author of that article the feminist broad Vox has been sparring with lately? Amusing, if she is.

    I suppose it's too much to hope for that someone bends a pipe over that bitch Frisch's fat, empty head?

    We ain't seen the last of this, folks, now that it's hit the Drive-By media. Sooner or later some doofus congress-clown and/or senatorial swine will begin proposing regulation of internet speech.

    I kinda wish Goldstein had banned the dumb bitch right up front, instead of letting things go on, but that's not how he rolls. Too many idiots think that they have some sort of right to free speech just because they can type.

    Well, you don't. So shut up. Unless I like what you are saying, or you amuse me.

    So there.

    Oh, have I mentioned that Frisch is a big ole lesbo? And not one of those cute ones, neither. She and her partner are both mutts, which is just one more reason to be glad that they can't breed.


    Update:

    More...


    .




       

    All The Fucks...

    ...you'll ever need.

    I really hope you're at work...


    .




        Tuesday, July 18, 2006

    Is It Wrong...

    ...to spank it to a cartoon? Just look at that up there! Now, I don't want you to think that I put a Post-It Note over the guy so I couldn't see him while I wanked to that hot redhead.

    Funny, the liberal chick he draws is just as hot, and yet I couldn't do it with her, unless I shagged her from behind and then pulled out and came on her back where she couldn't reach it.

    Wait, still a cartoon...

    Never mind.


    .




       

    I LOVE This Idea...

    You might find this shocking, but I think it's a wonderful idea.

    Heck, I'd like to take it even further, and combine it with a petting zoo, so you could entertain your kids while you pick the one you want to eat. Have calves, and baby sheep, and piglets.

    "Okay honey, Babe has to go into the back, now, with this nice man in the white apron."

    Some meat needs to be aged, of course, but I love fresh meat. You have not lived until you have had fried chicken that has had its neck wrung an hour or so ago. I mean it. Same thing with ham steaks, or sausage. I have had fresh made food at a farmhouse, including fresh eggs, and you poor city-slickers have never had anything like it. Oh, and fresh, ice cold cows milk? To die for.

    I'm not sure how you could do it logistically, but if you had a restaurant that was somehow adjacent to a farm, or not very far away, I think you would have a killer business. Fresh food only, as organic as you can make it? Shiite, it'd be reservation only. Especially if you brewed your own beer and distilled your own spirits.

    A lot of licensing hoops to jump through, but boy howdy...

    I used to eat at this fish restaurant that served catfish (which I'm not fond of) and trout and bass caught fresh from their own ponds. Heck, you could sit in the window and watch them catch your dinner. Best fish I've ever had that I didn't catch and cook myself.

    I've eaten in a couple of places where you pointed to a fresh side of beef and told them which chunk you wanted. Best I've ever had, outside of the farmhouse meals I've mentioned.

    If you've never dug red potatoes out of the ground and cooked them yourself, well, that's just sad. And after eating fresh, organic free range chicken eggs, a storebought egg, full of hormones, and likely been on a truck for days just tastes like phlegm.

    Damn. Made myself hungry. Gotta go...


    .




        Monday, July 17, 2006

    For Once I Mourn...

    ...for real.

    Sad day.

    RIP, Mr Spillane.


    .




       

    Queer Alert...

    Heterosexual men should not watch this.

    Who knows what evil lurks in the hards of men.

    Thanks, LL.

    Bitch.

    I think I'm gonna barf...s'cuse me...


    .




       

    Jesus...

    ...wept.


    .




       

    I AM A Sexual Tyrannosaurus!

    I know you've all been anxiously awaiting my update on the boner front. Let me clear up some confusion, first. I use the word 'Viagra' to denote whatever generic chemical name item the VA gave me, and they can only give me two a month, and I'm supposed to break them in half.

    Being frugal, and concerned about that whole potential 'imminent death' thing, I cut mine in eighths.

    Whoo doggies! Gave her the best thirty minutes of her life. Near the end, when the Orgasm Fairy twinkled Spooge Dust on the back of my scrotum and made me grunt in surprise like a water buffalo that has just been speared by a pygmy, she was beginning to make that shrieking sound, you know, the one that says 'no mas!'? Just before she begins to crab-walk up to the corner of the bed and look for something to stab you with if you don't stop? That one? You don't?

    I'm sorry, but you are a lousy lay, then.

    Anyway, for some background, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure years ago, around the time Johnny was born. I'd had it for years, and knew it, but it finally had begun to scare me. So I got put on some meds, and it finally got under control, but after I lost my last best job and my insurance, I was at the mercy of Public Health, and they don't give you the good drugs.

    So, over the years, as my arthritis got worse, and the generic crap pills took their toll, things began to, shall we say, suffer. Oh, I could and did and do go after it. She and I are very sexual people. But sometimes, the pain in my hips would overwhelm me. Oh, I made sure to take care of her, but there were times when I just wanted to stop and not continue any more.

    I mentioned this to my new doc, she of the soft hands, and voila! Bonerama!

    So, the wife and I cuddled, and kissed, and petted, and giggled, and then something came up between us. Same dick, different day. Even wet and slick, he laughed at the fan blowing on him. She said 'Thank God for Astroglide'. It was a warm afternoon, you see, and I needed that fan, and so did she. And if you are not all using Astroglide, you are missing out. Just putting it on is a joy, and separates the men from the premature ejaculators.

    Anyway, it eventually became time to lock and load, and I swear, I'm surprised I didn't pull out one of her kidneys on the end of it, glistening and wet, like a freshly speared sea creature.

    And I fucked us both retarded. One eighth of a tab translates to about an hour of good, hot, cervix plunging, and that's quite enough for me right now, thank you.

    Of course, I paid for it later, in joint pain, and the pill made my heart beat like a Viking longboat drum-master until late evening, when I took another dose of my old pills and a handful of aspirin to stop it.

    Still, I highly recommend the experience. I'm gonna go in drug free, next time, just to get a baseline, and then decide if I'm gonna start doing the Canadian black market thing and getting them for myself.

    It was very very nice, having an eighteen year olds dick again, with a fifty-one year olds control and mastery of it.

    And the wife has been swirling around my feet like a well-pleased cat since last night.

    Bonus.


    .




       

    All I Can Say Is...

    ...that pussy must be DAMN good.

    Especially if it's pulling some rich raghead away from his goats and little boys.


    .




       

    The World...

    ...mourns.

    Bow your heads...


    .




        Sunday, July 16, 2006

    We're Here To Pick Up Your Bridge...

    So step aside. Comin through. Don't mind us, this'll only hurt for a minute...

    Talk about your insult to injury. The taxpayer gets screwed coming, going, and sideways in this deal, as near as I can figure.

    Rope, lamp post, politician, some assembly required.


    .




       

    Scary Shit...

    My own daughter had an asshole like this after her.

    I offered to kill him, and I think she thought I was joking. Anyway, the situation resolved itself somehow. My older kids are pretty independent. From me, anyway.

    So, a guy with months of reported harrassment claims, restraining orders against him, and is a registered sex offender, gets access to bail, and a handgun?

    Tell me again about that 'Protect & Serve' part?

    I really could use a good laugh.


    .




       

    A Very Good...

    ...and disturbing post.

    And I think he's right.


    .




       

    Libonics...

    I thought I had just invented that word. It just popped into my head as I was reading some Libtards gobbledygook, but then I Googled, and came up with this. Crap. Now I'm deflated. Hey, it was only one hit, and it's a crap site, rotten with pop-ups, so maybe I can carry on.

    Ebonics is a fake, made up language that indicates what type of person you are hearing speak, and usually what color they are, and does not present them well.

    Libonics does the same thing for white people. I note it being spoken or written, and I realize that I can stop paying attention, right there, because that person has nothing of any worth to offer me, and in fact, could actually represent a threat to me.

    There are some people who don't 'get' my Ann Coulter Litmus Test. These are the same kinds of people who brag about having Liberal friends, and all the baggage they bring with them.

    I just ask 'Why?' Life is too short for the dumb shit, and to burden yourself with and deliberately expose yourself to idiocy.

    I don't even like Liberals touching my food.

    'Some of my best friends are gay...' Bye! And don't fuck them, either.

    'I'm fiscally Conservative but...' Bye! Lukewarm RINO fuck.

    'I'm a Republican but I can vote Democratic...' Ditto.

    'I think we need to all form some sort of consensus...' Asshole.

    If you can't take a stand, just sit the fuck down, and shut the fuck up.

    The big people are talking.


    .




       

    Sharkboy & LavaGirl, A Review...

    Now this is how you make a kids' movie.

    If Tim Burton makes it, I'm gonna preview it, first, and then will likely not allow the kids to see it. Fuck Willy Wonka.

    But Robert Rodriguez has made his finest film so far, here, and I hope he keeps it up. It came on one of our Encore movie channels last night, just after we finished dinner (Beef Stroganoff, yum!) and since Nat has been excited about seeing it since she saw the first preview, I called them all in and we settled down as a family to watch it.

    We were all riveted, from the very first frame. It is a masterpiece, strictly for kids, yet it reaches the child in the adult, if they still can let it out, and we could, so we did, and were almost sad when it was over. Except it was perfect, so we were also content, as if after a perfect gourmet dinner.

    Very similar elements to The Neverending Story, which reminds me, I've got to try to get a copy of that for the kids.

    There were enough tense, roller-coaster moments, that I was glad we were there to be with Nat. It was colorful and had enough action to keep Johnny from getting bored and wandering off. And the story continued to draw you in and surprise and delight all the way through.

    And there are evil minions in it called 'Plug Hounds', that bay and menace, and have heads and bodies made from extension cords, with the head being the plug. I shall get much mileage and pleasure for weeks to come, ambushing Nat with various bits of cordage, and baying evilly.

    Eight thumbs up, from all of us. See it.


    .




       

    Housekeeping Note...

    Virtually every complaint email I have received complaining that they can't comment comes from an AOL account.

    Sorry, kids, I guess HaloScan doesn't like AOL. Me neither. If you ever decide to make a change, you just might as well throw your hard drive away and start over, because AOL is the most effective virus in existence, next to Windows. I spent two days one time cleaning it out of my Mom's computer. It had dug into everything. I finally had to do a complete wipe and reinstall, and it still acted twitchy here and there.

    Well, it's Sunday, and Viagra Night was a bust. By the time we could make it to bed, we were both wondering what the heck we were gonna do with a three hour boner, so we cuddled and necked, and went our separate ways to dream moist dreams. And boy howdy...

    Maybe tonight, or this afternoon. I don't need the pills, but they got offered, and they're free, so Yee Haw! We approach it much like you would plan a parachute jump, or something; with the excitement of something different, and an element of risk.

    I heard all the cool kids were doing it, so I thought, why not? What can it hurt? Since we haven't had a chance to try them, yet, stay tuned for the answer to that question.

    I get more actual physical pleasure from sex now, than I did when I was 18. Then, it was more automatic, blind instinct, something to be done, like eating, or taking a crap. Time and gravity have graced me with an even larger protruberance, and slowed up the plumbing enough so that an orgasm seems to last for an hour, now. I can live with that.

    These pills just add an element of, oh, I don't know, like you've been riding the Ferris Wheel happily all night, but now you're gonna both head over to where all the screaming is coming from, and ride the Scrambler. For two hours.

    I might end up startling Rob and making him spill his beer and yell "What the fuck! How'd YOU get here?"

    We shall see.

    Happy Sunday!


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        Saturday, July 15, 2006

    Still Sexy!

    OH! OH! I SPEND! Hold me, darling...





















    Man, doesn't that one on the right, below, look like a big smoky dick, with big smoky balls?






















    Suck our big, pulsing, smoky Jewish dicks, ragheads! HA! In your face!

    Now, go fire off one of your pitiful bottle rockets.

    Muslims are the dingleberrys in the ass-crack of the world. Time to wipe.


    Update:

    How Good Muslims are made.














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    An Open Thread For America-Haters (Liberals)

    One of my Marine sons is for sure on his way to The Sandbox, and the other is trying as hard as he can to get orders for it.

    Now, this makes me very unhappy, as I will be worried sick for their safety, and I really wish I could protect them from this, but I can't, so drive on.

    What I'd like you libtard scumbags to do is leave them your worst wishes, y'know, how you'd like to see them killed and captured and ass-raped and mangled and crippled? Y'know, like you really feel, and say elsewhere all the time?

    That sort of shit really pisses them off, so they are likely to just up and kill tons more Muslims, so please, bring it on.

    I need them fired up. Oh, them, and all their other Marine buddies who read here, as well as the other branches who swing through.

    So, have at it. Oh, and one of em has a wife. Go after her, too. That'll really piss him off. Here's your chance to kill more ragheads than George Bush has, hippies! Go for it!

    I won't moderate a thing.


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    I've Seen A Dragon...

    But not like this.

    When I was a kid, I lived in, and did whatever growing up I did, in the high mountains of Northern California. I heard about, and saw for myself, many strange things. Many. Reported by people of impeccable credentials, I may add.

    Shortly before I left California, two of my friends who happened to be deputy sheriffs, came to me for help right after one incident. They were shaking, and white-faced still. The hood of their patrol vehicle was dented in at two places, like two bowling balls had been dropped onto it from a great height.

    They told me that they had 'just hit a Sasquatch' with their car while out on some back road or other, that they had knocked it down, and watched in dismay as this 9 foot tall, manlike creature, clearly angry and in pain, stood back up, looked them in their faces, it there, bathed in the headlights, them seeing him through the windshield, and the Sasquatch raised both fists over its head and brought them down on the hood, and ran off.

    My friends came to me because they knew that I, ahem, had contacts in the clandestine auto renovation industry, shall we say, and they needed their cruiser fixed quick, and quiet, because they knew their superiors would never buy the real story and they didn't want it taken out of their already meager pay. So I made a few calls, and that was it.

    I think I've already written about the giant Northern Pike, big enough to swallow a man, that lurk in the waters at the base of Oroville dam. First time I ever saw a Navy Seal scared spitless. Last time, too, I'm pretty sure.

    As to my dragon...

    When I was a small lad, 12 or 13 or so, I wandered the mountains myself. Gun in hand, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. I mean I went into the Deep Deep Woods, the ones the stories all warn us about. Sometimes I found stone altars, soaked in blood, arcane symbols scratched and scrawled on them. Signs of dozens of people having been there.

    Sometimes, I barely glimpsed large creatures, avoiding me, or perhaps stalking me. You don't shoot at big hairy things with teeth, with a .22. Not if you want to be home for dinner, and not be dinner.

    I traveled in places man may have never been, at least not since the Gold Rush, and perhaps not even then. I have found shed rattlesnake skins big enough to upholster a couch or two. I've heard the wings of large things above me, stalking me. Watching me.

    I never went into the woods without a gun, and never will.

    My friend Terry and I found a large, narrow lake one time, way up the river. We had been traveling for a day, and spent the night wrapped in our blankets, and were exploring around, preparatory to heading back. We'd never been this far up the canyon.

    Our side of the river had a bank of smooth, round black rocks, and we could not resist chucking them out into the water, skipping them, and playing Depth Charge, because though running, the water was as smooth as glass. So BLOOP! and a beautiful geyser would rise up, and settle, and the bubbles would float on away.

    We must have disturbed something.

    We noticed a log floating in the river. A long black shiny log. With rounded black knobs easily the size of a regulation softball all along it, from the head...

    What the fuck? Terry and I looked at each other, dumbfounded...head? "Sea monster!" we both said at the same time. Eyeballs like a crocodiles were up out of the water, and what appeared to be tiny black wings where ears would logically be on a creature.

    And what we could see of it above the water line was easily 75 to a hundred feet long.

    So, we did what any other red-blooded American boy would do when confronted by an absolute and wondrous and magical freak of nature or whatever, we ran to our guns and opened fire on it.

    It seemed to ignore us for a moment, or perhaps to not notice us, but some of those rounds had to be getting through, because I don't miss now, and rarely did then, and we were pouring in the rounds.

    It raised what appeared to be a tiny pointed head, with whiskers like a catfish, out of the water, and then dove. A black arch appeared, and we could tell the creature was kind of 'feeding itself' into the water. Then, with a flip of what appeared to be a tail like a swordfish's, it was gone. It took quite a bit of time to go under, and we had stopped shooting, and were gawping at it, like goldfish. We had had no idea it was that long. It had only been showing part of its back out of the water. It could have easily been over 200 feet long.

    And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it near the surface, at the 'dropoff point', where the wide part of the river hit a chokepoint, and became shallower. We took off at a dead run, as best we could, considering the loose rock, and the underbrush.

    We ran to where we thought it would be. We were now near a fairly narrow portion of the river that led to a series of deep pools and waterfalls. The sun was morning high, and suddenly we saw this thing, against the background of a lighter, sandy river bottom, swimming like a huge, bumpy snake along the bottom.

    So of course, we opened fire again. We wanted that thing. We would so rock at school, and get on television, and everything. How we would get it back home through twenty miles or better of some of the roughest terrain in the world didn't occur to us. We just wanted it.

    Well, some big-ass boulders intervened, and by the time we got around them, it was gone, and I never saw it again. Though we searched back and forth for what seems like hours. Finally, tired of all the bullshit, we headed for home.

    So there you go. My dragon story. For that is what I believe it to be. Either mine wasn't poisonous, or we kept it under the water enough so we didn't get affected.

    Thinking about two boys who might not have had guns, watching that magnificent creature, amazed, as it swam back and forth, back and forth, until the boys collapsed into a narcotic stupor up on those black rocks, and the creature finally slides on its belly, up those rocks, and pulls them in, one by one...

    Well, that would suck.


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