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  • I'm Going To Die, Soon...

  • I've Always Liked Sears...

  • Gosh, My House Smells Good...

  • I Bet...

  • This...

  • I'm Not Worried So Much...

  • Some General Facts Of Life...

  • Kraft Is Dead...

  • Off The List...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Tell Me Again, Why We...

  • Very Good Article...

  • Another Recipe...

  • Nattie's Crying...

  • My Goodness...

  • Microsoft Wireless IntelliMouse Explorer...

  • Fuck, I Hate Blind People...

  • Exquisite...

  • A Little Blogging Trick...

  • Sad, But True...

  • Oh, This Is Rich...

  • I'm Sensing A Theme...

  • This Is Weird...

  • Just For You Know...

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  • I Just Ask You...

  • I Never Liked Seinfeld...

  • I Wasn't Quite Sure How To Go About This...

  • Succinctly, And With Passion And Skill...



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

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        Thursday, November 30, 2006

    In Honor Of...

    ...the brave cyber-jihadis threatening a worldwide computer assault for tomorrow, I present to you...






















    Go, buy a copy today, pig-farmers, and mulch it into your pig's feed, so they can eat that garbage, and then shit it out, which is all the unholy koran is good for.

    Pig shit.


    .




       

    I'm Going To Die, Soon...

    Well, sooner or later, anyway. Nobody gets out of here alive. Well, there was Moses, and whatsisname. Lazarus got a hall pass, and Jesus beat the rap, but you and me?

    Purina Worm Chow, baby.

    I just came up with a great idea...a Joke Funeral Home!

    Think about it...those folks as what do not want to be all painted up like a ventriloquist dummy and have smelly old people sob snot on them, could opt to go to The Happy Wacky Joke Death Emporium, or whatever you want to call it.

    Full bar. Food. From snacks, to Prime Rib feasts, according to your budget. Dancing. Wheel the casket to the top of a conveyor belt, and have the family answer pre-chosen questions (chosen earlier by the deceased) and each wrong answer inches the decedent closer to the crematorium door.
    Imagine how much fun it would be to be the family member who missed the last question! The jokes at future family gatherings! "Yeah, well your dumb ass burnt Dad all up..." Oh, my mirth is acute.

    Rides for the kiddies. No clowns, though. Fuck that. Strippers! Non-denominational strippers.

    Kind of a cross between Hooters, and Chuck E Cheese, with dead people.

    Heck, have a Viking Funeral pond out back, with mead, and fireworks. I'd want to be on the boat belly down, my asshole packed with fireworks, and a duct-taped gay Muslim midget struggling bug-eyed, at my feet as the flames consumed us.

    Damn, you know this idea would kill.

    You should pardon the expression.

    .




       

    I've Always Liked Sears...

    Via this lovely woman, I find this post.

    And now I like them even more.

    Please consider honoring them with some of your holiday dollars. And let them know why. This sort of behavior needs to be rewarded, and encouraged.


    .




       

    Gosh, My House Smells Good...

    I wish you could smell it. I wish I could bottle it. Put it in an air freshener for fat people. Killem inside of a month.

    Which would you rather smell, foo-foo potpourri, or spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread?
    I told you the wife brought out her Kitchenaide mixer. Today she made loaves of French bread for Johnny's birthday tomorrow, to go along with the homemade meatballs and cooked day-long (and then some) spaghetti sauce.
    If she had a pasta maker, she'd probably make the noodles for the spaghetti. And damn but that French bread looks and smells awesome. We're gonna turn it into garlic bread tomorrow, and eat ourselves sick.

    Johnny is in hog heaven, as she has let him be the kitchen bitch today, and he has been mixing meatball mix, running the bread mixer, grating carrots (God help me, I couldn't watch...I told her to just rinse the blood off and cook them) and he couldn't be happier.

    Nat has been alternately needy and bitchy all day. She doesn't do well with anything that doesn't spotlight her. And she's too dangerously clumsy (hullo, six!) to be allowed around power tools and sharp things, so she has alternately been sulking and watching from a distance, or making up games to entertain herself. That is one of the many qualities I admire in her.

    We were gonna do Chuck E Cheese's tomorrow, but I think we're gonna set it off til next week. My Dad is wimping out to go, and they have an alternative thing with some senior center locally that will have Santa, presents for the kids, and food, so we'll probably do that, and then have the Spaghetti dinner (have I mentioned the Pineapple Upside Down Cake, made in an Iron skillet? Have I mentioned how the house smells?) in the evening. Late afternoon.
    Then do Chuck's next week some time, and tell him that it is one of his surprise birthday presents.

    I was still rooting through my room today, completing the transformation of much of it into my 'home office', and I ran across a pile of photos of John from both his birth, and the hard, hard months after. I went through them, and weeded out the 'medical' ones, and picked the ones that show his joy, his love, and all of his family (including the now dead ones) interacting with him, and he with us.

    I blew my nose, and wiped my eyes, and John and I and the wife sat on the couch together, and fanned through them. Nat was (is) up in bed, because a nap was mos def necessary for her, so we original three (of my new little family) sat there on the couch together, just reminiscing and enjoying each other's company.

    Nine years old tomorrow, and they told us he wouldn't survive his first month.

    If I could capture the love and the joy that shines from his broken face, and put it into some sort of light bulb, we could achieve world peace just by handing them out, and letting folks bask in it.

    When I count my blessings, I begin to realize that I need to go get a bigger sack.


    .




       

    I Bet...

    ...that this kind of bullshit is epidemic.

    It would be difficult to find a service person who doesn't have file sharing software on their computer. And nobody thinks that it can happen to them.

    And the enemy watches. And waits. And actively plots. And is very proactive.

    How many ambushes and kidnappings have been or are being arranged using this gaping hole in our Operational Security?

    Like I say, in the end, you got nobody to watch your back but you.


    .




       

    This...

    ...should cheer you up.


    .




       

    I'm Not Worried So Much...

    ...by this idiot. It's the people clapping for him that worry me.

    If I said the stuff that he said, but reversed the colors, in a similar venue, I would be jailed and fined in several countries.


    .




        Wednesday, November 29, 2006

    Some General Facts Of Life...

    ...as filtered through comic book reality...

    The Hulk's dick is bigger than yours. And if he's jacking off, you might want to find some cover. In Jakarta. Or Antarctica.

    Ditto, Superman.

    Batman is almost certainly gay. 'DC' Comics! Hullo!
    Stan Lee is a big homo, too. So watch all of his properties pretty close for 'being 'light in the tights'.

    Except for the Punisher, you assholes! Hey, he was married, and had two kids. He just takes the Stages of Grief a little more seriously than most people do. He's...committed.

    The Shadow was likely gay, too. Hullo! Scarf! He could have had a serviceable mask made, but noooo, had to accessorize with the scarf, the big giggling fairy. Creepy-laughing bastard.

    Any Super Hero with a male servant is likely gay. Ditto: nubile young male sidekick. Sorry, Captain America. I'm sure it was those steroids they gave you. And 'Bucky'? Crikey, could you pick any gayer sidekick name?

    Blade? Not gay. That is all.

    Dracula? Gay. Just look at that outfit.

    Galactacus? Oh, puhleeze. Ditto Magneto. They even had to get a fruiter to play him in the movies, he's such a Nancy.

    Spiderman and Daredevil confuse my Gaydar. Maybe they're bisexual. They nail broads, even marry them, but they do a lot of gay-ass shit. Probly closeted choad-smokers.

    Conan? Not gay. Iron Fist? Uh, hullo, FIST! Gay.

    Fantastic Four? Flamer on! Gay, gay, gay. And the little invisible dyke? What kind of superpower is that? What woman wants to hide from men? Though I must admit that it would be awesome to nail her, and watch Gargantua perform. Now, if she just had the power to Shut The Fuck Up, I'd be impressed. Otherwise, I'm just gonna come at her with a couple of cans of Krylon and then shoot her in her paint-drippen head.

    And then fire-extinguisher the piss out of the flamer, shoot him, then liquid nitrogen that stretchy gay fool friend of his, then jackhammer the piss out of that dumb-ass orange rock-looking bastard. Gravel my driveway with him.

    Sgt Rock? Not gay.

    Doctor Strange...hullo! STRANGE! And just look at that fruiter outfit! That even bugged me when I was a little kid, and didn't know what homos were.

    Wonder Woman...possible lipstick lesbian, regardless, likes to take it hard up the butt from any super guy with a bone on. And then lasso his ass, and make him listen to her talk for hours.

    Catwoman: proof that Batman's gay. Otherwise it would have been a two hour fuck flick, instead of the crap it was.

    Okay, I think my work here is through. If you seek enlightenment, mention your Super Hero in question(ability) in the comments, and I may (or may not) grace you with an update.

    Oh, and Casper? Dead and gay.


    .




       

    Kraft Is Dead...

    Long live Kraft. Alas, I knew them well.

    I have blogged on them before, but their general overall insipidness has finally overwhelmed me. And my family. When a six year old wrinkles their nose at Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, and looks at you with the WTF? face, well, stick a fork in yourself, Kraft, you're done. At least at our house.

    We made the formerly perfect comfort food known as Kraft Mac & Cheese tonight, and dug in, and the wife and I looked at each other like we were accusing one or the other of us for substituting horse glue for the proper thing.

    We seasoned it six ways from Sunday, trying to make it palatable, but it was if they had dug up gramma, and bled her fat glands and implants into a pan, heated, and served.

    Unpalatable, to say the least.

    So we schemed. The local Winnco still stocks the real thing, the orange faux powdered cheesy goodness, in bulk foods. We shall buy a gob of it, store it in a suitable container, buy bulk macaroni, and make it ourself.

    Fuck you, Kraft, you nasty bastards.

    Oh, we'll keep and store our stores of Kraft nastiness, for a disaster. Any situation in which we are forced to consume this awful shit is well and truly a disaster, indeed. Insult to injury, and all that. Look at us, SkyNews! Here we are, in the wreckage of our lives, consuming pale yellow vomit! Are you happy now, Kraft-Nazis? Fiends?

    There is a special hell reserved for folks as what abuses a noodle in such a way, especially as they also destroy an iconic food from one's childhood. Blurf.

    I am vexed, as perhaps you can tell. French's is on my list, as well. Their formerly fantastic yellow mustard is beginning to taste rather bland. It looks like the only way I am going to get any more decent flavors, is to go gourmet, or maybe small companies that still have ethics, and craftsmanship, or to simply make it by scratch, myself.
    When chemicals and effulgents and emulsifiers make up 98% of the ingredients list on a product's package, well...


    .




       

    Off The List...

    Why I will never see another Danny Devito movie again.

    Too bad, so sad, Libtards never learn, and they survive from income from all the other Libtards, so we keep getting assaulted by their crap.

    But not me.

    Thanks for the warning, Danny Boy!


    .




       

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go! And worship!


    .




       

    Tell Me Again, Why We...

    ...shouldn't intern them?

    Heck, just deport them.

    Oh well, too late now. I, personally, hope they push the button on Christmas Day. Right after I've had the big meal, and have a nice buzz going.

    Goodbye cruel world!

    Hey, it's gonna happen, and I am beyond ready.


    .




       

    Very Good Article...

    ...here. And I found the writer's blog at the end of it.

    Smart, AND a hottie? I almost regret being happily married...


    Update:

    Via the above blog, I just found this lovely bit.

    If you do not support this war, and these troops, you are an idiot, pure and simple. I shiver at the anticipation of banishing you.

    Go on, talk some shit. I dare you.


    .




       

    Another Recipe...

    In 9x11 deep(ish) glass baking pan, greased with bacon grease, pour in:

    A layer of Bush's Baked Beans (the big-ass (quart?) can), with an added entire cut up onion (and I'm gonna put some Mrs Renfro's sliced jalapeƱos and about a half cup of the juice in it next time, though I did add it after the fact).
    Fry up a pound or so of hamburger with onion in it, too, spiced to taste, and stir it into the beans in the pan.

    Mix up the corn bread mix of your choice (we like the Jiffy) and pour it over the beans, evenly. One box, or the equivalent in scratch, if you are a snob. Next time, I want to mix cut up chives in the batter before spreading.

    Top with gobs of shredded cheese. We like plain sharp cheddar, but it's all good.

    Oh, and then bake at 350 for 20-30 minutes, depending on your oven.

    Damn, this is good. You could fart around with it, and substitute tuna for hamburger, and noodles for beans, I bet. Or substitute just about any ground meat for the hamburger. Ground turkey for you fat fuckers. Ground lamb. Veal. Pork. Or mix it all up. Different kinds of beans, too. This recipe is very versatile.

    And I dreamed this recipe this morning just before I woke up:

    Take very thin Salmon fillets, and lay them out. You may or may not want to pound them a bit. About a four inch by six to eight inch piece of fish. At one end, lay out a roll (about the size of your average cheese stick) of a cream cheese/tofu mix. I have no idea where the tofu idea came from, but my dream-self thought it sounded good, and so do I, with salmon.

    There were green flecks in the filling, and I instinctively knew it was a mix of finely chopped chives, parsley, white onion, dill weed (I think chopped black olive might be yummy, too) and cilantro.
    I had spooned a line of it along the side of the filling, from end to end, about the width of a thin cigarette.

    Then I rolled the filling up in the salmon, fairly tightly, lifted it up and put it on some fillo dough I had ready, and rolled it again, with enough overhang on the dough to plug off both ends.
    Then brush lightly with garlic butter, and bake until the pastry puffs. It wasn't in my dream, but I imagine 400 would work, 350 if in the convection oven

    Doesn't that sound yummy? I wouldn't care if the salmon and the filling were cold(ish). In fact, now that I think about it, I might freeze the salmon just to the point where it almost loses its malleability, and preform the filling and chill it good in the fridge, before I put it together.

    This snack would have to be served right out of the oven, and might also benefit from having some sort of sauce (hot) poured over it after plating, a Bearnaise or a Hollandaise, maybe, or even a simple white gravy with hot(ish) sweet Italian sausage in it (along with the grease, of course).

    You might could substitute olive oil for the brushed butter, but I'd still want to flavor it with garlic, and maybe a squirt of Balsamic Vinegar.

    Oh, and folks, that Toaster/Convection oven I blogged on awhile back, that Baby Bane bought us? You have got to get one, if you can. The wife is getting adventurous with it, now that she's not afraid of it anymore. She made that baked bean casserole up there last night with it, and it was wonderful.
    It's gonna be great next summer, when we don't want to heat up the whole house. Shoot, I've got an outlet and table on the patio, we could use it out there.

    Damn, I've gone and made myself hungry....


    .




       

    Nattie's Crying...

    Well, not great whooping sobs, more of a crumpled little sad face, with wet, sad eyes. We just told her she couldn't populate her Ladybug Farm til this Spring, if ever.

    Actually, maybe never, I dunno yet, still doing research, and this is part of it. The company that makes the farm, and ships the Ladybugs, won't ship them to Oregon, because they are 'Pink Ladybugs', and Oregon forbids their import. And I can't find out why.

    Goodness knows I can go down to a feed store or garden shop and buy a bucketful of ladybugs if I wanted, but not cute pink ones with 19 black spots on them (I told you I've been researching).
    So Nat is crying. They said they advise against shipping them anyway at this time of year, because they'll die if they get too cold.

    I found a company online that will ship to me for pest control, but I have no idea how to take care of them. The wife says there is some kind of sponge thingy with liquid food in it that they'll eat, but I'd like to breed them, and then cut them loose outside when they overpopulate.
    The cage says that what they send ends you up with about five ladybugs. That doesn't seem like a lot. They like to lay their eggs on the undersides of leaves. Maybe I'll put a small fake plant in there with them.

    Crap, this stuff is hard.

    I've looked and looked, and I can't find anywhere that tells me why Oregon forbids the importation of Pink Ladybugs. Maybe they eat the shit out of native species. I found pictures of them, and the word adorable came to mind. Barbie's Dream Beetle. But they DO have a formidable set of chompers.

    Oh well, just one more thing on the long list of 'Things That Bug The Shit Out Of Bane'.

    Alas, poor Natalie...



    .




       

    My Goodness...

    Via Cowboy Blob, I find this:

















    Everybody needs one of these.


    .




        Tuesday, November 28, 2006

    Microsoft Wireless IntelliMouse Explorer...

    See my previous post re the wireless keyboard, for sexual interface imagery.

    Gosh this thing is sweet. I was disgusted with the Systemax mouse, especially the way that the cord took liberties with my leg hairs as I moused, and the filthy thing would wander up and down my leg, ruffling me at will, like it owned me, or something.

    So, I'm setting up my 'home office' (as opposed to, what, my current slimy alien pod?) and I find my old mouse, there, cowering in the dust at the back of my desk, shivering at the terrible memories of the death of my last computer... neglected, and contemplating suicide. Oh no, baby, don't do that...come to Daddy...and I coaxed her out, dusted her off, and now I am fingering her to both of our satisfactions.

    Of course, I had to do the whole 'King Solomon's Mine' thing to find the USB broadcasting unit. Found a lot of other lost toys, too, so it's all cool.

    Damn, this thing fits my hand like a Girl Scout's fresh, hard breast, and it doesn't scream when I squeeze it. Oh, baby.

    I highly recommend it...well, both, but the mouse gets all Presbyterian with any kind of fancy gel mouse pad, and won't work. Shy, she apparently does not like them peering up her skirt, so I am using a cast off foam mouse pad, with my gel wrist support (well, my son's...he left it, I kyped it, so there) underneath it for the high tech wrist support, and the cursor frisks around on the screen like a newborn lamb.

    Damn. More sexual imagery.

    Sorry.


    .




       

    Fuck, I Hate Blind People...

    Hey, if you don't read this to them, how are they gonna be offended? And so what if they are? I can kick some blind cocksuckers ass with one hand tied behind my back, and fuck alla their Blind-Fu.

    This kinda shit just sets me off. Hey, blind-o! That's what coins are for! You assholes like to read faces, so just carry a sack of coins. Or a credit card, and get one of those credit card receipt reading dogs, you blind-ass fuck.

    Hey, shit happens. Deal. When are they gonna wanna set up SAT's for retards? Fuck, they already have their own Olympics. Needs more Javelin, if you ask me.

    Shit, I'm old and creaky, but I wanna play in the NFL. So it's only fair that I get to carry a handgun out on the field. You know, to make it fair.
    Oh c'mon, you know you'd buy that shit on Pay Per View.

    And I only wanna play against nigger retards. Midget retards. Muslim nigger midget retards. With big fat heads, cuz my vision ain't so good any more. Muslim nigger midget retards with no legs, on skateboards with oblong wheels. Blind Muslim nigger midget retards.

    Just to make it fair.


    Update:

    If you don't get it, you are not tall enough to ride this ride.


    .




       

    Exquisite...


    I normally don't say this, because I love surprises, but...

    NSFW!!



























       

    A Little Blogging Trick...

    ...that you might not know, and it may help you.

    The post below this one was sent to me by someone in email, and it was rotten with all kind of formatting which may or may not have come across and looked correct in the Blogger editor interface, and would more likely look like shit, and at the very least, would take a lot of manipulation to make it readable.

    Or, you could just select all the text in the email, copy it, open Wordpad, and save it as a .txt only file. Wordpad will react with some alarm, and inquire if you are sure you really want to do that, because it will remove all formatting...Bingo!

    Yep. Then just copy it again from your new, formatting free Wordpad document, and go drop it into the Blogger (or Wordpress or whatever) editor, and add any formatting you wish, or none.

    You're welcome.


    .




       

    Sad, But True...

    When I graduated high school in 1973, you could look out across the school parking lot, and see a sea of gun-racks with rifles and shotguns. We had plenty of fist fights, and even some knife fights, and our share of hoodlums (I know, because I was one) and yet nobody ever shot anybody. Well, at school.

    I wonder why that was, do you think.

    Thanks, Burt.


    Sad but true...


    Times aren't a changin', they've already changed.

    Scenario: Jack pulls into school parking lot with rifle in gun rack.

    1973 - Vice Principal comes over, takes a look at Jack's rifle, goes to his car and gets his to show Jack.

    2006 - School goes into lockdown, FBI called, Jack hauled off to jail and never sees his truck or gun again. Counselors called in for traumatized students and teachers.


    Scenario: Johnny and Mark get into a fist fight after school.

    1973 - Crowd gathers. Mark wins. Johnny and Mark shake hands and end up best friends. Nobody goes to jail, nobody arrested, nobody expelled.

    2006 - Police called, SWAT team arrives, arrests Johnny and Mark. Charge them with assault, both expelled even though Johnny started it.


    Scenario: Jeffrey won't be still in class, disrupts other students.

    1973 - Jeffrey sent to office and given a good paddling by Principal. Sits still in class.

    2006 - Jeffrey given huge doses of Ritalin. Becomes a zombie. School gets extra money from state because Jeffrey has a disability.


    Scenario: Billy breaks a window in his father's car and his Dad gives him a whipping.

    1973 - Billy is more careful next time, grows up normal, goes to college, and becomes a successful businessman.

    2006 - Billy's Dad is arrested for child abuse. Billy removed to foster care and joins a gang. Billy's sister is told by state psychologist that she remembers being abused herself and their Dad goes to prison. Billy's mom has affair with psychologist.


    Scenario: Mark gets a headache and takes some headache medicine to

    school.

    1973 - Mark shares headache medicine with Principal out on the smoking dock.

    2006 - Police called, Mark expelled from school for drug violations. Car searched for drugs and weapons.


    Scenario: Mary turns up pregnant.

    1973 - 5 High School Boys leave town. Mary does her senior year at a special school for expectant mothers.

    2006 - Middle School Counselor calls Planned Parenthood, who notifies the ACLU. Mary is driven to the next state over and gets an abortion without her parent's consent or knowledge. Mary given condoms and told to be more careful next time.


    Scenario: Pedro fails high school English.

    1973: Pedro goes to summer school, passes English, goes to college.

    2006: Pedro's cause is taken up by state democratic party. Newspaper articles appear nationally explaining that teaching English as a requirement for graduation is racist. ACLU files class action lawsuit against state school system and Pedro's English teacher. English banned from core curriculum. Pedro given diploma anyway but ends up mowing lawns for a living because he can't speak English.


    Scenario: Johnny takes apart leftover firecrackers from the 4th of July, puts them in a model airplane paint bottle, and blows up a red ant bed.

    1973 - Ants die.

    2006 - BATF, Homeland Security, FBI called. Johnny charged with domestic terrorism, FBI investigates parents, siblings removed from home, computers confiscated; Johnny's Dad goes on a terror watch list and is never allowed to fly again.


    Scenario: Johnny falls while running during recess and scrapes his knee. He is found crying by his teacher, Mary. Mary hugs him to comfort him.


    1973 - In a short time Johnny feels better and goes on playing.

    2006 - Mary is accused of being a sexual predator and loses her job. She faces 3 years jail time.

    .




        Monday, November 27, 2006

    Oh, This Is Rich...

    Go here and read this, and then roll it into a tube, slather Vaseline on it, roll it in ground glass, and shove it up the ass of the next Evolutionist dickwad you meet.


    "For instance, I have pointed out the difficulty of keeping a monkey and watching it evolve into a man. Experimental evidence of such an evolution being impossible, the professor is not content to say (as most of us would be ready to say) that such an evolution is likely enough anyhow. He produces his little bone, or little collection of bones, and deduces the most marvellous things from it. He found in Java a piece of a skull, seeming by its contour to be smaller than the human. Somewhere near it he found an upright thigh-bone and in the same scattered fashion some teeth that were not human. If they all form part of one creature, which is doubtful, our conception of the creature would be almost equally doubtful. But the effect on popular science was to produce a complete and even complex figure, finished down to the last details of hair and habits. He was given a name as if he were an ordinary historical character. People talked of Pithecanthropus as of Pitt or Fox or Napoleon. Popular histories published portraits of him like the portraits of Charles the First and George the Fourth. A detailed drawing was reproduced, carefully shaded, to show that the very hairs of his head were all numbered No uninformed person looking at its carefully lined face and wistful eyes would imagine for a moment that this was the portrait of a thigh-bone; or of a few teeth and a fragment of a cranium. In the same way people talked about him as if he were an individual whose influence and character were familiar to us all. I have just read a story in a magazine about Java, and how modern white inhabitants of that island are prevailed on to misbehave themselves by the personal influence of poor old Pithecanthropus. That the modern inhabitants of Java misbehave themselves I can very readily believe; but I do not imagine that they need any encouragement from the discovery of a few highly doubtful bones. Anyhow, those bones are far too few and fragmentary and dubious to fill up the whole of the vast void that does in reason and in reality lie between man and his bestial ancestors, if they were his ancestors. On the assumption of that evolutionary connection (a connection which I am not in the least concerned to deny), the really arresting and remarkable fact is the comparative absence of any such remains recording that connection at that point. The sincerity of Darwin really admitted this; and that is how we came to use such a term as the Missing Link. But the dogmatism of Darwinians has been too strong for the agnosticism of Darwin; and men have insensibly fallen into turning this entirely negative term into a positive image. They talk of searching for the habits and habitat of the Missing Link; as if one were to talk of being on friendly terms with the gap in a narrative or the hole in an argument, of taking a walk with a non-sequitur or dining with an undistributed middle."--G.K. Chesterton, 'The Everlasting Man'


    .




       

    I'm Sensing A Theme...


    Damn, where's my fork, cuz I could eat that all up and go back for seconds...







       

    This Is Weird...

    I don't normally pay much attention to traffic, except as I enjoy seeing the different places people are coming in from, but I had more visitors by noon, yesterday, a freakin Sunday! than I have had all day today. So far, anyway.

    Is today some kind of travel day, or something? Sheesh, I'm even hiding the titty pics from your bosses...well, yesterday's secret ingredient was ass, but you know what I mean.

    Has everybody quit on me, or do I just suck more than usual?

    Hullo?

    Hullo?

    HULLO?


    .




       

    Just For You Know...

    To those of you who have asked me to pick out stuff for John and Nat and the wife for their wish list, I done did it. If you have my address, and purchase a thing on the list elsewhere and send it directly, please email me and let me know, so I can take it off the unpurchased and move it to the purchased.

    I had the wife looking over my shoulder, too, when I was picking for Nat, so it's pretty representative. For fun, I asked the wife what she wanted, and as you can see, she went all kid in the candy store in there.

    And honestly, LL has some donation buttons up at her site for the troops, for various reasons, and I'd rather you hit them than buy us more shit, quite frankly. Though we do be lovin our shit, n'shit.
    And LL, feel free to put up any troop donation buttons in my sidebar any time you want, just make it clear what it's for, and put them below the archives, if you would.

    So anyway, John's birthday is this coming Friday. I put some pretty expensive stuff up, more as a joke, than anything, though I did think they were way cool. I told the wife I wanted that one sub for myself, cuz I just wanted to wrap it in something smooth and silky, lay in the tub, park it over my dong, and use the remote to rub it back and forth, back and forth, with a picture of Pamela Anderson stapled to the ceiling...

    Oh my. Shake it off, Bane. Birthday thoughts...birthday thoughts...


    .




       

    One Nazi...

    ...sticking up for another Nazi.

    Not surprising to see Herr Oberst sticking up for one of his own kind, I suppose, though I hate him so bad that I couldn't read his writing. It makes me hear his helium voice and see his crumpled spoiled fat-baby face, and I just can't bear it. His face will get the remote clicking even faster than when Madeline Halfbright comes on, or Hellary.

    Fucker.


    .




       

    Screw You, Pet Lovers...

    When your exotic pet alligator or tiger eats your kid, that's high comedy, but when your exotic (or whatever) pet makes my kid sick, well, now we've got a problem.

    Every shithead they catch smuggling should have to spend 31 days in a cage with whatever it is. Hey, you're alive. Guess it wasn't sick! You can come out now.
    Same thing with people who receive these creatures, and who stoke the trade.

    Same thing with dope dealers they catch, by the way. Tell them "Okay, you give us the names of fifty of your customers, and if they check out, you're free to go."
    And then give those customers all the sentence the dealer would have gotten.

    If I was wealthy, and had a big house, heck, the place would be a damn zoo, or at least a pet shop. But I'd damn well want to be assured they were bug free. And a damned Iguana carries Salmonella in their gut full time, I'm told. And idjits let them run loose in their house! With little kids who put everything in their mouths!

    I yi yi...I hate people.

    And I don't care how cute it is, a hamster is nothing but a fuckin rat, and will bite you just as quick, if not quicker. And you give one to your little kid to carry around.
    Animals go insane around me eventually, anyway. I have my suspicions as to why. Dogs seem immune, and I love cats, but when they finally flip out, it's like a scene from 'Evil Dead', and I have to kill em, and quick.

    Funny, too, because dogs who are already nuts, get normal around me. People say "Uh oh, you better not try to do that..." and then they are amazed when I don't get chomped. What I hear from cat owners, is stuff like "Well well, you know Fluffy has never done anything like that before! Here, let me just detach him, there, and put him outside...I just don't know what has gotten into him..."

    Well, I've gone all over the road with this one. Kinda like herding cats.

    I made a funny...



    .




       

    Chestnuts Roasting On An...

    ...open fire.

    Good, I was feeling a little pensive and blue, and this sort of thing bucks me right up. $10 says they let these people smoke, there, and one of them let their cig get out of hand either accidentally or on purpose.

    I got out of the business of nut-tending just in time. They were getting so many 'rights' it was getting ridiculous. Just after I left, they couldn't even lock the doors or restrain the idiots any more, and the place was the county's locked 5150 facility, where cops dropped of lunatics straight from arrest or the hospital ER!

    In all the time I worked there, I doubt I saw 5 people in genuine crisis admissions. You know, where someone just couldn't take life anymore and they cracked and went temporarily cuckoo and needed some 'away time'. With medication.

    All of the rest were career loonies, used to using and gaming the system, and playing it like the dickens. Oh, to be sure, they were nutty and dysfunctional to one degree or another, but it's funny how so many of their episodes seemed to coincide with the serving of the dinner meal. Or with a drop in the temperature.

    Cold snaps always brought in our urban campers.

    It was both a good and a bad thing, what I learned from my time, there. Bad because of my already fine-tuned paranoia, and good, because now I could spot them in the community around me.

    And they were everywhere.

    Now I can sniff out the various drugs they get prescribed, especially Lithium (I can sniff out a meth user, too) as I go through a store or whatever. And don't believe that bullshit about medication working, either. With rare exceptions, a medicated nut is still a nut, just now their a calm nut, and able to focus better.

    Klonopin might be an exception, and Valium was fantastic, but the first is very expensive, and Valium is almost impossible to get prescribed to you, anymore. For all I know, it's illegal now, just like they made biphetamine sulfate illegal, the bastards. Best.Speed.Ever.

    After the accident where my fiance was killed, I walked on crutches for a little while, both physical and chemical. I don't think I could have made it without the Valium. When the waves would crash in my brain, and I began to drown, it was very nice to close the soundproof door into the warm little yellow submarine and keep it all out for awhile.

    But some people are never gonna get better. Often, they get worse, and yet instead of locking them away, like an intelligent, civilized people would, we 'mainstream' them, and encourage them to walk among us. And whine when they rape someone, or kill someone, or burn down a hotel in Reno and kill a bunch of someones.

    Idiots...


    .




       

    Fuck Snow...

    And I don't mean Tony, though he can fuck himself, too, now that I think about it.

    No, the real thing, which is falling silently outside of my window, in buckets. The Devil's Dandruff. The kids just came back in from catching the giant flakes on their tongues. Frozen and wet, and Nat is infuriated with Johnny for stomping puddles onto her legs.

    They are ruddy little urchins.

    It took some effort to clad them in their anti-snow hazmat gear, as (Thank God!) it snows so seldom around here, so they would just be getting begeared, and the flurry would stop, and the cries of anguish would begin as well as my maniacal and mocking laughter.
    Ha Ha! snow lovers! Suffer!

    Finally, they had found all of their gear, and another flurry came through, and I had to yell at the wife to just get them the fuck out already. I don't care if they go out in their fucking underwear!
    Jeez, Louise, the wife has to zip every zipper and jot every tittle, just let them get outside already!

    I knew that they wouldn't last too long, anyway. Newsflash: snow is fucking cold! Hullo! Ice!

    Glad I don't have to drive anywhere. Oh, we're only supposed to get a couple inches, but these idiots around here see a snowflake as an imperative from God to crash their car, which makes navigating across town somewhat problematic.

    Just knowing that crap is falling outside makes me feel chillier...

    Fuck snow.


    .




        Sunday, November 26, 2006

    Yoke My Chicken...

    Sorry. I meant that as a joke, a combo of 'choke my chicken' and 'unevenly yoked', and I don't think it worked. But like much of my 'humor', I like it, so fuck you.

    The wife...

    Dayum, but she can do stuff with Thanksgiving leftovers I never imagined. Tonight, she made Hungarian Noodles (read: 'noodlish tapeworms, that are delicious, if a bit, ah, 'flukey'...') and minced up turkey (hence, the lame chicken 'joke') and diced up red and yellow bell pepper and mushrooms and made some sort of genuine Hungarian Ghoulashy thingy (heavy on the ghoul) that was just deliciously nummy.

    We have an actual Hungarian restaurant near us, and this dish was as good as anything they overcharge you for there. Damned Gypsies.

    Nat, of course, reacted like she had been served a bowl of fresh steaming semen (note: I've never done that...) (note: I can barely work up a shot-glass full) and she was stashing her mushrooms, and I said fine, you can just stay home while Mom goes and plays piano for the grannies.

    You see, the wife (note: saint) goes of an evening, most Sundays, to some elder care facility, and plays piano (and sings) for thems as what still retains their faculties. For the most part.
    And the nubbins love to tag along, and Johnny loves to sit with the wife and sing, and Nat loves to do The Dance Of The Flapping Fat Fairy, and I guess everybody gets something out of it. Except for me, because I hate old people and don't go. But, I digress...

    So Nat is eying her stash of mushrooms, like I have set a pile of freshly trimmed Muslim clitorii (oooo, did I just detect a mass squirm?) in front of her, so I say fine, just stay home...or you can slug it all down at once, so she does, and I say hey, you puke, you stay home, cuz I'll set no barfers loose amongst folks as what wear diapers themselves, so she held her spew, and then rushed up to get dressed up and rush out...

    Folks, parenting is not that hard. Trust me.

    Speaking of, you have GOT to catch Christopher Titus's show on Comedy Central. Buy it on CD, if you must. VERY uncomfortably close to my own, real life. Very. And screamingly funny. I know, because I screamed.

    So, what is tomorrow, anyway, Satur...no! Monday! You gotta go to wer-erk, you gotta go to wer-erk! Neener neener neeee-ner!

    Crap, I have to do some shit, too. Dammit.

    But....I'll be in my under-wear! I'll bee in mah uhnder-wear! Neener neener Neeeee-ner!

    Hey...don't be a hater...

    And the fucking Raiders suck. Dammit.


    .




       

    No Fair...

    ...peeking...



    Or 'Peaking', for that matter.

    .




       

    "Don't Judge Me...

    ...until you have walked a mile in my anus..."

    A portion of a real, recent conversation, between me and the wife, brought to you by OnStar, and Pete's Wicked Ale.
    Which you will be proud to note that I had Johnny fetch me (unshaken, nor stirred) and I opened with my Swiss Army knife. Sadly, I've also trained for hours and hours to note, in the dark, where the corkscrew is, that I may draw it properly and where exactly to insert my thumbnail into the largest blade to flick it open, said blade sharpened to a scalpel's sharpness...

    Not sure that is what the Swiss had in mind when they invented this marvelous tool, but I digress...

    The wife, if left to her own devices, would wipe her ass with sandpaper, thinking it to be more efficient. My tender bung, on the other hand, requires the soft caress of Charmin Multi-Ply, and neither my bung nor I will brook any argument on this subject.
    To be finished with the moist lick of a Cottonelle pop-up butt-wipe.

    My personal hygiene philosophy has always been to keep the area below the belt, all 360 degrees of it, clean enough to eat off of.

    I actually had some suicidal ninny chide me one time, for not washing my hands after urinating (I had flushed with my elbow). I told him, sternly, "Sir, urine is sterile, I keep my penis clean enough to eat off of, and I launder my clothes daily...every surface in this room is saturated with the filth of others, and would you please open this door for me, so I do not have to touch it..."

    If he had progeny, later, they should thank me for not kicking his balls out his asshole.

    So, if you'll excuse me, I am now, to the Raiders, and, I am sure, more humiliation.

    I know they're fucked when John quits snuggling with me, and goes to play with his trains...


    .




       

    She's Once...Twice...

    ...three times a lady.





    .




       

    Update...

    Just for you know, I sent the wife off (after work, I'm not crazy) yesterday to see Bond...James Bond.
    She loved it, of course, and we discussed it, briefly, after (I had important drinking to get to).

    I told her that, for some unaccountable reason, I felt a kinship with Bond, a literal, physical kinship, even though when I look at him, I know we are nothing alike, and it vexed me.

    She peered at me and said "It's the eyes...you have the same eyes..." and I quirked an eyebrow, and she said "Yes, there, like that..." and my vanity and curiosity collided, along with a little outrage, and I inquired whether I had some sort of killer's eyes, and she said "No, his eyes are alive...they dance, they love...and then they can go stone cold dead..."

    So, there you go. For what it's worth.

    And also, for what it's worth, David Asman of Fox News is fellating Rick Warren, known Trilateral Commission member, and 'Evangelical' leader, on Fox News right now. We all knew Rupert Murdoch is a whore...how many have put 1+1 together, and noted how Murdoch's Golem, Tony Snow, is now sputtering out Trilateralist propaganda, directly from the White House?

    Ouch, I know...sounded like a hippy for a minute there, but...just keep your eyes open, okay?

    Rick Warren is on the short list for candidates to become the Antichrist, but I personally suspect that he will just be AC's court jester, and all-around fuck-puppet.

    And watching that Fox bit on him was too much like letting someone jerk off onto my tongue, so I had to turn it off, and go watch 'Wizards' again to 'clear my palate'.

    Thanks, son!


    Up-Update:

    Joan of Argle-Bargle, from the comments, and I couldn't have said it better myself:

    The new Bond movie just ROCKS! Incredibly engaging, and I would agree with your sweet saint of a wife that the eyes have it. If not for his amazing, alive, and expressive eyes, the movie would have been so much less. Intelligent dialogues, (a loose plot, but who's counting when the action is gritty and fascinating without being ridiculous?) beauty and raw power dancing dangerously close to each other--yet each in control of themselves. Yes, "impressive" is not too flip of a term for this movie. Daniel Craig owns Bond. Never thought I'd see it or say it. Going back to see it again. And, just day-um! His body is a thing of Michaelangelo-like beauty and strength. And I should like to have him pose for my next life-drawing class. Sigh.


    Yep.


    .




       

    Palistinian 'Youth'...















    Well, at least that is what al-AP calls him.

    Note the weapon at the left side of his waist.

    Hey, if you had a gun, and I was fixin to peg a pebble like that at you, well, what would you do?

    Just curious.

    On a lighter note:

    ARAFAT IS STILL DEAD!!! AND SO IS PRINCESS DIANA!!! AND HER RAGHEAD BOYFRIEND!!!!

    Hey, it's Sunday. You're supposed to give thanks.


    .




       

    Just...

    ...read.


    .




        Saturday, November 25, 2006

    Surreal Bits...

    I am the center of the universe. Well, mine, at least. God hovers out there somewhere, and I try to forget He can see me jacking off...


    Seriously. I am like a Black Hole for weird, I suck in the bizarre even when I sit still, hold my mouth right, and drink tea or ice water.

    I don't want to be the star. I have no urge for fame. I blog anonymously. And I absolutely cannot go out in public without bizarrity happening. Two lesbian strippers showed me their tits at the bar after the movie, yesterday. I could have touched them, if I wanted. Does this sort of shit happen to you? And I picked this bar to hang out in, when I rarely do, because it is a quiet place, not beset by ruffians, and a homosexual manages (owns?) the place.

    So, no rednecks. No bikers. Mostly old folk. And yet, I have slapped a surly bartender in there (they, to their credit, fired him) and have been pawed by hot little negresses, lesbians, and lady bartenders. And I nearly ran amok amongst some Liberals, but I figured out it was a test from God, so they live.
    Though I do so hope for their fiery car crash. God-willing.

    And no, fruit-bat, it is not a gay bar, though they tend to run a little thick through there. I wield my white-gold wedding ring, and fend them off. It has always given me a secret, warm fuzzy, to break the heart of a queer.

    I'm so naughty.

    But seriously, back to my main thesis: I referred the other day to the Wall of Weird surrounding the Clinton's, and yet I must confess, I know all too well what the snap of a bullet feels like going past my head (ever have anybody snap your earlobe?) and I have a scar collection to be proud of, and yet, I've never been a bully, sought fame; I walk into bars quietly, and don't swagger. I'm not particularly physically imposing, barely six feet tall, and yet, the looniest tune on the play-list always seems to seek me out, male or female, and shit happens.

    It's no wonder I'm nearly a hermit. Well, that, and the being poor thing. Fuck, if I was rich, I'd have to be rich enough to hire bodyguards.

    And we won't even go into the spooky, magical stuff that occurs. I have a thick skin, and doubt everything. Call me Thomas. I was an athiest for many years. BTW, I love spelling athiest that way. I know it bugs them, even though they believe in nothing, so I assume that includes the alphabet.

    I wish it included gravity. Hey, look, athiest! Cliff!


    .




       

    Another Cautionary Tale...

    ...about Tiger Direct.

    Be warned. I have had good experiences with them, and I have had horrible experiences. I understand that you can have off days, and whatnot, but I have quit eating at my favorite restaurant in the world, Jack In The Box, here in town, because they fucked up once too often.

    Hey, business-folk, there are way too many choices out there in the world for you to take quality control and customer care for granted.

    Forget that rule, and join the long list of quaint and interesting logos of companies who no longer exist.

    I'm still waiting for one of these internet companies to be prosecuted under RICO. That could be fun.


    .




       

    Yay!

    Fuck, but I can be a lazy procrastinating bastard. Sometimes I hate myself for it. I have been bitching for weeks about my fucking keyboard you guys bought me with this new computer. Don't get me wrong, I love the computer, but the Systemax peripherals suck ass. Especially the cheap-ass keyboard. And the decals they put the letters and numbers and such on the keys were sticky. And the spacebar worked whenever it wanted to, like union labor. And it was clickitty clackety noisy.

    Well, I finally got off my dead ass, reached over a couple of feet, and dug my beautiful Logitech wireless keyboard out of the closet, reached up to my CD rack and pulled out the Logitech CD, and with very great, and if I do say so myself, heroic effort, and at great personal risk to my fingernail, poked the CD tray button, and installed the software and drivers, and rebooted, and...

    It didn't work. Couldn't type in my login password. "Johneeee!" and he came a-runnin. I had him go to the battery drawer to fetch me two AA batteries (if it wasn't for kids, I might have to move occasionally) and voyla-la-la, I live, again!

    I cannot recommend this keyboard enough. Silent, and smooth as silk, and the keys are marked and laid out perfectly. Yes, black is beautiful, but white is right, and I much prefer this white keyboard to the black, even if they were identical.

    And it is just a pleasure to touch the keys, the difference between a fifteen year old Thai girls silky nipples, versus your grandmother's crispy old hairy ones. With scabs.

    I am in heaven. My fingers are dancing with joy. I may have to purchase a spooge-guard. Oh, they bounce back at me, as I press them, like my Thai girls willing hips, pressing back against me eagerly, and with silky passion. And with no noise, because I paid extra for her not to talk.

    Oh, this is bliss. I think I am going to quit here, now, and just go into Wordpad and type random crap just for the pure pleasure of it.

    And then I'll take that fucking Systemax keyboard out back, and shoot it in the head.


    .




       

    Yep...

    ...what he said.

    Let me let you in on a little secret: I don't care if I see cops boiling out of marked vehicles, in uniform, waving sheets of legal papers, if they bust into my house, we are all going to die. I know me and mine are going down, I accept that as inevitable, but several somebody's family's are going to have an empty setting at dinner, too, tonight, if me and my AK have anything to say about it.

    I've worked and trained with and trained these yahoos, and I guaran-damn-tee you that the possibility of somebody fucking up and killing me and/or mine is very, very real. Even if you just handcuffed Johnny behind his back, he could die. Or if you subdued him, or Maced him.

    Nope, I know for a fact that you have no legal or God-given reason to be in my home, I know that you have killed innocents before, so, you wanna dance? Hey, I believe in Heaven...

    Do you?


    Update:

    Do you see?


    Update:

    We can do this all day...


    .




       

    The Urge To Go...

    Somewhere, I mean. Someplace other than where you are. I don't have it.
    __________________

    Wanderlust, I mean. Where I'm at is fine with me, wherever that is. I am the penultimate stick in the mud. If I wanna see someplace new, well, there's always Google and National Geographic, and the discovery Channel. And none of the pick-pockets, corrupt police, bedbugs, or bullshit airline travel restrictions.

    I can remember getting on an airplane with my guns and knives, with not a worry in the world. No crazed brown person had, as yet, taken over a plane and ruined it for everybody. You could smoke. As a matter of fact, every airplane was more of a flying bong, with you in the smoke chamber. And yes, I have lit up and passed around joints on a plane. And gotten a stewardess high. And fucked her in the restroom. At least I think I did. Those places are not the most romantic of trysting rendezvous. Plus, hello! High!

    There was a time in my life when I went lots of places, nearly always against my will. I was young, and my other young friends had this weird compulsion to go places that I'll never understand, and they always wanted to drag me with them.
    I finally figured out that some of them were like sharks, who had to swim to stay alive, or at least to feel alive, and the others were like pilot fish, or Lampreys, who attached themselves to the sharks to feel like they mattered.

    And then there was me, the Moray, wondering how the fuck he got there, and how the fuck he was gonna get back, and who are all these ignert motherfuckers, anyway?

    I would be sitting out on my porch, tilted back in my chair, having a beer and admiring the day, and suddenly a car (or several) full of my friends (read: people I knew) would come blazing up, and I would have to go somewhere and do something that was significant to their reptile brains, and I would end up in bed, later, often with some doxie whose name I didn't even know, wondering 'what the fuck?'

    And then I ditched town, a step or two ahead of a bullet or two, and escaped to Oklahoma, and it was summer, and I sat on the porch, with my beer, tipped back, and nobody bothered me.
    I was actually a little miffed, at first. Hey, didn't these carloads of people passing by know that I was a force to be reckoned with? The life of the party? A poet, a bard, and a bouncer, all rolled into one steaming hunk of a package?

    Oh, the ladies waved, and I waved back, but this was Oklahoma, not California, and the moires were much, much different, I was to learn.
    Times have changed now, too, I'm sure. I understand now that it is easier to get a blowjob than a phone number. Whatevah. Not My Problem, anymore.

    The wife and I like to travel, a bit, and had we the fundage, we would, but for us, it is more the travel than the destination. We fantasize about long train trips, stopping here and there, and exploring places we have long given a shit about, and avoiding all of the places we don't.
    Like freeways. And airports. And any sand-intensive place where you might accidentally see a speedo.

    I could see us driving through flyover country, and doing a bed & breakfast tour, but only with homey places, with real down home cooking, and no touristy bullshit. I would like one last look at America before she dies, before she breathes her last breath.

    Other than that, I'm a happy home-body, and the world beyond my couch does not concern me at all, except as I enjoy watching its destruction through the glass eye.

    So there.



    .




       

    Just The Bestest Gormette Breakfast, Ever...

    Got a pencil and paper? Okay...



    4 three day old dinner rolls (approx. 4x4" each). Best if slightly dry/stale. Slice into four slices, from the top down. (serves one adult, and two kids)

    Mix, in flat glass pan (10"x10" or so, with hand blender) 5 eggs, 1/3 cup milk/half&half (mixed, to taste), 1 tablespoon of lemon juice, a little less than that of vanilla, and dust the entire top of the mix with cinnamon. Blend the piss out of it, til frothy. Grouch because you are out of Cream of Tartar, of which you would have used a third of a teaspoon. If you weren't out of it. Bitch.

    Have a non-stick pan warming on a burner at #2, then crank it up to 3 when you mean business.

    Drop four slices of roll at a time into the egg mix, allow to soak, turn with fork a few minutes later. They should be soggy when you drop them in the pan. Be careful, or they'll fall apart.

    Warm: 1/3 cup pure maple syrup, with a phat pat of butter in it, in the microwave, for 60 seconds.

    Crank burner up to 3, and drop another phat pat of butter into the pan. When it begins to sizzle/bubble, start dropping the soaked bread into the butter, keep the pieces as close together as you can.

    As Alton Brown says, resist the urge to fuck with it. Let it cook. Those calories do not need you to do their work. Yes, you may lift the pan slightly and slide them around a bit, just keep your fork handy to herd those little doggies back together.

    In a few minutes, lift one up a little and check to see if it is browned to your specifications, I like mine brown and crispy. Regardless, these will be tender on the inside like you wouldn't believe.

    Oh, and drizzle the syrup over the pile and dig in. Absolutely killer.

    If you want to get fancy, you can sprinkle powdered sugar on it, and squeeze fresh lemon on it, and play around with fruit syrups.

    It's not better than, but it is damn near as good as sex, people. I might could get arrested for feeding it to the kids. The wife's at work, so she missed out. She's on the rag, anyway, so she should be out of the camp. Anybody else on the rag today?

    Oooo! Reminds me! Raspberry syrup would ROCK on these. I still have enough rolls left, too...


    .




       

    Freakin Amazing...

    Check this out. Especially the videos.

    Wow.


    .




       

    White Men Can't Rap...

    ...or CAN they?

    Most Memorable Line: "Hotter'n two rats fuckin in a wool sock..."

    Priceless.


    .




        Friday, November 24, 2006

    Casino Royale...

    Go see it. That is all. Twice.

    I do not have enough superlatives...


    .




       

    Tryptopharts...

    ...deck the halls with dingle-berries.

    Golly, the air is so thick around here you could hack it up with a chainsaw. I see why turkey is only traditional a couple of times a year. You startle one of the kids, and they puff up like one of those fish, and you have to retrieve them from the ceiling.

    And I'm noting a lot of wardrobe changes in the underwear area. Every so often someone will fly past to one of the bathrooms with a grim, determined look on their face. Sometimes there's a hint of panic.

    I bought the kids a bottle of sparkling grape juice, and told them it was wine, so they are acting drunk like Daddy. You know, slapping the wife around, fucking the dog, stuff like that...

    Ha! Just kidding! We don't have a dog.

    Man, I have crapped my own weight. And there's leftovers! Yay!

    Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go 'swim a few Mexicans across the Rio Grande', if you catch my drift.

    TTFN...


    .




        Thursday, November 23, 2006

    Why Don't I Own This?

    This is the anthem to my life.

    I can't seem to find the original, but there are psychonically cool copies.

    I need the original CD. Help.


    Update:

    Just before bed, well, way past bed time, and I am crying, which usually makes me want to kill something.

    This song is killing me, ripping out my black heart, playing every bad thing I've ever done or have had done to me on the flickering screen behind my forebrain.

    I don't get it. This is new to me. All you tough guys, yeah, you...know what someone else's blood feels like on your wrist? The smell? The sound the blade makes when it goes in?

    The moist schluck when your child slips out into a pool of goo and slop, from your woman's cunt, and enters the world with swollen, goo-clogged eyelids...

    ...holding your hand on your son's fluttery, beating chest, as machines buzz and beep and clunk, and he hitches and struggles, and you watch the blood occlude one of the tiny tubes in one of his curiously malformed nostrils...

    ...and you hold his little hand in yours and beg God to not let him die, and take me, Oh Lord, just take me...

    We watched the Cowboys RULE today, together, there, on the couch. Oh buck up, crybaby. Here, have a kleenex. Keep the box. I have my own.

    I could find him, tomorrow, stiff in his bed. Like the Hamster you forgot to feed when you were little. Or that Easter chick. Only with more screaming. His little sister scarred for life, a family broken, or hopefully, just bruised...

    I wish you all could and would have kids. And I would wish a Johnny on you. Hey, I think I am a different and better person for it. These tears on my cheeks are a new thing. Happy birthday... happy birthday...

    Hello teacher, what's my lesson? The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...

    Hey son? Baby Bane (gosh, I hope not) ...you think you have worries about John? Welcome to my world.

    I wouldn't trade with you for anything. I carry the burden of all of you all on my own, and My Father carries me, or I could not take another step.

    God Bless...


    .




       

    Good, I Only Want To...

    ...eat the smart ones. Throw the dumb ones back.

    And I want everything I eat to be cute, too. No dumb, ugly fish, or calves, or baby seals. Wait, baby seals probably taste like shit, so just get me a coat.

    And I would eat a porpoise from blowhole to asshole, honestly. I have a feeling they taste great. I bet there is a thriving black market in meats like that. Wish I could afford it. I suspect that I'd have to cut the meat with tuna, though, to make it palatable.

    I have had cat meat, hibachi'd, in tacos in Mexico, and it is wonderful. I wonder how Siberian White Tiger kittens would taste?

    I want to be at the barbecue where the very last Panda is served, and I bet Black Rhino rocks.

    Damn, time to go down and make that turkey sandwich. I only hope it suffered as it died. I hope the farmer let his six year old son saw off its head with a dull hacksaw as it gobbled and screamed.

    Excuse me, I'm hungry now...


    .




       

    Free Stuff! And Free Pussy!

    If anyone lives in or near Cherry Tree Borough, Pennsylvania, Alice Fry wants to give up some pussy, and whatever else you might care to take from her, and Ken Farabaugh would like to play, too. Man, I hope his wife is pretty, and not some gross Yankee dumpling.

    Look, Ma, no guns!

    Ah luvs it when they advertise like that. Gonna go gets me sum sugah...


    .




       

    I May Have To Move...

    ...to Canada.

    You mean I can do a 14 year old girl up the butt, and it's legal? Woo Hoo! I'm there, dude!

    I am gonna have to learn to speak Canadian, though, and get used to flannel underwear.

    Small price to pay for such freedom, though. Liberty! Freedom! Yeah, this is what Libertarianism is all about!

    Y'all Libs should be flying up there like geese...


    .




       

    It Goes...

    ...both ways.

    If you attack anybody (except an Arab) simply because of the color of their skin, you need to disappear in a hole, away from society, forever.

    Out of compassion, animal control will throw road kill and unwanted animals down to you, but savages like you just need to live in hell until you die, and then go to the real one. Or Heaven, if you've repented. I don't care, I just don't want you walking the surface of my planet ever again.


    .




       

    France...

    ...gets tough.

    This is gonna get funny.

    I hope.


    .




       

    Feast Update...

    This is the first Thanksgiving where we haven't been burdened by intruders (family).

    The wife is flying around the kitchen like a dervish, in her element, relaxed, and it looks like an episode of Iron Chef.

    She came up with some food-processed fig-paste/fillo dough pastry thingy, with pecans and gosh knows what else. She just glazed it with something sweet looking, and stuck it back in the convection oven for a minute or two.

    The turkey is so tender, it looks like a corpse fished from the water, the flesh falling away from the bones, stuffing oozing out of its rectum...I can hardly wait.

    Mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie made with fresh pumpkin, in a custardy way. The rolls, of course. Some yam-like product, cluttered with dried cranberries...

    Oh, this is going to be criminal...

    Thanks, God. And also for the nookie later. If I can move.


    Update:

    Can't loiter here too long, I hear my nap calling me, like distant ship's smoke on the horizon, yet, curiously, peristalsis is coming through in waves...

    Well, not yet, but I'm at Defclog 4, I suspect. Speaking of, I saw an ad for a doll that actually shits, today, on the telly. I locked eyes with Nattie, and she with me, and she broke first, and looked away, and no, this one is NOT going on the Santa list.

    In short, all of the food was awesome, but surprisingly, the Waldorf Salad and the fig pastry stood out as surprise hits. She made gravy according to her cravings, and it was okay, but not up my alley. To me, gravy must either be brown, and thick or thin, or white, and thick. This was white, too thin, and 'birdish'.

    Finished off with a Jello(ish) (red) whipped cream parfait, and it was splendid. And the stuffing was just killer. Looked fluffy, was moist, yet crunchy. Incredible. The dried cranberries in it just killed.

    Oh, and did I mention carrot medallions? And I picked up a bottle of oyster sauce yesterday, and I saw it out on the counter today. I'll have to ask her what she used it in. It really enhances certain foods when used properly.

    Okay, nap time...


    .




       

    127 And Counting...

    ...of people who have no lives. My visitors so far today.

    Just kidding! Who am I to talk, I'm blogging.

    Man, you should smell this house. Oh, not the dump the wife took a bit ago, where she backed out of the bathroom spritzing room freshener like she was Macing an intruder, and slammed the door on it. I could have sworn I heard moist fists beating on the bathroom door from the other side for a few moments...

    No, the food stench here is incredible. I got up this morning and convection ovened Fletcher's Maple Bacon for everybody in the new toaster oven, made eggs over easy, and sourdough toast, and we are content.
    The wife did some kind of biscuity thing she learned from my Food Network titty babe (see below, somewhere) Sandra Lee, where she took regular Pillsbury (Grands) biscuits, rolled them out flat(ter) and rubbed both sides (I think) with a cinnamon and sugar (and maybe some other shit, I dunno, whatever, they ended up brown) and then arranged them on a pizza pan, overlapping, in a circle. Baked em for a bit, and they came out in a puffy, pull-apart ring, and were lovely. The Goddess Sandra glazed hers with some kind of maple syrup mix (look it up, Food Network.com, lazy-ass) but I think it would have been too rich for breakfast, and messy for the kids.

    If you have not convection baked (at 400, for 15 minutes) Fletcher's Bacon, you have not lived. I like the pepper kind, too, probably better, but the wife was craving Maple, and there is nothing wrong with it. Perfect.

    The kids are going batshit, of course. Spontaneous Thanksgiving songs, and interpretive dances break out continuously. And DAMN but those dinner rolls are good.

    The wife finally broke out the KitchenAide Professional Grade dough blender thingy (mixer?) she inherited from her dead Mom. Her Mom used it when she was little, and it has languished in the garage until she was ready to face it.
    Well, yesterday, I hear this machinery noise going on downstairs, and I go down, and she's got the bread hook in, and it is beating the crap out of dough, and she faces me defiantly and tells me straight out all about how motors go bad if they just get left to sit around (do they?) and she was damn well not going to let this wonderful machine go to waste.

    Now, all of our married life, she has mixed dough by hand, and she makes wonderful bread, to die for, but we had to agree, there is nothing like the product that this machine can put out. Utterly fantastic.
    If you want to make dough, including pizza dough, you absolutely knead one of these. She says they run $200 or better nowadays (I'd bet more) or maybe someone you love could croak and leave you one...fingers crossed!

    Whatever, it now has an honored place on our counter, and I expect she will use it regularly. She has been digging out recipes, bigtime, and has that creative gleam in her eyes. The thing has a dough hook, and two other attachments, some kind of ice cream making looking thingy, and some sort of whip.

    Hey, I've been meaning to ask ya'll, I've got this new trick I've been using, where I put stuff 'below the fold' as it were...do ya'll open it up and read it? Or do you pass it by like I do on most other blogs?
    I mean it, when I'm surfing, unless you are a writer of some accomplishment that I crave every syllable of yours, I just say 'fukkit' and scroll on away. Sorry. And I've noticed that several of my 'Read More' posts seem (appear to have been) to be virtually ignored. So, am I wasting my time with that?

    I mean, this piece of crap I'm writing here is running on, but it's a slow day, so I said screw it, and didn't put the rest (beyond the first para) under the fold. If I had of, would you have clicked on 'Read More', or just moved on? I'm curious.

    Anyway, this is one of the few times a year when us Americans come together in some sort of general commonality. Even Jews can celebrate it. I think. So I hope ya'll have a good and merry Thanksgiving. I keep trying to come around with a way to describe what happened to me in the bar last night on my way home from grocery shopping, when I absolutely had too much blood in my alcohol system, and ran into several genuine Al Gore Liberals and didn't kill them, even though one of them actually asked me, to my face, if I had seen Al Gore's wonderful new movie, and I replied that I would sooner gouge my own eyes out with a Spork, and...

    Well, maybe I'll tell you about it, when the Statute of Limitations runs out...


    .




       

    Some Potentially Helpful...

    ...Thanksgiving advice.


    .




        Wednesday, November 22, 2006

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go! And Worship!

    Six imams removed from a US Airways flight from Minneapolis to Phoenix are calling on Muslims to boycott the airline. If only we could get Muslims to boycott all airlines, we could dispense with airport security altogether.

    Priceless...

    The idea that a Muslim boycott against US Airways would hurt the airline proves that Arabs are utterly tone-deaf. This is roughly the equivalent of Cindy Sheehan taking a vow of silence. How can we hope to deal with people with no sense of irony? The next thing you know, New York City cab drivers will be threatening to bathe.

    Oh, hold me...I spend!


    .




       

    Busy, Busy, Busy...

    First, I want to thank you Prayer Warriors for the best nights sleep I've had in a long time.The whole house was peaceful. We all slept like rocks, and dreamt sweet dreams. Thanks again.

    And thanks to one of my angels, Johnny is going to get to go to Chuck E Cheese for his birthday, and the reason I'm busy, is that we will also be able to have a nice Thanksgiving dinner. Well, we usually eat around 3 or 4, but I guess that's dinner.

    We are having a turkey, of course. Stuffed. I LOVE Stove Top stuffing, and we tart it up with Pine Nuts and pineapple and stuff. Hmmmm, we decided we want a Waldorf Salad. The wife is making her famous dinner rolls today, so she doesn't have to tomorrow. Besides, they are always better the next day. She's making the gravy today, too, so she won't have to bust her ass trying to get everything to come off at the same time.

    A small can of candied yams. Just enough for a spoonful or two. A relish plate.

    I'm rushing out in a bit to grab a turkey thigh for her to render for the gravy. I am trying to talk her into bacon too, for both the grease (Update: no go on the bacon. Dammit. I'm buyin some anyway. Maybe I'll make my own pan of stuffing.)

    Okay, I'm back, been on the phone for a while, nurturing that tumor on the left side of my head (hey, you have your fears, I have mine) so, where was I...

    Oh, shopping. I gotta bust out right now and get busy. She's making pie(s). Cornbread. I like the Jiffy box mix just fine. Dried cranberries, for muffins. Shallots for the stuffing. Mushrooms.

    Man, I love going to the store.

    I love to interact with the other shoppers, and ogle all the young T&A. I just love being an American, and looking at all of the bounty. I don't care if I just went in for one thing, I love to tool around inside the store and look at stuff. It's never a burden. Oh, the wife wants some Pete's Wicked Ale. I believe I'll join her for one or two. She likes to drink it while she makes the meal, a tradition.

    You wanna make a store perfect? Put a beer/wine bar inside. Sell stuff you sell already, offer discounts to try new products, and coupons and crap. What a blessing it would be to be able to push your cart inside and take a stool and hoist a pint, or a bottle, or maybe a nice glass of wine. Have deli trays stocked with stuff from the stores own deli, with the packages on display, and available to take over to your cart and drop in, if you like it, then go back and finish your beer.

    Since you're selling food, kids could go in, and have kid snacks, and juice or soda, and play video games, which would also be for sale.

    Sigh...I'm a genius.

    Well, gotta go, that turkey ain't gonna stuff itself.


    .




        Tuesday, November 21, 2006

    A Possible Explanation...

    ...of why Jews just might go to Hell if they don't change their ways.

    Well, at least that was my first thought, as I watched it with my Judeo-Christian guilt all athrob, while I laughed my ass off.

    Via this guy, who if we end up in the same cell in Hell, I hope he doesn't whine like a Jew too much, and he has soft hands.

    And a purty mouth...


    .




       

    Thank You, Sandra Lee...



















    I want to thank you, Sandra, and Food Network for putting you on, for teaching me how to multi-task. I can now write down recipes with one hand, while simultaneously masturbating furiously over your general overall incredible fucking hotness with the other.

    Hey, shut up. Whacking off is not adultery.

    And on a completely semi-unrelated note, while typing this, the phone rang, and some lovely Hindu woman from one of the former Raj's...or maybe a Pakistani...whatevah, I answered her in my Mock-Pakistani accent, and praised her for caring about my satellite needs, but lo, sister, I am most fully satisfied with all of my high-speed cable requirements, and blessed are you, and Ganesh's blessings be upon you, and please to go forth into the rest of your wonderful day in peace and love with many blessings...

    She was so rattled, that she thanked me and hung up.

    I think I am distilling 'Being An Asshole' down into an art form.

    Oh, and the famb is safely home, and John does not (as yet) need to be cracked open this Blessed Season, and that is a good thing, and he brought home a Princess Ariel sticker to Nat, and she is stoked.

    PRAISE THE LORD!!

    Amen.

    Though the wife and I are in a bit of a scrap over the Thanksgiving meal menu. She wants traditional, and I am sick of it, and, apparently, Fruit Loops are out of the question.

    Bitch...



    .




       

    Thanks, Patrons!

    Hey, every $2 counts! I love it! $10? Even better! $25? Hey, I love you all. More? Oh, twist my arm! Ow! Ow! Oh you scamps!

    Thanks, folks, you nearly have managed to turn my frown upside down.

    Nearly.


    Update:

    Hey, thanks for the Stephen King book, whoever! You rock!


    .




       

    Big Mistake...

    ...or Bad Idea?

    Crikey, some dumb shit needs to be fired, and not a moment too soon. Dumbest creative/business decision I have ever seen.

    On the other hand, I'm celebrating the demise of this dumb bitch. What a fuckhead, and dead far later than he should have been.


    .




       

    Affirmative Action...

    ...burglar.

    Ow.


    .




       

    I Just Don't See Any Downside...

    To this.

    South America and California wiped out? Shit, bring it on.


    .




       

    You REALLY Need To Know This...

    Go here, read, follow the links, shout it out to the idiots in the world. I'll put what I consider to be the most important info from the post below the fold...

    (link added...yes, I'm a dumbass...)
    __________________


    In the full sweep of U.S history, from the commencement of the Revolution on Lexington Green in April 1775, until the sunny morning of September 11, 2001, our average daily sacrifice has been between 14 and 15 military fatalities (1,217,000 fatalities/83,461 days = 14.6/day). Since 9/11, the average daily sacrifice has been 1.7 per day (3200/1900=1.68).

    From the Revolutionary War until the American entry into World War I, the average daily rate was about 11 per day (578,000/52,231=11.07). From World War I through the break up of the Soviet Union, the rate was over 16 per day (636,000/38,811=16.39). Or in our long running confrontation with Soviet communism following World War II until the collapse of the Soviet empire, the rate was over between 6 and 7 per day (112,400/16,892=6.65).

    As things stand, the conflict with Islamic radicalism involves the lowest average daily military fatality rate of any long run national security era. It may worsen, it may improve. If Congress had been asked on September 12, 2001, to endorse a national defense posture against Islamic radicalism that traded up to 2 military fatalities per day over the subsequent five years in return for no additional homeland attacks, the deposing of terror friendly regimes in Afghanistan and Iraq, the ending of Libya's nuclear program, what would they have done? Would Congress accept that bargain today?


    .




       

    A Question...

    I ask this of the non poor-thinkers:

    If Democrats would have prevailed against Ronald Reagan in our national elections, would the Berlin wall have still fallen? Would the Soviet Union have still collapsed? With a Democrat President?

    It is my assertion that yes, they would have both fallen.

    Discuss...


    .




       

    A Public Apology...

    I offer no excuses for myself, but I misread some signals, and got angry and vengeful over a perceived slight against one of my kids, and I nuked her.

    I am very sorry, Toni, and I very much hope that it does not happen again. Sincerely.

    My mistake, and I'm sorry. There are places you really do not want to go with me, people.

    Anyway, birds are chirping now, bunnies are hopping, flowers are blooming, and rainbows sparkle.


    .




       

    Okay, I'm Just Gonna Do It...

    I haven't wanted to, but I've had good results with prayer requests in the past, so here goes:

    Johnny is on the way right now up to Portland for a CT Scan, with the wife. Weather is lousy, number one, and the wife's eyesight isn't all that great, and there are stretches of road where you are just blind from the spray from trucks, and I'm terrified for her.

    And then we fear the shunt in his head may be failing, which means another lovely holiday season of surgeries. He's been pretty sickly for a few days, going from both ends, but not 'sick' sick, just can't keep anything down or in. Last time, they had to go into his guts to remove scar tissue, where the drain hose from his head (and down his neck and finally into his stomach, to drain excess fluids away) was rubbing and irritating him.
    So there's that.

    And finally, either I'm going nuts, or I am under direct attack by some witches I've pissed off through this blog. When I was gone up to my sleep study the other night, the wife reported that the house was almost unnaturally peaceful. Up there, without her prayer cover, I was assaulted, and fought it off with every fiber of my being (and frantic prayer).

    I come home and, surprise, the wife says she can taste it again, like ozone. I would love it if you would pray that my 'little friends' get sent back to whomever sent them, and that they bring seventy times seven of their angry buddies with them. Let those witch-bitches have some fun, for a change.

    To the rest of you to whom this all sounds nutty, piss off. I don't care. To those of you who pray, thanks. And no friggen 'good wishes' either; if I wanted that, I'd go throw a dime in a well, and if I wanted 'happy thoughts', I'd Google Pam Anderson naked.

    Pray to the One True God, and his Risen Son, or bug off.

    I'm in trouble.

    Thanks.


    Update:

    She called me from the road, a bit ago. She had just missed being in the middle of a multiple semi-truck wreck by a hair.

    Thanks, God, and thanks to those of you manning the switchboards.


    Update:

    More details:

    At least one of the semi's was headed south (she's going north) and hit the concrete barrier so hard that it slid/swung all the way across the northbound lanes and destroyed several northbound vehicles and completely blocked both northbound and southbound lanes with shattered concrete, dirt and sand, and torn vehicle wreckage.

    She was able to bypass the mess because she knows the exits and where they lead, so she's back on the road on the other side of the mess. The mess that happened just a few minutes ahead of her.


    Update:

    From email:

    I think I told you this: one of my friends in ministry was asked if he thought that answered prayer was just coincidence. His reply was "Maybe. But all I know is that when I stop praying, coincidences stop happening."


    Update:

    Well, it is 4pm my time, and his shunt (in his head) appears to be working okay, and he and the wife are in the waiting room right now, up there, waiting for X-Rays on his stomach. We shall see.

    And then, out into the darkness, and the swirling storms that even now beat down with a fierceness. I worry.

    Nat has cut up a pile of paper into confetti, and has put it all into an empty Lego box, along with a few limpid balloons left over from her birthday, and is very keen to surprise them from the upstairs landing when they arrive. As there is glue involved, here and there, I am attempting to discourage this.

    I may have to resort to death threats...


    .




        Monday, November 20, 2006

    I Just Ask You...

    Excluding combat veterans, cops, gang members and such, and, well, you dregs from the inner cities, how many people do you know personally in your entire life that have been shot/murdered, or even mugged?

    I rest my case.


    Update:

    Why doesn't it surprise me that so many of my readers are outside of the norm? Yet still, most of them sound like they are trying to make a picnic out of one sandwich. And read the post again...note the 'exclusion list'?

    Sigh...

    And the fact that I lost someone I considered a good friend over this dumb post is just more evidence that blogging is dumb, and dangerous.

    Seriously folks, tick...tick...

    And some of you may have noted that I am wound a little tighter than usual lately? Make a note of it. I may or may not explain, here, but just a word to the wise, and to the wise-asses.

    I suggest you do not test my famous tolerance and good will too much.


    .




       

    I Never Liked Seinfeld...

    The show, anyway. Jerry cracked me up plenty of times doing his stand-up, though. And I'm not a nigger, so I have no ruffled feathers at all...

    But this was...well, let's just say, at the very least, it was interesting.

    And Seinfeld's 'statement', that sanctimonious Jew fuck...uses his money and fame to seduce and fuck an underage hottie he picks up from fucking high school to suck his cock, and he has the noive?! Nigger-Jew bastard.

    See? Ooooo! Words hurt! Hate speech! Oh yeah, they hurt so much, all those niggers who had been talking shit (see: video, it's everywhere) bum-rushed Kramer and stomped a turd out of him...

    Oh wait. They didn't. In a remarkable display of self control. Oh, except for all the pussy-ass mouthing off they did. Punks.

    Get in my face, piss me off, you pay. Do it on this shitty blog of mine, you pay. Those cunts just walked away, talking nigger trash back over their shoulder at a 57 year old angry man any one of them could have probably taken, including their girlfriends, in a fair or unfair fight.

    But they didn't.

    So, hey! Cool! The nigger word ain't so toxic, after all! Whew!

    Glad that sad bullshit is over.

    Peace, out...


    Update:

    Speaking of niggers, I think this dovetails in here nicely.

    Just chalk it up to just another probe into just how much bullshit the American Public will put up with.

    One among many, they are continuous, and by 'continuous', I mean they will continue, and we will eventually crumble from it. Well, are crumbling from it. The once glorious 300 storey skyscraper that was America, is now a thirty storey bargain at any price, squatting like a stunned retard in a sea of rubble, watching as each new storey gets imploded down upon it.

    As a completely related aside, anybody remember where 'the most popular show in America' went...'Joan of Arcadia'? Yes folks, you judge the things that are, by the things which no longer are.

    Welcome to the implosion...

    .




       

    I Wasn't Quite Sure How To Go About This...

    I'll hide it, so you can choose to read or not (I highly recommend not) but...

    I killed my beloved wife last night. Her in our favorite nighty, the white silk one, with the embroidered roses, six there, delicate, at the neckline, and small...
    __________________



    I used the .44 Winchester, and put one into her heart, or where I hoped her heart was, anyway, I wanted a clean kill.

    I didn't get one.

    The little brown girl our unit was using as a spotter, stayed beside me as our unit broke into the house, and its inhabitants began running around and screaming, and there were loud pops, and others of us herded the rest outside, but not me, I was on search and destroy. The Cleaner. The dangerous spots, under beds, inside crawlspaces, closets...

    The little brown girl went on point, like a Setter, at the first closet we came to, and I crunched in the door knob with a boot, stepped out of the way as I slung it open with my left hand, and poked the barrel up and in as it swung open and fired straight into the chest, and it was my beloved wife, and she slammed back against the closet wall, her seated there on some sort of small bench, and cried out and screamed some, and her heels began to jitter on the floor, her tendons bulging, no blood as yet, her face contorted in agony, and she said...

    "I forgive you..."

    and then she began to beg me to finish it, telling me how great her pain was, but not in human speech, but the gobble-gobble of the mortally wounded, in agony, pulling words out of somewhere to try to just beg you to smash their head in with the rifle butt if you must, but pleaseohgodohpleasedearjesusohgodiloveyoumakeitSTOP!ohGOD!ahhhh!!

    and my battle rage slipped away and I realized what I had done and how badly I had been deceived and I tried to lever a new round into the chamber but my hands were numb and shaking, now, and the round fell out and I caught it, and she was in agony, writhing now, and begging me and forgiving me, and I somehow managed to get it back in and close the breach and aim and she begged me to not shoot her in the forehead for the kid's sake so I lowered my aim and put another one where I thought her heart was and her back arched and now her heels were drumming on the floor and she flopped out of the closet and I dropped the rifle and drew my .44 pistol and knelt over her as her eyes were blinking their last and said "Baby, I'm coming with you!" and put the muzzle to my head and she burst blood out of her mouth as she begged me, again, with all of her remaining strength, don't do it in the head, for the kids, so I ratcheted back the hammer and put the muzzle against my heart and fired, and rocked there, the light leaving both of our eyes together...




    So, how were your dreams last night?


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    Succinctly, And With Passion And Skill...

    ...this guy says everything that needs to be said on the subject.

    Great job, Smokin, Credit to the service, blah blah blah.

    And yes, fuck all these fucks who didn't vote, or voted wrong.

    Assholes...



    Update:

    I knew this knife in the back was coming, I just wasn't sure from where:

    Smokin' and Bane, y'all are still mad at the wrong people. The Repubs failed to win. They snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory. They lost. They failed. They started abandoning conservative values after 2000 and tossed the whole baby out the window after 2004. So it caught up to them and they got corn-holed, as they rightly should.

    All the stuff Smokin is lamenting...as if the Repubs would have / would do any better.

    Is the war being conducted responsibly? I dunno. I don't think the Repubs know either.

    Border Security in the US? GWB is leading the charge to legalize illegal illegals. Can't hang that on the Dems.

    Taxes? GWB and the >2000 Repubs have conducted the biggest Goverment Expansion that Bill Clinton could wet dream about. Who did you think was going to have to foot the bill for that?

    Judges? As if the Repub congress took it to the mattresses whenever GWB nominated a conversative judge. The Repub congress give it up like drunken prom queens whenever a nominee is lambasted.

    Rumsfield? GWB gave him up. Didn't stand by his man. Didn't take that one to the mattresses either.

    Bottom-line, if the Repubs had stayed true to their original mandate, they wouldn't have lost. But they did lose their way, so they lost the elections. No one to blame but the Party itself.



    I reply:

    Thanks for the confirmation of how Stinkin Thinkin works, Lycan. Couldn't have asked for better.

    Appreciate it.

    And brilliant how you deflect the blame away from you (and your kind) and onto a far-flung party who are as different as the day is long depending upon where you are in the country.

    And bonus points for buying into MSM propaganda! Keep up the good work, and thanks again for Nanny Lugosi!
    .

    And I'm sure, 22 years from now, our ancestors, there in the rubble with the cockroaches, will thank he and his kind, too.

    Oh, wait, history judges pretty harshly, doesn't it...



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