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  • "You're Not The Bossa Me!"

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Family Time...

  • No Pressure...

  • Coming Home To Roost...

  • Big Greece Fire In Foreign Land...

  • "I'll Take 'Things That Go Boom'...

  • Prayers Needed...

  • If You Build A Hot Pink Volkswagen...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Interesting...

  • Thanks...

  • The Night Encroaches...

  • Why Do You Have A Blog?

  • Steve H Graham Is A Pompous Turd...

  • Totally Justifiable...

  • A Woman's Right To Murder...

  • Don't Piss Me Off...

  • Hey Now...

  • Ummmm...I Dunno...

  • So...

  • Tits Up...

  • Invest Two Hours Of Your Life...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • The Dogmatic Atheist...

  • Wow...

  • All That Glitters...

  • Movies That Made Me Poop My Pants A Little...

  • Ron Paul, Sodomite, Or Buttfucker?

  • Ron Paul Is A French Muslim!!!

  • Fuck ESPN...

  • Facing Death...

  • No Muss, No Fuss...

  • Kill All Muslims...

  • What Women Want In A Man...

  • Let The Day Begin...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Bye, Rush...

  • Hmmmm...

  • It Has Been Said I'm 'Back'...

  • Fun At The Expense Of Others...

  • I Suppose I Should Thank You...

  • Ron Paul Is A Muslim!!!

  • Just Because She Asked...

  • I Was Scheduled To Die Last Monday...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

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        Friday, August 31, 2007

    "You're Not The Bossa Me!"

    Nattie would think otherwise. About John. We only have one Leap Pad, and it is a constant fight over who gets it. They are Home School In A Bag. And Nat has been trying to extort the Whoppers I paid Johnny with to take my breakfast-shake glasses down to the sink. Did I say extort? I meant Strong-Arm.

    Nat can be such a little bitch. So can Johnny. Wails like a girl. Seriously, though, that Leap Pad kicks ass. And so will I if you come in my yard and get in my face. I may be old and out of shape, but I will cave you in like a paper cup. I read a blog of one of LL's friends (Sue?) where she tolerated her neighbours giving her shit about her dogs and...well, let's just say, at the very least, there would be a fire.

    Everybody wants you to play nice when they are the ones who are getting hammered. As soon as they have the advantage, they will step on your neck. Fukkem. And if you are getting shit in your own neighborhood and own yard and people have the balls to slam their fist on your own door, it is likely because you have been putting up with their shit for too long.

    Or they just don't know any better, and it is time for someone to teach them. Nut up and act berserk, and get up in their face, and pray that they swing at you. Then pick whichever of your elbows you are most comfortable using, and crack them like a walnut. Make it hurt. Or keep being a wimp. Whatever your comfort level can handle.

    Speaking of wimps, I can barely walk in WoW. I couldn't even kill a damn rabbit yesterday. I spent ten minutes running around backwards. I just know the other characters are watching me rush around running backwards from rabbits and asking each other "who let the retard in here?"

    So I gotta go in and practice today. Into the game, I mean. It's cool to be able to have contact with my kids (they almost all play). I can't tell you the cool thing that my son who is going on a boat is going to do unless a) he can do it and b) he gives me permission to tell.

    Nat is playing her recorder in tune with the song Johnny is currently dancing to. She's pretty good, but she's still driving us insane.

    Oh crap, it's shower time. There will be singing.

    Pity me...

        Thursday, August 30, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    Family Time...

    Most of my kids have been here, so I done been busy. I haven't seen my oldest Marine/Son and his wife in a Coon's Age. He's been out on the ocean on a Marine boat doing Marine Things, and soon he's going back out on the ocean. I can't imagine a suckier job.

    He and my other kids and most of the Navy play WoW (World of Warcraft) and they all chipped in to buy me the game and pay for my monthly fee, so I can join in. Looks like the wife is losing a husband. It's supposed to be dreadfully addictive, and loads of fun.

    So everybody is leaving today, and I will be honing my WoW skills, so I can participate and not embarrass them. It's an incredibly intense game.

    It got to be about 100 degrees outside yesterday, but we were able to button up and keep things under control so we didn't die. I feel some writing coming on. Family has taken precedent. I've gotta catch up on all of your blogs, and the world, and of course, it is my duty to learn and become proficient in WoW.

    Well, My oldest son and his adorable wife just called, and they're coming over for Belgian Waffles and to say goodbye and head back to Navy Land. Pregnant daughter is HIGHLY pregnant. Her 1Lt husband is deeply involved in training. The youngest Marine son has been transferred close to me, and is busy doing what he does. The US Military Machine is starting to grind forward inexorably, like I have not seen in a while.

    I pity the fool that messes with us.

        Monday, August 27, 2007

    No Pressure...

    My blood pressure is 96/64, and my pulse is 52. Ain't drugs grand? And I'm down to 205 from 270 lbs. Of water, to be sure, but still. I think I piss about 400 times a day. I'm as slim and trim as I was at 35, and I don't do a damn thing but throw pills down my maw, and lay around. And Power Nap.

    I had a dream that was pretty cool last night. Some sort of Orc was flying this ratty looking bi-plane around over this field. He (it?) had some sort of net made from piano wire, and it was attached both at the wings, and down at this big rusty ring that swept back and forth over the ground.

    The Orc would yell "Yee Haw!" at one end of the field, and begin his run. Anyone who panicked and got up and ran, got hit by the piano wire net, and cut into bloody chunks. One guy near me got vivisected like that, and his chunks slid apart and splatted on the ground, still spurting. It was way cool.

    People all around me were crying and whimpering, so I started to antagonize them. One guy asked me 'where my humanity was', and I said 'in bloody chunks all over this field,
    you pussy!' He cussed me, and I dared him to 'come over here and say that'. He didn't.

    I remember making a run for it and just barely making it into this dilapidated, abandoned high school, and hearing the piano wire clatter and sing as it hit the wall outside and skittered over the roof. The place was crowded with teenage zombies, so I went into a bathroom and ripped a length of pipe out of the wall under a sink, and bashed any of them in the head if they got too close.

    Red Cross ladies were giving away donuts and juice on the other side of a line of fidgety soldiers. People were in chairs, giving blood, and no one seemed to notice that a few throats of the donors had zombies attached to them, just a chewing and gnawing away.

    Somehow in my dream I got caught in a flood. I was looking out my bedroom window, and I watched the road outside extrude water until it was full, and heavy rain fell, and I noticed my car was gone, then I saw someone had parked it across the street, so I had more adventures going to get it. And of course, there were zombies. And I had to watch over Nat and Johnny.

    So, between the meds I've taken, and a busy night in Dreamland, I am exhausted.

    Time for a nap, to sleep, perchance to dream..

        Sunday, August 26, 2007

    Coming Home To Roost...

    My youngest Marine got himself stationed about two hours from here. My oldest child/son/Marine is due to drop by any minute for a visit. I don't know if he's bringing his wife. He wants to see me before he heads out on a 'float'. Great. Iran and every other shithead on the planet is threatening to sink our boats, and he's gonna be out on one.

    Having the Baby Marine here suggests to me that perhaps God has something up one of His voluminous sleeves, i.e., a move for me and my family. This house is too small, and I am too physically fucked up to pack and move on my own, so...

    We shall see. God has to provide the funds, cuz we're broke, and a decent place to migrate to, that is still within distance of my sister and parents, because they are not the most healthy people in the world, either.

    Sigh... We shall see. So far, the lottery isn't working out for me. And I feel like four pounds of rabid ratshit. I go to the new doctor, soon, so we shall see what we shall see, there.

    Well, I must go trim a savagely pokey nose hair before I go nuts and ram a pencil up there or something. A whole new week starts tomorrow. Let's see if it sucks donkey balls like so many of the rest seem wont to do. Although last week was wonderful for the tip-jar action. Thanks again. The kids appreciated being able to eat, and to not have to turn tricks in the bus station lavoratory.

    The wife says thanks, too...


    Big Greece Fire In Foreign Land...

    ...garconist suspected.

    You just can't trust those damn foreign waiters.

        Friday, August 24, 2007

    "I'll Take 'Things That Go Boom'...

    ...for a hundred, Alex..."

    "Okay, for one hundred dollars, what destructive race and creed should be genocidally eliminated?"

    "Ummmmm, what is a Muslim?"

    "Correct! You move on to the bonus round..."


    Prayers Needed...

    ...for this poor bastard and his family.

    There's tragedies, and then there's pitiful-ass shit, and I think that is worse.

    Only God can fix this crap.


    If You Build A Hot Pink Volkswagen...

    ...someone will buy it. Same thing with a hot pink Mustang. For every 999 people who look at it and want to go make pukies in the nearest waste-basket, there is one guy or gal who looks at it, and hears angels sing.

    I was lingering about over in this thread, and I realized that I was surrounded by people who, what little taste they had, was up their ass. And they were stupid. And they didn't know anything about movies whatsoever. Then I realized that it was not my blog, nor my place to correct their idiocy (one silly bitch actually disparaged 'The Transporter'!) so I came back to my own blog to breathe into a paper sack.

    It was then that I realized that some people wear check pants. Some people like tofu. Or little yappy dogs. They watch Jerry Springer. On purpose. Some guys suck dick. There's no accounting for bad taste.

    Over in that movie critique thread, it seems to be mandatory to insult 'Titanic' if you want to sit at the kewl kids table. Now, I never saw it, and never will, but about a billion people did, most of them at least twice, so I'm guessing that the Titanic disparagers might not be quite the kewl kids they think they are.

    Have you ever seen that? The kids at school who play Magick, mocking the kids who are into Pokemon? Hey, news flash: you're all vaginas. Get used to it. SCA dweebs may be big fat nerds, but at least they hustled some chicks to play along.

    Don't get me wrong...critique away. Rag on nerds and losers every chance you get. Just don't harbor the fantasy that it makes you any less of a nerd or loser than they are. Especially if you didn't like 'A Boy And His Dog'. Fantastic movie.

    And let me make one other thing perfectly clear:
    just because an actor/ess is a reprehensible human being in real life, does not mean that I am going to automatically avoid his/her movies, if I otherwise think they are a great actor/ess. The Bourne movies come to mind. I love them. Matt Damon is fantastic. Sean Penn, on the other hand, is a fat sack of cunt lips. Pustular cunt lips.

    Alec Baldwin, a thoroughly reprehensible human being in real life, plays one of the best, most evil bad guys I have ever seen. I really really enjoyed 'Shooter', too, even though I hate Danny Glover with every fiber of my colon.

    I've kinda skidded off the road of taste and into the brambles of preference, here. Let's just say that if you like certain films or TV shows and I don't, you are an idiot, but, being the cultured gentleman that I am, I shall do you the honor of not pointing your idiocy out to you, rather I'll just shame you with my good taste.

    Some caviar is good, and enriches your existence, and some caviar tastes like monkey spooge. And our tastes can differ to such a degree as for you to slurp the monkey spooge, while I eat the good caviar. We can still get along. Just don't breathe on me. Or get too close.
    Payday bars taste like a twice dipped turd, but hey, I'll sit here and munch on my Kit Kat while you ingest your butt-loaf, and no harm done. Caviar rules apply, poo-breath.

    So, we clear? People are different, and there is someone and/or something for everyone, in every taste, and if your taste differs from mine, you suck, so go fuck yourself.

    Glad I could clear that up...

    [Note: If you are not doing something, and/or avoiding something because you feel that it 'threatens your masculinity' or that 'only sissies would do that', well, you may have more than just a little problem with your masculinity.]


    Yes, I realize that I have changed my attitudes drastically re watching people I otherwise hate act in a film or on TV. It's called 'growing up'. Look into it. Besides, I found that if I boycott every asshole, I'll end up doing nothing but reading books.

    Let me also note that I have never seen a woman avoid watching or doing something because it 'makes her look butch'. It appears to be a strictly male phenomenon, the belief and/or worry that performing certain activities will turn you into a girl.

    Newsflash: It's likely that you're already a little bitch...

        Wednesday, August 22, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!




    Personally, I wouldn't have noticed the earrings unless they had been pointed out to me, but, hey...

    The rest of it all is pretty fascinating, though. Why is Janet Reno still alive?


    Thanks... all you folks who hit the tip jars. It was unexpected, and will meet our basic and sundry needs for a couple of weeks. Toilet paper and milk, and that sort of thing.

    My Dad came up with a cane (a shillelagh, really) and a walking staff, so I can go out lurching with the kids and try to get some balance and muscle tone back. The wife was all in a dither to get a job, even though the kid's school would suffer, and I'm more of a heap of wet Shredded Wheat than not.

    Johnny needs to learn how to manipulate every day objects, not be given special devices that he otherwise would not run into in the real world. He just needs to focus on what he is doing, and not try to pick up a full gallon with one hand. He is very pleased to be Milk Boy again.

    I dreamed half the night that I was in an ancient Japanese castle, and I've been exhausted all morning for some reason. The place was really beautiful. Mostly big blocks of stone, not cubed, but thin and individual. They were stacked to make walls, and there were natural openings to shoot through. Then the place was full of Japanese arches and stuccoed stone walls, painted with fascinating murals. There were well-type areas exposed to the sky, so you could sit inside the castle, sheltered, and watch the snow fall down these chimney-like openings that went up to the roof.

    Well, thanks again for calming down the wife. She doesn't show it much, but she was really agitated. Her Faith in God is strong, but no matter who you are, when the toboggan tips down the first part of the slope, and you hear the ice begin to grind on the wood of the bottom, your stomach is going to give a lurch.

    And I appreciate it, too. Thanks again.

        Tuesday, August 21, 2007

    The Night Encroaches...

    First the sun drops behind the mountain, and the grays and purples shake themselves loose from where they have been hiding from the reds and yellows all day. This is the dinner hour, and Johnny has taken it upon himself for a while now to get the milk out of the fridge and set it on the table.

    Tonight, the weight of a nearly full jug of milk was more than his poor hands could handle, and he dropped the jug, and nearly four dollars worth of milk exploded all over the kitchen, flooding under the fridge and stove, and...

    Oh how his face fell when I told him he couldn't carry the milk anymore 'until he got bigger'. He's nine years old. A big boy. He knows it. I feel absolutely horrible, but the wife and I are talking about her getting a job because we are so broke, heck, I said dump cable and internet first, and every other bill we don't need to live.

    The sun is still setting, gone from sight, melted like a large orange sucker that has been licked away by the day.

    And Johnny sits downstairs, staring at his hands. Pondering.

    Life moves on...


    I couldn't bear either the look on his face, or my decision, so no matter what, John is in charge of the milk. I know from experience that he will be as careful as an Explosive Ordinance Disposal guy with the palsy, so I am not worried about spilt milk. And if it goes, well, better that, than to look into that broken, sad face, and hear the first tinkle of a breaking spirit.


    Why Do You Have A Blog?

    I read bloggers nearly every day that are putting their blog down, calling it small and silly, or insulting their blog in some other way.

    And yet, still they blog.

    I don't get it. I check my stats, sure. I've dropped a lot of readership since my stay in the hospital, and since I've cut back on my writing. So? I don't care. I'm gonna write something whether you read it or not, and if you don't like it, I'm gonna lift my leg on you and then kick dirt back over you.

    I'm sure some bloggers blog out of ego, to see their stuff in 'print'. But I think it is a minuscule portion of bloggers that do that. The rest really really want to tell you about their dog, or show you pictures of the new hummingbirds in their yard, or show pics of their tomatoes, or turn you on to a book or movie they just read or saw and enjoyed a lot.

    Some people, I think, have an unresponsive mate, or their family ignores them, so they go to the blog to tear open their chest and share what is in their heart with anybody who might come along. Or they're just lonely, and the blog is a safe place to chatter.

    I honestly don't know why I write, here. It was easy and painless to stop. I restarted for you, mostly, and it is something that comes naturally to me, and it's not a lot of work. I have tried all sorts of different things...styles, experimenting. Doodling, if you will. I realize that I haven't written a Nat and Johnny episode for awhile. Well, since I stopped blogging this latest time. Funny, too, because they live a new story every day.

    I like to see all the new bloggers springing up. New to me, anyway. Oh, I likely don't read you, I just think it's cool you're out there. Right now, Sparrow is my favorite new blogger. Ambulance Driver and Kim du Toit are tied for my favorite old-timers, though Kim's vile atheism makes me lean toward the Ambulance Driver.

    I love Chromed Curses, too, but her dog stories give me hives. I'd shoot that fuckin stupid-ass dog. And V-Man nearly made me puke with his dog story. I would have shot my entire house up to kill that dog.

    Well, enjoy your blogging, and/or your reading.

        Monday, August 20, 2007

    Steve H Graham Is A Pompous Turd...

    AND A BLOGGER!!! And not a very good blogger, at that. He used to be great, but then he quit writing, and started excreting these weird books to vanity presses no one has ever heard of, and now he thinks he is the be all end all of writers, even though both his blog and his books are unreadable now.

    Steve has become the man in the park in the raincoat, waving the 'THE END IS NEAR!!' sign, and making crazy prophetic pronouncements. 'PODCASTING IS DEAD!' and all the podcasters snort and pass him by, hoping madness isn't catching. 'YOUTUBE IS THE FUTURE!' One person a day nods their head and thinks maybe he's not nuts, the other 1,000 walk past him thinking "What? Did that loony just call me a tube?"

    Steve mocks Gutfeld for referring to himself as the editor of his own blog on Red Eye, a blog that has Andy Levy and Jim Treacher writing for it (as well as Greg Gutfeld) and is obviously an integral part of Red Eye, and likely gets more hits after each show than Steve's blog gets in a month. But Steve derides him for mentioning his blog, and insults Roger Ailes, and then wonders why no big Right-Wingers want anything to do with him.

    Could it be Steve's loser friends in Los Angeles, who think their shit doesn't stink, either? The ones who, like Steve, write that they are so good everybody should be knocking down their doors?

    Steve became unreadable about the time he started to delete whole drifts of his material, and insulting every blogger (and blogging in general) around, but I still go there to watch the meltdown, and because I like to think that seeing my IP in his logs bugs him.

    Steve has turned into a bitter, angry, and worse, unfunny man. It always makes me sad, and I feel a sense of loss when a good blog goes bad. I've watched enough do it, so that I can keep an eye on the signs of deterioration in my own blog.

    Let me give you an illustrative story about how Steve thinks about you:

    A few years ago, when I first discovered his blog, I wrote a nice post for my readers with a link to his blog in it. He noticed me in his logs, and emailed me a quick note saying "I threw you a bone..." among other things, and promising to put a link to my blog in his blogroll.

    "I threw you a bone..." At the time I thought it was just the humorist being humorous. Eventually, I learned that he meant it, that he really talked that way, and believed that he, the Lord of the Manor, had tossed a begging dog a bone.

    I never did get the blogroll link, and I never mentioned what he'd said to me. That's funny, because one of his faggot readers went running to tattle to Steve that I used the word 'faggot here' while Steve was going off on multiple rants about Ann Coulter and her Edwards faggot statement.

    Steve then went off on me, on his blog, calling me a Nazi skinhead, and everything but a white man, and said in public that he was gonna delink the link he had never given me; so I shook the dust of his blog off my sandals and never have commented there again.

    Well, I'm tired of writing about this crap. Several of his lurking minions will no doubt rush this to his attention within about a minute of me hitting 'post'. I'm looking at you SondraK, and Keith, you faggot.

    And you know what? It is just too damn bad Steve went on his deleting frenzy back in the day. That was his best work, and would have made great books, instead of the Vanity Pamphlets he chokes out today.

    Oh well...

        Saturday, August 18, 2007

    Totally Justifiable...


    I would have made sure to kill him, because I don't want some little crip rolling into the courtroom and getting all of the jurors (read: 'idiots') all misty-eyed, and in the mood to hand him a few million dollars.

    He should have winged his daughter in the snatch for fucking a Mexican, too. Slut.

        Friday, August 17, 2007

    A Woman's Right To Murder...

    Funny, how no one mentions a man's right to murder. If someone, say, one of his kids inconveniences him, doesn't he get a freebie, too? It all sounds very sexist and prejudiced to me. Special Rights, and all that.

    I think before any of you bitches gets to have your unborn child blended into a fine bloody froth inside of your womb, you should have to procure a pair of pruning shears and cut any one of your least favorite fingers off. Of course, you can scream, your child can only grimace in agony, and bubble in what was life giving fluids until only a few moments ago.

    Shoulda kept your clit in your pants, eh? Isn't that what you tell the 'father'? The guy you let squirt a baby up your whore-hole because you were crushin on him, and he didn't want to wear a rubber? And The Pill 'makes you look fat'?

    Dirty, murdering whore.

    'A Woman's Right To Choose'. Women who would sooner pour acid over their tongue than parrot any libtard propaganda suddenly get all cold and self-righteous when the subject comes up. It's their right, and you damn well better keep your laws off her body.

    Now, the living, helpless infant, of course, well, he or she only has the right to die. To be sliced up with scissors while still alive. To have its skull scooped empty like a three minute egg just as its entire body begins to enter the big wide world... all of its instincts tell it that it is about to leave the comfort of the womb that has nurtured it for nine months, and go meet its mother for the very first time.

    Where most infants at this stage are handed up to the mother to suckle at her breast, for excited family to snap photos of... this one dies, and dies hard, and then is put in a plastic sack, and taken elsewhere to have its parts harvested before it rots.

    Women. You've won the right to murder.

    You should be so proud...

        Thursday, August 16, 2007

    Don't Piss Me Off...

    Your Wrath Quotient: 58%

    Ouch! You've got a bit of a temper going on there, don't you?
    Just make sure to keep your revenge fantasies just that... fantasies only!


    Hey Now...

    You've Experienced 80% of Life

    You have all of the life experience that most adults will ever get.
    And unless you're already in your 40s, you're probably wise beyond your years.


    Ummmm...I Dunno...

    What Your Dreams Mean...

    Your dreams seem to show that you're a bit disturbed... but nothing serious.

    You may have a problem you're trying to work out in your sleep.

    Overall, you are very content in your life.

    You tend to be a very productive thinker.

    Your dreams tend to reflect your insecurities.

    You have a very vivid imagination and a rich creative mind.

    You secretly want to hide your dreams from your waking mind.


    So... think baby wipes and beef jerky is enough to even the debt we owe these guys?


    Tits Up...

    Actually, I prefer them hanging down, above me, like crib toys I can paw and suckle on to my hearts content, while the object of my penetrative assault labors over me and shrieks and sweats and spasms, with the occasional timeout for orgasms or leg cramps. Watch out for that ball kick. Ouch.

    Tits up is also the position my PC is choosing to fuck me in. It sounds like a worn out coffee grinder when I first boot up. I suspect it is the power supply. I cracked the hood this morning and, goodness, there was more fuzz in there than a bus full of 13 year old girls.

    So if I go offline for awhile, it is probably not anything of medical import to me, but technical difficulties I am experiencing. Even if the PC Fairy dropped a new power supply into my lap, I ain't gonna try to put that tentaculous bitch in there myself. Those days are long gone. This machine needs a minimum 500W power supply just to turn on, and shop rates are $60 an hour, so it looks like I may be getting some reading done in my future.

    Technology has passed me by, and I haven't bothered to keep up with it. And the power supply that's growling at me like a temperamental dingo is a SATA power supply, and just looking at it makes my ADD crawl under the bed and whimper.

    I don't know why someone doesn't make a self-cleaning computer. Press a button, and the cleaning cycle starts. A small compressor aims jets of air at dusty components, and the air pressure changes inside and draws the flying crud into various vents and into washable filters.

    Sigh... Never happen. The industry makes money on planned obsolescence.

    Oh well.


    Does anyone know if I can blow air safely through a running power supply? Or will it fuck it up.

        Wednesday, August 15, 2007

    Invest Two Hours Of Your Life... this.

    I found it fascinating.


    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    The Dogmatic Atheist...

    They seem so sure of themselves, don't they. Their irreligiosity has become their religion, and their eyes blaze with the fervent fanaticism of any Catholic Inquisitor. And if they could, they would torture a believer in God to death just as quickly as any Friar with his heated tongs. Though for admittedly slightly different reasons...

    And Religious atheists just hate it when you point out that their other god, Science, has big huge flat feet of clay.

    They love to point out dinosaur fossils. Do you know how many actual bones are in those massive dino recreations you see in museums of natural history? I know of two huge 'bone sculptures' that contain exactly one bone apiece. And for all we know, they're just old cow bones.

    And I love to hear scientists argue among themselves about the efficacy of carbon dating. I firmly believe in the existence of dinosaurs, and I have no problem believing that they coexisted with mammals for awhile. Mankind does so like to kill the shit out of stuff that scares him. Or is good to eat and big enough to nail easily with a pointy stick.

    But billions of years? And still with viable soft tissue? Puhleeze...

    I'm lucky, and likely superior to you, as I don't have a religion. I have beliefs. And all of those pagan religions that predated Christianity, and have so many exact similarities? Hullo! Satan, anybody? Lord of this Earth? You think he might know a little bit about prophecy, and set up a few counterfeits to befuddle those who are easily befuddled, and weak of Faith?

    I've known stupid atheists (most of them) and stupid Christians (far less, proportionately) and I choose to not mingle with either one.
    Carry a Bible across any American campus today, and count how many times some atheist or group of atheists openly mocks and derides you, and how many Christians do the same while you are carrying a Satanic Bible.

    Your Honor, I rest my case...



    This game looks like it really rocks.


    All That Glitters... not Ron Paul,
    like Hitler I think
    he has but one ball.

    He's nice to puppies
    and kittens, I'm sure
    he's used to having his hands
    in fur.

    Many a woman's
    fainted dead away
    looking down at his face
    on birthing day.

    As he chews through the cord
    like an old frontier doc
    she cries "what's that in my bunghole?"
    'Tis Libertarian cock!

    4,000 babies
    he has pulled from the quim
    I'm sure it's coincidence
    that they all look like him.

    A Gyno is he
    and we have no regret,
    but with a sigh of relief
    I'm glad he's not a Vet.

        Tuesday, August 14, 2007

    Movies That Made Me Poop My Pants A Little...

    In no particular order:

    The Exorcist (A big ole turd during this one)
    Several of Hitchcock's
    Ditto John Carpenter
    Angel Heart
    Evil Dead
    The Shining
    A Nightmare on Elm Street
    The Thing
    The Legend of Hell House
    Black Sunday (w/Barbara Steele)
    Hush Hush, Sweet Charlotte

    I daresay most of you couldn't sit through a marathon weekend of these films. I have.

    Feel free to add to the list in the comments. I'm going to bed, perchance to dream.


    Ron Paul, Sodomite, Or Buttfucker?

    You be the judge...


    Ron Paul Is A French Muslim!!!

    I have proof, right here!

    And some very intelligent people slam on Ron Paustule here, speaking truth to idiocy.

        Monday, August 13, 2007

    Fuck ESPN...

    I've been trying to watch the 49ers game, and the gay announcer shitheads can only talk about the various players and coaches who have made the best dressed on Esquire magazine list. Fucking homos. And is that mouthy redheaded cocksucker the little bastard from the Partridge Family, or what?

    Yap yap yap yap, I can't even watch the fucking game because of those retards. I seem to recall bitching about this last year, too. Who keeps hiring these idiots? I've seen women sports announcers who are less annoying than these cream-puffs.

    So I've got the TV off in self defense, and I'm glad the Raiders aren't playing, because I'd have to mute the damn thing and listen to music.

    Oh, off the subject, I hung at 215 lbs for a few days, then 'boom', down to 210 today. The wife is pretty much eating my diet along with me, and she is shedding weight, too. Just switching plain yogurt for sour cream does a lot. And I've cut out almost all sugar from my diet, too.

    I never eat more than two eggs, whether scrambled, fried, or as an omelet. I don't eat bread, except as she puts a slab of hamburger between two slices. I also eat buttered toast with jam as a snack. I only have milk over cereal, usually Cheerios. The wife is going to bake me some low sugar/low salt oatmeal raisin cookies. She also makes nice fillets of Mahi Mahi, and bakes up chicken. I either eat most of a breast, or a leg and a thigh.

    I only drink water, and sometimes either barely sweetened Kool-Aid, or a glass of 7-Up. I don't consider myself to be 'on a diet', more like this is just my diet. What I consume.

    And it has been totally painless.

        Saturday, August 11, 2007

    Facing Death...

    There's two main reactions that happen to someone who has had a close brush with death:

    1. They get giddy, and all touchy feely lovey, and want to go smell flowers and go to a petting zoo.


    2. They get mean, and cold, and hyper-honest, and say exactly what they feel and damn the consequences.

    Guess which one I got?

    When you add to that that I can't have a fine glass of BV Merlot, say 1992, with my prime rib...heck, I can't even have the prime rib...shit, I just want to go through that petting zoo with a hatchet and a claw hammer. During a pre-schooler field trip.

    It has been a little over two weeks, maybe three since alcohol has passed my lips. I don't miss it, but being told I can't have something just pisses me the fuck off. Being told that it is likely because my government destroyed my liver with negligent medical care just enrages me.

    Oh well.


    No Muss, No Fuss...

    I do so love a happy ending.

        Thursday, August 09, 2007

    Kill All Muslims...

    Watch this and then tell me why not? Why not genocide them down to the last infant?

    They'd do the same for you...


    What Women Want In A Man...

    Fuck if I know, and just shoot me if I start giving a shit.

    Seriously. Get me a sandwich, blow me, take me in the shower and wash me up (with a back rub thrown in) and maybe I'll take you to bed and send you to the moon. Or I'll take a nap. Probably a nap.

    I will not get you cards and flowers. A stupid waste of money and time. I will (maybe) buy you the chocolates that made the sales girls thighs quiver when she held the box. That's how I judge chocolate. I don't really like it, myself, but when the sales girl is holding the box like she just got her new dildo in the mail, bing, that's the one.

    When we are dating, I expect you to come over and cook gourmet meals for me. I'll pick the wine. Women are no damn good at that. The few that are automatically become keepers. She will bring me lunches at work, and feed me grapes. She will dress sexy, so as to drive my male drone co-workers into fits of jealousy.

    I will not put my other girlfriends in your face, but if you can't take me having them, get lost. Until I make you the ultimate promise, you have no hold over me, but if I see you with another man, you are off the island. Zero tolerance.

    The wife and I were friends, first. We were each married to someone else, and I had about half a dozen girlfriends, two of whom (at least) had decided I was going to marry them. One day, months down the road, the wife told me she loved me. I had a wild crush on her that I had kept hidden, figuring I didn't have a chance against her millionaire husband.

    That week, she moved out of her custom built luxury home and into a friends enclosed back porch, and I dumped all of my girlfriends and began looking for a nest for us. Life happened, tangled webs were woven, and eventually, we were happily married.

    I still don't take any shit from her, nor she from me. We have an agreement where when one of us pisses off the other, the other gets to get up in the others face and express their anger, and why. Sometimes it is a misunderstanding, sometimes one of us has committed a sin against the marriage. We work it out.

    It is never personal. It is the third party in the relationship: The Marriage, that we have sinned against. We are able to apologize, and the cracks in the Doric Column that is the marriage heal themselves, taking strength from the both of us.

    Wanna be a Feminist? dick for you. Crow about your rights. Demand them. Men will subtly steer you into places where you think you're relevant, but you can do little to no harm.

    There is a natural order to human relationships, and any time you try to impose artificial, made-up constraints on male/female relationships, or legitimize abominations like gay marriage and other horrors, you cause a vile, pustulant boil to form, that poisons all things around it, and will eventually cause the death of the host, if not treated properly.

    One final note: observe that none of these so-called 'civil rights' for women and minorities can be earned by them, nor are assumed by the general majority to be an 'inalienable right'...

    No, they all have to be imposed upon society at the point of a government minion's bayonet.

    Think about that...


    Let The Day Begin...

    My new favorite song.

    What an uplifting way to start my day. I can be happy now, until some loser pisses me off.

    Nat and Johnny are currently under the sentence of banishment and shunning and whatever else I can think of. Right now they are both in bed until 9am, unless I hear another fucking peep out of them, in which case their sentence is extended. Wake my ass up singing and thumping around and playing slap and tickle at 7am, will you.

    Update: Nat just got her own ass up because she saw a clock and gave herself permission. I had her report to me and thumped her head on the wall til the heater element rang and popped her in the cheek and slapped another half hour of solitary on her.

    There are two sins I will not tolerate, lying, and rebellion. Both are from Satan, primal sins, and I will beat her like a new drum if that's what it takes to exorcise her. Society will thank me one day. Well, they would, except they are too distracted by their own kids killing other kids execution style, and plotting to murder everyone at their school that has ever hurt their 'self-esteem'.

    Well, I gotta go have a fruit filled (fresh pears) crepe...pity me. Hey, I'm down to 215 lbs now!

        Wednesday, August 08, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    Bye, Rush...

    I don't want to listen to any Demoncrat talk their shit, so why would I want to listen to you replay their crap over and over again? You have become an automatic publicity machine for the DNC, and I don't choose to let that bullshit into my house.

    I do not need to be repeatedly drug through a sticker patch to figure out being drug through stickers is a bad thing.

    And the Republican candidates are just as bad, if not worse. At least we can see Democrats coming. A Republican will sidle up to you with a smile, and then next thing you know, pow! yer gettin pounded up the butt.

    I don't know, but I suspect your show is hemorrhaging listeners like Rosie is losing any shred of femininity she might ever have had. I know you only say about 30 minutes of anything relevant per hour, during a three hour show, but your 90 minutes have become so irrelevant to me, that I can't bear to listen anymore.

    I enjoy you talking about sports, your cigars, heck, just about anything, but when you play clips of Hillary where she sounds like a ferret is chewing off her clit, or that ignorant bat-eared ding-dong Osama blithering his ignorant, pre-packaged bullshit, well, it's time for me to go.

    Good luck to you, Rush. I hope you get normal again one day.



    You Are 40% Feminist

    No one would consider you a feminist. You believe women should hold on to traditional gender roles.

        Tuesday, August 07, 2007

    It Has Been Said I'm 'Back'...

    Whatever that means. Truthfully, I feel like I am phoning it in through a Ouija Board, and that maybe one day I'll get back up to speed.

    Oh, I'm not working at it. 'Forcing it'...I've said the day it looks too much like work, I quit doing it. If the material doesn't flow, time to set it aside and let it ferment, and work on something else.

    I've see some sad bastards (and bitches) who have taken a healthy advance on a piece of work, and then lost all interest and joy in finishing it. That's just sad, right there.

    Anyway, thanks for those of you who are hitting my tip jar. Doing it for luck? To keep me around? Heck, that's just fate, baby. I got dizzy in the shower tonight, and it coulda all ended right there.

    Life's a crapshoot, and it brings its own crap...


    Fun At The Expense Of Others...

    I read this post today, which led me to this post, where I was driven to comment. Twice.

    Here is my final comment, and I post it here, as I expect it will be taken down soon:

    Here’s some food for thought: before presuming to know what a person thinks or says, ask.

    Here’s some food for thought: You’re a pompous boob and a jackanape, Mr Cline. You have demonstrated over and over (and over and over…) again what you think, both here in the comments, and in your treacly, weak-tea posts.

    You argue like my little sister (and that’s not a compliment) and have proven time and time again to be a poor thinker of the first order.

    You puff up and stalk about like a neutered Persian cat, and I am sure that Mr Adams is getting as huge a kick from all of your prep school debating ’skills’ as I have enjoyed here.

    I’d ask God to bless you, but as I am a Bad Christian, I hope he infests your colon with boils.


    So, there you go. Do a search for my first comment (if you care to) and prepare to be amused.
    It is difficult for me to decide which is the stupider fuck, a Ron Paul supporter, or an atheist.

    I would like all atheists to go to Heaven in the End of Days, and get to stay there for about a week. Everybody could tease them and say shit like "How do you like me now?" And then boot them over the side down into Hell.


    I Suppose I Should Thank You...

    ...for all of your kind words.

    I'm a little suspicious of it all, but I guess I should just learn to accept things in the spirit they appear to have been offered in. So, thanks.

    And thanks to the couple of you who hit my tip jars. I respect putting your money where your mouths are. And thanks, Spacebunny for that jar of chocolate stuff. We had some of it for dinner last night, shmeared on fruit crepes. A little goes a long way. Fill a finished crepe with chopped fruit, run a fat line of plain yogurt over the fruit, close it up and take a level teaspoon of that Italian chocolate sauce and run it down the outside. I love the malty crunchy bits, and now see Nutella as a poor substitute.

    It just turned noon, here, and it's barely 65 degrees. I love it. I'm probably going to go in a bit and huddle under my covers and shiver myself into a nap. Last night it got down into the 50's, and I rolled up in two quilts and pretended I was sleeping in one of the high mountain cabins I have lived in before. Except I missed that constant susurration of trees, their whispers and sighs as they commune with one another.

    Our citified trees do not speak. Domesticated, they stand alone, even in groups. Druids would be hard pressed to find trees of power around here, except for dark, angry trees, standing alone and apart, having been used to participate in the murders of human beings. No, those trees are bitter, and vengeful. Best to not linger near them, or fall asleep in their oily shade...

    Most of you linger so much in your box homes, or in your box cars, traveling to and from your box jobs, insulated from the world by box music, or boxed fantasy lives, animated in, what else, an electronic box, that...

    Well, you've lost track of the things that the wise men and women warned us are alive and well, just a wheel's turn off the beaten path. Where the trees begin to watch you with avid eyes, and no bird sings.

    Just beyond the reach of your headlights, mad things caper and gibber, and they are just dying to meet you. Or turn off the main road, and go to where the old roads still go to the old places, before the new interstate came along and vomited its black bile over 100 years of history.

    And you come home at night, and your house lights up for you, beating back the darkness, and you press a button to get into your garage, and you drive in, but you can't get the garage door to close soon enough, and you bustle to the back door fumbling for the house key, because you dread the idea that the timer for the light is going to turn it off before you can get inside your kitchen, and you can feel a thing with moist, black puckered nostrils moving up behind you...

    I bet you don't look back.


    Ron Paul Is A Muslim!!!

    It always amazes me how his flying monkeys carry on about what a 'man of integrity' he is, as he uses the copy of the Constitution he waves around to put his monkeys in thrall and make them throw themselves onto their backs and put their legs up into the air for his easy access to their anuses.

    Where's Lyndon LaRouche when you need him? At least he had a few decent ideas. Ron Paul is just a coward, an empty suit, a phantasmagoria, a worthless heap of misaligned DNA. He wouldn't even be a blip on the radar if it wasn't for his fourteen ardent followers, out there stuffing ballot boxes and working day in and day out to give a worthless wad of gray phlegm some name recognition.

    Followers, I might add, who have claimed that they do not and will not vote, so their political opinions are about as useful as last weeks used Tampon, and about as full of estrogen.

    Countdown to flying monkey attack (where much nonsense will be spewed, and then promptly deleted since I don't speak idiot) in 5...4...3...2...

        Sunday, August 05, 2007

    Just Because She Asked...

    Via Chromed Curses:


    I’m begging you guys to take 2 minutes to help us out. The charity that I sit on, America’s Wounded Heroes, it is brand spankin’ new and we DESPERATELY need donations and funds. So I’m asking you to go to VA Joe’s and vote for us. You have to join (free) and all you do is provide a username, a password, and an email address. On the next page you can fill in name and stuff, but at the bottom, you can choose to not get any email notifications and NOT fill in the personal data.


    Please help! Soldiers’ Angels already has 45 votes and Adopt-a-Platoon has 20. They are both very worthy causes, but our charity will help more than Soldiers and Marines. We also help police officers, firefighters, and EMTs who get wounded on the job and need a helping hand. I know I have at least 50 readers. Maybe more. Probably more, but I’m not gonna hold my breath that ALL of you would be willing to do this.

    Go over there and join and vote. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!!

    AND, if you have a blog, could you publicize our site?? I can email you the logo (or you can just lift it off this site…it’s in the sidebar there to the right) and the url is Right now, the paypal is not functioning on the dot org site, but the paypal account IS accessible through the other temp site found at

    I’ll be sending out a mass email to most of ya’ll anyway (as soon as I can get into the paypal account to get the link set up) but I figured I’d put this out there now anyway.

    THANK YOU!!!



    I Was Scheduled To Die Last Monday...

    I didn't know what else to do, and I was too miserable to live, so I wrote the 'Hiatus' post, and laid down on my bed and proceeded to shut down. It was easy. I've seen the wife's old ladies do it a bunch of times. Just don't eat, drink, or move, and wait for the organs to shut down.

    I thought I was doing everybody a favor. Checking out. No bang, no swinging body creaking from a rope to cut down. A nice, open casket ceremony for anybody who cared to to drop by and say goodbye. Give the kids some closure, then tuck me away in the dirt.

    I've trained the wife for years for this. To live strong, in a man's world, and deal with men and get business done, and take no crap from anyone. Looks like I taught her a little too well. She was having none of my crap.

    You see, the only medical care I could think of was Portland VA, which I swear to you, I will never go back to again for primary care. Fucking quacks and butchers, who put me on the road to dying in my bed.

    Well, the wife stepped completely outside of the box, and found me a hospital that would take me, and all she asked of me is would I go...honey, yer ruinin my noble death, here. But yes, if you set it up, I'll go.

    You see, because of the Hydrochlorothaeazidide the fuckers at Portland had put me on, and then proceeded to not test my blood for months, my liver pretty much died, and started shunting water into my abdomen and then down my legs. The new hospital brought me back from the brink, and I was released Friday afternoon and got home Friday evening. With the diuretics I'm on, I pissed out over 50 lbs of water weight, and I look normal for the first time in quite a while. I was 220 lbs this morning, with a BP of 116/61, and a pulse of 60.

    Oh, and supposedly I can't drink alcohol ever again, and am on a very low sodium diet for the rest of my life. The alcohol I can do without, but the diet is killing me. Just awful. I was never a big salt fanatic, anyway. I never salt my food once it's served to me, and on the rare occasions I eat popcorn, I never salt it. But food cooked without salt...and the damn bread, yeesh! Might as well snack on the old widder woman's Maxi-Pad. Tasteless, and just somehow...wrong.

    Oh, and I found out something important about me I did not know. I've said before here how I have no self esteem. You think I must be fishing for compliments, but I truthfully don't fully trust them when I get them. Or when someone says nice things about me. I saw self esteem as a vestigial organ I was not using, didn't trust or need, so I yanked it out a long time ago. Or it was yanked out for me. Probably during my childhood.

    No, I discovered that there are truly people who love me just for being me, who like me, and who would be altered, perhaps even destroyed by my passing. This came as quite a shock to me. Oh, there may be a half a dozen of you out there in my readership who would mourn a little, but I would have really killed the wife and kids if I had of died like I wanted.

    So, for them, I stay alive. Maybe one day I'll want to stay alive for me. Anything's possible, I suppose.

    My two Marines were going to drop everything, likely damaging their career plans, just to come up to be with me in the hospital! I had to work hard to talk them out of it.

    Well, anyway, I'm back. I would assume blog posts will follow. I can finally imagine writing them again. And I resolve to be even more vicious than I was before in deleting comments. Life's too short for all the dumb shit, trust me. If you don't like what I say, go away. I don't even care in the slightest what you have to say if you do not agree with me. Go start your own blog.

    For those of you who have stuck with me through the dead zone of the past couple of weeks, thanks. Traffic dropped off, but it never died.

    And hey, people, just remember that when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you.

        Wednesday, August 01, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!