You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::


View My Stats

eXTReMe Tracker

Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam

This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable

Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License


email me


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)

Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity


Vox Day



Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major




  • For All You Broads...

  • A New Year Present For Vox...

  • The Year In Review...

  • To Kill, Or Subdue?

  • I'll Never Buy Another...

  • I Always Suspected As Much...

  • For The Record...

  • Jesus Made This One By Hand...

  • Tis The Season...

  • My New Babysitter...

  • Hysterical...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • I Am Exhausted...

  • Another Name For Caviar...

  • My Obituary...

  • Another Christmas...

  • Merry Christmas...

  • Christmas Greetings...

  • Thought I'd Do Better...

  • Ron Paul...

  • Gorillas In The Mist...

  • Family...

  • Please, Give...

  • I Don't Get It...

  • Drawing A Blank...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • I Can Steal...

  • Incredible Abs...

  • I'd Vote For This...

  • Hmmmm...

  • Don't Cloud The Issue With Facts...

  • Short-Sheeting The Earth...

  • Say Hello...

  • Misfit Toys...

  • I Am Legend (A Review)...

  • Your Head As Pinata...

  • Slow Children...

  • Not In The Mood...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • It May Be Over...

  • The Myth Of Violent Christianity...

  • The Goddess Speaks!

  • Stupid Asshole...

  • Sci-Fi Sucks...

  • ::Past::
  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012

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

    This page is powered by Blogger.

        Monday, December 31, 2007

    For All You Broads...

    ...about to commit suicide on New Years Eve, here's some incentive:


    A New Year Present For Vox...


    The Year In Review...

    Don't you just hate it when someone says that? It's called the past for a reason, keep it there. Useful for learning experience, any more than that is pure vanity. Says the man who writes about his past constantly.

    I won't talk about things that were on the news. It can be summed up by saying 'people died, people disappeared, there was weather, and people nobody cares about are vying for our notice and/or approval in some way or another'.

    Screw it all. Screw them all.

    Johnny and Nat have gotten bigger, and where Johnny used to look like a death camp survivor, he now has a little gut, and meat on his bones. He only had to have one surgery this year, and it was as minor as an eye surgery can be.
    Nat is noticing boys, and she is only seven. She is gonna end up driving me nuts.

    Homeschooling is a wild success. Big words are flying around the house, a couple of which have sent me to the dictionary to make sure.

    I didn't want anything for Christmas, and I got it. Welllllll, it drove the wife nuts not to get me something, so she grabbed me a box of 'Raffaello's' and it is the best thing I have ever eaten. I would have sex with them if I could. I am at a loss for words on how awesome this candy is. No shit.

    I got her a box of Lindt Special Dark, Assorted, and she moans like she's got a man in her room with her when she 'sneaks' one. Guilty pleasure.
    The kids got toys, some of which they haven't even opened up yet. Between you donaters (Thanks!) and a crippled kids' organization and the Marines, and family, you cannot walk through the living room. They got new pajamas and winter coats, too, and seemed just as happy and grateful to have received them, as well.

    Johnny's coat is way super cool. It is a 'system', and comes apart at nearly every junction. You can remove the hood and the sleeves and the extra body protection, and have a mighty fine vest. I mostly only wear a vest, and then only if it is damned cold, and the last few times I've gone out, I've worn an actual coat. I've had it for years, but I had to cut off all the tags in order to wear it.

    It is 33 degrees today, not counting the wind chill.

    This last year, I've heard guys making proclamations about women, and I just have to smile. I have known several that can take what you give out, multiply it, and break you in six places. I saw a video of the chick who is representing the US kickboxing team in the Olympics. She trains with men, full contact. And she's a supermodel to pay the bills. And I wouldn't want to face her on the best day and in the best shape of my life.

    But anything with a cunt should not be allowed to vote. And this includes male Democrats and Libertarians. We need to nuke you from space. It's the only way to be sure.

    I nearly died, this year. Several people who blame me for them starting a blog are doing very well, indeed. If I really am a blogfather, I am very proud of my children. Funny how the more you write, the better you get at it, innit....toldja.

    The wife sits with little old dying people for $18 to $25 an hour. Part time, but, hey.
    I don't work, unless you count the piddling I do here as 'work'. It's too easy, so I don't have the temerity to label it so. I've actually looked, but I can't sit for long, or stand for long, or walk (lurch) too far, and while I have about 70 more hours than your average college graduate, I didn't ever get around to getting that piece of paper, so apparently, I don't have a brain.

    I have started more than one business, and been wiped out by natural causes, and/or government interference each time. Feast, and famine. Story of my life. I'm learning to live with famine. Hey, you lose weight. No overhead.
    To start a business now, and jump all the hurdles, and pay all the fees and taxes, and have to hire faggots by fiat, and then have some hot chick who can summon Oscar-worthy tears on the witness stand make you pay for her life for the rest of it, well, no thanks.

    I do have one strong possibility available to me, all I need to do is put my soul into a safety deposit box as I do it, because it involves using my God given writing ability for evil. To lie, and hustle, and con.
    I've made you cry, and laugh, just by being honest. Can you imagine that being used for soulless corporations?

    I can't.

    But when we all say goodbye to Mommy as she heads to work, well, maybe, just maybe...

    I can.

    Happy New Year...


    Additional pontificating...

        Saturday, December 29, 2007

    To Kill, Or Subdue?

    I realized not too long ago that I no longer have the choice of subdue, so in a physical confrontation, I have to either back down (unacceptable) or kill or cripple my opponent.
    You see, I have gotten old, and rickety, and much like a small woman or handicapped person, I do not have the luxury of not fucking you up, should you get jiggy with me.

    I have seen strong young men killed or damaged badly by trying to 'talk some sense' into an attacker, or try to wrap them up with pure muscle until the police get there.
    I resolved early on to not allow that to happen to me, so I became a skilled gunfighter, knife fighter, and dealer of shattering damage and pain with the eleven points on my body suited to do so. In that order, people. Priorities...

    Then I got old...

    I genuinely despise that appellation, and took great effort to not become so, but no opponent was ever able to end me the way I wanted to go out, screaming in blood and pain, spitting my dying blood into their face as the Valkyries took wing to fetch me.

    So, it became time to find alternative forms of energy...

    So, to illustrate, let me tell you about the other night when I met my youngest Marine's girlfriend in my bar (with him there, too, nasty) for only the second time. He, apparently, had been telling her tales out of school, and she expected a monster, and instead, was confronted by a debonair, handsome, cultured and intelligent man who not only knew of everything she talked about, but could expound at length on it.

    I don't think he has told her of my blog, so I kept mum, as well.

    Well, I screwed up, blew my cover as it were, while my son and I were shooting pool. On a difficult long table shot, that looked impossible, I held my stick one handed like an epee, and skewered the shot into the pocket.
    They were right to gasp over the shot, it is a thing of grace and beauty, performed correctly, and somehow I got into a lecture on knife fighting (being sword fighting, with a much shorter sword, and yes, I'm a swordsman) and...

    It seems he had mentioned to her (likely as a warning) my penchant for weaponry, and she asked me innocently (is any woman truly 'innocent'?) if I was armed.

    I brought out this, which when palmed and slapped in a cupped hand to the side of an opponents head, spills good whiskey, and poorly utilized brains.

    Then in an escalation of force, I consider this my primary weapon within 20 feet.

    This was in the breast pocket of my jacket. For serious, yet curiously quiet killing, multiple targets.

    Then we have this, and this, and I won't tell you where they were. The .25 lets out a horrible bang, is loaded with Glasers, and I wouldn't think twice about chucking it into any one of several bodies of water after the fact. Too many people don't take the 'what now?' obvious steps to mind when they end up covered in the secret sauce of others.

    What to do...what to do...

    I would squirt hot tears of anguish should circumstances demand I ditch my 10mm, though. She is like one of my children to me. A child who can put a hot pellet through a car door, two idiots, and the far car door. Sigh...

    And that, my children, is what keeps me from getting drunk in public, or mouthy, or rude to accompanied ladies. I have not, will not go to the government for permission to be armed like a man, a gentleman. And the dark cloud that forms over me when certain lines are crossed, has so far kept anybody of importance and threat from crossing them.

    The door would be closing behind me before they hit the floor. Do not wave your weapons around, and don't talk, especially to threaten.

    I could say more, but these are my plans...make up your own. You won't worry about being in court later, if you have played your cards close.

    Besides, I'm just a harmless old man, telling wild tales by the fire...


    I'll Never Buy Another...

    ...Marvel product.

        Friday, December 28, 2007

    I Always Suspected As Much...

    I don't trust any sport where you have to touch men without any protection. Rugby is pure S&M, and soccer is rugby for straight out fairies.

    And don't get me started on ice-skating...

        Thursday, December 27, 2007

    For The Record...

    ...I'm glad Bhutto is dead. The US supporting her made about as much sense as this.

    Yep: exactly none.

    She and her family were/are corrupt people, rotten to the core. Sharif is no better. I wish Musharef(sp, cuz I don't care) all the luck in the world. We need more iron-handed dictators to corral the confused masses who worship the limp cock of Democracy, and tongue it wherever and whenever possible. To the detriment of human freedom. True freedom, not some Libertardian idea of it.

    Libertardians only think of their sexual organs, and drugs, and their 'rights' to abuse such in any way they choose. Makes for poor policy decisions.

    We need another Hitler, with all of the cool uniforms, and none of the sick/silly Jew obsession. Hey, we honkeys might be the Master Race, but there's no need to rub it in.

    Funny thing, you never saw a Muslim cop whipping Bhutto's legs with a stick for not veiling up. Why is that, do you think?

    Fucking bunch of animals. Need to be put down like mad dogs, the lot of them...


    Jesus Made This One By Hand...


    Tis The Season...





    My New Babysitter...



    ...and so accurate it's scary.

    Doc is one of my regular reads. Get well soon, buddy.

        Wednesday, December 26, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go ye, and worship!


    I Am Exhausted...

    Too much of a Good Thing. Too many/much food and snackage, especially sugary stuff. I ate as much of it as I will consume in a year. Too much (is that even possible?) booze. I feel like I have just road-marched 30 miles. And yes, I used to do that on a routine basis.

    The kids got 'Moon Sand'. I would have sooner stuffed a rabid gerbil up their asses, but the wife is out of control at this time of year...(pauses writing, has shot of brandy, chases it with a beer he couldn't finish last night so he stuck it in the fridge, continues)...

    At least we weren't belabored by family. Those who dropped by kept their visits mercifully brief, then escaped to other, more normal climes. They have learnt to hang with rich people, and marry well. This zeros the wife and I out of the equation quite nicely.

    Though I married for love, and would have it no other way. We both gave up so much...I shed my kids, and she shed her millionaire, and when we turn our gaze inward, we are surprisingly content and happy with the decisions we made.

    My SIL is a military officer, and he had to do a very bad thing that affected the careers of many men, and it was a hard thing, very hard, yet he did it, and it makes me very proud of him, and for my daughter whose child she recently bore from him. And I fear for his/their safety, because this is the sort of thing bad men kill good men over, and the standards to serve our country have been dropped considerable.

    I realize I am just rambling, here. Sorry. But this week (so far) has been one large field of both flowers and thorns, surrounded by mists that isolate what is coming next. Had some great crock-potted pork. Tender as butter. And one of the best baked potatoes ever, with all the fixins. Seeing fresh, bright green chives at this time of year, makes it worth it to not have flying cars or personal jet packs.

    You Primitives who choose to live in snowy lands on purpose bewilder me, as usual. We saw some flakes yesterday, and it was like seeing the birth of faeries. Or, as I like to think of it, the herpes scabs from Frosty's balls when he scratches his nuts.

    So, what's the best present you got this year? Blowjobs count. And none of that 'peace on earth', or 'an infant's smile' shit, or I'll find out where you live and come puke a quart of guacamole right on ya. Yeesh.

    To get 'peace on earth', quite a lot of people have to die, and/or get the living shiite beat out of them, so it rather nullifies the entire concept then, doesn't it.

    Am I the only one who could give a shit about the writer's strike? Or the tiger? Or who, in fact, thinks the tiger-bitten assholes likely had it coming? And it's funny how fifty-two cops can't hit one negro drug dealer in a gunfight, but put a Siberian Tiger in their face, and they manage to kill it with pistols.

    Priorities, people.

    Well, I am craving Taco Bell tacos so badly, I dreamt of them all night. I'm gonna nap, then forage for such, and then go see the new AvP movie, and get exposed to whatever sickness bugs miscreants emit in such a place.

    Merry merry, happy happy.

        Tuesday, December 25, 2007

    Another Name For Caviar...

    Sturgeon Birth.

    Tis the season...thanks, I'll be here all sure to tip your waitress.

        Monday, December 24, 2007

    My Obituary...

    'What will your obituary say?' at


    Another Christmas...

    Something woke me around 3am this morning. I arose, to go piss, and saw the shadow under the door of someone walking past my room. I whipped the door open to startle either the wife or one of the kids, hoping to elicit a shriek, and no one was there. The wife and kids were each snoring softly in their own beds. A quick check of the house showed everything closed and tight and secure.

    Yet something had passed by my door.

    The UPS man has been dropping off edible gifts, so we will be having a couple of feast days, with no real cooking involved. I hate to tear it up, because it is so beautiful, but the next time my stomach growls, the gingerbread house gets it. And I've heard (read) people bitching about Hickory Farms...well fuck you, I love the stuff.

    ...and brandy, and egg nog...

    And beer.

    And my youngest Marine stopped by with his new girlfriend (she was so blonde I asked her if the 'curtains matched the drapes'...was that wrong?) and dropped off some gifts, and he gave me a mint in box Spawn Malebolgia figure from 1997, that talks!
    You have no idea how difficult it is for me to not tear it open and play with it.

    Well, must go, the oldest daughter just called and they are coming over to see us. People know to call before they arrive. The wife and I ordered a Domino's double cheese and jalapeƱo last night (munchies, dontcha know) and it seemed to make the delivery goon nervous when he saw my P85 pointing in his general direction. Quit looking at my wife's tits, asshole.

    It is generally a terrible idea to surprise me.

        Sunday, December 23, 2007

    Merry Christmas...

    These are for you...



        Saturday, December 22, 2007

    Christmas Greetings...

    ...from a Dead Terrorist.


    Thought I'd Do Better...


    Find Ultrasound schools near you

        Friday, December 21, 2007

    Ron Paul...

    Filthy Nazi...


    Lying filthy Nazi.

    And he hates Israel, so...lying filthy Satanic Nazi.


    Gorillas In The Mist...

    High comedy.

    Uncivil war is coming, people.





    Please, Give...

    Go here, read, give. A worthier cause I cannot imagine.

    Put your money where your mouths are.


    I Don't Get It...

    I read here all the time, mostly with a sense of bemusement. This post is one of the more confusing.
    If you truly don't care, why write about it? A conundrum, I know, but he has tenderized this horse long ago, so perhaps...issues?

    I have posed in the past as someone (or something) else, but only for my own personal amusement. If I caught every pussy that was thrown at me, I would look like a pulsating mountain of clits and clams. I pick up women by accident, and never think twice. And I don't see myself as a particularly 'bad boy'. I think that's a myth, anyway.

    Just be nice.

    And don't take any shit. From anybody.

    If a woman wants a bad boy, I can play the part, but I learned long and long ago that I was dealing with damaged goods, with a limited shelf life. Kinda like sticking your dick into a gopher trap, because you enjoy the tickle of the teeth on your shaft, and hoping to not trigger the device.

    Women don't know what they want until you tell them. Which gives you, the male, an awesome responsibility. I have (most of the time) behaved deliberately like an asshole (been myself) and have gotten laid more often than I care to think about. And I went through a phase where I was every woman's last lay just before she got married. I can think of two who did me in the car in the parking lot on the way to wedding practice.

    And if you think I'm bragging, there is something inherently wrong with you. Admiring an out of control sociopath says something fundamental about you, I think. And not terribly complimentary.

    A woman hands herself to you, imagine you have just caught a hummingbird, or a rare butterfly has landed on your palm.


        Wednesday, December 19, 2007

    Drawing A Blank...

    Just exactly how do you do that? And what do you have when you are done?

    Yep...a blank. Page.

    That's where I'm at tonight. Got nuthin. Nada. 'Nada' means 'testicles' in ancient Mayan, so I guess I have nada. Big ones. But they don't talk, though they do command.

    White space. Empty page. Nothing to say. Except that oh, yeah, I hate everyone on the internet. Except for those I don't.

    And how is it again that a leprous zit like Lindsey Lohan makes millions while I languish?

    Guess I been sucking all the wrong dicks...


    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    I Can Steal...

    ...a half an hour of your life.


    Incredible Abs...


    I'd Vote For This...

    Kill, Protect, Punch...

    I'd like to see Fred walk over to Ron Paul during the next debate and kick his tiny balls up and out his ears, where they'd dangle like bloody earrings.

    If I can't have Duncan Hunter, I'll take Fred.



    Your hidden talent is lying

    You are able to lie to anyone and get away with it. Sometimes you even do it for fun. You are specifically skilled at acting and bluffing during poker. And you know that to be a good liar you should give lots of details, to be a great one you give no details at all.

    Take this quiz at

    Found at Heidi's blog. She has the nicest breasts I've ever come across.

        Tuesday, December 18, 2007

    Don't Cloud The Issue With Facts...

    I can't mention anything about God or the Bible without having someone popping up and inserting their personal religion and beliefs into it. As if it A) Matters and B) I care.

    And, my gosh, I rightly point out what a goofy looking traitorous fool Ron Paul is, and his Flying Monkeys come out and crap their so-called 'facts' all over my car. As if A) It matters and B) I care.
    Ron Paul is an idiot right now, and I don't care how far back you go into history to find your 'facts' in order to support your hallucinatory political leanings.

    So, someone snuck in and stole all of our gold, eh? A) Prove it (hint: you can't) and B) I do not fucking care. My money spends. I've been fucked over by private industry far more than I ever have been by my own government.

    All of you Paulites dire predictions could come true, and I wouldn't give a shit. Plus, I don't care. Never before have so many memorized and spewed forth such irrelevant 'facts' to so few, we who do not give a shit, and who think y'all are nuts, anyway.

    I'd rather look at Hillary's face sagging like a leaking dirigible for four years, than to suffer through one speech delivered by President Paul. Thank God that'll never happen. I'd take up arms if I had to, to stop it.

    No, the Flying Monkeys spatter out their unrelated 'facts' like a baby pukes, and then cry like such a baby when you sneer at them.

    No, Ron Paul is an AntiChrist, and unless you absolutely agree with me, I don't care one whit about your views on religion. Because you are wrong.

    Get down with me, or get lost.

    And take your loon with you...

        Monday, December 17, 2007

    Short-Sheeting The Earth...

    One of God's little pranks, along with diarrea and Democrats, is freezing the earth once a year, and making the days so short that you no sooner get used to daylight, than it gets dark.

    Ha ha, God, very funny. Oh well, the snow keeps the locusts down.

    But seriously, is this how you want to celebrate your kid's birthday? Get the party rolling, and then turn out the lights?

    This is why, when God says I better straighten up, or He'll fry my ass, I believe every dang word.
    He gave the world His only begotten son, pretty darn sure of the outcome, so my ass doesn't have a chance not becoming toast unless I change my evil ways.

    Oh, and He says yer fucked, too.

        Sunday, December 16, 2007

    Say Hello... your new neighbour.

    The Man...always keepin a brutha down. Don't worry, though, because Ron Paul would pardon him, if he ever gets the chance.

        Saturday, December 15, 2007

    Misfit Toys...

    We went to the Christmas party at Johnny's therapy center tonight. The place was crawling with potential abortions, all of which would have ended a life, no matter how difficult, and cut off all of the joy I saw, leaving nothing but a supparating wound in the mother's heart and soul, for life.

    Broken children, some lolling in wheelchairs, some too broken to communicate, yet all shining love for their mothers and fathers, and the normal siblings, and soaking up love in return.

    This time next year, some of them will be dead. Or too far gone to travel. This year, Santa came, and gave to each according to their needs, and cookies and cake were had by all not on special diets, and if love was electricity, they could have lit up the city and then some.

    Johnny got to 'help' the magician, and he spun plates like a wild thing, up there on the stick, staring at it in wonder. The wife tried it, and hit herself in the head and the plate (plastic) flew off into the crowd.

    And then we drove off to go look at the Christmas lights and displays of others, who can decorate their yards and houses, and Johnny thanked me effusively, and another family would have listened and had such a rare creature as my broken unicorn, pulled from the womb and vacuumed out into a sink in some abattoir.

    And when I think of the normal, healthy children that are murdered by mothers and their accomplice, their doctor (First, do no harm) my heart stirs, and screams at the vileness of it all.
    If I killed everyone that was 'inconvenient' to me, I would be surrounded by cold, dead corpses.

    And yet we suffer the least of these to send their breath back to God, to cease their existence, and lose all of the future they would ever have, so we can keep our jobs, our lifestyles...the same dress size.

    I stood at the riverside with a woman who had chosen to kill, once, so as to not inconvenience herself.

    She had a small, pitiful little basket. In it she had placed some baby clothes, and a note to the child, begging for forgiveness. She prayed, then set the basket loose upon the water to drift away.
    As she trudged back up the bank, blind from tears, the weight of the universe was on her shoulders.

    And she will never, ever get better.


    I Am Legend (A Review)...

    Do you like Will Smith? You'd better, because he is in every frame of this movie. Being Will Smith. The only role he knows how to play.

    I like Will Smith, but he got tiresome, and then kinda silly, and there was so much going on in this film, that I wanted to see it going on, but instead, I got...Will Smith. Lots and lots of Will Smith.

    I really don't know how this movie would have struck me if I was seeing it for the first time, cold, but I have seen all the other movies, and read the book and the illustrated stories, so this was just another retelling, and it stood up very well. I like Will Smith.


    If you are going to approach such a sacred icon like this movie, it is best to bring your A-Game, and, while impressive, this movie is just another version. Someone(s) with true imagination was involved in its production, but I got the impression that a lot of that magic got left on the cutting room floor in order to make room for...

    Will Smith.

    Should you see it? Sure. Damn straight. Perfect theatre movie. Then rent/buy the DVD when it comes out, and see what they left off the screen. I can't wait to get the Director's Cut version. This movie would have made a great three hour film, and as it is, it comes in at just over two. They aimed for a PG-13 rating, and got it. Get the bucks from the kiddies over Christmas vacation. But it could've, should've been rated R.

    This movie had gaps in it, like a pretty woman with no back teeth. From the front, she looks fine, but gosh, when she smiles...

    So, see it? Heck yeah. And realize it is unfinished, and look forward to the DVD. It is a magical movie, with problems. I went from moments of pure enjoyment that had me wiggling like a puppy, to moments where I felt that I was just looking at rough, storyboarded sections. I smell too many hands, rather than one creative mind with a vision. So, it sets up to make cyanoacrylate, and ends up with library paste

    And 3/4ths of the movie is in the previews, so don't watch them. If you're like me, it will spoil the movie because you keep waiting for certain scenes to occur. And it's disorienting when they happen out of order.

    So, there ya go. And thanks, donater, for the money to be able to buy the ticket and go see it.

        Friday, December 14, 2007

    Your Head As Pinata...

    I just told Nat to go get me a stick so I could beat her in the head and see if it was full of candy. She gave me the 'Woolly Monkey Face', and shouted 'No!' and ran off. Ingrate.

    Hey, we found a home remedy that really works. If you have a cough, smear Vicks Vapo-Rub on the bottoms of your feet, pull socks on, and go to bed. The cough will stop. Amazing.

    I also get the 'Woolly Monkey Face' from friends and family when I mention that we home school the kids. With a bonus tsk tsk. They just cannot accept it, and yet they are for it for others. But when the rubber meets the road, they chicken out. Which is why we will celebrate Christmas sans family. Who needs the bullshit? Fukkem.

    Oh yes, please allow me to put my kids in a shooting gallery, where minorities will beat on them because they are white, teachers will fuck them, and they will be given an 'education' inferior to what they could get from a simple Leapfrog Leap-Pad learning system. Which is a toy they play with, while they learn from it, and it supplements the wife's teaching.

    Nat and Johnny sit on the couch and read books to each other. For fun. Math is a game. They are becoming quite adept at assembling their map puzzles, and they have a Britannica globe where they are learning to pick out countries and relate them to where Oregon (the center of the universe) is.

    But they refuse to believe their heads are full of candy.

    Backwards-ass home-schooled cretins...

        Thursday, December 13, 2007

    Slow Children...

    You look back into my archives at this time of year, and you will find a post from me every year mentioning how slow everything is. At first I bitched, and then I figured out that this is the time of year when students go home, and people travel away from their computers to visit family and such. And I've only (fairly) recently had tip jars, and donations drop to nothing, and I finally figured out that people were saving to spend on their families, and on the season in general.

    I hate Christmas.

    Things will begin to pick back up in February, maybe near the end of January, and maybe not until March or so. Depends on how scary the news is, and what kind of weather folks have to deal with, I think.

    I have found that when people are throwing money into my hat, I tend to play more, and better, out of a sense of obligation, if not outright debt. No money? No obligation, and I can fuck off for a week or two. I have actually considered starting another 'clean' blog, and not telling anyone here, and just going there to frolic. Maybe later on, start a blogwar between me, myself, and I, just for grins.

    I'm sure it has been done.

    Anyway, enjoy your sloth. Enjoy being manipulated into traveling during absolutely the worst time of year to travel, and spending money you don't have on crap you don't need, and just forget little old me.

    Just don't expect me to be here when you get back. I think maybe we should start seeing other people.

    Oh, and Merry Christmas!!!


    Not In The Mood...

    I have been idly slapping at some mosquitoes on another blog. Their tiny beaks can't break my skin, and except for all of that annoying buzzing, they can do me no harm. Still, there was a time, once upon a, where I would have settled in like a dark storm front and insulted people until they chewed at their own flesh to try to get to me.

    Those days are long gone, methinks. People are stupider, more boring, and just plain no fun anymore. Here, I just mostly delete and/or ban, and other places where they gather are as easy to avoid as a Great Dane turd in the middle of a freshly mown lawn. You can't hear them talking about you, if your ears aren't there to listen.

    And besides, Sparrow sent us a gingerbread house from L.L. Bean's, though we have left the shrink-wrap on it to keep Mister and Miss Pokey Fingers away from it. Or me, with the munchies. I think we have decided to eat it, but probably after Christmas. Maybe New Years Eve.
    Gosh, what an unexpected, thoughtful gift giver she is. The wife and I and the kids just sat around it on the table when it first arrived, staring at it. I'm sure they were all picking out what part to munch on. I know I was.

    Egads, Nat just laid a stink bomb in my room, and I'm choking. Now she's in the bathroom grunting and giving birth to new Muslims. I gotta go light some matches before I die...

        Wednesday, December 12, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    It May Be Over...

    I may be quitting for real, this time. I've blogged everything I wanted to, and I'm about blogged out, here. I hurt all over, and worse, the internet is boring me.

    There's no one running for president that's worth a damn, let alone my vote. If Duncan Hunter is still in at the time, I'll throw it to him.

    It's gotten to where I'm only staying alive for other people. If it was just me, I'd press the reset button and start over. Where's that free heart attack I keep hearing about that 50+ year olds get handed out to them? It would be just like life to make me live well into old age and decay.

    I bit into an over easy egg yesterday, and yellow squirted out and down my shirt. Disgusted, I said "Looks like a leper's cum shot..." and the wife turned away and dry-heaved.

    I still have my moments...

        Thursday, December 06, 2007

    The Myth Of Violent Christianity...

    Remember when you were a kid, and one of your friends got busted out for stealing cookies or something? What were the first words out of the Bustee's mouth? Yeah, "Well, he's (or they) are doing it, too..." as if taking everybody down with them somehow gave them a stronger case.

    Democrats do that all the time. One of them gets busted for something, and there's Alan Colmes, or some other sycophant, telling tales of all of the Republicans who did the same damn thing, as if their person is somehow not guilty, or less guilty, because 'everybody does it'.
    They argue like ten year olds. And that's being generous. And oh how they love to point out how violent Christians have been, all through history.

    Well, it's a myth, which is a nice way to call someone a liar.

    The Inquisitions killed very few people, over a period of decades, and the killers were not Christian, they were Catholic pagans, a whole nother thing entirely. Whenever athiests (and other lower life forms) refer to 'Christians' and their wars and persecutions, substitute 'Catholic pagan' for 'true Christian', and you will soon see that the Christians, as a religion and ideology, killed very few (if any) people, indeed.

    But, you tell any lie often enough, and the blockheads (the general public) will begin to nod their heads and worse, they will propagate the lie, so pretty soon everybody believes it because, hey, everybody believes it.

    Now, the Jews killed a lot of people, often genociding entire peoples in the process. But they are not Christians, and they were following the commands of God. The Jews have always been God's Roomba, going about the known world, cleaning up for God.

    A True Christian, a 'Good Christian', if you will, does not kill. If they do, they are kicked off the team, until such a time as they repent. But you will have people who try to convince you that a Christian is like having a loaded pistol on the snack table of a daycare center.

    And no, I am not forgetting the Crusades. I would submit to you that those 'Christians' did what they did for themselves, for money, and power, and political prestige. That they covered it up in a pious, blood-stained cloak. It may be possible that God used some of the Crusaders for his own glory, considering tales like five knights killing hundreds of enemy (Muslim) soldiers. I don't know, and maybe one day I'll get to ask Him.

    So, we straight? Bad Christians kill, and rarely, and a far vaster number of Good Christians are as gentle as lambs. Though those little fuzzy bastards can head-butt you a good one if you don't watch out.

    We're all human, and Fallen, dontcha know...

        Wednesday, December 05, 2007

    The Goddess Speaks!

    Go, and worship!


    Stupid Asshole...

    This stupid kid wants all of the benefits of the internet, and none of the costs. This foolshness sums up the maleducated child's thoughts on the subject:

    Anonymity allows bad actors to keep their reputation and avoid the endeavor (to gain and maintain a 'good reputation', of which Little Ben sets himself up as the sole arbiter of what one is).

    Mister Shapiro is a pusillanimous pussy-fart. And one with no knowledge of history. He quotes Socrates, and who wants to bet that faggot's nomme de plume was simply that, a pseudonym? I could go through history and find several pages of names that are pseudonyms, and I can damn well guarantee you those writers and authors would be using them today in this wide wild frontier we call the Internet.

    Can pseudonyms be misused? I'll bet I could do a quick search and find someone who has beaten someone else to death with a Bible. Whaddaya think...ban Bibles?
    Because that is the vulture on the branch whose name Little Mister Shapiro dare not speak. Yet.


    Government control over a new medium that sure, has its pitfalls, but what doesn't? And Shapiro brings up that tired canard about bloggers not being journalists, as if journalists are the most trustworthy of beings, with only your best interests at heart. Yeah, right. Without bloggers, the political class would be doing business as usual, and those journalists would still be fellating politicians for access and interviews.

    How this little Ivy League Pansy got the right to write for a national (dare I say international?) news and commentary organization is beyond me. He needs to tighten up the suspenders on his short pants, straighten up his little sailor hat, and skip off to share an office with Dan Rather.

        Monday, December 03, 2007

    Sci-Fi Sucks...

    And like any product that sucks, it is to be blamed on its creators.

    I used to party with the last of the Old Guard, the Haldemanns and the R. R. Martinesque types. Even then, they were going bad. Now, they are all appearing to be a pack of out and out communists and Trotskyite pinkoes. Self confessed, and proud to be so.

    And this takes their written product and makes it as dreary as can be, and not worth reading. I just gave up on Charlie Stross's 'Accelerando' after about five pages. Dreary drivel, with no soul, just like its creator. And he and his kind give each other awards and book contracts. The fish is rotten from the nose to the tip of its tail.

    These 'writers' don't believe in a future, so how can they write about one? And when they do, it turns out to be so confusing and sad that you begin to imagine being in a warm bath with a fresh pack of razor blades.

    Mr Stross's friend (I think) Cory Doctorow is just as bad as any of them, and they are all little red birds chirping from a bare, dead branch. While I tend to value just about any scrivener, if only for the work alone, and not the quality, these people need to just shut up. I realize Zelazny is dead, and I miss him so, compared to these dry bones calling themselves writers today.

    Used to be, I would turn in to a bookstore, and go straight for the Science Fiction section. Now I see the sign as a warning.

    And that's just sad...