BaneRants

Visiting Bane

2011-05-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

I will be visiting Bane on this Friday (with his son, the youngest Marine, the one I called Baby Bane), to pay my respects. If you'd like to send me an email to leave there for him, I'm sure he'd laugh to think he's still hearing from his crazy readers. You can hit me up at LL at chromedcurses dot com. Just put Bane in the subject line.

Birthday Wishes

2009-11-04T04:30:00.000-08:00

Today is Mrs. Bane's birthday!! Happy birthday, you wonderful woman!

Bane Would Be OK With This

2009-10-14T15:50:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I don't know how many people still check back here. Way before Bane passed away, he gave me the keys here and said if anything happened to him, I could do as I pleased with the site. I stay off of here for the most part.

But I KNOW for a fact Bane would have wanted this done. He was friends with James Hooker. I met them both at the same site and watched the interplay between Acidman, Bane, Hooker, and Nate from Galactic Blogger Blaster. That was my first introduction to these men. A perverted introduction at the time, but amusing and intriguing. Only Nate and Hooker remain.

So Hooker is doing some things. He has 2 albums to be released. One, Maggie's Drawers, can be found here and you can download songs and pay for them as you see fit via the paypal account. Please consider tossing a few ducats to compensate the man for his time and energy and music.

Also, in a few weeks, he will be releasing his second album. This is the one that he would really move Bane to blog about. All proceeds of the album Hanging Out With the Boys will go to Soldiers Angels. Bane was a true believer in the military men and women (as long as they weren't tatted or pierced haha) and he would encourage you to donate when the time came. Please bookmark Hooker's site and consider giving money to his cause.

I feel confident that this is the right thing to do on this site.

Thanks.

~LL

Contact Me

2009-08-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

This is LL and I need BB from Mass. to contact me. I don't check my PO box often anymore and just received something for the family from you. Please contact me at LL at chromedcurses dot com. Thanks.

Grandpa Is Looking Down...

2009-07-10T17:44:00.000-07:00

...and he is so proud!!

Johnny Update

2009-07-10T15:43:00.000-07:00

We are home from the surgery and Johnny is on the mend!!

The reconstruction went well. The day/ week was not without its drama, but everything worked out anyway…. The surgery took place on July 8^th. I was with him when they put him to sleep around 1:30pm. He was out until about 8:00 pm. Nat and I walked him to his room around 8:30pm. The first hour or so was spent placing I.V.’s and such, the rest was spent tinkering under the hood etc.

We expected a two to three day stay, so I was surprised yesterday when they said, as soon as he is stable and eating you can leave. He was sleepy and dizzy (couldn’t stand without assistance) and didn’t feel ready for food yet (he threw up the first solid thing he tried, a carton of milk). I didn’t think we were going to get out of there until late evening or the following day, when John woke up with a start and announced that they needed to get the stupid I.V.’s out of his arms and that he needed to pee. He got up with little trouble and walked into the bathroom…. We offered him food and he said no thank you, until he learned that he needed to eat before he could go home or get the hardware out of his arms. Suddenly he changed his mind. It wasn’t much, but he ate enough. We were on the road, scripts in hand in time to miss rush hour traffic. How is that for grace? Can I get an amen?!!

He’ll have to wear a splint on his nose for a week. After that he’ll only need it at night until the healing is complete. His rib is sore, but I already see improvement in mobility.

Right now he is reveling in the continual attention he is getting from Nurse Mom and CNA Nat. Nurse mom needs a nap….

Once again, thank you for your prayers, concern and support!!

Mrs. Bane

As time has passed I thought another big update would be in order….

2009-06-25T13:06:00.000-07:00

We are all doing amazingly well. Both kids absolutely loved school: Johnny had a boat load of testing done and got his IEP. The process was tedious, but he has flourished. He worked up to a full day, with a mix of specialized work and regular class room work. He uses a little keyboard system for most of the time, as writing will always be a challenge…. He even won a blue ribbon at the County Fair on a project that he completed with another classmate. I went to the school to find him before the Summer break and he was running around the playground with three little girls following close behind. He politely introduced me to each of them (like a little adult) he is a different kid, very nice, not as ornery as most boys his age…. Nat has blossomed as well. She has a BFF (best friends forever) who lives less than a block from us and she is a member of the “Werewolf Club”. This basically means that there are little kids running around howling and pretending to feed each other. It is comical, because it is so second grade and not Goth at all. She was a little behind academically (I/she was to stressed and scattered to do a good job before Bane died. You have no idea just how hard life was around here with him failing!) I wouldn’t wish my experience on anyone!! Anyway, she is catching up and is totally enthusiastic about learning and works very hard to do her best.

This summer I bought a pass to our local pool/water park and I have taught Nat how to swim (she still has several lessons to go to learn more advanced skills). Johnny got to take two weeks of swimming lessons as part of his PE at the end of the school year. He surprised me when he jumped fearlessly off the diving board in 14’ deep water.

Fathers Day was a mixed bag. Both kids wanted to release balloons with notes to their dad on them, so we did that. It was sweet, we did that part over at the grandparents house (Bane’s folks). -Earlier, Nat fell apart at church, sobbing in a corner that she missed daddy. Johnny was fine until he saw this, then he got instant diarrhea from the stress (oh so fun). Fortunately his tummy settled down and the problem didn’t last.

PLEASE PRAY:

Johnny is looking at another surgery right after the Fourth of July. He will have a piece of rib grafted into his nose. There is titanium mesh and bone paste to “chip away” in his bridge. And a septal defect/surgery failure to correct. He will get new tubes in his ears and they will also remove some metal from inside of his upper gum line that was left behind from a previous surgery, so that he can have braces, and hopefully later another maxio-facial surgery that could eliminate his need for a c-pap. He’ll have a splint for a week and he won’t get to use the pool for a month, but it has to be done. I know that the pool may seem trivial, but after all we have gone through, this year is a time for us to heal and it means a lot to all of us.

I went to a grief counselor for a while, then I participated in a grief group that met for six weeks. It was amazingly helpful. I’m not doing any of that anymore. I don’t seem to need it. There are still moments that are a little overwhelming, but I don’t live in a perpetual whirlpool of sadness anymore and I look forward to my future. I have strong faith in God and that he has a plan for the rest of my life. This season has really been about reestablishing my identity and learning how to rest and heal in Father God’s love. We switched churches recently –There is newness of life for us at this time, despite our loss(es) I also lost my best friend to cancer in May.

I am enjoying the kids and getting into pretty good shape, working out, gardening swimming laps and playing with the kids. I’m lucky; I used to be a veritable physical beast, so I have amazing muscle memory. Just a little discipline goes a long way for me. I’m wearing my skinny clothes now and getting firmer every week, (even after picking 25 lbs of strawberries and pigging out on strawberry cheesecake and real whipping cream.)

Again, I can’t begin to communicate what all of your support has meant to us. Nat just asked me to tell all of you “thanks for helping us after our problem with daddy”. We all appreciate it and we have felt your prayers. I’m praying that those blessing go back at ya!!

Love, Mrs. Bane

Thank You Blogosphere Friends

2009-03-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Bane says: A very long Thank You to Blogosphere Friends!

I have put off the most important post of all; my thank you post and up-date. I’ve started to write it at least a dozen times and walked away, while emotions overwhelmed me to the point that I couldn’t handle them…

After he died I was shaken and numb, but not numb enough… There was a mountain of paperwork to deal with; all of it was time sensitive. Then there were six birthdays, our wedding anniversary plus Thanksgiving and Christmas, all in one to two week intervals. My kids needed me to be as stable… I wouldn’t have made it if the gentle hands of God were not supporting all of us.

He sent a good bit of that support through Bane’s readers and friends on line:

There are no adequate words to thank you for all that you have done for us. During the interim period while our finances shifted and finally settled, we have had every need taken care of, and many wants as well,! And at a time when our economy has gone crazy, we have landed on our feetJ

Thanks to all of you! Thank you Wendy; for being out front and for facilitating everything, flying out for the funeral and for your ear and continued friendship! You are a jewelJ Thank you to our Secret Santa! Who ever you are, God bless you! Thank you to each and every one of you who helped us pay our bills... And for the multitude of your prayers (I have sure felt them). Thank you for leaving your condolence notes in the last comment box, all 200+ of them…Thank you for helping me with the computer (You know who you are). Thank you Jesus! As cantankerous as he was, Bane sure drew a lot of high quality folks to himself.

After his death, I went to see a grief counselor. She suggested that I journal. I tried, but I just couldn’t do it. When I did force myself I was such a basket case that I couldn’t function.

The big kids accidentally crashed Banes computer mining it for writing and I didn’t get it up and running until about a month ago. I’ve had net access for less than that. The first time I bravely turned on the computer and opened outlook, I nearly fainted. It felt like I was having an out of body experience. There, in front of me were his personal reminders: Take your big white pill, hair cut in two days. Ann Coulter post is late, etc… In the following weeks I opened his blog for the first time since… -That is when I started to write. Stories flow onto pages like water from an artesian spring. This is funny, cause I haven’t written a story since college (think 1990), and that was with a great deal of pain. I’m still deciding whether to post them for those of you who would like to read them. I’m having fun and they are cathartic for me to write, plus they will add historical accounts for our kids one day.

The kids: You have asked about them: The little ones are doing quite nicely, considering everything.

I put them in school… I know, I know! I just couldn’t home school now. This has gone far better than I would have ever imagined, and if it doesn’t work out, I can always make another change.

Nat is doing well… She finally gets to be a little girl! While I was at work, she took care of Bane and helped him with her brother (especially near the end, when he was really too sick to do anything more than supervise). These are treasured memories, but it was extremely hard on her too. She’s a social butterfly, and is learning at lightning speedJ She is grieving well; at least she is facing her pain and releasing her anger and sadness in healthy ways.

Johnny hasn’t really grieved though. He gets really weird when the topic of Daddy comes up, regardless of the context. Then he tries to distract us and himself into a “happy place”, far from there. He is hyper vigilant about my emotions too. most of the time, I can’t even sneak in a silent tear without him picking up on it. Other than that, he is thriving. He is becoming more independent (in a good way),learning, having fun, making friends well and adjusting to the changes we have made, and his health has been stable except for “the cold from abadon” that has made our circle twice now.

As for the older kids, I really can’t answer that. I know it is rough for them…

I told Wendy that I would at least post the following story for you…

God bless each one of you,!

Mrs. Bane

Edit: A thank you also goes out to CJ for running a milblog fundraiser for my family. Thank you, CJ.

Bane Had a Lair

2009-03-19T12:20:00.001-07:00

And what a lair it was. For all intents and purposes it was a hideous mess, or at least it had evolved into one. Add chronic illness to an already messy collector and you get a personalized cluster fuck. You could barely get around in there, but that was the way he liked it. He set booby traps that you had to maneuver around to get to him so he wouldn’t be snuck up on. He was terrified that he would react before he knew who it was. The martial arts/military training were real.

The place did, however, have character, just like he did. The corner he used most held this computer, his desk was cluttered with personal stuff, to include a small turtle collection and a hula girl that graced the cake at his first bachelor party. Nat would giggle when she registered the titties that peeked out from under her grass dress. I didn’t like that so much, but alas, this is about him, rather than me. -Above, hung an original piece of art chalked by Maiden and a picture drawn in junior high by his number two son. To the left was an office type room divider. On it hung an 8x10 picture of the two of us (taken in a booth at the fair in some previous life), and…layers of Nat’s handmade art, covered in hearts, rainbows and rudimentarily drawn family members beyond number. To the right, on his closet door hung a map from a video game, World of Warcraft? and a Punisher poster. Right there were his snacks and treats for the kids, woppers and sour skittles, tigers milk bars and his “special apple juice” and 7up. How many times did they fall for that one before the kids figured out a suck off the top of daddy’s glass was always bad idea?

Beyond the divider there was a maple gun case, stocked… with a knickknack shelf mounted on one end of it (cluttered with old toys, rubber cars and the like, bank statements and chap stick). He loved toys, and the wall above his T.V. was plastered in a plethora of unopened Todd McFarland creations and others, including “Spawn” and Punisher collections. There were larger pieces in there as well, including several ceramic Punisher busts and a particularly hideous Alien figurine. Just looking at them made him happy.

There were two jigsaw puzzles mounted on the wall as well. One was assembled by his grandparents during the first year of their marriage. Grandpa had it framed and said that if they could work together on that puzzle, they would surely work together in the future. The other was a Star Wars poster, mounted by his sister. I think his number two and three sons assembled it at her house.

He had a small reading corner set up too. Next to the chair, were a few boxes of his comics and some of the books on his list, misc. junk and mail, etc.

There was of course a bed too. Oh how I miss being his Friday… Yes, he really was one amazing lover. (Sorry kids). Sadly, at the end, that bed became a symbol of his lingering illness. Number three son and my little ones and I stabbed it to death with some of his very sharp daggers. The little ones and I drug it down the stairs and out to the dumpster while # three commenced falling apart. I didn’t see him act like himself for months after that.

We used to refer to life as Mr. Toads Wild Ride. And oh what a ride it was, thus, I always liked the image of the redhead wearing garters near the top left of his blog header.

God Has Called Him Home

2008-09-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

Bane passed away this morning surrounded by his family. They have given me permission to let you all know but this will not be the final post. His family will be putting one together so that he can say goodbye to you and so you can say goodbye to him.

I know a lot of you are aware of what his financial situation was like and I'll be doing a fundraiser to help pay for funeral and hospital expenses. Please don't donate anything into the paypal or amazon accounts because his banking accounts were frozen upon his death.

I will post the farewell from his family when they give it to me.

This isn't one of his jokes and I ask that if you comment you are respectful to his wife and kids. Anything else will be deleted immediately.

He was my friend and I loved him dearly and he will be greatly missed.

~LL

------------------------

UPDATE: I have added my paypal account button to the sidebar. I will make sure Bane's family gets the money. If you would like to help them defray the medical costs (he was in the ICU for 3 days and it is going to be a staggering sum), you're welcome to donate at that account. If you are unwilling to use paypal, you can send something to the post office box I set up for him a couple of years ago. You can use the same address for any cards or letters you'd like to send to his family, but I WILL vet them all to make sure nothing inappropriate gets passed along. Checks can be made payable to me and I'll deposit it into the same paypal account.

Wendy Stewart
PO Box 583
Rockford, IL 61105

Thank you everyone for your kind words to his family. I'm sure they appreciate it.

UPDATE II: I wanted to publicly thank all of you who donated and sent cards. My apologies for taking so long. I'm not really so rude in real life, I just wasn't sure how to do this. There are so many of you out there who have stepped up and helped Bane's family out and you don't know how much it is appreciated. In the past couple of months, your donations have literally kept his household running. Rent paid, food bought. I know this because I have called his wife to tell her that another couple of donations have come in and she has been on the verge of tears because she's had something or another that needs to be taken care of and this money has arrived literally in the nick of time. I'm trying to balance the privacy line with them because Bane could write all he wanted about his own life, yet I don't have that right. Please know that your donations have made a world of difference. If you check back in the archives in November of previous years, both his younger kids have birthdays close together in mid-November and early December. If you would like to send a card or small gift, you're welcome to do so at the PO box or even leave a comment here with well wishes for the kids. I'll make sure his wife knows what you have to say. She doesn't have a computer (Bane's older kids are mining it for his writings) and she cut out the internet service anyway because she can't afford it and doesn't use it. I plan on printing out all the comments for her, but they keep rolling in so at some point, I'll copy and paste them, mail them off and probably keep tabs for updates on what you have to say to him, to his family, to his kids, and even those moments, like I have, where you just have to come over and say something because you miss him so much.

Thank you, all. Thank you for your generosity and love and support of his family.

A Walk In The Woods...

2008-09-18T12:36:00.000-07:00

The big man regained consciousness, face down in leaves, in what tuned out to be a verdant forest when he lifted his head. His last memory before coming to here was of a wizened old man saying "Well, have a nice trip, then..." before touching him on the chest with his staff.

The big man took stock of himself. His guns were gone, along with their holsters. His wide-brimmed hat was gone, but he appeared to still have all of his small blades in place, including the straight razor mounted in a pouch underneath the long black hair at the nape of his neck.

He spotted his hat. It was being pulled along the forest floor by two small winged humanoid creatures, who kept trying to fly off with it, but the leather was too heavy for them. Then he spotted his sword belt. He'd never seen it before, but he knew it was his.
All black leather, silver embossed, a long blade with an ebony grip, and a silver skull on the pommel. Its smaller twin, a long dirk, mounted crossdraw on the right side, and a series of throwing daggers mounted on the

Okay, I got distracted from this, and when I came back I was bored with it. If you want me to finish it, say so. But it likely won't be today. Let me know.

That's What It's All About...

2008-09-17T15:19:00.000-07:00

The big man threw his contract into the basement room, and followed him in. He was carrying a CD player with cassette capability. His contract scanned the room with frantic eyes...he thought he could get out, escape. The big man was having none of that, so he drew one of his Peacemakers and idly pointed it at him. His eyes focused on that hand cannon, and he settled down.

"So, let me tell you how things are gonna go..." said the big man. "You murdered the guys daughter. Her favorite song was 'the Hokey Pokey', and he wants you to dance to it until you can't dance anymore, and then I kill you. Personally, I'd beg me to shoot you right now, before this gets any uglier. So, which is it? Bullet? or dance til you drop, and then bullet?"

The contract croaked "Dance..." and the big man shuddered, knowing the torture he was in for.
So, he set the player on a table he had brought in, slipped the little girl's favorite tape in, and pressed 'play'. "You put your right hand in, you pull your right hand out..." and so on. Ad nauseum. And this fucker was doing all the moves...he worked with kids a lot. Well, he used to, anyway.

The big man said to himself, after a bit, 'fuck, I'm never gonna get this song out of my head'. After a while longer, he started thinking about killing the guy right then and there, but he had never violated a straight up contract, and never would. Then he thought about just shooting himself, but he didn't have enough of the right kind of bullets. So, he listened to the Hokey Pokey, and watched it being performed, and after a while, when he saw his first stagger, he dug out the video recorder from a deep pocket of his duster, because the father wanted a record of the end.

After a while, it came. The guy staggered and went to one knee. He struggled to stand, and the big man was filming it all. He couldn't get up, and stayed there on his hands and knees, whining and drooling like the rabid dog he was. The big man filmed above the gun, and shattered his skull into dramatic pieces.

He turned off the camera, pulled the tape out, and blew the player into thousands of pieces. He allowed himself a shudder. This contract had been one of his toughest, ever.

The Godess Speaks!

2008-09-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

Terminator IV...

2008-09-16T16:01:00.000-07:00

It stood there in the field where it had been sent, standing naked in a perfectly semi-spherical crater that still smoked and flashes of lightning were just beginning to fade away.

It had no idea about sex, but its appearance was all male. It looked human, but inside it was a hyperalloy combat chassis - micro processor-controlled, fully armored. Very tough. But outside, it's living human tissue - flesh, skin, hair, blood, grown for the cyborgs...

And it had drawn attention to itself. All around the field shuffling creatures, smelling meat, shambled towards him, reaching out towards him. He did a combat scan, cataloged them all, evaluated no threat, and turned to leave. Suddenly, a thin smiling man appeared in front of him and smiled, showing sharp, sharp teeth. It turned its head like a dog, and went for his throat in a flash.

The Terminator stopped him, with a hand to the chest, then pressed in and ripped its heart out. It burst out a mouthful of saliva into the Terminator's face, and the Terminator slapped its head off. He noticed three more things just like this one, standing off at fifty yards, and noticing they were noticed, they turned to run. Bounding at them, he slapped their heads off as well, and stood there and ran a full diagnostic.

He never felt anything, and now he felt...different. He bent over at the waist, as a wave of nausea took him, and if he could know fear, he would have felt it now. His vision, always acute, had darkened, but he could see further, and with more acuity than his design specifications had allowed for. He could see the glow that comes from living things, the trees were pillars of light.

And then he felt something bite into his arm, and chew for a bit. He slapped its head off, and its body lay on the ground, its feet churning it into a circle, around, and round. He looked around, and found he was becoming surrounded. He could have destroyed all of them easily, but he would be doing it everywhere he went. He jumped backwards up to the lower branch of of a tree to compute.

His stomach contracted again, and suddenly he understood what these shuffling beasts wanted...meat. He never ate, unless he was on an infiltration mission, but he wanted to tear apart a human with his teeth and feast on their flesh. He wanted to chase them down and tear their throats out and drink and bathe in their blood. Suddenly, he realized that he had been exposed to two unique viruses, and even as they ravaged his meat-shell, Skynet could weaponize them, and his Mission Directive changed: Secure The Viruses.

So he tore branches off of the tree, and tossed them down to make a bonfire pile below. Then he tore his chest open, and opened a compartment and pulled out a phosphorous grenade, popped the top and pressed the button, and then dropped it into the woodpile he had made. He checked the temperature to see if it exceeded his design specifications, which it did not, so he jumped into the middle of it.

His meat began to bubble, and slough away. He used his hands where he could see, and then sat down in the fire to get every piece. The strange vision went away, then the hungers, and finally, he stepped out of the fire, a gleaming, steaming vision of death. The shuffling dead lost all interest, and turned away, off to look for food.

He opened another compartment in his chest, and brought out a vial. He leapt through the air and came down with the needled vial and stuck it into the base of the spine of the last of the shuffling dead until the tube filled with black blood.
Then he scanned the field, and there they were, three more of the thin men with sharp teeth. He was on them before they could think to run, and held one down with a hand in its back, while the others fled.

Remembering its discomfort, the big silver man that was not a man, crushed the creature's head unto the ground, and ripped out its heart.

With the two vials secure in its chest cavity, it kept going until it found a high cave, and went in. It set its timer to send out a signal to Skynet twenty years in the future, set its defense options, then sat down on a rock and powered down. Its red eyes flickered a bit, then went out.

Wow!

2008-09-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

Go check out Chris Muir's link (click on the cartoon). I wish I could make money like that. Of course, he puts out a worthwhile product. Eat your heart out, Dilbert. Scott Adams couldn't get this sort of response. I hope some of my readers contributed to Chris. What other medium can you contribute directly to the creator of it besides blogging?

There's days I don't want to get out of bed, but I think of the latest chunk of change I got on PayPal, and roll out of bed, crack my knuckles, and hit the keyboard.

What a strange thing this blogging be.

Wherein Bane Takes A Shower...

2008-09-15T16:30:00.000-07:00

Since shaving has become so difficult for me, I shaved in the sink, whereas I usually use the shower. When I was done, I had to go sit down and catch my breath. I wonder if I broke my back some when I fell. Its been, what, two months?
I've never hurt this bad for so long before.

I haven't had a shower since week before last. Even then, the wife gave me most of it, and dried me off, and it still wiped me out enough that she had to help me get dressed. By today, I had become the standard hobos and bums look up to. So I shave, and decide the rest isn't worth it. The wife says 'get in there or I'll put you into a rest home where they can take care of you'. I looked at her and snarled that as long as I had working finger, I would shoot myself before I went into one of those places, and she said 'yeah yeah, in the meantime get your smelly greasy ass in there to the shower so I can wash you up'.

It might hurt, but I can wash my own fuckin self up. Bitch. And I grumbled my way into the bathroom, and she stood by in case I fell, or needed some help. Then she dried me off. And poked me in the eye while drying my hair. Twice.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I had to come back in my room after she dressed me and do some magazine change drills just to feel like a man again.

I could still fuck you up if I had to, but it wouldn't be as pretty or neat...no professionalism, just slaughter. And then I'd have to go sit down and take a breather.
Which is why if you behave yourself, you live. I've been practicing 'Knife Strokes For Fucking Cripples'. All movement comes from the spine, and it is hard to make a decent stroke when yours is fucked up. So I have been carrying my knucks when I (rarely) go out. You can 'set' yourself in a modified Horse stance, and slash with the knucks (believe it or not) and when you see bone (usually a forearm) and crippled them...brought then down to your level, as it were, pull your blade of choice and step in and cut yourself a slice.

'Course, me bein a crip an all, I'd just pull them into me and use a hammer blow with the knucks on the top of their skull, two or three quick ones, or until I got a cramp, whichever comes first.
I am old, and crippled, and mean, so do not fuck with me. Yer damn right I have an inferiority complex.

Wanna make something of it?

This Is My Favorite Song, Ever...

2008-09-15T09:31:00.000-07:00

Adblock

Sadjoy - Manfred Manns Earthband

Vote For LL's Blog...

2008-09-14T12:50:00.000-07:00

I don't normally do that shit, but she has done so much for me and others, I went through the pain in the ass of signing up on the Milblog Site, then digging through her archives, and then went and voted for her. She's damn well worth it, plus your sexual organs will rot if you don't.

So go vote. It will add two years to your life.

Heidi Needs Prayer...

2008-09-13T17:24:00.000-07:00

...for her Dad. So please follow the link and see what it's all about, and then start firing them off.

Thanks.

Bloody Weather...

2008-09-13T16:20:00.000-07:00

The next several days here are going to be, I believe the proper meteorological term is 'damn fucking hot.' Ugh. I froze my balls off last night in bed. Left my window open, and it got down to 49. I snuggled under quilts, and loved it. I have this dumb idea you can store up on the temperature you want, when it comes around.

Today, I blew some blood out of my nose into a kleenex. I showed everybody by waving it around, then I asked "Who wants a Raspberry Fruit Roll-up?!" I got to takers, and a couple of gaggers. I chased screaming kids around with it, but when I went to wipe it on the wife, she stuck her hand into the knife drawer and gave me a meaningful look. I backed off.

Hey, anybody see Geraldo get his bell rung by a piece of flying debris last night on Fox News? Now that's entertainment. I have no sympathy for the residents there. You wanna sit in a bar and party while the wind tosses around pilings like Tinkertoys? Fine. Die. And I wouldn't expend one penny to rescue your dumb ass, either. I've done plenty of crazy stuff in my life, but I've never done stupid.

I look at the area covered (affected) by Ike, and I can only say sonuvabitch. Where do you run to? I mean, it's gonna affect Chicago, for pity's sake.
I would buy cigarettes and chew, and sell it to the emergency personnel, and the National Guard. No mark-up. I'd sell beer, and half-pints of whiskey. They'd all love me forever.

Well, as usual, nothing else is happening in the world as long as this storm bullshit is going on. Or the stupid train. I mean, how many times can that damn train crash? And how many times do we need to see the same pile of rubble on the Galveston shoreline? And you've seen one flood, you've seen them all. Give it a rest, guys.

Speaking of getting tired of stuff, I have handed out about a million warnings for bad behavior to the kids. And time-outs, and early bedtimes, and they have just been little assholes lately, anyway.
I hate to use the belt. It makes me feel bad. But they were totally out of hand. Major violations like throwing things in the house. Constant arguing with everything the wife and I said. So Nat was sitting at the top of the stairs with John, and she wouldn't move to let me downstairs, explaining to me that there was plenty of room to get by. So I passed by a sluggish Johnny, and as I got in front of her, I stomped her foot and when she leaned forward, I gave her a good hard slap to the side of her jaw which I am sure made her see birdies. John scooted back out of the way as fast as he could.

I explained to them both that I was tired of being nice, and talking, and this was going to happen every time they pissed me off or were disrespectful to their mother, from now on. They were both remarkably well-behaved for the rest of the afternoon.

Friday Ass...

2008-09-12T13:40:00.000-07:00

Good, Die, You Dumb Bitch...

2008-09-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

Stories like this just warm the cockles of Bane's little black heart.

Excuse me while I wag...

September 11th...

2008-09-11T09:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not gonna do some smarmy tribute to the victims of that day. Sure, there were some heroic actions, but mostly, people died screaming, or in big wet splats after jumping. We had been being warned for years by experts that it was coming, but Bill Clinton was too busy getting his candle waxed to pay attention.

I just find the whole thing unutterably sad. It's like watching one of our great naval warships, holed through the side by enemy torpedoes, groan, and list, and then turn over and slip to the bottom with all hands. Where they sleep forever, our beloved dead.

That day in September forever rocked our world. Nothing has been the same since, and it will forever be so. It has divided Americans into deniers, people who don't care and just want a false sense of security, without making any sacrifice, and patriots.

Which one are you?

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-09-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

Okay...

2008-09-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

Now this is just utterly cool. I love crap like this.

You're Not Gonna Believe This...

2008-09-09T12:30:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Kim du Toit, I bring you this outrage.

Have you ever seen what a .50 cal Browning can do? I could chop up the standard American neighborhood with one box of ammo. Including every man, woman and child who lives there.

What's next, grenades and rocket launchers?

Ow...

2008-09-09T10:55:00.000-07:00

You may recall me telling you about the fall I took several weeks ago in the living room? Yeah, I went to move with my usual alacrity, and it was brought to my attention that I don't have it anymore. So I took a dive into a pile of toys, and the wife had to pull me up and out of the pile.

Well, it hurt pretty damn good, and I knew I was dinged up pretty damn bad, but I didn't know how damn bad until I took my shirt off in front of the wife, and she gasped in horror. I turned around and looked in the mirror, and did some gasping of my own. I don't know when I have been hurt so bad, ever, and I have been in 11-15 major car accidents, been stomped, played contact sports, and had a mean (ex)wife.

I bet I have been pissing blood. It doesn't stop hurting, it just gets worse. I've told you I don't mind dying, death is just pain leaving the body. But when I can't get off the couch without help, I just want to cry in frustration. I wish I knew how. Gosh, I hurt. For over a month.

Speaking of dives, Nat took one down the stairs yesterday, and landed on her back in a pile of puzzles. Yeah, she's dinged up some. The wife taught her last week how to make 'meat sandwiches'. So she has graduated from PBJ's to turkey and bologna. She makes lunch for she and John, thank God, while the wife is at work. She is painting a two-story condo, and then she has to clean the place. I say 'thank God', because this sash of pain I am wearing around my middle precludes standing for long, or bending while load bearing. I direct them, and the kids do the laundry. Johnny rinses the dishes, and loads the dishwasher.

I put the soap in, start it, and then go sit down, gasping.

Living sucks.

What Is Your Favorite Gun?

2008-09-08T11:32:00.000-07:00

And I mean one that you already own.

I have a jet black Saiga 7.62x39. It is an exact clone of the AK-47, was made by the same company in Russia, for that matter. Relatively recoilless, it is a beast. As many G.I.s' can attest, it makes a terrible wound. It will punch through a ballistic kick-plate as if it wasn't there, and zip through the rest of the 'bullet proof' vest as if it isn't there.With the 30 round mag in place, merely displaying the weapon will make people with bad intent back away. And if you're a bad guy, hearing that bolt get racked back will definitely give you pause.

I have two Ruger 10/22 carbines, loaded with 50 round banana clips. Both have synthetic stocks. One has a folding stock. Both have muzzle brakes. Both have scopes, mounted on special mounts that hold the scopes up, and let me see my open sights, so I can switch between views, long range, or short range.

I have a Winchester 30/30 that my grandfather bought when he was a young man. When I set it off, it is like the voice of God. The steel butt-plate chews up my shoulder within a few shots.

I'm gonna draw this to a close, because I'm boring myself. My favorite long (well, not all that long) gun is my Winchester AE .44 mg carbine. Loaded with Winchester Silvertips in .44 Special. Shoots like a pussycat, hits like a load of bricks. Compliments my Ruger .44 Blackhawk perfectly. I load full-house .44 Magnum in it. It's very easy on the hand. The pistol slides up in your hand when you fire. Ends up pointed up at the sky. You shoulda seen the wife's face when I slicked that big bastard out of the holster and put a round into her eye in less time than it takes your heart to beat once.

She cleared her throat, and said "I think I just peed a little..." and then "Please don't do that again."

"Awww, don't be a pussy..." I reassured her "these are just Snap Caps...you know, dummy rounds. Now, tell me that was fast."

"How would I know? I didn't see you move" she said. I was secretly pleased. I might not be able to kick your ass any more, but I can sure put a lot of new holes in it real quick.

Okay, I'm bored now. I'm not even to my other pistols. And I've left out some rifles. Hey, you wanna know the best shot I ever made? And I'm not talking when I used to shoot coins out of the air. Actually, I made two best shots. A best shot should have an element of personal danger to it. As in, someone could lose an eye. Or something.

First one was me and my foster brother. We were still in high school, and our reason for being in my back yard was probably to buy or sell drugs. There were at least a half dozen punks around him as I came walking down the sidewalk on the side of our house. I was wearing a tied down .38, the gunbelt slanted down to where I could just drop my hand and whoops, there it is.

It looked right away to me like something wasn't right, so I stopped about ten feet away. He was eating a red popsicle. He looked at me, then nodded towards his popsicle, and held it out. I drew, fired, clipped the stick completely off, and reholstered, all in one move. He held the stick out, and it was easy to see in the half he still held the gray semicircle where the bullet had hit. Those boys were remarkably mannerly after that.

As I've said, I used to have a reputation. And not Mother Theresa's kind.

I'm done with this. Some time I'll tell you all about the times I've shot at my ex-wife. I owe you a story, if you care. Sorry...

This Song...

2008-09-06T18:04:00.000-07:00

...really reaches me.

And another good version.

Birds Gotta Fly, Fingers Gotta Write...

2008-09-05T15:25:00.000-07:00

I have to write something, you want to read something. And I have no idea what I want to write. I am, quite simply, burned out. Every night I take a beating in bed. Flattening damn mattress, and I have (I think) PAP. The night-cramps while laying down are killer. It feels like getting shot in the leg. I wake up shrieking a bit, and I've had to tell the wife to leave me alone unless I croak out her name.

There now, wasn't that exciting and entertaining? Maybe I'll describe my stool to you later...No? You're really missing out, but okay, I guess. Your loss...

I'm really getting sick of people asking me 'how I am'. If you've been paying attention, I've told you already!!! It's like people think I met a Saint, and she got another tick-mark in her book of miracles that the Vatican keeps until you get enough to get made into a saint. Like S&H Green Stamps. Ain't gonna happen. Oh, a miracle could occur, but God doesn't always let you live, especially not assholes like me.

I won't take a liver that could keep someone worthier than me alive. Plus, surgery just gives me the creeps.
What, too cheery for you? Shit, I could drop like a rock tomorrow. Guys my age who go to the gym, and jog, drop right in the middle of the golf course. Or fall face-first into their soup, and make no bubbles.

Gone.

I have a great deal of pains and uncomfortabilities, but I can feel the prayers coming at me, because I have good days, too. And don't let my passing test your faith. I've got a bus to catch, and unless the Ticket-master tells me different, sooner or later, I have a one-way ticket to...well, wherever.
When those doors hiss closed, and the gears engage, I'm just gonna sit back and laugh, and laugh.

I expect at least a giggle from you.

Friday Ass...

2008-09-05T10:31:00.000-07:00

I couldn't find one decent ass this week, so I shall have to recycle. So I'll give you more than usual.

Sarah Palin...

2008-09-04T12:09:00.000-07:00

I was gonna write something about her, but why should I, when I can link to someone else who has already done it, and better than I could have?

And sorry about the paucity of posting, here. I haven't been feeling well, and I have had other things to do. I'm gonna go get ready to get a haircut, now, and just cleaning up exhausts me like running a marathon.

This sucks.

Update:

The main reason that I haven't been around much this week is because the wife and I have been watching the Convention. Or the hurricane. Which was more fun.

Anyway, Palin rocked the casbah, McCain...not so much. I find I still despise him, and not because of what you stupid pacifist hippy Libertarians despise him for. Go suck off a tree.
Ron Paul is still a dork, the Constitution is still dead, and unreadable from all of the butt-stains left all over it since Lincoln, so get over it. Besides, pacifists like you guys can't fight, I don't care what you say. Deal.

No, McCain is going to have to ride in on Palin's petticoat tails, so he better nurture that woman, because if he loses her, he loses me. And many others. Oh, and the election. The wife and I both agreed to that, this evening.

Sigh...there are things he has done wrong that are too numerous to mention. A few balloons, some confetti, and a few cute kids are not enough to dazzle me after that. When the wife and I vote, we vote for Palin. If she's not there? We are no shows. And that, quite simply, is all there is to it.

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-09-03T14:52:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

Har!

2008-09-03T12:13:00.001-07:00

Yeah, Join A Gang, Dummy...

2008-09-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

I had my own gang in high school, strictly for protection from the Goat Ropers and other assorted assholes. We had no tats, wore no weird clothing, and simply grouped together socially to beat your ass if you came at us. People rarely came at us. I hand-picked the members, and there were peripheral folks that hung around us for protection. I allowed it, because it made the group look bigger. We didn't even have a name. We just hung out and smoked and then left in small groups with a common destination to get to classes safely.

Now, you've got all of these huge gangs that have spread all over the country like a cancer. Gangster Disciples, Bloods, Crips, MS13, all of them sporting heavy weapons, killing civilians and each other (always a good thing) and becoming money-making business concerns, ones that sell every illegal thing money can buy, and performing every crime you can imagine, and some you can't.

I would have no problem at all with police death squads killing gangsters WITHOUT A TRIAL! all over town. It's likely they have had many trials already, yet here they are, somehow, walking your streets carrying illegal weapons, and committing crimes.
And I'd kill the peewee's first, before they grow up to be big gangsters. Leave them on their backs, coughing blood, calling for their mommies...too bad the bitch is in prison for whoring, and for mugging a john.

People whine and beat their breasts about the gang problem, and do nothing. News organizations make money for reporting bad news, and then go home to their guarded, gated communities. 'Black Leaders' make money from the government for the gang problem, and work it like an industry.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles a while back, some gangsters followed a young mother home from the store, and one of them followed her to the front door and blew her brains out all over her kids in the living room. It was just a gang initiation, you see. Left her purse by the body there on the floor, turned, and left. Yep, just an initiation. Wonder if he passed?

And We The People put up with this shit. The People cry like babies when they think their 'privacy' is being threatened, or to get and keep their pot, oh how the tears fall. But threaten our right to life, and everything goes quiet. Unless of course someone is threatening to not let them kill an infant.

I'd bet good money that if someone made a map of all of the places I couldn't go without getting fucked up or killed in this country, there would be less areas I could go to than areas that I couldn't. Tell me again about what a racist country we live in again?

It just may be racist, but honest Americans know in which direction that racism goes, and who the true racists really are.

This Outta Get Sparrow's Juices Flowing...

2008-09-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

I swiped this from Doc In The Box. I adore Joss Whedon's work, and this is especially inspired. Better have about 45 minutes free.

Hope you enjoy it...

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Babylon A.D. (A Review)...

2008-09-01T13:13:00.000-07:00

Right up front, I'm just gonna tell you that this movie stinks on toast. I wouldn't even watch it if the DVD came with free pizza and beer. And before any asshole gets snarky about Vin Diesel, just let me tell you that I really like him. He is one of my favorite actors. He almost manages to make this turkey fly. Almost.

The movie makes the typical mistake of picking as a central figure that you want to see die horribly after the first frame. War of the Worlds did that with the horrible Dakota Fanning, and this movie continues the tradition with their central female protagonist. I wanted to kill her myself.

The chink chick from 'Crouching Tiger...' does an admirable job doing what she does, looking serious, and kicking lots of ass. I was wondering where I'd seen her before, and then I saw her first fight, recognized her fighting style, snapped my fingers and said "Crouching Tiger!" and the people I was with said 'oh, yeah!'

Speaking of, I was with my son, the Baby Marine, his squeeze, the wife, and it took the theatre 10 minutes to find someone qualified to run the projection equipment. And boy does this movie ever suck. Plot holes you could throw a cat through, unresolved red herrings, outrageously silly plot, terrible camera handling, silly dialog, oh, I could go on, but just suffice it to say that when we all stood out once again in the clean light of day, we just looked at each other and said 'what the fuck was that all about?'

And then went and had drinks. Which is what you should do until any urge to see this dumb, bad movie passes. No redeeming qualities whatsoever.

If I Lived In New Orleans...

2008-08-30T13:32:00.000-07:00

Just kidding! You couldn't give me a luxury condo rent-free- to live there. But, for the sake of argument, if I did live there, I would be gone. As of yesterday.
Living in and around New Orleans is like living in 'Fight Club'. Take a punch to the face, get up off the floor, take another punch to the face, get up, repeat until you die.

I've seen the photos and film of the scuzzy toothless white trash that live there, and of the feral, murderous black trash that prey on everyone, including each other. No thanks. When the crime rates rose as the Katrina refugees invaded, wherever they were sent, no matter how much assistance they were given, I knew we were dealing with a subspecies of homo sapien: homo assholis.

Kim du Toit notes that his readers from that area aren't reporting the natives buying survival supplies. No, they are buying AR-15's, and cases of ammunition. They've been there, and done that, and fuck any subhuman troll that would make a good citizen feel the need to arm themselves thusly because said subhuman has refused to join the human race, and chooses to behave like an animal.

The best thing that could happen to New Orleans would be to get scrubbed out to sea, to be followed by a catastrophic levee failure that flushes everything and everybody else out to sea as well.

By the way, I hate gumbo.

The Ladies...

2008-08-29T17:20:00.000-07:00

Ah yes, the Ladies. This tale may not have a happy ending...

The man stood at a precipice, one that led downwards. Far, far downwards. It made no sense, this deep cistern, boring down and down. Sometimes he fought. Screeching things that made his blade glow, and ring like a bell, and sing like a crystalline being from deep within the earth, and beings came at him, and he fought and killed them, they snarling upon his blade, and his heart grew heavy and still heavier as he approached the cold silver light they defended so fiercely.

The Ladies...

Finally, he achieved the bottom, slaughtered a dozen creatures who bled blue, and faced his goal. The air fairly glowed with silver light, and three thrones held dessicated crones...dessicated, yet they fairly bristled with power and menace.

The Ladies...

The man took an en garde position, and began to slide across the floor cautiously. Suddenly, his sword was torn from his fingers by an invisible force, and before he could move, it turned back at him, point first, and flew into his chest with a wet crunch. He lay on the stone floor, and coughed up his own life's blood for a change, and he clawed at the blade that impaled him, slicing up his own fingers...

And the ladies cackled, fit to break glass, and cause infants to die in their cribs, as their mother's milk curdled within their breasts.

The man felt everything going dark...

Hallelujah!

2008-08-29T10:49:00.000-07:00

The sun came out today. Sarah Palin was who I chose as the only hope for us, but that asshole Linseed Grahamnesty was pushing for Lieberman (?!?) which would have made people sit out the election in droves.

Instead, McCain gives us this wonderful woman, and she gives me hope. I just wish the roles were reversed, and she was slated for the pilot's seat. Now, let's all wait for the media to make many attempts to destroy her, and thus destroy their own party's chances, for at least the next four years.

I say bring it on, just bring it on. McCain and Palin each compliment the others strengths, act as 'force multipliers' if you will. McCain seemed rudderless, right up until this morning. Now, he knows for the first time that he has a genuine chance.

Please God, make it so...

Friday Ass...

2008-08-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

Bittersweet...

2008-08-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

The wife and I left the kids with my parents today, and went out to see Batman2 together. I had her drive, because I have gotten so feeble I don't trust myself. As a matter of fact, I told her that this was probably the last time we'd be out together. She teared up a little, but she nodded in acceptance.

The wife really enjoyed the movie, and I liked it better the second time around. I honestly don't see how they can make a better sequel, let alone replace Heath Ledger. Then we went to my bar because the wife wanted some french fries and iced tea, and I wanted something with vodka and pineapple juice.

I cracked a sick joke that cracked her up. I do that a lot, and then she laughs, and feels guilty, and then I make her sputter with something even worse. What I said was something along the lines of 'wouldn't it be funny if I died and fell in someone's pool' and then I imitated a little kid looking out the window...'mommy, look, there's a giant lemon floating in the pool...'
I suppose you'd have to see me to get that.

I've been preparing the wife for...the future, or rather my lack of one, for some time now. For the most part, she has adapted well. Were the roles reversed, I'd be a mess. But I'm not her, I'm me. And I wouldn't know how to be anybody else, nor would I want to.

The other day, a stray pit-bull came into the yard from somewhere else, and began barking at and menacing the kids. The wife roared at it like a she-lion and went after it. It ran from the yard, this 50lb mouthful of teeth and bad attitude, running like a scared rabbit.

The kids are in good hands. I don't know what the future holds, but I am comforted by her good stewardship.

Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit...

The Ladies In The Dark...

2008-08-27T21:03:00.000-07:00

The man was uncertain, and that didn't happen often. He had a task to perform, and wasn't sure how to perform it. He did know guns wouldn't work, the rest was a mystery, and failure meant a fate worse than death. It meant...

Damnation.

He popped the trunk lid of his car, and began to fidget through his knife selection. A selection most profound. He hefted this one, and that one, and then he felt a presence while toying with a silver spike, and he turned and struck like a snake, and the creature he struck screeched, and then moved at him even faster. The man changed elements from silver, to iron, and threw a rune-carven blade into its bony chest. The bony thing, entrails prominent, screeched again, only this time it dropped to the ground, where its heels drummed as its chest cavity flamed up blue.

The man went back to the trunk, and picked out a Celtic sword of iron. He smelled the blade, and put his ear against it, and heard thousands of screams. He didn't bother with a scabbard. Assuming he survived, he had no use for one. He'd be busy adding more screams to it.
He snapped a small iron double-headed hand axe to his belt, hung a bandoleer of heavy throwing daggers to his kit, and went inside of the House of Darkness...

The darkness was suffocating. Not merely darkness, but negative light. Marrow sapping.
And somewhere, down below, the Ladies waited...

His sword began to glow, bluish green...and then the tip of the blade began to burn an incandescent white. He was where he was meant to be...

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-08-27T20:31:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

This Rocks...

2008-08-26T11:12:00.000-07:00

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Courtesy (stolen from) LL at Chromed Curses.

Fuck Politics...

2008-08-25T14:12:00.000-07:00

Trying to understand this political season is like trying to masturbate whilst jumping on a trampoline. And blowing bubbles with your other hand, balancing the bubble bottle under one arm, while the dog yaks up on the carpet.

Or maybe like trying to fuck an epileptic whore in mid fit, under a strobe light, while a 300 pound dominatrix in a leather corset slaps a flogging whip into her palm, and pops out one of her raddled, sagging breasts, and begins sucking the nipple...

Eww. Sorry.

But there's my synopsis of this election season. For both parties. We have a choice between prostitutes and whores, and the conventions are nothing more than a beauty contest between pigs.
I almost worked a reference to 4H in there, except they are a reputable, respectable organization.

All the 3rd party dorks are the retards, running around the party. They make everybody nervous and creep them out, but everybody tolerates them, and their antics.

As for me? I ain't gonna vote. None of them has given me one damn good reason to vote for them at all. Fukkem all, up the ass, with a sharp stick.

Help Chris Muir...

2008-08-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

That cartoon at the top of my blog? It's there for me. I really enjoy his work. He's asking for help, and if I had the means, I would.

Go here: Chris Muir and do what you can. How many Conservative cartoonists can you think of? I can think of only one. And above all else, Chris is just damn funny and extremely talented.

Please help him out if you can.

The Guardian...

2008-08-23T13:59:00.000-07:00

The big man stood and watched as the one tire on the car spun for a bit, then stopped. He listened as the hot engine ticked and cooled. He watched the woman crushed behind the wheel, the roof crushed down on her, as she coughed blood, and moaned, and cried in pain.

He watched her dying.

Gasping the last breaths she would breathe on this earth. Watched as the gasoline from the ruptured tank poured down the slope towards the still hot engine, where a wire dangled and jumped as it touched the side of the engine, and sparked.

She was in agony, and felt her imminent death sweeping over her, and she despaired. It is easy to say you'd be strong, but it is more likely that you will go out shitting your pants and screaming. She would have screamed, except her chest was too crushed, so all she could manage was a wounded, bubbling moan, as she felt her own blood run down her neck and soak her blouse.

The big man leaned forward intently. He felt the imminence of her ending, but could do nothing until the fullness of her life was complete.
The engine sparked, the gasoline ignited, and the car began to burn. And she with it. Now, she screamed.

Her hair began to burn, and still she held on. Her flesh began to bubble, and still she held on. She took as deep a breath as she could to scream again, and her lungs crisped, and finally...she let go.

The big man reached quickly 'into' her, and brought her out. Then they both just stood there, at the edge of the flames, and watched the car burn. She said "Well, that was...unpleasant..." He said "Why yes...I imagine it was."

She looked up at his face, and asked "Am I..." He nodded in the affirmative. "Are you..." this time he inclined his head, as an affirmative acknowledgment of identity. He said "I have been with you since you were born, and ever since. I have protected you when and where the rules permitted, and now I am here to take you home...your true home."

He held out his hand, and she took it, and they stepped into the peace that passeth understanding.

Scroll Down...

2008-08-22T15:02:00.000-07:00

There's a post under the Friday Ass post, but I started it this morning, and finished it just now. I don't play games with timestamps, so just scroll. If you want.

Friday Ass...

2008-08-22T12:19:00.000-07:00

Half A Man...

2008-08-22T11:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't been doing too well.Yesterday, I was in hell. While inflating my air-bed, I accidentally inflated the inclinable back rest part, and then the motor burned out on me. So I'm left with this huge incline that's just fine for watching TV, or reading, but not for sleeping. And the only sleeping area would make a nice toddler bed.

The wife helped me take a shower, and get dressed. Which made me feel unbelievably worthless. I imagine y'all are getting pretty tired about hearing about all my problems, but it's my life, and it's all I've got until I don't have it anymore. So, if you're gonna read here, you're gonna get more of this than either one of us wants to hear about. Walk a mile in my flip-flops and see how you like it. Later on, I'm going to test the bed to see if it just got overheated and reset, or am I just fucked.

After the wife showered me, I felt nearly like the old Bane. The wife has been helping me up lately, but I waved her off, and said 'watch this!' and just stood right up. She was amazed. Me, too, quite frankly. And except for some pretty bad cramping early in the morning, and in spite of a lot of restlessness from the discomfort of the bed early on, I slept like a baby until 9:30 this morning. Note this posts' time-stamp. That's when the pain hit me again, and when I started this post. It is nearly 3pm and I am just about to round this up.

My hands were shaking so badly yesterday (pre shower) that I spasmed while doing some mouse clicking operation and Firefox did something crazy with my bookmarks and switched them all around, into the wrong files, and I don't recognize my own machine. I know how to fix it, but it is gonna be a pain in the ass, and this is close as I have ever come to blasting a computer with gunfire. I'm still pissed.

Okay, you folks have a great weekend. We'll see if I see you. Gotta go, my hands are shaking, and I'm tired of fixing spelling errors...

Update:

Praise God! The bed controls had just reset, because it had gotten too hot. I was able to inflate it to where I wanted it a bit ago. Of course, every time I get in it, air hisses out in a big way. So, I'll get an adequate nights sleep, until it goes flat. Blow it up again, and thank God for another nights fairly good nights sleep.

As long as I didn't have to get up and use the bathroom too many times.

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-08-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

Just Another Product...

2008-08-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

...that I'll be boycotting forever. Goodbye, Coke. Go sleep with the fishes, along with McDonald's.

If you support queers, or ragheads, you are dead to me.

Case-Hardened Steel, Black Matte, Parachute Cord As A Grip...

2008-08-19T20:18:00.000-07:00

He pulled his arm back, and threw one into the things forehead. The creature flipped back and lay on its own lower legs, forehead split like a vegetarians cantaloupe, black blood pulsing slowly from the skull, up and around the blade...

He heard two more, stealthy, behind him and turned and flickered the two throwing axes in his hands and one hit a forehead, and the other was caught in the fist of the second grinning fiend, triumphant, until the man moved in, drawing the straight razor from the pouch behind his neck, and he split the thing's armpit open, then ran the blade from its belt buckle to its throat, like you'd run a stick through water, and its black guts spilled out, smelling of the rotten blood it had stolen from others, and as the creature collapsed, the man reached out and took his throwing axe from its weakening hand.

He had found a nest, and had entered it after dark. He was beginning to entertain the very real possibility that he was fucked...

This Is My Last Resort...

2008-08-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

Hey, honey, sorry for the late call. Pop does that shit to me, and your bro uses me like Google, because I know everything.

This stupid blog is what I do. How sad is that? Nothing's all right...nothing is fine. And it is funny...I won't miss myself. I will miss a lot of things. A few people. Root beer floats. KFC biscuits. Their entire menu for that matter. Popeye's chicken, and biscuits, also, for that matter. Just about anything from A&W. Especially the chili dogs.

Check this shit out...maybe there is hope for the future. Nahhhhh....

By the way, please do not mistake me for a depressed person. I am happy, calm, and ready for whatever life brings me.

It's Pukin' Time!

2008-08-18T14:52:00.000-07:00

Last night, rather, yesterday evening, to be more precise, it wasn't even 8pm, and I just felt crappy and exhausted. So I went to bed. Missed that Terminator show I really like, completely forgot it was coming up.

What was coming up was everything I'd eaten the day before. At 2:30 am, violently. I barely made it to the toilet, and hurled until I was choking on my colon. As I was calling out to God to please take me, just take me now! I broke a full on sweat, and realized that I was really sick. Especially when I went from the 'burning up' part, to the shivering and freezing part. And I got to thinking about the other times in my life where puke had figured in a humorous and memorable way.

Do any of you have a memory that just cracks you up every time you think about it, and it happened a long time ago? I mean, you just belly laugh thinking about it?

My moment is shortly after Bush1 puked on the Prime Minister of Japan. I saw this comedian on TV, it may have been The Amazing Johnathon...the guy had that kind of expressive face. Anyway, he established that that was where he was gonna go, to Bush1 puking, and then he pretended to be the Japanese Prime Minister, and looked over to his right in anticapatory horror, and he says "Uhhhh, Mistah Plesident, you rook rike you gonna bro chunk!" and then he mimed catching a lapful of hot hurl...

Oh, I laughed so hard, I slid off the couch to the floor and was helpless with laughter for ten minutes. Every time I do that bit, I make at least one person snort their nose inside out.

So, do any of you have a moment like that?

Anyway, I ended up sleeping until an hour (or so) ago. I hadn't heard any blasts of thunder for the previous couple of hours. We have a week of off an on lightning ahead of us, and I don't think you folks want to buy me another computer. Especially as my writing has started to suck. So I'll be dropping out even more than usual.

Welcome to another week. I wonder what unpleasant mysteries this one brings...

Stormy Weather...

2008-08-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

We have suffered through 100+ degree days for a week or so now, and last night I was sleeping in front of my window fan, when God began tromping around outside, shining His flashlight around, looking for a place to piss. He found one, and it was all over us.

Golly, did it ever rain. And lightning hammered the sky, sparking off great flashes that you could see through closed eyelids. And the hot air was chilled, and soon I had to pull a quilt over me, and I snuggled into it happily and drifted off back into sleep again, dreaming of cannon fire, and Frost Giants bowling with giant ice-balls.

It is nearly noon, and I am still chilly, and I love it. May it stay thus for many more days, I prithee, Oh Lord.

I may be keeping the PC off quite a bit, today. The weather radar shows wolves circling around us, and I've lost enough computers to that sort of nonsense.

My Feminine Side...

2008-08-16T13:33:00.000-07:00

Go and get in touch with it. My darling daughter is back, and blogging, and she rocks my socks off.

I'm funny, she's funnier. I'm scary, she's scarier. I am so proud.

Plus, she makes painfully cute babies.

Spooky...

2008-08-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

I have always known this was possible, and I have all the scientific education of Bozo The Clown. But there is simply some things that have to exist because, though you may not know how or why, you know they must.

And anything that makes Einstein nervous is all right by me. I bet Tesla was playing with this stuff. We lost so much when he was assassinated. Fucking Edison.

Don't Bet On It...

2008-08-16T09:52:00.000-07:00

I saw a lot of weird shit in my days as a bartender/bouncer. And I'm here to tell you, if some guy wants to bet that he can piss in his own ear from twenty feet away, don't take that bet. You'll be buying drinks for a guy whose earhole smells like piss for the rest of the night.

There are guys out there who have developed some weird, goofy skill, perfected it, and take it to bars and use it to get drinks, money for drink, and their own personal amusement.
Here's an example, and was the first and last time I ever got taken:

The appeal is to pride (as are most of their tricks) and I was a young, prideful man, who still hadn't learned that I didn't know it all. This fellow got all the dice from the horse cups, put one down in front of him, tore the top cover off of a book of matches, placed it on the first die, and then stacked the rest of the dice in a column on the matchbook cover.
Then he bet us that he would pay $100 to anyone who could get the cover out and not knock the dice over. Simple, right? Oh how we tried. And the dice kept rattling on the bar.

You see, we tried so hard because the bet was, if he could do it, we owed him $100. Each.

Finally, we gave up, and told him okay, smartass, let's see what you've got. So he walked up to the stack of dice, and flicked the matchbook cover out with a quick snap of his middle finger. The cover flew out, and the dice didn't move. To say that we were dumbfounded would be an understatement. We paid up. You do NOT welsh on a bet.

That incident, and many others I've seen, and a few I've done myself, has made it to where if you tell me you can, or will do something, I believe you, until such a time as you prove yourself to be just another bullshitting blowhard.

He Joins The Club...

2008-08-15T19:20:00.000-07:00

He sat on the bed in his hotel room, and checked his gun. Again. It was a habit he didn't mind having, even if it was a bit OCD. He had loaded the big automatic while wearing his thin leather gloves, and as he slipped the slide back, sure enough, there was a round in the chamber. The same round that had been there the last ten times he'd checked.

He grasped the silencer and made sure it wasn't loose...it wasn't, and the bedside table alarm clock beeped, to tell him it was time to go. He turned off the alarm, hooked up the brick of C-4 to wires he had previously exposed, slid his pistol into the nylon under arm shoulder holster, picked up the small bag he had brought, and left the room. Before leaving completely, he hooked another wire up to a small black box at the top of the door, and a small LED light on it went green. So did a light on the block of C-4. If someone entered the room, it would sterilize automatically.

You really didn't want to see the red light. If left alone, his bomb would go off in an hour. He needed to hurry. The explosion would keep the police busy. And he had work to do...

He drove to the Holidome two miles away in record time. Without breaking any traffic laws. He had practiced for a week. Tonight was the night. His employer didn't know who among them would change human history, so he was getting paid to kill them all. And the pay was very good. And he never asked why. They had pissed somebody off, or whatever, and he always got paid. Or else.

He had been in contact with these guys at something called 'Rampant Loon Press' for months, now, long enough to have gained their trust. Become one of them. He'd even written some silly stories, to fit in. And tonight, they would die.

He had already checked into the Holidome via computer, so he just handed over his printout, and they gave him his keycard. He was an imposing figure, in a wide-brimmed hat, a black Confederate-type uniform shirt, black jeans, all covered by a black canvas duster. The motorcycle boots completed the ensemble.
He had found that any witnesses left alive only saw the clothes.
He headed upstairs to the conference room where the writer's group was supposed to assemble, and walked in. He had been deliberately late, so everyone else was already there. His was the only name tag left to give out.
A very sweet looking woman snatched his nametag off of the sheet, and rushed at him, gushing about how much she had enjoyed his stories. She obviously had a good heart, so he drew and shot her in it.

Then he fired and reloaded and fired and reloaded until nobody moved. Then he slipped in a 25 round magazine, and went methodically around the room, putting two more rounds into each head. All with no more noise than microwaving a bag of popcorn.

He didn't think he could have done this job, if it wasn't for what his employer had showed him. One of these men would have ended the world.

No chance of that now.

Friday Ass...

2008-08-15T12:23:00.001-07:00

8 Drugs Doctors Would Never Take

2008-08-14T16:23:00.000-07:00

Jeez Louise, I see ads for this crap on TV every day.

Nope Nope Nope...

2008-08-14T11:49:00.000-07:00

...no terrorism here.

Just out of curiosity, why couldn't you take the baking soda out of a fire extinguisher, replace it with cyanide powder, repressurize the tank, and head for a mosque to do some pest control? I used to refill my boss's fire extinguishers all the time, back in the day. Its easy.

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-08-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

What In The Sam Hill!

2008-08-13T14:39:00.000-07:00

I just found out that there was a real Sam Hill. And that the wife is related to him. She has seen his name in their family Bible. Heard his story from her oldest living relative. Cool, eh?

The first names on the list got off the boat at Plymouth rock. Some of the men fought at Valley Forge with Washington. Many of the names fought in the Civil War. All the names span the history of the United States, since before we became the United States, and were merely Colonists.

The wife's Dads immediate family all died from the flu in 1918. Each and every one of them. He headed West, and met my Mother In Law, and they created the wife.

When she held that family Bible in her hands, she was holding a thing as sacred as the Constitution. And she knew it. They couldn't put it in a copier without destroying it, so the wife's sister took digital photos of the important parts. The wife read love letters hundreds of years old, written on parchment, or vellum, that must have cost dearly in those days. If you took someone from those days into your home office, they would think that they had met the richest person in the Colonies.

And I give Nat sheets, entire reams, to scribble on, and cut up into puppets and whatnot.
She goes through more paper in a month than the entire population of Early America went through in two years, I bet.

Back to that family Bible, do you think that there are any bookbinders today that could print and bind a book that would hold together perfectly for hundreds of years? Maybe, but you would pay dearly for it. And what are the odds of this book, this Bible, surviving indian attacks, war, disease, fire, and likely every other sort of human and natural cataclysm, unscathed?

It has traveled across the country, perhaps more than once. Or even twice. If you touch it, it will likely be the oldest thing you have ever touched. Unless you have fondled a mummy, or dug up lizard bones.

And the kin of every name listed in that book, several pages of family, there in the front, stood around and looked at in in wonder, and each touched it reverently, there, drawn together by the marriage of another descendant.

They didn't think of it, because the book is sacred to them, in more ways than one. But I am going to suggest that the keep the tradition alive, buy some vellum sheets, and mail it around all over the country to family members to sign, and mail it back. By the way, you wanna know what the wife's maiden name is?

Mather.

Hey Guys, Check This Out...

2008-08-13T14:35:00.000-07:00

The new Lara Croft.

Here We Are, Now Entertain Us...

2008-08-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

It is so great to have oldest daughter and her Gremlin here. I got to see a couple of firsts. Gremlin getting up to her knees, and then pulling herself up to stand against the ottoman. I bet myself that I could make her run, but then decided better of it.

Mother and child slept here last night, tonight she is going to watch TV with me, then go join the Gremlin and sleep with my parents. Daughter has guts...neither of my parents has decent balance, nor are aerodynamically sound. If they reach down into the porta-crib to comfort a crying baby, they could topple like a sun-struck troll, and mash her into enchilada sauce.

It has been nice to have some alone time, I guess. But I am more than ready for chatty wife and noisy kids time. I just had this terrible image of the brother in law and a couple of his big friends showing up in a moving truck, with a list from her of what she wants, and a note to me saying she just can't take it anymore.

And I wouldn't blame her a bit.

I Feel Stupid, And Contagious...

2008-08-11T16:15:00.000-07:00

If I stop believing in you, do you cease to exist? Think about that.

My tiny granddaughter locks eyes with me, and knows my soul, and I hers, and she smiles. She stares into my eyes a lot longer than a 10 month old should have an ability to. She holds my gaze, and I hers.
Has it really been 10 months since I went up and saw her on the day she was born? When I put my finger into her newborn palm, and she jerked, and then turned and looked straight into my eyes? They're not supposed to see at that age.

Her Mother has turned into such a woman. A real woman, and a great Parent. I have known girls that were forty years old. You do know that the wife gave birth to Nat when she was over 40, right? And Nat is perfect.
This weekend, after the wedding, the wife went to dinner with the kids and my uncle (my Dad's only and oldest brother) and my gorgeous, elegant Aunt...gosh, it is nice to have relatives you like, love, and adore, rather then the control freaks drunks, and psychopaths that comprise the rest of my family.

Anyway, I have no horror stories in me, right now. I started watching the movie 'Ghost Ship' last night, but it was so scary, I gave up on it an hour in. There are enough whispers and sly footsteps around my house right now, as it is.

Well, Happy Monday. See you later.

Maybe.

Oh, How I Larfed...

2008-08-11T15:41:00.000-07:00

Via Cowboy Blog.

Damned Hackers...

2008-08-11T13:40:00.000-07:00

Always into something...

So Many Gun Myths...

2008-08-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

...so little time.

I need to get to sleep, but there are people making purchase decisions, and basing their self defense plans on complete myths. Most specifically, that a shotgun does not need to be aimed, that simply aiming near the bad guy(s), and firing, a hail of pellets will fly out and turn his attacker(s) to hamburger.

Wrong!

The other myth is that a shotgun blast will strike your target and blow them up and out of a window, or through a wall.

Wrong!

A couple of factoids: Large men with much adipose tissue have survive plenty of shotgun close-range hits. The first time I fired a Remington 870 at a window well across the street in a Hogan's Alley, and the round hit dead center in the glass, leaving a hole that would be too tight to get a beer-can through, well, to say I was stunned wouldn't be quite enough to explain my literal jaw-dropping amazement. The window was in otherwise perfect shape, except for the hole I put in it.

So, what do I do? Well, I use chromium lead pellets in Double 00 Buck in mine, or slugs, and I AIM THE DAMN THING!!! Sights help.

Thus endeth the lesson.

Sheesh People, Settle Down...

2008-08-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

Gosh, I've been getting comments, and emails, all worried about me, and while I must say, I'm quite touched by it all, but please, don't waste the energy.
Yeah, I miss my wife and babies, but I went to dinner tonight at my parent's house, with my sister, and my daughter and granddaughter, who is just a dream.

Yes, I sleep a lot. Yes, I can barely eat. One of my medications has taken away my ability to taste food, and much of my appetite. My liver is dying by inches, and taking me with it. Some days I quite frankly just want to die.
Doing that by my own hand would steal so much from my family, and piss on any legacy I possibly have, including my last several years here. So it ain't gonna happen.

Though there are some days when it is hard, so hard, to stick around.

Rone-ree...

2008-08-08T22:26:00.000-07:00

...I'm so rone-ree...

The wife called me a bit ago, and she was having herself a riotously good time. Her brothers and sisters are there, our kids are a hit, she looks better than all the other women there, and she's not...

Stuck with me.

Funny thing, one of my regular commenters said in the comments to yesterday's post 'don't kill yourself...' What's funny is that the wife told me the same thing earlier this week. I looked at her with some disgust, and asked her "Who would it be who found my body?" I mean, think about it. Why would I do that to someone I love? Suicide is the sincerest way to say one of two things: I hate you, and/or I am in so much anguish, I don't want to see next week.

The VA Hospital in Portland did a great job killing me with slow poison, they don't need my help.

Hey, don't say I didn't warn you about the maudlin. It doesn't help that I am listening to shit like this.

I ate a 'Mexican' TV dinner that tasted like some beaner took a shit on the tray. Fried rice, my ass. More like stewed maggots. And 'enchiladas' that were suspiciously tapered on one end. But it was the only meal I had today. Well, I had several rolls of Smarties, and a cereal bar. Oh, and a few Twizzlers. They are so fresh and soft, that they stretch like earthworms in a Robin's beak as the bird aborts the annelid from the dirt.

So, how was your Friday? What would you do if you had a nice, air-conditioned car (the wife rented, and left me her hot rod) and a pocket full of cash, nobody to depend on you, and the world is your mollusk?

Me, I took two naps. And rearranged my guns because I sent her off with one of them, and it really fucked with my gun-shui. Enjoyed John Edward's discomfort. Tried hard to give a shit about one group of commies killing the shit out of another group of commies. Failed. Heck, I will not, would not ever go there in my life.

Well, I guess it's time to take a sleeping pill, and sleep til noon. Call me and die.
Wouldn't it be funny if I croaked naturally? And the wife came home, and found me and put the boots to my dead ass, yelling angrily "Dammit! You said you wouldn't!"

Or maybe it's just me...

Friday Ass...

2008-08-08T14:34:00.000-07:00

Alone Again...

2008-08-07T14:37:00.000-07:00

...naturally.

The wife and the kids are leaving me tomorrow to go to a wedding in another state, and I will be alone for a week. Currently, she is packing furiously, as if she was supplying the Lewis & Clark expedition. And giving Sir Edmund Hillary a hand, as well. In other words, packing as usual.

Dammit. What if I need my window fan turned up to medium? Do I have to do all this shit myself? I sometimes go in when they're gone, and lay in their beds, and breathe in their scents from their pillows.

It would be nice if you all released a flock of prayers for their safety, coming and going. Thanks in advance. I'm dead-ass broke, because she's hoarding all the money for stupid crap like 'food' and 'lodging'. Pfffft, what a waste. Oh well, I'm too fucked up to want to go anywhere, and she filled half our freezer ($20 at Yard-Sale Mart) with frozen dinners that she hoped would appeal to me. Yeah, like I'm gonna open that damn box and heat it up. Pfffft...

Puhleeze.

Anyway, prepare for maudlin posting. One of my ribs tore itself loose from my body, took my heart with it, and is leaving on a road trip. I miss her already. Oh, and the kids, too. I think I'm supposed to say that. Though I about stomped most of Nattie's guts out today for calling me a liar to my face. Anyone else would be needing stitches, and she needs to learn that not everybody is as well-adjusted as me, and the wrong words to the right person will get your ass kicked. Literally.

If I would have called my dad a liar in a fit of anger, NORAD would still be tracking many of my teeth as they orbited the planet.

Well, Happy Thursday, my friends. To my enemies? Fuck off and die, choking on your own blood. Wish I could help.

As I understand it, there is supposed to be another day tomorrow. Imagine my joy.

What's Perverted, Anymore?

2008-08-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

Well, apparently not this. My stomach's still a bit queasy.

And let me have the wife kneel down on a public sidewalk in San Francisco and blow me, and watch how quick we both become registered sex offenders. A pretty teacher can't fuck a horny 16 year old without going to prison if caught, but a hairy naked man can butt-fuck his twink on a public street while the cops watch.

Gosh, I hate faggots.

One Moment, Frozen Forever...

2008-08-07T11:55:00.000-07:00

As I get closer to taking the trip, I am pondering more and more about the destination. People talk about being in Heaven as 'living forever', and they think about all of the things they'd do. Boy, that would annoy the shit right outta me.

I don't want to wink out like a fragile candle, but heck, I've done damn near everything I'd ever want to do. I've lived a full life, and a Post-Armageddon pastoral planet doesn't appeal to me. So I cleaned the rust off of the cogs in my big brain, wound up the key, and set the machinery in motion, and at the end, it spit a small strip of paper out of my mouth. I tore it off, and here is what it said:

'Heaven is timeless, one moment of bliss, with no progression, or regression, just one constant moment of ecstasy, in the presence of God.'

I can live with that.

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-08-06T15:46:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

HA!

2008-08-06T13:54:00.000-07:00

Try this on the wife, I dare you. You'll draw back a bloody stump, I promise you. Heck, I don't give Nat weapons, yet, but damn, she would punch you in the nuts so fast...

Simple rule, fuckheads, don't touch it unless you've bought it. Grow the fuck up, and keep your hands to yourselves. You just might run into a small, beautiful woman, with nice tits, and grope one of them, and find yourself in an arm lock hold, brought down to her level, and getting stabbed over and over by someone who has a dread fear of being raped, who someone like, oh say, me, has taught and empowered her in techniques that cause instant pain, and/or death.

For the life of me, I have never understood gropers. To me, it is a sex crime, pure and simple. I have never touched a woman without her express permission in my life. But I have fucked up other guys that have.
And I have had more pussy than you can shake a dick at. Even strippers who hook on the side hate being groped by strangers. That's why God made bouncers.

Any woman who says 'All men are pigs' has not met me. I can't imagine groping a woman unless it's offered, and I look with contempt on 'men' who do. I would die before I farted in front of a woman, and do not understand the pigs that do. I beat the shit out of some hippie one time at a party who kept farting. I warned him, first, and he said 'Hey man, it's natural!' Yeah, dude, kinda like my fist fits perfectly into your face.

So, we clear? They've taught you since kindergarten to 'keep your hands to yourself'.

Do it.

Oh My...

2008-08-06T11:41:00.000-07:00

Check out this little goddess.

It Is So Easy To Kill...

2008-08-05T21:57:00.000-07:00

It is so difficult not to. Watch this video if you have seen Batman2, then read on unless you haven't seen it, and can see everything, like me. Might ruin it for you...

The Joker. There, but for the Grace of God, go I. You'd be surprised at how easy it is. If you cringed at the idea of dissecting a frog in biology class, well, you are A) lucky and B) not ready to go to the next level. And I was born several levels above that one.

The Joker was treated to immense child abuse, which turned the robot into a psychotic monster. My Dad beat that bullshit out of me. And my Mom made me go cut my own switches. And her Dad used me as an excuse to go to his bar. Down on the waterfront. He left me outside. I was five.

On the way home, he would stop at the Woolworth's and let me pick a toy. For some reason, I always picked a cap pistol.

I have been known to carry two 1911's in the front of my pants, set up for a cross-draw. In other words, butts facing inward...and three mags for each in between them behind my belt. Three more apiece in my front pockets, and three more apiece in each back pocket.
Toy with me, and I just might explode.

Do you really want to be in the same room with The Joker?

This movie really fucked with my head. Not since Hannibal Lecter's autobiographies have I been spoken to from the screen like that.

I am neither proud, nor happy about this.

First You...

2008-08-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

...kill all the hippies.

When The Stars Fall...

2008-08-04T14:43:00.000-07:00

I am seeing a phenomenon all throughout the blogosphere. Major bloggers quitting because they are tired of doing it, and/or they got their widdle feelings hurt.
No one, not one of you, or all of you, could say or do anything to make me quit if I didn't want to. That is my decision, should I choose to leave the arena.

If you try to scare me, I'll scare you right back. Your hair will turn white while I do what I would do to you. With a potato peeler. And a corkscrew. And a garlic press. Or whatever else I can find in your kitchen, while you sit there duct-taped to your chair, your mouth taped shut, and breathing blood bubbles out of the two holes where your nose used to be before I sliced it off.

I am pretty much the last person on this planet that you want to piss off. Seriously.

So, quit if you want. Duh, and of course. Just don't ask me to respect your decision. Wimp. I'm dying, and it is not comfortable, and I don't whine about it, so shut the fuck up and deal with it. Some loser troll trying to break your balls? Bat them around as a cat would a mouse. Or just eliminate them from your personal universe.

Blogging has been called lots of things, but so far, and first and foremost, it is the most honest and true form of expression there has ever been. You can say what you want, whenever you want, and it can be read by the entire world. So far.

The Japanese soldiers that assaulted Nanking China, before Pearl Harbor, raped every woman they came across. Then, for amusement, they tossed the woman's infant to a fellow soldier, and the game was to skewer the infant on their bayonet. Bets were made, money was exchanged.

And you whine because some dickwad was mean to you on your blog?

Get some perspective, people.

Yep...

2008-08-04T14:17:00.000-07:00

Via this blog.

Simply...

2008-08-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

...amazing.

Update:

You can add this to your list of 'Things That Are Totally Cool'.

By Popular Demand...

2008-08-03T19:49:00.000-07:00

Some of you have asked that I repost a couple of true stories I have written here. So, here is one, and here is the other. Part 1, and Part 2.

And a bonus track.

Another Week...

2008-08-03T18:01:00.000-07:00

...shaved off of my balls. Time I'll never get back.

Like I care.

I am alive by accident. My parents were so young. They certainly never planned on the interruption in their lives that was me. They were fresh out of high school, freshly married, and I came along and ruined the party. The 50's, dontcha know.

I came into awareness in my crib, as an infant. I remember huge faces like Macy's Parade balloons, looking down at me while I whistled. Oh, I wasn't doing arias, but I had figured out how to make the sound, so I did. The wife still doesn't know how to whistle, but it is fun to watch her try. She looks so intent, but she looks like she is trying to give an elf CPR through its asshole.

I spent the 60's spreading my wings, and learning my capabilities. And it still took me years to learn I even had them. I took over classrooms...heck, entire schools, until the innate 'Monster Detection' that all humans have to one degree or another kicked in, and they exiled me, for one reason or another.
I must insert the obligatory warning here: you do not want to be what I am. 99% of you, it would drive mad. I will kill the 1% that is left. No, I am not joking. There can be only one.

The 70's and 80's were a blur, though I have chronicled much of it, here. The 90's I spent learning, and being amazed by the wife. Being taught another path, and trust me, there were many moments of absolute agony. And I struggled to make amends to my kids left fatherless by a vicious divorce. Oh, that would be mine.

At one point, working in the nuthouse, in the early 90's, I was back in the break-room sleeping, and I awoke to our extremely beautiful boss, looking down at me intently, as she straddled my cock that she had hardened in my sleep, and she was rocking her clit through her panties, back and forth, and then she gasped, and came, and I felt her warmth...

She grasped my belt in desperation, and tried to tear open the front of my pants. I grasped her wrists, and pulled her hands away gently, and her smoky eyes changed, and she said "You're really serious about her..." and we all know who she was talking about.

And that is, as far as I understand it...

Love.

Good Training...

2008-08-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

I think I have communicated that I am just a bit jealous of my two Marine sons. And how proud of them I am. They are in 'non-combat' MOS's, but they have been to cool schools that taught them various nasty tricks. And every Marine is a rifleman. My youngest Marine, when he got to Iraq, was handed an M240G machine gun, and told "Here, you're a door-gunner on a school bus ferrying troops and supplies."

Me? I never saw combat. But being Infantry, I trained every day for it. For years. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. Yearly. First the beat us into steel, then they honed us, then they sharpened us to a razor's edge. And then they did it again. And again.

I became addicted to it. My (ex)wife and my little boys didn't see a whole lot of me in those days. I would leave the house at night, and run very far up to Infantry Hill, where they tended to keep most of us segregated from the pogues. I'd get to the obstacle course, and there would always be several of my fellow grunts there already, and we would run through the course, as fast as we could (while timing ourselves) and then do it again, and keep doing the cargo nets and the inclined walls and all of that other crap until we perfected our times, and became too exhausted to even reach up to scratch our noses.

And all of it done by starlight alone. And if it was foggy? Which it often was? In near zero visibility, with all of the obstacles sheened with slick moisture.

Our officers were useless. They only got themselves assigned to an elite unit to get Infantry Command on their resume. They came, and they went. It was our NCO's that were golden. Nearly all had been to Viet Nam, and knew what serious shit looked like.
Our Platoon Leader was an E-6 looking to make E-7. Nam vet, Ranger qualified, Airborne, Air Assault, etc., etc., etc.

Meanest spic I've ever known. He gave no quarter, and asked for none. We loved him. The dirtiest joke I ever heard was one he told. He could spot a loose helmet chin-strap in the back of a formation, and we cleaned our weapons twice so as to not incur his wrath. He was famous for having a hapless soldier clean every weapon in the arms room before getting released, all the while threatening them because they made him miss dinner, and telling them lurid stories about guys he had known in combat who had come to no good end because of a dirty weapon.

One time, because we had pissed him off for a big brawl we had gotten into with another company on Friday night, he came into the barracks early Saturday morning, went to our area (on the third floor) and went up and down our hall banging two garbage can lids together like cymbals, hollering for us to fall in.

We staggered out, rubbing our eyes, and he gave us our orders: We were to get into full BDU's, and then completely disassemble our rooms, take them outside to the parade deck of our building, and reassemble everything perfectly, in the same order according to squad, perfectly spaced, get it ready for his inspection, then the squad leaders were to report when they were done.

I forget how long he gave us, but it wasn't very much, and then he pulled out a stopwatch, and said "GO!" We went.
We failed the first inspection. We ran it all back upstairs and put it in our room. There was an inspection up there. Many gigs. So we ran it all back downstairs. Passed the inspection, ran it all back upstairs, passed that one, then went beck to the parade deck and fell into formation.

The captain finally showed up around noon, with an officer's club breakfast still likely on his breath, and gave us a rousing speech about how proud he was of us to have gone to the defense of one of our own the night before, pip pip, an all that. Our platoon sergeant obviously agreed with him. Sometimes you can just tell. You learn a lot about someone when you sleep with them.

Maybe I'll tell you some other stories sometime about how he used to take us at night out into the dark, and teach us things.

I'm tired of this, right now.

Batman 2: A Review...

2008-08-03T11:50:00.000-07:00

I don't think I could write a review as good as this one from Roger Ebert. But he puts in spoilers, I do not. I think a good reviewer makes you want to see the movie, does not grandstand, and relies on the trust of his readers that he has made good decisions in the past, and that you should see the movie in question, or not waste your money. I simply do not go see certain kinds of movies, and freely admit I am not qualified to review them. 'Sophie's Choice' and 'The English Patient' come to mind.

That being said, my only regret about 'The Dark Knight' is that I cannot afford to go see it again. And again. And again. It comes perilously close to knocking out 'Hellboy 2' from my Favorite Movie of the Year spot, but H2 has so much magic and wonder woven through it, it is still on top. But still, Batman comes very close. Very, very close.

A very dark movie, I would not take a child of mine under 17 to see it. For the very first time, I truly regret the death of that 'Brokeback Faggot' Heath Ledger's death. I can't imagine who they will find to play The Joker in subsequent films. His was a bravura performance, and while I put no stock in Oscars, he will win one, posthumously. And set the standard for all screen villains to try to reach in the future.

Michael Caine should win one, as well.

This movie was so well written, it nearly made me weep with jealousy. I lost track of the plot twists in the first 30 minutes, and just laid back and enjoyed it. It is not often I jump in my seat, and say to myself 'Whoa! Didn't see that one coming!' I bet I did that a hundred times yesterday.

And I know the Batman Universe inside and out. I have read the comics all of my literate life.

If you do not go by yourself to a matinée and see this movie, part of your soul will die, and you will be incomplete as a human being.

Fascinating...

2008-08-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh, the things you learn here.

I love this stuff.

Friday Ass...

2008-08-01T09:57:00.000-07:00

Stay Away From My Food...

2008-07-31T10:10:00.000-07:00

If I joined you at your table and started helping myself to bites from your plate, how would that make you feel? What if you went to take a bite, and I slapped the fork out of your hand? What if I changed your entire order, and gave you only the food I wanted you to have?

And yet you allow the government to do all this and more to you at every level of your life. Oregon is passing a bill today that will make bicycle helmets mandatory for every adult. First they came for the children, and that was such a success, they are now doing it to all of us. California has banned transfats in the entire state. And there is no credible evidence that they do any harm. And while that statement may be debatable, the government has removed all chance of that, now.

It is getting harder and harder to 'live off the grid'. When the police get paid from the fines they get when they write a ticket, when a neighbor will call the authorities and report you for cutting down a tree in your own yard, or for spanking your child, the places where you won't get bothered become harder and harder to find. And don't even try to sit out in the middle of a lake and fish, while you drink a beer.

Better have a license for that fish, and leave that beer at home. You could lose your boat, your trailer, your pick-up, and a lot of money. Or even your life, since the boat-pigs are the cops who couldn't make it on the street. And he's got at least sixteen of his friends with him in the magazine well of his pistol.

Don't worry if you're an indian, though, you can machine-gun a whale and drag it to the beach where your tribe will whack it up, and then go dynamite fishing for salmon, fill your boat with them, and take them back to your American taxpayer-built fish-processing plant, and let the illegal alien workers process them for distribution and sale while you and your buddies go get drunk.

What a country we have become. We are no longer 'on the way there'...

We are there.

It's Just Another Miracle...

2008-07-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

No big deal.

Have you ever noticed how a succession of routine miracles can make you a tad blase'? Do you think any of the Apostles walked over to Jesus with a cup of water and said 'Ahem!' and the Lord waved his hand and made it into a fine Merlot, and the Apostle went back over and resumed his conversation as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary?

Well, I Praised the Lord today, I'll tell you. I have this little work truck, that I haven't driven since the last time I worked. It has been sitting out front, taking up a parking space, rotting (two tires have gone flat, and all are unsalvageable...) and it doesn't have a battery, the inside of the cab is mildewed, and I had the registration out since I was going to call the junkyard to come haul it off.

And this afternoon, while the wife was at Hellboy 2 (she loved it) Nat was watching one of her Cinderella DVD's, and the DVD player up and died. And we are broke. Rent paid, bills paid, and flat-ass broke.

And then the wife gets home from the movie and getting a haircut, and notices a note flapping under the windshield wiper of my piece of shit truck. She brings it in, and reads it to me. Someone wants to buy it, and wants to know how much we want for it.

My first reaction is 'Fuck! Just give it to him!' The wife, having some Jew blood in her, begins to bargain and scheme. Which got me to thinking...hey, we can get a nice DVD player for around $50. She said $75, and I said whatever. So she dug out the paperwork, called him, and he came right over and signed the bill of sale, and brought out a $100 bill. The wife said she'd have to go get change, and he just waved his hand, and said 'keep it'.

Well, she does have really nice tits.

Anyway, thanks again, God, for your undeserved favor. And the new DVD player.

Amen.

The Goddess Speaks!

2008-07-30T15:16:00.000-07:00

Go, and worship!

Once More, Without Feelings...

2008-07-30T13:02:00.000-07:00

Okay, I am writing this for myself...and that is all you need to know about me, right there.

When I cry, I am crying for myself. Not for you, or anything that has happened to you. And no, I am not a selfish person. I am a very giving, loving caring person. If it makes me happy to be so. I could also sit in one of your kitchen chairs, and watch you bleed out, because I had new tennis shoes on. As I eat a yogurt I got from your fridge.

Unless it benefited me somehow to save you. Even if it was just the simple fact that it made me feel good to do it. But you owe me some tennis shoes, fucker.

I actually hope that you 'don't get it'. Oh, I attract the odd psychopath here and there who enjoy 'fessing up'. They think they've found a 'kindred spirit' in me. People like me use people like them as thralls.

God made me, and it amused Him to leave a few vital parts out. I have had to attempt to jury-rig those parts, and through trial and error, I would like to think that I am very close to becoming a real boy. It is kinda like attempting to build a complex machine when you have lost the manual and the instructions. I have had more failures than successes.

The wife has become pretty good at reading me.She knows just before the shit hits the fan, it is on its way. She steps behind me, puts her little birds under her wings, and waits for me to unleash hell. Usually, the reptile part of whomever's brain warns them that here, here there be dragons. Usually.

If they don't, well...

The first time I ever saw one of those movie slo-mo CGI and bullet-cam scenes, I said to myself "Hey! I never even met any of these dickheads!" Because that is exactly what happens to me. A lot of people have told me that I write violence realistically. Uhhhh...guess why?

The room goes silent. I can see and hear everything. The drawn knife makes a snap as the clip becomes free of the pocket, the snap of a sheath opening...oops, bad news. Big knife in play. The slithery sound of a pistol being drawn, the less sound, the shorter the barrel, and the likelihood that the shooter shoots and carries a lot. Time to stop, drop, and roll.

Blam! That sound is gonna startle everybody in the room. Except me. Did you hear the sound of an ejected cartridge hitting the carpet? Or clinking on the linoleum? I'd rather deal with a (likely El Cheapo) auto pistol than a revolver...roll towards him as fast as you can, roll your body into his shins, reach up, grab the waistline of his pants with both of your hands, and pull him forward. As he hits the floor, spin over him like a wrestler, and decide which way you want to kill him. Just make it quick. There are other assholes alive in the room.

At some point, time will start again, so you will know that you are done.

Well, I'm boring myself, so I'll stop right here.

A Slight Correction...

2008-07-30T12:02:00.000-07:00

I wrote Monday about how the wife and I were going to watch 'Serenity'. Well, we didn't get around to it until last night. After I whined. No, when I brought up the subject last Monday evening of what we were gonna watch, I gave her the choice, of course, and she came at me out of left field with the request "Can we watch 'Shaun of the Dead?"

Do I have an awesome wife, or what? She bought me the DVD for my birthday, and it hadn't even been opened yet, and she pours herself a couple of shots of whiskey over ice, unwraps the DVD, loads it in, and we sit and drink whiskey and watch a zombie movie together! Is that great, or what?!

And then when it is over, she goes to the menu and chooses the extras we're gonna watch!

I think she's a keeper.

Hellboy 2...(A Review)

2008-07-30T11:42:00.000-07:00

This is easily the best movie I have seen all year, and for pure enjoyment, it has joined my top five favorite movies of all time. And I have likely seen more movies than you have had hot meals.

I really, really loved the first Hellboy, and the sequel is easily a thousand percent better, and that's saying something. The wife is going this afternoon to see it. She has learned that when I say go to a movie, she should go to the movie. Nattie loves Hellboy, and we watch it together every time it comes on cable. I would take her to see #2 in a heartbeat.

As usual, post spoilers in the comments, and taste oblivion.

And get your ass out to a theatre and see this movie. Fuck Batman.

Sad, But True...

2008-07-29T09:30:00.000-07:00

Is It NBA, NFL OR another group of people?

36
Have been accused of spousal abuse

7
Have been arrested for fraud

19
Have been accused of writing bad checks

117
Have directly or indirectly
Bankrupted at least 2 businesses

3
Have done time for assault

71,
Repeat
71 cannot
Get a credit card due to bad credit

14
Have been arrested on drug-related charges

8
Have been arrested for shoplifting

21
Currently
Are defendants in lawsuits, and

84
Have been arrested for drunk driving
In
The last year

Can
You guess which group of people this is?

Give
Up yet? .. . Scroll down,

Neither, it's the 435members of
The United States Congress

The same group of Idiots that crank out hundreds of new laws each year designed to keep the rest of US in line!

Achieving Serenity...

2008-07-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

The wife is putting the brats to bed. John fucked around with her camera phone, and deleted every photo on it. Nat took a dive in the 9th round outside, and hamburgered her knees and elbows, and is acting like a wounded veteran of Flanders. And I have no patience for idiocy. I have been alternately tormenting her with the promise of amputations, and him with the fact that he deleted all of the photos of several of the best days of his life.

And the wife and I will go downstairs and watch 'Serenity' when she finishes putting the retards to bed.

All kids are retards until they can legally drink. And then they are just stupid for about ten more years.