Christmas, the Season that Finally stops Giving!

Poor Jesus of suburban Nazareth, born in an zoned commercial district in Bethlehem, lo these many years, on a date that will forever be disputed in history. All these parties in His honor and He never gets invited. (Did you know that there was once a calendar year that was 455 days long? They'd forgotten to factor in leap days for a number of decades and so they stuck them all into one year, so how the hell do you figure out birthdays in the years to come; it'd be like having February 29 through February 135. People born February 133, 1208 would never have another birthday in their lives!)

People who are saved through the auspices of the divine Jesus are saved for every day of the year. People who buy other people gifts for opening on 12-25 of each year are simply captive of a fairly recent tradition, artfully engineered by crass commerce.

Like having to buy the bride a diamond engagement ring... Oh, sure, like that's in the Bible! But try to find even a good Christian female who will tell her groom not to buy a stupid, useless diamond (you know what kind of exploitation goes on in getting that diamond ring onto her finger?), and to instead buy her a bread machine, if there's enough left over after he buys a new set of extremely useful and necessary set of golf clubs. You know how many such glorious women exist? You can count such a glorious being on one finger of one hand, my wife! (Hosanna, excelsior!)

So now here it is, the 26th of December. As a Lazthiest, and not a all interested in Salvation, whether it be through Jesus of Nazareth or Tiger of NikeGolf, I'm happy that Christmas Day is behind me. I won't think about Christmas or Jesus, other than intellectually, should someone insist on knowing the exact date of his birth or of having personally met Him, until well into November. And only then to do another rant about X-Me$$.

Blessed be my name, Hey Men, let's golf.

Scum-sucking Republican false advertising ...

Here's a comment to a recent post:



What else could an ordinary, testosterone-driven, hunk 'o male humanity, who happens to think he writes deathless prose do but feel a bit puffed up his pride upon reading this comment?

Naturally, such an individual clicks, post-haste, on her name to visit the profile of this obviously intelligent, well-read, fellow human being with a complimentary set of genitalia and secondary sexual appendages, in order to hopefully beginning establishing 'rapport' ...

Here's what one sees upon clicking through:



Fulltiltpoker.com can kiss my royal brown ass!

Helpful House full Hints

We have a simple four bedroom house. My mother-in-law, an invalid, lives with us. So we've become accustomed to three people living here, plus 1 dog and 1 cat.

Now it's Christmas vacation, and our two boys are home. But beating them here were Liz's two sisters, one of whom brought a husband. The husband and wife brought their dog, the other sister brought her two cats. Each of the sisters has their kids either here or coming. Last night 14 people slept here. The toilets never stopped flushing!

On Christmas Day the 14 will be joined by five more. Four others had been slated to show up, but have backed out. They showed excellent sense.

Helpful hints? I have none. If I drank alcohol, I might...

If I were an only child (and I am) I would marry an only child! (Obviously I didn't. Who knew?)

It's supposed to rain tomorrow, so golf may be rained out. But we're playing on Friday. And maybe on Saturday, too!

I hate Christmas.

Have a wonderful Winter Solstice Bacchanalia!!

The L word, as celebrated in joyous song

I'm in love. Almost without exception, there hasn't been a day in my life when I didn't love myself. Some of the nights were a little hazy, but I'm crystal clear on the fact that in the direct light of a harshly illuminating Sol, I've always loved myself. (I'm a Sol man!)

Which is why I enjoy love songs. Here's some of my favorites:

"I love you more than words can say but I'd love you more if you lit a match after you took a dump just before I have to shower."

"Love is strange but it's got nothing on what you served for dinner last night under the heading of ratatouille."

"I've been drugged by love and been calling in sick to work four days in a row just to keep you from getting dressed."

"Baby, since you left me, my love is like a Black Hole drowning in Dark Matter stuck in 11 dimensions of pain."

"When you said you loved me, at least I didn't faint, like when you told me you were pregnant, two days after we first juiced it up and you climbed down my May Pole."

"Our love will dance the hully gully forever and a day because my grasp on reality is tenuous at best, oh baby."

"Maybe I've never known what love was or what it could do, but Lord, have you got great knockers!"

"Love spurts."


What are some of your favorites?

Itchy, Twitchy Fingers, wanting to have fun...

I've been blogging at another location, under another name, using a completely different personality. It was like compulsive-obsessive behavior, but voluntary. If I could explain it, I wouldn't be writing back here again. But I am. If you have an explanation, I'll be happy to hear it.

My golf game went totally south after I stopped blogging here. Chicken/Egg? I haven't the slightest. But my game has come back, so I am not looking for any explanations.

I recognize that my faithlessness to this blogspot was the result of my involvement in political discussions at yet a third blog site, within a community of people I've been 'linked' with since all the way back to the last century! I just happened to be the only died in the wool, old guard Republican in the bunch and I got all involved in the discussions of who has a bigger dick, a mule or an elephant. We just discussed it amongst ourselves, no one actually went looking for zoological websites.

I won no arguments, convinced none of my foes, changed no hearts and then lost the election. And my game went south.

So now I'm here again, with a great golf game, disgustingly healthy, barely making a living and dreaming of the day Sarah Palin rides to my rescue on her snowmobile. I'll jump on the back, wrap my arms around her middle, up close to her bouncing bosom, and she'll take me to far, far better place. I know that my wife will understand. Not to mention that I'll send for her once I find an apartment I think she'll like.

PETA and the Breast Pump

PETAns, the genuine ones, give all animals the status normally reserved to humans. Speaking of which, between maybe 1493 and ... now, some White Folk would only give human status to other White Folk. I read just the other day that during the building of the transcontinental Canadian railroad, X number of 'people' died, not counting the Chinese, who when it came to record-keeping, simply weren't tallied. So no one knows how many Chinese workers died in that construction, but none of the guesses are under four figures.

It's unfortunate for their reputation, but there are so many records of how shabbily the British treated all their subjects whose natural skin tone was a shade or two darker than antique white, or that old Crayola color, "flesh". I wonder which country would like to come forward now to admit that it was their ancestors who came up with the phrase, sub-human?

So with that as an intro, I think I have shown that I'm down for the struggle.

But replacing cow's milk in ice cream with human milk, often called breast milk, as if that makes it more special (it does!) is icky. Unless I can somehow wrangle a job as an inspector. But that could very well make me blasé about the female bosom. I really don't want to lose my appreciation for any part of the female form.

So I'm now I've reasoned myself into a position of being totally against PETA cow's milk in frivolous food products with human breast milk. I didn't hear the entire presentation, so I don't know why PETA is promoting this idea, or what PETA expects the cows to do with the extra time they have because they don't have to produce so much milk. Pilates? Blogging? Continuing their education?

But I bet milk from the Swedish Olympic bikini team would be so, so creamy...

Sheila222, if you're reading this, I'm sorry!!

This very nice, warm, cuddly, heterosexual female on another blog site asked if she could read my personal blog. Naturally, because she was heterosexual and breathing, the last thing in the world I wanted was for her to see anything that might take me out of the race for sperm donations to her bank vault. Yes, she lives as close to the Atlantic as I do to the Pacific and yes, we're both happily married, but a person as uncertain about the future as I am doesn't like to too hastily rule things out. If there's one thing one should learn in life, it's that one never knows what one's future holds...

And so, Ms. Sheila222, if perusal of my blog reveals anything that in your mind irredeemably takes me off the table, sexually speaking, I didn't mean it, it was just a joke, it was just me trying to get a rise out of Pistols, but not that kind of rise, because he does nothing, NOTHING, for me sexually.

Phew!

The same goes for all you skirts... Which I mean in the nicest possible way, because when I was growing up girls had to wear skirts to school. BYU, my alma mater, didn't allow women to wear anything on campus BUT skirts & dresses, and the hem of the skirt had to touch the ground when you were on your knees, which in Mormon-dom, can happen frequently. In my rule book, skirts MUST have at least 1.5 inches of skirt, but if all you want to wear is a belt, that's fine, too.

Thank goodness I took the time to explain things so as to remove all possibility of offending any female over the age of 18! (14 in Utah and Kentucky)

I'm Sure She has a Perfectly Good Explanation

I just can't imagine what it would be...



At least with the guy you can understand his priorities. Not to mention that he's made his dad's life a living hell for however long the marriage lasts, assuming his mother didn't fall over dead at the reception.

ATHEISTS for GHAWD !

I was invited to join a new organization and I've been involved in Rush Week activities. It's been a veritable non-stop flow of meetings and parties. I finally heard my first atheist prayer...

Oh, Emptiness, Oh, Great Non-Existent One, Hearer of Nothing we say, don't bother listening to our petition. We are gathered here for reasons of our own, having a good time. Please continue to butt out. This we say in my own name, amen.

I wasn't impressed. Too much fluff.

I'm back. Who knows when I'll get distracted again. I'm prone to flightiness. Once I spent a week in bed with a woman who needed a place to hide from her husband, totally forgetting that I had a job. I lost both. But luckily a new Jack in the Box opened and I got a cushy third shift position. I've kind of always been lucky/unlucky that way.

I didn't join Atheists for Ghawd. It was close, what with the list of rules you don't have to follow. But I hate being pinned down by lists and rules. So I'm still flying solo...

Rock Concert

Sunday evening all the gathered family drove a couple of miles up Highway 18 to

It cost the males $5 each to get in. The women all got in free. What does this say about which sexual organs are more valuable to commerce? And who am I to disagree?

The concert was bone jarringly, ear drum splittingly, individual-note-discernment impossibly loud. After .7 second of sound check I had begun the process of fashioning ear plugs. It takes a few seconds to make good ones, and I invested the time. Of those over 30 in our group, I was the only one without a headache when the performance was over. And we were way at the back.

All those under 30 had moved up closer so they could hear better.

Our boy seemed happy with his and the band's performance. And you know how it is with parents, we were just happy that he was happy, although I wouldn't have minded my $5 back.

The Forgotten Voter Bloc

There is a bloc of American voters who never get any press. No one really seems to be courting them: These potential voters are unregistered, disaffected, socially uncommitted single males.

Look around you: how many single males do you know who have campaign bumper stickers on their cars? Aren't there any number of single males you know who wouldn't surprise you by not being registered to vote? How many single males do you know who the day after Obama's acceptance speech were talking about having watched it? Isn't it true that you know some single males whose failure to vote on Nov. 8th would not surprise you?

These guys, and their numbers are incalculable because they either don't answer the phone or tell the pollsters that they're too busy, or pretend to be illegal aliens, have been ignored for years and years. No party courts them because no party, until now, has had anything these guys wanted.

So if McPalin beats O'Biden in November, it could be because enough members of this Forgotten Voter Bloc thought sexy Sarah was hot! They won't be pulling the lever for Republican politics; nope, they'll be voting for something personally fulfilling, substantially primal and overarchingly essential: a good looking woman with whom you could hold a interesting conversation while waiting to get it up again.

There are few things more exciting to a disaffected male than a hot looking woman who knows how to field strip, clean and maintain a her man's gun and will absolutely, positively have his baby... Sure she's whack for thinking the Humanity sprang into existence 6,000 years ago, but c'mon, with a rack like that, you gotta cut her some slack!!

Will there be enough of these disaffected males to put McPalin into the White House? Only time will tell, only time will tell.

And now back to you in the studio, Jane.

The Big Day is Here!

With our two boys home for the holiday, this morning's festive activities reminded us of all the special Labor Days we'd enjoyed as they were growing up, when Labor Day was still filled with magic and mystery for the little tykes.

And even though they think they're all grown up, you could still see a bit of eager whimsy in their eyes as they went to check on what Ol'Samuel Gompers had left them under the Anvil Tree. Now that they're older, they're hard to shop for. Roby got a subscription to Modern Feather Bedding and Andrew got the woolen union suit he'd been hinting at, to help him get through the cold, dank San Franciscan winter. Liz got me one of her 'treat me like a working girl' coupons and I got her a vibrating Pinkerton's baton...

Later today we'll sit down to the traditional Rump Roast of Scorpion, commemorating Gompers' ascension over Eugene V. Debs before WWI. And after dinner we'll drink union beer and sing union songs, but only the pre-Bono ones.

Then tomorrow I'll help Liz take down all the Labor Day decorations before I head out to work, reinvigorated and eager to face another year of organized Labor!

What a Holiday!

We have people here at the house from Rancho Santa Margarita, Adelanto, San Francisco, Long Beach, and Corona del Mar. La de dah... I wasn't invited, but I have access to weaponry, so they're afraid to ask me to leave.

But it's really not an issue because I'm holed-up here in my office. I have my computer, a TV, a bathroom and a table on which to keep a stock of comestibles. I don't have one of those little office refrigerators; that would enable me to totally isolate myself... One of the professionals in my life, the dog-groomer, says I should not cut all my ties with the people I live with, and I tend to agree, what with me being mildly addicted to sexual congress of the married variety.

This 'alone' time did give me a chance to watch The Simpson's Movie. My wife netflixed it for me. I liked it! I'm thinking of asking her to get me the first three Dirty Harry movies. Gosh, I remember how good watching them made me feel!

Tonight we're going to a concert. I guess it's a rock concert... It's at a bar/lounge/truck-stop/strip-bar here in Apple Valley. We're going because one of our sons is in the band. The band has existed for at least five years. He just got asked to join because they never could find a bass player who was a good fit..

(HOLY SHIT! I just watched the opening to Hope Floats! Totally by accident! That was some nasty crap to be flinging at people who just paid good money!)

I'll let you know how the band played. They have an ode to Pistols set, so that says a lot about how high their standards are...

The Quick Brown Blogger ...

Now is the time for all good bloggers to come to the aid of their country...

As a pioneer in the Blogosphere (Hell, I was blogging on my old Osborne 1, back in 1981!), I don't know whether to applaud or lament that by 2013 there will be 3.9 billion bloggers! Think of it, just a hundred million shy of 4 billion! Imagine trying to get some work done if you even wanted to read half of them each day! You'd have to give up one of your breaks!

You know what most religions don't have a position on: Is blogging of the Lord or of the Devil? Just like they mostly stay away from the issue of the internet itself. Oh, sure, they all use the internet, but there's no mention of the role of the internet when Jesus arrives to rule for a 1,000 years. Or if the Rapture is in anyway connected to your online history. I erase mine daily. I do not want to be convicted by my cookies!

You know how Ghawd is aware of the fall of every sparrow? And has the very hairs of your head numbered? Well, Ghawd also logs all your chat, He records every post you make, every comment you type... He even logs your typos, because they also say something about you! In fact, Ghawd is filming the ultimate reality show. There are IMAX cameras aimed at you right now!

But if we each have our own reality show, who sets the viewing schedule? Believe me, I'm the first to admit that my life, as a vehicle for attracting viewers, fails miserably. Ebert & Roeper might not be too negative about my reality show, but they'd definitely give it a thumbs down, in comparison to all the other shows they think you might like to watch.

Whose entire life would you pay to see?

(Swear to Bal, when I started, I did not foresee how this post was going to end up!! Which of course is EXACTLY how I've lived my life...)

Rush Limbaugh predicts ...

During the second hour of today's program (8-29-08) Rush Limbaugh predicted that critics of Sarah Palin would say that her decision to have the 'surprise' baby born in April of this year with Down Syndrome was expressive of her lack of qualification to be considered for VP of this nation. Of course this centers around our country's A/D: Abortion Divide. Her critics will say one thing about her not aborting the baby and her supporters will say it indicates just the opposite.

I have no information that bears on that explosive, contentious, divisive issue. Good luck America.

But I do have experience with "surprise" pregnancies. Liz and I went to a convention and I got tipsy on room-service champagne (She got WASTED!! Is there anything randier than hotel sex?) Well, we, too, had that baby and now he's a sophomore at SFSU, FU-OK?

So I'm betting she got pregnant right after she and her husband were flown to New York, put up in a fine hotel, and then they went to her Vogue photo shoot.



So although I am totally pro-abortion, and would without hesitation abort any baby I was carrying, she has my vote. Because no matter how pro-choice she is, she doesn't have the power to handcuff me and look me in a room for eight months. This is like the anti-Catholics who thought it all through and then went ahead and voted for JFK. It sounds explosive, but I truly believe, like gay marriage, it's really a non-issue. Both are here to stay, along with high school day care...

Hey, even if she does get elected, serves two terms, then is herself elected President, packs the 7th and 8th conservative Supreme Court Justices on the bench, gets Roe v. Wade overturned, and gets a constitutional amendment outlawing abortion, don't sweat it, I'll personally drive you to Tijuana, no charge.

We'll start with an Easy One ...

Which one of the folk below could always get a laugh with that patented wise crack: "Oh, I would just LOVE to touch your peepee!"?



Hmmm.... maybe it isn't that easy...

Cheap

There are definitely times when cheap is good. Like playing 'twilight golf.' There you are, the afternoon free, so you go the course and since it's after the start of 'twilight time' you get to play 18 holes for $12, walking. 75 cents a hole, people!! These bargains still exist! Talk about cheap!!

And then there's the other cheap. Like the dozen pens I got a Staples for just showing up with a coupon. 12 pens for free, and I was there going anyway! But how much is the aggravation worth in trying to get them to write?

And then the half-off printer toner that crapped out in less than a month, and the complimentary condom that broke and now I'm a dad again...

But then there's the 99¢ Store! They have Sangria Senorial, the two liter bottle, for 99¢! You can't get it for less than $1.79 at the regular Mexican stores! But then they balance it out with the 99¢ window washer fluid that looks just like Windex, but turns out to be just blue colored water.

The candidate who promises to create a Department of Honest Cheap Deals will get my vote.

(One thing worse than a cheap deal that turned out to be no good: an expensive deal that turned out to be no good.)

I sane, We sane, Usain Bolt

I submit to you that Usain Bolt is a better fast runner than Michael Phelps is a fast swimmer.

If the Olympics had eight races Bolt could have run in, he would also have eight gold medals. And none of the races would have been close. There would be gaps between Bolt and second place long enough for Pistols to make love ... twice.

How come running doesn't have...?

100 meter backwards race
200 meter backwards race
100 meter sideways race
200 meter sideways race
400 meter medley backwards/sideways race

Add these to the Olympic racing menu and Bolt would absolutely look far and away the better performer.

You think a lifeguard does a medley of strokes when he or she is trying to save a swimmer? Anything but the free-style is a freak of let's-have-races-with-sillyass-strokes-so-coaches-and-human-aquariums-can-make-more-money nature. Although there will always be a place in my heart for the breast stroke...

This post is not intended to take anything away from Phelps, except the White, Euro-centric aura of invinceabilidility. (c'mon, invincebilidility is an awesome word!)

I don't have this problem, but I want to be tested...

There's a male sexual stiff upper lip advertisement that has this line (Why are there so many of these during golf? As a golfer, am I supposed to be impotent and in need of financial advice?):

"Ask your physician if you're healthy enough for sexual activity..."

As Ghawd is my witness I cannot believe that any man ever asks himself this question. Sure, I can see a guy holding the top of his underwear open, looking down and asking his dick, "are you up for this?" But no guy stands in front of a mirror, looks himself in the eye and asks, "Am I healthy enough for sexual activity?" After all, he's breathing, right?

Even the fact that most of us know what happened to Nelson Rockefeller doesn't deter us.

But then the question arises, if I suspect that I'm not healthy enough for sexual activity, what kind of tests are involved and will my health insurance pay for a licensed prostitute to administer them?

And if there are neither insurance policies nor prostitutes available in my area, how much for a franchise?

Advertising molds America

Advertising works. That's all you need to know.

If America's best advertising people would take the requisite cuts in pay and good times to serve in state and national elected offices, we'd have huge tax cuts, a VAT tax replacing income taxes, popular wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Georgia, Iran, Darfur, Mexico and Canada would be invading us in hopes that we'd conquer and take them over, and a zero-balance national debt.

Where's my proof? Look in your cupboard, refrigerator, closet, garage and heart...

Wouldn't we be better off with these people working for us instead of against us?

Yesterday was all about Golf

Except for the time spent at the CHP and the DMV.

The CHP is the California Highway Patrol. While I was there on very mundane business of my own, a guy came in to talk to a CHP officer. A staff person told him that person was off that day, would be back today and Friday, and would then be on vacation for the entire month of September. I was kind of stunned. What with all the state holidays they get, CHP officers get about as much vacation as a President of the United States. PLUS they get overtime! And they get to shoot people!!

At the DMV I watched unhealthy looking American women being totally in charge of what you do and where you stand for the next half-hour of your life. But having that kind of power didn't seem to make them any happier than the average prison guard or jailer.

Today it's office work and playing on the internet. One is more profitable, one is more fun. Why can't I bill you by the blog?

The Naked Picture

At some point in time a tiny portion of the world's population will finally be able to sit in front of its HDTV and watch the Showtime or HBO presentation of THE BILL & HILL STORY.

I just hope that when the time comes it's with full frontal nudity. Especially their college years... Oh, yeah, and Bill's years between age 14 and, oh... about 70. Talk about a legacy!

How many years into the marriage do you think Bill finally learned to tune her out? I'm guessing he hasn't really heard a word she's said since three days into the honeymoon. Well, that's how I'd write his character... See, I'm all for gritty realism.

Equal Time Doctrine ...

Yes, yes, yes, the Showtime/HBO presentation of "DUBYA W-III" will star Cheech & Chong as President Bush and Vice President Cheney.

Amateurs Rule!

A guy who writes a column and is paid for it said something today that tickled my fancy ... ass. I'm going to paraphrase him so as to make it more palatable to the urban tongue. That's you guys, hip urban tongues.

If an ordinary citizen could order a book from Amazon, read it and then successfully take out a loved one's appendix, we probably wouldn't have much respect for surgeons.

But if an ordinary citizen gets a book from Amazon, reads it and then home-schools her kids and they win spelling bees and get into good colleges, we hire more school teachers and school administrators, increase their pay, raise even more money for schools via bonds and taxes and just generally wring our hands in despair that we can't get a certain segment of school age kids to be interested in school.

So what do amateur school teachers know or do that professional school teachers don't know or don't do?

No Charge

Information/Knowledge is good stuff. It are good stuff, too, when there's more than one of it.

There has probably never been a time when Information/Knowledge (I/K) couldn't be exchanged for whatever the local currency was. I/K is big business right now. HUGE business!! People to the right of you, people to the left of you, people above you, people below you, are all paying MONEY for I/K! Greenbacks, gelt, wampum, dinero, pacino... Even just sitting there sipping your double latte diet Coke, you can easily think of I/K that you could sell for enough to retire quietly to your very own island nation, where the UN won't let anyone under 18 live or visit.

But here's a bit of I/K I'm giving away for free. Most bloggers, because we are wordy bastids, always eager to get a word in edge-wise, will have no use for it; we've evolved beyond the need for this. But pass it along to someone else who might need it. And no fair charging!!

This I/K is for people who have trouble conversing. You've got the attentive look down, with the 'good eye contact' thing working for you. But when the other person stops talking and gets this expectant look in his or her eyes (or eye, because of that accident with an engorged male member) and you know you're supposed to say something, but there's nothing there, for any number of reasons, some of them your fault, some of them not, here's what you say and do:

"I've got two words for you..." And then pick two words that are somehow connected to the topic the other person was going on about. Like "Tropic Thunder" if the subject was movies, or "Elvis Presley" if the subject was music, or "repeatable experiment" if the subject was nuclear fusion or the female orgasm.

Now if you weren't paying close enough attention to know what that subject was, then just say, "Barack Obama." And raise one eyebrow and smile.

If the other person enthusiastically starts talking again, you're home free. If the other person looks at you quizzically, sneer and turn and walk away; you're no worse off than you were before you said it.

Caveat: This can work with a spouse, significant other or sexual target, and is worth the risks involved, but never try this with your employer!

JoBama® !!

One of my favorite people in the world used this this morning in a blog. Brilliant, isn't it? I was SOOO green with envy!

McRomney doesn't have the same pizazz.

Despite the brilliance of JoBama®, I shan't be voting for that ticket, what with the felonies piled up higher than the delinquent tax notices and the child support demands from the DA's office. I'm sure to be otherwise engaged on 11-04-08, judging by recent activity on the Megan's Law website.

And anyway, I'm a Republican. Have been ever since I discovered how uptight Republican women are, and what a sense of accomplishment there is when you get their clothes off.

Which brings me to the real point of this post: Are there disagreements in Heaven, or is it totally Kumbaya for all time and eternity?

You know how fun it is to talk someone into doing something your way? Especially if the other person is an object of your sexual desire? You know that rich, rewarding feeling you get when someone who is being a turd steps in one? Are there religions out there saying that some of life's biggest thrills will never come to pass again?

Well, I have only one thing to say to people who think like that: JoBama®!

UN-FREAKIN'-BELIEVABLE !!!

Unbelievable doesn't even begin to state the case!

NAMBLA is changing their name to TWEMBLA, The Whole Earth Man Boy Love Association.

They've done this because they've purchased an island in SouthEast Asia and are forming their own nation, to be called Pedofilia. The new citizens of Pedofilia will be issued passports identifying themselves as Pedofilians, entitled to all the rights, powers and privileges guaranteed by the new Pedofilian Constitution. They are going to have contests to select a flag, name the capital, design stamps, name their currency and their NFL team.

Hey, hey, hey, don't get mad at me! I'm just reporting the news, hard though it is to believe.

Fortunately there is a movement afoot in the United Nation to declare that no one under the age of 18 can live in Pedofilia. Boy, are the Pedofilians pissed!

The Magic Bullet to my Heart

Yum, yum, yum!

I've been experimenting and I think I've hit on the perfect smoothie.

That's all. I just wanted you to know.

Hey, I gotcher Nuance righ' here ...

Nuance: ˈnü-ˌän(t)s, Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Middle French, shade of color, from nuer to make shades of color, from nue cloud, from Latin nubes; perhaps akin to Welsh nudd mist
Dates to 1781

1 : a subtle distinction or variation
2 : a subtle quality : nicety
3 : sensibility to, awareness of, or ability to express delicate shadings (as of meaning, feeling, or value)
4 : a software company, most noted for Dragon NaturalSpeaking
5 : a Norwegian perfume famous for it's sexy cod fragrance
6 : a theater on Santa Monica Blvd., in WLA, famous for spelling nuance without the 'nce' and substituting 'rt' instead, which is only the beginning of their pretentiousness

McCain is blunt and in your face; things are black or white. Obama has nuance, things have layers, there are considerations to be made, he smells like cod.

Okay, the last four words were totally uncalled for, a cheap shot. But this is how America practices its politics.

You know how cops have to go to the range to keep in practice and the SWAT cops have these complicated exercises? Yeah, me too.

We need the two candidates, and their staffs, to go on Wipeout! No, McCain and Obama don't have to run the gauntlets, but it'd be great to see what their staffs are made of, all those high priced concept guys and gals running around in their high priced clothes that just have to cost more than $100 for each suit! Are they nuts! And the candidates would be commentators, so we could see and hear how they react to highs and lows and guys getting punched in the 'nads...

You can tell a lot about a person by the people with whom they surround themselves.

(yeow! what does that say about us?!)

In any event, this coming election doesn't really matter if you don't know someone in either party who can get you a job if that side wins. Politics is patronage. My advice? Don't stop your daily plodding and apply nuance lightly behind the ears and in your decolletage, them's what have'em.

What's the One Thing in the World you don't want ANYONE to know!!

Seriously, you're probably harboring a memory of something you said or did (actually, 'said' would fit under 'did' but you good meter improves the reading experience) so horrific, so damning, that you'd pay a decent amount of blackmail to keep others from knowing about it.

Well, I'd like to know about it. Not because I want to blackmail you! I'm way to lazy and lack ambition; not bragging, just stating a fact.

So let it out!

Here, I'll lead off, because my batting average is .388 and I'm leading the league in stolen bases:

When I was 13 I stole a dry cleaning van and drove to the Las Vegas Strip, a distance of about four miles; I was living in Las Vegas at the time. I drove into valet parking at the old Thunderbird Hotel and left the van idling there and walked down to the Sahara where I caught the bus to 5th & Bonanza and walked six blocks home. (Years later 5th St. was renamed Las Vegas Blvd., but not for any reason related to this story.) There wasn't anything in the paper the next morning, but the following morning there were HUGE stories in both the Sun and the R-J about "Dry Cleaner's Van Left Idling in Valet Parking Area of Thunderbird Hotel!!" The story said the police had finger prints.

Because those fingerprints are still sitting there, with some cold case detective waiting to match them up one day, I have never allowed my fingerprints to be taken. It hasn't been easy being me...f

Okay, you're turn!

Either it does or it doesn't . . .

If you were raised one way, this photo turns you off. If you were raised like I was, this photo is a total turn on. Right now I am dreaming of me and Liz in a secluded inlet on Lake Mohave for four days, Monday through Thursday, in mid-October. I'm a very, very simple soul.

And this isn't a value judgment; my way is NOT better than your way. It's just a lot less complicated.

Immortality!

Send me $14.99 and I will name a city after you. But hurry, because the really neat cities will go fast!!

I know it sounds crazy, but for just $14.99, in check or money order made out to Bert Bananas, LLC, I will white out the name of a city on a large map and then carefully ink in YOUR name! Or the name of a RELATIVE or LOVED ONE!!

And I will register every and every change of name on a big yellow legal pad and as each page fills up, I will send that page to the LIBRARY of CONGRESS, where it will be preserved FOREVER, or until the end of time!

BUT WAIT!! There's more!! I will email you a .jpg of YOUR NAME handwritten on my map, for you to print out at your own expense and then buy yourself a frame for that print and hang it in a place of honor in your home, so that everyone will see this piece of history and really appreciate just who you are!

If having a city named after you doesn't twist your kink, we'll find something that does! How about a sexual position named after you! Or a part of the anatomy!! This gift to you is made possible by the power of the INTERNET and my need to serve my fellow man.

HURRY! Operators are standing by!

Advanced Poemetry Distills the Olympics

Measured hics of a liquor’s stain touch my pulse,

But I’ve only been drinking since noon - of 1978;

The windows glaze at you with eyes of mercy.


Thirty years and you never checked the air

In the tires of my love and now the steel belt

Is showing through the rubber of my soul.


Paraguay and Uruguay still mean nothing.

The rent is due. Then you walk into the room

And I can’t breathe. Nature abhors a vacuum.


Full circle, four square, three on a match,

Two to get ready, won… No, I lost. You…

My ice screams shiver a fevered brow.


Then I awake, to find you warm and near,

Just like Emily, wherever I may find her…

But not the I - me, the he - me, Art Garfunkel.


Fishing with an internet, a site for soar ayes!

Gritty homonyms give no quarter. But as the ladies

Are all saying, whatever Phelps you through the night.

If Bush Invades Russia . . .

Unlike so many other commentators, I have absolutely no basis for an opinion about our current President's intelligence. Oh, I have an opinion, but I recognize that it's unlikely to be totally correct. No one could actually be that dumb.

Aw, that's not fair. Bush isn't all that dumb, at least not compared to _________. There, I said it and I'm not taking it back.

Could Bush get us into a land war in Europe with the Ruskies? Sure, but he's only got a couple of months to do it, if he's going to. You know he's asking himself, "Is America better off at war with Russia compared to having Barack Obama become President?"

How would you stage manage our entrance into a war with Russia? I think we've grown to be more sensitive and intelligent as a nation, so it's going to take more than a Gulf of Tonkin incident. Too bad we've got the "good guy" complex, where we tell the bad guy, "No, you draw first..." (See my remarks on innocence; innocence is not a successful Evolutionary strategy.)

You have to admit that decapitating the Russian Bear, so that all those regions dreaming of autonomy could have it, would be fascinating! Not to mention that it would leave the US without a 'natural enemy.' (Islam doesn't hate America, it hate's modern Americans. Russian dictator-types hate America because we resist world political domination, as opposed to world economic domination, which pays better and offers benefits.)

Many analysts, who seemingly know what they're talking about, say that Russia has never been stronger than it is today. The Georgian invasion is Mr. Boris K.G.B. Putin's way of agreeing with those analysts. With winter coming, Russia's power increases because of all the natural gas and oil they control.

If Bush becomes convinced that Putin is the new Hitler, and that Georgia was like Hitler's Czech takeover, and that the Ukraine will be like Austria, leaving Poland to be Poland again (it's a geographic thing, the Poles aren't to blame), Bush may decide (be told) that Obama is the new Neville Chamberlain, so that nipping Russia's world domination desires in the bud NOW will, over all, same more lives, then we could be at war before the Republican Convention.

But hey, I'm the guy who said that August of 2008 was going to see gloom, doom, financial catastrophe, a new Great Depression, Diet Coke at $9 a can and abstinence as the new morality, but so far all that's happened is that gas is now under $3.89 a gallon. Let's hear it for me being wrong again!

But to answer my own question: If Bush invades Russia, Nancy Grace will still be All Caylee, All the Time.

INNOCENCE

Innocence is an artificial condition. It doesn't exist in the wild. It's only use is in being taken. That's when it's most valuable, when someone spots it and decides to take it.

Innocence only exists when people who definitely aren't innocent shield uninformed humans from reality. Which usually requires money, or something else thought to be valuable. Religious people often work within a frame-work of quasi-innocence, where they know the meek aren't really going to inherit the earth, but they do their best to make the uninformed think this will be so.

The reason I know so much about innocence is because unlike the majority of human adults, I remember what it was like to be young and very, very uninformed. It's my experience that the majority of adults act as if they were born knowing everything. Not me.

I don't have anything against innocence. What you or I think about how some humans create situations where other humans are kept unaware of what douche bags the rest of us really are, isn't important or useful. Innocence is refreshing, and just like most things that are refreshing, an awful lot goes into creating and sustaining it. And it never lasts. But like when my wife puts on her old cheerleader outfit, you can have some fun faking it.

Ultimately, Some Things Do Matter ...

But it's unlikely I'd spend time thinking about them.

Like right now for instance...


If John McCain and Barak Obama waltzed together, who would lead?

If I go on an abstinence binge, can I OD on it?

How horny is Casey Anthony going to be when she finally gets out on bail?

How much would you pay to see a paint ball battle between Reille Hunter and Elizabeth Edwards? Who would BabyDaddy Edwards be rooting for?


How much would it cost me to get a program on my local cable access channel? How much more if it were tasteful?

There's more, but Nancy Grace has breaking news!

Guv's Thong Wish . . .

I sincerely hope that you'll excuse the hasty patch & splash job I did on the photo... Because if I'm anything at all, it's Mr. Sincerely.


Because what's important is the behind the scenes, under the carpet, over the rainbow investigation I've done. And me, a mere curb painter!

The first time I saw this photo on the Guv's other site, where her alter-eggo reigns, http://spacepie.wordpress.com/, I knew I'd be having bad dreams (or as Sigmund Phreud called them 'nighttime wild horses', which a thoughtful translator rendered into English as 'nightmares'). But I didn't. I slept like I was sitting at the right had of Ghawd in a nice faux-leather BarcaLounger and He was judging the damned and it got really, really boring and so I put a napkin under my chin to catch the drool and napped like there was no tomorrow, just eternity.

Anyway I am willing to testify, under oath, in front of any judge in the Grand Caymans, that the Guv thinks that the Fish is the 90 year old woman! (I almost wrote '90 year old chick' but fish and chicks don't go together.)

I'll leave it up to the jury to decide the case, but if she's found guilty, I call dibs on her sentence!

One Thing About Being a Guy ...

Okay, one thing about being a Straight Guy...

While we Straight Guys quickly learn that we don't need to get EVERY female in the world pregnant, we still want to try.

In fact, there's often as much joy in trying as in succeeding. And you can quote me.

I Want What's Best For Me-ism

IWWBFM (pronounced: I-wib-fism) is the way of the world. We're all born wanting what we want and wanting it NOW!

"Maturity" is word we use to describe what we do to try to work around IWWBFM. It's all so patchworky, make shift and in constant flux, as we try to get us enough of us to work together to make whatever we're calling 'progress' at that moment.

It's a lot easier in a dictatorial society: whatever the leader wants is what society gets. But once that silly 'governance by the consent of the governed' stuff started, we all had the chance to get cranky-pantsed about how things are going.

Elections are the poster children of IWWBFM. For instance, because I consider myself an Uncompassionate Republican, I want McCain to pick Mitt Romney as his VP, win the election and then to resign in dishonor (of whatever kind) in February of 2009. Mitt can then select Joe Lieberman as his VP and America can go stomp on Russia and Iran and establish 200 years of cheap gas, global warming Pax Americana.

Now here's the thing: I recognize that my daydream ought not to be binding on the rest of the world. I shan't deluge the blogosphere with diatribes about how anyone who disagrees with me is "wrong." Because there is no such thing as a wrong opinion. Okay, yes, there are uninformed opinions, but having one isn't a sin! And since no one can know everything, all any of us have are not-fully-formed opinions!

What's going to count are votes! Especially the illegal ones! Come November, after all the sturm und drang of the Presidential race is over, we'll be on a new course of action. If statistics can be relied on, a third of us will be basically happy with the new order, a third will be bitterly opposed to the new order and a third won't care all that much. Doesn't matter who wins, these stats are probably going to be accurate!

So here's my advice... Chill out. If you must, politely state your preferences; tell me, in measured discourse, why I should change my mind, so that I will do what you think is best for you, instead of what I think is best for me. (Yeah, fat chance...)

And if you're really quixotic, go into detail about what a shit-head I am for not agreeing with you. But it will immediately label you as unrealistic and a despot. And I shan't favor you with an offer of Sperm. Well, if you're a guy, I wouldn't have anyway. After all, what straight guy gives a rat's ass what another guy thinks?

My name is Bert Laztheist Bananas and I approved this message.

I'm Old Enough to Remember When You Didn't Have to Know Much or Do Much

As a Future Fossil of America, I am way old enough to remember how little a person had to know, or do, to get by in life. Was that a better time? How the heck would I know? I'm still doing my best not to know or do much.


I remember when there was only AM radio.

I remember when there was only 13 possible TV channels.

I remember when I only had one possible phone number. And if I couldn't reach a person by phone, I only had two alternatives, a telegram or a letter.

I remember when doctors made house calls.

I remember when there was no welfare. You youngsters can't even begin to figure out how that would work...

I remember when teachers and school administrators spanked kids to keep order in schools. If that didn't work, they kicked yer ass out.

I remember when pregnant teenagers (girls, for the most part) would go away, have the baby, give it up for adoption and then come back to school like nothing had happened.

I remember when getting a whittling kit for my birthday was the coolest thing EVER!

I remember when all a kid needed to have fun was a door to the outside.

I remember when retirement meant living with one of your kids.

I remember when you could cure whatever you caught from having sex.

I remember when sex was only face to face. Seriously, that's the way it was way back then!!

It boils down to me having to stuff more information in my brain on a daily basis than my grandparents had to store in their brains in a year. And I can't keep up! If you think you're keeping up, then you're not getting enough sleep.

B.C. Pills Cause Women to Choose the Wrong Guys!!

Certainly Pistols will take heart in this theory being put forth by British scientists, that birth control pills 'skew' women's ability to choose the right mates.

The theory goes that women have evolved the ability to 'sense' a good biological match, in terms of who should father their children. Birth Control pills have messed with this ability and so women aren't making 'good' choices! So they start humping with the wrong guys and things don't work out and they drop that 'wrong' guy, but then just end up with another 'wrong' guy!

Wrong guys have never had it better.

The consensus of the scientists is that women should stop taking B.C. pills until they get their 'sense' of mating back. The condom manufacturers who sponsored this scientific inquiry have stated that they are totally shocked and surprised by the results of the study...

What I Love About Me

Yeah, that's right!

CHINA LOSES FACE !!

Specifically the one on the right. She's the one you heard singing if you watched the O.G. opening ceremonies. But rather than have her buck teeth and plump-ish face mar the world's appreciation of Chinese culture and heritage, the one on the left was put on camera.

Eventually science will get to the point where it can accommodate really concerned parents by determining during the first trimester whether the baby will be born 'cute'. Uncute fetuses can then be aborted by those who prize cuteness above all else.

Which will then remove the need for lip synching and cosmetic surgery.

The Hunt for Bed October

... or How I prostated myself for money.

Yes, people do prostate themselves. Well, male people do. But you have to be able to trip the lithe fantastic.

I'm killing time until "The Big Bang Theory" starts at 8:00 p.m. PDT, on CBS. Yes, I know I've said I don't like things that are scripted, but this sit-com really is different. Okay, the only difference is that the characters are mainly geniuses. (The female lead has genius boobs.) I could go on but I don't want you to get your hopes up all that high. It is, after all, just a series of commercials interrupted by a 21 minute story.

A Boomer Retirement Reality Show

Many of you have Boomer parents who are either retired or getting ready to retire. There's a lot of interest in retirement, at least if you believe in the ads you see while watching golf on TV. And who doesn't believe TV ads?

Here's my primary thought about "retirement": It's not part of the evolutionary scheme of things. Evolution is all about the survival of the species. If anything, "retirement" works more against survival than it does for it.

But that's neither here nor there... What's important right now is that a decent show about Boomers, that attracted Boomer watchers, would be a ratings winner. Here are some of the titles that are rattling around in my brain pan:

Sun City Scandals

CSI The Villages

Dancing with Arthritis

Forgetting Alzheimer's

Don't Answer the Phone, it might be the Kids!

Fixed Income Follies

Viagra, the Musical

Prostate Confidential

Golf in the Time of Cholera, or, 100 Years of Golf

The Marriott Desert Springs Hotel & Spa is run by humans for humans, so things were up and down, which is what humans do best. Or most frequently.

That's me in the first photo and the view from my room in the second photo.




I never looked out at this view until I was leaving.








It was hot. And humid. 109 when we teed off on Wednesday afternoon. After we finally all dragged in, to shower and get ready for dinner, we then had the wonderful experience of walking out of the hotel and into the 101 degree darkness.

The next day it was cloudy and we got hit with a cloud burst. A cloud burst in 98 degree temperature. You get all wet and yet you're still hot.

I played terribly, but the price was right.

Two Days in Palm Springs

Spending August 6th & 7th in the Palm Springs playing golf makes really good sense on paper. Eight straight male golfers at a 5 star hotel with two rounds of golf for just $80 each is SUCH a bargain!! On paper...

It's going to be around 106 degrees and it's going to be humid. The temperature doesn't go down much over night. At least two of us will get heat stroke and puke and faint, not necessarily in that order. But at least the new life-saving procedures do NOT require mouth to mouth any more. Just the pumping on the chest thing, thank goodness.

Why are we doing this? Only a non-golfing male or a woman would ask this question. Which is fortunate, because I don't have an answer that makes the slightest bit of sense. I don't care about not having an answer for the non-golfing male. But if you're a female and you ask me this, I'll come up with something that tries to make me look good...

You know another thing that's not going to happen while we're golfing? We're not going to pee. Under those conditions, no matter how much you drink, you just sweat it all out and there's nothing for the kidneys to work with. Which is what helps cause kidney stones. But ever since I had my tubes widened, the stones just pass through without a problem.

I'll post some photos on Friday, so don't give up on the internet just yet, okay?

Welcome to August

I think this 31 day month is going to be exciting. If by exciting we mean that people are going to be screaming "Oh Shit!" a lot. But then again, October could even be more exciting.

I'd make some exact predictions, but then because they're mostly negative in nature, I don't want people to think that because I'd guessed correctly that I might have had some inside knowledge. There's nothing 'inside' about reading the handwriting on the wall.

You know that Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times"? Whether we deserve it or not (and we mostly do) we're going to get the interesting times.

A lot of what's going to be interesting is the ability we all have of staying in touch with what's happening. YouTube could be a major source of news, as well as entertainment.

If I'm wrong, how boring.

The Forefinger distains the Pinkie; the Pinkie doesn't care.

Fingers are very personal. Go ahead, look down at your hands. Marvelous, aren't they? Now straighten them so you can admire your fingernails. Okay, so maybe you don't like your fingers or your fingernails. Bad form, that; stop it!

You should find a way to like them. I love my fingers and fingernails. I love how muscular my fingers are. I love the arthritic lumps on the distal joints of my pinkies, I think they give me character. When creating the custom of extending one's pinkie while holding a demitasse of some expensive liquid, they had to be thinking of me and the the awesome impression I give at such moments.

The antipathy between the forefinger and the pinkie is simple to explain: When a guy is fighting for his life, he can use his forefinger to try to poke out/gouge his opponent's eye. Even if you've never had to do this, your forefinger knows this is one of the reasons for its existence. And naturally it takes pride in this fact. The middle finger and the ring finger are there to support the forefinger and so are hangers-on. Sort of like Draco Malfoy's young henchmen.

But the pinkie isn't a fighter, and this becomes the source of the antipathy.

Okay, I haven't mentioned the thumb... Shakespeare referred to human thumbs in Hamlet: "...and by opposing end them..." Thumbs are complicated and deserving of their own category.

So now to the punch line: It's been proven conclusively in numerous studies that each of us is like one of the five human digits. (Although it has not been ruled out that some people are like the big toe, and some, possibly more common than we'd like to admit, are like a hemorrhoid. But that's for another post.) Which finger are you?

Which is better/worse, Tolerance or Intolerance?

Personally, I don't have an answer. See, I don't have a horse in this race. There are things I tolerate and there are things I refuse to tolerate. I have my mind made up on these issues. But here's the thing: I made these decisions all on my own. Neither my parents nor any religion pre-programed me one way or another. At least not that I can decipher

Way back in the 1930s, Roman Catholic apologist Bishop Fulton J. Sheen said that the world was suffering because too many people were becoming tolerant of things that Ghawd said should not be tolerated. He was full of it.

Oh sure, I know things would be a lot easier if theists had absolute control; we'd all march to the same drum. And maybe we'd even be happier? We'd be be sheep, but if the meadows we grazed in were verdant, and our predators were kept in check, and we didn't know anything else, who'd be bleating?

But until Los Muslimistas take over, becoming a sheep is entirely voluntary. I've asked myself, who voluntarily gives control of his life to someone else? I have plenty of facetious answers, but since it's not a test, my answers aren't being graded.

The best thing you can do until Los Muslimistas take over is double-check the things about which you are intolerant; ask yourself, "Is this hatred really necessary?" Another important question would be, "Could I get laid more if I weren't so blatantly intolerant about __________?"

But then expressing tolerance towards child rapists and starvation in Darfur is hardly likely to ensure the continuation of your seed. Yes, it's easy to point to the extremes on either side of the continuum. But it doesn't take away from my point: it's more important to get laid than to voice opinions about things that don't really effect you.

The Night I was Tapped for Skull & Bones!

Everyone associates Skull & Bones with Yale. But unknown to the world at large, you can be attending ANY university or school of higher learning and get tapped!

It happened for me at BYU. Weird, huh? Ever since I'd first read about Skull & Bones in Doonesbury, I'd wondered if I'd ever be 'tapped.' At first I figured I'd immediately say, "In!" when tapped on the shoulder and asked, "In or out?"

But as the months and year passed, I began to think about it more dispassionately. Sure, it would be nice to be part of something way bigger than myself. But then it finally hit me, when you become part of something bigger than yourself, it owns you. But having already sold out to my testicles, I didn't want to be pulled apart by competing loyalties.

So by the time the 'tap' came, I was resolute and stalwart and I piped up loud and clear, "Out!"

Have I lived to regret it? No, because I keep some source of loud noise on constantly so I can't concentrate, much less even think straight. Which, of course, gives away the secret to my blogging abilities. But hey, if you can't violate yourself, who else is left?

Designer Vaginas

Drudge links to a story about the popularity of having experts redo tired, abused, your huddled mass, yearning to be free, or otherwise less than optimal vagina. I don't know a single woman who has had this procedure. Would they want you to know? It's probably not the same as getting implants and wanting the whole world to notice.

Off the top of my head, I only have a couple of things to say about designer vaginas:

Is there a catalog?

I didn't find any on Ebay

Do they attach a label, like Prada, during the procedure?

They probably don't come cheap

Here's a Point I'd like to gnaw on 'til it's Blunt and Useless

As many of you know who have slept with me, I don't like things that are scripted, other than sex.

Movies, a majority of books, Rap, Sit-Coms & Reality Shows are all scripted. So I don't have anything to do with them, except for The Big Bang Theory Monday nights at 8:00 p.m. (7:00 Central) on CBS. Oh yeah, it's totally scripted, but it's a haughty sort of low brow humor that one can take pride in. Plus Penny totally has nice boobs.

And so to my point: DiscoveryTV is good dadgum good watchin'.

Science is looking for the "God Particle", also called the Higgs Boson. Proving it's existence will shore up an already fairly stable Standard Model. One of the postulates of the Standard Model is that all matter is made up of 12 building blocks:
six quarks and six leptons.

The quarks are the 'up quark', the 'down quark', the 'charm quark', the 'strange quark', the 'top quark' and the 'bottom quark'.

The six leptons are the 'electron', the 'electron-neutrino', the 'muon', the 'muon-neutrino', the 'tau' and the 'tau-neutrino'.

So what, you ask? Just this: not one of them is mentioned, or even hinted at, in ANY religious writings existing prior to 1945.

Most people are more comfortable looking up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel for scientific guidance, or whatever it's Muslim/Buddhist/Hindu/TomCruiseian equivalent would be.

And why would a Ghawd create Black Holes and not tell anyone about them? You think He's pissed now that we figured out that every galaxy has one at its center?

Anyway, tune in with me next Monday night at 8:00 p.m./7:00 Central and pretend to pass me chips and an Old Milwaukee and I'll pretend to pass gas.

Grumbled Futures in Stock Market Dive

There have been any number of 'Empires' that lasted centuries. Americans have, as is usual with home team bravado, taken great pride in the 1776 - 2008 American Empire. But it's beginning to look like we're going to be starting our own British-like slide into former title-holder status. America will for quite a number of years to come still get a good seat at restaurants, just not the best seat. For many of us it's going to be hard to take.

What may have helped make us great (truly a very subjective finding) was our productivity. Just look what productivity is doing for China and India/SE Asia now.

There are probably a myriad of explanations about what made us great, but all of them pretty much ignore an essential part of our humanity: how dumb some of us are. The thing is, I think I'm preaching to the choir here. Would you have shot the last carrier pigeon? Would you have forced the Cherokee to self-migrate from Georgia to Oklahoma? Would you have killed a Black man who wolf-whistled at a pretty White girl? Would you have voted for Prohibition? A person could go on and on listing the mistakes America/Americans have made. You gotta love greed...

But even among 'good' people (another example of subjectivity running amok) we have our differences. For instance, I am not a fan of universal health care. My reasons for being against it include the likelihood that it will keep people alive who are better off dead.

Some of you are ardently Green. I happen to be ... what color are gas fumes?

And at this stage of our empire's decline, a huge segment of the vocal public is all caught up in the notion that we can vote our way through it, that the way we vote in November can change all of this! But what about the possibility that 'government' isn't the answer? What if government is the problem?

A bit of internet borrowing and massaging of data indicates that there are roughly 30 million employees/contractors/grant-takers/troops who live off of taxes. This is for all levels of American government. We're a nation of roughly 300 million. So every tenth person gets paid from taxes. When you factor in the unemployed, the disabled, children and old/retired people, what percentage of working Americans gets paid from taxes? Whatever the figure, it's too big. And no, I didn't count welfare recipients as people who live off taxes; I probably should have! This is a large part of the reason that the Social Security Ponzi Administration is dialed in for bankruptcy.

The one certainty that I can cling to is that at this point our inertia is way too big for any vote to effect it. We're totally going to get to where we're headed.

It's my belief (hope?) that the best way out of America's 2nd Great Depression is for anarchists to unite and save us all. But it's not going to be very pretty.

Penis/foot-in-mouth disease...

This isn't to say that homosexuality is a disease. It most certainly is neither a disease nor a life style choice. But like heterosexuality, one thing homosexuality is at heart, is a rich vein of humor.

So with that in mind, here's another headline that Drudge pointed me to: "Oral arguments set in Sen. Craig sex-sting appeal"

Is that ridiculous or what?!

Number one, anyone who has seen a photo of Sen. Craig will agree, he has no sex-sting appeal.

Number two, you just know that gays in toilet stalls are not orally arguing; the fact is that they're in total agreement!

(ha ha! Did you get it, "number one" & "number two"? Who says you need fame or money to be funny?)

Beware of this new Scam!!!

In the continuing run up to the Beijing Olmypics, there have been stories appearing in the media about the Gender Testing that necessity mothered into existence ever since Hermann Goering placed second in the 1936 Woman's shotput competition.

And as most scams do, this new one focuses on FEAR! Yes, the fear of failing your Gender Test.

But just like the fear of being hit by a meteorite, or of an earthquake striking just as you're beginning to change from the E/B I-105 to the N/B I-110 freeways in South Central, and having the 120' high transition road give way under you, so that your last moments on Earth are spent in free fall in a German car that's going to kill you just a quickly as the American car you could have purchased for $23,000 less, it's not likely to happen, although overpaying for the German car really did happen.

There is no need for you to purchase any books, paraphernalia or animal/mineral over the counter remedies to insure that you pass your test. The test now days is so sophisticated that even if you were born with both male & female external sexual apparatuses, (how fun must that be!) you'll be told which sexual trait is more dominant and allowed to compete in that sexual category.

Did you know that Gender Testing was part of Christian tradition, but then during the third century's (AD) Nicene Council, Gender Testing was rejected because the majority of the council was afraid that the Holy Ghost might test out female? Little known but absolutely true story!

And admit it: The Holy Ghost being a Broad explains a lot!

Only Pistols has the Guts to be Real . . .

I can't tell you the exact date of publication for this particular Calvin & Hobbes week day strip. But I can tell you that it voices an elemental truth, which to our discredit and Pistol's credit, only he has the courage to continue to pursue:


HOBBES: I hate it when it's windy.

CALVIN: You know what I hate? I hate when I'm talking and someone turns the conversation to himself.

CALVIN: (next panel) It's so rude! Why do they think I'm talking? It's so they can hear about me! Who cares what they have to say! If I start a conversation it should stay on the subject of me!

HOBBES: (next panel) (amazed look)

CALVIN: (next panel) I also hate it when people look at me all bug-eyed.

HOBBES: That must happen a lot.


The truth HAS set Pistols free! Or at least, significantly discounted...

Jerry Lewis in the News!

82 year old Jerry Lewis, famed French comedian, widow of Dean Martin and recent convert to Islam, is being held by TSA authorities at Las Vegas' McCarron Airport. He was apprehended trying to board a plane with a hand gun (I would have said "pistol" but then PAD would think this post was about him...) in his carry on luggage.

Questioned about the hand gun, Mr. Lewis said that he uses the weapon during religious discussions with infidel dogs to help them focus on the truth of the Prophet, blessed be his semen.

Asked if he was serious, Mr. Lewis said that if he were lying, may he be struck down with Muscular Dystrophy. As he was being led to a holding cell, he began screaming that Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane had stolen both Family Guy and American Dad from him and had turned them into slutty, tawdry, low brow attacks on the Koran and red meat. He also yelled out that he only needed three virgins and would negotiate for his other 69...

Opportunism and Titties! The New Republican Party

Ripped screaming and bleeding from Drudge:

"New McCain ad to feature Britney Spears and Paris Hilton..."

Dear Ghawd all lucky, can this really be true?

Yes, because this is America, where anything involving bad taste is possible, but only on the east and left coasts (there is no right coast).

My imagination is a as virulent, puerile and demented as anyone else's. Plus I actually got my BA in Advertising & Public Relations, so it's like I'm an accredited slacker and poser. But putting Spears and Hilton in an ad for McCain is beyond me.

I've been mulling this over and I can't think of anything that you could have these ladies say that would be useful to McCain's candidacy. Well, I can, but it's way, way demented and not at all funny.

So in my opinion, these so-called McCain ads are going to run on porn sites, skin mags and email forwards, where these young ladies might have credence. And their titties would be prominently featured. I'd have said breasts, but these two young ladies are such lightweights that to refer to their chesticles as breasts is an insult to the women I'd rather be with, like you! (If you're not a guy or either of my daughters.)

Blog Cross-Pollination

When humans are married, the man pollinates the woman. It's never the other way around, unless you're talking about the silly yellow faux-pollen some men will beg/pay for. (Someone should write a book about how the simple act of pollination has become so complex, not to mention, commercialized! I'd go see the movie...)

Okay, the human male will pollinate any female who will allow his stamen entry, married or not. It's kind of neat that no one ever asks the question, "What kind of a man would sleep with a good looking woman he'd just met?" Guykind is so uncomplicated!

Pollination is about 'creation' and so hopefully you'll get what my title is about. I was trying to say that reading someone's blog entry can sometimes trigger a 'growth' in your own brain that soon gives birth to an idea for a post of your own.

But it's so damn hard to think about something non-sexual when writing about "human pollination." It's such a distracting subject!

Oh, yeah, the Earthquake . . .

Up here in the High Desert, about 60 miles from the Epicenter, we had a few seconds of rumbling. I continued working, after offering up the customary Laztheist propitiatory prayer for earthquakes, tsunamis and getting rear-ended while not in a car, "Oh, Lhard, what the hell was that?"

This calmed. But my wife, who is prone to being female quite a bit of the time, began calling everyone she knows. It was call after call, exchanging heart-stopping stories of the terror that might have been if it had been a 9.2 earthquake. It was call after call to her girlfriends and female relatives. The only call she made to a male was to our older son, who with the younger boy, is up in San Francisco. He couldn't hear her very well and told her they hadn't felt a thing. He didn't ask any questions so all she could do was hang up. Since the boys take after their even more laconic than Gary Cooper father, this is not the first time they have disappointed her.

I felt not the slightest compulsion to call any of my friends. And obviously they all felt the same lack of impetus.

It's one hell of a sex drive that allows guykind and galkind to overcome a rather obvious disinclination to hang out together. Sex drive and boobs. Nature is a frickin' genius.

What is it about a Harem that keeps a guy coming back for more?

No, no, no, this is not a serious question.

The one thing about having a harem is that occasionally (in theory) you'll make love to one of your wives that you'd forgotten about and it's like the very first time again!

But can you imagine being rich enough to have a harem today, but not being able to find enough women dumb to accept such a life style?

But none of you are probably losing any sleep over this situation. I blame the Democrats.

Cuil.com

Here's my review of this new competitor to Google: It's not good.

I searched "Laztheism." As the earth's foremost expert on Laztheism, I wanted to see what Cuil would find for me. It showed me seven hits. Only two of them actually had "Laztheism" in them. When I did this search on Google, it showed me all the blog posts I'd made with the word in it, as well as comments on other people's blogs.

Here are the two entries Cuil had with Laztheism in them:

Comment about This is one of several reasons war occurs.

I'm coming out of the Closet. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that Laztheism, as practiced by the Missouri Synod of Laztheists of the Northern Hemisphere-But Not Alaska (MSLNHBNA), condones marriage between any two people who can sign their names, . Tags: coming Closet. Seasame Street Tub Boat with Big Bird...
www.financial-times-web.info/Bert-w...

States - States Search

The Laztheist X-MessX-Mess comes but once a year . . . Here's how Laztheism would solve (and enhance) the X-Mess experience. On June 01, 2008, the Master Computer that runs the United States will match up every American resident who will be over the age of 18 on 12-24-2008 with another American More. .. Related...
www.finance-outsourcing.com/states/

Note that it credits two websites I've never heard of. And then when I clicked on the links, I got that screen about Address Not Found.

So if you're worried about Cuil.com taking the starch out of your Google stock, you can stop now.

Juan Haight Undredt

Roscoe & Rosemary Undredt knew very well that when you say their last name quickly, it sounds like "hundred."

Roscoe Undredt is a Boomer, born in 1953. He was married twice before he met Rosemary in 1985. She got pregnant on their honeymoon. Or sometime the month before or sometime the month after. They never used the Scientific Method to pin it down.

When it came time to name their newly born son, hubris got the best of them... Hubris and some really good weed. Despite having lived in upper New York state his entire life, Roscoe agreed with Rosemary that Juan Haight Undredt was as classy a name as anyone could ever have, especially since New York Bell was allowing private citizens to sign up for toll-free numbers.

So now, 23 years later, if you're so inclined, you can talk to their son any time you want: Juan Haight Undredt 202-9033.

I can't see how knowing the facts would change this...

Some of you are aware of the problem the City of San Francisco has been having with their computer system. From what I can decipher between the competing media voices, this nerd built the current system and obsessively guarded it, to the extent that he was the only one who knew the password necessary to gain entry to work on the system. The system was up and running, but only he could get in to change things. And next thing we, the viewing public knew, he was in jail and refusing to divulge that password. Supposedly he has since given the password to future US President Gavin Newsome.

So buried in one of the stories today was this little gem:

"Childs' troubles with the technology department started to snowball June 20 when he followed and took photographs of the agency's new head of security after she began an audit of who had password access to the system, authorities said. Childs' frightening behavior prompted the woman to lock herself in an office."

Childs is the now jailed nerd. He was following the new head of security and taking photos. His behavior 'scared' her into locking herself in an office...

What kind of 'head of security' does that? I'm guessing she's not ex-FBI. How can anyone bear that title and wind up locking herself in her office? Hey, I'm not being sexist here. I know there are guys who have that same thought process. There are simply personalities that should never be given the title Head of Security. Can you see this situation arising in private enterprise?

Thanks for listening.

Let's settle this once and for all . . .

The issue at hand is Paula Bunker.

It's getting so I can't walk out the door, can't open my email, can't answer the phone, can't hail a friend on the golf course, can't take a shower, without being confronted about Paula Bunker! Everyone wants to know, when are you leaving Liz for Paula Bunker? Short answer: Never.

Long answer: See, it's not about Paula Bunker, per se. Yes, I knew, intimately, a girl named Paula Bunker. The image of her Senior Year photo is the easiest recollection to call up from the dusty archives of my memory. But there are definitely other images.

Mostly what "Paula Bunker" is, is a touch stone, a focal point for the essence of what I care to consider about my youth. Youth being a time when one is unformed, as well as liberally uninformed. Many people remain "youths" all their lives.

One of the characteristics of Youthness (only the grossly ignorant call it Youthity) is to desire more control over one's surroundings and activities. Becoming a mature adult does allow us to contrast the degree of control we exercise with the almost total lack of control available during Youthness. (This contrast allows us to put up with still almost total lack of control of our lives, but we're able to content ourselves because it's a lot more than we had as youths.)

Paula Bunker was my attempt, during my Youthness, to exercise control and dominion. I failed miserably. But she kept me spinning in her orbit because she was also trying to adultate. (Whaddayamean adultate is not a word! To adultate: to behave as an adult when you aren't actually one. Your kids, as well as the Spears girls, do this all the time.)

You know how kids go out 'tagging' because it allows them to think they're adultating? Well, Paula Bunker and I would go out petting (we were good Mormons, so that was the limit) and this allowed us to think that we were grown up. At least that was partly what I was thinking. I was also partly thinking what a great rack she had! But I also wanted to be 'in love' because literature and the movies told me that this was part of being grown up. Naturally, being the male, it meant I got to be on top. So I can see why Paula resisted this additional step, not to mention that she didn't want to have to tell her parents about me.

We orbited around each other for Junior and Senior year in high school and freshman year in college, she in Seattle and me in Salt Lake City. In high school, she 'broke up' with me before the Junior Prom, so I took Rayetta Kay Kanel. We got back together during the summer, between Junior & Senior year, but she broke up with me before the Sadie Hawkins dance (Linda Sharp asked me), before the Christmas Ball, (I asked Judy Clyde) and before the Senior Prom (I took Chris Gang). I was 'going steady' with Chris Gang and my senior year book had all this tripe about what a cute couple we were. But then a couple of days before graduation, Paula called me and applied some gravity and pulled me back into a tighter orbit. We spent graduation night together, petting. I was intimately acquainted with every color of blue you can imagine. Then we went off to college. Contact was sporadic. After Freshman year we met a couple of times during that summer and the petting was as good as ever, but she finally let me know that it was over. She broke my little heart.

Just before I left on my mission, 18 months later, we had a couple of conversations and I felt a form of vindication at the time, because she was no longer 'firm in the faith.' Meaning that she anticipated my same life style apostasy by a few years.

The very last word I heard about her was at my high school 20 year reunion. She married, very successfully (meaning a rich guy) and had had a number of children and was fat. I took what pleasure I could from this knowledge and never gave her a second thought, except that I can't think about my youth without seeing her face.

So no, I don't want to see Paula Bunker ever again. I don't dream about her, I don't live in the past with her. She's actually an embarrassment to me because if truth be told, everything that happened involving her was wrong, done for the wrong reasons, and with the wrong results. Rayetta Kay Kanel, Linda Sharp, Judy Clyde and Chris Gang were wonderful, warm human beans who didn't care that I was only a first generation Mormon. Had I explored relationships with them, my youth would have been properly served. But I wanted Paula Bunker, who was ashamed of me, as the break up pattern tends to indicate. She didn't mind being with me, but didn't want it publicly known. I couldn't see that then...

I can't speak for her problems, but for me it was all because I was trying to grow up too fast. I spent too much time adultating instead of youthinating.

But I did learn my lesson and when the time was right, in 1979, I began youthinating in earnest and with a true purpose. So then when I met my wife, in June of 1984 (the first Wednesday of that month) I was ready to put aside my youthness and become mature with her. And now 24 years later, we are still very mature youths.

What Aliens want with Earth People

First off, please face the fact that despite all the other labels affixed to you, whether you like them or not, the label, Earth Person (I caved in...) is indisputable.

Look at yourself in the mirror: You and almost 7 billion others share that label, or lapel, if you're wearing a suit or sports coat.

We never greet each other with this label. So it's a good bet that if you get a knock on the door and there are two aardvark-looking creatures standing there, wearing name tags, and one of them says, when you open the door, "Good morning Earth Person..." it's probably not a prank. Invite them in, offer them something to drink, listen to their message and then politely tell them you're not interested and escort them out.

Not that I think this is the likely scenario. Nope, when the Aardvarkians arrive, they'll round us up, process us like bipedal cattle, package and freeze us for shipping and once the Earth has been denuded of Earth People, they'll head for home. Because I think that any appeal we have to extra-terrestrials has to do with the protein we surround our bones with. And maybe even the bones taste good!

But I'm not the least worried. The Aardvarkians, being true capitalists, will take home a large herd of Earth People. And because I have kept my stud book up to date and I think that when the time comes, I'll be in that group heading back to their home planet where I'll be installed in luxurious surroundings and I'll spend maybe another 500 Earth years (thanks to their advanced sciences) at stud. Sure, it may get boring, but it's what I was born to do.

What's that? You ask how I can be so callous about the fate of my progeny? You have a point... Okay, so if it makes you happy, I'll commit now to plotting my escape, stealing a battle cruiser, loading all the wives and kids on-board and then thundering out to the depths of space where we'll find a hidden earth-like world where we'll settle and I'll spend another 500 years at stud, but this time all the kids will spend their lives planning a triumphant return to Earth, as well as the destruction of the Aardvarkians!

Happy now? Lhard knows I am!

You can't expect Failure to just happen!

To be successful at something requires a plan. Life is all about contingencies, unless you are a female between the ages of 17 and 40 and have ginormous chesticles. Because for this group (at least in 1st & 2nd World Countries) all the contingencies are good.

So if you want to be a failure, you've got to plan for it! Which is why my new book, Planning a Successful Failure is required reading for those who don't want to get ahead.

There's a right way and there's a wrong to get on Welfare. Section 8 housing is easy if you have a plan. Federally funded health care and SSI disability don't just walk up to you and jump on your lap.

Thanks to an early draft of my book that was read by a young neighbor, he is now set for life! He is just 26 years old, but he has free housing, free medical and dental, and a life time guaranteed income of almost $19,000 a year. That's tax-free! And remember, the housing and health insurance costs are already paid!

He puts in a Monday afternoon at a charity food clearing house and for this effort takes home (in his 1993 Toyota Corolla, that he got for $660 five years ago at a Salvation Army auto auction) two boxes of canned goods, pasta and breads.

He and five other friends registered a charity with the State of California. They got a small grant as a start-up from some federal office and used the money to rent a small office in a strip mall within easy walking distance. They hand-painted the name of their charity on the window and got some cheap furniture and set up a cozy little club for themselves. Then they chipped in and got a big screen plasma and they divide the cable bill amongst themselves, with the full NFL package.

Once every six months it's my neighbor's kid's turn to replace the keg. There's a little bedroom in the office, but he swears he hasn't gotten lucky yet. But they're always inviting ginormous chesticle girls over, but that contingency hasn't come home to roost yet. He says he spends maybe five nights a week there. They refuse to get a pool table because that would piss people off if they ever get caught.

But they do have a couple of old computers that they go online with, they have a PS2 and some games, and air conditioning.

Looking in from the outside, this kid is behaving as if he's retired! He's got his "life time pension & benefits" coming in, and he's got his friends in his "retirement community." And he never had to go through the angst and bother of schooling and a career.

Now that you can see the beauty of his life, compared to yours, sucker, please feel free to contact me for a prospectus of my book. It's not cheap, but nothing good ever is.

A Public Service . . .

Although I haven't bragged at length about my Grand Central account, nor my MagicJack thingamabob, I am going to pass along this word about Slydial... mostly because it will explain for Pistols just how it is that he's been getting these voice mail messages on his cell phone, but the phone never rang, of which he is certain because he was starring at it, hoping that it would ring.

Here's what's going on, big guy:

"Those wanting to avoid an actual conversation simply need to dial 267-SLYDIAL (267-759-3425), sit through a brief history about Slydial and why it should be used, an advertisement that will last a couple of seconds, and then enter the person's phone number. Once all that is completed, the Slydial service connects to the person's voicemail just like a regular phone call."

The article then goes on to say that these free VM messages are limited to 90 seconds each. The caller's call back number is displayed, but fat chance they're going to pick up, Sr. Pistolero.

It only works on cell phones, and they have to be regular accounts. It won't work with pay as you go phones.

We all have someone in our lives with whom we have to communicate, but would prefer they not answer when we call. So this is perfect.

I wonder if Slydial will give Pistols an award for being the number most called?

Ebb & Flow

The tide is all about ebb and flow. So is the sex. There are probably other things that ebb and flow... I suppose one could make an argument for the mouth being in charge of ebb, while the other end of the torus would be in charge of flow. But this isn't strictly accurate, as any flu victim or frat boy already knows.

Why wasn't there a 60 duo named Eb & Flo. Or an 80s porno film by the same name...?

If there was a reality show about a restaurant called Ebanflough, what would they serve?

With regard to the torus reference: it's true, humans are mobile tori; we're like donuts with legs, and some of us have sprinkles or glaze or icing, etc. And a few of us are just plain cake.