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.