If you're planning a career as an Evil Madman, or even just a Career Bad Guy, take my advice and rip out your voice box. Success in any endeavor is pretty much contingent on the brain power applied to said endeavor. You seldom see double digit IQ people achieving greatness or getting away with serious crimes.
But when you apply the necessary brains to a career in crime, or to doing Evil, it apparently becomes impossible to keep your mouth shut when confronting those opposing you. And when you open your mouth to boast, brag, elucidate or otherwise toot your own horn, the good guys win. You know this, you know this, but yet if you don't rip out your voice box, you'll eventually end up being defeated.
Rip out your voice box and preprint a list of your achievements and goals and leave it pinned to the bodies of your victims, the ones you shoot, stab, poison, irradiate, skin, skewer, etc.
Like most great plans, it is simple, yet elegant.
You're welcome.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Six Strips of Bacon on a double decker Wendy Burger
This is insanity! Serious, serious insanity!
It's just as insane as a denatured tofu burger on unleavened bread.
Tonight's best line from The Simpsons: "How come all the things that happen to stupid people keep happening to me?"
But back to the insanity of six strips of bacon on a double decker Wendy Burger: if I hear of any of you buying and consuming one of these, I will mock you with the cruelty normally reserved for panty-less mock divas. But this threat only works as long as responsible women keep their panties on. Our way of life could go down the toilet if Opray should take to going out panty-less.
It's just as insane as a denatured tofu burger on unleavened bread.
Tonight's best line from The Simpsons: "How come all the things that happen to stupid people keep happening to me?"
But back to the insanity of six strips of bacon on a double decker Wendy Burger: if I hear of any of you buying and consuming one of these, I will mock you with the cruelty normally reserved for panty-less mock divas. But this threat only works as long as responsible women keep their panties on. Our way of life could go down the toilet if Opray should take to going out panty-less.
The Key to Survival
I don't really have the key to survival. I was just hoping to hook you in. But it's still an interesting notion: if Evolution works, why are there still "ugly" people. (if you accept the fact that there is a standard of beauty, then you have to accept that when you get far enough down the continuum from the Beauty end, there's an Ugly end.)
When I first heard the question, my immediate response was "Beer!" But while this may explain some couplings, and thus births, it isn't the answer the educator was looking for. Knowing that none of us knew the point of his question, he answered it.
A standard of beauty does exist, but it is different for males and females. So 'less than beauty' exists because a Handsome man will marry a Beautiful woman and a daughter of theirs my inherit his face or body type, which on a female is seen as 'less than beauty.' And vice versa.
And while there is a certain amount of logic to this, I decided that my answer was just as good.
When I first heard the question, my immediate response was "Beer!" But while this may explain some couplings, and thus births, it isn't the answer the educator was looking for. Knowing that none of us knew the point of his question, he answered it.
A standard of beauty does exist, but it is different for males and females. So 'less than beauty' exists because a Handsome man will marry a Beautiful woman and a daughter of theirs my inherit his face or body type, which on a female is seen as 'less than beauty.' And vice versa.
And while there is a certain amount of logic to this, I decided that my answer was just as good.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
What were his thoughts each night as he was falling asleep?
Dredging Drudge...
A bus driver in Poland kept trying to enter a contest, via text messages. But he was using a company issued cell phone, with a company rule that limited him to $5/month in usage. Here's the excerpt that captures this tale:
Leszek Wojcik, a bus driver in the northwestern Polish city of Slupsk, ran up a tab of some 94,000 zlotys ($34,000) with his text messages while trying to win a 100,000-zloty ($36,000) SMS contest
Now you have to figure that the first time he text-messaged an entry, he had it somehow justified. It was only .86 cents. But something happened and he couldn't stop himself. At some point he probably figured that he HAD to keep playing so he could win and pay that ever growing phone bill. If he knew when the billing cycle ended and thus when his phone bill would be received at headquarters, then those last couple of nights before B-Day were probably pretty ugly, from his point of view. How would you feel if you knew your life, as you knew it, was going to end on a date certain?
A bus driver in Poland kept trying to enter a contest, via text messages. But he was using a company issued cell phone, with a company rule that limited him to $5/month in usage. Here's the excerpt that captures this tale:
Leszek Wojcik, a bus driver in the northwestern Polish city of Slupsk, ran up a tab of some 94,000 zlotys ($34,000) with his text messages while trying to win a 100,000-zloty ($36,000) SMS contest
Now you have to figure that the first time he text-messaged an entry, he had it somehow justified. It was only .86 cents. But something happened and he couldn't stop himself. At some point he probably figured that he HAD to keep playing so he could win and pay that ever growing phone bill. If he knew when the billing cycle ended and thus when his phone bill would be received at headquarters, then those last couple of nights before B-Day were probably pretty ugly, from his point of view. How would you feel if you knew your life, as you knew it, was going to end on a date certain?
Why won't people let Everything mean Something?
Practitioners of Global Warming are currently touting new reports that Las Vegas has never been hotter. Temperature hotter, not rhapsodically hotter.
If you ask one of these practitioners about the record setting low temperatures in Australia this year, you get no response. If you mention the freakish Peruvian cold snap, you get no response. If you point out that there is evidence that Greenland used to have a Club Med location, you get no response.
But shouldn't each and every 'fact' mean something?
Yea and verily, I tell you that 'facts' are the devil's playthings when a person gets away with picking and choosing which 'facts' are the foundation of his faith.
If you can't work every fact into your system of belief, don't have a system of belief. When you can work every fact into your system of belief, that's a good start, but be prepared, because new facts are always emerging, like bubbles in a Mexican's bathtub.
If you ask one of these practitioners about the record setting low temperatures in Australia this year, you get no response. If you mention the freakish Peruvian cold snap, you get no response. If you point out that there is evidence that Greenland used to have a Club Med location, you get no response.
But shouldn't each and every 'fact' mean something?
Yea and verily, I tell you that 'facts' are the devil's playthings when a person gets away with picking and choosing which 'facts' are the foundation of his faith.
If you can't work every fact into your system of belief, don't have a system of belief. When you can work every fact into your system of belief, that's a good start, but be prepared, because new facts are always emerging, like bubbles in a Mexican's bathtub.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Golf Fun
My oldest son, Mike, lives in Utah. He's married and has four kids. He and his family have spent the last ten days here in SoCal. His wife's grandmother, an arch-Mormon, is a millionairess, with whom I've tried to create a warm and nutured relationship, but she resists my efforts to rifle her purse.
I'm not a doting grandparent. Last Saturday was the first time I'd seen my newest granddaughter since her birth, nine months ago. And it was exactly as I'd expected, she had very little to say to me. She comes across as completely childish and self-absorbed: perfect sales lady material.
Mike and I played golf last Saturday. He doesn't get to play that often in Utah, like not at all during the winter and maybe two times the rest of the year. But he spent a lot of time playing as a teen, every summer when he'd come spent time with us.
Saturday is my regular golf day with the Asians. As opposed toe my regular golf day, Wednesday, with the Barbers.
We won both times. He and I were a team in a game against two Asians. He topped his first drive, as we were discussing how many strokes they would give us. After that piss poor drive, the leading Asian said, "Okay, we'll give you four strokes on the front and adjust on the back." I wanted to argue that we didn't need that many but Mike interrupted and shut me up. We beat them by five strokes, scratch, meaning we were up nine strokes. So we had to give them two strokes on the back, but beat them, plus took the press hole, too. It was awesome.
Then today he played with the Barbers. Three groups of four. We were the last group, paired up with Don "Fuck this Game!" Anderson and his son-in-law, Scott. Don wasn't playing all that well and kept moaning about how we were going to lose. But we didn't. We beat the other teams and Don "Love this Game!" Anderson happily pocketed his share of the winnings.
This coming Saturday Mike and his family will stop by on their way home and spend some time with us. I'll post some photos so you ladies can judge the power and majesty of my seed. The men can see, too, but it won't do them any good.
I'm not a doting grandparent. Last Saturday was the first time I'd seen my newest granddaughter since her birth, nine months ago. And it was exactly as I'd expected, she had very little to say to me. She comes across as completely childish and self-absorbed: perfect sales lady material.
Mike and I played golf last Saturday. He doesn't get to play that often in Utah, like not at all during the winter and maybe two times the rest of the year. But he spent a lot of time playing as a teen, every summer when he'd come spent time with us.
Saturday is my regular golf day with the Asians. As opposed toe my regular golf day, Wednesday, with the Barbers.
We won both times. He and I were a team in a game against two Asians. He topped his first drive, as we were discussing how many strokes they would give us. After that piss poor drive, the leading Asian said, "Okay, we'll give you four strokes on the front and adjust on the back." I wanted to argue that we didn't need that many but Mike interrupted and shut me up. We beat them by five strokes, scratch, meaning we were up nine strokes. So we had to give them two strokes on the back, but beat them, plus took the press hole, too. It was awesome.
Then today he played with the Barbers. Three groups of four. We were the last group, paired up with Don "Fuck this Game!" Anderson and his son-in-law, Scott. Don wasn't playing all that well and kept moaning about how we were going to lose. But we didn't. We beat the other teams and Don "Love this Game!" Anderson happily pocketed his share of the winnings.
This coming Saturday Mike and his family will stop by on their way home and spend some time with us. I'll post some photos so you ladies can judge the power and majesty of my seed. The men can see, too, but it won't do them any good.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Preempting Global Warming: a new scheme for Albert Gore, Jr.
But first, three caveats:
1. I did better in school than Al Gore.
2. I don't 'believe' in Global Warming. I do believe in Climate Change.
3. I enjoy a good scam as much as the next guy.
If man-caused Global Warming exists, buying Carbon Offsets only attempts to mitigate the excessive CO2 production the purchaser has just made. Al has to teach us to Preempt Global Warming by buying Carbon Offsets before we produce more CO2. He's got to convince as many as he can that if enough Carbon Offsets are purchased, Global Cooling can be produced and the Human Race will have been saved!
A lot is being said and written about whether Al Gore will run for President. Commentators on both sides make good points. Here's a point I haven't seen expressed: Within the personal memories of the majority of the world, no Presidential administration has ended with a standing ovation. Al knows that any administration he headed would suffer the same fate; ruling America is just a popularity contest that no one will ever win again. President Albert Gore, Jr. doesn't have the same ring to it that Savior of the Human Race Albert Gore, Jr. does.
I think that he sees this simple comparison and is going for it.
1. I did better in school than Al Gore.
2. I don't 'believe' in Global Warming. I do believe in Climate Change.
3. I enjoy a good scam as much as the next guy.
If man-caused Global Warming exists, buying Carbon Offsets only attempts to mitigate the excessive CO2 production the purchaser has just made. Al has to teach us to Preempt Global Warming by buying Carbon Offsets before we produce more CO2. He's got to convince as many as he can that if enough Carbon Offsets are purchased, Global Cooling can be produced and the Human Race will have been saved!
A lot is being said and written about whether Al Gore will run for President. Commentators on both sides make good points. Here's a point I haven't seen expressed: Within the personal memories of the majority of the world, no Presidential administration has ended with a standing ovation. Al knows that any administration he headed would suffer the same fate; ruling America is just a popularity contest that no one will ever win again. President Albert Gore, Jr. doesn't have the same ring to it that Savior of the Human Race Albert Gore, Jr. does.
I think that he sees this simple comparison and is going for it.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
What's your Reality Show Idea?
Naturally my favorite Reality Show is about Golf and Sex. I won't bore you with the details. But the title is "...The 19th Hole." There is golf, there is mystery and there is sex. Sure, the golf part might not sound interesting, but you'd probably watch if the mystery and the sex were good.
But enough about my genius... They are announcing new Reality Shows for the fall. None has captured my fancy. Although TBN's show about a studio faking a reality show a studio that fakes a reality show does seem to have some promise.
Probably the next step in reality shows (which of course is integral in my show, "...The 19th Hole," is doing away with participants who WANT to be there. I have always hated that factor in the so called reality shows. I swear, I never wanted to be on Survivor or any other reality show. (I did at one time fantasize a lot about being on Gilligan's Island... Some day I'll relate the story of me working for Joe Wells, Dawn Wells father. He was the 'front man' for the mob, when they owned the Thunderbird Hotel in Las Vegas. What a kidder he was!) So anyway, the secret to great reality theater is to get people involved who don't want to be there! I believe there are ways to work around the rights guaranteed by the Constitution and the 14th Amendment. There are always ways...
So let me hear your ideas. I promise I will NOT rip them off. Swear...
But enough about my genius... They are announcing new Reality Shows for the fall. None has captured my fancy. Although TBN's show about a studio faking a reality show a studio that fakes a reality show does seem to have some promise.
Probably the next step in reality shows (which of course is integral in my show, "...The 19th Hole," is doing away with participants who WANT to be there. I have always hated that factor in the so called reality shows. I swear, I never wanted to be on Survivor or any other reality show. (I did at one time fantasize a lot about being on Gilligan's Island... Some day I'll relate the story of me working for Joe Wells, Dawn Wells father. He was the 'front man' for the mob, when they owned the Thunderbird Hotel in Las Vegas. What a kidder he was!) So anyway, the secret to great reality theater is to get people involved who don't want to be there! I believe there are ways to work around the rights guaranteed by the Constitution and the 14th Amendment. There are always ways...
So let me hear your ideas. I promise I will NOT rip them off. Swear...
Heck if I know ...
This is not an answer that is normally acceptable outside of personal relationships. You can "heck if know" a mate or a friend all you want and you are probably more tolerated than someone who says he or see does know. In fact, I feel safe in assuming that we all have friends and relatives who would be offended if we "knew" because then they couldn't tell us. And some people just have to tell us...
But it's not the same in corporate America. Although I can see how it might be a very liberating phrase to use when it is in fact the truth, I am probably not going to be a leader in trying to gain its acceptance. Mostly because I don't trust in the ability of upper management types to fully comprehend how the phrase ultimately liberates communications between disparate groups and even with different levels of the same group.
I'm writing this to both educate and encourage: Understand that "Heck if I know" is an expression of ultimate truth. (And the Truth shall set you free!) And please consider liberating yourself, every once in a while, by using this phrase. I don't expect you to endanger your employment situation, as when a boss-type asks you how the group you're working with is doing in preparing the Vanderhousen proposal, because I can see where admitting ignorance is counter-productive, but I do want you to have the phrase ready for use in a corporate situation that is both safe, and mutually beneficial. Such as when you're talking to your boss's wife over the phone, right after seeing your boss escort the about to go back to school hot Summer intern into a storage closet. She may not appreciate "Heck if I know" but you know who will...
But seriously, "Heck if I know," just like the Truth, can set you free.
But it's not the same in corporate America. Although I can see how it might be a very liberating phrase to use when it is in fact the truth, I am probably not going to be a leader in trying to gain its acceptance. Mostly because I don't trust in the ability of upper management types to fully comprehend how the phrase ultimately liberates communications between disparate groups and even with different levels of the same group.
I'm writing this to both educate and encourage: Understand that "Heck if I know" is an expression of ultimate truth. (And the Truth shall set you free!) And please consider liberating yourself, every once in a while, by using this phrase. I don't expect you to endanger your employment situation, as when a boss-type asks you how the group you're working with is doing in preparing the Vanderhousen proposal, because I can see where admitting ignorance is counter-productive, but I do want you to have the phrase ready for use in a corporate situation that is both safe, and mutually beneficial. Such as when you're talking to your boss's wife over the phone, right after seeing your boss escort the about to go back to school hot Summer intern into a storage closet. She may not appreciate "Heck if I know" but you know who will...
But seriously, "Heck if I know," just like the Truth, can set you free.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Not that I'm Jealous or anything, but I am ranked 21st in Competitive Breeding West of the Mississippi
Hey, I wasn't going to say a word, but that flagrant shameless self-promoter, Steakbellie ((Tripebellie makes more sense...) is all "Hey, I'm #22 now...!"
Well, that stats were reviewed at the end of June and it's official, I'm #21 on the competitive breeding list, West of the Mississippi. It's as messy as SB's hobby, but I think it's ultimately more satisfying, plus I only eat if I feel like it.
I may be doing some seminars in the Fall, should any of you ladies be interested... Check with the league website, InseminationNation.com, or OhGodOhGodOhGodOooooohGoddddddd.biz
Well, that stats were reviewed at the end of June and it's official, I'm #21 on the competitive breeding list, West of the Mississippi. It's as messy as SB's hobby, but I think it's ultimately more satisfying, plus I only eat if I feel like it.
I may be doing some seminars in the Fall, should any of you ladies be interested... Check with the league website, InseminationNation.com, or OhGodOhGodOhGodOooooohGoddddddd.biz
I took this photo and I want you to guess what it is
There is no 'photo-shopping' involved. No alterations of any kind. I pointed the camera and pushed down the shutter release and this is what I ended up with.
While some of you venture a guess, I'll try to come up with a truly exciting story about it. The truth, as is usually the case, is pretty boring.
What if you could get married by lease or month to month?
Right, I'm aware that this can only be considered if there are no off-spring. And yes, I know your second question is, "people who are living together are essentially already 'leased' to each other, or living in a month to month relationship, so why bother with legalities?"
"Why bother with legalities...?" For those of you who actually consider this a rational question, bend yourselves over your knees and paddle your asses till at least one cheek is a soft rosy color, because you've asked a very, very terrible question!
Just think about it: Where would we be without lawyers?
But back to the marriage by lease or month to month agreement... Right now if you're living together, you can't inherit from your mate's estate if he/she dies intestate. Instead, a bunch of Common Law hooey kicks in and the next thing you know, some of his/her relatives are going through Katrocket's apartment asking her if this is her jockstrap, or through Pistolero's apartment asking him if this is his satin nightie. (Turns out it wasn't Kat's jockstrap, but Pistolero had the receipt to prove he bought the satin nightie at Blutto's Big & Tall, and it was, after all, a size 18.)
With a marriage lease, or month to month agreement, the Common Law gets it's dentures kicked in. And then there are the stipulations that can be written into the lease/agreement, items that a couple might put into their vows, but vows aren't binding. You can take a marriage lease into court and either mandate enforcement or receive monetary compensation: either she has to give him his 'birthday present' or pay for a licensed professional to give him his birthday present.
And it could just as easily work to the female's advantage, but speaking as a male who is truly sensitive to the needs of women, and who knows that 'happy women' are contented women and put out more, I can't imagine, even for a second, what a woman would want me to do that I wouldn't already have done on my own.
(In the history of bullshit, that last sentence is a contender for, if not a prize, at least Honorable Mention. Thank you.)
"Why bother with legalities...?" For those of you who actually consider this a rational question, bend yourselves over your knees and paddle your asses till at least one cheek is a soft rosy color, because you've asked a very, very terrible question!
Just think about it: Where would we be without lawyers?
But back to the marriage by lease or month to month agreement... Right now if you're living together, you can't inherit from your mate's estate if he/she dies intestate. Instead, a bunch of Common Law hooey kicks in and the next thing you know, some of his/her relatives are going through Katrocket's apartment asking her if this is her jockstrap, or through Pistolero's apartment asking him if this is his satin nightie. (Turns out it wasn't Kat's jockstrap, but Pistolero had the receipt to prove he bought the satin nightie at Blutto's Big & Tall, and it was, after all, a size 18.)
With a marriage lease, or month to month agreement, the Common Law gets it's dentures kicked in. And then there are the stipulations that can be written into the lease/agreement, items that a couple might put into their vows, but vows aren't binding. You can take a marriage lease into court and either mandate enforcement or receive monetary compensation: either she has to give him his 'birthday present' or pay for a licensed professional to give him his birthday present.
And it could just as easily work to the female's advantage, but speaking as a male who is truly sensitive to the needs of women, and who knows that 'happy women' are contented women and put out more, I can't imagine, even for a second, what a woman would want me to do that I wouldn't already have done on my own.
(In the history of bullshit, that last sentence is a contender for, if not a prize, at least Honorable Mention. Thank you.)
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
A Prediction . . .
You know how News Radio stations all follow a similar format? They do sports at 15 and 45 past the hour and there's weather and traffic at regular intervals?
Here's my prediction: Within the life time of the current President, Gbumbling W. Babushka, News Radio stations in large metropolitan markets will have 'Terrorist Reports' at regular intervals. Something like this:
And now it's time for the latest in terrorist news for the Southland. Here's Ricky Sanchez.
Thanks, Pat. Well, the firefight between residents of San Marino and terrorists looks to be just about over. Organ gathering has already started at the first intersection where terrorists blew up and IED. We have reports that terrorists are gathering near the refinery in Torrance and National Guard troops are reconnoitering. You may want to stay away from Del Amo Road near the refinery for the next half hour.
Now let's go to our eye in the sky, Doug Blankenship, in the KABC A-10 Warhog. Doug, what's the latest?
Hi, Ricky. Well, I'm over the Coliseum and I'm taking fire from a small group of terrorist who appear to be on the way to the DMV building on Martin Luther King. And I just flew over Olvera Street where two terrorists were trying to kill innocent civilians, but Brown Power enthusiasts are now barbecuing their remains. And now I'm on my way to Santa Monica where a group of young terrorist are trying to get bathers to dress more modestly. Back to you Ricky.
Thanks, Doug. Well, that's it for terrorist news at 10:31 a.m., Pat.
Here's my prediction: Within the life time of the current President, Gbumbling W. Babushka, News Radio stations in large metropolitan markets will have 'Terrorist Reports' at regular intervals. Something like this:
And now it's time for the latest in terrorist news for the Southland. Here's Ricky Sanchez.
Thanks, Pat. Well, the firefight between residents of San Marino and terrorists looks to be just about over. Organ gathering has already started at the first intersection where terrorists blew up and IED. We have reports that terrorists are gathering near the refinery in Torrance and National Guard troops are reconnoitering. You may want to stay away from Del Amo Road near the refinery for the next half hour.
Now let's go to our eye in the sky, Doug Blankenship, in the KABC A-10 Warhog. Doug, what's the latest?
Hi, Ricky. Well, I'm over the Coliseum and I'm taking fire from a small group of terrorist who appear to be on the way to the DMV building on Martin Luther King. And I just flew over Olvera Street where two terrorists were trying to kill innocent civilians, but Brown Power enthusiasts are now barbecuing their remains. And now I'm on my way to Santa Monica where a group of young terrorist are trying to get bathers to dress more modestly. Back to you Ricky.
Thanks, Doug. Well, that's it for terrorist news at 10:31 a.m., Pat.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
There are 6.4 Billion Stories on the Naked Earth
Tell me your version of the story behind this apparently fine looking pair of shoes being left in a supermarket parking lot. But don't make me cry... Make it a happy story, but with a low point that builds quickly to a happy ending. No cliff hangers!
The Private Aye
America's Navy in 1933 was an aging beauty who'd seen better times and now could barely totter a straight line in her rounded high heels. And she hadn't had a date since 1918 and boy, was she horny.
"Buggery on the High Seas," the Charnel House classic had yet to be published.
When two (or more) sailors got it on at sea, it was said that they were now Private Ayes.
This has now given way to the current state of affairs, were everything is done under the Public Aye.
Weird, huh?
"Buggery on the High Seas," the Charnel House classic had yet to be published.
When two (or more) sailors got it on at sea, it was said that they were now Private Ayes.
This has now given way to the current state of affairs, were everything is done under the Public Aye.
Weird, huh?
Monday, July 16, 2007
With This Ring I Pee Wed: A new twist on the Wedding Shower
Cast of characters:
Pat Sturm, the soon to be bride; young, hip gorgeous
Pat Daley, the soon to be groom; young hip, gorgeous in his own way
Act One
Scene: their bathroom. Pat is naked in the shower as Pat enters, also naked.
Pat: DO YOU MIND IF I PEE WHILE YOU'RE SHOWERING?
Pat: WHY DON'T YOU JUST COME IN THE SHOWER AND PEE IN HERE?
Pat: EWW, THAT'S KIND OF GROSS!
Pat: WHAT IF WE WERE MARRIED?
Pat: (silence)
Pat: DID YOU HEAR ME?
Pat: ARE YOU ASKING ME TO MARRY YOU?
Pat: IF THAT'S WHAT IT'LL TAKE FOR YOU TO PEE ON ME.
Pat: OKAY, LET'S DO IT!
Pat: WHAT? PEE IN THE SHOWER OR GET MARRIED?
Act Two
Scene: Their bathroom. Pat is wearing a beautiful wedding gown, while Pat is muy mas macho in a tux.
Pat: SO, READY TO HIT THE SHOWER?
Pat: YOU STILL WANT ME TO PEE ON YOU?
Pat: DON'T YOU WANT TO PEE ON ME?
Pat: NO.
Pat: WELL, THEN, WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?
Pat: BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!
Pat: GREAT. I HOPE YOU LOVE ME ENOUGH TO PEE ON ME?
Pat: OF COURSE I DO. BUT HOW OFTEN WILL HAVE TO?
Pat: HEY, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO, JUST SAY SO. THIS MARRIAGE ISN'T CONSUMMATED UNTIL YOU'VE PEED ON ME SO...
Pat: (interrupting) YOU'D ANNUL OUR MARRIAGE IF I DIDN'T PEE ON YOU?
Pat: NO, I'D ANNUL IT BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ME.
Pat: OKAY, GET INTO THE SHOWER, NOW!
Act Three
Scene: A different, space age looking bathroom. They are wearing matching explosive vests. And they both look to be around 80 or 90 years old.
Pat: YOU READY?
Pat: I WAS BORN READY!
Pat: I'VE NEVER LOVED YOU MORE THAN THIS MOMENT.
Pat: NOT EVEN WHEN WE PEED ON EACH OTHER?
Pat: OH, YEAH, THAT WAS GREAT. BUT BLOWING UP THE HOME OWNERS ASSOCIATION BOARD MEETING WITH YOU. WHAT AN EXIT! WHAT A LEGACY!
Pat: WANNA PEE ON ME ONE LAST TIME?
Pat: YOU KNOW, HOW ABOUT WE PEE ON THE HOME OWNER ASSOCIATION PRESIDENT AS WE DETONATE?
Pat: NO WAY! HE SHOULD BE SO LUCKY. NO, DARLING, REMEMBER, WHEN THEY ASK FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS, THEY TOLL FOR PEE.
They exit the bathroom, stage right.
FINI
Pat Sturm, the soon to be bride; young, hip gorgeous
Pat Daley, the soon to be groom; young hip, gorgeous in his own way
Act One
Scene: their bathroom. Pat is naked in the shower as Pat enters, also naked.
Pat: DO YOU MIND IF I PEE WHILE YOU'RE SHOWERING?
Pat: WHY DON'T YOU JUST COME IN THE SHOWER AND PEE IN HERE?
Pat: EWW, THAT'S KIND OF GROSS!
Pat: WHAT IF WE WERE MARRIED?
Pat: (silence)
Pat: DID YOU HEAR ME?
Pat: ARE YOU ASKING ME TO MARRY YOU?
Pat: IF THAT'S WHAT IT'LL TAKE FOR YOU TO PEE ON ME.
Pat: OKAY, LET'S DO IT!
Pat: WHAT? PEE IN THE SHOWER OR GET MARRIED?
Act Two
Scene: Their bathroom. Pat is wearing a beautiful wedding gown, while Pat is muy mas macho in a tux.
Pat: SO, READY TO HIT THE SHOWER?
Pat: YOU STILL WANT ME TO PEE ON YOU?
Pat: DON'T YOU WANT TO PEE ON ME?
Pat: NO.
Pat: WELL, THEN, WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?
Pat: BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!
Pat: GREAT. I HOPE YOU LOVE ME ENOUGH TO PEE ON ME?
Pat: OF COURSE I DO. BUT HOW OFTEN WILL HAVE TO?
Pat: HEY, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO, JUST SAY SO. THIS MARRIAGE ISN'T CONSUMMATED UNTIL YOU'VE PEED ON ME SO...
Pat: (interrupting) YOU'D ANNUL OUR MARRIAGE IF I DIDN'T PEE ON YOU?
Pat: NO, I'D ANNUL IT BECAUSE YOU DON'T LOVE ME.
Pat: OKAY, GET INTO THE SHOWER, NOW!
Act Three
Scene: A different, space age looking bathroom. They are wearing matching explosive vests. And they both look to be around 80 or 90 years old.
Pat: YOU READY?
Pat: I WAS BORN READY!
Pat: I'VE NEVER LOVED YOU MORE THAN THIS MOMENT.
Pat: NOT EVEN WHEN WE PEED ON EACH OTHER?
Pat: OH, YEAH, THAT WAS GREAT. BUT BLOWING UP THE HOME OWNERS ASSOCIATION BOARD MEETING WITH YOU. WHAT AN EXIT! WHAT A LEGACY!
Pat: WANNA PEE ON ME ONE LAST TIME?
Pat: YOU KNOW, HOW ABOUT WE PEE ON THE HOME OWNER ASSOCIATION PRESIDENT AS WE DETONATE?
Pat: NO WAY! HE SHOULD BE SO LUCKY. NO, DARLING, REMEMBER, WHEN THEY ASK FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS, THEY TOLL FOR PEE.
They exit the bathroom, stage right.
FINI
Blogs You'd Probably Read, Based on the Titles
Here's the deal, take any one, two or more of these titles and write a sub-title on the "...or how I ..." principle. For instance, if there was a title, "Groin Pains," you could say, "...or one man's search for his Mother." Get it? Hint: you have to let go . . .
1. Waking Up Dickless
2. The Search for Nipple Ripple ice cream
3. Rumors of an Elastic Scholastic
4. Bacteria I've Loved
5. One Gay at a Time
6. Phishing & Pharting
7. When Life hands you Lemons, Acid Rain is overkill.
8. Fritos, Nachos and the Cisco Kid
9. Impersonal Sex with the One You Love
10. Wright writes rites, right? Wrong!
11. My Louisville Slugger After-Hours Club
12. With a Schlong in My Heart
1. Waking Up Dickless
2. The Search for Nipple Ripple ice cream
3. Rumors of an Elastic Scholastic
4. Bacteria I've Loved
5. One Gay at a Time
6. Phishing & Pharting
7. When Life hands you Lemons, Acid Rain is overkill.
8. Fritos, Nachos and the Cisco Kid
9. Impersonal Sex with the One You Love
10. Wright writes rites, right? Wrong!
11. My Louisville Slugger After-Hours Club
12. With a Schlong in My Heart
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A High Point in Grabbing at the Impulse Shopper
My wife joined NetFlicks a long time ago. I've never ordered or looked at a NetFlicks DVD. It's a personality disorder, but I don't care to change it. But this thing nailed me. I've heard a lot about "Happy Feet" but hadn't seen and had no plans to see it. But then I ran into the above diabolical machine at our local Albertson's. Intrigued by the shiny buttons and the pretty screens, I ended up reviewing their menu of available DVDs, swiped my credit card and selected "Happy Feet." I went home and my wife and I watched it and I took the DVD back this morning.
So now I'll just wait until HP & the Order of the Phoenix shows up in this machine. Naw, I won't ever do this again. I feel so violated, but I did it to myself. So that should probably be called violabation...
Friday, July 13, 2007
Another in a short line of ideas to Preserve the American Way
You've seen it, in every fast food establishment you've ever been in: abuse of the free napkins. Sometimes the restaurants try to limit the abuse by not allowing free access to the napkins, but the louts of whom I complain simply keep going back to the counter to ask for more.
Since it's not likely that fast food establishments are going to have round the clock Bouncers/Enforcers, the next best thing, and a veritable slap in the face that Americans need, is for them NOT to provide napkins. Big signs would need to be put up announcing the new policy and with a spacious time frame for customers to prepare themselves.
Americans think they are entitled to free napkins, toilet paper (I'll wait on this one) free cream and sugar, salt and pepper, ketchup, and other condiments. We've created generations of 'gimme-gimme' people.
People will learn respect this way, for themselves and for others.
Hey, it's a start.
Since it's not likely that fast food establishments are going to have round the clock Bouncers/Enforcers, the next best thing, and a veritable slap in the face that Americans need, is for them NOT to provide napkins. Big signs would need to be put up announcing the new policy and with a spacious time frame for customers to prepare themselves.
Americans think they are entitled to free napkins, toilet paper (I'll wait on this one) free cream and sugar, salt and pepper, ketchup, and other condiments. We've created generations of 'gimme-gimme' people.
People will learn respect this way, for themselves and for others.
Hey, it's a start.
Battling on the Homefront
I have my problems with McDonald's, but obviously since I continue to patronize their outlets (especially for breakfast) I'm dealing with it. Right now I am fighting my way up the corporate ladder with regard to the pricing structure with regard to the Deluxe Big Breakfast. Here are the salient points:
1. There is no menu available; all you can reference is their 'tote board.'
2. The tote board says Deluxe Big Breakfast, $3.99.
3. There is no mention about a beverage.
4. But when you order it, you are asked, "coffee or orange juice?" The $3.99 price includes a small coffee or an orange juice.
5. I discovered the 'Senior Soda' a few months ago. It's a small soda for $.49, and I was substituting the Senior Soda for the offered beverage, and paying the same $3.99.
6. Recently a Caucasian female in a manager's outfit was looking over the shoulder of one of the young girls at the register. I placed my regular order and the girl was keying it in when the manager said that I couldn't have a Senior Soda with the Deluxe Breakfast at the $3.99 price. I had to pay for a regular soda, which was extra. No matter what I said, wailed, lamented, begged, cried, she wouldn't see my points, that A. since I'd been getting that price for months, she was estopped from changing an established procedure, and that B., a small soda was the same amount of liquid, and probably cheaper for them, as a small coffee.
Knowing human nature as I do, I knew that I was only arguing for the fun of it. She would NEVER back down. So I walked out. I stood outside looking in and when she went to the back, I went back in and ordered. After I got my food, she came back out and became wroth herself when she found out what I'd done. Since then she watches for me.
But I outfoxed her, which is hardly worthy of any credit, since she is underpaid and overworked and has, literally, zero incentive to battle with me. Now when she's there, I order the Deluxe Breakfast with a small coffee and then dump the coffee and fill the cup at the self-service fountain with yummy Diet Coke, no ice. Yummers!
But I am protesting the situation and I've had discussions with the office of the local franchisee and the District Franchise Director, in San Bernardino. No one wants to see my point of view, which I totally understand, but this is helping prepare me for my position of Town Council Gadfly, which I will occupy once I am allowed to retire. The Town Council meets in the evenings, so it won't interfere with golf.
1. There is no menu available; all you can reference is their 'tote board.'
2. The tote board says Deluxe Big Breakfast, $3.99.
3. There is no mention about a beverage.
4. But when you order it, you are asked, "coffee or orange juice?" The $3.99 price includes a small coffee or an orange juice.
5. I discovered the 'Senior Soda' a few months ago. It's a small soda for $.49, and I was substituting the Senior Soda for the offered beverage, and paying the same $3.99.
6. Recently a Caucasian female in a manager's outfit was looking over the shoulder of one of the young girls at the register. I placed my regular order and the girl was keying it in when the manager said that I couldn't have a Senior Soda with the Deluxe Breakfast at the $3.99 price. I had to pay for a regular soda, which was extra. No matter what I said, wailed, lamented, begged, cried, she wouldn't see my points, that A. since I'd been getting that price for months, she was estopped from changing an established procedure, and that B., a small soda was the same amount of liquid, and probably cheaper for them, as a small coffee.
Knowing human nature as I do, I knew that I was only arguing for the fun of it. She would NEVER back down. So I walked out. I stood outside looking in and when she went to the back, I went back in and ordered. After I got my food, she came back out and became wroth herself when she found out what I'd done. Since then she watches for me.
But I outfoxed her, which is hardly worthy of any credit, since she is underpaid and overworked and has, literally, zero incentive to battle with me. Now when she's there, I order the Deluxe Breakfast with a small coffee and then dump the coffee and fill the cup at the self-service fountain with yummy Diet Coke, no ice. Yummers!
But I am protesting the situation and I've had discussions with the office of the local franchisee and the District Franchise Director, in San Bernardino. No one wants to see my point of view, which I totally understand, but this is helping prepare me for my position of Town Council Gadfly, which I will occupy once I am allowed to retire. The Town Council meets in the evenings, so it won't interfere with golf.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Hindu Cleric's U.S. Senate Prayer Shouted Down!!
The followers of Jesus Christ have struck another blow for the Second Commandment: they interrupted a Hindu cleric's official opening prayer in the U.S. Senate on Thursday, 7-12-07.
The prayer by the Hindu cleric was thought by the Senate Sub-Committee on Getting along with Everyone to be a good idea. And there was no trouble during the first few minutes of the prayer, when the Hindu holy man called on Brahma to bless the efforts of those assembled in the Senate Chambers. But then as the prayer dragged on, and the cleric was working his way down the cast of colorful characters who serve as the Hindu Godly Round Table, people began to fidget. After Brahma came Vishnu. Then Siva, followed by Saraswathi, and then Lakshmi and Parvathi, and Ganesha (Ganesha got some light applause, from Simpson's afficionados) and Muruga and Anjaneya. By the time, 44 minutes later, he got to Navagrahms, three people had begun bellowing from the Senate Gallery. They were escorted out of the gallery by Capitol police, but only two of them were arrested. The third simply had a bladder ready to burst, "...but that M/F Hindu shithead wouldn't stop, no matter how I called on Jesus to shut him up!"
We have a long way to go before we can all sit around the table of universal understanding and friendship. But take heart, there were a few people in the Senate who did not wax wroth at the Hindu holy man, but later some of this group groused about drooling on their paperwork.
The prayer by the Hindu cleric was thought by the Senate Sub-Committee on Getting along with Everyone to be a good idea. And there was no trouble during the first few minutes of the prayer, when the Hindu holy man called on Brahma to bless the efforts of those assembled in the Senate Chambers. But then as the prayer dragged on, and the cleric was working his way down the cast of colorful characters who serve as the Hindu Godly Round Table, people began to fidget. After Brahma came Vishnu. Then Siva, followed by Saraswathi, and then Lakshmi and Parvathi, and Ganesha (Ganesha got some light applause, from Simpson's afficionados) and Muruga and Anjaneya. By the time, 44 minutes later, he got to Navagrahms, three people had begun bellowing from the Senate Gallery. They were escorted out of the gallery by Capitol police, but only two of them were arrested. The third simply had a bladder ready to burst, "...but that M/F Hindu shithead wouldn't stop, no matter how I called on Jesus to shut him up!"
We have a long way to go before we can all sit around the table of universal understanding and friendship. But take heart, there were a few people in the Senate who did not wax wroth at the Hindu holy man, but later some of this group groused about drooling on their paperwork.
There is no Bottom to this Pit . . .
"Draft Al Gore" for president
A Draft Al Gore group delivered the former vice president more than 100,000 signatures on a petition urging him to mount a White House bid. Draft Gore organizers brought the list of Gore fans to the Democrat's Nashville office yesterday morning, and called the number a "major milestone." "This enormous outpouring of support for Al Gore is testimony both to his enduring appeal among the grassroots and to the dissatisfaction of the Democratic base with the current crop of declared candidates," said Monica Friedlander, chairman of the draft effort, which has been spotted here and in New Hampshire, New York, Iowa and California.
The group also is running radio ads to persuade Gore to jump in the race.
There's nothing I can say about the movement to draft Al Gore, assuming that we're talking a NASCAR racing strategy. But they're not, so I can speak. And here's what I'm speaking:
Al Gore is a politician. He desperately wants to be President. He's out of politics, leave him there. I could be dead before the next President finishes two terms, so if it's going to be a Democrat, make it one who isn't so goddam dumb, okay?
And what radio station(s) are they advertising on? Have they checked his SUV to see what stations he listens too? Paying money to a radio station in hopes that Gore will hear their ad? Why not just email him a .wav file? His fans deserve him...
A Draft Al Gore group delivered the former vice president more than 100,000 signatures on a petition urging him to mount a White House bid. Draft Gore organizers brought the list of Gore fans to the Democrat's Nashville office yesterday morning, and called the number a "major milestone." "This enormous outpouring of support for Al Gore is testimony both to his enduring appeal among the grassroots and to the dissatisfaction of the Democratic base with the current crop of declared candidates," said Monica Friedlander, chairman of the draft effort, which has been spotted here and in New Hampshire, New York, Iowa and California.
The group also is running radio ads to persuade Gore to jump in the race.
There's nothing I can say about the movement to draft Al Gore, assuming that we're talking a NASCAR racing strategy. But they're not, so I can speak. And here's what I'm speaking:
Al Gore is a politician. He desperately wants to be President. He's out of politics, leave him there. I could be dead before the next President finishes two terms, so if it's going to be a Democrat, make it one who isn't so goddam dumb, okay?
And what radio station(s) are they advertising on? Have they checked his SUV to see what stations he listens too? Paying money to a radio station in hopes that Gore will hear their ad? Why not just email him a .wav file? His fans deserve him...
What's the opposite of "Leave Me Alone!"
You can scream at Jehovah Witnesses all you want when they're on your doorstep and they won't turn a hair. They'll smile serenely at you, no matter how much you escalate the vitriol. But peek in the back door of a Kingdom Hall during a Sabbath Meeting and shout that Allah is Great and Jesus Sucks and they'll go all vitriolic on your gawd-fearing ass.
Anyway, it's easy to tell the world to leave you alone. But what short and sweet comment can you make that will get the world to pay attention to you?
Resolving this question could lighten more than a few loads, you know. There are literally millions, maybe even a billion of us, who would like to be paid more attention.
If you can help out, please do. But in the meantime, until this matter is resolved, please smile at those people --they are so easily recognizable-- who look like they could really use it.
If you're one of us, try begging like this. It's very liberating. I am the moral equialent of a guy standing at the end of the off-ramp, with a crudely drawn sign asking for money. But in my case, I'm just asking for a little attention. Even faux attention will be happily accepted.
Thank you.
Anyway, it's easy to tell the world to leave you alone. But what short and sweet comment can you make that will get the world to pay attention to you?
Resolving this question could lighten more than a few loads, you know. There are literally millions, maybe even a billion of us, who would like to be paid more attention.
If you can help out, please do. But in the meantime, until this matter is resolved, please smile at those people --they are so easily recognizable-- who look like they could really use it.
If you're one of us, try begging like this. It's very liberating. I am the moral equialent of a guy standing at the end of the off-ramp, with a crudely drawn sign asking for money. But in my case, I'm just asking for a little attention. Even faux attention will be happily accepted.
Thank you.
Another Realty Bite (in the ass)
Again from Drudge:
LONDON (Reuters) - A "fat tax" on salty, sugary and fatty foods could save thousands of lives each year, according to a study published on Thursday.
According to a study I just made of my navel, a Dumb Tax wouldn't save a single life, but would wipe out the Federal deficit, and cut serious inroads into the National Debt.
Speaking of which, the current debt is 8.8 trillion dollars. With the estimated population of the United States at roughly 302,413,053, give or take an abortion, each citizen's share of this debt is $29,346.03. And you just know that your brother-in-law Greg, and your Uncle Sid and his wife and five kids are NEVER going to put up their shares. So it's me and you, buddy. (F'ing Kat doesn't have to pay a dime because she's North of the Border.)
It's such a drop in the bucket, but still... The National Debt has, since late 2006, continued to increase an average of $1.28 billion per day.
You know how you're branded a total loser if you accumulate a lot of credit card debt and then only make the minimum monthly payments? And it does make you a financial loser, no matter how many push-ups you can do or how many women think you're cute. So what does it make the USA, since that's all we do, is make the minimum payments and we even borrow more money so we can make those mounting minimum payments and still buy things we don't need!
The solution: Don't vote in November of 2008. Don't send ANYONE to your local town council, your state capitol or Washington D.C. Let the salaried bureaucrats carry on for four years without a President/Commander-in-Chief or a sitting congress. The savings will enormous and the economy would boom like you wouldn't believe.
I'm perfectly serious...
But to get back to my original thesis on this topic: dumb people abound. According to the Guv'nor, there are even rich dumb people. (Some day I'll tell you about dating the USC Alum, lad Scion, rich like I never believed, who wanted me to go with her to Peru to help her catch a Alpaca-Llama, for a private zoo a friend of hers had. I only mention her in support of the Guv'nor's point.) If dumb people had to pay a fine every time they did something dumb, our grandchildren would reach maturity in a world where our tax dollars could afford Universal Sex. And Universal Health, too.
LONDON (Reuters) - A "fat tax" on salty, sugary and fatty foods could save thousands of lives each year, according to a study published on Thursday.
According to a study I just made of my navel, a Dumb Tax wouldn't save a single life, but would wipe out the Federal deficit, and cut serious inroads into the National Debt.
Speaking of which, the current debt is 8.8 trillion dollars. With the estimated population of the United States at roughly 302,413,053, give or take an abortion, each citizen's share of this debt is $29,346.03. And you just know that your brother-in-law Greg, and your Uncle Sid and his wife and five kids are NEVER going to put up their shares. So it's me and you, buddy. (F'ing Kat doesn't have to pay a dime because she's North of the Border.)
It's such a drop in the bucket, but still... The National Debt has, since late 2006, continued to increase an average of $1.28 billion per day.
You know how you're branded a total loser if you accumulate a lot of credit card debt and then only make the minimum monthly payments? And it does make you a financial loser, no matter how many push-ups you can do or how many women think you're cute. So what does it make the USA, since that's all we do, is make the minimum payments and we even borrow more money so we can make those mounting minimum payments and still buy things we don't need!
The solution: Don't vote in November of 2008. Don't send ANYONE to your local town council, your state capitol or Washington D.C. Let the salaried bureaucrats carry on for four years without a President/Commander-in-Chief or a sitting congress. The savings will enormous and the economy would boom like you wouldn't believe.
I'm perfectly serious...
But to get back to my original thesis on this topic: dumb people abound. According to the Guv'nor, there are even rich dumb people. (Some day I'll tell you about dating the USC Alum, lad Scion, rich like I never believed, who wanted me to go with her to Peru to help her catch a Alpaca-Llama, for a private zoo a friend of hers had. I only mention her in support of the Guv'nor's point.) If dumb people had to pay a fine every time they did something dumb, our grandchildren would reach maturity in a world where our tax dollars could afford Universal Sex. And Universal Health, too.
Fantasy Breeding Leagues
When you're watching sports on TV, inevitably you'll see an ad for a fantasy league in the sport you're watching sponsored by the network you're watching. So far I've had no trouble resisting their allure; for me they just don't have any.
But it'll be a different thing if they start running Fantasy Breeding Leagues. A fantasy breeding league is where men (sorry ladies, this is strictly a guy thing) select 'popular' women, get them pregnant and then boss the wives and kids around. You can accumulate points by drinking fantasy beer, playing fantasy pool and racing fantasy cars. The more points you accumulate, the more wives you can have. Eventually your league will run out of 'well known' women and you'll have to bring in 'unknowns' such as, "the chick who used worked on a print production team at a large ad agency/publisher" but you have to be able to post of photo of her so all the other guys in the league can envy you.
It should come as no surprise to you that I'm too lazy to actually put any of this thought into action. I'll just sit here and day dream about it.
But it'll be a different thing if they start running Fantasy Breeding Leagues. A fantasy breeding league is where men (sorry ladies, this is strictly a guy thing) select 'popular' women, get them pregnant and then boss the wives and kids around. You can accumulate points by drinking fantasy beer, playing fantasy pool and racing fantasy cars. The more points you accumulate, the more wives you can have. Eventually your league will run out of 'well known' women and you'll have to bring in 'unknowns' such as, "the chick who used worked on a print production team at a large ad agency/publisher" but you have to be able to post of photo of her so all the other guys in the league can envy you.
It should come as no surprise to you that I'm too lazy to actually put any of this thought into action. I'll just sit here and day dream about it.
Without Lazy People, Everything would get Done but there wouldn't be New Stuff to do.
Just about any new invention or process is the result of Laziness. (This has nothing to do with Laztheism...) From the beginning, it was lazy people driving Humanity to the technological heights we've attained. The first person to use a hunting dog, the first person to yoke an oxen, the first person to figure out soap was easier to wash with than sand... The list is endless.
Unfortunately, there are lazy bullies, too. And that's where the advances in weaponry came from.
Sexually lazy people have made their contributions, too. Today we call it hedonism and most of us just pick and chose, as the mood hits us, which is the way lazy people do things. People who seem to be driven to practice hedonism aren't lazy.
Me, I'm intellectually lazy, which is useful when you need someone to explain to you why it's okay to stay in shape by doing bench presses in your mind. And maybe I've come full circle, maybe this is about Laztheism?
Unfortunately, there are lazy bullies, too. And that's where the advances in weaponry came from.
Sexually lazy people have made their contributions, too. Today we call it hedonism and most of us just pick and chose, as the mood hits us, which is the way lazy people do things. People who seem to be driven to practice hedonism aren't lazy.
Me, I'm intellectually lazy, which is useful when you need someone to explain to you why it's okay to stay in shape by doing bench presses in your mind. And maybe I've come full circle, maybe this is about Laztheism?
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Women of the Web, is this true?
From Drudge:
CHICAGO (Reuters) - Muscular young men are likely to have more sex partners than their less-chiseled peers, researchers at the University of California Los Angeles said on Monday.
Their study, published in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, suggests muscles in men are akin to elaborate tail feathers in male peacocks: They attract females looking for a virile mate.
"Women are predisposed to prefer muscularity in men," said study author David Frederick of UCLA.
I have strong beliefs about what women are predisposed to do...
What I've always been curious about was how hard they fought their predispositions. The fact that I've sired children is obvious proof that there are women who will take positions totally against their self interests. I am aware that rationalization makes us capable of the most awful things. But when you really get down to it, without rationalization, we'd probably eat our young.
Anyway, the sponsors of the study, Bally Total Fitness, said the results took them totally by surprise!
CHICAGO (Reuters) - Muscular young men are likely to have more sex partners than their less-chiseled peers, researchers at the University of California Los Angeles said on Monday.
Their study, published in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, suggests muscles in men are akin to elaborate tail feathers in male peacocks: They attract females looking for a virile mate.
"Women are predisposed to prefer muscularity in men," said study author David Frederick of UCLA.
I have strong beliefs about what women are predisposed to do...
What I've always been curious about was how hard they fought their predispositions. The fact that I've sired children is obvious proof that there are women who will take positions totally against their self interests. I am aware that rationalization makes us capable of the most awful things. But when you really get down to it, without rationalization, we'd probably eat our young.
Anyway, the sponsors of the study, Bally Total Fitness, said the results took them totally by surprise!
Monday, July 09, 2007
A Curious Story
Fred Thompson, whom I've never seen on TV, may soon officially join the race for his party's nomination for President of the United States. He appeals to Conservatives of the conservative party. And as such he has to be anti-abortion.
There is a story currently frothing on a soon to crash wave about Thompson having been hired by a family planning group to lobby the first Pres. Bush to overturn that Bush's rule that clinics that preached family planning (meaning abortion) could not receive Federal Money. Two people in the story I read recall crystal clear incidents involving his efforts in that lobbying. But a spokesman for Thompson, along with John Sununu, the man Thompson allegedly spent time lobbying, both deny that the lobbying took place.
Thompson hasn't spoken directly to the press, but wsa quoted by a spokesman as stating he had no recollection of he events portrayed. John Sununu spoke directly on the issue and said that Thompson did not do the lobbying described by members of the family planning group. The family planning group said that it had made payments to Thompson's law firm. But that law firm has yet to comment on whether or not they received this money. All this was back in 1991.
Supporters of Thompson say that he has public stated that seeing the sonogram of his daughter, who is now three, was a watershed event in his life and whatever his feelings were prior to that moment, with the viewing, they coalesced into his current fervid Pro-Life position, and that's all that should count.
As a former candidate for President, my opinion on this matter is as worthless as anyone elses. But just so there is no mistaking my position, I am pro-abortion. Not for any namby-pamby women's rights issues, but because there are just too freaking many humans on the I-405 Freeway in the mornings and afternoons.
Every few years we hear about one or another of the Channel Islands being overrun with goats or deer and the cry goes up that the herds need to be thinned. Well, the same goes for many areas of the Earth, in terms of the human herds overrunning those areas. It's not like there's any danger of the species becoming extinct! If anything, the danger is that we'll extinct ourselves more quickly at the current pace of breeding than if we began paying women to have abortions.
Hey, if you don't want to have an abortion, or didn't want your woman to abort the seed of your loins, I'm fine with that. But if it's not your seed, I don't think you or anyone should be allowed to offer an opinion to a woman looking to kill, murder, butcher, etc., her fetus. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
You know, if abortions were freely available, perhaps there would never be those icky partial-birth abortions.
There is a story currently frothing on a soon to crash wave about Thompson having been hired by a family planning group to lobby the first Pres. Bush to overturn that Bush's rule that clinics that preached family planning (meaning abortion) could not receive Federal Money. Two people in the story I read recall crystal clear incidents involving his efforts in that lobbying. But a spokesman for Thompson, along with John Sununu, the man Thompson allegedly spent time lobbying, both deny that the lobbying took place.
Thompson hasn't spoken directly to the press, but wsa quoted by a spokesman as stating he had no recollection of he events portrayed. John Sununu spoke directly on the issue and said that Thompson did not do the lobbying described by members of the family planning group. The family planning group said that it had made payments to Thompson's law firm. But that law firm has yet to comment on whether or not they received this money. All this was back in 1991.
Supporters of Thompson say that he has public stated that seeing the sonogram of his daughter, who is now three, was a watershed event in his life and whatever his feelings were prior to that moment, with the viewing, they coalesced into his current fervid Pro-Life position, and that's all that should count.
As a former candidate for President, my opinion on this matter is as worthless as anyone elses. But just so there is no mistaking my position, I am pro-abortion. Not for any namby-pamby women's rights issues, but because there are just too freaking many humans on the I-405 Freeway in the mornings and afternoons.
Every few years we hear about one or another of the Channel Islands being overrun with goats or deer and the cry goes up that the herds need to be thinned. Well, the same goes for many areas of the Earth, in terms of the human herds overrunning those areas. It's not like there's any danger of the species becoming extinct! If anything, the danger is that we'll extinct ourselves more quickly at the current pace of breeding than if we began paying women to have abortions.
Hey, if you don't want to have an abortion, or didn't want your woman to abort the seed of your loins, I'm fine with that. But if it's not your seed, I don't think you or anyone should be allowed to offer an opinion to a woman looking to kill, murder, butcher, etc., her fetus. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
You know, if abortions were freely available, perhaps there would never be those icky partial-birth abortions.
Aliens to the Rescue
Google News passed along some scientific group's press release, calling for more funding for efforts to find alien life.
As a purely scientific act, I can see reasons to be interested in such an inquiry. But are humans capable of purely scientific acts? To our everlasting credit, the answer is yes. There are humans capable of giving up their lives in the pursuit of non-income generating knowledge. Did you know that Nicholas Tesla did not patent his invention of "alternating current"? Edison had come up with direct current, which didn't work over long distances. Tesla came up with alternating current, which did. And then gave away the invention. He could have become the richest man in the world. Did he give it away because he was a good man, or because he was just dumb?
I have a suspicion that the people who want to find alien life are a combination. Knowledge for the simple satisfaction of knowing it, along with, Holy Shit, the Aliens have the cure for cancer and all the ills that plague mankind, so it's good we were able to find them!
Getting from point A to Point Z without having to stop at any of the other letters is the kind of pipe dream that used to fuel the old numbers games, and currently fuels lotteries and casinos, and has always and forever fueled religions. Hoping that there really is a Santa Claus and that we can get something for nothing is what makes us different than animals.
As a purely scientific act, I can see reasons to be interested in such an inquiry. But are humans capable of purely scientific acts? To our everlasting credit, the answer is yes. There are humans capable of giving up their lives in the pursuit of non-income generating knowledge. Did you know that Nicholas Tesla did not patent his invention of "alternating current"? Edison had come up with direct current, which didn't work over long distances. Tesla came up with alternating current, which did. And then gave away the invention. He could have become the richest man in the world. Did he give it away because he was a good man, or because he was just dumb?
I have a suspicion that the people who want to find alien life are a combination. Knowledge for the simple satisfaction of knowing it, along with, Holy Shit, the Aliens have the cure for cancer and all the ills that plague mankind, so it's good we were able to find them!
Getting from point A to Point Z without having to stop at any of the other letters is the kind of pipe dream that used to fuel the old numbers games, and currently fuels lotteries and casinos, and has always and forever fueled religions. Hoping that there really is a Santa Claus and that we can get something for nothing is what makes us different than animals.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Bert Bananas puts the HOT in HOTel sex
I've been pestered for a photo of me. Well, that's me. And I'm not wearing pants, because it was that kind of a getaway. The entire time we were in our hotel room, we were naked, or naked under our clothing. I kid you not!
The excuse for all this sordid carrying on was to go to a wedding in San Diego. After the HOTel sex, the best part of it was this bonsai tree display we found at a street fair in Old Town San Diego! Check this out:
Luckily I have macro-zoom on my camera: those trees are only an inch high! If I had told you they were real trees and a real lawn, you might have bought it, until you looked really closely.
About the wedding... Yes, I'm old fashioned, so I had a problem. This was a way proper wedding, at the Officer's Club at the naval base in San Diego. We had to go through a security check to get on the base. My underwire jockey shorts set off the metal detector, so that almost made us late. Then there was some explaining to do about the turban at the end of my male appendage, but my wife was able to convince them it had no religious significance, and that, in fact, I am an ordained and consecrated Laztheist. The base Charlie Chaplin wanted to discuss some of the finer theological points of Laztheism as they contrast with concept of the Trinity, but time constraints, and my wife's malicious irreverence made it impossible.
So who got married? The neighbor's girl. My wife and the neighbor lady are way tight. I took a very nice photo of them together, and almost posted it, but then decided that I was risking future HOTel sex, since women NEVER think they look as gorgeous as they truly are in a photo. If you're a woman, you understand. If you're not, shut the fuck up, no one cares.
I had a question I kept repeating to my wife, as well as myself, but mostly to myself as my wife gave up listening to me, in like about 1991... Why did they get married? The 'they' being the bride and groom:
This is not that dumb a question... See, they had a civil ceremony as soon as she got pregnant. Here they are with their 11 month old boy, right after the priest said, "you may kiss the bride, I now present Mr. & Mrs. W. Beyond Foreplay":
So after 20 months of marriage, they spend a small fortune to carry out this festive event and I ask myself, "Why?" (I'm on first name terms with myself, so I'll butt in just any old time with questions like this.) My wife says the answer is, "For the memories." Of which they will have a ton, since there were two still photographers and two videographers. I kid you not. Plus cell phone cameras and digital cameras were both ubiquitous AND catholic!
So this whole thing was so they would be able to show the photos and the DVD to people whom they can trap into watching it? Or so they could, 10, 20, 50 years from now sit and watch the DVD together? Or if they sustain head injuries and are amnesiac, they'll be able to remember all this? Which begs the question: are memories worth anything, and if so, do you have to be a Capitalist to get the most out of them?
No matter what the answers are, please keep a kind thought for Bert Bananas that the neighbors don't know about this blog.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
A timely question, with only one proper answer
How high is the corn today?
While you're pondering this question, here's a fact you won't read in the popular press, or as Rush calls it, the 'Drive By Media.' When Earth's Savior, Al Gore, was getting ready for today's heroic Save the Earth concerts, his son was rocketing through Orange County, CA, high on weed and prescription recreational drugs, none of which had been Rx'd to him. That much you knew. Here's what "They" are trying to hide from you: He was listening Rock & Hip Hop, with vile, loathsome lyrics about sex, sexual aberrations, drugs, drugual aberrations, satanic activity and satanical aberrations!! (Not really... a satanical aberration would be doing a good deed.)
Wouldn't you love to be a fly on the wall when The Tipper tries to talk to him about straightening up and finding Jesus?
While you're pondering this question, here's a fact you won't read in the popular press, or as Rush calls it, the 'Drive By Media.' When Earth's Savior, Al Gore, was getting ready for today's heroic Save the Earth concerts, his son was rocketing through Orange County, CA, high on weed and prescription recreational drugs, none of which had been Rx'd to him. That much you knew. Here's what "They" are trying to hide from you: He was listening Rock & Hip Hop, with vile, loathsome lyrics about sex, sexual aberrations, drugs, drugual aberrations, satanic activity and satanical aberrations!! (Not really... a satanical aberration would be doing a good deed.)
Wouldn't you love to be a fly on the wall when The Tipper tries to talk to him about straightening up and finding Jesus?
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Bush says, "The Sentence was just too harsh."
Further, Bush sayeth, "I have concluded that the prison sentence ... is excessive."
I became a Republican long ago. It was an election year and a school yard bully was taunting older kids about the Republican pins the kids were wearing. I had no idea what was going on, but, wow!, shiny pins! I made a comment about how I wish I had a pin. Not being privy to School Yard Bully philosophy, I had no idea that I was manna from heaven to the bully: I was alone and I was smaller. So he pushed me around, knocked me down, dribbled spit on my face and told me that Democrats ruled and if I knew what was good from me, I'd vote Democratic. I remember that I wasn't crying, although it loomed large as an alternative action. But then the recess bell rang and I was freed.
I've never ever voted for a Democrat. Plus two days later my cousin David, who was a Freshman at John Marshall (the above incident having taken place at Los Feliz Elementary) followed the bully two blocks from school and stole his pants, telling the bully that his pants were being donated to Meals on Wheels. David is still the king of non sequiturs.
It remains a virtual certainty that I will never vote for a Democrat. But if the Republican party is ever horn-swoggled by a Bush again, I will move to... the bathroom.
I would have accepted Pres. Bush announcing that because of fears that Scooter Libby would tell tales out of school, he was pardoning him. That would be a brutally honest statement, and a reflection of just what politics is all about. But to offer the mealy-mouthed comment, "...the prison sentence is exessive" is clear and unequivocal testament of his "fundamentally" flawed personality.
George W. Bush, you moral weenie.
I became a Republican long ago. It was an election year and a school yard bully was taunting older kids about the Republican pins the kids were wearing. I had no idea what was going on, but, wow!, shiny pins! I made a comment about how I wish I had a pin. Not being privy to School Yard Bully philosophy, I had no idea that I was manna from heaven to the bully: I was alone and I was smaller. So he pushed me around, knocked me down, dribbled spit on my face and told me that Democrats ruled and if I knew what was good from me, I'd vote Democratic. I remember that I wasn't crying, although it loomed large as an alternative action. But then the recess bell rang and I was freed.
I've never ever voted for a Democrat. Plus two days later my cousin David, who was a Freshman at John Marshall (the above incident having taken place at Los Feliz Elementary) followed the bully two blocks from school and stole his pants, telling the bully that his pants were being donated to Meals on Wheels. David is still the king of non sequiturs.
It remains a virtual certainty that I will never vote for a Democrat. But if the Republican party is ever horn-swoggled by a Bush again, I will move to... the bathroom.
I would have accepted Pres. Bush announcing that because of fears that Scooter Libby would tell tales out of school, he was pardoning him. That would be a brutally honest statement, and a reflection of just what politics is all about. But to offer the mealy-mouthed comment, "...the prison sentence is exessive" is clear and unequivocal testament of his "fundamentally" flawed personality.
George W. Bush, you moral weenie.
For Big-T, the whiney golfer who can't get along with anyone...
I'll leave the interpretation of this cautionary tale in each of your capable hands, especially, Kat'Dion, into whose (whom's?) hands I long to fall headlong, or head over tail...
Avoiding Alternate Universes
Many of us are naturals at this.
I'm not trying to pass judgment on alternate universes. I'm simply pointing out a tried and true way to avoid them.
An alternate universe is created every time you take action. So right away you can see where this is going.
Suppose I'm on the third hole at Hesperia and there's hardly any wind. I've been getting puffed up in my pride and I decide that I'm going to mash down on a five iron instead of simply hitting a full four iron. And my ball goes into the water. When I pulled the five iron out of my bag, an alternate universe was created, wherein I pulled out the normal four iron. In that universe, I landed just right of the green, pin high and I chipped it close and made the par putt. Compare that with what's happening in the 'real' universe, where I took a drop, with a new ball, and chunked it into the water, beyond the reach of my ball retriever. Now I'm pissed. I drop another ball and hit it too hard and it goes across the green and out into the street. By the time I'm finished, there are two groups waiting on the tee and I'm writing "14" on my card.
So here's the secret to life and to avoiding alternate universes: Don't do things differently!
Thank you and good day.
I'm not trying to pass judgment on alternate universes. I'm simply pointing out a tried and true way to avoid them.
An alternate universe is created every time you take action. So right away you can see where this is going.
Suppose I'm on the third hole at Hesperia and there's hardly any wind. I've been getting puffed up in my pride and I decide that I'm going to mash down on a five iron instead of simply hitting a full four iron. And my ball goes into the water. When I pulled the five iron out of my bag, an alternate universe was created, wherein I pulled out the normal four iron. In that universe, I landed just right of the green, pin high and I chipped it close and made the par putt. Compare that with what's happening in the 'real' universe, where I took a drop, with a new ball, and chunked it into the water, beyond the reach of my ball retriever. Now I'm pissed. I drop another ball and hit it too hard and it goes across the green and out into the street. By the time I'm finished, there are two groups waiting on the tee and I'm writing "14" on my card.
So here's the secret to life and to avoiding alternate universes: Don't do things differently!
Thank you and good day.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
It's a Lie, a Scandalous Lie!
Friday morning I got a call from an acquaintance. He'd entered a golf tournament with one of his partners. The partner wasn't going to make it back in town in time for the tournament, the next day, and did I want to fill in. Using that same breath, he continued, "Everything's paid for, it won't cost you a thing." So what could I do?
I had to call Bill to let him know about backing out of Saturday morning golf, but it hit me: I'd be seeing him at 2:00 p.m. and LA Royal Vista golf course. It's always nicer to see people's faces when you've got news that elevates you above them for whatever reason.
But it turns out he had the best of it.
The tournament was at Barona Creek Golf Club, down near San Diego. Their website says they are rated the fifth best public access golf course. Their website lied. A lie on the scale of "wettng the bed is better than sex," or "Politics is an honorable profession."
When I got to my acquaintance's house, his daughter's boy friend was there. He was dressed for golf and mentioned that he'd golfed a number of times at Barona Creek. I laughingly asked if I was losing out by having given up a game at Hidden Valley to go to Barona Creek. He dropped the pleasant smile and frowned at me. "You had a tee time at Hidden Valley and you gave it up for Barona Creek?" I nodded my head. He started shaking his head.
The day went downhill (downhell?) from there.
But I survived. I won't ever bother to play that course again. So now you've been warned. (Another in an increasingly longer line of things for which to thank the internet.)
I had to call Bill to let him know about backing out of Saturday morning golf, but it hit me: I'd be seeing him at 2:00 p.m. and LA Royal Vista golf course. It's always nicer to see people's faces when you've got news that elevates you above them for whatever reason.
But it turns out he had the best of it.
The tournament was at Barona Creek Golf Club, down near San Diego. Their website says they are rated the fifth best public access golf course. Their website lied. A lie on the scale of "wettng the bed is better than sex," or "Politics is an honorable profession."
When I got to my acquaintance's house, his daughter's boy friend was there. He was dressed for golf and mentioned that he'd golfed a number of times at Barona Creek. I laughingly asked if I was losing out by having given up a game at Hidden Valley to go to Barona Creek. He dropped the pleasant smile and frowned at me. "You had a tee time at Hidden Valley and you gave it up for Barona Creek?" I nodded my head. He started shaking his head.
The day went downhill (downhell?) from there.
But I survived. I won't ever bother to play that course again. So now you've been warned. (Another in an increasingly longer line of things for which to thank the internet.)
Thank You Notes from my youngest son
(You have no idea the chill of fear, the knot of anxiety, the drumbeat of morbidity, the staggering of esteem, the frolic of fierceity... ect.)
Andrew wrote these himself:
Uncle Joe & Aunt Emma,
From all the neglect I've received from you, my so called 'aunt and uncle,' you can imagine the surprise I had when I opened your card! I didn't know who you were until I asked my mom.
Dear Uncle Steve & Aunt Leez,
100 buck? C'mon, cheapskate, I know you've got deep pockets. "We're moving to France, but, here's some pocket change, you little bastard." Screw you.
Dear Mrs. Wasielieski,
Hey! It really meant a lot to me to receive a car from you upon the occasion of my graduation! It's tough being the young one and a lot of times I feel like my accomplishments go by without notice, because I dwell in the shadow or my older, more attractive brother who has scaled the Everest of Life, it seems. So it was very pleasing to get the card from you. However, in actuality, it's my brother who is deserving of your pleasantries. I've since forwarded your card to his person and I hear that he has spent the small sum enclosed on underwear, without even wondering where or how the money was earned. It warms my heart to know that he has found pleasure, somehow, in my graduation.
HE CAN'T DECIDE ON WHICH OF THESE FOUR...
Dear Ashley,
Let me say this: Writing thank you notes is hell for me. You gave me 100 dollars for my graduation and you've probably thinking to yourself, "Boy, am I a great relative for dropping a bill on my cousin. I must have made his freaking day." You're wrong, dead wrong. I'll see you in hell
Dear Ashley,
First of all: HOLY SHIT! One hundred big ones!? Where the hell are you getting all this cool cash? My mom says I can't spend it until I write you this letter, but as I'm writing this I'm not thinking about your, your generosity, our great times spent over these 18 years of my life or anything else that Family Circus baloney. No, I'm focusing on how I'm going to blow your hard earned cash.
Dear Ashley,
You think money is going to make it all right that you didn't come to my graduation? I worked, I toiled, I emptied my being into the halls of that school for four horrible years and you can't even break away from your babysitting job to come down to see me? I burned that Benjamin you gave me and you can consider us on hiatus as cousins until I get a personal apology and 200 dollars.
Dear Ashley,
Geez, Ms Richie Rich, you really came through on this one! 100 bucks!! You even beat Uncle Steve! But seriously, I don't want to sound shallow or materialistic, but it really meant a lot to see that amount of money thrown my way. Let's face it, money is awesome, you're awesome by association. The card was cool, too; it actually made me jump a little! Maybe sometime before I go to college I can come down and visit you guys for awhile. It feels like it's been too long. I hear you got a schweet job taking care of some rich people's kids. Way to go! Be sure to weasel yourself into the old man's will. You can take care of the whole family! Anyway, thanks again! You made my day. See you soon, Ash!
- Andrew
Andrew wrote these himself:
Uncle Joe & Aunt Emma,
From all the neglect I've received from you, my so called 'aunt and uncle,' you can imagine the surprise I had when I opened your card! I didn't know who you were until I asked my mom.
Dear Uncle Steve & Aunt Leez,
100 buck? C'mon, cheapskate, I know you've got deep pockets. "We're moving to France, but, here's some pocket change, you little bastard." Screw you.
Dear Mrs. Wasielieski,
Hey! It really meant a lot to me to receive a car from you upon the occasion of my graduation! It's tough being the young one and a lot of times I feel like my accomplishments go by without notice, because I dwell in the shadow or my older, more attractive brother who has scaled the Everest of Life, it seems. So it was very pleasing to get the card from you. However, in actuality, it's my brother who is deserving of your pleasantries. I've since forwarded your card to his person and I hear that he has spent the small sum enclosed on underwear, without even wondering where or how the money was earned. It warms my heart to know that he has found pleasure, somehow, in my graduation.
HE CAN'T DECIDE ON WHICH OF THESE FOUR...
Dear Ashley,
Let me say this: Writing thank you notes is hell for me. You gave me 100 dollars for my graduation and you've probably thinking to yourself, "Boy, am I a great relative for dropping a bill on my cousin. I must have made his freaking day." You're wrong, dead wrong. I'll see you in hell
Dear Ashley,
First of all: HOLY SHIT! One hundred big ones!? Where the hell are you getting all this cool cash? My mom says I can't spend it until I write you this letter, but as I'm writing this I'm not thinking about your, your generosity, our great times spent over these 18 years of my life or anything else that Family Circus baloney. No, I'm focusing on how I'm going to blow your hard earned cash.
Dear Ashley,
You think money is going to make it all right that you didn't come to my graduation? I worked, I toiled, I emptied my being into the halls of that school for four horrible years and you can't even break away from your babysitting job to come down to see me? I burned that Benjamin you gave me and you can consider us on hiatus as cousins until I get a personal apology and 200 dollars.
Dear Ashley,
Geez, Ms Richie Rich, you really came through on this one! 100 bucks!! You even beat Uncle Steve! But seriously, I don't want to sound shallow or materialistic, but it really meant a lot to see that amount of money thrown my way. Let's face it, money is awesome, you're awesome by association. The card was cool, too; it actually made me jump a little! Maybe sometime before I go to college I can come down and visit you guys for awhile. It feels like it's been too long. I hear you got a schweet job taking care of some rich people's kids. Way to go! Be sure to weasel yourself into the old man's will. You can take care of the whole family! Anyway, thanks again! You made my day. See you soon, Ash!
- Andrew
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Grammiekins leads the way into a new Future
Right now it's voluntary, but I can foresee where it could become mandatory.
What I refer to is having your life 'cataloged' on the internet.
Grammie, of Awaiting Buddha, has basically dedicated a chunk of internet real estate to her first grandson. If she keeps it up, by the time young Owen is in high school, he will have gigabytes of material piled up completely documenting his life to that point.
Long before then Google will offer a service that compiles every fact and fiction written or videotaped about the subscriber. Biographers of the future will have no trouble dissecting the life of the person they chose to study; their problem will be winnowing through the over abundance of material.
And I can foresee where your Social Security Number will end with a ".cit" for the new citizen domain, where every bit of paperwork, every test, photo, medical report, x-ray, .wav file and sex tape will be archived. The micro-chip in the back of your neck will make sure that surveillance video gets copied to your .cit file. The final test of love will be to exchange passwords, so that each lover can rummage through the life of the other.
Can you imagine El Pistolero's biographers trying to pin down what El Pistolero meant to the 20th and 21st Centuries? I can see schools of thought arising regarding what one or another post 'meant.' And schisms will splinter the schools of thought and brother will turn against brother as El Pistolero's words and deeds are argued over.
How much of a post is a metaphor? Where does truth end and begging begin? Can a milkshake really just be a milkshake?
I, on the other hand, will be easily dismissed as a total slacker who succeeded so well that his life ended up the equivalent of soggy steamed rice. But it was all I ever wanted...
What I refer to is having your life 'cataloged' on the internet.
Grammie, of Awaiting Buddha, has basically dedicated a chunk of internet real estate to her first grandson. If she keeps it up, by the time young Owen is in high school, he will have gigabytes of material piled up completely documenting his life to that point.
Long before then Google will offer a service that compiles every fact and fiction written or videotaped about the subscriber. Biographers of the future will have no trouble dissecting the life of the person they chose to study; their problem will be winnowing through the over abundance of material.
And I can foresee where your Social Security Number will end with a ".cit" for the new citizen domain, where every bit of paperwork, every test, photo, medical report, x-ray, .wav file and sex tape will be archived. The micro-chip in the back of your neck will make sure that surveillance video gets copied to your .cit file. The final test of love will be to exchange passwords, so that each lover can rummage through the life of the other.
Can you imagine El Pistolero's biographers trying to pin down what El Pistolero meant to the 20th and 21st Centuries? I can see schools of thought arising regarding what one or another post 'meant.' And schisms will splinter the schools of thought and brother will turn against brother as El Pistolero's words and deeds are argued over.
How much of a post is a metaphor? Where does truth end and begging begin? Can a milkshake really just be a milkshake?
I, on the other hand, will be easily dismissed as a total slacker who succeeded so well that his life ended up the equivalent of soggy steamed rice. But it was all I ever wanted...
In 24 hours people will start making calls on their iPhones.
I won't be one of them. I never even got an iPod. I'm not in the iGeneration. It's that simple.
I thought it was way cool in one of their commercials where they showed an iPhone looking at YouTube video. But then I learned that that only works when you're at a wifi hot spot, which is fine if it's free. Which made me feel better because while my Blackberry does the 'net very well, it won't do videos from YouTube with just the phone connection. Just like the iPhone. I don't think the iPhone will do email as well as the Blackberry.
I bet iPhone 2.0 kicks butt. Since I'm already a Cingular/AT&T subscriber, maybe I'll get iPhone 3.0, the one with the sexual gratification button. Blackberry says they have no plans in that direction.
I thought it was way cool in one of their commercials where they showed an iPhone looking at YouTube video. But then I learned that that only works when you're at a wifi hot spot, which is fine if it's free. Which made me feel better because while my Blackberry does the 'net very well, it won't do videos from YouTube with just the phone connection. Just like the iPhone. I don't think the iPhone will do email as well as the Blackberry.
I bet iPhone 2.0 kicks butt. Since I'm already a Cingular/AT&T subscriber, maybe I'll get iPhone 3.0, the one with the sexual gratification button. Blackberry says they have no plans in that direction.
A lesson in conservation of self, disguised as a joke...
A big city lawyer went duck hunting in rural Tennessee. He shot a fat looking duck but it fell into a field on the other side of a fence. As the lawyer was climbing over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing.
The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now
I'm going to retrieve it."
The old farmer replied, "This is my property, and so now the duck is my property."
The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the United States and, if you don't let me have that duck, I'll sue you and take you for everything you own."
The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we settle disagreements here in Tennessee. We settle small disagreements with the 'Three Kick
Rule.'"
The lawyer asked, "What's the 'Three Kick Rule'?"
The Farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, I get to go first. I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on, back and forth until one of us gives up."
The attorney considered the matter and quickly decided that he could easily take the old codger. He agreed to abide by the local custom.
The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel-toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees. His second kick to the midriff sent the lawyer's last meal gushing from his mouth. The lawyer was on all fours when the farmer's third kick to his rear end, sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie.
The lawyer lay there basically dead to the world but then swam back up to semi-consciousness and summoning every bit of his will he managed to get to his feet.
Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, you old fart, now it's my turn."
The old farmer grinned at the attorney and said, "Nah, I give up. You can have the duck."
The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now
I'm going to retrieve it."
The old farmer replied, "This is my property, and so now the duck is my property."
The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the United States and, if you don't let me have that duck, I'll sue you and take you for everything you own."
The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we settle disagreements here in Tennessee. We settle small disagreements with the 'Three Kick
Rule.'"
The lawyer asked, "What's the 'Three Kick Rule'?"
The Farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, I get to go first. I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on, back and forth until one of us gives up."
The attorney considered the matter and quickly decided that he could easily take the old codger. He agreed to abide by the local custom.
The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney. His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel-toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees. His second kick to the midriff sent the lawyer's last meal gushing from his mouth. The lawyer was on all fours when the farmer's third kick to his rear end, sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie.
The lawyer lay there basically dead to the world but then swam back up to semi-consciousness and summoning every bit of his will he managed to get to his feet.
Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, you old fart, now it's my turn."
The old farmer grinned at the attorney and said, "Nah, I give up. You can have the duck."
Many Important Discoveries are just New Ways to Look at Something
Imagine you are stranded in a leafy, tranquil forest, by a babbling brook. You have no food, but thanks to the babbling brook, you won't die of thirst. But there is NO food available. Days pass. The ache of your empty stomach is a constant, unrelenting nag; thoughts of food assail your brain. You have never, EVER in your life been this hungry!
Suddenly a person walks into view and cheerily says, "Hello."
No one in the world is going to criticize you if rather than say, "Hello your ownself, dude" (or dudette), you instead demand to know if he or she has anything to eat. Nothing could be more reasonable, right?
Well, now you understand what's up with men and our sex drive.
You're welcome.
Suddenly a person walks into view and cheerily says, "Hello."
No one in the world is going to criticize you if rather than say, "Hello your ownself, dude" (or dudette), you instead demand to know if he or she has anything to eat. Nothing could be more reasonable, right?
Well, now you understand what's up with men and our sex drive.
You're welcome.
Where are you now, Joe DiMaggio . . .
I watched part of a tribute to Paul Simon last night and they showed him singing this in Yankee Stadium. (Oh, sure, I believe you were there that day...) For thirty years now people have been asking this question. How come no one answers it?
He's dead! Stop asking the frickin' question!
But it's being asked less and less as time goes on. One day people will have finally forgotten the question.
Once the human races learns how to cheat death, a lot of questions won't be asked and go unanswered.
Speaking of which try this one: "If all your friends refused to jump off a cliff would you refuse to not jump off that cliff, too?"
In other words, parents DO want conformity and running with the herd when it suits their plans!! So what does this tell you about parents?
He's dead! Stop asking the frickin' question!
But it's being asked less and less as time goes on. One day people will have finally forgotten the question.
Once the human races learns how to cheat death, a lot of questions won't be asked and go unanswered.
Speaking of which try this one: "If all your friends refused to jump off a cliff would you refuse to not jump off that cliff, too?"
In other words, parents DO want conformity and running with the herd when it suits their plans!! So what does this tell you about parents?
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Coexisting with People who don't want to coexist with You.
I know it's hard to believe that there are people out there who want you dead rather than have to share oxygen with you, but it's true.
There may come a time when these people, radical Islamo-fascists, your father-in-law, the waiter you left a dollar tip on a $22.50 lunch tab, et al., decide that there are better things to do than kill you. If we ever reach that point, there will be some things you'll need to know.
Many of the people who hate you wear explosive vests, carry guns/knives or drive ton and a half vehicles. If you bug them, they'll explode the vest, shot/stab you or run you down and marmalade you. So what you need to do is learn to leave them alone and tip better.
What would the IRS do to a man wearing an explosive vest if he refused to pay his taxes? Lots of things, I'm sure. But one thing they wouldn't do is confront him. Same with a cop who saw a man wearing an explosive vest urinating in public. If you had the state of mind necessary to put on an explosive vest, and you were one of, say, 20 million people wearing such vests, what do you think it would do to law and order? Because the ultimate leverage the State has is to deprive you of life or liberty. If you're willing to use your vest if you don't get your way, you're going to get your way a lot more than someone not wearing a vest. The ultimate 'F-U' to the State. You think you'd be pulled over for a traffic infraction if you had a big bumper sticker that said, "Warning, Driver is wearing an Explosive Vest"?
And what about a movement that enlisted people over 70 to put on such vests? They either get their way or they flip the switch on the detonator. Civil Disobedience to the max.
It wouldn't take long before being polite, and respecting your fellow man became the absolute order of the day.
Or maybe I should just get more sleep?
There may come a time when these people, radical Islamo-fascists, your father-in-law, the waiter you left a dollar tip on a $22.50 lunch tab, et al., decide that there are better things to do than kill you. If we ever reach that point, there will be some things you'll need to know.
Many of the people who hate you wear explosive vests, carry guns/knives or drive ton and a half vehicles. If you bug them, they'll explode the vest, shot/stab you or run you down and marmalade you. So what you need to do is learn to leave them alone and tip better.
What would the IRS do to a man wearing an explosive vest if he refused to pay his taxes? Lots of things, I'm sure. But one thing they wouldn't do is confront him. Same with a cop who saw a man wearing an explosive vest urinating in public. If you had the state of mind necessary to put on an explosive vest, and you were one of, say, 20 million people wearing such vests, what do you think it would do to law and order? Because the ultimate leverage the State has is to deprive you of life or liberty. If you're willing to use your vest if you don't get your way, you're going to get your way a lot more than someone not wearing a vest. The ultimate 'F-U' to the State. You think you'd be pulled over for a traffic infraction if you had a big bumper sticker that said, "Warning, Driver is wearing an Explosive Vest"?
And what about a movement that enlisted people over 70 to put on such vests? They either get their way or they flip the switch on the detonator. Civil Disobedience to the max.
It wouldn't take long before being polite, and respecting your fellow man became the absolute order of the day.
Or maybe I should just get more sleep?
A play on words...
Heather Ivy was a tall, thin, pale blonde. With a bit more meat on her 5'11" frame, people would have used 'nordic' as a descriptive word. But thin as she was, 'gaunt' was a word often used by the more literate of the English majors in her life.
She was a junior at IOU Tech and this year she was an RA in her dorm, the most obvious benefit of which was that she had a private room and bath.
In November of the year, three months into the semester, she fell in love with a Puerto Rican kid who lived off campus. He was a Freshman, but older than her. She was all farm, he was all ghetto, but with a mind that understood and accepted the differences. He molded himself to fit what little yielding she had done to try to fit into what was still a strange world to her. People who knew them both could not understand how they had come to be a couple. But their 'understanding' was not something the couple needed and individually each one refused to answer any questions from the butt-inskies among their friends.
They hadn't been a couple long enough so Christmas Break wasn't a problem; each returned home alone. They emailed, IM'd and texted constantly. Her cell phone wouldn't take, send or receive photos, but she did have a digital camera and so they exhanged a number of photos, to the amusement of their respective families, none of whom gave the couple a snowball's chance in hell.
Back in school in January their 'coupleism' continued to prosper. And so did their academic endeavors: they both made Dean's list at the end of Spring Semester.
They'd held desultory talks now and again as the end of the semester approached, about what they would do, couple-wise, during the summer. He was honest and told her that the thought of spending time on a farm, where he couldn't make love to her whenever he wanted to, didn't appeal to him. And she was equally blunt in letting him know that being the only tall, skinny White girl in his barrio was equally unappealing. So they agreed to part for the Summer.
When the last school day was over, and they were packed and ready to depart, he held her in a final embrace. Their sadness was acute. She told him that the sadness was making her heart feel like a medicine ball inside her chest and it seemed to be trying to sink into her stomach. He put his hand over her heart (for a last quick feel) and told her that not seeing her for two and a half months was going to be the saddest thing he'd ever experienced.
And she asked him, "Will you still love me in the mourning?"
She had to finally explain her joke to him, writing it out, because he kept saying he'd miss her EVERY morning, AND the afternoons and evenings... When he finally got it, he laughed. But it was too late. She knew she'd just sown a seed of destruction and no weed killer in the world was going to prevent it from sprouting. What was going to grow from that seed would drive a wedge between them. Naive she might be, but she was farm girl practical and she figured he'd still be good to have around during her senior year, what with him being a great lay, and all. She was smiling when her taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving him standing by his bags, his eyes bright with moisture.
She was a junior at IOU Tech and this year she was an RA in her dorm, the most obvious benefit of which was that she had a private room and bath.
In November of the year, three months into the semester, she fell in love with a Puerto Rican kid who lived off campus. He was a Freshman, but older than her. She was all farm, he was all ghetto, but with a mind that understood and accepted the differences. He molded himself to fit what little yielding she had done to try to fit into what was still a strange world to her. People who knew them both could not understand how they had come to be a couple. But their 'understanding' was not something the couple needed and individually each one refused to answer any questions from the butt-inskies among their friends.
They hadn't been a couple long enough so Christmas Break wasn't a problem; each returned home alone. They emailed, IM'd and texted constantly. Her cell phone wouldn't take, send or receive photos, but she did have a digital camera and so they exhanged a number of photos, to the amusement of their respective families, none of whom gave the couple a snowball's chance in hell.
Back in school in January their 'coupleism' continued to prosper. And so did their academic endeavors: they both made Dean's list at the end of Spring Semester.
They'd held desultory talks now and again as the end of the semester approached, about what they would do, couple-wise, during the summer. He was honest and told her that the thought of spending time on a farm, where he couldn't make love to her whenever he wanted to, didn't appeal to him. And she was equally blunt in letting him know that being the only tall, skinny White girl in his barrio was equally unappealing. So they agreed to part for the Summer.
When the last school day was over, and they were packed and ready to depart, he held her in a final embrace. Their sadness was acute. She told him that the sadness was making her heart feel like a medicine ball inside her chest and it seemed to be trying to sink into her stomach. He put his hand over her heart (for a last quick feel) and told her that not seeing her for two and a half months was going to be the saddest thing he'd ever experienced.
And she asked him, "Will you still love me in the mourning?"
She had to finally explain her joke to him, writing it out, because he kept saying he'd miss her EVERY morning, AND the afternoons and evenings... When he finally got it, he laughed. But it was too late. She knew she'd just sown a seed of destruction and no weed killer in the world was going to prevent it from sprouting. What was going to grow from that seed would drive a wedge between them. Naive she might be, but she was farm girl practical and she figured he'd still be good to have around during her senior year, what with him being a great lay, and all. She was smiling when her taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving him standing by his bags, his eyes bright with moisture.
Breaking News v. Breaking Gossip
I have found a way to differentiate between what is news and what is gossip. Not that anyone in the modern media really seems to care, but I've never been deterred by the fact that something I had to say was not only pointless, but possibly in bad taste.
Like most tests, it's simple and very effective. Here's an example... Read the two declarative statements below. One of them is gossip and one is news:
Adolf Hitler ordered the invasion of Poland, which took place on August 31, 1939.
Adolf Hitler once tied a kite string to his penis, ran the string up under his shirt and out over his neck tie and told Eva Braun that if she pulled on it, he would yodel for her.
It's easy to see which one is news and which one is gossip. And here's the thing: old news is NEVER interesting, but old gossip is! None of us cares about what our grandparents went through during the Depression, but we're always interested in their stories about embarrassing moments involving nudity, sex, alcohol, or best of all, the three combined.
So when you're watching Cute Katie Couric, if what she is talking about would ALWAYS be interesting to hear about, it's gossip.
Like most tests, it's simple and very effective. Here's an example... Read the two declarative statements below. One of them is gossip and one is news:
Adolf Hitler ordered the invasion of Poland, which took place on August 31, 1939.
Adolf Hitler once tied a kite string to his penis, ran the string up under his shirt and out over his neck tie and told Eva Braun that if she pulled on it, he would yodel for her.
It's easy to see which one is news and which one is gossip. And here's the thing: old news is NEVER interesting, but old gossip is! None of us cares about what our grandparents went through during the Depression, but we're always interested in their stories about embarrassing moments involving nudity, sex, alcohol, or best of all, the three combined.
So when you're watching Cute Katie Couric, if what she is talking about would ALWAYS be interesting to hear about, it's gossip.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
The Penis Diatribes
My wife is currently watching some type of Vagina Monologues presentation. As I sit and type, my back is to the TV, so I can only hear these various women find different things to say about their vaginas. Apparently the American Female has spent a lot of time in denial with regard to their vaginas.
And so we come to The Penis Diatribes. Or as they are called in East LA, Chupame la verga, chulita.
There will never be an audience who would pay to hear what a penis has to say. Why on earth did people pay money to hear women talk about their vaginas? I certainly never figured it out. Men would certainly never get near them if they, the vaginas, could talk.
Okay, apparently, from what I'm hearing behind, the majority of women don't like their vaginas! Their vaginas have been the cause of pain and rejection! Well, that wasn't the case on my watch! Another reason why my 300 million daily fellow travelers should have had more to say about how this world is run.
What kind of a world is this where there are so many women who don't delight in their vaginas.
Richard Condon & Carrie Fisher each wrote a book in praise of the vagina; he wrote The Vertical Smile and she wrote Surrender The Pink. More people should have read them.
I heard there's going to be a new show on cable, The Penis Whisperer
And so we come to The Penis Diatribes. Or as they are called in East LA, Chupame la verga, chulita.
There will never be an audience who would pay to hear what a penis has to say. Why on earth did people pay money to hear women talk about their vaginas? I certainly never figured it out. Men would certainly never get near them if they, the vaginas, could talk.
Okay, apparently, from what I'm hearing behind, the majority of women don't like their vaginas! Their vaginas have been the cause of pain and rejection! Well, that wasn't the case on my watch! Another reason why my 300 million daily fellow travelers should have had more to say about how this world is run.
What kind of a world is this where there are so many women who don't delight in their vaginas.
Richard Condon & Carrie Fisher each wrote a book in praise of the vagina; he wrote The Vertical Smile and she wrote Surrender The Pink. More people should have read them.
I heard there's going to be a new show on cable, The Penis Whisperer
Monday, June 25, 2007
I met a man...
This is going to freak you out! It freaked me out and I was there watching it happen. You could see it coming so it wasn't like it totally caught me by surprise, like it is you. It's just the extreme unusualness that gets to you, because if you fit it into the context of WWII, it's not really that big a thing.
Okay, I believe I've mentioned that I was a Mormon Missionary. It was a long tme ago, in the 60s. Technically, I could be a grandfather to the little Missionaries out there today. I did my Mission in Mexico, in one of four territorial divisions the Church had set up. My territory included Mexico City. Mexico City is old and there are some very, very rich people there.
One day, in a very old section called Coyoacán my companion and I met a man. He didn't tell us his name. He invited us into his cozy home. It reeked of reclusive erudition. It was dark and there were books everywhere. I don't remember much of what was said. Remember, I was just 19, callow to a very alarming degree, and although I was a voracious reader, back then my preferred genre was science fiction. So when this gentleman started telling us about how foolish we were to talk for god and salvation, it was easy to feel smug and superior, what with my Companion and I possessing 'The Truth.' I do remember him telling us, calmly, almost dispassionately, that he had seen things that would convince the most stalwart of believers that god could not possibly exist. He looked fairly old. I never forgot that man, mostly because of the setting. I'd never that kind of stuffy, educated reclusiveness. And then there was his certainty.
Anyway, I men him today. He is 74, having been born in 1933. He now lives in San Bernardino. I would never have remembered him; I never 'developed' a picture of his face to go with the rest of the recollection of that brief event. I was painting addresses on curbs and as is often the case I had people coming out to talk to me. There's this thing about me: I don't speak "street Spanish." I was a Missionary who learned Spanish while a Missionary and then I took my minor in Spanish. I'm sure most Spanish-speakers realize there's something 'stuffy' about my Spanish be he was one of the very, very few who questioned it. So I explained. He asked where I'd served my Mission. I answered. He asked if I'd ever been in Coyoacán. I said I had. He asked what year. I answered. He asked me if remembered meeting him in his stuffy, reclusive study. I gave him a long look and said I did. We talked a lot more...
But to cut to the chase, the gentleman, Gustavo Merced de la Torre, is now living with his remaining relative, a nephew. And his claim to fame, or notoriety, is that he was the only Mexican to spend time in a Nazi Concentration Camp. Or as he corrected me, un Campo de Exterminación Nazi. Not a subtle difference.
He's never made a serious inquiry, but he spent all of WWII in Germany and never heard of any other of his fellow countrymen being there. So that's why he says he is the only Mexican survivor of the death camps.
See, I told you it was weird.
Okay, I believe I've mentioned that I was a Mormon Missionary. It was a long tme ago, in the 60s. Technically, I could be a grandfather to the little Missionaries out there today. I did my Mission in Mexico, in one of four territorial divisions the Church had set up. My territory included Mexico City. Mexico City is old and there are some very, very rich people there.
One day, in a very old section called Coyoacán my companion and I met a man. He didn't tell us his name. He invited us into his cozy home. It reeked of reclusive erudition. It was dark and there were books everywhere. I don't remember much of what was said. Remember, I was just 19, callow to a very alarming degree, and although I was a voracious reader, back then my preferred genre was science fiction. So when this gentleman started telling us about how foolish we were to talk for god and salvation, it was easy to feel smug and superior, what with my Companion and I possessing 'The Truth.' I do remember him telling us, calmly, almost dispassionately, that he had seen things that would convince the most stalwart of believers that god could not possibly exist. He looked fairly old. I never forgot that man, mostly because of the setting. I'd never that kind of stuffy, educated reclusiveness. And then there was his certainty.
Anyway, I men him today. He is 74, having been born in 1933. He now lives in San Bernardino. I would never have remembered him; I never 'developed' a picture of his face to go with the rest of the recollection of that brief event. I was painting addresses on curbs and as is often the case I had people coming out to talk to me. There's this thing about me: I don't speak "street Spanish." I was a Missionary who learned Spanish while a Missionary and then I took my minor in Spanish. I'm sure most Spanish-speakers realize there's something 'stuffy' about my Spanish be he was one of the very, very few who questioned it. So I explained. He asked where I'd served my Mission. I answered. He asked if I'd ever been in Coyoacán. I said I had. He asked what year. I answered. He asked me if remembered meeting him in his stuffy, reclusive study. I gave him a long look and said I did. We talked a lot more...
But to cut to the chase, the gentleman, Gustavo Merced de la Torre, is now living with his remaining relative, a nephew. And his claim to fame, or notoriety, is that he was the only Mexican to spend time in a Nazi Concentration Camp. Or as he corrected me, un Campo de Exterminación Nazi. Not a subtle difference.
He's never made a serious inquiry, but he spent all of WWII in Germany and never heard of any other of his fellow countrymen being there. So that's why he says he is the only Mexican survivor of the death camps.
See, I told you it was weird.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Crips 'n Bloods and the Spice Girls
I'm combining two posts. This could be a wave of the future, combining posts. It saves, time, money and energy, which will keep the planet from overheating before I die.
I searched for evidence that Crips and/or Bloods blog. Crips and Bloods are Black gangs. Legend has it that Crips was founded in South Central Los Angeles way back when... Members identified themselves by wearing a blue banadana on their persons. Legend goes on to say that leaders added a red bandana, to denote rank. Schisms occurred and before anyone could write a paper on it, the Bloods proclaimed their existence and took over sole use of the red bandana.
In searching for evidence of Crip or Blood blogs I found this sparkling burst of erudition: "yo id anint bout red or blue id's bout faimly most people who joyin crips or bloods been abused or sum din its like cristians and afyeist if you a cristian then other cristians your family if you and afiyist they your faimly id's like dat we only gots bad blood between us bescuse we dont agree on stuff same thing as religions but in sted of religion blood and crips are like familys gid it" You can't make this stuff up, you know...
I never did find any blogs but I bet one exists and I just have to keep looking. There has to be one or two introspective gangstas out there who have computers.
Which segue-ways us into the Spice Girls. There's no way to sugar coat this so I'll just blurt it out: I read this morning that they are going to get back together and go out on tour and stop global warming. They are going to bring to bear/bare their awesome power for good, but there will still be no nipple. There will be some name changes, to reflect where the girls are in their lives now:
Posh Spice she is totally satisfied with her life and wouldn't change a thing.
Smelly Spice she has liberated herself from the pedestrian cares of the world and from slavish conformity to 'regular world' rules.
Stealth Spice She doesn't want you to see her coming... or going.
Aspirin Spice If you've had too much to drink, play two songs then call her in the morning.
Trojan Spice There's more to her than meets the eye.
I could be wrong on some of these names. What have you heard?
I searched for evidence that Crips and/or Bloods blog. Crips and Bloods are Black gangs. Legend has it that Crips was founded in South Central Los Angeles way back when... Members identified themselves by wearing a blue banadana on their persons. Legend goes on to say that leaders added a red bandana, to denote rank. Schisms occurred and before anyone could write a paper on it, the Bloods proclaimed their existence and took over sole use of the red bandana.
In searching for evidence of Crip or Blood blogs I found this sparkling burst of erudition: "yo id anint bout red or blue id's bout faimly most people who joyin crips or bloods been abused or sum din its like cristians and afyeist if you a cristian then other cristians your family if you and afiyist they your faimly id's like dat we only gots bad blood between us bescuse we dont agree on stuff same thing as religions but in sted of religion blood and crips are like familys gid it" You can't make this stuff up, you know...
I never did find any blogs but I bet one exists and I just have to keep looking. There has to be one or two introspective gangstas out there who have computers.
Which segue-ways us into the Spice Girls. There's no way to sugar coat this so I'll just blurt it out: I read this morning that they are going to get back together and go out on tour and stop global warming. They are going to bring to bear/bare their awesome power for good, but there will still be no nipple. There will be some name changes, to reflect where the girls are in their lives now:
Posh Spice she is totally satisfied with her life and wouldn't change a thing.
Smelly Spice she has liberated herself from the pedestrian cares of the world and from slavish conformity to 'regular world' rules.
Stealth Spice She doesn't want you to see her coming... or going.
Aspirin Spice If you've had too much to drink, play two songs then call her in the morning.
Trojan Spice There's more to her than meets the eye.
I could be wrong on some of these names. What have you heard?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Speaking Excrementially
I made this word up: Excrementially. Naturally I had help. I'm nothing by myself. I'm the first to admit it; admit one, non-smoking. A guy named Hilary had something to do with it. Go figure...
I trust that my faithy (not faithful, not faithless, just faithy) readers will be inspired to incorporate this handy word into their week day and weekend nights conversations. There will always be plenty of opportunities because excrement is all around us. It's going to be the adverb of the 21st Century. And you're in on the ground floor.
Lucky you!
I trust that my faithy (not faithful, not faithless, just faithy) readers will be inspired to incorporate this handy word into their week day and weekend nights conversations. There will always be plenty of opportunities because excrement is all around us. It's going to be the adverb of the 21st Century. And you're in on the ground floor.
Lucky you!
How come hardly anyone fantasizes about being Mundane?
Mundaneness doesn't get a fair shake. But then, what does?
Mundaneness has it's time and place. Where would the music of the 60s have been if we hadn't been ready to settle for mundane? And Disco! Disco was all about being mundane!
See?
Mundane gets a bad rap because individually none of us wants to be mundane. Fine, individually you are certainly the cream of the crop, A number 1, the top of the heap.
So how come 72.5% of high school graduates can't read at a 12th grade level? How come we let 34,000 fellow Americans die in alcohol related traffic accidents? How come being part of a mob is preferred to being stalwart and somewhat alone? How come a whole bunch of things?
Maybe it's who we're listening to? Getting good grades is mundane. The two extremes to good grades are being a merit scholar or a flunk out. Not everyone can be a merit scholar. So in that light, being mundane is better than flunking out. But inner city kids and wannabe inner city kids don't see this.
So I'm saying if you can help one person achieve mundaneness instead of flunking out, you're doing a heck of a good thing.
Yours in C+, dreaming of a B-,
Bert H.G. Bananas
Mundaneness has it's time and place. Where would the music of the 60s have been if we hadn't been ready to settle for mundane? And Disco! Disco was all about being mundane!
See?
Mundane gets a bad rap because individually none of us wants to be mundane. Fine, individually you are certainly the cream of the crop, A number 1, the top of the heap.
So how come 72.5% of high school graduates can't read at a 12th grade level? How come we let 34,000 fellow Americans die in alcohol related traffic accidents? How come being part of a mob is preferred to being stalwart and somewhat alone? How come a whole bunch of things?
Maybe it's who we're listening to? Getting good grades is mundane. The two extremes to good grades are being a merit scholar or a flunk out. Not everyone can be a merit scholar. So in that light, being mundane is better than flunking out. But inner city kids and wannabe inner city kids don't see this.
So I'm saying if you can help one person achieve mundaneness instead of flunking out, you're doing a heck of a good thing.
Yours in C+, dreaming of a B-,
Bert H.G. Bananas
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Perfect Shape
You may have never considered this fact, but it's important, because it will help you as you consider the species you were born part of and what we've become.
Wind resistance... Ever swing a tennis racket with the head cover on? And then when you take off the cover, it's like 100 times easier to swing...(96.1 times easier to be exact, but the exact measurements aren't as important as the hyperbole). So wind resistance is a major factor when it comes to automobile fuel efficiency. The more aerodynamic a shape is, the more efficiently it cuts through the atmospere.
I'm sure you can grasp the logic in this statement: There is a perfect aerodynamic shape for a vehicle that has four wheels, one at each corner, and which has to carry humans in comfort and safety. Wind tunnel testing would make finding this perfect shape very easy.
And you can tell that automobile manuacturers kind of know this. But they won't accept this basic truth, so you have different designs. But if logic were followed, cars would all look exactly the same. What does it say about us that they don't?
Yes, the exact same thing that me being overweight says about being human. Thanks for pointing that out...
Wind resistance... Ever swing a tennis racket with the head cover on? And then when you take off the cover, it's like 100 times easier to swing...(96.1 times easier to be exact, but the exact measurements aren't as important as the hyperbole). So wind resistance is a major factor when it comes to automobile fuel efficiency. The more aerodynamic a shape is, the more efficiently it cuts through the atmospere.
I'm sure you can grasp the logic in this statement: There is a perfect aerodynamic shape for a vehicle that has four wheels, one at each corner, and which has to carry humans in comfort and safety. Wind tunnel testing would make finding this perfect shape very easy.
And you can tell that automobile manuacturers kind of know this. But they won't accept this basic truth, so you have different designs. But if logic were followed, cars would all look exactly the same. What does it say about us that they don't?
Yes, the exact same thing that me being overweight says about being human. Thanks for pointing that out...
You Didn't Know I Left and Now I'm Back...
The rest of this song is probably very sad, so I'll just skip to the facts.
Big T, of T-Words, convinced my wife that it would be cool for me to go to Mesquite for five days of golf and reading novels. There were 18 of us, but I was the only who brought books. So after the golf I was lonely. But not bitter. Just lonely.
Mesquite, Nevada was founded by the Mormons. It's on the Virgin River, just a stone's throw from Bunkerville, Nevada. Bunkerville has been manufacturing Bunkers since 1884. Paula Bunker was manufactured there and she broke my heart. I refused to even look at signs mentioning Bunkerville. But the whole time I was there, I knew Bunkerville was mocking me, asking me how I like it now, and if Paula Bunker and what she did to me on Graduation Night was still at the heart of all my problems. I never said a word back, but Bunkerville knew that it had my number. I was the poster boy for "Ineffectual." Grammie asked about my pic... Look I'm ineffectual and you'll see me frowning at the camera.
Five days of golf, books and missing my wife. But on the plus side, I learned to play three card poker and pai gow poker. Luckily I had remembered blackjack and how to lose gracefully.
I did get on the computer one night, but not for long. I should have done some work but all I did was play in blog land.
Big T, of T-Words, convinced my wife that it would be cool for me to go to Mesquite for five days of golf and reading novels. There were 18 of us, but I was the only who brought books. So after the golf I was lonely. But not bitter. Just lonely.
Mesquite, Nevada was founded by the Mormons. It's on the Virgin River, just a stone's throw from Bunkerville, Nevada. Bunkerville has been manufacturing Bunkers since 1884. Paula Bunker was manufactured there and she broke my heart. I refused to even look at signs mentioning Bunkerville. But the whole time I was there, I knew Bunkerville was mocking me, asking me how I like it now, and if Paula Bunker and what she did to me on Graduation Night was still at the heart of all my problems. I never said a word back, but Bunkerville knew that it had my number. I was the poster boy for "Ineffectual." Grammie asked about my pic... Look I'm ineffectual and you'll see me frowning at the camera.
Five days of golf, books and missing my wife. But on the plus side, I learned to play three card poker and pai gow poker. Luckily I had remembered blackjack and how to lose gracefully.
I did get on the computer one night, but not for long. I should have done some work but all I did was play in blog land.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Slim 'n Lift Supreme . . .
I am old enough to remember the girdle. Just barely. I dated one girl who wore a girdle on a date. As a gentleman, I shan't discuss how I know this. But I will tell you that I came to know that girdles could double as chastity belts.
And now, while watching this evening's replay of today's second round of the U.S. Open (a golf match...) there was a commercial featuring the above named product. They're not calling it a girdle but trust me, it's a girdle.
My take on why girdles left the fashion has to do with openness and honesty becoming important in interpersonal relations. If I'm right, what does it say about where we're going, interpersonally, that girdles are coming back?
The women featured in the ad are perhaps a bit lumpish. They have unhappy looks on their faces in their before shots. Then they are all smiles in the after shots, telling us how happy they are to look so slim and trim, "...without diet or exercise!"
In other words, by paying out a little money, they are happy to be "fooling" the world into thinking they did something that most of us find very difficult. But what about when the 'truth' comes out?
And now, while watching this evening's replay of today's second round of the U.S. Open (a golf match...) there was a commercial featuring the above named product. They're not calling it a girdle but trust me, it's a girdle.
My take on why girdles left the fashion has to do with openness and honesty becoming important in interpersonal relations. If I'm right, what does it say about where we're going, interpersonally, that girdles are coming back?
The women featured in the ad are perhaps a bit lumpish. They have unhappy looks on their faces in their before shots. Then they are all smiles in the after shots, telling us how happy they are to look so slim and trim, "...without diet or exercise!"
In other words, by paying out a little money, they are happy to be "fooling" the world into thinking they did something that most of us find very difficult. But what about when the 'truth' comes out?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
You Stink!
I took this photo at the Indian Hills Golf Course. Or as it's soon to be known, The Noble Native American Hills Golf course...
People with even minimal rural experience know the smell of a skunk. Imagine, if you will, the evolutionary process involved that resulted in the skunk, armed as he is with a smell so bad that no one will dare approach him. I wonder if there were any false steps by Mother Nature? Like some branch of the skunk family emitting a spray that smelled like hot bread and melted butter... Or the scent of a really great meat loaf... Mother Nature isn't always the sweetheart many make her out to be.
What's the worst smell you've encountered?
What were you up to when you ended up smelling so badly that no one would get near you and how long did it last?
Monday, June 11, 2007
You can't make this stuff up!
Paris Hilton, to Barbara Walters (I kid you not!):
Asked how her first days in jail were, Paris is quoted as saying, "I was severely depressed and felt as if I was in a cage." She felt as if she were in a cage!!! And here I was thinking she was a not all that bright... but she figured out, almost immediately, that being in jail is like being in a cage.
Asked how she is now that she was sent back to do more time, Paris said: "I used to act dumb. That act is no longer cute. Now, I would like to make a difference...God has given me this new chance."
Which means Paris knows she screwed up the old chance. How far do you think she'll go before the allure of being a trust baby reasserts itself? You think she'll hang around being 'normal' long enough to marry a poor guy from the other side of the tracks? Wouldn't that make wonderful press, if she fell in love and married a plumber or a mason or a dry wall installer? It could happen!
Asked how her first days in jail were, Paris is quoted as saying, "I was severely depressed and felt as if I was in a cage." She felt as if she were in a cage!!! And here I was thinking she was a not all that bright... but she figured out, almost immediately, that being in jail is like being in a cage.
Asked how she is now that she was sent back to do more time, Paris said: "I used to act dumb. That act is no longer cute. Now, I would like to make a difference...God has given me this new chance."
Which means Paris knows she screwed up the old chance. How far do you think she'll go before the allure of being a trust baby reasserts itself? You think she'll hang around being 'normal' long enough to marry a poor guy from the other side of the tracks? Wouldn't that make wonderful press, if she fell in love and married a plumber or a mason or a dry wall installer? It could happen!
Standing Tall
I'm not saying I'm tall. 'Cuz I'm not. But at least I can say I'm tall enough to have kids. That's a good thing...
The standing tall is how I've decided to being this recounting of today's infamy. I am infamous for this sort of activity...
Unbeknownst to me, I put a pair of roomy (meaning the elastic died and went to saggy heaven) boxer shorts on this morning. So, clean, but old, which 50% of the time defines me!
Later in the morning, what with the 24 ounces of premium Diet Coke I'd consumed with my bangers & mash, I had to pee. So as I am always one to yield to my baser urges, I went.
And I go in and unzip and then spend a ludicrous amount of time trying to get in touch with myself. But with my boxer shorts on backwards, the effort was essentially futile.
I did this once before, in high school. And the memory came rushing back. Unlike this morning, when it happened in high school I was not alone. The young man standing to my right, George Wield, watched me struggling for maybe a minute and then made this offer... "Would it help if I could find you some tweezers?"
Okay, another quick memory: I'm working for a big company out at the east edge of Beverly Hills, where Wilshire and San Vicente come together. There's a place called Cathay Circle... It's the first time that I've had 'out of the closet' gay co-workers, which for a hick Mormon kid was a pretty big thing. I got teased outrageously by the gay guys because I'd get so embarrassed. So finally it happened that one of them had to go take a leak at the same time I did. I walked in behind him. Not wanting to seem a bigot, I took the urinal next to him. He'd already started peeing. As I was beginning the process involved in voiding one's bladder, he looked over at me (well, over and down) and said, "Well, helllooo there!" I zipped right back up and left.
The standing tall is how I've decided to being this recounting of today's infamy. I am infamous for this sort of activity...
Unbeknownst to me, I put a pair of roomy (meaning the elastic died and went to saggy heaven) boxer shorts on this morning. So, clean, but old, which 50% of the time defines me!
Later in the morning, what with the 24 ounces of premium Diet Coke I'd consumed with my bangers & mash, I had to pee. So as I am always one to yield to my baser urges, I went.
And I go in and unzip and then spend a ludicrous amount of time trying to get in touch with myself. But with my boxer shorts on backwards, the effort was essentially futile.
I did this once before, in high school. And the memory came rushing back. Unlike this morning, when it happened in high school I was not alone. The young man standing to my right, George Wield, watched me struggling for maybe a minute and then made this offer... "Would it help if I could find you some tweezers?"
Okay, another quick memory: I'm working for a big company out at the east edge of Beverly Hills, where Wilshire and San Vicente come together. There's a place called Cathay Circle... It's the first time that I've had 'out of the closet' gay co-workers, which for a hick Mormon kid was a pretty big thing. I got teased outrageously by the gay guys because I'd get so embarrassed. So finally it happened that one of them had to go take a leak at the same time I did. I walked in behind him. Not wanting to seem a bigot, I took the urinal next to him. He'd already started peeing. As I was beginning the process involved in voiding one's bladder, he looked over at me (well, over and down) and said, "Well, helllooo there!" I zipped right back up and left.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Putting on a good face...
I have one of those faces that create an unfavorable first impression. I've learned to live with it... When I was growing up, I didn't have a choice, I was stuck with what I was born with. That's just the way it was, back in the old century.
But instead turning inward and becoming a loner, I let my inner brain-brew burble along and worked on getting people to laugh. My only tools were my whirly-gig eyes and my snappy patter. Because most people are starved for attention, with a little patience, I eventually get a chance to spin my eyes and snap my patter.
It's a bitch getting 'profiled,' of being judged by what people see in your face, clothing and body. But it's a reality in the real world. Well, at least until the plastic surgeons say your body is old enough...
Thank gawd for the internet, where you people are only judging me by my words! Thanks!
SUCKERS!
But instead turning inward and becoming a loner, I let my inner brain-brew burble along and worked on getting people to laugh. My only tools were my whirly-gig eyes and my snappy patter. Because most people are starved for attention, with a little patience, I eventually get a chance to spin my eyes and snap my patter.
It's a bitch getting 'profiled,' of being judged by what people see in your face, clothing and body. But it's a reality in the real world. Well, at least until the plastic surgeons say your body is old enough...
Thank gawd for the internet, where you people are only judging me by my words! Thanks!
SUCKERS!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Take a Gratitude Pill . . .
If you tilt your head a little, and then put your glasses on upside down and squint, you could make out a case that anti-depressant medications are just "gratitude pills." There's a case to be made (as opposed to a maid to be chased) that 'depression' is just the inability to appreciate all you have. "Gratitude pills" open up the mind to counting one's blessings and reveling in them, no matter how humble they may be. A strong enough "gratitude pill" would allow you, as the Ebola virus dissolved your entire body into putrescent blob, to love the fact that you just took a breath... "Wow, I just took another breath! Isn't this wonderful?"
Maybe pharmaceutical science could even cut it so fine as to market "anti-comparison" pills! People taking such a wonder drug would not compare their Tojorama 32" flat screen HDTVs with the 60" Sony their neighbors just bought, thus cutting off 'depression' at its headwaters.
Right... I can see that all I did was turn around and look at the river flowing at me, rather than watching the river flow away from me.
But I'm grateful that my brain chemistry has me positioned not to give a rat's ass about the fact that my fly is open. In fact, I'm grateful it's open!
Maybe pharmaceutical science could even cut it so fine as to market "anti-comparison" pills! People taking such a wonder drug would not compare their Tojorama 32" flat screen HDTVs with the 60" Sony their neighbors just bought, thus cutting off 'depression' at its headwaters.
Right... I can see that all I did was turn around and look at the river flowing at me, rather than watching the river flow away from me.
But I'm grateful that my brain chemistry has me positioned not to give a rat's ass about the fact that my fly is open. In fact, I'm grateful it's open!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
N'Dyah
N'Dyah is a name I came across today. But for the name I wouldn't have given her a second thought.
There should be a reality program devoted to punishing parents who come up with 'original' names. Viewers would listen to the junkie single mothers explain how they came up with the different names and then vote on the intensity and duration of the individual punishments. The kicker would be that each contestant would be afforded a hefty life insurance company so that if the voting warranted it, death would be a reward for the mis-named offspring.
There should be a reality program devoted to punishing parents who come up with 'original' names. Viewers would listen to the junkie single mothers explain how they came up with the different names and then vote on the intensity and duration of the individual punishments. The kicker would be that each contestant would be afforded a hefty life insurance company so that if the voting warranted it, death would be a reward for the mis-named offspring.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Fair Haired Gamin with Pluck!
Hats off to KatDion, aka CelineRocket, for making fun of my use of the word 'pluck.'
Words that rhyme with 'naughty' words are fun to play with. Like pluck.
And then there are words that are spelled differently, but sound the same as the naughty word. I'll let you 'come' up with your own examples...
Remember the brouhaha that erupted when someone described a Black politician as 'niggardly?' Who was everyone pandering to? How come no one will pander for me?
I once masticated in public... I'll probably do it again, given the proper motivation.
Do you know exactly where your loins are? I used to beg women to gird my loins. But I always ended up having to gird them myself. And no,it's not the same as being a "hirdy-girdy" man.
There must be over a hundred Vietnamese restaurants in the United States with some variation of Phuc Yu in the name.
Hoisted by one's own petard sounds very lurid. It isn't. But anyone who wants to touch my petard has to get my permission first. But if you want to hoist it, just go ahead; no permission needed.
And how about all those euphemisms for words we can't use in polite society? Unless you're on Uranus, or I'm on mine, then you can go for it.
What an amazing bunch of silly primates we are! One great lament I have is that we gave up sitting around grooming each other and playing with our feces. Which makes me wonder, how come the Women's Auxiliary of the Plantagenet Anglican Church in Exile hasn't called for Monkey Houses to be equipped with toilets and toilet paper?
How come prostitutes don't accumulate and use the power at their disposals? They could have it all if they had the guts to go for it! What a bunch of pussies!
Words that rhyme with 'naughty' words are fun to play with. Like pluck.
And then there are words that are spelled differently, but sound the same as the naughty word. I'll let you 'come' up with your own examples...
Remember the brouhaha that erupted when someone described a Black politician as 'niggardly?' Who was everyone pandering to? How come no one will pander for me?
I once masticated in public... I'll probably do it again, given the proper motivation.
Do you know exactly where your loins are? I used to beg women to gird my loins. But I always ended up having to gird them myself. And no,it's not the same as being a "hirdy-girdy" man.
There must be over a hundred Vietnamese restaurants in the United States with some variation of Phuc Yu in the name.
Hoisted by one's own petard sounds very lurid. It isn't. But anyone who wants to touch my petard has to get my permission first. But if you want to hoist it, just go ahead; no permission needed.
And how about all those euphemisms for words we can't use in polite society? Unless you're on Uranus, or I'm on mine, then you can go for it.
What an amazing bunch of silly primates we are! One great lament I have is that we gave up sitting around grooming each other and playing with our feces. Which makes me wonder, how come the Women's Auxiliary of the Plantagenet Anglican Church in Exile hasn't called for Monkey Houses to be equipped with toilets and toilet paper?
How come prostitutes don't accumulate and use the power at their disposals? They could have it all if they had the guts to go for it! What a bunch of pussies!
Fake Blogs of Famous People
There would probably be some amusement in faking a blog of a famous person. It might be a bit dicey to fake a blog of a living person, but the dead cannot sue for defamation of character. Apparently the dead are not felt to have much character...
Who would you like a fake a blog for? And isn't it a bit unfair that pretending to be Hitler would result in calumny heaped on your head? But people wouldn't say much if you faked being Stalin, and he killed just as many innocent people, if not more...
Okay, I've been sitting back on my three-legged milking stool, here in front of my laptop, which for convenience sake I keep on my wife's ironing board, and after a lot of careful pondering, I think I would like to fake a blog for Lee Harvey Oswald or Bruno Hauptmann. These guys are generally seen as losers and I'd be doing either one of them a favor by getting them a few laughs. And pleading 'my' innocence would give me a lot to work with.
Another 'fun' person whose blog could be humorously faked would be Paris Hilton. Right, she's not dead, but I wouldn't call what she does on a daily basis much in the way of a life. And besides, it just occurred to me that 'famous people' don't have the same libel and slander protections that we humble folk enjoy. For example, I could claim to be Paris Hilton blogging from the LA County Jail and talking about going down on anything that moved and she couldn't successfully sue me, whereas if I even hinted that El Pistolero was in any way a deviate, he could successfully sue me for every last gallon of curb paint I possessed or would ever possess! Oh, the humanity!
It now occurs to me that the person whom you 'fake blog' says a lot about you! So therefore I now tag the entire civilized blworld to respond, and then pass it along to blworlds on other planets.
My next post may or may not have to do with fake orgasms... Remember the first time you faked that you were faking it?
Who would you like a fake a blog for? And isn't it a bit unfair that pretending to be Hitler would result in calumny heaped on your head? But people wouldn't say much if you faked being Stalin, and he killed just as many innocent people, if not more...
Okay, I've been sitting back on my three-legged milking stool, here in front of my laptop, which for convenience sake I keep on my wife's ironing board, and after a lot of careful pondering, I think I would like to fake a blog for Lee Harvey Oswald or Bruno Hauptmann. These guys are generally seen as losers and I'd be doing either one of them a favor by getting them a few laughs. And pleading 'my' innocence would give me a lot to work with.
Another 'fun' person whose blog could be humorously faked would be Paris Hilton. Right, she's not dead, but I wouldn't call what she does on a daily basis much in the way of a life. And besides, it just occurred to me that 'famous people' don't have the same libel and slander protections that we humble folk enjoy. For example, I could claim to be Paris Hilton blogging from the LA County Jail and talking about going down on anything that moved and she couldn't successfully sue me, whereas if I even hinted that El Pistolero was in any way a deviate, he could successfully sue me for every last gallon of curb paint I possessed or would ever possess! Oh, the humanity!
It now occurs to me that the person whom you 'fake blog' says a lot about you! So therefore I now tag the entire civilized blworld to respond, and then pass it along to blworlds on other planets.
My next post may or may not have to do with fake orgasms... Remember the first time you faked that you were faking it?
The Japanese way of Bushido v. The Bananas way of Bush-eato
The title has nothing to do with the content. I just needed to get that 'bush-eato' out of my system... you know how that can be: you come up with something that you just can't wait to use. Waiting was never one of my strong points. If I could have a nickel now, it didn't matter to me that a dollar would have been available later.
With regard to my recent vacational stint, I offer the following two photographs. First:
This is a building at the indian casino. The public is not allowed in this building, except in the days leading up to Halloween, when they have an "indian casino haunted house" in here.
Now this next photo shows me at one of my finest hours. Not that it shows me, but it shows what I'm capable of. So hey! maybe I'm not that far off with my pride in the bananas way of bush-eato, because I did eat the whole thing...
With regard to my recent vacational stint, I offer the following two photographs. First:
This is a building at the indian casino. The public is not allowed in this building, except in the days leading up to Halloween, when they have an "indian casino haunted house" in here.
Now this next photo shows me at one of my finest hours. Not that it shows me, but it shows what I'm capable of. So hey! maybe I'm not that far off with my pride in the bananas way of bush-eato, because I did eat the whole thing...
Monday, June 04, 2007
Someone left the cake out in the rain...
I'm back.
All I was doing was playing golf. And eating at an indian gaming casino buffet; one photo to come...
But what if I'd been out there plotting? As a plotter I bet I would excellent. I would have code words and recognition signals. Like the title of this blog. I'd walk up to a contact and say, "Someone left the cake out in the rain." And my contact would give the counter-sign, "Was it a pineapple upside down cake?" And then we'd exchange identical brief cases. All this would take place in a Starbucks in Duluth, with a view of the ore boats pulling in to dock.
But as I say, nothing like that happened this weekend. It was just: eat breakfast, play golf, eat lunch, play golf, shower, take the shuttle to the casino, eat, take the shuttle back to the suite, sleep, get up, eat breakfast, play golf, eat lunch, play golf, shower, take the shuttle to the casino, eat, take the shuttle back to the suite, sleep, get up, eat breakfast, play golf, go home, take a nap, eat dinner and then watch the Yankees pull out a miracle in Boston. Even the Dodgers won!
I'm happy to be home and back in touch with you band of brothers, you band of plucky brothers.
All I was doing was playing golf. And eating at an indian gaming casino buffet; one photo to come...
But what if I'd been out there plotting? As a plotter I bet I would excellent. I would have code words and recognition signals. Like the title of this blog. I'd walk up to a contact and say, "Someone left the cake out in the rain." And my contact would give the counter-sign, "Was it a pineapple upside down cake?" And then we'd exchange identical brief cases. All this would take place in a Starbucks in Duluth, with a view of the ore boats pulling in to dock.
But as I say, nothing like that happened this weekend. It was just: eat breakfast, play golf, eat lunch, play golf, shower, take the shuttle to the casino, eat, take the shuttle back to the suite, sleep, get up, eat breakfast, play golf, eat lunch, play golf, shower, take the shuttle to the casino, eat, take the shuttle back to the suite, sleep, get up, eat breakfast, play golf, go home, take a nap, eat dinner and then watch the Yankees pull out a miracle in Boston. Even the Dodgers won!
I'm happy to be home and back in touch with you band of brothers, you band of plucky brothers.
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