Christmas, the Season that Finally stops Giving!

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

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

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

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

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

Scum-sucking Republican false advertising ...

Here's a comment to a recent post:



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

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

Here's what one sees upon clicking through:



Fulltiltpoker.com can kiss my royal brown ass!

Helpful House full Hints

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate Christmas.

Have a wonderful Winter Solstice Bacchanalia!!

The L word, as celebrated in joyous song

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Love spurts."


What are some of your favorites?

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

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

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

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

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

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

PETA and the Breast Pump

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phew!

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

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

I'm Sure She has a Perfectly Good Explanation

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



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

ATHEISTS for GHAWD !

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

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

I wasn't impressed. Too much fluff.

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

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

Rock Concert

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

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

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

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

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

The Forgotten Voter Bloc

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now back to you in the studio, Jane.

The Big Day is Here!

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

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

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

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

What a Holiday!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Quick Brown Blogger ...

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

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

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

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

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

Whose entire life would you pay to see?

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

Rush Limbaugh predicts ...

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

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

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

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



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

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

We'll start with an Easy One ...

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



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

Cheap

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sane, We sane, Usain Bolt

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

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

How come running doesn't have...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advertising molds America

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

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

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

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