North Stars, New Years...

...and the like.

• Back in 1989 I lost my North Star. That thing that guides us. I will find it again this year.
  
  
• I gotta get my funny back. This other side sucks nuts.
  
  
• No more internet wimmin. Unless, of course, the QofD becomes available.
  
  
• I'm gonna get my BP down to 120/40.
  
  
• I will look at myself in the mirror again.
  
  
• I will not pay more than $200 for a piece of ass.
  
  
• And it will last more than 5 minutes.
  
  
• OK. Three.
  
  
• OK. Two. I love stamina.
  
  
• I will get a new gun. I will include it in foreplay. I'm republican.
  
  
• No more of this I'll help you shit. I'm gonna be a bastard this year. A bad, bad man.
  
  
• I'm gonna go drink the New Year in. And jerk off right-handed. Wish me luck. See ya in 2008.
  
  

Politics And Such...

...of which I'm already tired of and the '08 election is still 22 months away. I'm ashamed to say that this ambulance chasing nutsack is from my home state.

And he's already declared his intention to run for the preznicy. This chump is one of the most transparent people on the planet. He was in '04 and he still is. I saw a clip of him in New Orleans where he was shoveling feverishly and some big black guy comes up and asks where are the wheelbarrows. He fires back, "Hey dude, we ain't got no wheelbarrows." Now, I'm pretty sure that a millionaire doesn't usually shovel anything but shit, but this was just a blatant photo op to try and show him as a 'regular' guy.

He's anything but. The whole political rhetoric is going to be the same it's been for the past fifty years. America is broken and it needs some fixin'. Bullshit. You can't break democracy. But you sure can put some people in office that will try to do it.

You had Johnson that had the intellect of a pea and had no idea how to run the Vietnam war. Then Nixon and his psychotic personality and Watergate. Then Ford, who at least had some dignity and brought it back to the office. But the economy was in the tank. Then Carter and his lack of balls to do anything about the hostages in Iran and gas lines longer than my dick. Then Reagan. Well, he got the hostages out, but the economy still sucked and then the Iran-Contra affair. At least he ended the cold war. That took some balls. Then Bush senior. When he wasn't puking on other foreign leaders he liberated Kuwait. But he raised taxes when he said he wouldn't and the economy still sucked. I never liked Clinton, but the national debt was even, the economy was good and he got a hummer to boot. Then the other Bush that has fucked things up royaly.

So, in my world, if you're willing to get a blow job in the oval office, while married, then them are some really bigs balls and you should be preznit. That should be the only question in any caucus and any debate. Anything else is off the table.

And none of the current candidates are any better. I just heard someone say the McCain is the front runner because you know where he stands. HUH?? The guys a chameleon, and a mean one at that. Ah well, not to worry. I'll be watching and participating in my new workout DVD's, which require my TV. I'll vote for someone on there.

If You've Followed The Duke Rape Case...

...then you knew this debacle would unravel at some point. For the simple fact that it involved human ego. It always does. When one of the principal players makes it about himself, then the outcome is inevitable.

These students were never guilty of anything other than making the inane decision to have strippers at their house. I've never done that, but I can't think anything good could come of it. And since I've never been to a titty bar, I can only imagine that you're not going to get the cream of the female crop showing up.

Guys don't want to fuck ugly women. It's a code. They may be ugly inside, but we work around that. If they're pretty inside, then it's a go. I can't imagine a stripper in this day and age being anything other than a drug addicted, money hungry ho.

The state bar is looking into this case and I hope they hang this assfuck from his nutsacks. He has ruined three lives. That's three too many.

Here's The Thing I Don't Get...

...when it comes to modern warfare. We must have signed some weird ass stuff after WWII that prevented us from using the one thing we had, in abundance, that others didn't. And it ended that war.

I know the powerhouses have them now, but we could use some weeding out. But if you aren't going to use the best technology you have then why bother having it and why make a stink about others having it. It just sits there like grandpa on the toilet. He knows something formidable is in there, but the head of state and someone else controlling his brain won't let it launch.

Some bitch witch years ago, by the name of Helen Caldicott, suggested that we men make these missiles as phallic symbols. Figures. She must have been exposed only to the lower level bombs. I don't have that problem. I have my own nuclear arsenal on board. But it's a '53 model and needs some fuse work. But, when it's lit, it flies like the wind. With 99% kill rate.

Enough of this shit. We've turned into a nation of pansies. And we let others tell us how to conduct our policies. Get it over within two hours. I think that should do it. Quit worrying about some dumbass polar bears and get back to making this a nation.

Silly, Silly Person...

...thought maybe they could throw poop at me and I wouldn't duck. I love people that have diaper pails in place of their cranium. I think it's called shit-for-brains.

I am not a Cottonelle ass wipe and crap don't stick to me. You shit slingers take your bowel evacuants and spew your slimy diarrhea at will, all in the name of "ME". With little regard for the fact that it makes you the cow dung of the field. Such a good, good person you are. That hides behind a mask of feces so transparent that it's hard not to imploy the age-old adage..."You're so full of shit your eyes are brown." Or black in this case. You should get that checked. Could be blood in the colon. OH, I forgot, you don't have blood. Just ice water. My bad. I'll order the tests.

I Tried For Hours...

...to find a picture to go with this post, but I don't think one has ever been taken that would convey what's in my heart.

When the boys came up they stopped by my place and we exchanged gifts. Simple enough. We then went to my brothers and the time there was almost mystical, in a father's eyes. The way the generations melded together. We sat around the table, they with their beers and we with our wine and martini's. Throwing around memories and dreams. The aunt cooking a prime rib. A marine whom has served his country with two tours in Iraq.

The banter was typical between adults and some twenty year olds. It was Christmas. Could not have been better. Nuff said. Love you guys. Forever.

I Have All The Respect...

...in the world for science. It does amazing things for humanity and makes our lives easier. What I hate is the mindset it instils.

Carl Jung was a psychiatrist. If you've never read any of his works, you should. By definition, those that practice that discipline are scientists. MD's. He had a theory that we are all in this thing together. ALL OF US. It's called the collective unconscious. I happen to agree. And that's where I break ranks with science and those that are engaged in it. And so did he.

To scientists, it's all black and white. This way or that way. My way or the highway. There is a standard set of protocols that need to be followed. You can't deviate from them because it goes against what they have been taught. And it trickles down into their personal lives. You either do it as I see it or it isn't done at all. People that adhere to that frame of mind are generally shallow, self-absorbed individuals. They see life through the blinders that their profession forces them do so. They have to be detached, otherwise, they couldn't do their work. I have, as I'm sure you have also, dealt with the medical profession and if you question one thing they are doing you will be dealt a glare unlike anything you have ever seen. Do NOT question what said person is doing.

I understand that aspect of it. And I appreciate it. I don't want some blubbering emotional fool trying to repair my ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm, which, if it happened, I probably wouldn't make it to the ER anyways.

My point is this. I guess those that are in the scientific field, especially the medical side of it, have to have that mindset. I feel sorry for them. It has to affect the way they live their "regular" lives. But, maybe not.

Driving To Get The Mombo This Morning...

...I was listening to the radio.

There isn't much on other than the usual drivel, so I tuned in to some gardening program. Mulch, grass, pansies; that kinda shit. Some woman called in and was complaining about the wild garlic in her yard. She wanted to get rid of it organically. The hosts tried their best to convince her that it couldn't be done. The wicked weed could only be removed chemically. She was vehement in her request that it should be possible.

I don't get this whole organic thing. So the first thing that came to my mind...buy a fucking goat. That's organic.

To Those That Read...

...which I know aren't many, may the grace of God bless you. It shouldn't be just during this season, but all through the year. And I hope you have many blessings.

To the beckster, all my love. You are a single mother that has made some difficult choices and done so with dignity. It will work out as it should. And I will always be there for you.

To the X and her sister, love you guys more than you could know.

Guys, I'll see ya on Christmas day.

And to you, bitch witch, I hope one day you realize that it isn't all about you.

Merry Christmas...

For The Record...

...I'd like to square things up regarding the below post. I apologized for some comments I made that were neither related to sex, body parts nor anything else that would be denegrating to a woman.

What I did say was that I would break the way she is. She apparently took that as an affront to the way she lives her life. My intentions were not romantic in any way(I know better), but I did comment on her eyes. But I have told many friends they have beautiful eyes and I would take the image of them to my grave. That's how I would remember them.

The thing I was trying to accomplish was to somehow break through the tough exterior she portrays and maybe make her see that she can be open but still strong. It seems to me, only from afar, that one bad marriage turned her into a misandrist. But again, I could be wrong. I have been in the past.

And my reaction to her renting out a room to a male was the same as it would be to any woman in the 21st century. Are you sure? This isn't the wild west. Things have changed drastically since then. Seemingly benign individuals can turn into monsters on a minutes notice. Even if you think of them as friends, the circumstances can turn deadly in a heartbeat. That was my only point.

She has been going through some tough times the past few weeks and I offered to help. The offer still stands. She made a comment somewhere else that what I said makes her realize "who her true friends are." I'd still like to be considered as such, but it's probably not likely.

I could post the links and the message archive about all this for some sort of self-gratification, but I'm not that way. Better left private. Again, I apologize. That's the best I can do.

I Got Beat Down...

...with a relex hammer, and deservedly so. Guilty as charged on all six counts. Message archives don't lie. I can only apologize and ask for forgiveness. I should have known better. In the words of Dierks Bentley, "What was I thinking?". Off to the gallows my ass goes.

Some Bullets From The News...

...that have plugged in my butt.

• Enough already, I'm begging you. They climbed a mountain with no anticipation that the weather would turn the way it did. My sympathies go out to the families. Just shut it off. They didn't make it. You knew that 10 days ago.
  
  
• Please quit telling me it's six days to Christmas. I'm aware. Tell me how long it is to Valentine's and how much money I can save by not buying things for people that don't give a shit about my ass.
  
  
• Hey, stupid weather guy. You're gonna make my ass drive back in rain again this year, on a mercy mission to bring my Mom to her family. I'm sick of this shit. Quit broadcasting the weather from your stupid ass mall location with fake snow falling on your ass. Girlyman. I hate you.
  
  
• What in the hell is Bush thinking now. Asking the new SOD to come up with a way to increase the number of people in the military is like asking how many young Catholic boys want to be altar boys. FUCK. There's only three options I see. A draft, which will never make it past this Congress. A stipend to get the poor to join, which the regular, trained military wouldn't tolerate on professional levels. Or round up the illegals, tell them they have a choice of either serving or out they go. Doubt the professional military would go for that either.
  
  These are different times. The military is a professional institution now. They want trained, motivated individuals in their rank. Bush should just bag this whole thing and put his tail between his legs. There ain't NO way out.
  
  

If You Know Me...

...even as a casual acquaintance, you know that I am one of the simplest persons in the world.

I don't buy things for myself. My needs are simple. I can make do with very little. And I have been this way as long as I can remember. I was married to a woman who's Dad was the CEO of a bank, and I hated all the hoopla that went with it. All I wanted was the love of that woman. I didn't realize the baggage that came with it.

If I had my druthers, I would live in a place like in the pic. I'd wake up, have my jumpstart, go get on my tractor, hook up whatever implement I deemed necessary for the day and let that clutch out and engage the PTO when I got to the place that needed my attention.

The older I get and and the more dismayed I become with society, the more I regret I didn't do this a long time ago. Divorce takes those dreams away from you. Wouldn't trade the time I had to spend with the boys during that time, but it would have been nice to have my own place that kept my spirit normal. My nature has always been one to work on my own, do it myself and then let my labor bring my goods. I never wanted to wear a suit and never wanted a 9-5 job. It's just the way it turned out. BUT, it ain't over till it's over

What The Hell

...is the big deal with the prez's wife having some skin cancer removed? Christ all-fucking mighty.

I have at least three places on my back at the moment that are basal cell and need to be removed. And those are only the ones I can see. But after going through my first round which left me with 90 stitches scattered about, I'm not looking forward to contorting myself with several utensils in hand trying to place bandaids on the stitches. You ever tried to put a bandaid in a fork and guide it to a place on your back which you couldn't normally reach when you were a suptle 10-year old? And then try to put it in place with a butter knife? It doesn't work out too well. And the asshat MSM were acting like it was a life-and-death situation.

It was diagnosed as squamous cell. You can let it go for years. Keep on eye on it. You'll notice when it starts to eat too much tissue away. It builds character.

I Just Suck Nuts...

...when it comes to wrapping Christmas presents.

First off, I have no patience for it. I just don't understand why I can't slap a bow on that bitch and plant its cunt under the tree. I can't cut the paper evenly, I can't tape, I can't do a fold that even remotely resembles an envelope and invariably when I finally get it done I'll pick it up and the damned thing will fall to the floor in a heap. But of course most people expect their presents to be all purty and shit. When I start wrapping their gift I immediately start to hate them and wonder why I bought them a gift to start with.

I buy good presents, or so I think. I put alot of thought into them and they're usually expensive. But dammit, if I was trying to wrap a hand I couldn't do it if it came with a glove to do so.

I Could Give Two Good Patooties...

...about professional sports these days. Another example of why is the recent so-called brawl in some NBA game. These guys are overpaid thugs at best, with egos the size of their salary and brains the size of a pea. And it isn't just the NBA. It's all sports. Sports figures seem to feel that they live by another set of rules than the rest of us. And I don't blame them. If we continue to support their efforts then they have no reason to expect other than what we give them. There's an easy way to stop this shit. Quit going to, and stop watching, games. The revenue dries up and so do they. I can count on one hand the number of professional sporting events I've watched this year. It's not likely to increase any in the remaining days of the year.

It Has Come To My Attention...

...that most men have ruined the possibility of a good man having a genuine relationship with women. I have two things to say about this.

1) Guys. Women deserve your respect. Quit being assholes and dickheads.

2) Ladies. There are some of us out there that know how to treat you.

I've Been Around The Block A Few Times...

...so not much surprises me any longer. But I do find it somewhat disconcerting that we've become so jaded in our trust of others.

If you know me at all, which is limited to very few people, you know that I keep things pretty close to the vest. If you get the opportunity to get inside my head, which again, isn't often, then you have reached a place few people go. I don't mean for this to sound egocentric. Far from it. I can be an engaging individual. But one thing is not part of my nature. And that is to hurt others or try to harm them. I would rather sit down with you one-on-one and have a healthy, vibrant conversation. If you were to meet me on the street and we passed, I would look you in the eye and nod, give you a greeting of some sort, and go on my way.

What befuckles me is this. Why do we no longer trust the people we meet? As I said, I've been around long enough to realize that the world can be brutal at times. But in that time, I know whom I can trust. I am hardly a person that you would find threatening. Unless you really pissed my ass off. And even then, you'd get a second chance.

I don't blame you if you feel jaded by experience. Just don't lump me into the batter when you turn on the mixer. I don't blend so well.

I Don't Have To Tell You...

...who this man is. If I did, I wouldn't waste my time doing so. He's an icon and you should already know.

I have no feelings about the man one way or the other. I've never watched one of his crusades. But I don't watch anything religious. I appreciate his piousness and belief in the baby Jesus, but I think that any attempt to conjure up notions of pearly gates and the like are mystery's that are better left to the individaul. I believe in God, but probably nowhere near like this man does. But, neither he nor I will know until the end of our days. His will come sooner than mine, maybe. I could go tomorrow if fate would have it. I wish there were a way we could communicate the end result and call out "ABORT, ABORT" if his thoughts were proven to be misguided.

But this is not my point. This man is a revered icon. He guided presidents, met with other world leaders and all in his desire to proselytize his belief. Seems like a noble life to my ass. But there's a bruhaha brewing. His eldest son wants to bury he and his Mom in some sort of barn in my old home town of Charlotte. And it has a talking cow situated right inside the door.

Now, I have no idea what to think of this, other than it has to be monetarily motivated. Which doesn't surprise me. These Christian motherfuckers always have a way of making it about money. Which is exactly what the baby Jesus railed against. And which is why I don't subscribe to any particular religion. It's between God and me. And guys, you have my ass cremated and plant my Urn on your mantle. I'd rather be with you than with the money grubbing asshats in a heaven with pearly gates. My gates would be made of empty beer cans and women's underwear, but that's just me.

Sometimes You See Something...

...that just take's your breath away. It transports you into another realm where all things are honey sweet. And your soul finds itself wrapped in the bosom of all that is good.

If You Want To Read What....

...real life is about, go here. I would like to meet him one day. Has to have some insight into things.

To the rest of you, get your suck ass brain outta your panty wearing ass and realize that there are people out there that have gone through more shit than you could in a lifetime because you're so wrapped up in your own self-promoting damned self that the tribulations of others are a mear means to an end. And his kids. They don't deserve that. You have problems? Think again.

This Gentleman Probably Had...

...one of the best intellects I have ever been exposed to. If you had the pleasure to read him you would know that my intellect compared to his is like that of the sun and a roma tomato.

But he was very direct in his advocacy that shit happens. To all of us. Especially if you live long enough. I'm not talking about the kinda shit where you meet someone and they want to shove gerbils up your ass and consider it foreplay. Or put whipped cream and a cherry on your nipple and then pour some rum on there and light it.

No, No. We're talking about the daily crap that invades our life and takes us out of our rhythm. It happens. The measure of a person, in his mind, was how we respond to those that want to help us get through these times. Some may mean well and spew platitudes about "hanging in there". Others may avoid us until the deluge has subsided. A few may offer, in a quiet and gentle way, some type of monetary support, depending on the situation.

I did that today. And I was also offering some ideas on an area I have some expertise in. I was basically told to drop it. So I did. Had it been me, I would have taken in any advice and counsel offered. If a situation has you stymied then the more the merrier in my book. I want the congress in session if my ass is in trouble. Guess that's why pride is one of the seven deadly sins. We seem to have developed this frame of mind that we can get pissy with people and blame it on our frame of mind and then when we decide that we're not feeling so bad any longer the people that offered help will still be there. The measure of a person is how you accept anothers offer to help.

The gentleman's name is Sydney J. Harris. Go get one of his books. You'll be enlightened.

Have You Seen The Recent Commercial...

...for Nutrisystems? They have this really hot looking babe strolling the beaches, screetching about how she's a size two, in a bathing suit with the abs of a sixteen year old gymnast and perky titties. She claims she lost 35 pounds by eating this stuff at the cost of about $25 million a week.

I've never had a weight problem, nor will I ever. Hell, I can put my two hands around my waist and have room for the woman in the commercial to wiggle in. Funny thing, however. You can't find any reference to her on their web site. They show this before and after picture that is comparable to a hard-boiled egg being compared to a jelly bean.

I know something about weight loss, having seen the X go through it. You don't come out the other side looking like the lady on the beach. It's a shame people fall for this tomfoolery. But I sure would like to have a baked lasagna with her tight new ass.

Sometimes You Get Lucky...

...in life and sometimes not. If you had to choose one area, what would it be? I got very lucky in the sons department. They are accommodating as hell when it comes to my family. You know what it's like trying to coordinate schedules over Christmas.

I was going to go see them and the X and her sister in Pinehurst this weekend until I got this viral shit from andromeda which makes me feel like I've delivered every liquid part of my innards into some part of the apartment. Not necessarily where they should have gone. And I think I've fractured every damned rib in my body. And no appetite whatsoever. I've had one bowl of cereal the past three days. And water. But they were understanding when I told them I probably wouldn't make it. But I haven't seen nor talked to the X in well over a year, so that might not have gone to well. But their cousin, the Marine who's been in Iraq, will only be home for a few days, so they're coming up a day early so they can spend some time with him. He deserves it. He's been at war.

Soooo, you may hope for it all, but when it comes down to it, I'll take what I have over love, money, recognition and fame. I'm just fine with it.

This Is Going To Be It...

...for awhile. The body is failing me and so is the mind.

UPDATE: I'll try to periodically post some things between now and the end of the year and then we'll see how things go. But some definitive changes have to be made after then.

OK, who the hell am I kidding. This is about the only outlet I have at the moment. It may change a bit over the next few weeks because of decisions I've made, but when the QofD gets upset my heart can't let her down. I mean look at that smile! DAMN. That's a package. I hate that my ass is an enigma and vascillates so much. My ass sucks more often than not. Actually, it spews more often than not, but that's another story. So I will violate one of my steadfast peeves and do a meme like thingy in the next few days. God knows I'll probably turn into a blog perve of some sort. Trolling for women and looking for beef stroganoff recipes. It's not easy being me.

I'm Sicker Than...

...well, you don't wanna know. In the meantime, have a hear. Hat tip to this gentleman.

'Cause she's purty and I'd like to nuzzle.

In The Same Vein...

...as GB, you can't sweat the small stuff. But that doesn't mean your ass doesn't dummy up every so often. Mine did the other night.

A few years back I broke a glass in the dishwasher. Now, stay with me here. As I've said, I live in a rat hole. This appliance is 17 1/2" wide. You can fit about two sippy cups, a plate and a baby medicine dispenser in it. Anything other than that and you're asking for trouble. I thought I had retrieved all the broken glass out of the bottom, but, as usually happens, since nothing ever good happens to me, I must have missed a piece. So when I ran it the glass shard must have gotten in one of the lines and cut a hole in it. So for the past few years I've placed a towel under the corner where it leaks. No biggy. Sometimes it leaks, sometimes not. Never have understood that one. I could call maintenance to get it fixed, but it doesn't bother me and it doesn't make a mess, so I figure I have better things to worry about.

The other night I was cleaning up some dishes and putting them in said appliance. As you know, the disposal is linked into the drain for the dishwasher, so you always want to run the disposal before you run the dishwasher. I brain farted this particular night. I put all the dishes in and started it. Then I looked at the big cup I keep on the sink that I place my plate scubber in. It leaks soap into the bottom and I periodically wash it out, but it IS sudsy when I do so. And I also forgot to run the disposal. Did I stop the appliance before I finished these chores? Of course not. Did it ever dawn on me to do so? Nope. So I proceeded to wash out the cup, which takes several minutes, all the time with the water running in the disposal side of the sink, merrily contemplating whether God really did create women.

When I was done I got another liter glass of wine and settled in to read some blogs and look at some titties news. After about forty minutes I felt a bellowing in my bowels and since I never know what's going to happen when I feel the need to part my asshole, I figured I should meander my way to the throne. When I passed the kitchen, which is a mear 38" x 12', what I saw was a sea of suds that had encompassed the entire area. I immediately called general quarters. DAMN. It looked just like the picture, but there was no nekkid lady with her head peering out from it wanting to wash my foreskin.

I hate fucking up. But it is what it is. An hour later, after a trip to the hardware store to get some surfactant and a spray bottle, all was well. I'm just sorry this woman wasn't in the suds. What? It's Alzheimers and AADD. I'm being rendered incapacitaded here. Really. That box wine is good for you. Resveratol and stuff.

This Is Another Instance...

...in which I think the Islamos should come over and kill our asses. New York has banned trans fat. So they can save us from ourselves and we'll live to be 350 fucking years old.

We are turning into a nation of robotic, pinheaded, plastic molded individuals. Holy fuckamoly!! Leave my ass alone. If I wanna eat a damned steak, I'm gonna eat one. Which I rarely do, BTW. If I want to smoke, then shut the fuck up. I won't do it around you, trust me. If I want to swill wine in the privacy of my own home, and I don't drive around putting you or your kids in danger, then let me be. I don't want the government reaming my ass with all this nit-picking shit. Obviously the agency that controls food can't do their job worth a damned because there have been countless cases of e-coli this year. Clean your own damned house before you come criticizing mine.

You've Heard Very Little About This...

...nor are you likely to. Two muslims students took it upon themselves to piss on the Bible. There was no Christian rioting nor calls for beheadings and such.

That's not what Christians do. They respect the rights of others to criticize their religion. Had the tables been turned and had two college students taken a big ole watery shit on the Koran then all hell would have been unleased. It's as simple as that. Islam might be a religion, but its followers are nothing but common thugs using it as a guise to commit attrocities.

I Happen To Think...

...our health care system is irrevocably broken. If you even get a good MD, you have to jump through hoops the size of Texas. If you want test results you have to be lucky enough to have the MD's secretary's e-mail to get them. And if you have to have surgery you might as well bank on getting a staph infection because they have no one to look out for you. But, if you like reading about this kinda stuff, as I do, go here. She lives in Canada, but damned if it isn't interesting. I always wanted to be a doctor. Actually inquired about it. I was too old, so they said. Plus I couldn't stand blood or people. Actually, I can handle the blood thing. But the people. I don't want you coming into my examine room whining about some kind of pain. Go home and take an aspirin and call me when you're dead.

But in all seriousness, take the time to get yourself checked out. I hate doctors and always will, but it's a psychological thing. Save the titties and prostates.

I Very Rarely...

...get knocks on my door. And since I have a peep hole I'll usually do the hand over the hole thingy and have a peek.

In this case I didn't recognize the individual, except for the fact that she was female and holding a clipboard. Some sort of solicitor I surmised. So I went back and parked my ass in my chair and continued to throw wine down my gullet. Now I should make you aware of the fact that when I get home I throw on the sweats and long undie top and pretty much look like a refugee from some concentration camp. And I wear an old pair of half-glasses so as to add to my mystique.

Also, although the apartment is small, I have it looking fairly nifty. Six Ansel Adams prints adorn the walls, along with some other obscure pictures. It's kinda messy this time of year with Christmas boxes and presents scattered about. That's the background.

So this persistent knocker wasn't about to give up. I did another gape and again decided I wasn't about to engage her. But like a woodpecker she was going to get to the heart of the tree, so I reluctantly opened the door. There stood a fairly attractive black woman, bundled in a winter coat. She informed me that her name was Stephanie and she was from TWC and could she offer me some sort of upgrade that would most likely save me lots of moola. Now I pay $52.00 a month for standard cable, which I consider to be an outrage. It's worth about $20. But this little person was going to try to get me to subscribe to high-speed internet, digital phone, HDTV and the like. I politely declined and said I was fine. The whole time her eyes kept scoping out my place. Incessantly. I notice stuff like that. When I POLITELY declined the third time, after she asked me what service I have at the moment, which she already knew because she told me what I have, my ire had had enough and I had to go to the well. I told her she was welcome to come in and look around the apartment and present her package if she did it while she was naked. The look on her face was priceless. She scooted outta here right damned quick. I don't know if it's illegal to say that. I reckon not. Guess she didn't really need the commission. Shame. Might be a small Christmas.

Some WTF...

...bullets.

• This whole Iraq special committee thing offers up 79 recommendations. WTF? 79? That whole situation has so shit the bed that two would have been enough. Leave now or nuke the oil feilds then leave. Enough of this nonsense.
  
  
• If you're a geek, don't go into the mountains of Oregon when it's snowing. You should be dealing with gigabytes, not survival techniques. I feel sorry for the kids and the wife. But who goes looking for help in tennis shoes and a coat? No hat, no gloves. I guess those thumb drives don't keep your ass warm. Too bad. Hope CNET comes through.
  
  
• So some woman farted on a plane and it had to make an unscheduled landing. Not the fart, the plane. She lit a match to try and quell the stench. Some passengers complained. I've smelt matches and I've been subjected to women's flatulence. I choose the former. There is research that suggests women's farts are one of the most noxious smells in the world. I would agree. Of course, they claim they never do it. Again, research suggests they do it more often. My sons can attest. Their aunt did it on an Amtrack trip. I'll try and find the link. Stinky poo-poo airplane.
  
  
• I read a blog today where the owner asked why men like boobs. WTF? She doesn't like hers. I offered to take them off her hands. Seemed to be the right thing to do.
  
  
  
  

My Renegade...

...bloggy, shit-for-brains prostate is not cooperating with the program.

I've tried cajoling it, massaging it, whispering sweet nothings to it, letting it have its way with me and even threatening to rip it out through my asshole. It's stands undeterred, mocking me and my escapades. My PSA doubled in the last six months. In and of itself, that is not good news. Being the ever optimistic fatalist that I am(what? fatalists can be optimistic), I've considered calling Diane Lane to come and perform an exorcism of sorts. It would involve body parts, in the nether regions.

The results could be an anomoly. It happens. The number isn't important, it's the velocity. The speed at which it changes. I don't like the fact that I have a body part that is not with the program. It needs to slow it's growing ass down. I have a few more women to love and sunrises to see. I don't like renegades. This is war. My administration will not fuck this thing up.

Shit Happens...

...and it usually happens to us.

If Santa can beatdown Rudolph to the point of having a babies ass sitting on his neck, then dammit, none of us are safe.

My point? Quit trying to make people stick to the staus quo. We like our relationships to be congruous. As long as we feel they meld with our expectations, all is right with the world. When one or the other deviates from that comfort zone, we feel threatened and confused. And we try to drag them back to their expected place. Like Rudolph here. Maybe he didn't wanna lead the pack any longer. And his ass got nailed because of it. Santa is a deer beater. We all change, on a daily basis, most likely. What was once a comfort zone no longer is. We may get bored with you and your incessant ways of doing things. Maybe you could relax the rules a bit. Quit being a prison guard and leave the slammer open. See what happens.

Life isn't meant to be lived statically. That doesn't mean we can't stick to our guns when it comes to child rearing and such. But if your SO wants a change of pace, what the hell. There's harm in that? You can't categorize people. It never works.

I'm Not The Author...

...but this is some good stuff. Kudos to the genius.

The Politics of Fucking

aka

50 Mistakes Women Make When Having Sex.

1. Assuming he can get a raging hard on when it suits you. Contrary to popular belief, men can't just flip a switch and get it up because you decided to stop being a frigid bitch. Getting it hard is your job. I suggest you figure it out.

2. Thinking that kissing needs to be this sweet romantic thing all the time. Sometimes pressing your lips against your partners mouth while you get off is the hot. It depends on the situation.

3. Leaving him responsible for your orgasm. You know what gets you off. Tell him. If you don't, it's your own fault when he's snoozing and you're all wound up.

4. Expecting him to cuddle. Men and women are wired differently. Sex makes most women want to talk and bond and all that shit. It makes men pass out. It's a biological thing. Stop fighting it, and stop holding it over his head, it's not his fault.

5. Expecting him to fall asleep with you in his arms. That shit is uncomfortable after awhile. A little snuggling isn't unreasonable, but when it's time to actually sleep? An arm draped over you should suffice.

6. Expecting him to always lay on the charm and romance. Sometimes, that's nice. Sometimes. But expecting him to be all roses and candles all the time is like expecting you to act like a pornstar all the time. If you're not willing to do that, don't expect him to switch for you.

7. Being selfish in bed. Regardless of the shit that Cosmo forces down our throats, sex is NOT just about us. Get over it.

8. Using Cosmo as a sex bible. I dont know who comes up with half that shit, but I'm pretty sure they need counseling.

9. Whining when he pushes your head down on his cock instead of stroking your hair. Know why he's pushing, skippy? Because you aren't doing it right, and have apparently ignored the other clues he's given you. Pay attention to the signals that he's sending you.

10. Not moving at all. Missionary is not an excuse to do nothing.

11. Expecting him to undress himself with any amount of grace. He's about to get some pussy. Be glad he bothered to take his pants all the way off. If it concerns you so much, undress him yourself.

12. Not shaving your legs. Im pretty bad at this myself. But if you want your guy stubble free, you better get out the razor.

13. Allowing your crotch to resemble the amazon. Yes, waxing hurts. Yes, some people don't want to go bare. Thats fine. If you like bush, great. If you have sensitive skin and can't shave, I feel for you. But for the love of Christ, trim that shit if you want him to spend any time down there.

14. Assuming that sex means a relationship. The only relationship you have is that he has now stuck his hoo hoo dilly in your cha cha. That's as far as it goes unless otherwise noted.

15. Withholding oral sex just because you're ragging. He didn't do it. Unless you want him to withhold oral sex because he's hormonal, I suggest you get some kneepads.

16. Expecting him to figure out what you like by what noise you make. Use your words. Have you ever actually heard what you sound like while you're having sex? If you heard yourself on tape, and someone asked you to explain what was causing you to make that noise, 67% of women would respond with answers like "I stubbed my toe" "I ran up the steps" or "I was putting up drywall".

17. Leaving condoms up to him. If you're sexually active and insist that he uses a condom, I suggest buying a box and keeping it by your bed. Not all men keep them on them, and it's just as much your responsibility as it is his. If you think that makes you a slut, you shouldn't be having sex anyway. Go back to Jr High.

18. Getting your undies in a bunch when he talks dirty. A little fantasy can be fun. If he treats you with respect all the time, you shouldn't be offended when he calls you his dirty little slut. When he calls you a whore and tells you to come, its his way of showing that he cares if you get off. Stop being a sissy.

19. Refusing to be spontaneous. I know this is shocking, but sometimes sex OUTSIDE of the bedroom is fun.

20. Dissing quickies because it's not some slow sensual ordeal. Sex is a dynamic thing. Theres an awesome raw energy when you only have 20 minutes but having to have someone so bad that you do it half clothed against the wall. Readjust your thinking.

21. Being too much of a pussy to tell him what is or isn't acceptable before you start bumping uglies. Be honest. If he asks if he can poke you in the butt, and you giggle and say no like it's an invitation, don't look surprised when he "accidentally" sticks his cock in your butt.

22. Expecting him to undress you. I put a bra on almost every day. I know for a fact that getting them off isn't always easy. Help a brother out.

23. Undressing in the dark. If youre shy, dim the lights, but give the man something to see. No ripping off the clothes and diving under the covers, either.

24. Refusing to get on top. Theres no reason men should have to do all the work.

25. Getting that bored look on your face. Men are more visual than women. Give him something to look at. Get on top and arch your back a little bit. Move. Do something to indicate that you 1) are not dead and 2) didn't suffer a minor stroke rendering you unable to move.

26. Expecting him to do all the touching when you're riding him. It's your body, you're used to it. Play with your tits, rub your clit, do something to make his job easier.

27. Being too afraid to guide your partner's hand when hes touching you. Don't like the way he's doing it? Gently take his hand and show him how you like it.

28. Getting into bed, getting naked, fooling around and then deciding that you just want to cuddle, then getting offended when he doesn't. Its your choice to stop, but don't look all fucking surprised when he's confused. You got him naked in your bed, what else did you think was going to happen?

29. Refusing to let him take control. So your a feminist. Big fucking deal. Letting him call the shots doesn't make you any less of one.

30. Refusing to take control. Its ok to crawl across a bed to him on all fours, push him down and crawl on top. It's not his responsibility to start things all the time.

31. Forgetting that he has a body that likes to be touched, too. Men have things like backs and shoulders and stomachs and other parts that are fun to kiss and touch. You miss a lot of good places by concentrating solely on his penis.

32. Ignoring his balls. Seriously, they are there. Kiss them, lick them, suck on them, make a relationship with them, just don't ignore them.

33. Leaving him to his own devices. Nothing is worse than a girl who gets you most of the way off and then bolts because she doesn't want to deal with the mess.

34. Launching into some speech about not being an object for sex when he tries to titty fuck you. Jesus Christ, just push them together and enjoy yourself. You get a great view.

35. Expecting him to handle you like a porcelain doll. I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're not going to break, sister. So doing it against the wall gives you a bruise on your shoulder. Look at it later and giggle at the memory.

36. Refusing to try things in the name of "making love". You're not making anything. You are naked. With another person. Making strange faces and weird noises. Stop romanticizing it.

37. Taking things way too seriously. Sex is funny. Actually it's hilarious. Somewhere along the line, someone is going to fall off of a bed, hit their head on a lighting fixture, accidentally kick a midget or trip over a goat. It's how you deal with it that really matters.

38. Throwing a bitch fit when he asks for a 3 some. Its the American dream. (I know my ex is reading this right now, so a quick interjection. One request for a 3 some is ok. Every 5 minutes, not so much. Know the difference).

39. Continuing a blow job knowing that you have god awful cotton mouth. Really. Grab a bottle of water.

40. Nails. Its one thing tracing them up and down your partners back. Its another when you snag the goods with a claw.

41. Bitching when you get jizz on you. You're having sex. That will happen. Thats the entire point of sex. Establish where he can and cant jizz and be done with it. Remember, it tightens the pores.

42. Not making any noises at all. Moan. Scream his name. Something so he knows he's the best you've had, even if he isn't.

43. Faking orgasms. Just. Don't. By faking (IF he believes you) he thinks he's doing everything right. And if he doesn't know its not working, he's not going to change it. Starting a vicious cycle of unfulfilling sex which will eventually be very damaging to his ego.

44. Not washing before sex. I know that sex is spontaneous, this is more of a general statement. If you haven't showered that day, and things smell a little...fishy...perhaps demanding oral sex is a little ridiculous of you.

45. Anything that involves inserting anything into his body that he has not specifically approved before hand. I don't care what Cosmo says, some things are simply not pleasant surprises.

46. Refusing to use oils/whipped cream/other messy but fun things because you have 541510630 count Egyptian cotton sheets that were made by hand by the only person alive capable of sewing that pattern. They'll wash.

47. Doing all of your before bed things before sex. Yes, sleeping with makeup on is bad. Now is not the time to remove it, you can do that later. And really fucking you with your hair in a ratty scrunchie with acne cream on your nose is not all its cracked up to be.

48. Cleaning up after sex. Wiping the splooge off is one thing. But changing the sheets immediately so you can get the other ones in the washer and then sanitizing everything your naked body might have possibly passed by is not the way to do it.

49. Making a big deal out of it if he loses his hard on. This is not an interrogation, or 20 questions. It happens, he's probably mortified and you are NOT helping. Refrain from using phrases like "it happens to every guy". Just move to other activities until it gets hard again, and if it doesn't, get off another way with him. He's still capable of getting you off. Mumbling "Forget it" and rolling over are not ok.

50. Asking questions right afterwards. The woman equivalent of "was it good for you?". Now is not a good time to ask "What this means". Right now, it means he probably needs to take a drink, a leak and a nap, perhaps not in that order.

That is all.

This Is Just Too Funny...

...and hat tip to TG.

I Would Like To Meet...

...this gentleman, and his lady friend. I like Texas, and she cooks well from what I've heard. And he could teach me how to blow my asshole up when I get stupid, or it acts up. Beats hemorrhoid cream. Then she could make bisquits and gravy to plug the holes.

Of course, there are alot of people I'd like to meet. This lady just so I could butt heads with her. That would be fun. Have to include this this gent. I like gardens and can drive a tractor and such. Give him and sweetthing some extra time. And I could stare through the window. Have to include this guy so I can feel like I've lived vicariously through him, since I was so different. Can't leave this woman out. She rolls me, unfortunately not literally. And this one goes without saying.

Just a few. I will add them each day. You guys want traffic. Not that I have many hits, but every little bit helps.

Sometimes You Hear Something...

...so often that it makes you wanna puke.

I first noticed it in fourth grade when I feigned a fainting spell because I couldn't stand the bitch I had as a teacher. I was impish and playful and for some reason she hated that part of me. So she did whatever she could to beat my ass down. So I figured if I fell on the floor I'd get some type of revenge. Little did I know at that young age that they can tell from your BP if you've actually fainted or not. That led to countless meetings with school psychologists asking me all sorts of banal questions about what I wanted to be, if I liked my parents, did I pee in my pants and on and on. For fucking sake, I was what, 8 or 9 years old. How the hell was I supposed to know what I wanted to be. I just hated the fucking witch that was making my life miserable. But that's when I was pegged with the "different" tag. You never get over it. You might circumvent it for a bit, but once it's been planted, your ass is stuck with it and you start believing it and it spirals through the years.

The following years were great. I was the class clown, teachers pet, did well with grades and the like, and was considered "normal". Then I had to leave parochial schools and enter the public school system. Immediately I was "different" again, not for any personality trait, but because I had curly hair. I was ridiculed on a daily basis, even publicly humiliated in classes because of it. I hated that place, and it continued into high school. Back then, before hair dryers, hair was tough to mange. By my senior year they had invented them and I was able to straighten it somewhat, but by then the seed had been planted. I was "different". So I turned hippyfied. I introduced people to dope, and then I was "normal" again. At least in my hippy peer friends eyes. The psyche is not so forgiving. There was always that underlying nagging notion that I would one day again be pegged as "different". Hell, I didn't know what the hell it meant, to be honest. I felt normal. But it don't work that way.

First year of college was uneventful, but I still had that nagging thing in my head, so I went off and joined the Navy, where I finished first in my class in whatever it was I was assigned to. I don't remember. But little did I know that the years of belittlement when you're young lead to personality disorders. And you put a 19 year old with a psyche that's been berated for years into a closed environment, and the new kid on the block, and you have a recipe for disaster. Which is exactly what it was.

Forward a few years and a college degree and some semblance of normalcy and life was good. Met the X, had her friends tell her nice job for the find, and I felt "normal". And I did. Until the divorce. Then I was dubbed as "different" again. By everyone. And it's stayed with me since. Except for the short stint with almost wife #2, It's always been that way.

What I've never figured out is why someone with a "soft" personality, that doesn't provoke anger, that let's people be themselves and encourages it, is labeled as, ya, "different".

Fuck it. It is what it is. So I'll deal with it. But quit putting people in boxes that they can't get out of. You tell people something long enough and they start to believe it. I am considered standoffish at work, which is not true, and arrogant because I happen to be a shy person. It dismays me that my life has been this way, when it is so not the case. Just never had anyone around that said, "hey, your as normal as hell. Let's get a gun and go do some shooting."

I Have No Words...

...to convey this. The youngest came by for a visit on the way to a hockey game. I am humbled.

Thanks bud. Love ya.

Adenocarcinoma...

...is what they call cancer. They stage it.

This is what cancer cells look like. Mine are similiar. More or less. Moderately differentiated. OK. Sounds good to my ass. It takes a blood cell sixty seconds to travel through your system. So every 60 seconds I have cancer cells transversing through my veins. Does that bother me? You betcha. Do I complain about it? Nope. It is what it is. But if you complain about shit that has no meaning what-so-ever, I will call you on it. Count the blessings you have. I do.

I will go through this battle alone, by choice. Not because I want to. But it just seems to be the right thing to do. Me and God. It's always been that way. Prayers? Nope. Others need them.

Le Penseur...

...early in the morn.

• If you're a parent, you're familiar with that wishfull feeling that your kids will turn out to be "good" progeny. I take no credit in the way my sons have turned out. DNA goes way back. I don't control that. So it might be a crap shoot. I've known some families where one child is a saint and another is a sinner. The parents did the best for both. BUT, I have, and always will, tell them that I love them, regardless of their age. THAT seems to work. Who knows.
  
  
• I will never understand why people feel the need to wash their bath towels every other day. That's the cleanest your ass is gonna be. All you're doing is shedding water. The towel just absorbs it. Think about this.
  
  
• Some people are just chickenshit confounded when you confront them. It figures.
  
  
  
  
  
  

I Feel Sorry For Women...

...that are subscribers to personal sites and others, like MySpace. For some reason they feel the need to include numerous pictures of themselves.

One would be enough. We get the fact that you are lovely and buxom. And, no doubt, you are overwhelmed with offers for wild monkey sex. But what does that say about you? There is some sort of discrepancy here. It either says you have such low self-esteem that you feel the need to compromise yourself, or you enjoy the thought that thousands of men are oogling over the photos. What happened to liking someone for whom they are. A voice, a mannerism, a whimsical gesture.

Goes to show you that life is a dichotomy. We want to accept ourselves, but we can't do it unless we feel that others can accept us. And we'll go to any lengths to do it. And in doing it the way we do, we get dissed.

Funny how that works.

The Purpose...

...Driven Life. It was written by some pastor named Rick Warren. If I'm going to critisize a book I'll read it before I do so.

Now, for starters, this book has sold millions of copies, as did Scott Peck's "The Road Less Travelled". Self-help books always sell well, simply because it confirms that we are pretty damned fucked up and won't admit it in public, but in the quiet of our homes, as we dismay about our relationships and the like, we look to outside sources to give some sort of meaning to our lives. And we hope asshats like this can do it.

This book's basic premise is that all things we're pre-determined when God made the world and everything, EVERYTHING, that has happened since is a part of the creation. You are and do what you do because God made it so. As he states on page 25, "There are no accidents".

This is a theological nightmare. Because if you've lived long enough you know how little sense that makes. But he goes on and on about how God has a plan for your life. And he continues with biblical tidbits to try and support his thesis.

Boys and girls, I've read the bible, twice. It's a big damned book, full of allegory, metaphor and innuendo. It has gone through countless revisions. If you know anything about hermeneutics then you know the differences languages can mean to the translation of something.

Basically I think all this book did was pad this guys pockets. As they usually do with most people that try to exploit the notion of God for their own gain. Recent news about "god men" confirm this. You hide behind God and put on a good show and you have it made.

What's my solution, you ask? I have none. I happen to believe in God, and pray to that being everyday. Never for myself, but for all the others to whom it might make a difference. I happen to think it's a process, an interaction between God and us. The same as it is in daily life. Their are flaws in any theory, as there are in this one. And it's likely we'll never know. It's kinda like the mutual agreement thing; you don't fuck with me and I won't fuck with you. If I need help I'll ask. If you need help, well, God help us all.

My whole point of this was an old memory that came up. After the boys were born the X thought we should start going to church. We must have tried 10. I would dutifully put on my Sunday duds and sit through the same ole drivel. And without a doubt the head honcho would call from the church that wanted to come by to witness. And invaribly I would be sitting at the kitchen table, beer in hand, shirtless and in shorts, and have a discussion with them. And every time they left shaking their head. And I went back to playing or reading with the boys, then the bath, then the frolic time. That was our "God" time.

Oh yeah, I know God, and it ain't me. And if you want to get to know God, tip the pizza delivery guy $5 next time and see the smile on his/her face. That's what Jesus would do.

Just For...

...giggles.

A married couple was in a terrible accident where the man’s face was severely burned. The doctor told the husband that they couldn’t graft any skin from his body because he was too skinny. So the wife offered to donate some of her own skin. However, the only skin on her body that the doctor felt was suitable would have to come from her buttocks.

The husband and wife agreed that they would tell no one about where the skin came from, and they requested that the doctor also honor their secret. After all,this was a very delicate matter.

After the surgery was completed, everyone was astounded at the man’s new face. He looked more handsome than he ever had before! All his friends and relatives just went on and on about his youthful beauty!

One day, he was alone with his wife , and he was overcome with emotion at her sacrifice. He said, “Dear, I just want to thank you for everything you did for me. How can I possibly repay you?”

“My darling,” she replied, “I get all the thanks I need every time I see your mother kiss you on the cheek“.

If You're Into The Whole...

...Christmas lights thingy, have a peek. Enjoy!!