I Had My Sexy...

...going on last night. Came home and put on my swimsuit and did some poses in the mirror. Then I punched myself in the face. Stupid body won't cooperate. Grabbed a glass of wine and sat said bones in my chair and watched the tape of Grey's Anatomy from the night before. It's insidious, but damned if the blonde don't have some tig ole bitties. Then I got an IM from a friend. I tried to entice her into some subservient internet sex. She must have known I was in my swimmies. She went to bed. So I called the rantin chump and his wife answered the phone. Telepathically she must have known I was in said swimmies because she said I was in her prayers. So I talked to the the Bob Villa of the blogworld for a bit. Always nice. By then I was drunk motivated so I cut my hair and surgically cleaned the bathroom. It's pristine. Clubbing ain't got nuthin on my ass...and I got to wear my cleaning outfit. I'm too sexy for my shirt. Whatever...

We Had A Drive-By...

...fruiting at the Wally World yesterday. Actually it was an apparent kidnapping. The suspect was tackled and, according to the local law enforcement official, he was "throwed in the back of the trunk, so we ain't sure what we got here." I know what we do have, and it doesn't include a command of the English language. What the hell, it's only my tax dollars. I be dun rantin. Me gunna go hook me up some fishes...

Who Dicked...

...my drink? I guess it's steak and shrimp tonight, and some Mac-n-Cheese. Good thing, too, cause my ass was getting tired of broccoli and brussel sprouts. Guess it goes to show you that it's all a crap shoot. Throw a 7-11 and you're in the game for a long time. Crap out and, well, ya done shit yourself. And it turns out ya didn't even have a choice in the matter. God is a devilish little creator. He temps and beguiles us, only to surreptitiously disappear with a wry grin on his face. Dammit. Let us pray...

This Is The Kinda...

...shit I love. This woman is the Democratic House Leader and she rants on and on about how Bush isn't dealing with reality. Well, sugar britches, apparently you don't deal with reality very well your own damned self. As soon as you saw a wrinkle appear on that face of yours you went and got enough botox that would make my asshole the size of a baboons. LOOK at yourself woman!! I bet dubyah wakes up every morning, looks at himself in the mirror and says it is what it is. That's reality. Don't talk to people about reality when you have altered your own. I remember my grandmothers. Great women. They lived in a time before TV and all the trappings we have now. Since I was cognizant of them they had wrinkles for days. Their faces looked like the ocean with wave breaking after wave. But that's who they were. Never bothered me, never bothered them. They were real. Does this woman in the picture look real, or any of the people you see that have had this done? Of course not. If you're going to throw words around, make sure you have something to back it up. I'm just saying...

How Does One Get...

...to the stupid blog by doing a search on "bleach kill hpv virus"? Oh, well yeah, maybe I can see that as being stupid. It came from our Canadian brothers. Need I say more...

Can Someone Please...

...explain this new pirate penchant that's sweeping the country? One movie comes out and suddenly everyone's walking around scowling "Aye Matie". WTF!! I bet most holloween costumes will be of a pirate nature. Just damn...

The Thespian. It Was A...

...a chance encounter. It happened when I was in college, at the monastery in the southern hills of Indiana. Population of the town was about 150 people, mostly farmers. I had a good report (as in the #12 definition from the dictionary) with most of them. I'd help them on the weekends with getting the corn in the silos and do some tractor work. Up on the "Hill", as we called it, we had a small movie theater/stage that could be used for not only a flick, but a stage production. Occasionally local colleges from around the area would come and put on a production. It was open to those of us on campus as well as anyone else in the area. Seating was limited so you had to get there early. It was a Saturday night and I was bored. The Un-Stable, the watering hole we had on campus, didn't open until 8. Now I'm not the musical going type, but the thespians were from the U of Kentucky, so I figured chicks. Hey, I was 21 and was living amongst a group of half fags and half ragging testosterone-laden males. You said 'woman on deck' and our asses were there.

Now, some background on the Un-Stable. It was literally buried in the bottom of a hill. A quaint place, poorly lit, but had a place for a band to set up and could seat about 100. There were instances when there were 200 in there. The fire marshall happened to be one of the monks and a drinking buddy. He ignored those times. It had picnic tables for seating and it served two beers, on tap. Doesn't sound like much, but under the circumstances it was like heaven. There were two of us that became legends there, for two reasons; we could drink all others under the table and we combined our resources to build what became known as the "Roundtable". It was a beautiful round checkerboard table that we built by hand out of solid oak. It took us six months to complete, but it was absolutely gorgeous. It was placed in a small area right in front of the bar. It would seat about 8 comfortably, and we had reservations for life. If we walked in and others were sitting there they had two options. They could either vacate the entire party, or, if some seated were part of our regular crowd, someone had to give up their seat. It payed off the night "the thespian" came down.

The musical started around 7. I sat in the back. The place was full, mostly with students and faculty, but some of the town folk were there and some people from the surrounding small cities. As I said, I'm no theater goer, so when 8 rolled around I was out for my Saturday night buzz. But there was one girl in the entourage of the the UK theater players that had caught my eye. She was about 5'10", long auburn hair, a body to make me suicidal and the voice of a lark. If there was a god, and there should be cause I was at a monastery, I was gonna hook up with that girl. When I got to the Un-Stable at 8 there weren't but five or six people there, and they were sitting at one of the tables in the general area. I went up into "our" area, ordered two pitchers (total of $3) and waited for the others to arrive. The ordering of two pitchers was a standard practise. If you got there first you parlayed up for the first round and didn't have to buy anymore the rest of the night. Slowly some of the regulars came in and we settled into the usual banter, discussing the likes of whether Jesus had nocturnal emissions. Hey, it was supposed to be god. Big things come outta god, no? Arcane? Of course. It was juvenile intellectual bullshit amongst horny young men. But we also had the fire marshall at the table, a regular, and one of the funniest men I have ever met.

Around 9:15 the place just flooded with people. The artsy-fartsy musical was over and they all came down to whet their palettes and basically get drunk, which is what most of the locals did, as did we. One of the student bands was set up and started playing and that place started to rock right quick like. Around ten the thespians came down to receive their well deserved accolades and imbibe in some libation. My eyes immediately riveted on the girl I had seen. They were all sitting off to the left of the band, near the jukebox. When the band took a break, I grabbed myself two mugs of beer, a quarter, and was off to let my silver-tongued drunken ass do its thing. I plopped the quarter in the jukebox and played the old Fleetwood Mac song by Christime McVie, "You make lovin fun." Then I went and introduced myself to the love of my life that evening. Her name was Autumn, which of course just blew my ass away. I gave her the beer, said I thought she had the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard, and sauntered back to the roundtable. After offering her an invite to join us if she so desired. After the band played another set I had "J" go stick another quarter in the jukie and hit 109 again. I guess Autumn's curiosity had been tweaked enough to see why we sat in the "crown" of the place. Of course by that time we had a full table, and then some. Twelve people. I had to ask "P" to take a walk. He was a newby. Autumn sat down next to me and we were all on our game that night. We were all enthralled with her boisterous nature and funloving demeanor. And this girl could drink with the best of them. I asked her if she wanted to dance and there was no hesitation on her part. We got out there and shook booty like there was no tomorrow. When we were done the place broke out in a deafening round of applause. We went back to the table and we no sooner took a few swigs of beer when the band broke out in a rendition of the very song that we had played on the juckie, but they had recruited one of the other female singers from the UK group. They edged us on for another dance, to which we gladly obliged. It was absolute magic. She ground herself into me in such a subtle way, given the circumstances, that my head, amongst other things, was about to pop. When the song ended it was close to 1 and the place had to close, so people started shuffling out the doors and the band was breaking down. I asked one of the band members to play an acoustic rendition of the Buckingham-Nicks song "Crying In The Night". Just a chance for a slow dance with this vision of beauty. Needless to say, after that dance was over I had never wanted a woman more in my life, but the circumstances were against us. I walked her out to her bus, which was heading to their hotel, and received one of the best kisses ever.

To this day I often wonder about her. I hope she's happy, has a good husband and lots of kids. She deserves it. Damned she could sing...and kiss...

This Particular Practice...

...engaged in by bloggers just befuddles my ass. Memeing. I'm not even sure that's a word, but it is now. The definition is "a contagious idea that replicates like a virus, passed on from mind to mind." I did a search for an image of a 'meme' and this is the only thing that popped up. Now that's not a bad thing to pass on from mind to mind, but, of course, that's not what it is. You've seen the blogs where someone sends someone else a list of questions to answer. And the responses are supposed to let us know something about the respondee. Well, I'm here to tell ya that it does tell me something about you. It tells me you're a fucking idiot, and I wouldn't want any of your responses passing between your mind and mine. If anyone were to send me something like that I would find a way to pack it in a cactus plant and electronically shove it up your butt...

Hell...

...who am I kidding. I can't even drive a rig. Used to be able to. Now I'm relegated to my F-150. This blog is what it is, for better or worse. After some soul searching(which is odd coming from a soulless bastard) I've decided to just stick with what I do. If someone finds some of it funny or insightful, then good. If not, then that's fine too. I got pissed, more at myself than others. It's a blog, for christsakes. How seriously can this shit be taken? It's a rhetorical question for you intellectual numnuts out there...

Enough Already...

...of the usual stuff I've been doing. I need a change of pace and maybe even a new venue. We're going to take a wide turn here; very wide. And it ain't gonna be pretty. Wide turns usually aren't...

Just Damn...

...just as I'm getting high on the medical community they come out with this shit. I don't need a more sophisticated way to detect prostate cancer. I need a cure. This new fangled piece of machinery allows the MD to keep his hands free while doing a biopsy. If you've never been through one, good for you. Don't. They stick an ultrasound the size of a baseball up your butt. Then they shoot arrows up there. I did fine with it, but I was prepared. Some poor guys pass out. Now they use Lidocaine to deaden the pain. I asked for it. They ignored me. When it was over I was bleeding like a stuck pig from the anal area. The doc and attending left the room and said I was free to go. I'm sorry? What about this little issue here. No where to be found. So I went in the bathroom, packed my panties with about 100 paper towels and got the hell outta there. Never went back other than to here the diagnosis.

Now I'm sure this machine will make it more comfy for patients, and the guy I go to now has wanted another biopsy for a year, but my PSA is low enough that I can dissuade him, but how does the invention of something like this help? Only for biopsies and seed implants. Not for those of us that follow EM and are waiting for something else to come down the pipeline. They have HIFU now, but it's not FDA approved and the trials at Duke are only for those that were diagnosed after 50. I missed it by six months.

So it goes on. More fancy hardware, no cures. My reading of medical blogs will wane quickly with this type of news...

Is It Just Me...

...or is Blogger just all fucked up today? Not to mention BlogrollIt. We'll try it again tomorrow. I have not the patience for it today...

For Some Inexplicable Reason...

...I've been spending alot of time reading medical blogs. I don't know if this is some sort of omen which is going to lead to my demise or just my natural curiosity about things that I'm clueless about. I'd prefer the latter. Either way, it's entertaining and educational. I've linked a few on the blogroll. Most of the words are way beyond my scope, but some of the stories and pictures are well worth the read. You might meet me on the street one day and need to save my ass, so make sure some of the stuff sticks in your mind so that when EMS shows up you can tell them how I'm presenting...

Boys And Girls...

...I don't mean to be condescending, but anyone out there that continues with this crap about 'are we safer' doesn't think with the vigor they could. The world has NEVER been a safe place. Every day when you walk out the door you are taking your life in your own hands. If you live with a gun owner, safe or not, you are taking your life in your own hands. If you smoke or drink to excess, same thing. I could go on and on but I'm not going to belabor the point. There are people out there, and circumstances, that we have no control over. You're life could be snuffed out in the blink of an eye, which it usually is. The preznit doesn't control that shit. This new report out that says we are less safe because of the war in Iraq is nothing more than another agency hellbent on blaming someone. Living is a risk. We seem to have lost that mindset. We teach our kids not to run out in the street, only to go out and take risks ourselves that put the very people we were trying to protect at risk. Make sense? Of course not. It's being human. If you think it's consistent in any way, shape or form, then you should lock yourself away. Because you'll never make it, or a loved one won't. We have this built in mechanism where we occasionally think about our mortality. We have another that drags us out of that frame of mind because we would go insane if all we did was contemplate our own demise. It's a weird state of affairs. But just damn...THINK...

Ole Billy Boy...

...blew a gasket on Sunday on some talk show, or so they say. Hell, I didn't see it live but I've watched the clip. I didn't think what he did was so over the top. The way these self-serving news assholes think they are beyond reproach pisses me off most of the time, so I give him, Billy, some creds for sticking up for himself. Most of the time these little smug assholes sit in their chairs and fire off questions and never let anyone finish. Clinton should have just gone ahead and poked him in the nuts. Sure seemed like he was heading in that direction. But damn, were those nickers he was wearing? Hiliary's gotta get off the campaign trail and take him to Brooks Bros...

HMMMM...

...let's see now. A guitar player and writer has decided to take up woodworking, where fingers and hands are one eye blink away from the shitcan. This sounds like some plot on M's part to me...or maybe the SIL...

I Am Concerned...

..., and gravely so. Such new love being foiled by a butt packer. How can she indiscriminately do a search for 'Clay Aiken' with the dickmeister under the same roof? Have you no dignity? Call out the dogs, my man, and quell this outrageous betrayal. I had such hope...

Don't Remind Me...

...that I have no life. I call the boys on Sunday's, wash my stained panties and continue on the underground shelter, which is difficult, since it's all concrete to dig through and the only tool I have is a flat head screwdriver. Maybe the terrorists will wait for a bit. Anyways, I have to ask this person, this person and this person if those so called ER shows are realistic. I just watched one where some guy came in with an 11 inch ice pick stuck in his ear. He'd had it there for FIVE days. He did it himself. With a hammer. WTF?? Why? He was hearing voices and wanted them to stop. He went to the ER because he didn't care if the voices escaped there, but he didn't want them in his house. Sounds logical to my ass. I had a similiar experience one time. I started speaking in tongues so I jabbed a fork in that little snake in my mouth. It was hard to explain myself in the ER because I couldn't talk very well. But the religious conversion rate that night was off the scale.

The pic? I was in a hurry and couldn't find an ER one. Yeah, I'd have sex with him too.

We're All About...

...education here in stupid land. Someone got to this site by searching on 'proclivity'. Of course, I knew the definition of it since I was two. Ok, I lied. I was three. Whatever. You had anyone come to your site with a search for that word? Of course not. So I am establishing the Galactically Stupid Global Initiative. I will personally head up this endeavor and it will involve debauchery. Donations will be needed for this wide ranging program. They will not be tax deductible. Details at 6.

I Love A Good...

...intellectual tango. Kinda like 'Dancing With The Cranium'. Miss BabsRn thinks I had my toe stepped on because of a post I made and her subsequent comment on said post. You can read it here. I'm not here to defend myself, because I don't feel like I have been attacked. I'm pretty sure of who I am. And I don't have a particular mindset about women. OH, I may make the occasional reference to a woman's body part, but quite frankly, I don't care one way or the other. It's literary. Nothing more. I don't like being lumped in with the neanderthals. If a woman has an issue with them, then say so. I've never treated a woman with anything but respect. I still open doors, I still say thank you Ma'am at the market and if I'm involved with them they get flowers. If someone's life experiences have been otherwise, how does that involve me? I've been told on THREE occasions that I'm too nice. So how do I fit into the mold of the typical male?

And all I did was comment on the hormone thing. Do I think this woman, or any, for that matter, is an OBJECT? Of course not. I spent almost two hours on the phone the other night with a woman that has alot of problems at the moment. Never once did I think of her as anything other than a person that needed help. Did I help her? She said I did, so I'll take her word for it. I didn't feel like I did much, but what the hell.

If someone is going to offer up their opinions, then I will respect them at all costs. You have a right to do that. But to include, or even insinuate, that the rest of said individuals are included in the package that has offended you isn't quite fair. Babs didn't do that. She qualified herself. Good for her. She's too smart for that. But there are some out there that do, and that sucks for us that are good and decent men. And I'm sorry for women like Babs. She's an extremely attractive, caring, intellectual and lovely woman. If someone of my gender treats her badly, then he should be shot, on spot. Nuff said...

You Don't Have To Be...

...a sports fan to appreciate the fortitude of this gentleman. He lost his wife last month to breast cancer. He just holed a shot from off the green to beat the #'s 1 and 3 players in the world to win a point for the Brits in the Ryder Cup. I could give a rats ass who wins. It's all about money and false pride. But he scored a point for life; his own, his kids and others. Nuff said...

Ahhh, My Dear...

...queen of the kitchenaide. I had no idea who you were prior to this morning. Then you inadvertently invaded my sheltered existence and told me you were going to make doggy bisquits out of cookie dough for....your fucking dogs birthday!! I have hired an international hitman to come take your dishes, knives and other various and sundry cooking utensils and such away from you. You will be banished to the bowels of hell. A dogs B'Day? Just...well, you know...

I Don't Convey...

...things very well in the dawn of a new day, when my head is still filled with the gobblins of a night of mischievious slumber. But, don't worry your weary heads about it. This will not be pretty. What has provoked my colonic ire you might ask? This. Not the author herself. I like her. The hormone thing I don't. I understand that women have these issues and it pretty much screws up the innards. Men have them as well. They just don't know they do. I take DIM. It's a natural estrogenic that is supposed to help with the wayward estrogens in a man who has PCa. It's turned me into a freaking eunuch like creature. But I know who the hell I am and I ain't gonna go on about all sorts of shit that happens and blame it on the HO-MONES. I control what I say and what I think. I lived with that for ten years. Not me, the X. Every fucking day for two weeks out of the month it was one tirade after another. Same with all her friends. When queried about it the standard response was....PMS. The HO-MONES. It got worse through the years as menopause was setting in. In her mid-thirties. I was the whipping post. Not because I had done anything. Just because I was in the vacinity of the scoundrels that were wreaking jihad on my universe.

If you read the link above, scroll down and read some more. DAMN, this woman can write. And vehemently, I might add. Why is it that when the HO-MONES get out of whack the men-folk end up bearing the brunt of the nuclear fallout? There aren't many days that I feel 'good'. But I don't think I post misogynistic diatribes .

Is there some sort of mutation in the X chromosome that gives them license to lash out at men? I just do not get this. Please explain it to me. I'm a curious individual. When I go to meet my maker I want all the ammo I can have so I can get a reprieve and come back and haunt some people that need it. Help me out here.

UPDATE: Here's a much more radical. view of it. I'm just offering...ya know...

I Went Back And Changed...

...my Dad's diaper and clothes at 6:30 AM on May 15, 2003. He was on a morphine drip, so it was all dead weight. His breathing was shallow, pulse was weak. I had been there four months and took him through his journey to wherever his next stop was going to be. I wanted him to be clean. I went out and had a cup of coffee with my Mom. We both knew the next few days would be rough. Around 7:15 I had a feeling come over me. Dry and mysterious. I went back and checked on Dad. Carotid artery, no pulse. Abdominal aorta, no pulse. Got out the blood pressure kit. Zippo, like the lighter I grew up watching him use. The person I was so affraid of when I was young but came to so love as I got older was dead. His weaknesses, his foibles. They were over. He told me a story one time at the beach about their honeymoon. He felt her up the whole way on the plane. I had to go out and tell his wife of 54 years that the man she went to bed with every night was gone. We called hospice and the nurse was there in 15 minutes. For two minutes they verify that there's no blood pressure. Well hell. I dun already dun that. Then you have to call all the appropriate people. My Mom couldn't take it. She hugged him, gave him a kiss and said she loved him. She then went out on the porch with the hospice nurse and talked about stuff that I was clueless about, but it was her time. They stuffed my Dad in a bag. I felt it degrading, but what's one to do? I had lain with him and kissed him goodbye before they got there. But watching him being wheeled out was almost surreal. There goes my genome, my psyche, the very person that gave me life. And I was empty. I'm sure it was from the months of taking care of him. The endless showers, the hair cutting, the martinis through a straw. All so he could feel like he was alive. As they rolled him out the door all I could see was the hospice nurse rubbing my Mom's back. Shit happens, but this isn't supposed to. No brothers to help, no neighbors, no church members. Just my skinny little ass and a woman that just lost the love of her life.

After that it was an endless series of phonecalls and arrangements, visits by people I can't remember. Mom's birthday was two days later and she didn't want the funeral then, so it was a few days after that. Younger brother was on his third honeymoon in the Phillipines or somewhere like that. Oldest got ahold of him, but no luck getting back in time. I was so psychologically and physically worn out at that point I had nothing left to give. I just went through the motions after that.

That's about as much as I will ever give about myself. Deal with it...

I Know I Rant About...

...this shit too much, but how hard is it to read? They spend hours spritzing these babes up so they can read a telepromter. How does "twelve dways" come out of the mix? Maybe more reading and less spritzing. Or maybe a computer could do it and they can just mouth the words. Or show your tits so I don't give a shit about it. I mean a good tit beats linguistics any day of the week, No?

If You Have Not...

...seen what this gentleman is doing, then go do a search. He's a Vietnam vet and portrait artist that has dedicated his life to doing portraits of all those that have died in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Free of charge. He sends them to the families. One of the most moving things I have ever seen. This guy should get a medal of some kind. Why aren't there more people like this guy in the world?
And they are so lifelike it's just damned eerie...

It Seems The Recruiting Issue...

...is back in the forefront. The DOD is going to call up more National Guard troops to fight in Irag and Afghanistan. That's what they're there for, but it does cause some concern. If we have a natural, or unnatural terrorist related, disaster here that causes grave hardship to the populace, it could be devestating. They say the Army can't train soldiers to be combat ready fast enough, which I agree with, since you don't want them going into harms way ill prepared. But it brings me pause when I think of all the overcrowding in the prisons. I have no idea how many people are on death row here in the US of fucked up States, but some is better than done. If they survive, they're free. What? It worked in a movie. Got a better idea? The way we're headed ain't gonna work. And conscription will never happen with the rightie-tighties around. Just saying...

This Purveyor...

...of Texas culture, high end living and fine cuisine went out and had himself a heaping plate of, no, not barbecue, but SUSHI. I am trying to wrap my head around this, but, alas, I am left in a pile of boney ruble . I suspect it was not really the experience he was after, as suggested by his lovely lady, but rather practice. As I sleuth my way through my synapses for an explanation to this betrayal of meat and potatoes revelry, I suspect it was a cleverly designed plot by said lady. Could it be that the dickmeister couldn't eat the BIG TUNA!!! Horrors of culinary horrors. Or should that be cunnilingual horrors? I am stunned by this revelation that my sodium induced axions have given me insight to. Alas, I am a broken man. Another hero falls...Just damn...

Soooo, There's Some Students...

...at the U. of Utah that have their panties in a wad because they moved the helo pad for the medflight helicopter close to their dorm. The little shitass chitlins are calling it a battle between life and death. A conflict between peace and bedlam. HA! Don't tell me these aren't some wiley scholars. They interviewed some coed and she was livid, I tell you, panties in the vagina crack LIVID. She said it was so loud she couldn't study. DAMNED RIGHT!! Some poor bastards dying out on route 12 but she needs to hit that calculus book. She have a life ahead of her. She said they wouldn't be as upset if they were compensated for the inconvenience this treacherous machine was wreaking on their lives. YES, YES!! Target gift certificates all the way around. And in one for some Wendy's fries.

Click On The Link...

...and be prepared to meet your maker. In mammary form. Be sure to read the comments.

Nothing Like...

...a little exercise to get your blood pumping. I think they call this pilates or some damned thing. Or, maybe not. I hope they're not related because that would just be, well, not right...

Some Things...

...just have no rational explanation. I've taken to reading some of the medical blogs out there. Particularly the ones that deal with ER's. They are vastly entertaining and some of the weird shit they have to deal with just defy common sense. Go have a look at this one...and when you're done go here and read the one from 9/21. Just damn...

There Is Something...

...usunder in the stupid household. It must be some sort of medieval wizardly spell placed upon me in a previous life. I've lived in this hellhole lovely place for eight years and I have never once moved the furniture. I can walk around here in total darkness and never run into anything. I have a sofa that sits against a wall and parallel to that is my coffee table and chair. There's about two feet between them. Since I'm only about six inches wide it's never been a problem navigating between them. For the past five mornings I've rammed my little toe on my right foot into the foot of the sofa. I think I broke it this morning. This is what it looks like. Just damn...that SOB hurts...

Some Of These...

...are pretty good. It's from a marine in Fallujah. Same place my nephew is. Bane, you should like this...

One Person...

...picked up on it. And I thank them. There are some people out there that don't have their heads so far up their asses that they don't recognize the nuances that people subtlety put in their words. Thanks mate...

I Don't Care What You Say...

...this SOB can write. Nuff said. Outrageous. God help ya M.

Mark...

...here wants to know what I would do with a million dollars, other than have two 'chicks'. Well, I did some calculations and I have earned a million dollars in my lifetime, so that's no biggy. And I have nothing to show for it, so that's no biggy either. So if someone were to drop a million bucks, tax free, on my doorstep, I would keep on doing just what I do. I'd give most of it away, save for someone funnier than I to take over this blog. My needs are simple and money has never come into play in my life. Oh, I'm not saying I wouldn't do something special for myself. But in today's market, a million ain't much. My family would enjoy it, I'm sure, but my bathroom would still be in need of cleaning. Would I hire someone to clean it? Nope. I do that myself. I'd give $25,000 to Mark for the question. And there's no pic here yet because Blogger sucks. I would, however, hire a sexual surrogate. Don't ask, it's my money. And as far as the two chicks are concerned, well let me just say I have been there one time in my life and it ain't all it's cracked up to be. One does just fine for me.

I'm Not Sure...

...how to send out prayers for a vagina, but, if anyone can try, I will.

OK...

...I'm against this. But it seems some want to know more about me. So I will follow this lady's lead and open things up. You can ask or e-mail any question and it will be answered forthrightly and honestly. I don't expect many, but for those that have e-mailed, so be it...

What A Damned...

...surprise. Willie got busted for pot and 'shrooms'. In New Orleans, no less. Where stuff like that NEVER happens. What the hell are they doing citing a 73 year old for this shit? He's Willie, for christ's sake. As if you go on his bus and it DOESN'T smell of cannabis? Legalize it. Please. But the mushrooms? Willie, your ass is 73 years old. If you haven't experienced it yet you're not going to. I don't think you need any help in that regard. You need to hallucinate about shit, how about one where you give me your money.

Just Curious...

...was I, watching this little numnuts at the UN yesterday. How do we really know what he's saying? We rely on the translator to convey his message to us. He could be ranting on about all sort of weird ass shit about bombings and beheadings and jihad around the world. Hell, there probably aren't but four or five people in the room that would understand him, and they are in on the ruse. The rest have to discern what the translator is saying, and she could be doing a Dr. Suess thing.

And speaking of which, MSM, quit with the pronunciation crap. It's not pronounced ACK-MA-DINI-JAD. Look at it asshole. It's AHMA-DINI-JAD. Someone can't pronounce it so they take linguistic license and come up with some bullshit pronunciation and the rest think it's really cool and do the same. Shut UP!!!!

I'm A Magnanimous...

...person, so I want the best for people. I blatantly stole this pic from here, and will suffer whatever legal ramifications come forth from said theft. That said, I don't think "get your bisquits in the oven and your buns in the bed" is the type of approach that will work in this case, but we here at GS dating services will go to any lengths to ensure your complete satisfaction. Step it up guys, and send this lady some roses or a Pajama Gram. Anything romantic. My irreverent thoughts are getting the best of me...just saying...

Sooo...

...something fell off this white elephant and it can't land today. Surprising isn't it? Usually things don't happen to it, right? But what I found surprising was the fact that they were going to check and make sure that whatever did fall off wasn't important. Excuse me!! What do they think it might be, a bumper sticker? Isn't everything on it important? Just damn...

So I Went And Got...

...chinese tonight. My little love was working. We see one another all the time at the bank or in the market. See wants me. I can't reciprocate because, well, just don't worry about it. I was in a hurry to get back for the dancing show. The only reason I'm hooked on this thing is because I was the dancing fool at one of our X-Mas parties about five years ago. I danced all night with every lady there. Husbands were jealous. I was so sore the next day it took me some time to recover. Haven't done it since. Why you might ask? They nickednamed me the 'dancing bear'. I don't take to that shit. Dancing days were over, but I can still shake that rug, and don't you forget it...

You See This Little Piece...

...of self-adhesive shit? That's what it's worth. I can see why postal workers go, well, postal. In the past six weeks I have sent my sons checks totalling $2100. They have received one. It's cost me two stop payment charges for a total of $100. Fifty bucks a pop. Eight days after the stop charge the cancled letter comes back to me with an "insufficient delivery information" sticker on it, even though the address is always the same. The USPS farms out their drivers and such, which no doubt have no fucking idea what they are doing. And it pisses me off that they have plans on raising the rates. Soooo, I talked to the boys tonight and when I said it either ends now or we find an alternative, they right quick said they would head to the PO tomorrow to see what's up. I'm not required to give them money any longer. I do it because it's part of a life well lived. But JFC, quit putting the gov't in my way. And do you're damned job. How can one check get there in one day and the others never make it? Fuck Me...

It Always Pisses Me Off...

...when I hear or see someone talking about living your life to the fullest. You know the type. Treat everyday as if it's your last. That type of mentality makes me want to take a shit in the backseat of your car and let it fester for a few days. If you are an adult with any kind of life experiences, especially the bad ones, then follow me here.

I'm all for having fun. I enjoy a good, hearty laugh. I enjoy stroking and rubbing the back of a nekkid woman. I enjoy cooking a good meal for friends. I don't do any of the above because the minister of evil came and garnished my soul, but that's neither here nor there. But I have responsibilities that can't take a back seat to some dimmwit that thinks I should go skydiving every morning before I go to work, then squeeze in nine holes at lunch and then follow it up with a run in a formula one car and some target practice on my way home.

These insipid, mental pigmy's make my butt pucker, which is good for your cars interior and your gag reflux. To me, a life well lived is one in which you didn't shirk your responsibilities to your family and the others that counted on you. You never put yourself first. And you loved with full capacity those around you. If you've done that then you're salt in my book. If I ever hear the words again that "but, you never do anything, you've never lived", I will show you just what I can do when I'm not thinking about living life to the fullest. Nuff said...

What The Hell...

...is our country coming to? Not to mention the fucktards that are in charge of running it. This buttpacker wants to institute some program in NY that awards cash vouchers to people for...ya ready...taking care of themselves. Yeppers. You go to the doc or dentist, you get some cash. You eat your veggies, cash baby. You swear off dairy, more milk money for you. You wipte that spittle off the corner of your mouth, ten smakers. Just Damn...

Anyone Out There Wanna...

...take this fucker out? His 'special message' or whatever he calls them pisses my ass off. Wonder how he'd act with a barrel in his face. Just asking...any takers...???

OK...This Lady Will Most...

likely get pissed at my ass, but if you're a guy and you live in Georgia, check out this ladies blog. She's a great read, smart, funny and insightful. No holds barred in this woman. Bring it on and she'll beat you down with a stethescope and a reflex hammer. You will not survive. And she has standards, which she should. I don't meet any of them, but give her a shot anyways. You might. Be nice, though. This offered by GS's dating service. Donations accepted...

They Say There Are...

...about 25 to 30 people per night being murdered in Baghdad neighborhoods. What the hell are these people doing? Have they never heard of a watch of some kind? Citizens take up arms and such. Cover your neighbors and his families ass? Just DAMN guys, get in the fight...

All This Damned Hoopla...

...over the pope's comments can be directly linked back to the MSM. The comment was made during an academic and scholarly speach in which he was relating how all religions have at one time or another tried to spread their faith by the sword. If you've ever read any history of religion you know that. It's just another instance of the media isolating one comment out of context. The end result, of course, shows the ragheads in their true light. My way or the die way. I've spent quite a long time reading about god and its possible existence. If it is a being that created the universe then I don't think I'd wanna be fucking with it. But unfortunately, in order for us to enjoy the splendor of this place god had to give us free will, so therin lies the rub. But, if someone proclaiming that they aren't evil, and if you think they are, they're going to behead you, doesn't some sort of irony red flag go up? If it was me on the way to the UN tomorrow, as the prez is, I'd open that nuclear football, set things in motion and then get up on the podium and then ask "What's Next, motherfuckers? Your call." I'm gonna go scratch my ass and ponder the scheme of things.

If There Is A Modicum...

...of truth to this then I'd say it's pretty frightening. But, sometimes things like this get started and have a life of their own without any credibility being attached to them. Guess we'll have to wait and see...