Saturday, January 26, 2002

Country Music TV is having an all-night tribute to bluegrass, and I am enjoying it tremendously. THAT IS MUSIC! They just finished a feature on Bill Monroe. I saw him play once, and I thought he was impressive, for an OLD FART, but CMT unveiled ancient, archeological films and recordings from when Bill was in his prime. He doesn't receive the credit he deserves for being a mover and shaker in our popular culture. That sucker was GOOD and he plied his trade for SEVENTY YEARS!

The one thing I've done correctly in my life is to escape college and retire for six years right off the bat. I was a bar room musician before anyone ever heard of herpies, let alone AIDS. I had many adventures, sowed many wild oats and my 18-year old daughter is the result of the only time I ever even THOUGHT about being serious back in those days. I wouldn't want to go back and do it again, but I wouldn't trade the memories for anything.

Now I'm an old fart, working in a chemical plant. I have two ex-wives. I fathered two ex-children. I believe I've had all the adventures any man needs in one life. I wish I had a companion to sleep with tonight. But as my 90-year old grandmother says, "Wish in one hand and shit in the other. See which fills up first."

Sometimes you end up with two hands full of something you never wished for.
Would you look at this? My very own beloved state of GEORGIA is attempting to save common sense! Go, Dogs!
I did THIS the old-fashioned way. And I still left the hospital in two days. After three months and a series of "fix-a-flat" injections, I'm beginning to feel a certain stirring in the loins that may indicate a return to normal function one of these days. I hope so.

But this guy was crazy to serve as a guinea pig for THAT operation.
I don't believe I have mentioned my daughter in the four weeks I've been operating this blog site. She is 18 years old now and living in Texas with her mama. I have not seen her in several years. I just checked my "comments" page and she's on there.


Yeah, Sam. I couldn't have come up with a better monikker for you myself, even with the muse chewing on my ear. Of all the things I wish I could change in my life, my relationship with you is number one. I hope things go well for you. But forget about being a COP! Become an engineer. I know the math is difficult, but you don't have to be a GOOD engineer to make the world your oyster. Just be a FEMALE engineer. Doors will open wide and the paychecks will be impressive. Trust me on this point. Dad really isn't as dumb as you once believed.
When even William F. Buckley recognizes blogging as a phenomenon AND DOES THIS IN NATIONAL REVIEW ONLINE you've got to admit that a new wave of journalism is rocking the boat.
If Ann Coulter didn't have a yankee accent that sounds like fingernails on a blackboard to my Southern ears, I might generate a serious case of lust for the woman. She's intelligent, long-legged and blonde and I enjoy what she writes. Too bad she is from Connecticut. She could have been a wonderful Georgia peach. Reckon I'll just continue to fantasize about the luscious Croatian babe.

HERE'S another flying dingbat who needs to have lunch with Castro. How do these ignorant women manage to find their way out of their homes in the morning? As Bugs Bunny always said: Geez... whatta maroon.

Lo and behold! After years of screeching, pissing and moaning by feminists (mostly from women like the one linked above) about gender equality, we're beginning to see some results. First of all, we now speak of "gender" when we really mean "sex." We have Title IX, which has cost about 20,000 atheltes, both male and female, college scholarships in the name of "equality." Now, we have SOME PEOPLE daring to mention that there just might, possibly, be a difference between boys and girls.

(Read THIS for more on Title IX)

As the father of one of each, I can testify: THEY COME RIGHT OUT OF THE BOX DIFFERENT! People with a lick of common sense have known this fact for more than 2,000 years, but common sense is dead today.

When I was 10 years old, my friends and I rode our bikes down to Wyndam's Market to buy candy and football cards. On the way back, we spotted a dead opossum, bloated and surrounded by buzzing flies, on the side of the road. My buddy Finn rode his bike over it and the opossum exploded with the sound of a Firestone blowout and a sea of maggots poured from the rotten carcass. The stench was unbelievable. It was a complete gross-out, which is why I remember it so vividly to this day.

I believe the
ENRON SCANDAL will be a lot like that exploding opossum. Those corrupt, crooked manipulators PAID EVERYBODY baksheesh. Except me. And I could use the money.

Friday, January 25, 2002

Want to wander in a different atmosphere? Take A TRIP HERE.

If you're testosterone-crazed, let it ALL HANG OUT.
Do you want to read some of the most disgusting, simpering, brain-dead tripe you've read in your entire life? TRY THIS.

Sweet baby Jesus! This drooling woman had lunch with Castro and concluded that he might be "more of a socialist than a communist" because he "appears to be loosening governmental restrictions on citizens." AFTER FORTY YEARS?? NOW THE BEARDED BASTARD HAS UNDERGONE A CONVERSION?? YOU GLEANED THIS WISDOM DURING LUNCH??


The flying dingbat then observes that the citizens live in poverty, but they are a happy people. OF COURSE THEY APPEAR TO BE HAPPY!! UNHAPPY PEOPLE ARE ARRESTED BY THE NON-EXISTENT POLICE STATE AND NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN, YOU STUPID TWIT!!

Then, this mooing cow tangles her pussyhairs by mentioning "camels," a mode of transportation used in Cuba because nothing else will run, thanks to the Maximum Leader. "The overcrowded carriers typically provoke fights and prompt complaints from women about being grabbed by men." WHAT? I THOUGHT YOU JUST SAID THESE WERE HAPPY PEOPLE!! FIGHTING AND GROPING?? HAPPY PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT!!

If you ever wondered why Bill Clinton was popular with women, now you know. IF ALL WOMEN ARE LIKE THIS ONE, THEN THEY ARE BLITHERING IDIOTS!!

A "merlot kind of guy," my ass.

I achieved successful ownership of trash can today, I think. I went to the courthouse annex and was told that I COULD NOT obtain a trash can there, so I bought my truck tag and filed my homestead exemption, just to make the trip worthwhile. The very sweet lady behind the desk sent me to THE PRISON to find a trash can. I drove to what I thought was THE PRISON, because the building had a high chain-link fence with ugly coils of barbed wire wrapped around the top. I soon discovered that I was not at the PRISON. I was at THE SHERIFF'S OFFICE! I learned one significant thing about Effingham County today: DON'T FUCK UP HERE! If the sheriff's office looks like Stalag 17, just imagine what THE PRISON must be like.

I encountered many more helpful, polite people, including a sheriff's deputy who directed me across the street to the Public Works Department, where another helpful individual told me that Sullivan Environmental had been consumed by an outfit named Republic Environmental and I could no longer receive a trash can at the office I was in. I was required to go to the courthouse annex and beg there. As calmly as I could, I explained to all the polite, helpful people that I ALREADY HAD BEEN to the courthouse annex and those people SENT ME TO THE PRISON, and a SHERIFF'S DEPUTY steered me to where I was. As calmly as they could, they told me to go back to the courthouse annex and enter through the BACK DOOR this time, where I might find somebody who had a clue about how to obtain a trash can. I took their advice because the deputy mentioned that THE PRISON was connected to the sheriff's office and a short trip down a long hallway would lead me there.

I went back to the annex, entered through the back door and turned left by the Coke machine, just as I had been instructed to do. Lo and Behold! A sweet, polite woman the color of pecan shells fixed me right up. I think. She seemed to know what she was doing and she seemed to believe that I was in the right place. She took my check for $95 cheerfully and promised me a trash can in 3 to 5 business days. I will believe it when I see it.

If it's not here when my garage is full of trash, I'm going to launch an invasion against THE PRISON. I'll bet they have TRASH CANS there.
Sometimes it's difficult to accept the fact that I have been working almost half of my life at the same industrial plant. My job has changed many times over the years, but I'm still where I started out as far as where I go every day, where I park my truck and where I change from sneakers to steel-toed shoes. I am not alone, because a bunch of people pretty much like me came up through the ranks at the same time when the company was desperate for new blood. There was Leo and Mac and Rodney and Callie and me, all hard-working young Turks being trained by what we called the "old farts" at the time.

That was a long time ago. Leo quit smoking, got married and stopped perming his hair when it became thin on top. Mac got married, too, and grew gray hair. Rodney went bald. Callie became fat and I developed cancer and survived it. Now we're training a bunch of young Turks to take our jobs, once we become downsized, retire or get fired. I was talking to the bunch of them the other day and I couldn't resist it. I asked, "Do you remember the 'old farts' who trained us? Well, WE ARE THE OLD FARTS NOW!" Everybody laughed, but everybody knew that it was true.

Being an old fart isn't that bad. We all feel confident that we can keep the Turks from ousting us because we have wisdom and they don't. The Turks may be bright and learn fast, just as we did, but to gain wisdom takes time. That's the trait we always envied in the old farts who trained US. Now, we've spent the time, paid our dues and earned the hashmarks on our sleeves. When the Turks get into trouble, they look to an old fart to rescue them. The old fart has been there, done that. They haven't.

If I can just make a few more years, I will be an OLD, RETIRED FART playing golf every day and pooting around in my garden when I feel like it. Then, the Turks can have it all, until they become old farts and feel the hot breath of a new batch of Turks on their necks.

That may happen. But looking around at the batch I came up with, I just don't think they make Turks like they used to. We set a standard that's gonna be hard to beat.
A few weeks ago, I blogged about my son leaving with his bloodless cunt mama after "visitation." I wrote that if I closed my eyes, I could still smell him as if he were here. A few of my friends read that blog and asked me, "what did he do, CRAP ON YOUR CARPET? How does your boy smell, anyway?

My son bears the scent of bubble gum toothpaste and Johnson's Baby Shampoo. He smells of dirt, enjoyed enthusiastically, and sweat completely pure of caffene, nicotine, alcohol and cholesterol. He smells of youth and growth and innocence. To me, he smells like the purest love I've ever known. And I declare to all the doubters: ALL OF THAT STAYS IN HIS ROOM WHEN HE'S GONE! I know because I CAN SMELL IT!

I once read that of the five senses, the olfactories are the ones most closely connected to the memory inputs of the brain. I would never have guessed that myself, because hearing certain music can zap me right back to a time and place in my life where the memories are vivid. But I'm beginning to reconsider this nose thing.

When I go to the bloodless cunt's house to pick up my son, she treats me as if I were a stranger. She is polite, the way she would be to any stranger, but it's as if I never played a part in her life, never shared a bed with her for ten years and never fathered HER son. The dogs, however, go nuts. They see me and come running, then take one sniff around my ass to confirm their suspicions and go into tail wagging, tongue flopping frenzies. I am mobbed. I am licked and nuzzled and expected to pet them all, and I do. THEY never divorced me. SHE DID. They remember me and love me and they know by their noses who I am. They have olfactories plugged directly into their memory banks, and they never forget a person who was good to them. I cannot say the same thing about certain people.

The woman who bought our mini-farm had all four of my goats hauled away last Saturday. Yeah, I was divorced from them, too, and I have no idea what will become of them. The fate of the 28 chickens we owned is a mystery to me, but I wasn't nearly as attached to the chickens as I was to the goats, especially after the chickens stopped laying eggs. I am certain that the bloodless cunt doesn't think about it. But I do. Goats and chickens have a distinctive aroma. I can't say that it was pleasant, but it is firmly lodged in my memory. Once upon a time, it smelled of home.

I have no animals around my house now except me. The woman I occasionally sleep with tells me that I smell good. I'll take her word for it and go straight for her memory banks when I have seduction on my mind. But she's not here now. Neither is my son. But I can smell them both, and the memories are good.
Cruising hither and yon in Blogworld, I discovered a site written by a GOVERNMENT WORKER who actually appears to give a shit about doing a good job. I also enjoyed reading the rants of a CRAZED WOMAN and the ULTIMATE AUSSIE. He reads the future by seeing tomorrow about 24 hours before we do. I also checked out one of the REVERED ICONS of blogdom and I really don't see what all the adoration is about. Check it yourself. Hell, check them all.

And while you're at it, go HERE if you want to waste some time and bandwidth. Ben Bennett is a clever guy and Nancy has the radio voice of a goddess. (See what a shitty little radio station it is? NO PICTURE OF NANCY. Welcome to where I live, where life is easy but garbage cans are difficult to obtain.) Never mind. Ben is absolutely correct when he says their web site sucks.
Damn! I took a day's vacation today hoping to sleep late. I woke up at 5:00 AM as if poked in the buttocks with a cattle prod. I started to fix a pot of coffee, pump the whole thing down my throat, pot and all, and go to work. But Mother Nature blessed me with a drizzling rain that washed away my thoughts of driving the 30-mile commute down the darkened highway, where my night-vision-impaired self would be forced to deal with all the early-morning idiots on the road without my URBAN ASSAULT VEHICLE. I decided to stay home after all.

Besides, once the sun comes up, I still can drive the 20 miles to the Effingham County Courthouse Annex and pay $95, in person, for A GODDAM TRASH CAN. That trash can is the real reason I wanted this day off. When I bought my brand new home, I managed to obtain a fully-installed Dish Network television system, electrical service, phone service, internet service and everything else I needed to survive with just a few phone calls. But GARBAGE SERVICE is a completely different matter where I live. Our taxpayer-funded trash pickeruppers insist that you show up at their office and deposit a check right into the sweaty palm of a clerk before they issue you an official "Curb Caddy" can. Stop! The! Pain! I bought my HOUSE over the phone, more or less, and the bank seemed perfectly content. Why can't the gurus of garbage do the same thing at Sullivan Sanitation (a strange entity that runs several dozen large trucks with "Sullivan Sanitation" emblazened on both sides and picks up garbage once every week from Curb Caddies with "Sullivan Sanitation" stamped on both sides, but DOES NOT have a phone number listed in the Effingham County directory)? After calling the tax assessor, the county sheriff, the zoning board and finally the Parks and Recreation Department, I discovered why I could not contact Sullivan Sanitation. THEY DON'T HAVE A PHONE NUMBER! Well, actually they do, but it is a closely-guarded secret. I finally learned what I needed to know by making a series of calls, fighting my way through the triple-blind screening process from Brunswick to Midway to Statesboro before I discovered that I had to come in person, pay my fees and then wait for Sullivan Sanitation to DELIVER MY TRASH CAN.

That's what I intend to do today, once it stops raining. Maybe. Hell, now that I think of it, my garage probably will hold a month's worth of trash before the rats and roaches get too bad.

I hope it stops raining soon.

At first, I didn't worry about it. The builders were busy constructing new houses in the neighborhood, and they kept 20-yard dumpsters right next to the road in front of every new home. I simply ignored the "NO PUBLIC DUMPING" stickers and threw my garbage into one of those convenient depositories. Those were the good old days. Now, only one dumpster remains in the neighborhood and it squats in front of a new house that is almost finished. I am going to need a Curb Caddy very soon.

I shall obtain one today. And I want a goddam phone number to go with it.

Thursday, January 24, 2002

Oh, yeah. I forgot this one. If you want to read a bending limey's take on junk science, go HERE. Enjoy!
The USS Clueless is one of the best blog sites I have run across. Steven Denbeste, who will be the first to tell you that there is no such thing as a rocket scientist (engineers design rockets), sounds like one when when he pontificates on subjects that leave my English Major mind choking in his intellectual dust. But today he vented with his usual profound insights on the total corruption of legitimate science by hidden political agendas. He suggested that scientific research should be a quest for TRUTH and that anyone who conducts "research" simply to prove what he already believes to be true is a charlatan. He was correct in everything he wrote, but he left unmentioned the most egregious violators of them all: enviro-scientists. The absolutely baseless, phony, self-serving hog-swallop being served up as "science" by environmentalists WOULD BE RIDICULOUS, were it not served up so unquestionably by reporters.

Our global warming scaremongers are believed every time they ratchet up their predictions of calamity because of the latest computer-generated climate model. Very few people mention that ten years ago the super-computer climate models were predicting calamities today that HAVE NOT OCCURRED. Very few people question the motivation of these doomsayers. Large sums of money, through government grants and donations from Greenpeace and Hollywood Holies, such as Robert Redford, don't deter these "scientists" from their selfless quest for the TRUTH. No, they don't have a politcal agenda and they can't be bought, at least not cheaply.

These people are so good at staying on message that they can blame the record snowfall in Buffalo, NY, this year on GLOBAL WARMING. If we could get rid of all their hot air, the climate would cool considerably, which is something more frightening than warming. Cold weather kills more people than hot weather does all over the planet. Of course, many of the same people predicting global warming today were making money predicting the new ice age twenty years ago. The beat goes on, the same people are playing the drums, but it isn't science anymore. It's pure politics.

I wanted to e-mail THE CAPTAIN OF THE SHIP but he is a stodgy old fart, refusing to accept the riff-raff that may annoy him through Yahoo or Hotmail. I suppose I really will have to break down and call the help desk at Alltel to find out why I can't get my SCIENTIFIC e-mail working.
First, they came for the smokers, and I did nothing because I didn't smoke. Then, they came for the gun owners, and I did nothing, because I didn't own a gun. Then, they tried to tell EVERYBODY what to EAT, and people finally became pissed enough to realize that GOVERNMENT IS NOT NANNY! A popular uprising resulted, where peasants armed with pitchforks and torches, surrounded the castle in Atlanta, stormed the mighty gates, dispatched the evil villian, and celebrated with McDonald's french fries and twinkies for all.

Unfortunately, people aren't really going to do that. They didn't pay any attention when our very own Centers For Disease Control stopped fighting real diseases a long time ago and turned its attention to inventing more menacing, politically-correct problems than anthrax, smallpox or malaria. People were silent and accepting when the CFDC went after second-hand smoke, guns and urban sprawl. Why should they notice when the CFDC gives us OBESITY as the lastest threat to Life As We Know It. Yes, Americans are getting fatter by the minute and without immediate action by a government agency, bloated with tax dollars and bureaucratic waste, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!

I am not fat. But I've hung around fat people, gotten drunk with fat people, slept with fat women, and generally exposed myself to the "disease" of obesity countless times. If obesity were communicable, I believe I would have been infected by now. Maybe my religious adherence to a diet rich in the Four Basic Food Groups (caffene, nicotine, alcohol and cholesterol) has kept me from expanding my waistline with disgusting layers of fat the way government agencys do. Maybe I have a genetic resistence to the disease. Maybe it's not a DISEASE AT ALL and a taxpayer-financed operation such as the Centers for DISEASE Control should leave this crap alone and DO WHAT IT WAS CREATED TO DO.

Pardon the pun, but there's a fat chance of that. The CFDC simply is sailing in a prevailing wind. Great Britian is doing the same thing.

Bless the Queen, but God help us all.
I rant frequently about lawyers and the fact that they work long, hard hours to turn our legal system into an obscene joke. They have subjected many businesses to DEATH BY TORT, but each carcass they leave in the dust only whets their appetite for more. Silicone breast implants bankrupted Dow, even though the entire case against the manufacturer was based on junk science. Tobacco companies took a $228 billion dollar hit, but didn't go bankrupt, which is why trial lawyers now are going after individual lawsuits to bleed any remaining cash away. Asbestos (Crap! Looks like you have to register to read this, even though I didn't have to) is a gravy train that may never run dry before every business in the country is broke.

Insurance companies are next. Anticipating the flood of lawsuits that will come in the wake of 911, somebody in congress actually mustered the nerve to introduce legislation that would LIMIT THE LIABILITY of insurance companies, especially those being sued because they manufactured the seat belts in the airplanes that crashed, built the beverage carts used on board, put gold braid on the pilot's hats and paved the runways from which the planes took off. Thanks to huge infusions of cash from wealthy silicone breast implant lawyers, tobacco lawyers and asbestos lawyers, our esteemed public servants in Washington quickly put that idea on the back shelf and covered it up with a blanket. A few insurance companies going bankrupt is no big deal, and when the few who remain in business start charging premiums that no one can afford, trial lawyers will SUE THEM into oblivion for reaping windfall profits from disaster. Then, government will have to step in and do something about this terrible insurance crisis. In the meantime, however, our esteemed congress stays loyally bought and tightly tucked in the pocket of the litigation kings.

You may have to scroll down a few blogs, but Natalija Radic put the whole problem in perspective today.

And if you will scroll down a few more blogs, you'll see something from a guy named Rob Smith that I really like. No wonder Samizdata gave Acidman the brush-off. I simply can't write as well as that guy does.

Wednesday, January 23, 2002

I dreamed about my father last night. He died almost ten years ago, but I dream about him frequently and it's a rare day that passes when I don't think of him. He had a lot to do with making me the person I am today, and I'm not always certain he would be proud of that. I suppose I will wonder the rest of my life.

He never saw his grandson, and I will always regret that sad fact, not only because he missed the joy my son would have given him, but because my son missed out on the joy my father would have given him, too. I WOULD NOT have written the story the way it turned out if it were MY SCRIPT. I believe in happy endings. Sometimes, however, life just doesn't go that way.

If I appear to be in one of my down moods, it's because I am. A big shutdown was scheduled at work today and a lot of meticulous planning went into making the whole thing go smoothly. I arrived at work at 6:00 this morning and left at 8:00 tonight. The whole thing was a total goat-fuck. I am tired, I am dirty and I wish I could talk to my Dad about what happened at work. I wish I could hug my son. I wish today had been a better day.

Sometimes, however, life just doesn't go that way.

Tuesday, January 22, 2002

I sometimes wonder whether I was born to live in the best of times my country has known only to witness the death of common sense as a result. The voices of insanity have succeeded in convincing too many people that being "tolerant" is the highest of virtues. Being "judgmental," on the other hand, is the highest of crimes.

I am intolerant of many things. I am intolerant of rapists, thieves and murderers. I am intolerant of child molesters. I am intolerant of people who borrow money from me and never pay it back. I am intolerant of people who never use their turn signals when driving. I am intolerant of bad manners, bad behavior and bad people who fly airplanes into buildings just to kill as many innocents as they can. I am intolerant little barking dogs. I am intolerant of fools.

I am intolerant of all these things because I am judgmental. I believe these things are offensive, and I believe that the world would be a much better place if no one did them. I came to that conclusion using MY JUDGMENT.

Oddly enough, when people really want to become totally non-judgmental, they invent ZERO TOLERANCE! The entire concept would be ironic, except for the fact that I have lived to see the death of irony, too. That's what happens when enough people attempt to tolerate everything, judge nothing and become frightened and amazed when some really bad things happen as a result. They can't just all of a sudden start to judge, because that be, well JUDGMENTAL, which is bad. So, they weasel out of that dilemma by enacting a lot of really stupid, inflexible rules and regulations that take all choice, all judgment, and all common sense out of anyone's hands or heads. Then, when they enforce these stupid rules and regulations, they can dodge all responsibility for their downright totalitarian behavior with a statement that never worked at Nuremburg. "I vas only following orders." And we are expected to tolerate THAT crap from school administrators, law enforcement personnel and other people in powerful positions because we DON'T WANT THEM TO APPEAR JUDGMENTAL!

Zero tolerance policies have resulted in some of the most ridiculous insults to common sense I have ever seen. In Savannah, an Eagle Scout was suspended from school, eliminated from the Governor's Honors program and publicly humiliated as a criminal because a random parking lot search turned up a Boy Scout hatchet in the trunk of his car. Kids are routinely thrown out of school and treated as potential mass-killers for having a fingernail file, a plastic kitchen knife or a PICTURE OF A GUN drawn in crayola. Alleged adults actually persecute children over this stuff.

No wonder the picture of the three NYC firemen raising the flag over the World Trade Center rubble caused such a ruckus. Some politically-correct, zero-tolerance nimrod saw that picture and pursed his pouty lips, shook his head and decided that a picture of three WHITE GUYS raising that flag would never do as a model for a statue. The picture was, well, INTOLERANT, because it did not reflect the true diversity of all the heroes who performed so bravely at ground zero, and he could not tolerate THAT. So, the decision came to rewrite history and change the three white guys into one white guy, one black guy and one Hispanic guy. Why he didn't throw in a woman, a gay and a disabled person in a wheelchair is beyond me. I suppose he simply didn't think of it at the time.

The NYFD is NOT a particularly diverse operation. Hispanics make up fewer than 4% of the force. Blacks make up fewer than 3% of the force. The vast majority is white and IRISH. The majority of the force who died at the Trade Center was white Irishmen. God forbid that THEY should appear as central figures in a statue.

I read today that the idea of the statue has been dropped as a result of all the protest from both sides about it. Someone already has expressed my thoughts on the matter, and you can enjoy it here.

We've become so tolerant of giving credit to those who don't deserve it, rewarding those who never earned it and refusing to be judgmental about it that I'm suprised anyone raised a peep about this exercise in idiocy. But some people did. Maybe there's hope for common sense yet.

Samizdata, in a shameless example of using sex to troll for hits on their site, posted a picture of the luscious Crotian babe, Natalija Radic, in a low-cut black dress, so that bloggers such as myself could view it and slobber all over our keyboards. I did, and evidently many, many others did, too. The picture has been removed because Samizdata didn't have the bandwidth to support all the hits. You can't see the picture anymore, thanks to Glenn Reynolds letting too many people know about it, but you can read some of her writing here.

Monday, January 21, 2002

My brother is a lawyer and one of my best friends, my college roommate, is a lawyer, too. They are both decent people, so I sometimes wonder how they wound up working in a profession that is teeming with belly-crawling, carrion-eating scumbags. Lawyers are a necessary evil in our society, but the really scrungy ones make that bloodless cunt of an ex-wife of mine look like a saint. Some lawyers have the moral instincts of an alley rat and a rapacious, overwhelming greed that would make Midas blush. Thanks to those folks, we have a system where what is LEGAL has nothing to do with what is RIGHT and the really shameless shits who abuse the system most flagrantly make tons of money. Then, they either go into politics or use their loot to buy the politician of their choice. Just look at the huge fees some lawyers collected from the "tobacco settlement," which was a pure, unadulterated shakedown operation that would make Jesse Jackson or the mafia proud. Just look at the bankrupted business and mountains of cash extorted through class-action suits over silicone breast implants and asbestos. Just look at the number of doctors who will not perform ultrasound tests or even deliver babies anymore because of skyrocketing malpractice insurance rates, thanks to the efforts of lawyers to extort money anytime anything goes wrong.

I could suggest that my "peers" on a jury have a lot to do with this problem. They do, but only because a good, belly-crawling lawyer will attempt to stock a jury with twelve of the dumbest, mouth-breathing, uneducated cretins available to hear the case, swallow the bilge and then decide that the "victim" just won the lottery. Much of our legal system is a sick joke. Everybody pays for the excesses of lawyers in the long run, but too many people don't understand that fact. And if they ever figure it out, their first reaction will be to sue somebody.

If that sounds somewhat harsh, just read some of the gems HERE.

Just look at those LINKS!

The cunt came and picked up my son at 6:00 yesterday. I went into my usual Sunday evening funk and became a little snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, but I had guests over later for steaks and spinich salad, with baked potatoes and sauteed mushrooms and a fresh BOX of White Zinfandel wine. That cheered me up but left me with a fearsome headache this morning. I didn't rest well last night. I GOT LAID, with the help of my fix-a-flat kit, and the blue-steel throbber I raised from the dead lasted four hours. My partner lasted two. I must perfect the dosage, or I'm going to spend a lot of sleepless hours waiting for the results of the injections to subside, and that can be a lot like having one person remaining at your party when everyone else has gone home and you just can't get rid of the son of a bitch.

If you want some interesting reading, GO HERE or OR HERE.

Sunday, January 20, 2002

I'm over at my mom's house. I'm showing off my LINK! Bwahahahahah!

Did I make a LINK?

If there is a link here, I didn't do it. That mercenery little shit SCOTT did. And he charged me $20 fot it. It better work. I think I know how to do it myself now. If I screw it up, Scott says he will be more than happy to untangle me, for a minimum fee. The mercenary little shit.