Saturday, February 02, 2002

Here is what the environmental movement actually accomplished in the effort to scare the crap out of people, and Right To Know legistation was nothing more than that. The ENVIRONMENTALISTS may have handed the key to the destruction of the planet to the maniacs who want to do it. And THAT'S NOT the chemical industry, the mining industry, the oil industry or the timber industry, all of whom have a vested interest in protecting the environment. No, environmentalists made terrorism easy. And terrorists have NO vested interest in anything but destruction.
As someone who has hiked, backpacked, camped and gardened for many years, I despise "environmentalists." I love the land and nature as much as anyone, but I recognize nature for what it is: a totally uncaring, disinterested force that pays mankind no attention at all. I want to puke every time I listen to someone whine about "fragile wetlands," "pristine wilderness," or "delicate ecosystems." I have been on canoe trips through hundreds of miles of "fragile wetlands," which appeared very much like malarial swamps to me. There, mosquitoes flew in squadrons fit to suck a grown man dry of blood, cottonmouths lurked in the dark water and fell from tree limbs into the canoe and all manner of evil things padded, crawled, scuttled and croaked in that "natural" environment. They all had one thing in common. They didn't give a shit whether I got out of there alive any more than Mother Nature did. I saw some beautiful sights, but nature remained dispassionate all the while.

The "pristine wilderness" I have hiked featured monumental rainfall that swelled creeks I crossed getting in to impossible depths to cross getting out, sudden freezes and snowfalls, and numerous visits from those cute little "natural" creatures such as bears, skunks, rabid racoons and even one porcupine, all of which didn't give a shit whether I got out of there alive or not. In fact, I received the distinct impression that Mother Nature tried to kill me on a few of those trips. I discovered that the pristine wilderness was just as dispassionate as a fragile wetland.

I learned about "delicate ecosystems" early in life and this knowledge has been reinforced many times since. When I was sixteen, my cousin and I hiked up Black Mountain to find my grandfather's grave. We went toward where a church and a cemetary once existed, but nobody had lived there in years, and the delicate ecosystem of the Cumberland Mountains had taken over everything, with vines, briars, sticker-bushes and tangles of new-grown trees making the place unrecognizable to anyone who once knew it. We climbed the rocks of a dry creek bed at first, then chopped and hacked our way through the delicate ecosystem until we found what remained of the church, which was a few rotting timbers covered in green vines. We stumbled into the cemetary, too, and found the old tombstones all cockeyed or laying face-down because of the roots growing up beneath them. After we flipped several of them over to read the names and uncovered a couple of angry copperheads in the process, I found the stone belonging to my grandfather. I used my Bowie knife to dig a shallow hole and stand the stone upright where I thought it belonged. My cousin and I then hacked our way back through the delicate ecosystem and came down from the mountain.

By that evening, we were both working alive with poison ivy blisters. We took weeks to recover.

Two years later, my father wanted to see the HIS father's grave. We drove there together, to the same place where my cousin and I had parked, and I could not find a sign of anywhere we had been. "We started up a dry creek," I said. "We walked on the rocks." But I saw no dry creek, nor any sign of fallen rocks to make us a path. "I think it was over here somewhere," I said, and we went to look, but all we found was tangled undergrowth, vines and brambles. It was as if my cousin and I had never been there. It was as if NO ONE had ever been there, let alone built a church and a cemetary sometime in the past. Finally, my dad and I left and we never went back.

Somewhere on the side of that mountain, my grandfather is buried. His tombstone probably fell over once more a long time ago. I will never know for certain, because I'll never find the place again. I tried two years after I DID find it, and I couldn't do it. That was 34 years ago. Those delicate ecosystems beat all I ever saw for being so implacable.

Earth abides. It always has and it always will. It doesn't need "environmentalists." It doesn't need anyone.



I believe I am cured of the cursed flu I had for the past three days. I went out this afternoon and ate a DOUBLE-BEEF WHOPPER WITH CHEESE and a large order of french fries. And I loved it. As I feel all that grease, choresterol and fat coursing through my veins, I want to throw back my head and let out a wild Tarzan scream. I AM HEALTHY AGAIN!

I became the first paying customer for my friend Willie's music business when I went to his house today and bought strings for three of my guitars and my mandolin. He has a whole chest of drawers full of strings, capos, picks and stuff and he gave me a good price on what I bought. He probably gave ME a much better price than he would give YOU, unless you are one of the many pickers, singers and friends invited to my surprise 50th birthday party two weeks from today. So show up and buy some strings. Otherwise, check out his web site HERE and order something.

Willie, that's TWICE I gave you free ad space. You owe me, man.

I wrote a nastygram e-mail to that bloodless barracuda cunt and slut of an ex-wife I have to inform her that this is the last visitation weekend that she will book outside activities for my son to the point that he is too busy to visit. I did learn while I was at Willies that she managed, in spite of all the whirlwind activity involving my son this weekend, to have the unemployed, dope-smoking Rent-A-Dick spend the weekend with her and my son, which is typical. Whatta cunt. But the plans she makes for my boy will be cancelled from now on when he is supposed to be with me. If I can't or won't follow her agenda, then he doesn't go. Period. Otherwise...well, we'll cross that bridge when I'm ready to burn it down, which is any time after today.

Being the hillbilly that I am, I hold family and blood as holy things worth dying for. Just maybe I'm wrong. FLORENCE KING could have the right idea about "family." I'm certain my ex-wife feels that way.

My eighteen-year old daughter decided that she had learned everything school had to offer her in the state of Texas, so she dropped out the day before she turned nineteen. Instead of finding a job or mastering a trade, she is busy working on a WEB SITE! She is better at scanning pictures and writing code than I am, BUT I HAVE A REAL JOB! This is a HOBBY of mine, not something I must do to earn enough money to survive. Sam, I hope you read this blog just you will know what a BIG MISTAKE I believe you are making. Of course, you never listened to me before...

Go HERE to check out my daughter's efforts. It's slick, it's nice, but it's about BABIES, which I really don't understand. I just wish I knew as much about computer code as she does. Then I wouldn't have to pay that mercenary little Scott for information.
I tour a lot of random blog sites just to see what's out there. I am usually disappointed by what I find, because the vast majority of the unhearalded sites are run by teenages or college students who simply send messages back and forth to each other, like e-mail they WANT other people to read and miss the inside jokes. Their earth-shaking messages usually consist of some boy writing "monkey" to some girl, who then responds with "hee-hee," followed by some friend chiming in with "I knew it!" Blogger sacrifices a lot of bandwidth to this crap.

I try to post something every day, even if I must crawl to the keyboard on hands and knees they way I've done the past few days. I also attempt to post something that is well-written, whether anyone is interested in reading it or not. Some of what I write is personal. Some of it is political. Some of it the result of random neurons firing incessantly in my brain. I don't know where a lot of it comes from, but I am delighted that the outlet is there.

I run across some folks who remind me of me, but they are few and far between, and that's why I usually put a link on my page when I discover them. The mega-bloggers have center stage fully occupied and they do good work. But we in the second or third tier of blogdom do good work sometimes, too. I do not wish to sound elitist, but some of the crap that uses up valuable Blogger bandwidth is inane, obscene and not worth the space. And it often wastes my time culling through the dross to find someone who actually wants to WRITE WELL.

How interesting can THIS be except to the pony-rider and her loyal friends? Who cares about THIS WONDER-WOMAN except herself? Just tour "phuck.beautifulfreak.org." I didn't bother with a link there because the name speaks for itself.

I suppose I'm becoming a stodgy old fart as I near my 50th birthday. But I really believe a person should use capital letters and punctuation when blogging. I'm old-fashioned that way.




I know I must be almost over the flu, because I'm beginning to work myself into a really foul mood over what I've seen on the news and read on the internet this morning. We have a lot of idiots in the world. Plus, I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING GARBAGE CAN, thanks to the incompetence of the sanitation department in my county. Plus, I was supposed to have visitation with my son this weekend AND HE'S NOT COMING, thanks to an overloaded agenda my bloddless cunt of an ex-wife planned for him. Plus, I need to exchange the paintball gun I bought my son two weeks ago because it won't hold a CO2 charge, thanks to a severe leak at the main connection. Plus, the weather was 80 degrees and beautiful for the three days I was laid up, and now it's COLD OUTSIDE, thanks to the capriciousness of Mother Nature. Plus, I must spend most of this day performing domestic chores, thanks to the flu that kept me laid up for three days.

Thanks a lot to everyone involved.
In Australia, THE NATIVES ARE RESTLESS. This horrible injustice sounds like something Jesse Jackson may be interested in.
Today is groundhog day. I went outside and saw my shadow. The sight frightened me, just not as much as seeing no garbage can at my house and the last dumpster gone from the neighborhood. I ran back inside. I hope I cause six more weeks of winter so that the trash piling up in my garage will not attract vectors, vermin and visitors that I DO NOT want to see around here.
I am feeling MUCH better this morning. I believe I wasted a lot of time, energy and detergent washing my sheets three days ago after the first episode of terrible night sweats. I should have just laid in the funk until the fever broke, because now I will have to do it over again. I still remain doubtful that the flu is gone, because this insidious crap has fooled me more than once so far by backing off, only to launch another vicious attack once my guard was down. But I was able to eat some eggs this morning and drink a cup of coffee, and I take that to be a hopeful sign.

I also stepped outside my house for the first time in three days. Immediately, I noticed two significant facts: 1) I STILL DON'T HAVE A GARBAGE CAN! I went on the merry-go-round adventure more than a week ago to obtain one, and Republic Sanitation has not held up its end of the bargain yet. 3 to 5 business days, my ass. 2) THE LAST DUMPSTER IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD HAS BEEN REMOVED. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be around much longer, and I was correct. Now, if I don't receive my own personal garbage can soon, I will be reduced to running around the neighborhood on Tuesday evenings and stuffing my trash into other people's cans before the Wednesday pickup. Where I live, I could be shot for that.

I also fevered my way past the end of the month and realized only this morning that it's February now, and I will be 50 years old in two weeks. I feel a lot older than that right now, but I really hate to make it official. On the bright side, I can start playing from the Senior's Tees on the golf course. And I will, too.

February also is Black History Month. That's another one of those dollops to diversity that guilty white people have granted to complaining black people so that they all can be certain to hate each other forever. From my own viewpoint, I don't understand why we don't have a Hillbilly History Month, a Viking History Month and a Left-Handed History Month. Let's just become as separate and segmented as we can in the name of "diversity." I would rant some more about this topic, but I need to change the sheets on my bed again. Just read a reflection of my thoughts HERE.

Speaking of diversity, THE USS CLUELESS again flies into the dark regions of space where few dare to go and makes an absolutely brilliant point about immigrants from Europe. I believe the same could be said for African-Americans, too, if only someone could gag Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.

Friday, February 01, 2002

Uh-oh. I believe the evening relapse is closing in on me again. The fever is back and my thermostat has gone haywire. I'm shivering one minute and sweating the next. This is no fun at all. Maybe I should call that woman mayor in Inglis, Florida to rid my body of the demon that has crawled inside the way she banned Satan from her town. I tried to link to an article about it, but I screwed it up somehow and I'm too achy to figure out what I did wrong.
I once drove a truck with a bumper sticker that said "I love my COUNTRY. It's THE GOVERNMENT I'm afraid of!" I eventually sold the truck, but I never changed my mind about the government. Just read THIS and maybe you will understand why.

Don't you just love the command of the language demonstrated by the "Communication Director?" No wonder Charlie was lost on the MTA.
THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE this morning, but I'm feeling better now. Of course, I was feeling better around this time yesterday, too, and things went quickly downhill from there. I believe I finally understand how a pecan feels in a nutcracker. It ain't good.

Here's a NICE example of judicial wisdom. Read it and see if I have this straight: if police in California stop a motorist and the motorist says he has no driver's license or registration, the police may search the car to make sure the documents aren't there. (If the motorist produces a driver's licence and registration, can the police then ask whether the motorist has an illegal weapon, drugs, child pornography or a bomb in the car and if the motorist answers "no" proceed to search for THOSE items? Hell, why not? This decision rips the Fourth Amendment to pieces. May as well feed the pieces into the shredder.) I am certain this sort of power would never be abused by law enforcment, especially not in Los Angeles.

Thursday, January 31, 2002

Another random blog encounter. The writing leaves a lot to be desired, but THE PRESENTATION is most excellent.
I'm feeling even more poorly today that I did yesterday. I believe I would have to get better to die. But I won't pray for better health. I might attract a wandering minister who does THIS and I might have to sue for being a complete dumbass, too.

In a recent Federal Court decision,
GOD was taken down a peg or two. What did He think He was, Microsoft?

Whatever is wrong with me is not NATURAL, or maybe it is. I am too feverish to think about it.

Wednesday, January 30, 2002

If I had played THIS GAME last night, I still would be face-down on the floor. Of course, if I had watched Dick Gebhart's speech last night I might still be face down on the floor without playing the game. That guy belches toxic gas every time he opens his mouth.

I've been face-down on the floor enough today. Fucking FLU!
I check out random blog sites regularly and THIS GUY isn't bad, even if he did semi-plagerize some of his stuff. He can suck the dust of GUT RUMBLES, but I thought I would send a visitor or two to his way just because I'm such a nice fellow. The captain of the USS Clueless won't accept e-mail from this guy, no matter what he writes. His address is "hotmail." Mine is "yahoo" and the captain won't open communication channels to me, either. We have riff-raff e-mail. Elitist snobs don't go there.

It's the world's loss.
Okay, maybe Samizdata is going to ignore the brillaint post I sent them yesterday. It's the world's loss.
The hand-wringing, snot-slingers agonizing over the plight of prisoners in the Sheraton At Guantanimo should focus some of their attention HERE and you should, too, because if THAT LINK TAKES, it will be longest piece of code I ever typed.

Of course, anything bad that happens ANYWHERE is America's fault. We need to drop some more daisycutters on selected targets. After the explosion, silence is golden.
Hey, Willie!! You've been BLOGGED!!
My friend Willie has his music-store web site up and running now. You can visit it HERE and buy something from him. Of course, he's the one who went to Merlefest last year and brought me back a T-shirt that said "My Old Lady Said She'd Leave Me If I Bought One More Guitar... sure gonna miss that girl." I didn't buy another guitar, but she was gone three months later anyway.
Every time I see the blank space at the top of the Blogger page, I feel an overpowering urge to write something on it. I can't help myself.

I didn't watch President Bush deliver the State of the Union address last night. I was convinced beforehand that the state of the union was sound, and that the little Texican fucker was doing pretty good job of running things. I remain amazed that when all economic indicators go up, the stock market goes down like Linda Lovelace, and I stay confused about those blithering idiots who still see our war against terrorism as an ACT of terrorism. I am totally stunned that anyone can take Dick Gebhart seriously as a human being from planet Earth. (The robotic bastard has no eyebrows. If you watch carefully, I believe you'll see the pinky fingers on each of his hands pointing sideways, just like the aliens in the ancient television show, "THE INVADERS.")

Of course, I laid out of work today due to lack of sleep, washed the sheets on my bed, fouled them by taking a long nap and blogged whenever the inspiration hit me. I have not worn clothes today. Yes, I HAVE BLOGGED NAKED! ALL DAY! Who am I to judge anybody?

But I live by myself and I don't even have a dog to supervise what I do. So, I CAN JUDGE THE STATE OF THE UNION AND DICK GEBHART, TOO! And if you don't like it, you can kiss my ass.

It's naked.
I've read the textbooks my son studies in school, so the fact that UNMITIGATED CRAP IS BEING TAUGHT TO OUR CHILDREN is no surprise. (Scroll down one blog) But I really don't believe this sort of insanity can prevail, not in the long run. Those beady-eyed, politically-correct dorkles who attempt to rewrite history, ignore American heritage and demonize legitimate heroes because those heroes did not worship contemporary, beady-eyed, politically-correct ideals 200 years ago are doomed to fail. Great men remain great men long after their deaths because their accomplishments live on. Beady-eyed, politically-correct assholes are like bugs on a windshield. They may leave an impression, but it washes off sooner or later.

The thought police may have their brief moment of glory, but it will flash and disappear, the way phosphorus does in the salt creeks of Savannah. Meanwhile, men such as George Washington, Robert E. Lee, the pilgrims and Joseph P. Glidden (ha,ha...Google HIM!) will live on forever. They achieved great things, and their deeds are eternal. Bureaucrats and thought police come and go.
Okay, I'M GONNA GET RICH!

No more lottery tickets, no more gambling, no more taking chances for me. I have a sure-fire scheme for making tons of bucks THAT CANNOT FAIL. It's been tried over and over, it has paid off over and over, so why should I reinvent the wheel? I'm gonna sit right here in my house and discover a new menace to public health and safety. I am going to call it "The second-hand smoke menace from plastic ashtrays in houses built on brownfields with weather-treated lumber in the backyard within 1000 feet of electrical transmission wires when cell phone usage equals the presence of PCBs and dioxins in ambient atmospheres." I will link the "study" to birth defects in the male dwarf population and global warming. I will pepper my report with all the "might," "could," "possible" and "perhaps" weasel-words the experts use and include charts and graphs carefully data-dredged to scare the living shit out of anybody ignorant enough to believe what I say. I will call a press conference, present my "findings" and blow a bunch of hot air about risk and saving children and the environment. I will have pre-printed front page articles and editorials as handouts to make life easy for environmental reporters, who will suck up my hogswallop like fine wine.

Then, I will ask for more money to finance continued research into this terrible, deadly plague and I will make a fortune from the gullible assholes who believe me, the mercenary bastards who use my report for their political agendas and companies such as Enron, who throw money at everybody for no good reason. I will set up my lab somewhere nice, maybe St. Martins, and I will suck down rum and chase women for five years before I release a new report, suggesting that THE PROBLEM IS WORSE THAN EVER.

Then, I will ask for more money. THIS WORKS! If you don't believe me, go HERE.
Remember Sidney Harris, the late newspaper columnist who wrote the "Things I Learned While Looking Up Something Else" pieces? I believed he was a really ignorant individual if he spent the majority of his life looking up stuff and always getting lost along the way, never finding what he set out for in the beginning. He reminded me of Wiggles, the best dog I ever knew. Wiggles didn't speak English, but he understood about 100 different words in that language. He had a box of toys in my bedroom and I once amazed visitors and seduced women by demonstrating my dog's intelligence.

If I said, "Go get your ball," Wiggles would run to the bedroom and return with a ball in his mouth. The green one was his favorite, so I always shot down the fallacy about dogs being color-blind by saying, "No, not that one. Go get your RED BALL." Wiggles would run back to his toy box, drop the green ball inside and return with the red one in his mouth. When Wiggles had retrieved his rope, his doll, his chew-bone and his bandanna, I usually fed him a Krystal hamburger, which was another talent show, because the dog could cram the entire hamburger in his mouth, gnash vigorously for a few seconds, swallow the hamburger and spit out the pickle slice every time. Women loved that.

Wiggles always put on a good show for spectators. Occasionally, however, when we were alone in the house, I would command, "Wiggles, go get your ball," and he would tear into the bedroom, rummage through his toy box, snort a few times and come up with his chew-bone. Then, he would flop on the floor and gnaw contentedly.

It was simply a case of "Things I Found While Looking For Something Else."
No one "investigating" Enron or Gold Connection will ever admit the truth. The sole reason corporations spend such large sums of money paying politicians, pundits, lawyers and special-interest groups is that YOU MUST BUY THESE PEOPLE TO STAY IN BUSINESS. Government has a greasy thumb stuck in every pie, no matter where it is baked, what filling it may contain or how many are made. Government is ceaseless in churning out idiotic rules, dictates and regulations. The laws may be ridiculous, but government also employs a swarm of bureaucrats and investigators whose only mission in life is to ferret through every aspect of your life to find examples of where a "T" was not crossed or an "i" not dotted and PROSECUTE YOU FOR IT. You cannot fight the government and win if government sets out to get you. Government has too much power and an endless supply of money. Government has ZERO TOLERANCE!

Government also is a giant, sucking blob. Government does THIS CRAP all the time. And more people need to become pissed off about it.
When I write, I often have no idea what is going to pop out of my head and into print. Sometimes, it JUST HAPPENS and I don't know where it comes from. But I try to follow The Rules.

Otherwise, I'm afraid someone may shred me like THIS.

Tuesday, January 29, 2002

I am beginning to reevaulate myself. What I once believed were virtues have cost me dearly and what I once considered vices have cost me, too. The difference is, I had A LOT MORE FUN following my vices instead of my virtues.

Once, I didn't care if the sun came up in the morning. I frittered my days away chasing wine, women and song and had nothing to show for those efforts except an occasional hangover and a lot of unforgettable adventures. But I slept well every night.

Then, I became serious, put my nose to the grindstone, tried to do right and eventually found myself on my knees, with my nose poking into empty air, while a person I loved smashed the back of my head with the grindstone. Then, she ran me off for an unemployed, dope-smoking lover who probably is wearing the jewlery I once owned that I never recovered after the divorce. Why not? The prick moved right in and settled his unemployed ass dead in the middle of the life I once had. The bloodless cunt gave him everything I held precious: herself, my son, my home and my bed. The experience sure enough opened my eyes about those silly notions of love, loyalty and friendship that I once believed were important.

No, that's NOT true. I still believe in every bit of that, and I have friends that rallied around me when I needed them the most to prove it. Friends I've had for twenty or more years. Friends that cared, and still do. Friends that loved me the way I love them. Friends that I will never give up.

I simply must be more careful in the future and steer my trust where it belongs, to friends instead of bloodless cunts.

But I don't sleep much these days.
By the way, everybody check SAMIZDATA tomorrow, because I sincerely believe that the asshole Rob Smith may be published AGAIN, when those elitist turds won't give Acidman the time of day. Go figure.
War may be hell, but humor is everythere, if you only look for it. For a set of Jay Leno on Guantanimo check this one out. (I may have MY OWN JOKES later, but it's been a long day)

I listened to the Sean Hannady radio show on the way home from work today. Enron was the topic and Dick Morris, the toe-sucking ex-advisor to Bill Clinton, called in to launch a vitriolic attack on Sen. Chris Dodd (D (of course) Conn.). According to Morris, Dodd has been operating behind the scenes for years to obstruct legislation that could have prevented the Enron fiasco, especially by keeping the FTC from ending the cozy I'll-audit-you-while-I-consult-for-you arrangements that now have Arthur Anderson claiming God knows what to explain their malfeasance. Dodd also has been paid well for his efforts by every entity caught up in the current unpleasantness, plus a few others that are beginning to sweat bullets now. Morris said that Dodd is engaged in pure cover-ass, hypocritical, shamelessness by rushing to INTRODUCE legislation to ban exactly what he has worked to diligently to PROTECT for the past ten years. Morris also stated quite clearly that Dodd "always showed up drunk" at Democrat strategy meetings.

I believe that I was listening to that show live. I wonder if anybody else was.

Monday, January 28, 2002

ZERO TOLERANCE UPDATE!! Common Sense IS DEAD!
"Diversity" is a word that is beginning feel nasty in my mouth, the way "unguent" always has. I suppose I don't like the word because it has been so badly corrupted for political purposes by people who really don't have their heads screwed on straight. Americans come from many diverse cultures, have many diverse interests and pursue many diverse DIVERSIONS. But we're all AMERICANS.

Or at least we were until all those hyphens started appearing before AMERICAN. African-American, Italian-American, Asian-American, Hispanic-American, Irish-American and on and on. I've heard the commercials that tell this Scatological-American-expletive-deleted lie: "Our strength is our diversity." Ahhhhhhh..... doesn't that sound so tolerant? So diverse?

It's also a total crock. Our strength is our UNITY! If we lose THAT, we become nothing but a bunch of warring tribes, which always leads to peace, prosperity and tolerance, as Afghanistan or the Balkans demonstrate so vividly. If you wan't to convince me that "diversity" is a strength, then show me one championship football team that won because it practiced diversity more than it did the pass or the run. You might find a team with large, cornfed white men on the offensive line, and large, cornfed black men on the defensive line, a tall, white quarterback throwing to swift, black receivers and a Samoan playing middle linebacker. You also might find small, black defensive backs, a lanky white punter, and a placekicker from Outer Slobbovia who's last name appears to be missing a few vowels. These "diverse" players, however, always have one thing in common. THEY WEAR THE SAME UNIFORM! They play as a team. No matter what they look like on the outside, they all strive for a common goal. They work together. That's how they win.

Our country is no different. But Diversity the way it is preached today is not a strength. It is a menace that will tear our society apart.

Sunday, January 27, 2002

I forgot why I wrote this down, BUT IT MUST BE WORTH READING or I wouldn't have it scribbled on this piece of paper I just located.
I was bored this morning and watched Wolf Blitzer's "Late Edition" on CNN. One of his guests was My Favorite Martian, Joe Lieberman. Am I the only person who notices the uncanny resemblance to Ray Walston? I keep watching for the antennae to rise out of his balding dome every time I see that wizened gnome on television. I also keep watching for his conscience to rise up behind him with a baseball bat and extract revenge for all the times he has beat the shit out of it, in those famous matches where Lieberman "wrestles" with his conscience. Hell, that wrinkled bastard doesn't "wrestle" with his conscience. He grabs the sucker in a headlock, slams it into the nearest turnbuckle and leaves it bleeding on the mat while he turns a mournful face toward the nearest television camera.

Lieberman was talking about Enron today. He had to tread lightly, because he took money from the crooked cheats, just like every other politician with a "For Sale" sign strapped to his ass. But Lieberman was mournful, serious and profound, befitting his position as chairman of one of the dozen or so committees organized to investigate the affair, and his words brought me great comfort. They're gonna investigate. They're gonna interrogate. They're gonna get TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS!

The BOTTOM OF THIS is that the government has too much power over everyone's life, right down to the molecular level and if you operate a business, influence is for sale and baksheesh is expected. If you DON'T pay the greedy whores voluntarily, THEY MAY COME AND TAKE THE MONEY ANYWAY, they way they did to Bill Gates and Big Tobacco. You won't hear this conclusion coming out of any committee. You will never hear Joe Lieberman say it. But the real solution to the Enron case is to get government to BUTT OUT of places where it does not belong.

Hell, that's not going to happen. They took control of my toilet a long time ago. Now, if I leave a floating Lieberman in it, I have to flush TWICE to send it on its merry way. And it probably goes right back to Washington.
There he goes: the morning jogger. I see this guy every weekend and he waves most pleasantly if I go outside, and I wave back most pleasantly, even though I have a nearly irresistable urge to hurl a beer bottle at his head. This guy will pass my house at least ten times before he is done with his weekend workout, jogging around and around the same street. I believe my feelings of hostility spring from the fact that I once did the same thing.

I lived in Savannah then, and I had a pretty good five-mile course mapped out. I ran it at least every other day and it wasn't just a circle. I remember one hot summer day when I ran through the neighborhood, cut behind the Burger King through Daffin Park and hit Washington Avenue. I was wearing a pair of bright yellow Nike running shoes, a headband and a set of shorts that were a lot like a Tarzan loin-cloth with a thong-like jockstrap built in. As I headed west on Washington, a station wagon heading east passed by. I heard wolf whistles, hoots and catcalls. I was ready to dodge flying objects, but the only things hurled at me were tongue-waves and air-kisses from a group of young women in the car.

I couldn't resist it. I lifted the back of my pants and gave them a full moon.

I was feeling proud of myself when I reached Habersham Street and started back down Washington in the opposite direction. That's when I saw the station wagon COMING BACK FOR A SECOND PASS. I thought they might want to press charges. I thought they might actually hurl flying objects at me this time. But they didn't. I can still remember the idiot grin on the driver's face as she drove slowly down the road while her friends hung two fine asses and two nice sets of titties out the windows at me. I almost went face-first into the pavement. I heard their hoots and laughter as they cruised away.

I ran the same course at the same time every day for the next week, but I never encountered the station wagon again. That's why I hate joggers.

It's a nasty, overcast day. That's depressing enough, but THIS CRAP is icing on the cake. Some people really are bloodless cunts.