Saturday, September 07, 2002

By the way, all you pucker-butted fucktards who voted me a "4" on the Hot or Not meter can kiss my lily-white Cracker ass.

Bwhahahahaha!
Some people take this blog-stuff entirely too seriously. I've known several individuals who just upped and quit after people wrote nasty comments and hateful emails to them about things that they wrote. The poor babies took their bat and ball and went home to pout.

I've had my share of nasty comments and hateful emails, but they never bothered me at all. I got over that broken-heart shit when I was in college and had my creative writing taken apart piece by piece in a classroom. I got another lesson by collecting hundreds of terse rejection slips for articles and short stories I submitted to damn near every address in The Writer's Market. I grew a cast iron ass from having my cheeks pounded by professionals. Some dipshit with a computer and a poor opinion of me doesn't register on my radar screens.

I don't expect everybody to agree with what I write, or I wouldn't call myself "Acidman." Sometimes I DELIBERATELY pen screeds just to see how many people I CAN piss off. I'm outrageous sometimes. But it's MY goddam blog, and I can do whatever I want with it.

People who have followed GUT RUMBLES for a while know that this blog probably saved my life. As my friend Willy said today, as we drank Bloody Marys around his swimming pool and judged a competitive diving contest between three young boys, "You've come a long way in a year, Rob."

Yes, I have. That's why I'll NEVER quit blogging.

You might not want to open it at work, but I LIKED THIS.

Stolen from HOOPTY.
I morphed from two boys to THREE boys in my care early this morning. Stephen showed up at about 8:30 to join the fray. He is welcome. He visits his divorced dad on the same weekends Quinton visits me. That arrangement works out well.

Stephen's dad came by the house shortly thereafter to see if I would keep his boy while he went to Home Depot to buy some more studs for a home-improvement project he's building. Quinton, Jack and Stephen were busy killing "VIPs" on some kind of James Bond Gameboy II thang and pretty much told Stephen's dad to go away and leave them alone. He did.

I don't understand how I end up being the neighborhood babysitter when my son comes to visit, (You SAW this, Goddess!) but I always do. I don't even know my neighbors all that well, but all the kids like to come here, and they must go home and say good things about me and Quinton. I'll be damned if I don't draw them like flies to honey.

I CANNOT be that fascinating. All I do is feed the hungry ones peanut butter sandwiches with one glass of milk, and if anyone becomes "thirsty" after that, I write their name on a plastic cup and show them how to get water from the sink. Drink all the water you want, but don't lose YOUR cup. They can play the Gameboy or watch "Zoog Disney." They can run through the scrub woods in the back yard. Somehow, my house becomes Wonderland.

I blame all this visitation on Quinton. He's a charming, sociable young man, much like I was at his age. When he discovers girls, the GIRLS are gonna be in trouble. I look at him, then I look at me, and I wonder, "HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE FROM THERE?"

UPDATE!! The boys went running through the woods and stirred up a yellow jacket nest. Quinton was stung twice, once on the hand and once on the back of his head. Stephen and Jack escaped unharmed. I gave Quinton an icepack for his head and a Benadryl tablet for the sting. He used the icepack for about 30 seconds and threw it in the trash can. He's busy killing VIPs again.



I'll be damned! My Texican daughter is COFFEE, too!

Friday, September 06, 2002

I just read THIS POST by the Right-Wing Texan about his love of reading and it struck a real chord in me. Teachers in school taught me TO read, but I credit my father for teaching me HOW to read.

I remember the day I suddenly discovered that I could read. I was in first or second grade, and I was "looking at" a Bugs Bunny comic book when I realized that I could read most of the words in the balloons over the characters' heads. The words that I couldn't read, I could sound out. I still remember the drawing that was on the front of that comic. Bugs was lying in a hammock with one end tied to a tree, and the other end suspended three feet off the ground by Bugs pulling on the ties behind his head, while he munched a carrot. After I learned that I could READ, I actually tried that hammock-trick a few times, and I never could lift myself off the ground the way Bugs did with only one end of the hammock tied to a tree. I could read a little bit, but I didn't understand gravity at the time. Or cartoons.

When I saw that I could read that comic book, I ran to my Mama to show her. She was pleased. When my Dad came home from work that night, I showed him what I could do, too. He put down the comic book and picked out one of my little kid books that I didn't "look at" anymore.

"Can you read this?" he asked, and I read it for him. He put that one back and brought out one a little more difficult. "Can you read this one?" I read it to him.

The next weekend, I was the proud owner of my first library card, and I devoured that place. The Savannah Public Library was pretty impressive to a recently-transplanted hillbilly, and the "Young People's" section held thousands of books. I remember telling my Dad that I was going to read them ALL. I tried, too. I checked out six book the first time I used my card and the librarian laughed at me. I finished all six in less than two weeks, brought them back and checked out six more. After a few weeks of that, the librarians stopped laughing.

When I was in second grade, I was relieved from my reading class to go study in the fourth grade class for a couple of months. After that, I went to the sixth grade class for reading. By then, my Dad started suggesting some "grown-up" books that I might enjoy. Treasure Island. Huckleberry Finn (which I ended up reading more than a dozen times, as I learned to understand MORE of that Great American Novel every time I read it) and finally, the killer, the ULTIMATE book that stirred the eggbeater in my head... Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I ended up reading every Tarzan book he wrote, most of the John Carter on Mars books and anything else I could find by the man. I also fell out of many a tree during those days, trying to BE Tarzan.

I was forced to read Shakespere in high school and I didn't like it. I couldn't make sense out of that "great literature," and the way it was taught was no help at all. Once I overcame the language barrier and understood the characters, I couldn't get enough of Old Bill. That reading took root. Ask my friends today. About the only time they REALLY want to whup my Cracker ass is when I get to drinking and launch into Shakeperian soliloquies when they don't want to hear that shit. My friend Willy has said that if I ever do Hamlet at HIS pool party again, HE'S going to do that Yorick speech I'm so fond of, using MY SKULL as a prop. I believe him.

But he didn't forbid me from doing Macbeth! Bwhahahaha!

I read poerty, too. LOT'S of it. Hell, I read EVERYTHING. And if I can pass that gift along to my son the way my Dad gave it to me, I will haved served that boy well. I truly believe that.

Besides, if you read enough, you just might want to write every now and then...

If you don't visit my ALL-TIME FAVORITE WICCAN from time to time, you're missing a treat. Dragonfly Jenny is a GOOD WITCH, and she also shares my love of communing with your inner child by going off in the woods and playing with matches, taking off your clothes and doing all that other stuff your parents wouldn't allow when you really were a child.

I definitely hope to have a sip and chat with her someday, and I'll play guitar if she'll firedance.

Jenny, that is the link I promised for stealing that post the other day without giving you proper credit. Am I forgiven for my lack of manners now?
Both boys are asleep now, and I'm not far behind.

I am totally convinced that Young Jack has a secret mercroid switch implanted in his head. After 8:00 PM, that sucker activates if his head turns at a 45-degree angle toward a pillow, and he is rendered instantly unconscious. It happened again tonight, and he was occupying essential leg-space my son had claimed on the couch. "Daddy! Jack is zonked again! Can you take him to my bed?"

"Y'all don't want to sleep in my bed?" I asked.

"I want to sleep on the COUCH," Quinton announced, attempting to disentangle my ratty white blanket from Jack. "Jack is in my way. Carry him to my bed like you did before."

I carefully moved Jack so that I could get one arm under his shoulders and one arm under his legs. In doing so, I raised his head into an upright position, and his eyes opened wide. "Mr. Rob, I'm AWAKE!," he declared. I had acidentally disengaged his mercroid switch.

"No, you're NOT," I told him, "and you're going to SLEEPWALK to Quinton's bed." I led him by the hand down the hallway and put him in my son's bed. As soon as his head turned 45 degrees headed toward the pillow, he was sound asleep again.

Quinton lasted about another 30 minutes, insisting on watching some kind of "Zoog Disney" thing on TV. "Zoog" is still going, but he is not, lying asleep under the ratty white blanket with one bare foot hanging over the edge of the couch.

I believe that I will join those boys in the land of Morpheus myself shortly. They make it appear to be the cool place to be this Friday night.
What a life I have. It's Friday night.

I have my son with me, and young Jack always seems to come attached. They are playing some sort of football game in the hallway while I cook supper. I've told them both that if they break anything, THEY DIE! They keep asking when they can EAT!

I'm working on it.

I'll lose my bed again tonight, too. What the heck... I LIKE sleeping on the couch under the ratty white blanket.
I don't know that I agree with this. I would call myself "moonshine and branch water," but the test says:

What Drink Are You?
What Drink Are You?



I AM COFFEE! (Have patience. This sucker loads SLOWLY)
Friday Five (.org)


1. What is your biggest pet peeve? Why?

Dumbass drivers. I commute 60 miles round trip to work every day, and I wish there were a bounty on people who drive slow in the left lane, never use turn signals and commit other such crimes against humanity. That's why I want AN URBAN ASSAULT VEHICLE!


2. What irritating habits do you have?
I drink too much, I smoke too much, I have a big mouth and an ego as big as the planet Jupiter. I'm also really bad about not squeezing the toothpaste from the end of the tube. Other than that, I have NO irritating habits.


3. Have you tried to change the irritating habits or just let them be?

Change? Why would I want to do that?

4. What grosses you out more than anything else? Why?

Snakes, vomit and doggie-doo on the bottom of my shoe, especially when I don't notice the doggy-doo until I've walked all over my living room carpet.


5. What one thing can you never see yourself doing that other people do?

Voting for Bill or Hillary Clinton. Joining PETA, Greenpeace or Handgun Control. Becoming a Democrat. Molesting a child. GLADLY paying my taxes. Believing that government is the solution to ANY problem. Getting married again. Hell, I could list a BUNCH of things here.

What is the story behind all these spam-senders who offer to put my site on 5 quadzillion search engines and spin my hit-counter like a high presssure steam turbine? I know they want money, but I always delete that crap before I read about all the wonderful things they're going to do for me.

Who the hell is going to pick GUT RUMBLES off a search engine except another one of those perverted snotballs who find me by plugging "NAKED PICTURES OF BRITTANY SPEARS" or "SPANKING NAKED WOMEN WITH LONG-HANDLED SPOONS" into Google? Not that I'm offended by hits that originate in such a sewer. I am a shameless hit-whore, and I'll take anything I can get, even if it does stink to high heaven. But those aren't the kind of readers who hang around and visit again (except for Joan, Recondo 32, Willy, and a few other close, sewer-rat friends).

I prefer the people who found me the old-fashioned way-- I pestered the shit out of them, begged, whined and promised NEVER to stop, until they caved in. And that didn't cost anything but a total loss of dignity.

I figured, "If you build it, they will come." When they didn't, I went out and dragged their asses here.

Does anybody know what these "Hit Generators" do that can beat MY method?



Thursday, September 05, 2002

I posted on my group blog tonight and discovered that I was the only one home. The entire house was empty of the usual opinionated sphincters, whining women and double entendre-spouting sexaholics I have come to know and love there. So, I posted THIS:

I see clearly now that I'm dealing with a BUNCH OF FUCKING WIMPS on this site. Ya'll blog until sunrise ONE NIGHT and crawl off like vampires to sleep it off for a week or so. Pissants. Lightweights. I may go to bed early, but I work 10 to 12 hours every day and STILL BLOG on TWO sites. You may all bend over and kiss my Cracker ass, in complete adoration. Genuflect while you're at it. (BONUS POINTS for anyone who can tell me what "genuflect" means, WITHOUT looking it up)

If you can't run with a Tall Dog, stay on the porch, where you pucker-butted (like THAT one, Joan? I TOLD you that I was gonna steal it!), brain-drained, one-trick ponies belong. Hell, Americans once were TOUGH.

Not anymore....


If somebody directed that sort of mindless vitriol at ME, I would respond forthwith, and WITH FORCE. But it won't happen with that bunch of pansy-assed, sleepy-headed, titty-sucking, candy-legged, anal-itching, whining bunch on HOOKED ON BLOGGING. They just don't have the GUT for it.
I decided to do some more tinkering with my blogroll after I received an email from Pascale Soleil informing me that HE is a SHE. Okay, I take back that crap I said about whuppin' your ass on the playground, ma'am. I have never hit a woman in my life, and I never intend to. (I've been known to administer SPANKINGS every now and then, but that's different, isn't it, FANNY?) I just would have told everybody that you had COOTIES! and run from you, making neener, neener, neener! noises.

By the way, Pascale says that she is "appalled by my politics." For the life of me, I cannot understand that statement. I'm just a humble, gun-owning, cigarette-smoking, whiskey-drinking, anti-government, liberty-loving, baby-seal-killing, wetland-defiling, forest-cutting, meat-eating, fur-wearing, Republican-voting, chemical-manufacturing, Clinton-hating, Democrat-despising, cuddly ball of capitalist-pig love and good cheer toward all. What's appalling about THAT?

I also added THE MEESH EXPERIENCE to the roll. I NEVER confused her for a man when she left comments on my page, and when I finally went to her site, I was proud of myself. Just check the picture on her home page. I believe I am in love...

Besides, how many of YOU are on a blogroll in Malayasia? I AM! Bwhahahahaha!

The darling (but sometimes acerbic) LYNN (I ADMIRE ACERBIC WOMEN!) was kind enough to fill in the link to that "Jellybean" woman I was trying to find last night, so here is MINDSCAPES, HEARTSTRINGS AND SOUL-SEARCHING over on the left where it belongs. I might, just POSSIBLY, in the distant future, share my prized fried chicken recipe with her.

Out of that bunch, only Pascale has cooties.

Wednesday, September 04, 2002

I have one more blogroll addition coming as soon as my SITE METER unscrews itself. I've lost the address of a VERY INTERESTING woman with "Jellybeans" in her title. I'm on HER blogroll, and I am desperate to return the favor.

Darlin', you study hard at Oxford. I'm working on my little problem here.
I just welcomed a couple of new members to my blogroll.

The first is the RIGHT WING TEXAN,who recently dismantled his original blog and started another one called, "Life After Fifty," and he's trying to sell that concept as a GOOD THING, the fruitcake. I believe I would enjoy having a mesquite-burned, blood-rare steak with the man, along with a couple of shots of tequila and a generous helping of "Cowboy Caviar." I wanna see if he SWEATS the way I do from the habanero sauce. He's got a FINE woman putting up with him, along with a most excellent grandson, too. He is most welcome aboard. GO READ!

The other one is BOTH 2 AND BEYOND, which I appreciated because one "Pascale Soleil" has left comments on my page, including the one last night where he confirmed that I DEFINITELY am not an intellectual. I like the guy. I figure he MUST be tough, because if "Pascale Soleil" is his real name, he got his ass beat every day on the playground growing up, if he couldn't whup the ones that wanted to beat his ass.

I know I would have tried to beat his ass for having a name like that. If couldn't pronounce it, I would have been pissed.

Non-intellectuals react with violence in such situations. Anyway, he's welcome aboard, too, even if he DOES have an odd name.
Here's 100 THINGS ABOUT MY DAUGHTER in Texas. Here's a sample:

36. I have two crazy parents. Put both of them together and you get me.
37. People say I look more like my mom.
38. My mom is an artist my dad a musician. I took after my mom there.


I suppose you could call us "estranged."

There's a LONG story waiting to be told about all of that some day. Maybe she'll tell it before I do.
So many women, so little time....

Ex fucktard -President William Jefferson "ZIPPERHEAD" Clinton announced that his schedule of "public service" is too demanding for him to take time out to host a television talk show. He has seviced a mere 1.8% of the women in America and his goal is to service AT LEAST 10% before he dies from horrible venereal disease, or Hillary finally kills his rotten, cheating, womanizing ass.

Bill Clinton... that Ninteenth Amendment.... They go together like a horse and carriage.
Okay, I did it, too:



What
kind of LJer are you?


"You are not a diarist, you are a columist. Your journal is a collection of essays that make people think. You are not afraid to share your views with the world!"

All I really want in life is a BIGGER soapbox and a BIGGER audience to harangue. As I have said before, if I only had a little humility, I would be perfect.
I corrected that horribly egregious grammatical error in the otherwise brilliant post about WOMEN below. I want to thank JONI for kindly bringing that error to my attention. She is too good to me.

BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I'll have nightmares from reading THIS SNAKEBITE STORY.

"A 7-year-old boy remains hospitalized, four days after he was bitten at least five times by at least two different rattlesnakes.


The poor kid went to retrieve his baseball from some "woods," which were probably filled with scrub palmetto. He lives just outside St. Augustine, Florida, and that stuff grows like kudzu around there. Scrub palmetto is a veritable rattlesnake magnet. It grows like kudzu where I live, too, and I've killed many a snake in those thickets, and I've also backed carefully away a few times when I could hear the rattler singing but couldn't see where he was.

Not many things in this world frighten me, but I have an overpowering, uncontrollable, downright primordial fear of snakes. They make my skin crawl and my blood run cold. The truly horrible nightmares I sometimes have ALWAYS involve snakes. I can't stand the disgusting creatures.

I also know that I am terribly allergic to honey bee stings and TEMPORARY HENNA TATTOOS. I have no idea how my body would react to a dose of rattlesnake venom, but I suspect that it doesn't matter. If I were ever bitten, I would have a massive heart attack and drown in my own feces from sheer terror long before the venom could take effect.

So why in the hell do I enjoy backpacking and camping and spending so much time in the woods where the snakes LIVE? I don't know. I suppose I've always been kinda fucked up.

I hope the little pup survives with no lasting damage to his young self. Kids are mighty resilient at his age, and if he's lasted four days, time is on his side. But I've read that rattlesnake venom is full of a digestive enzyme that rots the flesh around the bite and can lead to permanent nerve and tissue damage and even gangrene. I hope nothing like that happens to him.

And I hope nothing like that ever happens to MY son.
Ouch! My manly buttocks bleed from the nips of criticism I have received over that obnoxious screed I posted below.

Oh, well. I HAVE been known to piss on an anthill just to stir up the ants...

Tuesday, September 03, 2002

I receive a lot of email and comments from people who say that I am "intellectual." I appreciate the compliment, but you've really gotta be STUPID your ownself to believe that ridiculous idea about ME. I sometimes wonder if I've ever had an original thought in my entire life.

I read a lot, and I have for a long time. Most of what I have to say, I read somewhere else and remembered. If I were a great intellectual, I would have WRITTEN those books instead of reading them. But at least, unlike many other people in blogdom, I can justify most of my beliefs with opinions grounded in research rather than "feelings."

I went through a highly religious phase of my life in the early 19'70's, where I read the Bible several times (Old and New Testaments), dabbled with the Koran, learned to speak a lot of Yiddish while reading an old, scroll-like Torah and thought about becoming a Buddist. I studied the Tao. I ended up becoming an athiest at the end of my Hejira, and I remain comfortable with that philosophy today. But I KNOW why I BELIEVE the way I do. I formed my philosophy from a LOT of study and self-debate.

At the risk of sounding absolutely sexist, which just frightens the shit out of me (Bwhahahahaha!), women don't, as a rule, tend to form their opinions about life the way I did. They just "feel" things and know that they are right. That's one of the primary reasons that 56% of women voters helped elect Bill Clinton to two terms as President of the United States. The guy was a lying, sexual predator, with the personal integrity of a wharf-rat, but women LIKED him. They just "knew" that he was a good president, no matter how badly he fucked up the job.

I look at Clinton, and I look at women voters, and I reach a logical conclusion. Women, with VERY RARE exceptions, are about as smart as a box of dirt when it comes to intellectual or political issues. I'm sorry, but SOMEBODY had to say it.

I realize that the song, "I am woman, I am dumbass," will never be a top-40 hit by Helen Reddy, but GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! I write occasionally on a GROUP BLOG and I have learned over there that if you REALLY want to make a woman angry and cause her to pout, suggest that she READ something before "feelings" fly out of her neck. You'll learn your lesson very quickly.

They don't need no stinking FACTS, and if you dare to question them, then YOU'RE the asshole, not them, you bastard.

If they didn't have something we men DON'T have, but want constantly, there would be a bounty on every one of their pretty little empty heads.
Here's a really GREAT IDEA.

French President Jacques Chirac will urge world leaders to launch talks on a new international tax to fight
world poverty, sources with him at the Earth Summit in Johannesburg say.

"It could be a tax on airplane tickets, on carbon dioxide, on health products sold in industrialised countries, and indeed on international financial transactions," one source said.

"The idea of wanting to hold back a small share (of global wealth) to relieve poverty is not a mad idea at all."


No, it's not a "mad" idea. It is a FUCKING LUNATIC IDEA! The economic policies of the French government have turned that country into a pathetic sump of high unemployment and low productivity, and it's doing a slow-motion swirl deeper down the toilet every day. Jock-itch Chirac wants the rest of the world to follow the French example of economic expertise?

Once we "hold back" a "small share" of global wealth, how do we spend it to relieve poverty? Give a few truckloads of free cash to Robert Mugabe? HE'LL spend it wisely, all for the good of his people, if there are any left after he finishes deliberately starving them to death. Maybe Saddam Hussein deserves a piece of the action, too, so he can save the "500,000 children" who die because of sanctions against his country while the bastard builds more palaces for himself.

This is a truly fucktard idea. What more do you really expect from the French and the benighted United Nations?

Who will "administer" this fund, and how much vigorish do THEY demand for all their hard work? If the behavior of the delegates in Johannesburg is any indication, fees for lobster tails, champaigne and assorted prostitutes might amount to some extremely high overhead, maybe even more than the fund can provide. The only answer to THAT problem is to increase that "small share" of global wealth these leeches want to confiscate, so they can live properly high on the hog while fighting poverty. As a person I know well might say, "Slap my ass and call me Fanny!"

You want to REALLY fight poverty in the world? Tell the UN, "BITE ME!" Tell Jock-itch Chirac to go find another mistress, and keep his idiotic opinions confined to the bedroom where they belong. Tell the rest of the world, "We'll TRADE with you, pump dollars into your economy and provide the bootstraps by which you can lift YOURSELF out of poverty. But we won't do it with a murderous bastard such as Mugabe in charge. We won't do it with a murderous bastard such as Saddam in charge. We won't do it because they will take the money, stash it in Swiss banks and starve you to death anyway."

Sometimes, you have to be the bad guy to accomplish good things. I practice what I preach every chance I get with my son. I want him to be strong, self-sufficient and able to walk tall in the world when he is grown. I DON'T accomplish that goal by giving him things he doesn't deserve or praising him for actions that I find counter to what I want him to be.

We need to treat third-world nations the same way. The carrot and the stick WORK! Steel tarriffs and farm subsidies don't help our position, but politics make some good leaders do really dumb things. A good leader can find ways around the dumb things he did to appease special interest groups. Call it "special dispensation," and just DO IT. Help our friends, through free trade, and profit in many ways while we do it. Punish our enemies, and don't worry about what it costs. They chose to be our enemies. We'll make it up somewhere else, preferably from dealing with our friends.

But don't give away a dime just to be "compassionate." You may as well drive down the road and empty your wallet out the window at 60 miles per hour, and let the cash blow where it will.

That's not doing any good in my book.



Monday, September 02, 2002

Now, Tropical Storm Eduard appears to be meandering off to the east, away from Savannah. You GO, guy.

The rain is falling again anyway, and the way it runs off my roof makes a noise like bacon frying in the corner of the room where I type. The first time I heard that sound, I thought something was wrong with the carpet. I thought that it might be boiling on fire. It freaked me out. Now, I like that sound. It makes me feel cozy, dry and warm.

I'm going into the mountains in October, to burn my last week of vacation and commune with nature. I'll probably rent a cabin, but I intend to camp a few days while I'm there. The autumn leaves should be in all their splendid glory of color, and I'm ready to spend a night or two around a campfire. I want to live primative, eat primative and BE primative for a while. I want the kind of spiritual cleansing I find only in the wilderness, in the mountains, around a campfire in the fall. I want to drink spring-water from a canteen and whiskey from a flask. I want to sleep in my hammock again. I want to build a fire, cook my food on it, and watch it die as I fall asleep.

I want to take off all my clothes at night, sit naked on a big rock in the middle of nowhere, and howl at the moon. Really loud, even though I know that no one can hear me.

Yeah. THAT'S what I want to do. And I WILL, too.

I see something strange outside my window. It's...it's.. SUNSHINE!

After a week of torrential rain, Old Sol is showing his shining face. Old Sol had better do his act as quickly as he can, because the Weather Channel says Tropical Storm Eduard is off the coast of St. Augustine, Florida, and heading right toward Savannah. I expect landfall about the time that I'm due to go to work in the morning.

That's just great...
Here's a HOMETOWN BOY DOING GOOD. Savannah native Gene Sauers was a formidable PGA golf professional for about ten years, until around 1996, when his game went down the commode and he lost his Tour card. He kicked around on the Nike and Buy.Com circuit for a while, and never really did much there. I thought he was history. But, as the seventh alternate to get into the tournament, he upped and WON the Air Canada Open last weekend.

Sauers, who came into the week 217th on the money list, earned $630,000 -- his biggest payday ever and almost as much as he made in the last eight years. Despite the huge raise, he said the biggest part of his win was a two-year exemption.


A two-year exemption on the Tour is a pot of gold, and I'm glad Gene got it. Fate sometimes works in mysterious ways.





According to my Site Meter I received 792 visitors to my humble (Bwhahahahaha!) blog last week, and had over 1,000 page-views. That statistic both pleases and impresses me. Last January, I was delighted if 20 people read me in a week.

If some of you fly-by-night interlopers would leave COMMENTS when you visit, my head would swell to God-like porportions and I would be impossible to live with.

Since I live BY MYSELF now, don't worry about my head. Just FLATTER ME!

Yeah, I can believe THIS:


What revolution are You?
Made by altern_active


But I still say, Fuck the French!
Here's an interesting question from THE BACK 40.

List the five freedoms listed in the First Amendment alone. Try listing them before you go look them up.

Okay, here goes, WITHOUT looking anything up. I'm positive I that have four right. I'm PRETTY SURE about #5.

1) The First Amendment guarantees all Americans FREEDOM OF RELIGION. (It says NOTHING about "separation of church and state" and it mentions "religion" FIRST!).

2) The First Amendment guarantees all Americans FREEDOM OF SPEECH. (Not politically-correct speech, just SPEECH. That includes speech which pisses you off.)

3) And FREEDOM OF THE PRESS, even if the mainstream press is a bunch of liberal, lackey, running-dog socialists. (#3 is where you have the right to blog and post what you wish, as a counter-action against the mainstream press.)

4) The right of FREE ASSEMBLY. (Yeah, that means you are free to gather at the tavern or the town square to grumble about government, or even form a MILLION-WHATEVER MARCH on Washington. And you can do that ALL YOU WANT TO.)

Here's the one I'm not certain about, although I'm PRETTY SURE that #5 is the right to PETITION THE GOVERNMENT when you believe that your rights have been violated, or if you simply wish to change the status quo. That one fits with the other four, because it means that the government is supposed to LISTEN to us when we have a legitimate bitch. After all, we citizens are supposed to be calling the shots. That idea doesn't hold much traction today, with the Federal Leviathan inserting itself into every aspect of our lives, but it's what the Founding Fathers envisioned.

Okay, JB--- How did I do?


Sunday, September 01, 2002

Sunday Stumpers

1) What's one thing in your life that you can't live without?
One year ago, I would have listed three things. But I lost them all, back-to-back, in less than one month, and I'm still alive. I conclude that there's NOTHING I can't live without. I'm pretty tough.

2) What's missing from your life right now?
Everything I had one year ago. Other than that, nothing.

3) When you are alone with your special/ideal someone, without benefit of TV, radio, games, or books, do you spend your time laughing, fighting, having deep discussions, in silence, or pulling your hair out?
Once the wild, wanton sex is over, I prefer to have deep discussions while I play with her nipples. Or, I'll pontificate about off-the-wall subjects such as the Battle of Shiloh, the Siege of Savannah, and the Segway Scooter while she plays with my privates. Laughing is allowed, but NOT at my privates.

4) Things happen in our lives and have the potential to change us profoundly. Are you still the same person you've been all your life regardless of those events?
No. I have evolved or mutated several times in my life. I believe that I still hold the same core values that I did as a young man, but I have learned to adapt to situations and do what is neccessary sometimes, just to keep the river of my life flowing smoothly. I fought at the drop of a hat when I was young, and I didn't care whether I won or lost. Now, I pick my battles, and I win them. That's the difference between vigor and wisdom. I have a lot more wisdom that I do vigor today. Thank Goodness.

5) Are you content now?
Hell, no! I've been fucked over worse than a two-dollar whore in a Texas cow-town. Content? Try RESENT and you'll come a lot closer to where I am now. But Earth Abides, and All Things Pass. I'll get over it. Goddam it, I WILL!

I've never jumped out of a perfectly good airplane myself, but I know A LOT of people who have, and they all echo the sentiments expressed by THE GROUP CAPTAIN when he said, in the comments to SHELL'S SHOCKING SITE:

"I have jumped out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft 36 times. The first time I was scared, because I didn't know what was going to happen.

The second time I was terrified, because I did know.

It slowly got better after that."


I if ever become crazed enough to jump out of an airplane, I hope that my chute doesn't open and some fully-clad Haz-Mat team scrapes up my remains with a shovel when I hit the ground. Obviously, my mind finally slipped all of its gears, or I never would have done such a foolish thing.

I don't want to live if the gears slip any more than they have already.
Last Friday evening, Recondo 32 returned my truck and reclaimed his car. The switcheroo went okay except for one thing. I left my company security pass hanging from HIS rear-view mirror, and he left his "Handicapped Parking" tag hanging from mine. I thought it was an excellent swap. I could obtain another security pass at the front gate to the plant in about 30 seconds. Those Handicapped Parking permits are hard to get.

That's why I was NOT surprised when Recondo 32 and his lovely wife Georgia showed up at my house yesterday, shortly after the neighbors came home and retrieved their ant-bitten dog from Kristen's house. (They were glad that I did what I did. Even after I put diazanon all around the dog-kennel, the ants were still swarming inside the fence. We DO have a really aggressive ant population in Effingham County, Georgia.)

Recondo wanted his goddam blue-zone parking permit back, although he CLAIMED that he was worried about ME being able to get into the plant without my security pass. He's compassionate and caring that way. He also switched mirror tags, returning MINE and retrieving HIS, before he ever walked through my front door, the caring and compassionate bastard. I never got the chance to park in a blue zone ONCE while I had his hang-tag.

Recondo and Georgia are two of my very best friends in the world. I've known them a LONG time, and we have enjoyed many grand adventures together over the years. They're BOTH assholes, but so am I, and we get along well together. I took them out to eat at The Sea Grill last night, and by the time the delectible Roseanne, our bartender, handed me the check for our food and our incredible bar-tab, I was out $100 when I added a generous tip. But we had up-front parking, because Recondo drove and we found a spot right outside the entrance to the place, in the blue "handicapped" zone. Life is GOOD sometimes.

On page 54 of Gary Linderer's book, Phantom Warriors, you can read this paragraph:

"Rick Ellison was a quiet, southern boy from South Carolina. Recondo School graduate number 32, he was the first LRRP assigned to the detachment. Although as experienced as anyone in the unit, he was the newest man in "The Animals," having been bounced around from team to team during the first part of his tour."


I question the validity of the author, because Recondo 32 has never been quiet a day in his entire life, as far as I can tell, at least never in the thirty years I've know his rusty ass. He is as noisy and obnoxious as I am. Almost.

On page 62 of the same book, you can read this account of how he earned that handicapped parking permit:

"Shortly afterward, Ellison screamed in pain as a rifle grenade or a mortar round exploded nearby, peeling off half his face and perforating his chest and right arm with shrapnel. The wounded LRRP lay back against the berm and continued screaming until Lane moved over to check him out. As Lane began to apply a pressure dressing over Ellison's mangled face, the wounded man asked him, "Am I all fucked up?"

Lane quickly said, "No, you'll be okay."

Ellison responded, "Well, then why do I look this way?"

It was only then that Lane realized that one of Ellison's eyeballs had been blown out of its socket and was looking back at him. The wounded man could actually see the damage done to his face."


I don't believe Recondo was ever good-looking to begin with, so the surgery that repaired his face probably resulted in a vast improvement over what he was born with. He's still an ugly bastard.

But he's a damned good friend.

I sent my list of 100 things about me to the DAMNED YANKEE and I received a chastising email in return, informing me that I didn't obey the rules by including a PICTURE of me with my list. I wrote back to say that I THOUGHT I sent a picture in a subsequent email. Given that I do a lot of that "monkey and football" thang on the computer, I wondered if I had screwed up sending the picture. The Yankee wrote back and said that he received the picture but DELETED it by accident. HA! HE was the monkey with the football! Not ME!

It took me about 30 minutes to remember what I did to send the first picture, but I finally dredged up the required wisdom from my alcohol-soaked memory banks and sent another one. He received it, failed to delete it this time, and I now am Blogger #83 on the list.

I LOVE IT when a plan comes together.