Saturday, September 28, 2002

I'm too hung over to give THIS BULLSHIT the fisking it deserves, but I will declare that SGT STRYKER IS FULL OF YANKEE BLOVIATION.

The South WAS right, if you read your fucking Constitution.
This was posted over at GET YOUR DRAWERS ON, as another act of Southern chivalry written for a damsel in distress, but it describes so much of the real me that I decided to put it here, too.

Suli, I own the copyright to this piece (or do I?)...well I KNOW A BUNCH OF LAWYERS, so sue me, Sue, if you disagree. We'll have a food-fight in court about it.

Thanks for allowing me to sit by your fire and have a glass of iced tea. I've enjoyed the visit. Come see me, too, okay?

Here's what I wrote:

I am not a dexterious, jack of all trades, mechanically-inclined person. In fact, the most sophisticated tool I ever wish to utilize with my actual hands EVER AGAIN IN MY LIFE is a corkscrew, the kind with the built-in levers that pop open a wine bottle in nothing flat.


I'm GOOD with one of those.


I am NOT GOOD at fixing broken stuff, putting unassembled things together or building ANYTHING from scratch. I suck at that.


I believe that I developed a deep aversion to such activities as a young boy, because my father WAS good at all of that crap. He wanted to pass along his knowledge of woodworking, bricklaying, carpentry, plumbing and general handyman stuff by teaching ME on SATURDAY MORNINGS when HE had a project in mind. While all my friends were out playing, riding their bikes and having a damned good time, I was "learning" valuable skills from my father.


And when he started a project, he didn't quit until it was finished. And I wasn't allowed to quit, either, even if I was reduced to the role of holding the flashlight while he finished up in the dark at 10:00 Saturday night. I learned to HATE wrenches, hammers and tools in general. I learned to DESPISE those incoherent instructions included with everything you have to "assemble."


I once bought a shotgun, brought it home and executed a half-assembled barbecue grill in my back yard. I AM NOT MAKING THAT UP!


I didn't have to "assemble" the shotgun. I had thrown in the towel on the grill hours earlier. It was a mercy killing. I took mercy on myself.


That's why I own a truck today. I don't buy anything that I can't haul, fully assembled, to my house and simply set in place where I want it. If it will not fit in my truck, I pay to have it delivered, assembled and set up by professionals, who know what they are doing.


If I want something and it comes with a plastic bag full of nuts and bolts and a goodam instruction book, I reconsider whether I really NEED the sumbitch or not. If I can't buy it assembled, I KNOW that I don't need it.


I am a simple man. Pass me the corkscrew...



Friday, September 27, 2002

Okay, folks, I have a question: has ANYBODY ever Fisked DAWN OLSEN? Of course not! Dawn is the self-appointed sex-goddess of blogdom, and she is accustomed to being treated as such by her servile minions, RIGHTWING TEXAN included. Well, I'm about to boldly go where no man has gone before...

From Dawn:

ALL I NEED TO BECOME ANN COULTER
(Intelligence, Law Degrees, Best-selling books and Public Speaking abilities don't count)

Add twenty years to my face (you can do that in less than five, Dawn, if you keep being such a pucker-butt)

Lose 100 pounds (Lost 100 pounds? LOOK BEHIND YOU. You'll find it. It's called YOUR ASS!)

Bleach my hair using CLAIROL TRAILER SLUT BLOND 402 (As opposed to Clairol semi-nekikid-teaser-wanna-do-porno 69)

Remove all my femininity (Awww...does that mean you don't write about giving blow-jobs anymore?)

Wear bad clothes from the 80's (Just take 'em off. What else do you have to offer anyway?)

Write trite, hate-filled rhetoric I stole from Rush Limbaugh (Try trite, hate-filled rhetoric you heard on Jerry Springer)

Deport all foreigners (Let's see... Olsen. That's sounds Viking to me. You're OUTTA HERE! Sambo, take the lady away)

Make black people my slaves, oops I mean hired help, oops I mean slaves (Make that fantasy your next blog)

Prostitute myself Lewinsky-style to President Bush (Bush, no. Clinton, YES! yesyesyesyes! Oh, DO ME, BUBBA!)

Kill kittens (Strut Pussy)

Bathe in the blood of the newborn (Make nekikid pictures in the bathtub)

Howl at the moon (Flash your moon on your blog)

Remove my womb and have all remnants of my reproductive organs scraped and incinerated (WHERETHEFUCK did THAT twisted, demented, disgusting, absolutely EVIL idea come from? Oh, yeah. Dawn is demonstrating how warm-hearted, liberal and open-minded she is, as opposed to that hateful Ann Coulter, who offends Dawn's delicate sensibilities. I was confused for a moment.)

Spew vile canards at anyone who doesn't believe the following:

All people on Welfare should be killed
(I would settle for killing every crazy, politically-correct fucktard in California, starting with that pompous tub of lard, Rob Reiner)

All Foreigners should be tortured and killed (We don't have time to torture them ALL, you silly, sexy, little titty-flashing vixen, you. Let's just kill the men and rape the women. THEN kill the women.)

All Democrats/Liberals should be killed (Yes. Definitely. Let's rape THEM first, too.)

All people who are not HARD CORE Conservatives should be killed (I would spare some Libertarians. Naw, fuck that. KILL THEM ALL!)

And finally - Declare my allegiance to the Third Reich. (Dawn, Dawn... you think small, like your titties. Start a FOURTH REICH! Make people declare allegiance to YOU! Then, you can rule with the wisdom, graciousness and kindness, with good will to all, that you displayed in this spittle-stained, hate-filled, spleen-ruptured, mindless rant.)

It makes Ann Coulter look pretty good to me. She is moderate by comparison.

She's SEXY, too.

BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I just got off the phone with my son, and he's hatched a scheme (with only a modicum of help from his equally-scheming Dad) to come visit me tomorrow for a while if he can talk his mama into it. I'm interested to see how this request is treated. Quinton wants to play with young Jack, and he's designed a few "really cool" football plays he wants to run against me. I hope that he is as persuasive as I know he can be. Having him over on an off-weekend would be nice, even if it's only for a short while.

I found two existential dilemmas to ponder today. First, a person I knew well committed suicide yesterday. I've worked with his brother for fifteen years. I've played many a round of golf with both brothers AND their father, who was my boss on two different jobs in my career. The deceased brother hanged himself. That's a terrible thing for anyone to do, but I know the demons he faced, and I understand better than his family does what drove him to that point. They knew his problems, but I have LIVED some of them, not to the extent that it consumed MY life, but I came as close as you can get. Nights become VERY dark sometimes when you have to live through them alone, and daylight is just as dark when you're awake to think about everything you DON'T want to think about. And you can't stop thinking.

Most people don't understand. They don't have demons in their heads, either, and they don't know know what it's like to try unsuccessfully to subdue those merciless fuckers. I do.

Sometimes the "EXIT" sign is the only light in the tunnel.

He ran for the only light he saw. I hope he found his way out.

My second dilemma involves a friend I met through blogging. She has one of those BIG MEDICAL QUESTIONS to deal with, the kind where the doctors examine X-rays, MRIs and bloodwork, then speak in hushed tones about wanting to get you into the hospital as soon as possible to "check this out." She's scared shitless.

I hope her fears are groundless, and I hope she doesn't worry herself to a frazzle in the meantime. Worrying won't help.

I've had a doctor tell me that I had cancer. He showed me all sorts of interesting pictures and lab reports about it. I was given three options about what to do, and I picked one. Once I made that choice, I stopped worrying about it. The cancer would kill me, or it wouldn't; I didn't have a lot of input in the way that hand of cards played out. The operation would kill me, or it wouldn't. I trusted the surgeons to be as competent at their jobs as I am mine. I would have terrible after-effects from the operation, or I would get over everything quickly.

Well, two out of three ain't bad.

I wish the best for my friend. I hope that she doesn't DWELL on worst-case scenarios and drive herself crazy before she even knows what the problem is. She's got a lot of people in blogdom who communicate with her regularly, and she's got ME as a damned good friend. You hang tough, darlin'.

You've got a lot of people pulling for you, whether you know it or not. With that much good karma, what do you have to fret about? If there's an "EXIT" light in your tunnel, you'll be bouncing people OUT, right through a closed door, you bossy thing, you.

Fuggedaboutid.

It'll be okay.
Another day, another Blogspot brain-fart. I just spent about ten minutes looking that that wonderful "Page Not Available" notice after I attempted to publish the rant below. BLOGGER has been good to me, and I really hate to bitch about something so wonderful, but I'M BITCHING ANYWAY!

I upgraded to Pro to get away from the server-down-can't-publish-dunno-what's-wrong-fix-it-soon-fuck-you crap I suffered through as a freebie blogger. I also thought it would be a nice gesture to throw some cash at Ev for the service he provided, even if it does suck a lot of the time. I bought a few ads off a few pages, too.

The money is not the problem. Hell, I've bought drinks for strangers, gambled away wads in a casino and stuffed money in a stripper's G-string for less pleasure than BLOGGER has given me. I really WANT to be loyal.

But BLOGGER is making my loyalty increasingly difficult to maintain. I believe that I need to upgrade again and cough up some bucks to get it done right. I stopped driving junk cars years ago. I ain't gonna have a junk-car blog now that I am prosperous and well-to-do.

Okay, where is that Sekimora chick everybody brags about when I need her?
If you have money, government will FIND A WAY TO TAKE IT. See, they need it more than you do, because they do SO MANY good things with it, such as paying their cronies, protecting their power, grafting a cut off the top, stuffing it down rat-holes and raking it into big piles with some dead leaves and setting it on fire. If you want to see a shining city in the sky, the perfect example of government at its best, just look to Washington, DC.

Washington DC will probably see you first, however, through the lens of law enforcement cameras mounted throughout the city. Government CARES about traffic safety in that town. Listen to D.C. Mayor Anthony A. Williams lie like a weasel:

"The cameras are about safety and revenue, and the way not to pay that tax is to not be speeding," Mr. Williams said.

The mayor's comments were a change from earlier this year, when Mr. Williams told a radio audience in February that the purpose of the traffic cameras was to "calm" dangerous streets — not generate revenue for the city... But on yesterday's "Ask the Mayor" program on WTOP Radio, Mr. Williams said looming fiscal problems forced the city to get creative in closing a potential $323 million budget deficit."


Govenment seldom is "creative" about solving real problems, but it is unbelievably imaginative at transferring your money to its coffers. If this idea works in DC, look for it coming soon to a city near you.


Any shitass attorney who sues over eighteen cents deserves a verdict such as THIS ONE. Wendy Ehringer bounced a check for $15.02 at a fast food restaurant. The delinquent bill was turned over to a collection agency, which received the $15.02, plus a $40 charge. But that wasn't enough.

""When I saw I was being sued for 18 cents, I was outraged," Ehringer said. "Then I realized they wanted an additional $311. I said, you've got to be kidding me."

No, they weren't. The extra $311.26 were for "attorney's fees." That's how much the collection agency allegedly spent chasing after that missing 18 cents in "interest" it was "owed," even though the agency sent a receipt to Ehringer showing $0.00 balance on the debt.

This story sounds like a lucrative scam practiced by a greedy collection agency that learned to take advantage of people frightened by our screwed-up legal system. It's a gold mine. Just catch some poor, ignorant schlep who bounced a check, collect the money for the check plus a fee, then put the squeeze on them for some hefty vigorish by slapping a lawsuit on their ass over 18 cents. Most people would PAY THE MONEY and consider themselves fortunate to have the lawsuit dropped.

Unfortunately for the crooks and scumbags running Associated Credit Services, they attempted to run their Jesse-Jackson type shakedown operation on a legal secretary who knew something about the law and had a few connections among lawyers, including Amanda Lee, who took the case.

"At the Monday hearing, Seattle District Court Judge Eileen Kato found that ACS' practices violated the Consumer Protection Act and the Collection Agency Act.

The 18-cent lawsuit was dismissed. The same goes for the $311 in fees.

Kato then ruled that ACS owed Ehringer $500 in damages.

The judge also said ACS should be liable for Lee's fees — which Lee says total $7,600 for 36 hours of work. A hearing on how much money ACS owes is scheduled for Monday.

"The $500 in damages might not get their attention," Lee said. "But if they have to pay attorney fees, it might."


I hope it does, too. Justice does prevail sometimes. But I have to ask one question:

How many times did they get away with this crap before somebody stood up to them?
Some people have asked why I have comments open on my page SOMETIMES when they visit, and DON'T have comments open at other times. I'll answer that question right now:

Beats the shit out of me.

YACCS behaves as strangely as Blogspot. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. I don't know why. But I've never deliberately disabled my comments (although I had a couple of meddlesome wonderful women do it by accident one night), so if you don't see them, try hitting "refresh." That usually brings them back up. Or just try again later.

Or better yet, send me an email.

Thursday, September 26, 2002

I have no idea how a DIFFERENT MARC found my blog, but I like his attitude.

I have met the pissant in the Red Car myself, and he deserves a Darwin Award.
Oh, GAWD! I just barfed perfectly good white zin all over my keyboard when I read THIS DAWN OLSEN POST.

Ross Perot was wrong. That "Giant Sucking Sound" didn't come from Mexico. It came from West Texas.
LYNN wonders why people who basically hate Israel's guts keep urging Israel to "show restraint" in dealing with suicide bombers, Yassir Arafat and the rest of the assorted crap that continually plagues that country. Lynn asks:

"What I don't understand is why it is supposedly necessary for Israel to "show restraint." Because it will piss off the Arabs? So what? They hate Israel anyway. I think it's pretty clear to everyone except a few idiotarian 1960's throwbacks that diplomacy, restraint and attempts at peaceful settlement only makes Islamists think we are weak and encourages even greater violence, while a show of strength, far from enraging them, sends them packing.

So why shouldn't Israel fight their enemies aggressively? If Israel, with U.S. backing, were to show strength instead of restraint perhaps they would gain a little respect from their neighbors. The Arabs will always hate Israel but they might be a little better behaved if they also feared Israel."


I believe that the Arabs DO fear Israel, as well they should. Every time they've attempted to drive the Jews into the sea, Israel has opened a kosher can of whup-ass and performed more than a circumcision on their armies. But what really drives the Arabs bat-shit is the fact that Israel has done something that their pathetic Islamic culture can't accomplish. Israel SUCCEEDS in building a modern country, where people (including women) have rights and people prosper through hard work and enterprise. Israel is a refutation of everything the Mullas teach to be holy. Israel's REAL crime is to live in the twenty-first century, which is a thumb in the eye to those who don't. Or won't. Or can't.

The Arabs envy Israel. That's what really drives their hatred.

Israel shows "restraint" because it is a civilized country. Were they the same sort of murderous barbarians as their enemies, Israel would settle its disputes with its neighbors by turning the desert sands to glass and sending all their enemies to Allah via a few mushroom clouds. Israel lacks the manpower and the wealth to fight a war of attrition against its enemies, but it possesses the means to destroy them outright. Israel weighs its choices and shows "restraint" because the alternative is mass-murder, and Israel will not go there, except as a last resort. As I said before, Israel is civilized.

Despite what the blame-America-first, hand-wringing, anti-war loonies say, so is the United States. But we're pissed off now, and we DO have the manpower and the wealth to fix a few really bad problems in the Middle East without turning the sand to glass, and I believe that we're about to do exactly that. If we are successful, the question of Israel's restraint may become moot very quickly. Israel may be allowed to live peacefully for the first time in its history.

Those are my thoughts, Lynn.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

Hmmm... for some reason, MOMMABEAR'S email keeps rejecting the reply I attempted to send her in response to the "WHOA! YOU'RE ON A ROLL" message she sent me. Maybe she changed her address, moved away and hopes desperately that I can never find her again after she read the SECOND RANT I penned tonight.

I believe that I fooled her into believing that I was a sweet, sensitive man. Now, she's seen MY "Dark Side."

BWHAHAHAHA!

I stole... excuse me, BORROWED this rant from THE GROUP CAPTAIN and if the person who wrote it is a dear friend of his, I hope that he will not take offense from what I am about to do. But some things just HAVE to be done, and this is one of them. Monika is dead wrong in everything she says, but she does reflect why anti-American rhetoric garners votes in German elections. If she represents the German mindset, that country is in a heap of trouble.

"Have you realized what did happen here? This american president, overestimating himself as usual, did try to interfere into german elections. Schroeder had said all the time, he didn't want a war with iraq, but Bush just started to moan about it, when the statistics for schroeders party seemed to get better again. IMO this is a real scandal. What does he think he his? Aladdin in his lamp? And what does he think we are? (just in case he can remember the name of our country) A couple of half-civilized idiots who paint themselves green when some aeroplane throws bananas at us?? Really, one could say I'm a bit angry about all this. But let me start at the beginning:"

No, let's stop right here. I don't recall Bush "interfering" in the German elections, and I GODDAM WELL KNOW that he didn't "moan" about them. Okay, maybe a few people in the White House said "Gawd!" when Schroeder showed his ass pandering with anti-American rhetoric to the lunatics and the envious to reap their votes, much like they would do if the President's dog performed and act of incontenence on the Oval Office carpet. That's not exactly a "moan." It's more like an "Aw, shit." And somebody SHOULD be throwing bananas at monkeys who think the way you do.

"In 98 Schroeder and his party (SPD - Social Democrats in Germany)won the general elections. He won because Helmut Kohl was there for 16 years and people wanted a change. They would have elected a tennisracket, if it had just "SPD" in big letters on it. In 98 we were shown films and spots from Blairs campaign. Schroeder was to be the first politician who started an american-like election campaign. It worked. Schroeder promised many things. He promised better and lower taxes, he promised to reduce the unemployment at 20%, he promised more rights and more money for families and such little things like justice, fairness and solidarity. (Blair must have been about the same in his promises, wasn't he?)"

Okay, where do I start? The people DID elect a tennis raquet. If Schroeder started an "American-like" election campaign, he patterned himself after Bill Clinton and lied his ass off to everybody. And, yeah, it worked, because he was pandering to a bunch of mush-brained idiots. What are "better" taxes, for crying out loud? If he convinced Monika that he would "reduce" 20% unemployment, he did that the day he was elected, because unemployment in Germany was "only" an outrageous 10% when the gasbag took office, and that's where it remains today. Of course, "justice, fairness and solidarity" gained by leaps and bounds, unless you happened to be Jewish.

"Schroeder started with fun and activity, but, also like you once told me about Blair: He put his fingers on everything and didn't one thing til the end."

Bill Clinton did the same thing. He had fun with White House interns and put his fingers places where presidents aren't supposed to, and he didn't one thing until the end, either. We need more leaders with those valuable qualities.

"Here it was about the same. Schroeder did some things really good: He made a law that no new nuclear power plants (is that right? I mean the kind of thing Homer Simpson works at) allowed and let the existing 30 years to run out; he made a law that allowed homosexual people to have a marriage-like ceremony (and having them benefit from rights like they were married) and many other things I really like. After 16 years of opposition everyone had to learn how to lead a country. Then Kohl, the ex-chancellor had his donations-scandal and his conservative party (CDU - christian democratics in Germany) had the worst crisis they ever had. Thy canged a lot of the leading heads. A woman now leads the party. Schroeder is confronted with the kosovo conflict and many people condemn him for going into this war."

And when you have no electricity, you can thank Schroeder for the darkness. Then, you'll moan for the US to pump you some sunshine. Schroeder is nuttier than Ralph Nader, and RALPH is nuttier than a pecan log.

"Sure - Schroeder did not reduce unemployment at 20%. How could he? First there is the global economic which is down. Then it was - clearly a real stupid thing to promise such a rubbish . There once was a wise man who said that politicians still believe the story politicians could *make* jobs. They simply can't."

Right. Stupid man, great leader. I vote for stupid again!

"At the beginning of this year the campaigns started. The parties declared their candidates. The CDU is unsure if the Woman (Angela Merkel) should do it of the Bavarian (Edmund Stoiber). Stoiber wins the internal fight and becomes candidate. He is not a member of the CDU. Stoiber is a member of the CSU which is a sister-party of the CDU. The CSU is only to find in Bavaria. There she usually has a 60something% majority. Bavaria is what many americans think all germans are - wearing Lederhosen, eating Weisswurst and having Oktoberfest. Most Bavarians are not to understand for a western german like me (living in cologne). They talk a terrible dialect and are mostly known for their "clean country" for their sepraratism and for them having a pretty well working economy - now. They do not have so many big cities, Bavaria is one of the more farmer-oriented parts of germany. Some of the jaded western people like me see the Bevarians a bit like "Rednecks", I think. Edmund Stoiber is not a guy you like from first sight. Do you remember the child in your class who was always the best, got the best marks and was teachers darling? Who never helped others at tests and that? Did you like this child? Then you see, how many germans think about Stoiber. He's about the same part of guy."

I hate to use the term "bigot" here, but if the shoe fits... As a proud Southern Redneck myself, I take severe humbrage at her pissy-ass remarks. I believe that Monika is not a woman I would like at first opening of her silly mouth.

"He stands for: Harder politics against foreigners, harder politics against people who get welfare money, back to nuclear energy, away with equal rights for homosexuals, no to abortion and his opinion about women would really be progressive - at about 1950! He wants to run after George Bush and lick the marks his boots let in the sand, some years ago he stated lots of really hard anti-european points, which he now never repeats."

How dare the man? Germany coddles foreign terrorists, has 10% unemployment because the welfare state is a gravy train, and is about to shit in it's Nazi combat helmet by pissing George Bush off. And they whore for the European Union, too. Yeah. If I were a German voter, I would run to the polls to ensure that I elected a leader to give me more of that crap.

"How did people percept both candidates: Schroeder is clearly the better showman. Cameras love him. He is cool and interviews are pretty good with him. Stoiber has problems with cameras. He starts to stutter at interviews, forgets and confuses names at talkshows, forgets even the word "Germany" at an interview. He stumbled when he entered a stage and programs showed it again and again. If the election would have been at June, Schroeder would have lost it. The big companies and all people with money expected more help from Stoiber and so made atmosphere against Schroeder. Stoiber seemed to be the man who could get the parts together and bring germany at th e (deserved) top again. But then the flood came. Stoiber couldn't cope with that, because he was unable to react only half as spontaneous as Schroeder can. Schroeder already is into the water until the hip when Stoiber just starts to think about getting a car and coming there."

"Deserved" top? BWHAHAHAHA! You country suffered a severe misfortune when Schroeder didn't go all the way under and stop blowing bubbles in the flood, Monika.

"People remembered that one reason for the flood was the neglecting of the environment of the river. They made the river "straight" to increase the flood speed. People remembered the green party and next to topics like "Employment"; "Economy" came the topic "Ecology". Stoiber simply had nobody in his competence-team who could say a clear word about "green" stuff. That was one of the things costing him votes."

No, Monika. RAIN caused the flood. LOTS AND LOTS of rain. I've never seen a politician yet who could stop a flood, no matter how good his (eco-unfriendly, toxic) hair-dye may appear to you. "Green" is the color you will have to paint yourself as you dance for bananas and HOPE an American airplane flies overhead after we bring our troops home and "yank" $20 billion from your already faltering economy.

"The other thing was his partner - the Liberal party in germay. It was clear that the CDU could only win with the Liberal Party (FDP) as little compagnion. They have one man in their leading team who likes to get press-attention with anti-semitic (anty jewish) statements. He made a flyer in which Sharon and one jewish journalist in germany were shown and kinda said this are assholes and they are it because their jewish. This did cost the FDP lost of votes."

It didn't cost them enough to lose. What's a little anti-Semitism from a "little compagnion" when you need the racist shits to win the election? You blow that disgusting behavior off the way you would wave gnats away from your potato salad. It's simply no big deal to you that the people running your country are swine.

So again the question - why did George W. Bush interfere into a democratic election? And why did he wait just until after the flood, when the chances for SPD started to get better??"

I still don't know how he interfered in the election, but I can say with confidence that George Bush CAUSED the flood. ON PURPOSE! Because he didn't sign the Koyoto Treaty. He's just a real bastard that way.

Gawd! Where do these idiots come from?
BWHAHAHAHAHAHA! The Right-Wing Texan has a DAMNED GOOD DOG by my standards.

If he only had a big picture of Tom Daschle in his yard....
Tom Daschle, Majority Leader of the U.S. Senate, pitched a royal HISSY FIT today, accusing President Bush of "politicizing" the War on Terrorism. How DARE the President do such a thing? Doesn't Bush realize that DEMOCRATS want to politicize that issue first?

Let us examine the largely incoherent ravings of the bloodless fucktard distinguished senator from the insignificant dirtpile great state of South Dakota:

"I guess right from the beginning, I felt, well, first it was pollsters, then it was White House staff, and then it was the vice president, and all along I was asked, are you concerned (Daschle is ALWAYS "concerned" or "worried" or "disturbed" by everything happening in the world. "Disturbed" is a fitting adjective for the Senator himself.) "about whether or not this war is politicized, and my answer on every occasion was yes. And then the follow-up question is, is the White House politicizing the war? And I said without question, I can't bring myself to believe that it is. I can't believe any president or any administration would politicize the war."

The horror! Injecting politics where the good of the nation is concerned!

I can't believe that a Senator who gave a lovely fuck about the country would politicize nominations to the federal judiciary, styme passage of a federal budget, demand Congressional debate over the Iraq issue and then waffle when it's offered, blow every cap off spending limits and blame a tax cut for the federal deficit and then stand up red-faced, blowing spittle from his lying lips and condemn "politics." My aching ass.

"But then I read in the paper this morning. Now, even the president. The president is quoted in The Washington Post this morning as saying that Democratic--the Democratic-controlled Senate is not interested in the security of the American people. Not interested in the security of the American people?" You're not. Well, maybe you are, but only if it benefits you politically. You're interested in regaining control of the House and expanding your majority in the Senate. "You tell Senator Inoue he is not interested in the security of the American people. You tell those who fought in Vietnam and in World War II they are not interested in the security of the American people. That is outrageous--outrageous."

No, Tom, YOU are outrageous. You are an ankle-biting, crotch-kicking, eye-poking, gutter-rat professional politician motivated by personal aggrandization and naked ego. You are a bully and a creep. Senator Inoue may have fought valliantly and sacrificed physically in WWII, but he is your piss-boy now, Tom, and you know it, and you're proud of it, too. Like a good dog, he will bark the Party Line. With the exception of MY SENATOR, Zell Miller, the Democrat mantra is, "check your opinions and your balls at the door. WE'LL tell you what to say." But that's what happens when you become "politicized."

"The president ought to apologize to Senator Inoue (President "Senator Inuoue, I'm sorry you lost your balls to Tom Daschle.")"and every veteran who fought in every war who is a Democrat in the United States Senate. He ought to apologize to the American people. That is wrong. We ought not politicize this war. We ought not to politicize the rhetoric about war in life and death."

We ought not politicize the health and well-being of this nation, but YOU do it all the time, Tommy. And you have damned nearly 100% of your party serfs marching in lockstep behind you, with one single thought in mind: It's good to be King.

"I was in Normandy just last year." (Excuse me, but... whatthefuck does THAT STATEMENT have to do with anything? I was at the Super Wal-Mart last Saturday.) "I've been in national cemeteries all over this country, and I have never seen anything but stars, the Star of David, and crosses on those markers. I have never seen Republican and Democrat." (That's because DEAD PEOPLE can't vote, you slimy political whore. Otherwise, you'd take a poll.)

"This has got to end, Mr. President. We've got get on with the business of our country. We've got to rise to a higher level. Our founding fathers would be embarrassed by what they are seeing going on right now." (Truer words were never spoken. If John Adams could crawl from the grave right now, he would strangle you with his bare, skeletal hands. You were his worst nightmare when he tried to give this nation a Constitution that was designed to thwart people exactly like you) "We've got to do better than this. Our standard of deportment ought to be better. Those who died gave their lives for better than what we are giving now." (Yes, I agree...)

"So, Mr. President, it's not too late it end this politicization. It's not too late to forget the pollsters, forget the campaign fund-raisers, forget making accusations about how interested in national security Democrats are, and let's get this job done right, let's rise to the occasion. That's what American people are expecting. And we ought to give them no less."

Translation: "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated."

How anyone can take this clown seriously is beyond my comprehension. I have a very low opinion of South Dakota voters.

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

After a very calm tropical storm season through the summer, Mother Nature has decided to show her nasty side as fall begins. Three named storms are churning in the ocean, and at least one of them has a fair chance of affecting my life.

Isadore, after meandering around the Gulf of Mexico like a drunken bag-lady, finally may stagger ashore as a hurricane near where MOMMIE JOIE lives in Louisiana. Unless Joie is foolish enough to go to the beach and watch the waves when the storm hits, she'll probably be okay, as long as she has lots of canned food, plenty of liquor, flashlights and batteries, a propane grill and a few full bottles of propane, a chainsaw and all the baggies and milk jugs of frozen water she can manage to store. And a portable radio with fresh batteries.

When Hurricane David hit Savannah in 1979, It was a pretty weak hurricane, but I was without electrical power for three days. My parents, who lived on the south side of town and possessed a BIG FREEZER full of meat, had no power for nine days. I ate well as all the steaks and roasts and ribs defrosted and my dad cooked them on a gas grill before they spoiled. There's not a lot more that you can do.

When Hurricane Opal hit the Florida panhandle in 1995, I was in a small, A-frame cabin on top of Blood Mountain in North Georgia. I happened to hear about the storm on my truck radio while I was driving back from an afternoon in a Biergarten in the pseudo-Bavarian village of Helen. The damned aftermath was coming my way, but I figured that by the time it reached north Georgia, it would be pretty well played out. I stopped and bought a couple of flashlights anyway, just to be on the safe side.

That night, about 4:00 in the morning, I awoke to what sounded like gunshots and noticed that the cabin, the rear of which stood on stilts overhanging a severe downslope, was rocking with a very strange, rhythmic motion, almost like a boat on the ocean. I was in the loft, and I heard the noise of a bunch of dwarves with hammers banging on the roof.

I went downstairs, grabbed a flashlight and started to open the sliding glass doors to the deck. That's when I noticed that the doors were BREATHING! The glass bowed in for a moment, then straightened back out. I put my palm against it, and I could FEEL it move. I opened the door and stepped outside.

HOLY SHIT!!!

Those weren't dwarves on the roof. The noise came from sticks, branches, small animals and bejus knows what else flying through the air, banging off the A-frame and rocketing off into the night parallel to the ground. The gunshot sounds were trees snapping off large limbs and breaking at their trunks. I was dry where I stood, without a roof over my head, and I saw why when I shined the flashlight straight up. EVERYTHING, INCLUDING THE RAIN, WAS GOING SIDEWAYS! I went back inside, careful not to close the sliding glass door all the way.

The tempest raged for hours, with winds in the 60-70 MPH range accompanied by tons of rain. When I heard that the storm was coming, I neglected to consider that my cabin was 3,000 feet above sea level and tropical storms have higher winds at higher elevations. Opal damned nearly blew me and my family off that mountain. At the time, Blood Mountain Cabins consisted of eight units. Three had trees fall on them and do various amounts of damage, including one that was damned near severed in two by a huge, uprooted hemlock. Those were the only cabins not occupied that night.

The electricity went out, and without that, the well pump was kaput, so none of the cabins had water. We might have stayed anyway and just roughed it, but Quinton was a mere pup of 2+ years at the time, so we decided to leave, which we did, after waiting over six hours for the road off the mountain to be open again after all the fallen trees were removed.

I have a healthy respect for high winds and incredible rainfall. That was a spooky experience.

Good luck, Joie.

The bitches sweet ladies who were fucking with improving my site last night fixed everything they screwed up were working on and got a picture of me on the page. They just couldn't resist fooling around in Photoshop and making me look MUCH OLDER than I really am.

Thanks, ladies.
I found this reference to GLOBE OF BLOGS while visiting LYNN, who has hit the Big Time and gained a place on INSTANTMAN'S blogroll. Congratulations, Lynn! I just hope, after your success, you don't get all snooty and uppity and big for your britches and belive that slumming at places like mine suddenly is beneath your dignity. It was beneath your dignity the first time you came, long before you were "discovered," and that never stopped you before.

I registered my site on GLOBE. I was surprised at the dearth of Georgia bloggers listed there. No wonder the Savannah Blog Meet-Up was cancelled for lack of participation. Outside Atlanta, there isn't much registered in Jawja. That's why I encourage DAX MONTANA and SISOFLEXX to sign up. I KNOW more than 13 people blog in this state.

Monday, September 23, 2002

This is what happens when you tell someone you want your picture at the top of your blog and tell them to go do it. I believe that trying to help someone is a thankless job and it seems that I'll be damned one way or the other no matter what I do.

Bite Me, Rob!
Da Goddess
This is what happens when you give a woman the password to your blog. She gets together with a female friend, and THEY decide that my blog template needs improvement, and without being asked by ANYBODY, they decide to "help me." So, my page is altogether fucked up, I had nothing to do with it, and I'm going to bed, because unlike some meddlesome, go-where-you-weren't- invited bitches, I HAVE TO GET UP AT 4:30 AM and I don't have time for this giggle-fest you two are having tonight.

May you both develop sexually transmitted diseases. You want to do me a favor? COME CLEAN MY BATHROOM!

Leave my fucking blog alone.
Here's the NEW and slightly improved Gut Rumbles.....courtesy of Da Goddess and Joni.
I have a real problem with any parent who BEATS UP A CHILD. If I recall correctly, I have spanked my son three times in his eight years of life. Every time, I warned him beforehand that if he didn't stop what he was doing, I was going to whup his butt. He didn't stop, so I whupped his butt, just like I promised that I would do.

I didn't beat the shit out of him. I didn't pull his hair or hit him in the face. I didn't abuse the boy.

I walked up to him and said, "What did I say I was gonna do if you didn't cut that out?"

The bottom lip started trembling ahead of time. "Spank me," he replied.

"Did you cut it out the way I asked you to?"

"Sniff...sniff...no," with tears beginning to well in his eyes.

"What happens now?"

I...I...I GET A SPANKING!" And yes, he did, knowing full well what it was for. I laid a couple of slaps on his ass, sent him to his room to contemplate the error of his ways, and forgave him immediately thereafter. He got what was coming to him, but once he paid toll to the troll, the unpleasantness was over. He's a good, smart boy, and I don't have to spank him anymore, because he knows that I WILL, and a word to the wise usually is sufficient to correct unacceptable behavior anymore.

I spanked my boy to teach him right from wrong. I spanked my boy because I want him to grow up straight and strong and SOMEBODY has to set the rules and enforce them in his young life; otherwise, he'll grow up like wild grass and have no grounding to work from when things get tough and life deals him the bad cards that come to everybody. I spanked him because I love him.

I didn't spank him because I am bigger than he is. I didn't spank him to take out my frustrations because I had a bad day. I didn't spank him just because I COULD.

The woman in the video did what I consider to be an unforgivable sin. She beat up HER OWN child, for no good reason, just because she could. She's a sick puppy.

And I feel sorry for the child.
Gawd! I just got a hit from someone Google-searching for "Houston, Texas Orgies."

I've never even BEEN to Houston. Am I missing something?
I believe that I am over that horrible funk that possessed me last week. I had a wonderful weekend with my son, and I didn't go into the usual Sunday Evening Spiral that I usually experience when he leaves. After he was gone, I smiled a lot, remembering the fun we had. I slept well last night and felt sharp and energetic at work today, except for a sore right arm from throwing too many unaccustomed long passes with a regulation football.

I wrote a humorous blog for the recuperating SULI and she was nice enough to post it today and send me a very flattering email. Thank you, darlin'!

I also worked up the nerve to write a sycophantic email to MOMMABEAR to alert that most interesting person to my presence in blogdom. I didn't get shot, either, although I DID learn about a certain love for "banging" with large caliber weapons in the nice email I received in reply. A bullet-shootin,' gun-totin' person may scare fainter hearts than mine, but I believe that an appreciation for firearms is a GOOD THING in anybody. Thank you, too, MommaB.

When I shoot beer cans with my 9mm or .45 pistols, I don't just shoot the can, I attempt to hit the top bubble on the "B" in Budweiser. I also drive 10-penny nails with a .22 rifle. My aging eyes require a scope for the latter (can't focus the goddam front and rear sights anymore without help), but I still do fairly well.

All in all, I had one of the best weekends I've had in a long time. I feel good again. I may even go to my son's soccer game tomorrow evening.

But, contrary to DJ's opinion, it won't be to reconcile with my ex-wife. I'm going to watch my son play ball. There's way too much crap between me and the ex for me to forgive or forget what she did to me. The truth is... I wish I could.

But I can't.

I have a low tolerance for absolute stupidity. I'm sorry; I just can't help it. I don't care how many people stand around and congratulate themselves, pose for the cameras and reek smug self-satisfaction for being oh-so politically correct when they do something witless. I concentrate on the witlessness and the stupidity.

Here's a PERFECT EXAMPLE of stupidity run amok and not a single person involved having the courage to say the obvious: "THIS IS STUPID!" Gawd!

When it was time to cut the ribbon on a new exhibit at Pittsburgh International Airport, there were no scissors to be found. The reason? Security.
A replica of a Tyrannosaurus rex was dedicated at the terminal Thursday, but security measures prevented officials from using scissors to cut the ribbon. They had to tear it instead.


Just think about that scene for a moment. These "officials" are dedicating a replica of one of the most fierce, flesh-eating creatures ever to roam the planet, and they can't use a pair of sissors to cut the ribbon for "security" reasons. Knowing we have "officials" with such flat-line brain waves certainly makes me feel more secure. Did it dawn in a single official head that some crazed terrorist just might shinny up the dinosaur's leg, snatch a 6" tooth from its mouth and use THAT as a weapon?

Of course not, because if they did, they would ban the replica of T-Rex from the airport for security reasons. You just can't be too careful today. You can't be too stupid, either.

I had a pair of 2" moustache-trimmer sissors confiscated from me the last time I passed through airport security. The sissors didn't do a good job of moustache trimming, and if I were determined to hijack an airplane, I would have picked a better weapon. Besides, do terrorists ever have their flight cancelled and spend their time waiting on the next plane available for hijacking in an airport bar guzzling Amber Bock beer at $6 a pop as fast as the bartender can serve them? That's what I did, and I smelled like a brewery when I showed up at Checkpoint Charlie with a big, drunken grin on my face. I may have appeared to be a risk to pass out and piss my pants on the plane, but I certainly didn't resemble a likely hijacker.

The idiots took my sissors anyway.

I didn't receive a humilating foot-search, because I was wearing sandals. I wasn't given a field-sobriety test, either, which was a good thing, because if they had asked me to throw my head back and touch my nose, I would have fallen on my ass right there in the terminal. Security forces still allowed me to board the plane. If the sky marshall kept a close eye on me during the flight, he watched me sleep all the way to Mississippi.

The article doesn't say whether anyone participating in the dedication ceremonies intended to carry the ribbon-cutting sissors in a carry-on bag onto an airplane after the dog-and-pony show was over, but I suspect everybody involved went home by car. Someone could have taken the sissors away with them, or alert security forces could have confiscated them after the ceremony was complete. They could have enjoyed a ribbon-cutting AND top-knotch security.

But, Zero Intelligence Tolerance is the order of the day, and rules are rules, no matter how stupid they are. These people make Forrest Gump appear to be a genious.



Sunday, September 22, 2002

Rumor has it that I may be a guest blogger on GET YOUR DRAWERS ON tomorrow.

I cannot think of a more fitting name for a site, considering my proclivity for blogging nekkid.
Melly might not like this, but I'm going to link to CRY LITTLE SISTER because I believe that it's worth reading. Dealing with grief and an eviscerating sense of loss is difficult. She's had a shit-storm rage around her that eclipses mine, but I understand what she says.

We are all so programmed to believe that we have to be strong. That society doesn’t allow us to be weak. We are looked upon as being strange, crazy as if we fell from our Jell-O tree if we show the littlest amount of weakness. Why do so many cultures make a big deal about burying their dead? Why do women of foreign culture whail for their dead? And we look at them as uncivilized. How much better adapt they are then we when it comes to death. From childhood they are taught about death to honor and respect it as a part of life. We as Americans are in such a hurry to put the “bad” behind us we do not even give ourselves a change to deal with the pain. Acknowledge for what it is, be open to it, respect those who are hurt by it.


I still mourn for my father, and he's been dead for ten years (on October 12th). This "move on" advice is well-intentioned and it's really the only choice you have, but you don't FORGET. You carry on, you continue with life and you do what you have to do, but you do it with an empty place in your heart that can never be filled. People who can "forget" are built differently than I am. Hell, I still have my football card collection I started when I was six years old. Souvenirs are important to me. I forget nothing.

I've never been raped in the physical sense, and years ago, I often opined that women make too big a deal out of it. I figured that getting beat up (yes, that happened to me a few times), humiliated once or twice and being generally shat upon by the poker hand of life qualified me to judge. I was mistaken.

I believed that crap before I learned that "rape" is much more psychological than physical. Physical wounds may hurt when they happen, but that's temporary pain, and the body heals itself quite well (I won't go into arthritis here, because that happens way down the road). You may have scars, but they don't hurt. Hell, they become souvenirs.

But psychic wounds never heal, not really. They remain forever. You learn to set aside the ache, deal with the pain and soldier on, but THE PAIN NEVER GOES AWAY. It's there, 24-7, fading sometimes, but always capable of suprising you when you least expect it. You'll never get rid of it; you simply learn to deal with it. That's the best you can do.

Rape does not defile a person's body. Rape defiles a person's SELF! That's a difficult assault to overcome.

I may be a "Beaver Cleaver," but that's okay with me. I would rather be raped than be a rapist. Of course, I'm the type to jump out of the bushes at night and introduce the rapist to a Louisville Slugger after the fact, but that's just me. Beating the perpetrator to a bloody pulp won't change what happened. It would make ME feel much better, but damage done remains damage done when it cannot be repaired.

I can't have my father back. Melly can't have her parents back. If people such as we are keep an empty space in our heart for what was lost, don't criticize, and don't tell us to "move on." We're moving on.

We just can't forget our souvenirs.
More snipers, cockroaches and termites are hitting my Hot or Not meter. I've dropped to a 7.9 now.

Gawd! There's just no accounting for taste in this world.
She didn't hear me enter when I came back to the cabana. Still wearing nothing but that sexy thong bathing suit we bought at the beach shop the day before, she lay stretched out on one of the chairs on the screen porch. The breeze off the ocean was cool and salty, and the screen porch was the perfect place to enjoy it. I thought that she might be asleep, so I placed the grocery bag quietly on the counter and crept through the open French doors to get a better view.

She was beautiful to behold.

The book she was reading lay face-down on the floor, open to the page where she stopped. It was a typical bodice-ripper, with a picture of Fabio tearing his shirt off while a lusty wench watched in trembling ecstacy on the cover. On the small table next to the chair, the ice was melted in her daquari. She was still wearing her sunglasses, so I couldn't be certain that her eyes were shut, but I thought they were.

I leaned over and kissed her smooth, tanned belly. She tasted of salt and suntan lotion. I kissed her belly again, and ran my tongue into the hollow of her navel. She stirred and made a cat-purr noise. I stroked her legs with my hands and worked my way down to kiss the inside of her thighs. By then, I knew she was awake, because her legs parted willingly and I could feel the heat rising in her.

"I'm back," I said. "Got any really important plans for the next hour or so?"

She removed her sunglasses and looked at me with her beautiful blue eyes, alight with that twinkle I knew so well. "Yes," she said. "My plan involves the bedroom."

"Need a nap?" I asked.

"Maybe AFTER," she replied. She took my hand and rose from the chair...

That's for all the people who are writing erotic entries on their blogs and think that I CAN'T!
Sunday Stumpers

1) Do you find yourself at a crossroads at this point in time?

I certainly do. I went through a very painful divorce, prostate cancer surgery and my 50th birthday, all within four months. I found myself alone, pretty well fucked up from the surgery and starting over in life when I should have been planning for my happy retirement. The past year has been the roughest of my life. I still don't have everything worked out in my head. Hell, I'm not at a crossroads. It's a goddam trafffic circle, and I'm having trouble getting off of it.

2) When making a decision, how much thought do you put into it?

I get paid well by my company for making snap decisions in a crisis when I have very little information to analyze, and no time to analyze it anyway. I rely on my gut instincts and my experience in those situations, and I have a pretty high batting average for being right. (If I didn't, the company would get rid of me and promote a better hitter.) I sometimes do the same thing in my personal life. "Think long, think WRONG" is my philosophy. When I bought my Crackerbox, I knew what I wanted in a house. I was still wearing a catheter and a piss-bag strapped to my leg at the time, and I wasn't physically up for a lot of house-shopping. The house had what I wanted, I saw some kids my son's age playing in the neighborhood, so I bought the house. I made a good decision, mainly just to get it over with. Some of my best-laid plans have blown up in my face.

3) Was there a single moment in time that brought everything into focus for you? What was it?

I once had regular epiphanies. After one of those, I saw everything clearly for a couple of days, then the usual fuzziness returned. I don't believe in epiphanies anymore. I have core values that I live by, and that's good enough.

4) Do the people who mean the most to you know how you feel?

I think so, but I'm not certain. I'm not a really demonstrative person. Hillbillies are fairly stoic folk when it comes to relationships, and I was raised to believe that actions speak louder than words. My son knows I love him. Mama knows I love her, too, although I don't tell her often enough. My friends know where they stand with me. But I don't ask any of them how they feel about ME, nor do I expect to be told regularly that I am loved. I take that for granted, based on their actions. I have been wrong about that, too.

5) Have I told you lately that I love you?

Probably not, unless you're my son or my mama. I once said it often to another person, meant it every time, and she still shit all over me anyway. I don't put much stock in saying, "I love you." It's too damned easy for a liar to do. Politicians will tell you that they love you when they don't. Do their words make you feel all warm and contented? See if they will get out of bed at 5:00 on a Sunday morning and bail your ass out of jail. I've DONE that and HAD IT DONE FOR ME, and the word "love" was never spoken. I just knew it. Actions speak louder than words.