Granny Mercedes Airbag

Granny hits an Mercedes with her handbag and triggers the Airbag

What the hell is wrong with you people?

Ok, so, I'm over to Orlo and Jojo's yesterday to do the giftmas thing, right? And over dinner, I start having aural hallucinations, possibly brought on by Turkey Fever (dinner was sublime, it was so damn good) or maybe Devilled Egg Syndrome. I hear not one, but two people say that Jojo's sister Zuzu is being cheated on by her (in?)significant other.

I assumed these were hallucinations because while she is pretty (blue eyes, blonde hair, tall for a girl and somewhat athletic in body shape, I mean seriously, she's a friggin hottie), smart (she's a fucking RN, RN's are by default smarter than me, and that makes them damn geniuses), and you know, happens to be the mother of his daughter, he is abrasive, physically unattractive, and somewhat of a criminal, the way he works the welfare system (He's crippled, and collects benefits by not marrying Zuzu though they've been together over a decade).

Apparently he's come to believe all of the revolting shit he's said to Zuzu over the years. I've witnessed some of his put-downs to her in the past, and chalked it up to nerves or stress, although it always made my skin crawl. I've recently learned that what I bore witness to was merely the tip of the iceberg, and apparently he's waged a one-man psy-ops campaign against her for years.

And all I can assume (assuming that is true) is that he is so insecure in his feelings for her, and his own self-worth, that he needs to tear her down so she won't 'realize she's too good for him' and leave. Something that wouldn't have happened for a reason that wouldn't have been true, if he hadn't torn her down.

I had a great deal of respect for him in the past. He has worked and struggled all his life against odds I've never faced, (I can use my legs, my hands work pretty good too.) and seemed to do well enough. But if what people say is true, and he respects himself so little that he has to degrade the mother of his child to make her think he's 'all she deserves', and, you know, really isn't supporting himself, given the whole 'working the system' thing... Well, if he has so little respect for himself that all that is true, and now he's straying, why should I respect him again?

I don't know how much of this is true, but it comes from people that have always been straight with me, and is corroborated by my own observations from the past. Right now it's a damningly credible rumor. If I were a judge, I'd sign a search warrant based on this.

If I were him, I'd watch my ass.

Edit: forgot to add the 'important' part.

'Men' (and I use the term loosely) WTF? What is your damage? Are you all this stupid? Are you never satisfied? Is anything ever enough?

Dr. Nate prescribes the following:

You will burn a CD-ROM with the following songs (or load them into your MP3 player): Simple Man, Don't Need It All (the Seger tune, Beautiful Loser may also be the title), and listen to them while you sleep. You will have another CD with 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction' on it. During your waking hours, this song will play every five minutes, and send electric shocks to your genitals on the choruses, and anytime that you hum or sing along, or tap your feet. Do this for the next 85 years. Then die childless. I'll raise the next generation to treat women with the respect and LOYALTY they deserve.


Addendum--
I'd like to note for the record that I have been cheated on myself, and I've seen men get cheated on by their women, and in every single case I've witnessed it was always the same. Things went sour in the relationship for whatever reason, and the women basically started their next relationship before ending the first one. In my own case I'm assuming that 'went sour' refers to me wising up and 'running out of money to "loan" '. Apparently there's a large sub-strain of women who belive that being in a relationship is more important than being true to the one they're in. I'll let one of you prescribe a treatment for your own...

So this is x-mas

Morning sleepyheads! (And shame on you if you read this before like, 10am!! Why aren't you doing the family thing?!?)

I, of course, am at work (but don't feel too sorry for me, I'm getting about $35 and hour for being here, today AND tomorrow), so it's kind of a 'meh' day for me. Possibly even a 'feh', day, but that may be a tad excessive. Right now I'm seeing a very pretty sunrise over the 'Alcoholic Chamber' (our nickname for the high noise testing lab on campus (the Anechoic Chamber)), and am one of the very few people on campus.

After work I'm heading over to Orlo and Jojo's for a few hours, and then back home. I might like x-mas more if I didn't have to work every damn one of them, and got to enjoy spending a day with friends or family instead of drudging away at work (for any amount of money). I have very few x-mas memories to speak of. Seems like the few I do have all revolve around Orlo and Jojo too.

They're pretty much my best friends. I've known Orlo since he was Little Orlo, a mere lad of 11 summers. He, his older brother OG!!, and their friends Log, Mugg, Grog, Tonga, and a few other non-tribal types used to hang out at my place and play RPGs back when I worked at the shitty cable trap company I used to work for. That was when the Tribe formed, actually. Jojo I've known since she was just betty( the Tribe's name for any non-tribal random woman (though she was an older girl-child actually)), whom Orlo fleashed one day lo these many years ago at the shitty cable trap company.

(I'd like to pause and marvel at the fact that I have created such a useful word as 'fleashed'. Talk about serendopity!!)

(Ugh, my coffee's gone cold.)

I've been there through their whole relationship. Been a sounding board, shoulder to cry on, sympathetic ear, to both of them for as long as they've been around. I've been lucky enough to have the perspective of being a friend to both, and knowing both of them well enough to know how good they are for each other, and being close enough to help them through the rough spots when they had fear and doubt. I've heard that fear and doubt, when it came, from both sides, and been able to communicate it without saying it directly to the other, to let them both see past it and keep hold of the reasons for loving each other, without betraying their trust. That's a gift I'd been given by a much greater power than myself, and it's been a pleasure to use that gift to help them both.

I couldn't have asked for a better present, but they found one anyway. They're married now, and have Lojo. The 'little sister I never had' and my best friend. I'm an uncle. All I need now is about 8-12 more hours in a day, and 3-4 more days in the week, and a few billion dollars, so I can properly spoil my nephew and any others, or nieces, that come along.

Kieth Olbermann is my new hero

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmtwbOh_oYM

Should his body ever be found after he is disappearend and executed in secret by the polistazi of this nation, I hope it is enshrined with or near the body of the First American, Benjamin Franklin, because two such kindred spirits would find great solace in each other's company.

Ok, so, I'm damn funny.

http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19979987&postID=116673116007966423&isPopup=true

Read it and spray milk out yer nostrils.

Shooting Stars

"Nafli!! Wake up!!" Small hands shook her roughly. Groaning, Nafli fought her way out of heavy sleep, and blinked in the glare of the small desk lamp Nala had switched on.

"What? What is it?! Another injury?" Nala pulled her upright, and Nafli realized her sister was not excited in a bad way, but in a good one.

"No, something wonderful!! They survived!!" Nafli could see that her sister was grinning. It looked so out of place, she felt a rising surge of panic. Had she gone mad from the heat?

"Who survived?" she asked cautiously.

"The ark-builders! They survived!!"

Nafli shook her head. "That's impossible. The flare-"

"It didn't hit them!! They've had the ship in the deepest part of Earth's shadow, the umbra, since construction began! Everyone assumed they were destroyed because the satellites all were! They sent a signal to New Washington an hour ago, and word has spread through the radio nets and just reached us a few minutes ago! Everyone's celebrating!! Get up you silly girl!! Get up and dance with me!!" Nala kissed her on the forehead, and turned to pick up the sari Nafli had tossed on her dresser. She turned and started draging Nafli out of bed while simultaneously trying to dress her.

"All right, all right, I'm coming! But not in that! It's filthy! Go on and I'll follow."

Nala stuck her tongue out at her, and both shared a laugh. Nala turned to the door, and over her shoulder said: "You know Roger is sure to be there. Do you want to borrow some jewelry, and clothes?"

She rolled her eyes, "Out, you!!" 'And yet...' "Wait, maybe..."

Grinning, Nala paused, her left hand on the doorframe, and a satisfied smile on her face. She had been throwing Roger, the dapper American engineer-turned-hydroponics-genius who led the effort to feed the community, at her sister for two months now without apparent success. She'd been puzzled at Nafli's reluctance, but this hesitation brought the suspicion home. Like so many others, her little sister had seen no point to living for a future that wouldn't exist. Satisfied that she'd been right all along, she waited for a question she already knew every word of. "Maybe the locket?", she slyly suggested. Nafli nodded, eagerly. "Does that mean you want to raid my closet for something properly slutty to expose it lying between your boobs in?" Nala flinched, expecting a pillow.

Nafli grinned, almost fiercely. No pillow came forth. "Yes. Yes I think I will." And she laughed at the expression on her sister's face. "Don't look so surprised, eldest sister. Do you really think the rest of us learned nothing from your conquest? The Purinji sisters are not going to end up spinsters visiting the sperm banks to do our 'reproductive duty to the race'. What few men are around are going to us first, the rest can have what we leave them. And Roger is...a very good choice."

Nala blushed, but only a little. Of the 750-odd residents of New Kal Kuta, over 500 were women of childbearing age. That had made for some savage competition concerning the available marriagable men. Nala had set her sights on Baram Djimittisva, easily the best-looking, richest, most well-educated (an honest-to-goodness surgeon, no less), and well-regarded young man in the settlement. And she'd pulled up every stop to do it. He'd gone native, adopting Western dress, so she had too, with a vengeance. Plenty of Western clothing had been salvaged from stores, homes, and the like, and much of it sat unwanted in the storage buildings by people more interested in protection from the sun than fashion sense. So she'd gone 'shopping', and amassed what amounted to the best 'ho' wardrobe anyone could imagine.

The talking had started immediately, but when Baram noticed her, all bets were off. They'd had a whirlwind courtship, only four months (Baram hadn't gone THAT native!) and had wedded three weeks ago. A lot of other girls had gone 'shopping' since then, but Nala had made it known to her sisters that she may have been a little 'overzealous' in her collection, and acquired items better sized to them than her. Three of the four sisters old enough to date had found ways to thank her, as man after man fell to the huntresses of the Purinji 'tribe'... all but Nafli. But now, thanks to the likely mostly dead geniuses at NASA picking a shady spot to build the 'ark', perhaps Nafli too would 'take down a buck'. She smirked at the idiom. The local video store's contents had been mostly intact, and apparently the former residents of Baffin Island had strongly favored rustic themed movies. The whole community of mostly Indian and Bangladeshi expatriates was rapidly becoming full-on rednecks, much to the amusement of the few orginial inhabitants who remained.

Nafli got up, shrugged out of her nightshirt, and into a robe. Nala mentally congratulated herself on finding the push-up bras. Everyone was getting thinner on the short rations, and such an advantage as these silly things conferred was a welcome one. She stepped aside for Nafli, and walked to her own room, now shared with Baram until the digging of their new home was finished. She loved her family, but couldn't wait for the move, it would be the official stamp of womanhood. She chuckled, 'Maybe I haven't gone that native!', she thought. She strode to the now-infamous closet, and swung the doors open. Being the eldest sister had definitely had its perks, especially when her father was head of the building crews. The walk-in closet he had had made for her in exchange for various favors to the workers who'd done it was a magnificent birthday present in a world where cramped lack of prviacy had become the norm.

And she had stuffed it with an arsenal of 'Western femininity': tight-fitting bluejeans, low-cut, midriff-baring blouses, shoes beyond number (though a few more wouldn't hurt, she noted, frowning slightly as she always did when inspecting her shoe supply), and of course, the 'silks'. They weren't really silk, not most of them, but they felt just as good, and when she considered the effect they had on men, she knew they were far more valuable.

The closet alone marked her as a wealthy woman. What was in it made her wealth obscene. 'Nafli was right, the other women would get what was left behind by the Purinji sisters. Men were so easy to control, just push the right buttons, and they do whatever you want them to. Baram had been a self-styled playboy, using his own assets to keep many women interested. He'd never stood a chance.'

"Good thing too. I'd hate to have seen some other guy get you. Was I really that easy to get?"

Nala jumped and shrieked softly. A warm hand touched her left shoulder in time with the words. She turned to see Bar-bar standing there, grinning.

"Was I doing it again?!" she put her hands over her treacherous mouth. Sometimes she thought she must have the damned Tourette's Syndrome. Her thoughts would just spill out of her mouth unbidden. Thankfully it was mostly when she was alone, and someone would walk in on it and only get a little. "How much did you hear?" She blushed, furiously this time.

"Yes, my love, you were. I heard only enough to make me certain that we are absolutely perfect for each other." He leaned in conspiratorially, "To be honest, you've pretty much always done it, at least always around me. Maybe I push the right buttons on you? Like this one, maybe?" He pushed a button.

"Mmm-aybeee. Aah, stop it you wicked man!! My sister will be here-"

"In about fifteen minutes, if she's really your sister, and really headed for the showers. Plenty of time for a short celebration of our own. If we get lucky enough, we can name the baby Nafli or Roger to celebrate. It is Roger, isn't it?" Bar hadn't stopped what he'd been doing, and appeared to be done talking, because he'd begun kissing her, and damned if he wasn't good at that too.

Nala nodded, gasping slightly. The next few minutes passed very pleasantly indeed... and then they both went to the shower room together to share a stall. She told Nafli to go help herself when they met in the anteroom, and realised that the giggle she'd stifled must've been inspired by her salacious husband when she winked (apparently back) at him.

"Don't fool around too much in the shower or you'll miss the party!", Nafli chided, expertly ducking the towel Nala lobbed at her. "See you soon!", she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Shooting Star

So, I've been working on this, and I think it's ok now. It's not the first end-of-the-world fic I've written, but it seems better than the previous one, so that's good. And since it's tucked on page two where no one will see it, I'm moving it up front by reposting it...

Sometime in the Near Now?


Nafli bowed her head and wept silently as another bright line drew itself across the uncomfortably bright night sky. She was almost surprised that she still had tears left to shed. Then again, mourning was the new Thing To Do. Not much else held any meaning. Hope itself was being mourned by a people who had lost everything but hope previously. And, as always, there was no time for it. A shadow fell across her blurred vision. Mehti Sanjuraasvadi, her brother's wife's uncle, was hobbling toward her. She could see he was suffering from overexposure.

She still remembered the proud American president, the Democrat that the world had rejoiced America's choice of in 2008, standing with nervous hands, papers rattling in their trembling grasp, as he read from a prepared statement, made by the amazing NASA scientists. It had been fifteen years ago, almost to the day, but she, like everyone else who'd been a schoolchild that day, and all those who followed them, had learned it and memorized it. Even now, years after America was little but a memory and a few scattered people.

"Brothers and sisters of the human race, I come before you here in the United Nations to speak about something that threatens us all. I do not speak of terror used as a political tool, as my predecessor did. I speak of something far worse, something that cares not for our politics, our race, our differences of religion. Something that will kill us all without mercy, without remorse, and that we cannot ignore.

Scientists at NASA, and others whom they have consulted with around the globe, have proven conclusively that the sun's energy output is increasing, and that if it does not stop or reverse this trend soon, the entire earth will become uninhabitable, and we will all die. Their data is being delivered by couriers to institutes of higher learning around the globe as I speak, so you may verify our findings for yourselves. Our scientists' best estimate for total extermination of human life is thiry-seven years, assuming catastrophic die-outs and mass-migrations.

As of right now, I am issuing a moratorium to all auto manufacturers that forbids the production of any vehicle that cannot meet emission standards set by the Kyoto Treaty. Further, all American energy plants have been instructed to meets these emission standards in one month or shut down until they can. Martial law will be declared anywhere in the United States where civil or other unrest results from this. A new department of the EPA, the Emissions Control Board, has been given police powers, access to National Guard units, and full authority to enforce these standards.

Our entire industry is going to be re-directed to combatting this threat in a two-pronged attack. Firstly, our astronauts will be erecting and expanding a vast Mylar shield between the earth and the sun to reduce the amount of energy reaching earth. This shield will be neccessarily fragile, and therefore can only be considered a temporary solution. The second part of the plan is construction of an 'ark', of sorts, to carry an as-yet-undetermined number of selected colonists to Cygni 66, where the Hubble telescope has detected a moon that may well be habitable orbiting a gas giant there.

While I cannot tell you how many or who will be allowed to go, I can tell you for certain that anyone who interferes with either mission will be considered at war with us, and dealt with as expediently as possible. Since a 'nuclear winter' can only help us in the short-term, which appears to be all we have left, we will begin with nuclear weapons, and then throw in anything else we need to finish the job, should it become neccessary. That is the only warning this government shall issue in the matter.

God save us all."

Any thought of the president's words being a bluff evaporated two day later, along with Riyadh, Beijing, Tehran, Pyongyang, and Moscow. The Russian's missiles apparently had fallen into disrepair after so long without maintenance, and of the dozen China sent at America, only the one aimed at Denver, Colorado had gotten through the Americans suprisingly effective missile shield. The American counter-strike reduced China's population to a point where their oil consumption would never again be a thing to worry about. And the world realized that the Americans were not joking. The French carrier group in the Red Sea was vaporized a day later, and the French sabre stopped rattling entirely.

The world was a much darker place now, demographically speaking. It just wasn't a safe planet, in 2028, to be white on anymore, and it was getting worse. Even with petroleum usage at an all-time low, now that supplying it was so difficult and dangerous, the temperature just kept going up. Of course, now that the sun's output was so harsh, only the most deeply pigmented people could withstand it long in the former 'temperate' zones, and even in the sub-polar regions, it wasn't safe to go out with a thick coating of aloe extract.

Her nose wrinkled at the all-too familiar smell, as she brought it to mind. The plants were grown everywhere now, so critical they were to survival, even more important than food, and used as such after the aloe was extracted. Thin, bitter soup, flavored with anything and everything. Crops were grown under roofs now, with panels of anything that would stop the worst of the sun's rays protecting them from scorching death. She missed rice most of all, but it had gone nearly extinct as the conditions needed for it to grown in vanished from nature, and the hydroponically grown stuff was so expensive now that she'd have to work for a year to save the credits for one meal of it just for herself.

It wasn't resentment that made the world an unsafe place for whites, though to be sure there was plenty of that to be had, even though when all was said and done, their profligate waste of oil had ended up not mattering. It was their failure, their vulnerability, worse, the exposed lie of their invulnerability, that rankled. The American wizards of technology, inventors and doers, in all the movies, they saved the world.

Her family had sailed on a cargo vessel to Canada from Kol Kata, along with hundreds of others, to claim lands owned by the dead: dead and dessicated. That was, perhaps, the oddest thing about the whole surreal journey to Baffin Island. She had expected a reek of death when they reached America, but there was only a lingering pall of smoke. Occasionally a body would be found, caked to the bottom of a tub, in a bathroom littered with now dried and dead fungi, but even then, in the best possible conditions, hardly ever even a lingering scent. 'Just a faint mustiness', she remembered Nala telling her, the time her oldest sister had found a body once.

The vast cyclonic storms that earlier in the century had been called hurricanes, and had grown out of scope or imagining, had wrought devastation in waves upon the shores of every continent, and toppled skyscrapers hundreds of miles inland. But then, with the seas nearly choked to impassibility by a new strain of algae that was somehow resisting the sun's stronger rays, and worse, trapping the water beneath it, the moisture that drove those storms dissapeared. In the wake of the storms, deserts began to spread almost overday. Desert encroachments once measures in miles per year were now measured in miles per week. The entire ecosystem was collapsing.

She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts, and turned back to her duties. "Perhaps", the new 'American' president had said, "we can build another one in time." She examined Mehti's burns. They were bad enough, without being too bad. She nodded, and he shot her a grateful look, and hobbled to the entrance to the underground warren of hastily-dug rooms that sheltered the 750 people under her care. She frowned at his retreating back. They'd been slightly over subsistence until recently, able to contribute to the Great Plans the Americans had started. Now, with morale devastated, accidents, overexposures, and suicides had reduced them to below subsistence. She had mentioned this to her superiors, and inquired about any forthcoming assistance from Central. Their looks had said enough. Attrition would have to balance their ledgers.

Another line of fire crossed the sky from the terminator, ending almost halfway across the sky. This time, she murmured a short prayer from the Bhodisaatva, as she watched. She wondered from which group came this one. Had he been constructing the solar shield, or the colony/escape ship? Both had been destroyed by the huge flare that had so recently killed hope. Reports were that it had set much of Eurasia ablaze. Those were rather spotty now, as the flare had wiped out most of the satellites as well.

So... I got home from work last night, and there was a little brown box on my doorstep. It was the right size and shape to be a bunch of DVDs, and I started fretting that maybe someone had used my credit card to order a bunch of GGW porn, so it was with some hesitation anticipation that I reached down and turned it over to see the return address.

It was not from GGW. After the initial disappointment wore off, I noted it WAS from Highlander and Super-Fiancee. It was, it must be, it could ONLY be, the legendary Mystery Gift of Epic Coolness hinted at in their blogs!

So I tore that bad boy open lickety-split (and now in addition to thanking them for their most excellent gift, I also need to thank them for affording me the opportunity to say lickety-split) and found within, a t-shirt. Not just ANY t-shirt mind you, THIS t-shirt was in one of my favorite colors, green, AND embossed with the logo of a furniture store featuring unfinished furniture named, apprpriately enough (since the store is located in Arizona) Unpainted Arizona.

Damn right!! The cool points on this gift not only topped me off, they spilled over and made a mess on the ground.

While those of you who get it chuckle and nod, the rest of you can go Google 'Raising Arizona' and figure it out. The internet is being a saucy little bitch at the moment and haughtily refusing to allow me to hotlink anything, so I hates it.

But we all know I'll be back...

Things and Stuff

Bear with me, not sure where I'm going, but it might be a fun trip. Or not. Run!!

So, lately it's been exceptionally blah for me. Working 3p-11p Tues-Fri REALLY puts a wet blanket on one's social life, let me tell you. Especially when you work Monday 7a-3p, so you only get a stunted pseudo-weekend instead of the real thing. I've said more to my goldfish (which despite all my inadequacies as a caregiver is still stubbornly clinging to life in a bowl on my kitchen table) in a purely social setting than I have to any humans this week. #2 on that list is my potted plant.

Yeah. So I got that going for me, which is kinda sad and pathetic.

For those carrying a morbid fascination about it, my diabetes management is in some kind of limbo. All of my prescriptions were not being renewed, apparently I missed a doctor's appointment. So I went in to see him, and he didn't renew any of them, so, I guess, I got better? I heard that shit was like luggage and never went away, but maybe I'm special. Or maybe his diagnosis was incorrect, and I'm no longer symptomatic, who knows?

So, a co-worker came in and shot the shit for a few, and we got onto the topic of frivolous litigation, so now I have a direction to point this barge in...

Locally, a motorcyclist just got fifteen years for his part in a fatal crash of a state trooper, who was attempting to chase him (the cyclist on a motorcycle, mind you) in an SUV. Let me repeat that for emphasis: a state trooper driving an SUV died in a wreck while chasing a guy on a motorcycle. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Let's give that cop a Darwin Award!'. Uh-uh, sorry, too late for that, he'd already bred and had a kid or two. The gene pool is already polluted with his stupidity. So we're down one on the scorecard already. The speeding motorist is now starting a ridiculously unjust fifteen year sentence for speeding. So we're down 0-2. Now, to my knowledge, it hasn't happened yet, but it's only a matter of time before this disqualified Darwin winner's wife sues the city, county, and state for a fat stack of long green (or negotiates a settlement). And she'll win, widows with children whose husbands died in the line of duty stupidity are nothing if not sympathetic for juries to see. So the final score will be 0-3, humanity losing to stupidity yet again.

Look, I'm all for law and order. I like 'tha police', they keep the bad people from taking my shit and killing me. But they're as human, and therefore as prone to stupidity, as you or I are. The cop was stupid to give chase. He had a radio. Motorcycles are fast, yes, but I've yet to hear of one that can outrun a radio. The motorcyclist did not kill him; his own sense of self-importance did. The laws of physics did. I have to assume that the only reason the motorcyclist was 'caught' at all is because he turned back after the crash or turned himself in. Either of those two actions is all he needed to do to absolve himself of any wrongdoing in the cop's death. At most, he deserved a speeding ticket. Fifteen years is an obscenity.

So I guess I need to add that cop's name to the list of graves I need to defile. Once I get around to starting that list. That ought to make for some interesting reading. They say the best revenge is living well, or at least outliving your enemies, or perhaps they say both (seems to me that 'they' talk a lot of shit, and some of it is hopelessly self-contradictory too). For me the best revenge is taking a long ripe shit on your enemies' tombstones. Too bad I've not yet had the opportunity to do so. My enemies keep breathing, curse their lungs.

Oh well, moving right along...

Peter Boyle died yesterday. That sucks immense horse-monkey dong. The litany of dead famous people that I liked is getting depressingly long, while the list of famous dead people I never liked remains depressingly short. Well-conditioned, perfectly healthy Phil Hartman is dead (shot by his loony bitch-whore wife), and Michael Moore hasn't keeled over from heart disease yet. Peter Boyle dies of fucking cancer, and Bon Jovi is doing fucking TV now, because stinking up an entire decade of pop music wasn't enough. Lucille Ball, Patsy Cline, Janice Joplin, Fred Gwynne, John Lennon, George Harrisson, Rodney FUCKING Dangerfield... all dead. Courtney Love, Britney Spears, Tommy Lee, Oprah Winfrey, Star Harris, all the damned Hollywood Scientologists, OJ Simpson, and Ted 'Touch of Death' McGinley... all still kicking.

I've said it before, I'll say it now, I'm sure to reiterate it in the future: there is no gravity, this planet just sucks.

I'm having flashback from this Friday...

... and unlike at The Oral Report it's not a good thing when I do it.

It all began in Reno... no, wait, that's something else, something far, far better.

It all began on Wednesday, when I got sick enough of having my internet connection drop out for no reason for 15-30 minutes at a time to call tech support. I jumped through their hoops, and the CSR determined that I should replace my aging cable modem. Fine, I vowed, 'I'll do that...on Friday.' Five words that would trigger a personal apocalypse.

Thursday went by. MY internet connection was flaky, but hope loomed on the horizon. Tomorrow was Friday. Friday I had off this week, to attend a holiday party thrown by my brother Lions. I was looking forward to it, and since I had some party-related errands to run, left the house at 2:30 to head for the cable company's local office, armed with directions from a CSR (I'll just call him Beelzebub later, for clarity's sake) I called earlier in the day.

That conversation I found a tad frustrating. Had I but known then what I was dealing with, the whole rest of the day might have gone differently. For all I know the entire course of my life has been forever altered by that day. I called for one simple thing: directions to the nearest cable office, as I knew the one I had been aware of had first moved and then been closed. So Beelzebub takes my call, and proceeds to get sufficient information to process my rather simple request. I was savvy enough to head off further attempts to 'troubleshoot' my issue. Modems can't be replaced over the phone. I know that, and I didn't even need to get certified to learn it. So he looks up the nearest office in his little database, and offers to provide me with MapQuest directions to get there. Which was nice.

But I've used MQ before, and I know that sometimes their names for roads aren't the names the locals use, so I asked him to just give me the address, and I'd do the MQ myself. 'Oh, noooo', he pleaded, 'I can tell you the directions, they're very easy!'

Fool me, I let him talk me out of doing my own MQ. And his father (you know, Satan?) laughed.

I get to the first 'complicated part of the directions, getting off the highway, and onto side roads. And it turns out (I find out hours later) that he told me to go the wrong way. Left instead of right. So I proceeded to wander fruitlessly on side roads for TWO DAMN HOURS, because I HAD to have that new modem, because I REFUSE to live without broadband.

Finally, it is 4:30pm, and Beelzebub had already cheerfully informed me that their office closed at 5pm sharp, so I knew the situation was getting desperate. So, I did it.

I admitted to myself that I was lost.

I pulled into a gas station.

I left my vehicle.

I went inside.

I...

(oh the shame of it!)

...I asked for directions.

From a woman.

And that is when I found out that I was in the wrong city.

I managed not to stroke out, and retreated to my car, muttering death threats against CSR#2, and his family. And then I proceeded to turn the air inside my car a deep shade of blue. It was now 4:55pm, I had no chance of restoring my internet tonight, and in one hour I would be expected to be your typical Falstaffian 'jolly fat guy' at the party.

So I drove into town, went to a drug store to get an appropriate gag gift for our bizarre traditional gift exchange, which is hard to describe, but always a hoot. Present secured, I then went across the parking lot to a novelty burger shop where they make burgers out of strange animals like ostriches (frickin' DELICIOUS, tastes like beef, chews like turkey, less cholesterol and fat than anything that doesn't have roots), buffaloes, and thankfully, because I wanted to be at least partially responsible for the death of something beautiful or majestic, elk.

It may have just been my mind, but that elk tasted like CSR#2's blood, and the blood of his children, to me. I savored every morsel. Then, partially restored to good spirits by an offering of blood, I set out to do my social duty.

And realized, after coming up to the host's former address, that he had moved during the year, and I no longer knew his new address. Looking down at the passenger seat, I saw that I also did not have my address book handy.

So, you know, I didn't go to the party. My upstairs neighbor managed to get me to watch a comedy DVD up a stand-up comic ventriloquist (the one who works with Walter the old fart, the Mexican guy on a stick, and the crazy monkey puppet), and that settle my hash a LITTLE, but I still needed to wash down that hate-death-murder-kill-kill-kill impulse with a lotta alcohol.

Not exactly a banner day off for me.

There is a happy ending though. With a few stiff shots in me, I called the cable company that night, and informed the that they would be dropping off my new modem Saturday morning. Which they did. Maybe it was something in my tone of voice...

The rest of the weekend went ok.

A gift for Your Girl Friday

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/pigeons

Enjoy my dear!! Someday that couple will be us, I just know it!!

'Tis the Season!!

Ah, the holiday shopping season. That time of year when, supposedly to honor Jesus Christ's birth (and yeah, let's not even bother getting into what an altogether truly offensive idea that is, mm-kay?), we fight and snarl amongst each other like ravening dogs fighting over meat scraps to spend money we don't have on things we don't need to buy each others' affections for another year.

To honor Christ we:

Lie to each other about why we need that particular toy.

Protect our cars from car thieves while we shop.

Brawl over crockpots while we snap up PS3's to re-auction for a healthy 700% markup to people who give their children money and toys in lieu of love.

Wait in line with fistsful of cash for PS3's, and soon we'll be packing heat when we do, thanks to inspiration from supportive goons like these.

In direct contravention to Scripture (Jeremiah, Chapter10, verses 1-5), we'll put up and decorate a Christmas tree.

To help us 'honor Christ', who threw the moneylenders out of his Father's temples, the credit card companies are 'helping' us pay for all our holiday shopping. Wasn't there some sort of old saying about history, and learning... something?

Whatever. Knock yerselves out. No, no, not whatever. It's about time I shared the other space in my tinfoil hat with you, Dear Reader. My TFH is not for 'shielding my brain from alien thought control', nor even from 'black ops government mind alteration'. No, it's for their master. Not the aliens, those are fake, just like pro wrestling. No, I'm speaking of the governments' master, Satan.

Me saying, 'Whatever.' is basically just turning a blind eye as Satan goes on about his business. Me not saying anything is spiritual cowardice. Me not standing up and numbering myself among the faithful is the same as when Peter thrice denied Christ. Time to grow a spine. I am a Christian. These things that people do in Christ's name do not please him, and they do not honor his Father, who made all. I am not ashamed of my faith, and I will not be silent.

There's a lot of yapping going on in the media about how a certain group has 'hijacked' a certain religion. Maybe it's time soneone started up some 'yapping' about a real religious hijacking. Christianity has been almost totally suborned by the worldwide cult of materialism headed by Satan. Almost.

Read God's Word the Bible daily. And the truth shall set you free.

Shooting Star

So, I've been working on this, and I think it's ok now. It's not the first end-of-the-world fic I've written, but it seems better than the previous one, so that's good.

Sometime in the Near Now?


Nafli bowed her head and wept silently as another bright line drew itself across the uncomfortably bright night sky. She was almost surprised that she still had tears left to shed. Then again, mourning was the new Thing To Do. Not much else held any meaning. Hope itself was being mourned by a people who had lost everything but hope previously. And, as always, there was no time for it. A shadow fell across her blurred vision. Mehti Sanjuraasvadi, her brother's wife's uncle, was hobbling toward her. She could see he was suffering from overexposure.

She still remembered the proud American president, the Democrat that the world had rejoiced America's choice of in 2008, standing with nervous hands, papers rattling in their trembling grasp, as he read from a prepared statement, made by the amazing NASA scientists. It had been fifteen years ago, almost to the day, but she, like everyone else who'd been a schoolchild that day, and all those who followed them, had learned it and memorized it. Even now, years after America was little but a memory and a few scattered people.

"Brothers and sisters of the human race, I come before you here in the United Nations to speak about something that threatens us all. I do not speak of terror used as a political tool, as my predecessor did. I speak of something far worse, something that cares not for our politics, our race, our differences of religion. Something that will kill us all without mercy, without remorse, and that we cannot ignore.

Scientists at NASA, and others whom they have consulted with around the globe, have proven conclusively that the sun's energy output is increasing, and that if it does not stop or reverse this trend soon, the entire earth will become uninhabitable, and we will all die. Their data is being delivered by couriers to institutes of higher learning around the globe as I speak, so you may verify our findings for yourselves. Our scientists' best estimate for total extermination of human life is thiry-seven years, assuming catastrophic die-outs and mass-migrations.

As of right now, I am issuing a moratorium to all auto manufacturers that forbids the production of any vehicle that cannot meet emission standards set by the Kyoto Treaty. Further, all American energy plants have been instructed to meets these emission standards in one month or shut down until they can. Martial law will be declared anywhere in the United States where civil or other unrest results from this. A new department of the EPA, the Emissions Control Board, has been given police powers, access to National Guard units, and full authority to enforce these standards.

Our entire industry is going to be re-directed to combatting this threat in a two-pronged attack. Firstly, our astronauts will be erecting and expanding a vast Mylar shield between the earth and the sun to reduce the amount of energy reaching earth. This shield will be neccessarily fragile, and therefore can only be considered a temporary solution. The second part of the plan is construction of an 'ark', of sorts, to carry an as-yet-undetermined number of selected colonists to Cygni 66, where the Hubble telescope has detected a moon that may well be habitable orbiting a gas giant there.

While I cannot tell you how many or who will be allowed to go, I can tell you for certain that anyone who interferes with either mission will be considered at war with us, and dealt with as expediently as possible. Since a 'nuclear winter' can only help us in the short-term, which appears to be all we have left, we will begin with nuclear weapons, and then throw in anything else we need to finish the job, should it become neccessary. That is the only warning this government shall issue in the matter.

God save us all."

Any thought of the president's words being a bluff evaporated two day later, along with Riyadh, Beijing, Tehran, Pyongyang, and Moscow. The Russian's missiles apparently had fallen into disrepair after so long without maintenance, and of the dozen China sent at America, only the one aimed at Denver, Colorado had gotten through the Americans suprisingly effective missile shield. The American counter-strike reduced China's population to a point where their oil consumption would never again be a thing to worry about. And the world realized that the Americans were not joking. The French carrier group in the Red Sea was vaporized a day later, and the French sabre stopped rattling entirely.

The world was a much darker place now, demographically speaking. It just wasn't a safe planet, in 2028, to be white on anymore, and it was getting worse. Even with petroleum usage at an all-time low, now that supplying it was so difficult and dangerous, the temperature just kept going up. Of course, now that the sun's output was so harsh, only the most deeply pigmented people could withstand it long in the former 'temperate' zones, and even in the sub-polar regions, it wasn't safe to go out with a thick coating of aloe extract.

Her nose wrinkled at the all-too familiar smell, as she brought it to mind. The plants were grown everywhere now, so critical they were to survival, even more important than food, and used as such after the aloe was extracted. Thin, bitter soup, flavored with anything and everything. Crops were grown under roofs now, with panels of anything that would stop the worst of the sun's rays protecting them from scorching death. She missed rice most of all, but it had gone nearly extinct as the conditions needed for it to grown in vanished from nature, and the hydroponically grown stuff was so expensive now that she'd have to work for a year to save the credits for one meal of it just for herself.

It wasn't resentment that made the world an unsafe place for whites, though to be sure there was plenty of that to be had, even though when all was said and done, their profligate waste of oil had ended up not mattering. It was their failure, their vulnerability, worse, the exposed lie of their invulnerability, that rankled. The American wizards of technology, inventors and doers, in all the movies, they saved the world.

Her family had sailed on a cargo vessel to Canada from Kol Kata, along with hundreds of others, to claim lands owned by the dead: dead and dessicated. That was, perhaps, the oddest thing about the whole surreal journey to Baffin Island. She had expected a reek of death when they reached America, but there was only a lingering pall of smoke. Occasionally a body would be found, caked to the bottom of a tub, in a bathroom littered with now dried and dead fungi, but even then, in the best possible conditions, hardly ever even a lingering scent. 'Just a faint mustiness', she remembered Nala telling her, the time her oldest sister had found a body once.

The vast cyclonic storms that earlier in the century had been called hurricanes, and had grown out of scope or imagining, had wrought devastation in waves upon the shores of every continent, and toppled skyscrapers hundreds of miles inland. But then, with the seas nearly choked to impassibility by a new strain of algae that was somehow resisting the sun's stronger rays, and worse, trapping the water beneath it, the moisture that drove those storms dissapeared. In the wake of the storms, deserts began to spread almost overday. Desert encroachments once measures in miles per year were now measured in miles per week. The entire ecosystem was collapsing.

She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts, and turned back to her duties. "Perhaps", the new 'American' president had said, "we can build another one in time." She examined Mehti's burns. They were bad enough, without being too bad. She nodded, and he shot her a grateful look, and hobbled to the entrance to the underground warren of hastily-dug rooms that sheltered the 750 people under her care. She frowned at his retreating back. They'd been slightly over subsistence until recently, able to contribute to the Great Plans the Americans had started. Now, with morale devastated, accidents, overexposures, and suicides had reduced them to below subsistence. She had mentioned this to her superiors, and inquired about any forthcoming assistance from Central. Their looks had said enough. Attrition would have to balance their ledgers.

Another line of fire crossed the sky from the terminator, ending almost halfway across the sky. This time, she murmured a short prayer from the Bhodisaatva, as she watched. She wondered from which group came this one. Had he been constructing the solar shield, or the colony/escape ship? Both had been destroyed by the huge flare that had so recently killed hope. Reports were that it had set much of Eurasia ablaze. Those were rather spotty now, as the flare had wiped out most of the satellites as well.

Validation is so... validating.

Not sure if I ever mentioned him in my previous blog, but I used to know a sociopath named... let's call him Carey. We met ages ago, being friends to the same friends, who had each of us in their circle, though ours did not overlap at the time. Sort of a networking thing.

Carey seemed normal enough when we met. Most sociopaths don't wear t-shirts that say things like, 'Avoid Eye-Contact, I'm Mentally Unstable', or 'I'm Sociopathic, Avoid Frustraing Me'. See, the thing that makes sociopaths so dangerous is that, although they have no regard for other people beyond what those people can provide for them, they do know that those other people will turn on them if they don't 'play along' with concepts like 'civilization', 'common decency', and silly nonsense like 'love', trust', and 'compassion'. So when they're in a social setting where any of the useful humanoid toys (their highest possible assessment of anyone but themselves) are around, they tend to play along to avoid icky consequences.

Carey was, by the time I met him, a virtuoso at acting normal. Among useful humanoid toys, that is. Around anyone he merely found convenient, or more convenenient to play along with than use, he was completely different. I saw this side of him more often than most, as I was not a particularly useful humanoid toy to him. A humanoid toy to be sure, we hung out frequently, and played RPGs together a lot, but what he considered 'useful' humanoid toys were the people he would trade girlfriends (or wives) with from time to time.

Being at an all-time low in my own self-esteem, I paid little heed to the difference in his behavior in different circles. I kind of assumed that I deserved that sort of treatment. Apparently my complacency made me a useful humanoid toy for him in another regard entirely from his favorite useful humanoid toys. I was someone he could stop acting human around, and wear fully the beast within. He displayed his infeidelity to me, to brag about it I can only assume. Shocked (as I had a minor crush on his long-time girlfriend and short-time wife), I remained silent, trying to reconcile this bizarre behavior on my own. It was actually around then that I really began my long road to recovery. In trying to make sense out of a blossoming tragedy in my life, I was laying the foundation for recovering from an earlier, and far greater one.

Apparently pleased with his 'total dominion' over his boasting toy, Carey decided to turn another facet to bear, his unbridled cruelty. I bore witness to this once, and that finally snapped me out long enough to do something. I denounced him to our common friends, exposed his infidelity, and severed all contact (with the exception of one unfortunate resurgence that was apparently an attempt to re-establish dominion over me, he must've missed his boasting toy). While our common friends had finally seen past his mask a little themselves, and were able to come to grips with the reality that I shone a light on for them, his wife was not so fortunate. Last I heard, she'd gained an enormous amount of weight (something has to fill the hole in your heart when there's no love there). Sadly there's at least one child involved too.

There are times though, dear readers, when I have wondered if I did the right thing. Should I have tried to forgive and forget? Should I have let other people handle other people's business, and minded my own? But then, today, just barely an hour ago, the world patted me on the shoulder, gave me a quick hug, and told me that everything was going to be allright, and I did the right thing.

See, I stopped at McD's for lunch today, because I'd been busy doing laundry and playing WoW, and forgot entirely to eat something. And naturally, because I was running late and in a hurry, there was a pretty good-sized line of cars in front of me. We creeped forward, and the late-model sedan with out-of-state plates (same state as Carey used to live in, no less) arrived at the microphone. And a steady stream of 'Ummm', and 'Duhhhhh' proceeded to issues from the driver's mouth. And I fumed.

'It's the same fucking McDonald's menu as everywhere else on the fucking planet, and it's even in English. They do speak English in your state, don't they?', I thought, fuming. Finally, after an interminable wait, the ass-tard managed to finish his order, and pull around. "Large #3, no onions, Iced Tea, and a Fillet-o-Fish sandwich only.", was my curtly snapped order. I happen to know what I want off a list of options that hasn't changed significantly in 10 years, go fig.

So I pull up behind out-of-state mouth-breather and glare at him as we wait for the cars ahead of us. And I see he has those little round-like-circular-not-round-like-oval lenses in his glasses. Just like Carey. And I see he's a scrawny, near-shaved-headed white dude. Just like Carey. And that's when it hit me.

Total, absolute, utter, soul-fulfilling validation. The kind most only ever daydream about.

Talk about something to be thankful for.

Why I have nothing but contempt for Michael Moore

Bowling for Columbine is a good start. Moore is already guilty of stealing an award from legitimate documentarists. I suppose his supporters' defense for this is that he 'did it for the right reasons'. I guess the ends justify the means in their book. Not in mine.

Mike, recant your award acceptance speech, return the award, give back the money, and publicly apologize to all the real documentarists you were unfairly grouped with at Cannes. While you're at it, a public apology to Charleton Heston, and the entire membership of the NRA would also be a nice gesture. No, Mike, I'm not a member. I merely possess basic literacy skills and am able to understand that the phrase: "Congress shall make no laws abridging the right to keep and bear arms' is pretty much in direct contravention to any and all gun-control statutes made by the federal government. The states can pass all the gun control they want, the feds have no jurisdiction over the matter.

So I am opposed to federal gun-control because it's frankly illegal. If the Founding Fathers were alive today, they'd be passing AK-47s around to their buddies and storming Capitol Hill to take back the country. Too bad we modern-day Americans are a bunch of fat lazy cowards that won't so much as twitch a whisker unless our own fat ass is directly threatened. The neighbors down the street are being carted off by the secret police? Screw 'em, 'Lost' is on, pass the popcorn and get me another beer.

In his first film, Roger & Me, in 1989, he actually had a legitimate point, the auto industry really did screw Flint, MI over. They flipped it and did it dry, in point of fact. But even then, even when he had a valid point to make, he was still a raging asshole. His attempts at getting interviews were calculated to fail, they were so belligerent. He wanted to be refused an interview so he could look at the camera and plaintively ask us: "What are they hiding?"

His tactics have only gotten less savory over the years, he's only become more of a thug since then. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an MM 'documentary', you can expect to be threatened, harassed, chased around, and basically hounded. You can also expect anything you do say to be spliced and edited until it says exactly what suits Moore's purposes. Refusing an interview with Moore is like looking both ways before you cross the street. It's a common sense basic safety procedure. If you discuss the local sports team with him on an elevator, don't be surprised if the microphone in his pocket records you saying things like, "Oh, he's great!", in response to questions that have nothing at all to do with your favorite quarterback or pitcher.

Michael Moore is a dishonest, greedy, manipulative, opportunistic piece of slime. He profits from lying to gullible people about other people that the first group doesn't like. He's personally profited to the tune of $21 million off the 9-11 attacks. Anyone who credits him with anything remotely positive is just enabling his victimization of them.

Michael Moore makes his living by lying to his fans in general, the Democratic Party in the USA in particular, and all liberals everywhere. For people who supposedly want to do away with various false things like stereotypes, racism (it's based on ignorance and lies), and the Republican Party (a cadre of liars and cheats if ever there was one), they swallow his swill hook, line, and stinker. I guess hearing what you want to believe is better than hearing anything accurate.

Mind you, I'm no fan of Dubya. I think the 'War in Iraq' should have been the 'War in' 'Iran', 'Saudi Arabia', or 'North Korea' if it were going to be anything at all. I think Dubya stole two elections, let 9-11 happen because he wanted a war, and lied about just about everything he's said since he learned to speak (About 9 years ago from the sound of things, I mean sweet Tom Cullen, what a retard!! M-O-O-N, that spells president, right Dickie?)

It's definitely right to criticize Dubya, it's definitely right to protest our presence in Iraq. But no matter what it is you are trying to accomplish, lying, cheating, and stealing is not the right way to go about it. Moore lies to his fans (movie-goers), cheats real documentarists out of awards, and steals the spotlight everywhere he goes to further aggrandize himself, for no apparent purpose other than to remain in the spotlight and sell more movie tickets.

Liberals of the world, wake up. This man is not, and never has been, your friend. He considers you nothing but cattle to feed on, and you dumbly stumble up the ramp into his gaping maw every time you buy a ticket to one of his schlockumentaries.

Conservatives of the world, wake up. Dubya is not now, nor has he ever been, your friend. He pays lip service to your concerns while he abuses his power to make himself and his wealthy friends wealthier at yours and my expenses.

Do the right thing in 2008, vote only for independent candidates. Let not one Republican nor one Democrat retain a place of power in this country. End their reigns of stupidity, greed and corruption forever.

Vellarri of Sottli Ban was never much to look at. Few Sottles are. Pudgy, short, and biliously yellow in complexion, even their mothers only care as much for them as the impact they're likely to have on the family finances. His eyes became mine one chilly night in the early 1990s, and through them I looked out into something that, to me, was truly new under the sun.

Or, in this case, under the Eye of Moros. Those eyes beheld an entire world, sprung from the fertile imagination of a man I learned a great deal from, and from whom I continue to learn new things. He's spent much of the last decade trying to get me to learn analytical thinking, and that's gone well for the educational equivalent of passing a washing machine through the eye of a needle.

Some things about me are probably never going to change. Not without a woman to train them into or out of me at any rate. I'm pretty thoughtless most of the time, and I let it affect my friends and family, when really I only want it to affect me.

Not to whine overmuch or anything, but I've had some exceptionally rotten things happen to me in my life, starting from an early age, and continuing right up to present day. Some were inflicted by others, some just bad luck, many were wrought of my own stupidity. Too much thinking leads me to think of them, and then comes recriminations, and that way lies depression.

So I strive for thoughtlessness. For me, it's not just a virtue, it's a survival mechanism. But it has to stop affecting other people. So, that's kind of what this is all about. Me thinking of someone else. And it might as well be someone that's made the world a better place. And what better way to make this world a better place than by giving others the power to leave it for a while? With seven novels and an RPG to his credit, Houdini is put to shame by my friend and some-times mentor.

Happy Birthday Highlander!

Curling

My favorite hand weights are made of cellulose...

Name...
1. One book that changed your life? The third printing (Brown cover with big doors) of the Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Dungeonmaster's Guide. It literally saved my life one night. I was riding home in the dark on my ten-speed in the summertime, and had it tucked up under my shirt to carry. I ran off the road into a steep ditch and landed chest-first onto a beaver-gnawed stump. The book turned the sharpened stake aside, and instead of dying there and being discovered who knows when, I lived on after that day. The moral? Role-playing games save lives.

2. One book you have read more than once? Two (five, actually) leapt to mind. Red Storm Rising, by Tom Clancy, a fictional account of a conventionally-waged WWIII, and the Tolkien tetralogy (Hobbit + LOTR trilogy). I have read and re-read both many times.

3. One book you would want on a desert island? There's actually two versions of this question, both of which I shall answer. The first assumes all basic needs are met, and the book is for entertainment purposes, the second version holds the book as a resource. For the first, my choice is... not nearly as easy as I'd hope. The second is an easy choice: The Boy Scout's Manual. If you find yourself on a tropical island with a copy of that book and you can't survive, you had best be at least a double-amputee as your excuse. The first though... It's tempting to just say The Bible. Let's face it, if you're gonna be stuck somewhere where there ain't no people at all, getting spiritual is definitely a way to go. But honestly, I've read the Bible through a few times, so maybe listening to what some of the opposition says would be in order. And hey, if it does suck, Atlas Shrugged can always do double-duty as toilet paper. But if I were going to take a religious book, it would not be Ayn Rand. Maybe the Hindu or Buddhist texts.

4. One book you wish you had written? "How I Became a Multi-billionaire with the Kind of Money that Warps Minds". What? Oh, fine, a real book... pfft, whatever. I guess I'd go with Christine. That would make me Stephen King, and therefore insanely wealthy.

5. One book you wish had never been written? I'm gonna go with the Qur'an. Yes, I know, a religion's book. Uh-huh, sure, fine, I'm a bigot. I can live with that.

6. One book you have been meaning to read, but just never have? The first book in the Wheel of Time series. I read one, and it was very confusing, but also rather entertaining. Had a lot to do with Bhelliom, which was either an old god, or an artifact related to said god, I dunno, s'been a while.

Ok, this has to stop

"Opus P. Penguin said...
I don't think I had time to analyze my first sexual experience, as it was over so fast (not talking about you, Handsome, so don't pout)"

The above is, well, it's pretty obvious what it is. Another victim of inept, bumbling, feeble, male attempts at fornication. And they aren't hard to run into either. Google the subject and I'm sure you'll get plenty of hits.

And frankly, it's pissing me off.

Guys? How hard is it to pay attention during sex with a new partner? Women are all a great mystery, to be sure, but boys, it's worse than you were told or ever imagined. See, not only are women 'The Great Mystery', each and every one of them is a COMPETELY DIFFERENT MYSTERY too. Yeah, I know, it kinda sucks. "Riding a woman"* is NOT like riding a bicycle. Every single one of them has the 'controls' in a different spot, the 'mirrors' are always misaligned, the 'steering' handles differently, and the 'suspension' is always a discovery to be made.

And guess what? Even on the same woman, all of those 'things' can be 'repositioned' at any time, so it pays to pay attention when giving pleasure to a woman you are already intimately familiar with. Just because 'button one' played classic 'o' yesterday does not mean it hasn't been 'switched to another channel' today.

For us it's easy: see some boobies, play with 'em a little, move south, get yer 'thang' on, and roll over and go to sleep, preferably on the side opposite the wet spot. That'll work for any one of us, every time.

But women need more attention than that. Give it to them, or I'll find a way to...


...and that brings me to the other side of the equal sign.

Ladies? Would it kill you to speak English (or whatever other tongue you and your significant other have in common) when telling us: a) how you feel, b) what you want, c) what is wrong, d) what we can do to make you happier.

If we poor simple men ask you 'How are you today, love of my life?' and you reply 'Fine.' when inside you are seething, lost, or hurt, we will assume you are fine, since that's what you told us. We don't do code-speak. That's movie bullshit. If you tell us that nothing is wrong, you don't want anything in particular, or that what we're doing now is fine, then we're going to run with that.

Why?

Because we find you all to be a mystery, and if we get an answer to any one of those questions that indicates that what we are doing is either not displeasing you, or actually pleasing you, then we're going to high-five ourselves and make a note of whatever it was we were doing, and do it again later, because it got results, or so you told us. Lie to us, and we think we've found an important clue to solving the mystery that is you.


* Real quotes added because air quotes were too difficult to detect by my readers. Women are not transportation devices., nor any other sort of inanimate object. I had hoped that prevailing attitude would shine through, alas, I am a hack, and not a good writer.

It occurs to me that I should probably de-air quote everything, and put in actual quotes...

Give the Governor a Harumph!!

Election Day.

A prayer for Election Day:

God save us from capable people running for offices, but rather grant us incompetence and venality, for they are much to be preferred over cunning and tyranny. Please bring Your Kingdom most swiftly, for the governments of men, well, with all due respect, they suck out loud. Amen.


It would figure that I didn't get the word from Heinlen (via Handsome) soon enough to do some good. If you don't want to vote FOR someone, at least vote AGAINST someone.

Damn!!

I live in NY. Our competent and effective (shudder) State AG, Eliot Spitzer, is running for governor, because, well, he's competent and effective, and as governor he can do way more damage. He's endorsing a party half-wit to fill the post he's vacating, and Demonicrat party members the Clintons are tossing their 'good word' in that hat too. Meanwhile, the Moneygrublicans have a competent and effective (shudder) candidate applying for the job of State AG, and he will lose.

So, I guess, for once, the system worked? Kinda? Maybe we'll get lucky and Spitzer will be absolutely worthless as a governor. A guy can dream, can't he?

I did not update my voter registration for this election, and will not be voting. It was my version of protesting the general worthlessness of all the candidates in all the parties. So, I've missed my chance to vote against someone.

Best-case scenario in NY: we keep our governor, and get a new Dem SAG. Incompetence and venality FTW!!

Welcome aboard

Well, invites went out to some people. I suppose, since the invites were late, since I've been so lazy lately, that they will now ignore them and speak meanly of me at a tea party they won't invite me to.

Shame, too. I love tea and buttered scones. Really.

There's a reason the hat fits two...

See, I'm of two minds about most things.

My uncle 'Tuffy', just died this Monday. Killed in a tractor accident. The details aren't terribly important, save these: his wife, my aunt Ruthie, and one of his sons, my cousin Dave, were there when it happened and saw him dead if not actually killed.

You can imagine how they must feel. Me, I'm all too aware of exactly how they feel. I know what it's like to have someone you love taken from you violently by an untimely end. For the benefit of you lucky ones, I'll try to explain it. Bear in mind that I'm no psychiatrist, so I won't be using many fancy terms.

Basically, an event like this tears a hole in you, spiritually speaking. Think of it this way: the people in your life, the ones you know best, are all a part of you. If, for some reason, one of them is suddenly taken away, they take that part of you with them, and a hole is left behind. The closer they are to you, the more a part of you they are, and the bigger the hole they leave behind.

My aunt was married to Uncle Tuffy for 57 years. I'd imagine having him taken away like this has left more hole than person behind in her case.

The trouble with holes is, nature tries to fill them with whatever is handy. In cases like this, the easiest thing to fill these holes with is the people left behind. Trust me, it is so easy to just fall into that hole and stay there for years, doing little more than peeking out from time to time. I spent almost 15 years in the one Charlie left behind in my soul. It's only recently that I've been able (thanks to a great healer of the human soul, my therapist) to roam out from that hole, and allow other things to fill it up, smooth it over, and let life go on around it and in it.

My aunt is in her late 70s. She hasn't got 15 years to waste in a hole. So tomorrow, when the funeral is over, I have to speak to her children (my cousins), or some closer relatives than I, and try to make them see this; and make sure they know that sometimes, no matter how much we want to do it ourselves, we can't make it better. And that there are people who can.

And I've got to do it without making them angry. And I can't afford to fail. I owe it to my Uncle Tuffy not to.

The 'two minds' thing is... well, it's cold comfort kind of stuff, mainly, and not worth mentioning.

Align your outrage carefully

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