NEW YORK ,SEP. 1st- In a video-taped interview with controversial film-maker Michael Moore, vice-president Dick Cheney last night revealed that he was a "Gay-American", and that he and his wife Lynne were tired of playing the roles of mutual "beards". He then retreated to an undisclosed underground dungeon.
Bush campaign officials were slow to respond to this development, but an anonymous email to FOX News reportedly claimed that inexplicably popular talk-show host Bill O'Reilly had been tapped as the new Republican Vice-Presidential candidate. Contacted by phone, Mr. O'Reilly said," I've seen the email, this proves it", but declined to let reporters read the document in question, nor did he specify what was proven, or how.
When asked what he considered the most pressing issues during the Presidential campaign, the oft-bellicose broadcaster declared,"We've got to address the Northern Menace. I mean Canada. They have a marijuana leaf on their flag. They hate America and they make fun of me".
Told that the symbol on the Canadian flag is in fact a maple leaf, O'Reilly responded," Who told you that? Some gay Canadian reporter? This interview is over".
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Free Day
Arriving at work this morning I noticed a lot of people sitting at the picnic tables outside. Naturally I assume they're all waiting for me so they can remind me that I'm late again, but I'm wrong. The power is out. That's cool, I carry a miniature library in my car, so I'm ready to sit outside and read all day.
But it's getting hot and very humid and there's nowhere to sit that doesn't involve a mud bath.
I start thinking about policy-holders dealing with flooded basements and mud-filled automobiles. They might want to speak to a claims rep. I call my boss on a borrowed cell-phone, he says be ready to stay late tomorrow, but I can take the day off today. Cool.
On the way home, I stop at the beautiful Maymont park. It's a sort of small-town version of Central Park, but without as many creepy people and jogger-types. Walk down a hill past the livery and stables and sploosh! into a newly-minted flood plain. I wanted to check on the state of the Japanese garden on the other side of the park, but I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a total wash.
I watch the world's second saddest bobcat for a bit. He just stands motionless inside his enclosure, like he can't think of a single reason to do anything. I can relate. I've got nothing better to do either. We look at each other. I read his walnut-sized mind. I'm stuck in a cage. What's your excuse? Eventually I realize I'm standing in the sun, wearing all black. Time to go.
At least I've got power and phone. I live directly across the street from a hospital, so my little piece of the grid gets pronto service. I've been told that living near a hospital is bad Feng Suey or chi or something , but to me the downside mostly involves sirens.
What I'd really like to do is sit on the porch and smoke one, but my new neighbor is a cop. She looks mean and doesn't return greetings when we pass. She reminds me of my old probation officer, which is not at all good. I'm nervous about playing music too loud, which is really the only good way to play. Even the guitar players in whiny-ass pussy 'emo' bands like to play loud. Those guys should try playing a song without using a chorus pedal at least once, but I digress.
I suppose I'll go outside and see if my cats can swim.
But it's getting hot and very humid and there's nowhere to sit that doesn't involve a mud bath.
I start thinking about policy-holders dealing with flooded basements and mud-filled automobiles. They might want to speak to a claims rep. I call my boss on a borrowed cell-phone, he says be ready to stay late tomorrow, but I can take the day off today. Cool.
On the way home, I stop at the beautiful Maymont park. It's a sort of small-town version of Central Park, but without as many creepy people and jogger-types. Walk down a hill past the livery and stables and sploosh! into a newly-minted flood plain. I wanted to check on the state of the Japanese garden on the other side of the park, but I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a total wash.
I watch the world's second saddest bobcat for a bit. He just stands motionless inside his enclosure, like he can't think of a single reason to do anything. I can relate. I've got nothing better to do either. We look at each other. I read his walnut-sized mind. I'm stuck in a cage. What's your excuse? Eventually I realize I'm standing in the sun, wearing all black. Time to go.
At least I've got power and phone. I live directly across the street from a hospital, so my little piece of the grid gets pronto service. I've been told that living near a hospital is bad Feng Suey or chi or something , but to me the downside mostly involves sirens.
What I'd really like to do is sit on the porch and smoke one, but my new neighbor is a cop. She looks mean and doesn't return greetings when we pass. She reminds me of my old probation officer, which is not at all good. I'm nervous about playing music too loud, which is really the only good way to play. Even the guitar players in whiny-ass pussy 'emo' bands like to play loud. Those guys should try playing a song without using a chorus pedal at least once, but I digress.
I suppose I'll go outside and see if my cats can swim.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Drowning Richmond
I wish I had built an ark at work instead of spending all my time on-line. Tropical storm Gaston has dumped over ten inches of rain on us, and it's still coming down. Getting home took ninety minutes-usually it takes fifteen. Stranded cars everywhere! Interstate 95 is closed-up to 51/2' of water in places.
News update-now it's fourteen inches of rain. Gaston just sorta stopped here.Hovering for hours. We got tornados. We got evacuations. We got floods.
Think about it. Fourteen inches of rain in five hours. The ground is already saturated. The soil isn't firm enough to hold trees up in many places. The lightning doesn't help.
I can honestly say I've never seen this much rain . (Hurricane Isabel was 4-5 inches of rain)
I was driving my little Honda through rivers that used to be intersections, did a 360 hydroplane. Got through it OK, but man, was I shook up. My brakes and steering just died, so I sat for a while, hoping the rain would stop. Tree branches were bouncing off my roof, so maybe walking home wasn't a great idea. Car started up, made it home.
The police can't get anywhere-their cars stall, so firetrucks are everywhere, preventing people from driving into flood areas.
Tomorrow will be a busy day.
News update-now it's fourteen inches of rain. Gaston just sorta stopped here.Hovering for hours. We got tornados. We got evacuations. We got floods.
Think about it. Fourteen inches of rain in five hours. The ground is already saturated. The soil isn't firm enough to hold trees up in many places. The lightning doesn't help.
I can honestly say I've never seen this much rain . (Hurricane Isabel was 4-5 inches of rain)
I was driving my little Honda through rivers that used to be intersections, did a 360 hydroplane. Got through it OK, but man, was I shook up. My brakes and steering just died, so I sat for a while, hoping the rain would stop. Tree branches were bouncing off my roof, so maybe walking home wasn't a great idea. Car started up, made it home.
The police can't get anywhere-their cars stall, so firetrucks are everywhere, preventing people from driving into flood areas.
Tomorrow will be a busy day.
R.S.V.P. This!
Saturday was so much fun, I didn’t open my mail ‘til Sunday. I had two identical envelopes to open-one addressed to me and one to my twin. Somehow , our last names were spelled differently . We got invites to our 20 year high school reunion. My grandma or cousin must’ve given someone my address, ‘cause I sure didn’t.
It’s worse than I thought-a two-day “Homecoming” event. Ewww.
The party is “BYOB –liquor only (set-ups soda, juice, mixers $2.50)”
What the fuck does that mean? That reminds me of Utah, where you bring a brown bag to the bar, pay too much for a coke and mix your own drinks. How pointless. If I’ve got a bottle of booze, I don’t need a “set-up”, I’ll just chug from the damn bottle. Why can't I bring beer? I used to bring it to school, why can't I bring it to the reunion?
“Music by DJ Connection.” Boy, that sounds great. I fuckin’ hated early ‘80’s pop music then-I’m sure I’d hate it even more today. The name 'DJ Connection' freakin' screams quality. The only thing worse would be a cover band called Mirage.
“Enclosed is a list of people we haven’t been able to locate, please let us know if you have any info”. Hmm…there are a few girls I wouldn’t mind seeing again and they are all on this list. I guess they aren’t going to be at the reunion, but that’s cool, cause neither am I.
Then there’s this form to fill out: Name , address, names of spouse and children etc…and a tiny little box asking me to “ give a few highlights from the last twenty years. Does getting away with the Perfect Murder count as a ‘highlight’? It fuckin’ should. (I'd tell you how I did that, but then I'd have to bore you to death)
Name a person or teacher that made a lasting impression on you:
Mrs. Brewer. I scarred her for life, I’m sure. There was some dumb-ass Senior ceremony where we were supposed to sing our class song-We’ve Only Just Begun by the Carpenters. Yuck! I snuck into the teacher’s lounge and printed a hundred or so copies of my version, titled No Wonder We’re So Dumb, on the ancient mimeograph machine. I then replaced the real lyrics with my parody. (I wish I still had a copy!) Chaos ensued. Mrs. Brewer was very upset. I didn’t get in trouble, but everyone was pretty sure I was the culprit.
What was the most important thing you learned at Warren County High?
I learned that if I had to do it all over again, I’d get my GED in 9th grade, drop out to sell dope or get a job as a mercenary in the jolly ole’ Belgian Congo or join the Merchant Marine, the Foriegn Legion , the Peace Corps or just shoot myself in the head-anything but spend a year of my life in that Hillbilly Helltown.
It’s worse than I thought-a two-day “Homecoming” event. Ewww.
The party is “BYOB –liquor only (set-ups soda, juice, mixers $2.50)”
What the fuck does that mean? That reminds me of Utah, where you bring a brown bag to the bar, pay too much for a coke and mix your own drinks. How pointless. If I’ve got a bottle of booze, I don’t need a “set-up”, I’ll just chug from the damn bottle. Why can't I bring beer? I used to bring it to school, why can't I bring it to the reunion?
“Music by DJ Connection.” Boy, that sounds great. I fuckin’ hated early ‘80’s pop music then-I’m sure I’d hate it even more today. The name 'DJ Connection' freakin' screams quality. The only thing worse would be a cover band called Mirage.
“Enclosed is a list of people we haven’t been able to locate, please let us know if you have any info”. Hmm…there are a few girls I wouldn’t mind seeing again and they are all on this list. I guess they aren’t going to be at the reunion, but that’s cool, cause neither am I.
Then there’s this form to fill out: Name , address, names of spouse and children etc…and a tiny little box asking me to “ give a few highlights from the last twenty years. Does getting away with the Perfect Murder count as a ‘highlight’? It fuckin’ should. (I'd tell you how I did that, but then I'd have to bore you to death)
Name a person or teacher that made a lasting impression on you:
Mrs. Brewer. I scarred her for life, I’m sure. There was some dumb-ass Senior ceremony where we were supposed to sing our class song-We’ve Only Just Begun by the Carpenters. Yuck! I snuck into the teacher’s lounge and printed a hundred or so copies of my version, titled No Wonder We’re So Dumb, on the ancient mimeograph machine. I then replaced the real lyrics with my parody. (I wish I still had a copy!) Chaos ensued. Mrs. Brewer was very upset. I didn’t get in trouble, but everyone was pretty sure I was the culprit.
What was the most important thing you learned at Warren County High?
I learned that if I had to do it all over again, I’d get my GED in 9th grade, drop out to sell dope or get a job as a mercenary in the jolly ole’ Belgian Congo or join the Merchant Marine, the Foriegn Legion , the Peace Corps or just shoot myself in the head-anything but spend a year of my life in that Hillbilly Helltown.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
My First Time
I found a ballpoint pen this morning that reminded me of the first time I ever saw the Internet. I think it was 1998 or '99, but I can't remember exactly, I just remember the job where it happened.
I was doing the office temp thing and got sent downtown to work in a mail room for a "growth-industry" company. Growth industry? I hoped it was a pot farm, but it wasn't.
It was several floors in an aged but fetchingly art-decoesque building-lots of curly flourishes and dim incandescent lamps in the hallways. You could smell the elevator operator's cheap cologne, which was weird since they hadn't had an el-op since 1959. Place had a Kubrick Shining vibe. I thought I'd like it.
A minor boss met me in the lobby and gave me my first-ever 'proximity badge'. Wave it at the thing that looks like an intercom and the door opens. Neat-O! All science fictiony and stuff.
Once you passed through that portal the quaintness was vaporized. It was the first time I'd ever seen a wasteland of damncubes. Duct tape held wires to the ubiquitous bluish-gray industrial carpet. Pictures of children and kittens adorned the bland gray walls of the bland white people's damncubes. I prayed to gods I don't believe in-please don't put me in one of those damncubes!
The invisible cloud beings heard my plea.
I got lucky. Minor Boss ushered me to the mail room. It was a windowless room with two doors. There was some hi-tech stuff (computer, printer, giant-ass fax machine etc.) I didn't recognize and a wall of slots that looked like they were designed to hold mail. Minor Boss said he liked me because I "catch on quick". I decided to hate him. He gives me a 'walkie-talkie'. He tells me he's impressed because I know how to use it. I'm pissed because this cheap plastic piece of shit isn't heavy enough to cave in Minor Boss' hair-tonic skull.
( My Granpa once showed me a WWII walkie -talkie and that thing was heavy enough to sink ten thousand Titanics)
He will call me on the radio( why not just use the phone?) when mail arrives and I will grab a dolly and walk two blocks to the post office, grab the mail and bring it to the mail room. I will sort it into the slots. Then, using an out-of-date office diagram, I will un-slot it and re-distribute it to various other slots that are scattered willy-nilly throughout the building.
I'm stunned by this display of inefficiency, but I need the money.
Mostly I just sat and waited for that awful drive-in window radio noise.
I'd never had a computer, but I was able to figure out how to play Space Cadet Pinball on the one in the mail room. A couple days later I found Internet Explorer. Wow. Who put all this porn on the computer? (In hindsight, someone left a helluva lot of 'cookies' behind).
That gets boring quick. I'm a sick puppy, but I'm not spanking monkey at work. (A few years later, at a different job, I'm bending Alicia over our boss' desk, but that's different).
Anyway, I got hired on full-time. Yippee!
Two weeks later the company went under. I got two weeks salary as compensation.
I could've bought an IBM 486 , but I drank it all instead.
Probably the smartest thing I ever did.
I was doing the office temp thing and got sent downtown to work in a mail room for a "growth-industry" company. Growth industry? I hoped it was a pot farm, but it wasn't.
It was several floors in an aged but fetchingly art-decoesque building-lots of curly flourishes and dim incandescent lamps in the hallways. You could smell the elevator operator's cheap cologne, which was weird since they hadn't had an el-op since 1959. Place had a Kubrick Shining vibe. I thought I'd like it.
A minor boss met me in the lobby and gave me my first-ever 'proximity badge'. Wave it at the thing that looks like an intercom and the door opens. Neat-O! All science fictiony and stuff.
Once you passed through that portal the quaintness was vaporized. It was the first time I'd ever seen a wasteland of damncubes. Duct tape held wires to the ubiquitous bluish-gray industrial carpet. Pictures of children and kittens adorned the bland gray walls of the bland white people's damncubes. I prayed to gods I don't believe in-please don't put me in one of those damncubes!
The invisible cloud beings heard my plea.
I got lucky. Minor Boss ushered me to the mail room. It was a windowless room with two doors. There was some hi-tech stuff (computer, printer, giant-ass fax machine etc.) I didn't recognize and a wall of slots that looked like they were designed to hold mail. Minor Boss said he liked me because I "catch on quick". I decided to hate him. He gives me a 'walkie-talkie'. He tells me he's impressed because I know how to use it. I'm pissed because this cheap plastic piece of shit isn't heavy enough to cave in Minor Boss' hair-tonic skull.
( My Granpa once showed me a WWII walkie -talkie and that thing was heavy enough to sink ten thousand Titanics)
He will call me on the radio( why not just use the phone?) when mail arrives and I will grab a dolly and walk two blocks to the post office, grab the mail and bring it to the mail room. I will sort it into the slots. Then, using an out-of-date office diagram, I will un-slot it and re-distribute it to various other slots that are scattered willy-nilly throughout the building.
I'm stunned by this display of inefficiency, but I need the money.
Mostly I just sat and waited for that awful drive-in window radio noise.
I'd never had a computer, but I was able to figure out how to play Space Cadet Pinball on the one in the mail room. A couple days later I found Internet Explorer. Wow. Who put all this porn on the computer? (In hindsight, someone left a helluva lot of 'cookies' behind).
That gets boring quick. I'm a sick puppy, but I'm not spanking monkey at work. (A few years later, at a different job, I'm bending Alicia over our boss' desk, but that's different).
Anyway, I got hired on full-time. Yippee!
Two weeks later the company went under. I got two weeks salary as compensation.
I could've bought an IBM 486 , but I drank it all instead.
Probably the smartest thing I ever did.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Liars and Quitters
Here’s one liar:
So either this guy knowingly accepted a medal he didn’t earn, or he’s lying now. In either case he’s scum of the lowest character.
Then there’s this liar.
And this one.
What these Sad Sacks are implying is that every single military service ribbon, medal and commendation is questionable, even their own. That’s a deplorable stance.
I guarantee you that there are young Americans serving overseas right now who will one day seek public office. Will their service records be dragged through the mud of libel and slander? Only if they are Democrats.
But what about the ‘527’ ads that slam Bush’s service?
Well, he could just prove he was there. He could just give a plausible reason why he decided to stop flying jets. Why he refused to take a mandatory physical. A straight answer to a simple question. There's a first time for everything.
I’ve never piloted a jet fighter, but I imagine it’s a hell of a rush.
I bet busting a fifty-yard touchdown in the NFL is a hell of a rush, too.
Ricky Williams quit the NFL so he could get high.
Why did Bush quit flying jets?
At least Williams was very good at what he did.
No one knows what Bush did, and he ain’t telling.
Thurlow, the commander of another swift boat who won a Bronze Star for helping
the crew of PCF-3, insists there was no enemy gunfire during the incident. The
citation and recommendation for Thurlow's Bronze Star, obtained under the
Freedom of Information Act, also mention enemy fire, however
Thurlow
says his Bronze Star documents are wrong.
So either this guy knowingly accepted a medal he didn’t earn, or he’s lying now. In either case he’s scum of the lowest character.
Then there’s this liar.
And this one.
What these Sad Sacks are implying is that every single military service ribbon, medal and commendation is questionable, even their own. That’s a deplorable stance.
I guarantee you that there are young Americans serving overseas right now who will one day seek public office. Will their service records be dragged through the mud of libel and slander? Only if they are Democrats.
But what about the ‘527’ ads that slam Bush’s service?
Well, he could just prove he was there. He could just give a plausible reason why he decided to stop flying jets. Why he refused to take a mandatory physical. A straight answer to a simple question. There's a first time for everything.
I’ve never piloted a jet fighter, but I imagine it’s a hell of a rush.
I bet busting a fifty-yard touchdown in the NFL is a hell of a rush, too.
Ricky Williams quit the NFL so he could get high.
Why did Bush quit flying jets?
At least Williams was very good at what he did.
No one knows what Bush did, and he ain’t telling.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
'Fear Factor' To Replace '04 Recount
WASH. DC, NOV 28, 2004- Citing the controversy caused by the Supreme Court’s decision after the 2000 presidential election, the Federal Election Committee today announced a plan to replace this years recount process with a ‘Fear Factor’-inspired televised competition.
Incumbent president George W. Bush and his opponent, Senator John Kerry, will face–off in a series of noxious and degrading contests, said FEC spokesman Carrot Top at a Washington press conference this morning. Mr. Top indicated that the exact nature of each event was yet to be determined, but was likely to involve perennial favorites such as:
-Bobbing for Goat Testicles
-Semi-Naked Scorpion Massage
-Get Leeched ‘til You’re Bleached
-Escape From the Cage-Full of Masturbating Monkeys
-Guano Through A Straw-a-Thon
Mr. Top also noted that the Dave Matthews Band would provide musical entertainment, as well as participating in the Floating Turd Dodgeball event should a tie-breaker be necessary.
When asked for his view on the FEC proposal, Mr. Bush reportedly said he“wished they could have a beer-bong contest instead.” A senior White House official, speaking on condition of anonymity, disclosed that the President had “been training”.
Aides to Mr. Kerry said the Democratic challenger expressed a preference for a ‘spelling bee’ competition, but “math would be OK too”.
This year’s election results were deemed invalid after electronic voting machines nationwide showed annoying ‘spyware’ program Bonzi Buddy winning an improbable 89% of all electronic votes.
Mr. Bush and Mr. Kerry tied with 5% each, with Ralph Nader and ‘that guy from the DiTech.com commercials’ splitting the final 1%.
Diebold, the leading manufacturer of touch-screen voting machines, denied allegations of computer malfunction and software manipulation.
Incumbent president George W. Bush and his opponent, Senator John Kerry, will face–off in a series of noxious and degrading contests, said FEC spokesman Carrot Top at a Washington press conference this morning. Mr. Top indicated that the exact nature of each event was yet to be determined, but was likely to involve perennial favorites such as:
-Bobbing for Goat Testicles
-Semi-Naked Scorpion Massage
-Get Leeched ‘til You’re Bleached
-Escape From the Cage-Full of Masturbating Monkeys
-Guano Through A Straw-a-Thon
Mr. Top also noted that the Dave Matthews Band would provide musical entertainment, as well as participating in the Floating Turd Dodgeball event should a tie-breaker be necessary.
When asked for his view on the FEC proposal, Mr. Bush reportedly said he“wished they could have a beer-bong contest instead.” A senior White House official, speaking on condition of anonymity, disclosed that the President had “been training”.
Aides to Mr. Kerry said the Democratic challenger expressed a preference for a ‘spelling bee’ competition, but “math would be OK too”.
This year’s election results were deemed invalid after electronic voting machines nationwide showed annoying ‘spyware’ program Bonzi Buddy winning an improbable 89% of all electronic votes.
Mr. Bush and Mr. Kerry tied with 5% each, with Ralph Nader and ‘that guy from the DiTech.com commercials’ splitting the final 1%.
Diebold, the leading manufacturer of touch-screen voting machines, denied allegations of computer malfunction and software manipulation.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Where I am, Where I Was
The boss came to the office yesterday. I was reading NFL.com. He asked me if I was keeping busy, which threw me off-guard for a sec, until I realized he was kidding. We talked about football for a bit, since there isn't much work to speak of. Looks like I'll be here for at least another month, doing fuck-all every day. Not complaining, mind you.
Today, I wrote one check. That was at 8:45 a.m. That's it. That's the sum total of my entire day's workload.
I get paid more to do this than I did when I managed a shoe store in 2001-2002. That was a nightmare job. I started as assistant manager and got promoted when the old manager quit. I thought the old guy was a thick brickhead, but he proved he was smarter than me by quitting first.
On the way to work on my first day as manager, I heard a radio report about a plane that had just hit the World Trade Center. Not a good omen.
When I got to the store I grabbed the TV from the break room just in time to see the second plane hit. The clerks and myself watched in horror as first one ,then the other Tower collapsed. The few customers who hadn't heard the news watched with us. I let most of the staff go home- I couldn't imagine that anyone would go shoe-shopping on such a day. For the most part, I was right.
The owner didn't agree. He called and asked how things were going. I told him I just watched thousands of people die thousands of horrible deaths and America was being attacked. He told me to turn off the damn TV and sell some shoes.
Right then, I knew I couldn't work for this man.
A few months later I got really sick and needed time off to recover from surgery. They wouldn't allow me the time I felt I needed, so I gave my key to the cashier , walked out and went home.
Stayed home.
Last winter I learned they went out of business.
Karma, man,karma.
Today, I wrote one check. That was at 8:45 a.m. That's it. That's the sum total of my entire day's workload.
I get paid more to do this than I did when I managed a shoe store in 2001-2002. That was a nightmare job. I started as assistant manager and got promoted when the old manager quit. I thought the old guy was a thick brickhead, but he proved he was smarter than me by quitting first.
On the way to work on my first day as manager, I heard a radio report about a plane that had just hit the World Trade Center. Not a good omen.
When I got to the store I grabbed the TV from the break room just in time to see the second plane hit. The clerks and myself watched in horror as first one ,then the other Tower collapsed. The few customers who hadn't heard the news watched with us. I let most of the staff go home- I couldn't imagine that anyone would go shoe-shopping on such a day. For the most part, I was right.
The owner didn't agree. He called and asked how things were going. I told him I just watched thousands of people die thousands of horrible deaths and America was being attacked. He told me to turn off the damn TV and sell some shoes.
Right then, I knew I couldn't work for this man.
A few months later I got really sick and needed time off to recover from surgery. They wouldn't allow me the time I felt I needed, so I gave my key to the cashier , walked out and went home.
Stayed home.
Last winter I learned they went out of business.
Karma, man,karma.
Time Machine Veterans for Truth
WACO, TX. Aug. 25- A new ‘527’ group comprised of veteran time travelers has leveled charges at Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry, accusing him of having a “significant role” in a number of historical events , ranging from the sinking of Atlantis to the rise of the Third Reich. The group, Time Machine Veterans for Truth, has placed ads in several key ‘swing’ states and garnered wide-spread attention for it’s hard-hitting attack advertisements.
In a recent TV ad, group spokesman Ben Arnold claims,”I saw John Kerry pass a lit crack pipe to Jane Fonda just a few seconds before the Hindenburg exploded. There is no doubt in my mind that John Kerry was responsible for that disaster”.
In the same ad, Bush supporter and long-time mental patient Judith Scariot asks,”Why did John Kerry force Socrates to drink hemlock? Why did Kerry assassinate Julius Caesar? Because he hates America.” The ad concludes with footage of an atomic explosion while the Rolling Stone’s Sympathy for the Devil plays in the background. Mr. Arnold’s voice over: “John Kerry. More liberal than the Kennedys he killed”.
The Kerry campaign quickly released a statement, calling the allegations “some pretty crazy shit”, adding,” they might have a hard time proving John Kerry destroyed Pompei”.
During a press conference held on the fifth floor of Central State Hospital, Mr. Arnold acknowledged that he did not have any “real” evidence to support his claims stating,” I don’t need proof. I was there. I know what I saw”. He then called on Mr. Kerry to release his military records from the Civil War, calling Kerry’s refusal to do so “a tacit admission of guilt”.
Mr. Arnold and Ms. Scariot are the authors of a new book, John Kerry: Six Thousand Years of Treason, soon to be published by Crayola Press.
In a recent TV ad, group spokesman Ben Arnold claims,”I saw John Kerry pass a lit crack pipe to Jane Fonda just a few seconds before the Hindenburg exploded. There is no doubt in my mind that John Kerry was responsible for that disaster”.
In the same ad, Bush supporter and long-time mental patient Judith Scariot asks,”Why did John Kerry force Socrates to drink hemlock? Why did Kerry assassinate Julius Caesar? Because he hates America.” The ad concludes with footage of an atomic explosion while the Rolling Stone’s Sympathy for the Devil plays in the background. Mr. Arnold’s voice over: “John Kerry. More liberal than the Kennedys he killed”.
The Kerry campaign quickly released a statement, calling the allegations “some pretty crazy shit”, adding,” they might have a hard time proving John Kerry destroyed Pompei”.
During a press conference held on the fifth floor of Central State Hospital, Mr. Arnold acknowledged that he did not have any “real” evidence to support his claims stating,” I don’t need proof. I was there. I know what I saw”. He then called on Mr. Kerry to release his military records from the Civil War, calling Kerry’s refusal to do so “a tacit admission of guilt”.
Mr. Arnold and Ms. Scariot are the authors of a new book, John Kerry: Six Thousand Years of Treason, soon to be published by Crayola Press.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Lonesome No More
I may be pathetic, but at least I'll never have one of these. The first paragraph of this story pretty much says it all.
Could Be Worse
It could always be worse. I 've got all my limbs and I've got my hearing. I must still have a sense of humour, since I'm making the office ladies laugh. If they knew I wasn't kidding , they might not laugh so much.
A giant tank of molasses could collapse and drown me. I could get sucked into the vortex created by a sinking oceanliner's propellers and chopped into little pieces or eaten alive by a Grizzly bear. There's always a possibility of spontaneous human combustion. Leprosy and the Black Plague are constant threats. If it wasn't August, I'd be worried about avalanches. That spider I didn't kill? It's probably poisonous. I could be on the Space Shuttle the next time it explodes or buried alive when the old abandoned silver mine collapses. I could fall into the slurry pit at the rendering plant and turned into hot dogs. I could reach for a beer and drink a can of Drano by mistake or accidently smoke a joint of poison ivy. There's the risk of being trampled by rampaging bulls on a crowded Spanish street. Danger around every corner.
Lots of really bad shit could happen, but probably won't. What a relief.
A giant tank of molasses could collapse and drown me. I could get sucked into the vortex created by a sinking oceanliner's propellers and chopped into little pieces or eaten alive by a Grizzly bear. There's always a possibility of spontaneous human combustion. Leprosy and the Black Plague are constant threats. If it wasn't August, I'd be worried about avalanches. That spider I didn't kill? It's probably poisonous. I could be on the Space Shuttle the next time it explodes or buried alive when the old abandoned silver mine collapses. I could fall into the slurry pit at the rendering plant and turned into hot dogs. I could reach for a beer and drink a can of Drano by mistake or accidently smoke a joint of poison ivy. There's the risk of being trampled by rampaging bulls on a crowded Spanish street. Danger around every corner.
Lots of really bad shit could happen, but probably won't. What a relief.
Tomorrow Will Be Better
A weekend so bad that Monday looks good. A reminder to stop asking questions I know the answers to already. I really did know, but I wanted to pretend that I didn't.
Alright then. Move along now. Nothing to see here. Plenty of fish in the sea. I feel like I've been bludgeoned with a dead mackerel and tossed in the chum bucket. Lots of fish.
I'll look at old photos while that empty room spends my money. I'll play internet Scrabble with a G.I. in Germany- he lost his hearing in a RPG attack in Kabul. The guy's still got a sense of humour though, cheers me up a bit. Things could be worse. His buddy used to play guitar until his arm got blown off. That doesn't cheer me up.
He says his girlfriend is coming to visit him-she's been learning sign language. I tell him my girlfriend doesn't understand me. She doesn't understand why I have a problem with the fact that she's married. At least she told me, so I know where I stand. I stand in the corner with a pointy hat on.
Later on, my guitar doesn't gently weep. It vomits black blood. I can't play it when it does that. I can't seem to do anything anymore. Fuck.
Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.
Alright then. Move along now. Nothing to see here. Plenty of fish in the sea. I feel like I've been bludgeoned with a dead mackerel and tossed in the chum bucket. Lots of fish.
I'll look at old photos while that empty room spends my money. I'll play internet Scrabble with a G.I. in Germany- he lost his hearing in a RPG attack in Kabul. The guy's still got a sense of humour though, cheers me up a bit. Things could be worse. His buddy used to play guitar until his arm got blown off. That doesn't cheer me up.
He says his girlfriend is coming to visit him-she's been learning sign language. I tell him my girlfriend doesn't understand me. She doesn't understand why I have a problem with the fact that she's married. At least she told me, so I know where I stand. I stand in the corner with a pointy hat on.
Later on, my guitar doesn't gently weep. It vomits black blood. I can't play it when it does that. I can't seem to do anything anymore. Fuck.
Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Bore You To Death With Pictures
My Evil Twin lives in the penthouse of this building. The third floor. The fourth floor is sealed off, but you can still hear footsteps and chewing sounds from above. 
Ha Ha
Very funny. I really needed a new source of anger and anxiety. Ha Ha. You sure fooled me. Your timing sucks, I might add. I will return the favor someday, you unfunny bastard.
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Friday, August 20, 2004
In Defense of Bloggers
It doesn't exactly shock me that many in the mainstream media consider bloggers to be "exhibitionists" , uninformed, "self-absorbed" etcetera, but it's hard to take their criticism seriously after watching CNN's breathless coverage of Paris Hilton's missing dog or Fox News' lurid and downright embarrassing speculation about a Kerry/Edwards homosexual relationship.
These people call bloggers ignorant blowhards and then proceed to get 'talking points' from the Drudge Report and Wonkette. Hmm...maybe they do have a point.
I will respond to some of these charges.
Exhibitionists: I spent over a decade playing music for audiences- any audiences I could scrounge up, anywhere, anytime. Of course I'm an exhibitionist! So fucking what? (At least I'm not posting nude photos on the web or flashing old ladies at the nursing home). I'm also painfully shy in real life (unless I'm drunk) , so music and blogging let me express myself with considerably less restraint than water-cooler chats and awkward dinners with near-strangers (read:relatives) allow. I can only speak to my own motives, but I wager I'm not alone in this.
Uninformed: After a week of watching cable news I learned a lot. I learned that if an attractive ,middle-class white woman gets murdered by her husband, or raped by a celebrity, it's 'Breaking News' over-and-over again , but if the same thing happens to a poor black woman it's fine print in the crime log on page 13 of section B in the local newspaper. I learned that a drunken bear warranted ninety seconds of precious airtime, which is fifty-five seconds more than Afghanistan, Haiti, Sudan and Venezuela combined received. Flood the airwaves with trivial bullshit and then call your viewers ignorant? Gotta admit, it's crafty strategy .
Self-Absorbed: I spend 40+ hours a week alone in a damncube where I'm not even allowed to read a book, despite having no work to do. Amazingly, it tends to make me a little introspective. But so what? I enjoy reading other people's "self-absorbed" postings. Maybe someone got a giggle out of watching rich kids frolic in her boyfriend's vomit-I can sit here,in utter isolation, and have a giggle too. Perhaps another person just had a normal day, but is feeling happy. It reminds me that such a thing is possible for me as well. Even when someone shares a truly sad tragedy, it makes me think about things that I normally try to avoid, things that I should think about. Sometimes I even get someone to laugh, which is one of the main reasons I blog. It's not such a selfish endeavor when you look at blogging this way.
Tip o' the glass to bloggers!
These people call bloggers ignorant blowhards and then proceed to get 'talking points' from the Drudge Report and Wonkette. Hmm...maybe they do have a point.
I will respond to some of these charges.
Exhibitionists: I spent over a decade playing music for audiences- any audiences I could scrounge up, anywhere, anytime. Of course I'm an exhibitionist! So fucking what? (At least I'm not posting nude photos on the web or flashing old ladies at the nursing home). I'm also painfully shy in real life (unless I'm drunk) , so music and blogging let me express myself with considerably less restraint than water-cooler chats and awkward dinners with near-strangers (read:relatives) allow. I can only speak to my own motives, but I wager I'm not alone in this.
Uninformed: After a week of watching cable news I learned a lot. I learned that if an attractive ,middle-class white woman gets murdered by her husband, or raped by a celebrity, it's 'Breaking News' over-and-over again , but if the same thing happens to a poor black woman it's fine print in the crime log on page 13 of section B in the local newspaper. I learned that a drunken bear warranted ninety seconds of precious airtime, which is fifty-five seconds more than Afghanistan, Haiti, Sudan and Venezuela combined received. Flood the airwaves with trivial bullshit and then call your viewers ignorant? Gotta admit, it's crafty strategy .
Self-Absorbed: I spend 40+ hours a week alone in a damncube where I'm not even allowed to read a book, despite having no work to do. Amazingly, it tends to make me a little introspective. But so what? I enjoy reading other people's "self-absorbed" postings. Maybe someone got a giggle out of watching rich kids frolic in her boyfriend's vomit-I can sit here,in utter isolation, and have a giggle too. Perhaps another person just had a normal day, but is feeling happy. It reminds me that such a thing is possible for me as well. Even when someone shares a truly sad tragedy, it makes me think about things that I normally try to avoid, things that I should think about. Sometimes I even get someone to laugh, which is one of the main reasons I blog. It's not such a selfish endeavor when you look at blogging this way.
Tip o' the glass to bloggers!
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Hectic Busy Day
I walked over to the new adjustor's damncube to drop off some files, and guess what? She was playing solitaire on her PC! The nerve!
So I went back to my damncube and surfed the net for a while. Played with the stamp pad until I got red ink all over my hands. It looked like I had the Mother of all Papercuts. I should have walked over to the shredder and started screaming, but I didn't.
Grabbed a box of paperclips from the supply room, now I wish I hadn't. It was a real let-down. I take very little on blind faith, but I never thought to question the veracity of paperclip manufacturers. Now I do.
There's only 98 clips in this box! It says 100. I will write them a letter .
When I find time.
So I went back to my damncube and surfed the net for a while. Played with the stamp pad until I got red ink all over my hands. It looked like I had the Mother of all Papercuts. I should have walked over to the shredder and started screaming, but I didn't.
Grabbed a box of paperclips from the supply room, now I wish I hadn't. It was a real let-down. I take very little on blind faith, but I never thought to question the veracity of paperclip manufacturers. Now I do.
There's only 98 clips in this box! It says 100. I will write them a letter .
When I find time.
Bad Coffee Everywhere
Turmoil and instability have been the hallmarks of my life, but one thing has remained constant: Bad Coffee.
I've been imbibing oceans of bitter bean squeezings since I was in high school, and mostly it tastes awful. I don't care. I'm addicted. I'd drink battery acid if it had caffeine in it.
At home , the coffee is always freshly ground and deliciously potent. It's when I leave my domicile that my troubles begin. I just cannot bring myself to pay $2.75 for some designer dreck, so I often wind up stopping for a cup at gas stations or 7-11's on the way to whatever unfulfilling dead-end job I'm currently working. If I'm headed to the unemployment office I get two cups.
Most gas stations dispense coffee out of converted kerosene pumps. It's a good thing I don't smoke, because the oil-slick floating on top of gas-station coffee is a major fire hazard. 7-11 is a little better, but the one near my house started offering all these goddamned flavored coffees, cutting back on the chances of me being able fill my 48 ounce cup with 100% good ole' joe. If I wanted a raspberry/amaretto/hazelnut monstrosity, I'd go to Art school and flaunt my poser affectations at the hipster coffee house behind my building. I can tell no real artists go there. Real artists can't afford $3.00 shots of espresso.
The work-place offers unlimited free coffee. The brewing is approached the same way monks make fine brandy-always leave a bit of the old batch in to mingle with the new. Whatever you do , don't clean the pot. Ever. Go out to your car, grab the rag you use to wipe oil off the dipstick. Run it around the inside of the pot until the pot, the rag ,or both, change color. Ignore the dish soap next to the sink. That's for the tea-drinkers.
Never get coffee from a vending machine at a rest area. Those things are really teleportation devices that transport boiling toxic lava from Mercury's surface into a tiny cardboard cup. A cup with no lid. Try driving on I-95 with a cup of napalm in your lap.
But the all-time worst coffee I've ever had was at AA meetings. It's always in a rusty metal urn and it tastes like cigarettes and desperation. I had to drink a six-pack of Bud just to get the taste out of my mouth after a meeting. Then I'd have another six-pack to help ease the caffeine jitters. I'm very glad the D of C doesn't make me go to AA anymore.
I just found a Barsuck's gift card! I wonder if there's enough on it to get a triple-mocha-frappe-cinnamon- boysenberry-latte -puree?
I've been imbibing oceans of bitter bean squeezings since I was in high school, and mostly it tastes awful. I don't care. I'm addicted. I'd drink battery acid if it had caffeine in it.
At home , the coffee is always freshly ground and deliciously potent. It's when I leave my domicile that my troubles begin. I just cannot bring myself to pay $2.75 for some designer dreck, so I often wind up stopping for a cup at gas stations or 7-11's on the way to whatever unfulfilling dead-end job I'm currently working. If I'm headed to the unemployment office I get two cups.
Most gas stations dispense coffee out of converted kerosene pumps. It's a good thing I don't smoke, because the oil-slick floating on top of gas-station coffee is a major fire hazard. 7-11 is a little better, but the one near my house started offering all these goddamned flavored coffees, cutting back on the chances of me being able fill my 48 ounce cup with 100% good ole' joe. If I wanted a raspberry/amaretto/hazelnut monstrosity, I'd go to Art school and flaunt my poser affectations at the hipster coffee house behind my building. I can tell no real artists go there. Real artists can't afford $3.00 shots of espresso.
The work-place offers unlimited free coffee. The brewing is approached the same way monks make fine brandy-always leave a bit of the old batch in to mingle with the new. Whatever you do , don't clean the pot. Ever. Go out to your car, grab the rag you use to wipe oil off the dipstick. Run it around the inside of the pot until the pot, the rag ,or both, change color. Ignore the dish soap next to the sink. That's for the tea-drinkers.
Never get coffee from a vending machine at a rest area. Those things are really teleportation devices that transport boiling toxic lava from Mercury's surface into a tiny cardboard cup. A cup with no lid. Try driving on I-95 with a cup of napalm in your lap.
But the all-time worst coffee I've ever had was at AA meetings. It's always in a rusty metal urn and it tastes like cigarettes and desperation. I had to drink a six-pack of Bud just to get the taste out of my mouth after a meeting. Then I'd have another six-pack to help ease the caffeine jitters. I'm very glad the D of C doesn't make me go to AA anymore.
I just found a Barsuck's gift card! I wonder if there's enough on it to get a triple-mocha-frappe-cinnamon- boysenberry-latte -puree?
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
It's All True
There's a lady in the break room who's very dissatisfied with the taste and texture of the peas in her frozen dinner. They are 'yucky'. Do I want them?
Gee, thanks. I love me some yucky frozen peas! I tell her that freezing peas turns the starch molecules into saturated fat-that's why canned peas taste better than frozen.
Really? That makes sense. (No, it doesn't)
Is that why frozen corn tastes funny, too?
Yeah-don't eat that stuff. It's very bad for you.
I really shouldn't tell people stuff like that, but it's really her fault for believing it. Some people will believe anything.
Fluorescent lights cause tooth decay- the radiation sucks the fluoride out of your teeth. It's true!
Those 'breath strips'? They're made out of insect wings. Scout's honor!
Cochineal, a red coloring used in foods and cosmetics, is made from ground and roasted beetles. (This really is true, but no one believes me)
During electrical storms, a static charge can build in cell-phones, causing them to detonate. A friend of a co-worker's cousin lost a hand this way. Tell people you got this info from someone in the insurance business.
Speaking of cell-phones, did you know that a five-minute cell call exposes you to radiation equivalent to a half-dozen X-rays. Truth!
Did you know the thumbtack was first designed for use as an assassin's weapon? Smear some poison on it, place on the King's throne and voila! An amusing coup d'etat!
For god's sake, if you get any copy machine toner on your hands, wash it off RIGHT NOW! That stuff can kill you!
Did you know that 35% of what is sold as turkey is actually chicken? You don't want to know what 25% of what is sold as chicken really is. Really!
The gas inside bubble wrap causes cancer, so stop popping it!
Hey, would I lie?
Gee, thanks. I love me some yucky frozen peas! I tell her that freezing peas turns the starch molecules into saturated fat-that's why canned peas taste better than frozen.
Really? That makes sense. (No, it doesn't)
Is that why frozen corn tastes funny, too?
Yeah-don't eat that stuff. It's very bad for you.
I really shouldn't tell people stuff like that, but it's really her fault for believing it. Some people will believe anything.
Fluorescent lights cause tooth decay- the radiation sucks the fluoride out of your teeth. It's true!
Those 'breath strips'? They're made out of insect wings. Scout's honor!
Cochineal, a red coloring used in foods and cosmetics, is made from ground and roasted beetles. (This really is true, but no one believes me)
During electrical storms, a static charge can build in cell-phones, causing them to detonate. A friend of a co-worker's cousin lost a hand this way. Tell people you got this info from someone in the insurance business.
Speaking of cell-phones, did you know that a five-minute cell call exposes you to radiation equivalent to a half-dozen X-rays. Truth!
Did you know the thumbtack was first designed for use as an assassin's weapon? Smear some poison on it, place on the King's throne and voila! An amusing coup d'etat!
For god's sake, if you get any copy machine toner on your hands, wash it off RIGHT NOW! That stuff can kill you!
Did you know that 35% of what is sold as turkey is actually chicken? You don't want to know what 25% of what is sold as chicken really is. Really!
The gas inside bubble wrap causes cancer, so stop popping it!
Hey, would I lie?
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
McCain: Cancel Election, Abolish Gov't
New York- Sen. John McCain stunned the audience at the Republican National Convention last night when he used his keynote address to publicly call for the cancellation of this year's Presidential election and the immediate dismissal of the entire Federal government.
"We need to get the rat-bastards out of Washington", said a red-faced McCain. "That means all of them. The ones who don't go to prison will have to get real jobs".
Despite the overflow crowd, Madison Square Garden was silent.
" Look, people", the Arizona Republican continued," we all know our President is a dangerous lunatic- his years of binge-drinking and coke addiction have fucked him up way more than six years in a Viet Cong prison ever could. I oughta know".
Vice-President Dick Cheney left the arena, assisted by EMT personnel. His condition was described as "apoplectic".
McCain further stated that while he "applauds and respects" ( Bush opponent) John Kerry's military record, he finds the Democratic candidate to be "a bit of a drip, personally".
Claiming "non-partisan indifference", the decorated veteran said he was "sick of dealing with all the bullshit" , and suggested that both major political parties ,"leave me the hell alone".
Aides to Mr. Bush said the President was unlikely to act on McCain's recommendations.
A spokesperson from the Kerry campaign stated that while John Kerry praises Sen. McCain's military service, he feels that the Senator may have "finally flipped his lid", adding ,"on the other hand, a lot of what he said makes sense".
"We need to get the rat-bastards out of Washington", said a red-faced McCain. "That means all of them. The ones who don't go to prison will have to get real jobs".
Despite the overflow crowd, Madison Square Garden was silent.
" Look, people", the Arizona Republican continued," we all know our President is a dangerous lunatic- his years of binge-drinking and coke addiction have fucked him up way more than six years in a Viet Cong prison ever could. I oughta know".
Vice-President Dick Cheney left the arena, assisted by EMT personnel. His condition was described as "apoplectic".
McCain further stated that while he "applauds and respects" ( Bush opponent) John Kerry's military record, he finds the Democratic candidate to be "a bit of a drip, personally".
Claiming "non-partisan indifference", the decorated veteran said he was "sick of dealing with all the bullshit" , and suggested that both major political parties ,"leave me the hell alone".
Aides to Mr. Bush said the President was unlikely to act on McCain's recommendations.
A spokesperson from the Kerry campaign stated that while John Kerry praises Sen. McCain's military service, he feels that the Senator may have "finally flipped his lid", adding ,"on the other hand, a lot of what he said makes sense".
Meet The New Box
The new damncube is much like the old damncube, with one significant difference: No phone or data lines. I would be fine with that, it would reduce the possibility of doing any work to virtually nil. I said I'd be happy to just sit and read all day. They thought I was kidding.
Maybe I'll move tomorrow. This job can't last much longer-they sent a new adjustor up to work on the files and she's already bored. Told her to work slowly.
Still no PC at home-that's OK, it gives me time to focus on other, more important things.
Sure am glad I didn't give away my Playstation!
I got a new neighbor this month-at least it sounds like I do. Someone's been walking up and down the stairs and yesterday I smelled onions and peppers cooking. Yum! Haven't seen anyone though. Could be a ghost, or some squatters or a crazed, reclusive hermit type. I hope they're deaf, 'cause I was playing some really abrasive licks on my guitar last night. I think I came very close to shattering my windows. Made the cat puff up. Set off a car alarm outside. I am Rock God. Be glad you don't live on my block.
Instead of the usual barrage of Freudian/Lewis Carroll/Dante's Inferno imagery, I had a music dream. I forget who I was playing with, but I remember thinking that this was gonna be one helluva guitar solo (sometimes you just know these things) . Just when I was getting ready to hit the first note, the alarm wakes me up. Fuckin' lousy timing.
I'm still feeling strange. Can't quite dredge up my normal, manic-depressive, semi-coherent ,paranoid rage, and I can't quite allow myself to be happy. There's a word for me being happy-it's "jinx". If I get too optimistic, shit falls apart. If I get too pessimistic my fears are inevitably realized.
Shit, I'm lying. My mind is teeming with implausible and unwanted paranoid scenarios, plus one or two highly probable possibilities. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. I'd be more specific, but giving voice to my suspicions will make them so. Maybe another pot of coffee will still my thoughts.
I wish I was smart enough to figure this out-or stupid enough to not notice. Or shallow enough to not care.
By the time the Earth is swallowed up by our dying Sun, none of this will matter.
Maybe I'll move tomorrow. This job can't last much longer-they sent a new adjustor up to work on the files and she's already bored. Told her to work slowly.
Still no PC at home-that's OK, it gives me time to focus on other, more important things.
Sure am glad I didn't give away my Playstation!
I got a new neighbor this month-at least it sounds like I do. Someone's been walking up and down the stairs and yesterday I smelled onions and peppers cooking. Yum! Haven't seen anyone though. Could be a ghost, or some squatters or a crazed, reclusive hermit type. I hope they're deaf, 'cause I was playing some really abrasive licks on my guitar last night. I think I came very close to shattering my windows. Made the cat puff up. Set off a car alarm outside. I am Rock God. Be glad you don't live on my block.
Instead of the usual barrage of Freudian/Lewis Carroll/Dante's Inferno imagery, I had a music dream. I forget who I was playing with, but I remember thinking that this was gonna be one helluva guitar solo (sometimes you just know these things) . Just when I was getting ready to hit the first note, the alarm wakes me up. Fuckin' lousy timing.
I'm still feeling strange. Can't quite dredge up my normal, manic-depressive, semi-coherent ,paranoid rage, and I can't quite allow myself to be happy. There's a word for me being happy-it's "jinx". If I get too optimistic, shit falls apart. If I get too pessimistic my fears are inevitably realized.
Shit, I'm lying. My mind is teeming with implausible and unwanted paranoid scenarios, plus one or two highly probable possibilities. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. I'd be more specific, but giving voice to my suspicions will make them so. Maybe another pot of coffee will still my thoughts.
I wish I was smart enough to figure this out-or stupid enough to not notice. Or shallow enough to not care.
By the time the Earth is swallowed up by our dying Sun, none of this will matter.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Breathe Easier
I'm not going to Florida, which is a major relief. They are closing the other local office and moving the folks there over here. Except the ones who got down-sized. I'm moving to another, smaller damncube, which is in a very high-traffic area-not very happy about that- it'll be difficult for me to keep up with all my favorite leftist subversive -type websites, much less keep up the blogging. I'll start reading Newsmax and Drudge-that'll fool them. Ever read Newsmax? It's absolutely hilarious! Lots of cheesy ads for 'maverick physicians' shilling miracle medicines-Not Sold in Any Stores! Of course they aren't. That would be illegal.
The 'news' articles read as if they were written by retarded hillbillies on Oxycontin-oh wait-that's the radio guy. Newsmax seems to be penned by an emotionally disturbed but well-trained chimpanzee.
They must know their audience.
I digress.
Boss said my hours are up to me. That's pretty cool. Guess I'll get some overtime this week, heh heh. I was going to tell him I accidently got paid for a day that I called 'sick' on a while back, but decided against it. Rotten to the core, I am.
Uh oh. Mind wandered off. Must..get...angry... I know! I'll read the news! Hmmm... seems the FBI is visiting folks who may potentially protest the upcoming creep convention in NYC.
Excuse me sir, are you planning any acts of violence or domestic terrorism during the week of the convention?
When the government comes to your house because you might someday do something disagreeable, it's time to re-evaluate just how far we've fallen. There really is a thought police. Got mud on your boots? Wipe 'em on the Constitution! The blood of hippie-pinkos on yer hands? We've printed the Bill of Rights on absorbent paper towels! Wipe yourself and throw away!
It's ugly now, but we ain't seen nuthin' yet.
One more thing: That weird sore spot on my arm that I was afraid to mention- isn't cancer. In fact it cleared up and went away all by itself. Not that I worry about that sort of thing.
The 'news' articles read as if they were written by retarded hillbillies on Oxycontin-oh wait-that's the radio guy. Newsmax seems to be penned by an emotionally disturbed but well-trained chimpanzee.
They must know their audience.
I digress.
Boss said my hours are up to me. That's pretty cool. Guess I'll get some overtime this week, heh heh. I was going to tell him I accidently got paid for a day that I called 'sick' on a while back, but decided against it. Rotten to the core, I am.
Uh oh. Mind wandered off. Must..get...angry... I know! I'll read the news! Hmmm... seems the FBI is visiting folks who may potentially protest the upcoming creep convention in NYC.
Excuse me sir, are you planning any acts of violence or domestic terrorism during the week of the convention?
When the government comes to your house because you might someday do something disagreeable, it's time to re-evaluate just how far we've fallen. There really is a thought police. Got mud on your boots? Wipe 'em on the Constitution! The blood of hippie-pinkos on yer hands? We've printed the Bill of Rights on absorbent paper towels! Wipe yourself and throw away!
It's ugly now, but we ain't seen nuthin' yet.
One more thing: That weird sore spot on my arm that I was afraid to mention- isn't cancer. In fact it cleared up and went away all by itself. Not that I worry about that sort of thing.
Lest I Forget...
Almost lapsed into a sickly-sweet contented daydream coma. Can't have that. I'll dwell on things that piss me off until I feel normal.
1) Goddamn Hewlitt-Packard piece of shit! My freakin' motherboard needs to be replaced again. That's three times in less than three years. It's covered, but I have to take time off from work (see #2 below) for a service call. I really miss my email. The tech I talked to on the phone kept going off on tangents about his grandmother's funeral in 1979 and his stint in the Air Force and how the Cowboys are gonna suck this year-after a few hours he decided I needed a new motherboard. That's the very first thing I told him when I placed the call-"I need a new motherboard". He asked me if the computer was plugged in and turned on. Well, shit. Ya know , I didn't know you had to plug the damn thing in! Gimme my motherboard, motherfucker!
2) I cannot get a straight answer from work about anything. We are moving you here. Oops. We meant there instead . No, the other there. Just sit tight for now. We'll let you know at the absolute last moment what we need you to do.
I may go to Florida, or I may move to a different damncube in the same office. Right now I don't even know what my hours are. We are sending a Catastrophe team to Florida, but the building the company leased doesn't exist anymore-perhaps you've seen the rubble on TV? For some reason, all the motels that aren't flattened are booked up. I've heard horror stories about sleeping on office floors after Hurricane Andrew-if I wanted to sleep on the office floor I'd drink at work. I hope I don't go.
That's it? Where's all my outrage? Politics notwithstanding, I'm not feeling like the Human Torch today. How unusual. I'm feeling warm and fuzzy, like that tiny patch of soft down that's between two particular shoulderblades. Next to those three freckles that form a perfect triangle... oh bloody hell! I'm doing it again!
Damn! I can't turn into the Hulk today. Even Bruce Banner could kick my ass, and we all know what a wuss he is.
Don't worry. I'm sure something truly awful will come along soon enough. It always does. Maybe it already has, and I'm just too ga-ga to care. Very, very strange.
1) Goddamn Hewlitt-Packard piece of shit! My freakin' motherboard needs to be replaced again. That's three times in less than three years. It's covered, but I have to take time off from work (see #2 below) for a service call. I really miss my email. The tech I talked to on the phone kept going off on tangents about his grandmother's funeral in 1979 and his stint in the Air Force and how the Cowboys are gonna suck this year-after a few hours he decided I needed a new motherboard. That's the very first thing I told him when I placed the call-"I need a new motherboard". He asked me if the computer was plugged in and turned on. Well, shit. Ya know , I didn't know you had to plug the damn thing in! Gimme my motherboard, motherfucker!
2) I cannot get a straight answer from work about anything. We are moving you here. Oops. We meant there instead . No, the other there. Just sit tight for now. We'll let you know at the absolute last moment what we need you to do.
I may go to Florida, or I may move to a different damncube in the same office. Right now I don't even know what my hours are. We are sending a Catastrophe team to Florida, but the building the company leased doesn't exist anymore-perhaps you've seen the rubble on TV? For some reason, all the motels that aren't flattened are booked up. I've heard horror stories about sleeping on office floors after Hurricane Andrew-if I wanted to sleep on the office floor I'd drink at work. I hope I don't go.
That's it? Where's all my outrage? Politics notwithstanding, I'm not feeling like the Human Torch today. How unusual. I'm feeling warm and fuzzy, like that tiny patch of soft down that's between two particular shoulderblades. Next to those three freckles that form a perfect triangle... oh bloody hell! I'm doing it again!
Damn! I can't turn into the Hulk today. Even Bruce Banner could kick my ass, and we all know what a wuss he is.
Don't worry. I'm sure something truly awful will come along soon enough. It always does. Maybe it already has, and I'm just too ga-ga to care. Very, very strange.
Never Listens
By now, I am fairly certain that you must like me a little bit. Well, OK, more than a little. You know how I feel, since I can't seem to stop telling you.
So why won't you listen to anything I say? Sorry. You listen to my statements, but you don't answer my questions. You didn't even listen to the CD I gave you. You won't read this either. I wish you would, but you won't.
You don't want to meet any of my friends, you don't want me to meet your kids. That hurts me. I feel like I'm a dirty secret.Whatother secrets do you have? I don't know.
I'm in a strange place and I don't speak the language. I haven't played this game for so long I've forgotten the rules. Truth, I've never quite understood the rules. So give me a clue, because I'm getting all mixed-up.
You kept that scribble poem I wrote for you. That's a good sign.
Yes it is.
Where are you when you aren't here?
I know where I am.
I'm nowhere at all.
So why won't you listen to anything I say? Sorry. You listen to my statements, but you don't answer my questions. You didn't even listen to the CD I gave you. You won't read this either. I wish you would, but you won't.
You don't want to meet any of my friends, you don't want me to meet your kids. That hurts me. I feel like I'm a dirty secret.Whatother secrets do you have? I don't know.
I'm in a strange place and I don't speak the language. I haven't played this game for so long I've forgotten the rules. Truth, I've never quite understood the rules. So give me a clue, because I'm getting all mixed-up.
You kept that scribble poem I wrote for you. That's a good sign.
Yes it is.
Where are you when you aren't here?
I know where I am.
I'm nowhere at all.
Friday, August 13, 2004
Third World Northern Neighbor?
In yet another shameless effort to give taxpayer money to Big Medicine , the FDA has announced that drugs imported from Canada may be targeted by terrorists. As usual, they don't have any specific evidence or information-just another 'bad vibe'. Why did they announce this today?
Maybe because the state of Vermont is suing the FDA for the right to import affordable drugs from Canada? Nah. The good people at BushCo would't use terror alerts as part of a political smoke-screen, would they? You bet your ass they would.
First, they attempted to convince us that imported and re-imported medicine from Canada would be unsafe, adulterated or just plain counterfiet. Say what? They paint a picture of devilish Canadians hastily converting trailer-park meth-labs into clandestine factories for producing cyanide-laced Viagra and Prozac capsules full of laundry detergent.
That arguement doesn't hold up. If the Canadian pharmaceutical industry was really churning out these toxic tablets, the Canooks would be coming to America to buy prescriptions, not the other way around. In case you are unfamiliar with Canada, it's a fully modern, industrialized nation with a carefully regulated pharmaceutical industry. Think of it as America without the Dalkon shield. Oh, yeah, there's also the fact that many of these pills are made in the U.S. in the first place. That's why it's called 're-importing'. This spurious leap of logic has been thoroughly discredited.
So BushCo does what they always do when required to defend the indefensible or obfuscate the obvious: they invoke terrorism. Without a shred of evidence or documentation they've determined that Al-Queda plans on poisoning shipments of U.S.-bound Canadian drugs. Come again? Think about that a minute. Those people like to blow shit up. They like the big explosions. Tampering with pills is not their style-that's a homegrown wack-job endeavor. Remember the cyanide-laced Tylenol in Chicago? Why would Al-Queda go to Canada to poison pills? They are crazy, no doubt, but they aren't stupid. Why not just poison shit that's already in the U.S.?
Like food. How hard is it to slip ricin into a salad bar? Or get a job at McDonalds and poison a thousand Big Macs before getting caught. These fuckers blow themselves up without blinking-I think they could handle working at Burger King for long enough to make a lot of people very sick. There's about a zillion better ways to spread poison than messing with Canadian drug imports.
This latest 'threat' is just another steaming truck-load of fresh horseshit. The truth is, BushCo owes a lot of favors to the drug lobby and they damn sure plan on honoring those debts, even if it means 'Grandma Millie' might have to cut a few corners or shave a few years off her life.
Maybe because the state of Vermont is suing the FDA for the right to import affordable drugs from Canada? Nah. The good people at BushCo would't use terror alerts as part of a political smoke-screen, would they? You bet your ass they would.
First, they attempted to convince us that imported and re-imported medicine from Canada would be unsafe, adulterated or just plain counterfiet. Say what? They paint a picture of devilish Canadians hastily converting trailer-park meth-labs into clandestine factories for producing cyanide-laced Viagra and Prozac capsules full of laundry detergent.
That arguement doesn't hold up. If the Canadian pharmaceutical industry was really churning out these toxic tablets, the Canooks would be coming to America to buy prescriptions, not the other way around. In case you are unfamiliar with Canada, it's a fully modern, industrialized nation with a carefully regulated pharmaceutical industry. Think of it as America without the Dalkon shield. Oh, yeah, there's also the fact that many of these pills are made in the U.S. in the first place. That's why it's called 're-importing'. This spurious leap of logic has been thoroughly discredited.
So BushCo does what they always do when required to defend the indefensible or obfuscate the obvious: they invoke terrorism. Without a shred of evidence or documentation they've determined that Al-Queda plans on poisoning shipments of U.S.-bound Canadian drugs. Come again? Think about that a minute. Those people like to blow shit up. They like the big explosions. Tampering with pills is not their style-that's a homegrown wack-job endeavor. Remember the cyanide-laced Tylenol in Chicago? Why would Al-Queda go to Canada to poison pills? They are crazy, no doubt, but they aren't stupid. Why not just poison shit that's already in the U.S.?
Like food. How hard is it to slip ricin into a salad bar? Or get a job at McDonalds and poison a thousand Big Macs before getting caught. These fuckers blow themselves up without blinking-I think they could handle working at Burger King for long enough to make a lot of people very sick. There's about a zillion better ways to spread poison than messing with Canadian drug imports.
This latest 'threat' is just another steaming truck-load of fresh horseshit. The truth is, BushCo owes a lot of favors to the drug lobby and they damn sure plan on honoring those debts, even if it means 'Grandma Millie' might have to cut a few corners or shave a few years off her life.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
She Knows a Lawyer
I get a call from a distraught sounding woman. She's making no sense. Something about a check she sent back that someone else cashed and her husband is sick and last month her car broke down on the way to the vet... Huh? Can I put you on hold while I retrieve your file?
This is a crazy one. Maybe she'll go away if I ignore her. Nope.
Look at her file. She's been paid twice. She's done this before. Someone has noted that she has filed duplicate claims before and is in 'non-renew' status. Policy expires next week. Hmm...
Ma'am, we've paid you in full. No further payments are due.
She says she's watching her husband die and the kids don't have any food and she had a car wreck and had to buy a new car instead of fixing the old one because her dogs won't get in it after the accident and we should pay her $800, 000 because her husband got sick after her roof started leaking and by the way she's almost broke and the operation is very expensive... ( she has a rentor's policy-it does not cover doggie psychiatrists or dying husbands)
I can't help it. Starts with a little snicker, but I'm reduced to tears of laughter. This woman is good!
Don't laugh at me! I'm at my husband's deathbed! Who's your boss? I know a lawyer! I'm broke after I bought the new car! My husband is very ill! My dogs need surgery!
I very politely suggest she review her auto and life insurance policies at this difficult time , but rentor's insurance does not apply to this situation.
Screaming reciever yelling loud enough to turn heads in nearby damncubes. I hold it at arm's length.
I wish I could get a copy of the "quality assurance" recording.
This is a crazy one. Maybe she'll go away if I ignore her. Nope.
Look at her file. She's been paid twice. She's done this before. Someone has noted that she has filed duplicate claims before and is in 'non-renew' status. Policy expires next week. Hmm...
Ma'am, we've paid you in full. No further payments are due.
She says she's watching her husband die and the kids don't have any food and she had a car wreck and had to buy a new car instead of fixing the old one because her dogs won't get in it after the accident and we should pay her $800, 000 because her husband got sick after her roof started leaking and by the way she's almost broke and the operation is very expensive... ( she has a rentor's policy-it does not cover doggie psychiatrists or dying husbands)
I can't help it. Starts with a little snicker, but I'm reduced to tears of laughter. This woman is good!
Don't laugh at me! I'm at my husband's deathbed! Who's your boss? I know a lawyer! I'm broke after I bought the new car! My husband is very ill! My dogs need surgery!
I very politely suggest she review her auto and life insurance policies at this difficult time , but rentor's insurance does not apply to this situation.
Screaming reciever yelling loud enough to turn heads in nearby damncubes. I hold it at arm's length.
I wish I could get a copy of the "quality assurance" recording.
The Ice Cream Social Before the Storm
Much hubub and preparation as the twin storms move toward Florida. Waiting to see what happens, could be nothing, could be a trip south to help set up a Catastrophe office. Don't know, but I need to be able leave on a 24 hour notice , just in case.
I'm not sure how I feel about that, but at least it won't be dull.
Today is the office 'Ice Cream Social'. What's next- a Sadie Hawkins dance? Spirit Day? A pep rally? I swear, the workplace is worse than a thousand High Schools. I oughta know, since that's how many I attended.
I remember when an office party meant getting boozed up and Xeroxing body parts. That's the only picture of Alicia that I kept, since it doesn't have her damned lying eyes in it.
What exactly is an ice cream social anyway? I'd rather not talk to strangers while I eat ice cream. I bet I hear a bunch of lame diet jokes.
I wonder if my on-again/off-again One will be there? Skip the damn ice cream and go straight to the chocolate syrup! I thought that was over, but she called last night. Maybe this weekend, eh? Unless I get shipped out. A constant state of flux. Stay calm. Can't do it. I'm having some very wicked thoughts right now. Shame on me!
I'm not sure how I feel about that, but at least it won't be dull.
Today is the office 'Ice Cream Social'. What's next- a Sadie Hawkins dance? Spirit Day? A pep rally? I swear, the workplace is worse than a thousand High Schools. I oughta know, since that's how many I attended.
I remember when an office party meant getting boozed up and Xeroxing body parts. That's the only picture of Alicia that I kept, since it doesn't have her damned lying eyes in it.
What exactly is an ice cream social anyway? I'd rather not talk to strangers while I eat ice cream. I bet I hear a bunch of lame diet jokes.
I wonder if my on-again/off-again One will be there? Skip the damn ice cream and go straight to the chocolate syrup! I thought that was over, but she called last night. Maybe this weekend, eh? Unless I get shipped out. A constant state of flux. Stay calm. Can't do it. I'm having some very wicked thoughts right now. Shame on me!
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Quit or Fired
I got fired two weeks ago and didn't even know it. It's been a good week at work for a change. Got a (small) retroactive raise, and some real work to do. After talking to my boss today, they are keeping me on- if Florida gets crushed I might get sent there. My evaluation was tops, but they won't give me a real job with benefits, just more work as a temp. I count my blessings- I'm feeling freakin' lucky to have a living wage and a decent boss.
When I got home today, I had a message from the temp agency asking me why I got fired. Fired two weeks ago. Call the 888#! This pretty much kills my buzz.
I have my new schedule (w/ overtime!) in my hand while I'm getting my post-mortem pink slip read to me on the phone.
It's a mistake, when my account was updated it was accidentally closed. The Company says it'll be ok.
I better get paid this week.
When I got home today, I had a message from the temp agency asking me why I got fired. Fired two weeks ago. Call the 888#! This pretty much kills my buzz.
I have my new schedule (w/ overtime!) in my hand while I'm getting my post-mortem pink slip read to me on the phone.
It's a mistake, when my account was updated it was accidentally closed. The Company says it'll be ok.
I better get paid this week.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Those Who Marry Do Ill
How stands the war upon nature now? Why, so -that short of a planetary catastrophe, we are certain of the conquest? Consciousness! The alert brain! The dominant will! Invention, discovery, mastery of hidden forces. We are no longer compelled to use the blind method of limitless propagation to equip the race with hunters and trappers and fishers and sheep-keepers and soil-tillers and breeders. Therefore, the original necessity which gave rise to the instinct of prolific parentage is gone; the instinct itself is bound to die, and is dying, but will die faster as men grasp more and more of the whole situation. In proportion as the parenthood of the brain becomes more and more prolific, as ideas spread, multiply, and conquer, the necessity for great physical production declines. This is my first contention. Hence the development of individuality does no longer necessarily imply numerous children, nor indeed, necessarily any children at all. That is not to say that no one will want children, nor to prophecy race suicide. It is simply to say that there will be fewer born, with better chances of surviving, developing, and achieving. Indeed, with all its clash of tendencies, the consciousness of our present society is having this driven home to it.
-Voltairine De Cleyre, 1907 , from
Those who Marry do Ill
Is it today possible to look to a world that seem to be waking, evolving towards a new consciousness, joined in a common goal ? Releasing our hold on the institutions and conceits that have outlived any discernible social necessity?
De Cleyre believed so, nearly a century past. Would that I could feel that optimistic today.
In many ways her ideas are still far ahead of the times- we have not advanced as far as we could have, a progress impeded, perhaps ,not for the best of reasons and motives. In fact, we seem to be plunging headlong into a new Gilded Age, complete with Robber Barons and a timeless antipathy towards the lower , and now , middle classes.(There wasn't much of a middle class during the reign of Carnegie, Rockefeller, Scott, et. al. ;that lack being a conscious goal of their policies).
The gross injustice of that time gave rise to the Labor Movement, the Anarchists, and the Progressive movement, all of which are now held up by the New Military -Industrialists as a great rabble of unpatriotic, dangerous, anti-nationalistic hooligans. Just substitute 'environmentalists' for 'anarchist'. The rhetoric from the right remains almost the same a century later.
An agenda designed to protect the entrenched interests of the powerful few from the needs of the hoi polloi. The railroads are nearly gone, but the war-profiteering machine has swallowed our shining beacon as surely as a Black Hole swallows light from dying stars.
Voices as diverse as De Cleyre's and , fifty years and two World Wars later,Dwight Eisenhower, spoke against the rise of this devouring beast. Ike warned us that any nation that maintained an overwhelmingly powerful standing army would inevitably become a dictatorship.
The earliest Unionists were hung, shot , jailed and blacklisted. Corporate Bosses placed profits over human life, yet encouraged the poor to eschew contraceptive practices, prompting De Cleyre to deplore the idea of the woman as 'breeder', seeing this role, to some extent, as a tool used by the ruling class for producing fodder for the factories; when in fact the rise of knowledge and technology should contraindicate the need for such a cannabilistic approach.
She foresaw a rise in self-empowered individualism that would correspond with the rise of useful technology, when we've seen a decline in the former and an increase of the latter. No balance.
What to do?
-Voltairine De Cleyre, 1907 , from
Those who Marry do Ill
Is it today possible to look to a world that seem to be waking, evolving towards a new consciousness, joined in a common goal ? Releasing our hold on the institutions and conceits that have outlived any discernible social necessity?
De Cleyre believed so, nearly a century past. Would that I could feel that optimistic today.
In many ways her ideas are still far ahead of the times- we have not advanced as far as we could have, a progress impeded, perhaps ,not for the best of reasons and motives. In fact, we seem to be plunging headlong into a new Gilded Age, complete with Robber Barons and a timeless antipathy towards the lower , and now , middle classes.(There wasn't much of a middle class during the reign of Carnegie, Rockefeller, Scott, et. al. ;that lack being a conscious goal of their policies).
The gross injustice of that time gave rise to the Labor Movement, the Anarchists, and the Progressive movement, all of which are now held up by the New Military -Industrialists as a great rabble of unpatriotic, dangerous, anti-nationalistic hooligans. Just substitute 'environmentalists' for 'anarchist'. The rhetoric from the right remains almost the same a century later.
An agenda designed to protect the entrenched interests of the powerful few from the needs of the hoi polloi. The railroads are nearly gone, but the war-profiteering machine has swallowed our shining beacon as surely as a Black Hole swallows light from dying stars.
Voices as diverse as De Cleyre's and , fifty years and two World Wars later,Dwight Eisenhower, spoke against the rise of this devouring beast. Ike warned us that any nation that maintained an overwhelmingly powerful standing army would inevitably become a dictatorship.
The earliest Unionists were hung, shot , jailed and blacklisted. Corporate Bosses placed profits over human life, yet encouraged the poor to eschew contraceptive practices, prompting De Cleyre to deplore the idea of the woman as 'breeder', seeing this role, to some extent, as a tool used by the ruling class for producing fodder for the factories; when in fact the rise of knowledge and technology should contraindicate the need for such a cannabilistic approach.
She foresaw a rise in self-empowered individualism that would correspond with the rise of useful technology, when we've seen a decline in the former and an increase of the latter. No balance.
What to do?
Bad News, Good News
The Bad News first: According to NASA, the Earth will not be destroyed by a comet in the year 2126. Shucks. I just bought comet insurance, but I think I got burned.
Good News: Aug 11 and 12 should be very good nights for meteor shower viewing. Head to the country, away from lights- NASA recommends you lie on a sleeping bag and stare up at the sky between two a.m. and dawn for the best display. I'm not sure what role the sleeping bag plays, I'll probably borrow a lawn chair myself. (If I lie down on anything remotely comfortable at 4 a.m. on a worknight, I'll fall asleep). Have to go to bed early and get out there Thursday morn.
Bad News: The rumours that the comet's filament will rain deadly space-borne microbes down on us, bringing a swift, flesh-eating cosmic Ebola virus, ending life as we know it- are false. The reality is that it harbors a dormant race of sentient, ambulatory fungus creatures who will enslave us and force us to do their evil mushroom bidding.
Really Bad News: The change will be so subtle no one will even notice when this happens.
Good News: Aug 11 and 12 should be very good nights for meteor shower viewing. Head to the country, away from lights- NASA recommends you lie on a sleeping bag and stare up at the sky between two a.m. and dawn for the best display. I'm not sure what role the sleeping bag plays, I'll probably borrow a lawn chair myself. (If I lie down on anything remotely comfortable at 4 a.m. on a worknight, I'll fall asleep). Have to go to bed early and get out there Thursday morn.
Bad News: The rumours that the comet's filament will rain deadly space-borne microbes down on us, bringing a swift, flesh-eating cosmic Ebola virus, ending life as we know it- are false. The reality is that it harbors a dormant race of sentient, ambulatory fungus creatures who will enslave us and force us to do their evil mushroom bidding.
Really Bad News: The change will be so subtle no one will even notice when this happens.
Not Ruined
Had a letter on my desk this morning that started ,"Dear Mr. xxxx, grab a cup of coffee, sit down and take a deep breath, because I'm about to ruin your day". Gee, thanks.
Ha ha! You didn't even come close to ruining my day -nice try though. It's just paperwork; I'm glad to have something to do and a long letter to read. This woman was in her kitchen during the hurricane and she gets up to fetch a radio from the other room- just at the exact moment the massive brick end-chimney falls into the kitchen, destroying anything. Looking at the photos, there's no way she could have survived had she been there. Lucky ,lucky lady.
Sorta, anyway. Her house was a historical landmark (built circa 1740) and it's a total loss, despite the best efforts of three different contractors. As she states ," ...this was not a walk in the park". We are building her a very nice new home, but it won't be the same, I'm sure.
At the end of her letter she gives me high praise and gushing thanks for all the help over the last 11 months. That kinda made my day instead of ruining it.
I did something good, and it wasn't very hard to do. Maybe I'm not hopeless after all.
Ha ha! You didn't even come close to ruining my day -nice try though. It's just paperwork; I'm glad to have something to do and a long letter to read. This woman was in her kitchen during the hurricane and she gets up to fetch a radio from the other room- just at the exact moment the massive brick end-chimney falls into the kitchen, destroying anything. Looking at the photos, there's no way she could have survived had she been there. Lucky ,lucky lady.
Sorta, anyway. Her house was a historical landmark (built circa 1740) and it's a total loss, despite the best efforts of three different contractors. As she states ," ...this was not a walk in the park". We are building her a very nice new home, but it won't be the same, I'm sure.
At the end of her letter she gives me high praise and gushing thanks for all the help over the last 11 months. That kinda made my day instead of ruining it.
I did something good, and it wasn't very hard to do. Maybe I'm not hopeless after all.
Monday, August 09, 2004
Unfair
Maybe it's the let-down after an adrenaline and alcohol fueled road trip. Maybe it's the by-product of an afternoon spent reading up on world events, maybe it's just the last few years catching up, I don't know. It's possible I'm just emotionally disturbed, but I feel a lot of pain right now.
It's not my pain. I'm used to that. I pretty much deserve that, but there are a lot of purer souls than me who are hurting, and it's not fair. It's not goddamn fair. It never has been and it never will be. We are all helpless together. Apart, it's worse.
It could be an image of a Sudanese mother desperately trying to get her dying infant to drink formula. It could be a very moving personal account of tragedy and loss I just saw on a young man's web-site. Or those books on my shelf that used to belong to my Mom. These days it doesn't take much to set me off into a spiral of sorrow and tears. It doesn't take much to make me happy either, but the happiness is more and more fleeting,while the undercurrent of sadness never goes away.
On the way home I hear about a local man who left his three-year-old daughter in a hot car for hours. She died. My first reaction was blind anger. Drag his body through the streets. Head on a pike at the city gates.
But really, how could any external punishment be worse than what he's got to be feeling? The funeral service is being held in the church that this child died right outside of. She baked to death in a church parking lot. Sometimes I hate this fucking world. What's the point in trying to be a decent person in a world where babies die twenty yards from a house of God? Why must these things happen?
Why?
Because it's not fair. No one can change that.
Never take a loved one for granted. Let them know you care before they become a memory. There's so much I wish I could say to people who aren't here anymore, but now it's too late. And every day it seems like there's one less person to love. Why didn't I say the right things when I had the chance? What was I afraid of?
It's not fair.
It's not my pain. I'm used to that. I pretty much deserve that, but there are a lot of purer souls than me who are hurting, and it's not fair. It's not goddamn fair. It never has been and it never will be. We are all helpless together. Apart, it's worse.
It could be an image of a Sudanese mother desperately trying to get her dying infant to drink formula. It could be a very moving personal account of tragedy and loss I just saw on a young man's web-site. Or those books on my shelf that used to belong to my Mom. These days it doesn't take much to set me off into a spiral of sorrow and tears. It doesn't take much to make me happy either, but the happiness is more and more fleeting,while the undercurrent of sadness never goes away.
On the way home I hear about a local man who left his three-year-old daughter in a hot car for hours. She died. My first reaction was blind anger. Drag his body through the streets. Head on a pike at the city gates.
But really, how could any external punishment be worse than what he's got to be feeling? The funeral service is being held in the church that this child died right outside of. She baked to death in a church parking lot. Sometimes I hate this fucking world. What's the point in trying to be a decent person in a world where babies die twenty yards from a house of God? Why must these things happen?
Why?
Because it's not fair. No one can change that.
Never take a loved one for granted. Let them know you care before they become a memory. There's so much I wish I could say to people who aren't here anymore, but now it's too late. And every day it seems like there's one less person to love. Why didn't I say the right things when I had the chance? What was I afraid of?
It's not fair.
Not Chocolates
Life is most certainly not a box of chocolates. It's a goddamn cargo container of conflicts. War rages all around me- people are being beaten , stabbed, shot and left to die in pools of their own blood, and I still have time to obsess on my own inner turmoil.
I could've fucked a mixed-up teenage girl in the ice room of a Motel 6 in New Jersey and I didn't. I hate myself for that. If I had screwed her I'd hate myself even more. Lose/lose situation here. Not even sure why this matters to me now, it's just an extreme example of the daily struggle that plays out inside my head.
It's not as if I'm a chivalrous knight-in-armor or any such thing. Far from it. I'm capable of doing very bad things. Hardly an hour passes that I don't have an unwelcome parade of purely evil thoughts- I have to quietly talk myself out of acting on them. It's difficult.
Part of growing up means realizing that your actions, even if they seem trivial and unimportant to you ,can have significant effects on others. Just because you aren't there to see the damage doesn't mean it's not done. Despite my rhetoric, I really have no desire to hurt anyone. You can't go through life without inadvertantly hurting others, but you can try not to anyway. I hope that makes sense.
Do what you want, or do what's right. Sometimes it's the same thing, but not always. I spend so much time reflecting on this that it's pretty fucking incredible that I ever get anything done. I'm freakin' paralyzed by my own sense of morality, which, if you've known me for a long time, is a pretty goddamn funny statement.
I don't wanna be the villian. I haven't got what it takes to be a hero. The middle ground is unacceptble. It's a vast grey area where nothing much happens, good or bad. It's a crowded place, but it's so lonely it could kill. I don't like living in this wasteland.
Sometimes I envy sociopaths. They might be insane axe-murderers but at least they know where they stand in relation to the rest of the world.I don't think I'm going to snap and go on a frenzied stabbing spree or anything, but I really would like to do something good someday.
Just not sure I know how.
I could've fucked a mixed-up teenage girl in the ice room of a Motel 6 in New Jersey and I didn't. I hate myself for that. If I had screwed her I'd hate myself even more. Lose/lose situation here. Not even sure why this matters to me now, it's just an extreme example of the daily struggle that plays out inside my head.
It's not as if I'm a chivalrous knight-in-armor or any such thing. Far from it. I'm capable of doing very bad things. Hardly an hour passes that I don't have an unwelcome parade of purely evil thoughts- I have to quietly talk myself out of acting on them. It's difficult.
Part of growing up means realizing that your actions, even if they seem trivial and unimportant to you ,can have significant effects on others. Just because you aren't there to see the damage doesn't mean it's not done. Despite my rhetoric, I really have no desire to hurt anyone. You can't go through life without inadvertantly hurting others, but you can try not to anyway. I hope that makes sense.
Do what you want, or do what's right. Sometimes it's the same thing, but not always. I spend so much time reflecting on this that it's pretty fucking incredible that I ever get anything done. I'm freakin' paralyzed by my own sense of morality, which, if you've known me for a long time, is a pretty goddamn funny statement.
I don't wanna be the villian. I haven't got what it takes to be a hero. The middle ground is unacceptble. It's a vast grey area where nothing much happens, good or bad. It's a crowded place, but it's so lonely it could kill. I don't like living in this wasteland.
Sometimes I envy sociopaths. They might be insane axe-murderers but at least they know where they stand in relation to the rest of the world.I don't think I'm going to snap and go on a frenzied stabbing spree or anything, but I really would like to do something good someday.
Just not sure I know how.
Weekend Made Me Smile
Sure was a good weekend. We survived traffic trauma and scary close encounters with law enforcement and arrived in Brooklyn nearly intact, if not on time. Shuffle the playing order of bands like a deck of cards- doesn't matter really, since there is no audience.
Where are my friends? Right outside! Yay!
The club might be empty, but I'm sitting at the bar, flanked by beautiful women. Pinch me!
I know I'm not dreaming, 'cos this is good, and my dreams aren't. I might have to start believing in some sort of Almighty Cloud Being, because these angels have to come from somewhere.
The angel on my left captivates me. I try really hard to pronounce her name, but I fail. I could blame it on the beer and weed, but I'd be tongue-tied in the presence of this goddess regardless of my mental state. The angel on my right reminds me why it's important to get out and meet people-if it wasn't for her I wouldn't be there. I'd really like to kiss her, but her boyfriend might take offence. I bask in the warm radiance of these twin suns.
This part of the evening doesn't last long enough.
Pack up the gear! Load up the van! Find a diner!
We find a diner that serves breakfast food and liquor. That's very cool. A philosophical roundtable discussion on the merits of pickles begins. We are some silly people, but we tip well.
Back to the motel! There's a nubile asian girl in her underwear sitting on the steps, crying into a cell-phone and drinking beer. This doesn't seem at all unusual.
In the room, Katie suggests that I should probably go talk to her. Well, OK.
I can't recall what I said, but at least she's not crying anymore. Turns out that some footwear company music tour is putting all their bands up in the motel. She asks me what band I'm in. I'm not. She really wants me to be in one of those bands. She tells me she just turned eighteen.
Someday, someone is really going to victimize this vulnerable waif, but it's not going to be me.
Back in the room it's suddenly dawn. Maybe we should sleep. For two hours.
Hit the road. The road hits back. I-95 is a broiler traffic jam all the way home. I learn what it feels like to be a lobster. It feels red, like a fourth degree sunburn.
Eventually we make it back.
I haven't been at work for five minutes before someone calls about their sewage emergency. I resist the urge to tell them I don't give a shit.
This weekend makes me smile.
Where are my friends? Right outside! Yay!
The club might be empty, but I'm sitting at the bar, flanked by beautiful women. Pinch me!
I know I'm not dreaming, 'cos this is good, and my dreams aren't. I might have to start believing in some sort of Almighty Cloud Being, because these angels have to come from somewhere.
The angel on my left captivates me. I try really hard to pronounce her name, but I fail. I could blame it on the beer and weed, but I'd be tongue-tied in the presence of this goddess regardless of my mental state. The angel on my right reminds me why it's important to get out and meet people-if it wasn't for her I wouldn't be there. I'd really like to kiss her, but her boyfriend might take offence. I bask in the warm radiance of these twin suns.
This part of the evening doesn't last long enough.
Pack up the gear! Load up the van! Find a diner!
We find a diner that serves breakfast food and liquor. That's very cool. A philosophical roundtable discussion on the merits of pickles begins. We are some silly people, but we tip well.
Back to the motel! There's a nubile asian girl in her underwear sitting on the steps, crying into a cell-phone and drinking beer. This doesn't seem at all unusual.
In the room, Katie suggests that I should probably go talk to her. Well, OK.
I can't recall what I said, but at least she's not crying anymore. Turns out that some footwear company music tour is putting all their bands up in the motel. She asks me what band I'm in. I'm not. She really wants me to be in one of those bands. She tells me she just turned eighteen.
Someday, someone is really going to victimize this vulnerable waif, but it's not going to be me.
Back in the room it's suddenly dawn. Maybe we should sleep. For two hours.
Hit the road. The road hits back. I-95 is a broiler traffic jam all the way home. I learn what it feels like to be a lobster. It feels red, like a fourth degree sunburn.
Eventually we make it back.
I haven't been at work for five minutes before someone calls about their sewage emergency. I resist the urge to tell them I don't give a shit.
This weekend makes me smile.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
The Strap- Ons Jammin'
Brian Idle-Screaming and Bassing and Awewsome Host.
Katie-All about the Guitar ! Making that SG beg !
Blee Child- Likes to hit things with sticks over and over again.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Nice Day
Today is the first time in weeks it hasn't been raining and/or wiltingly hot. Sat outside and took a long lunch. It's absolutely beautiful out there. Didn't wanna come back in, but I did. Pretty exciting, eh?
Unrelated, but weirdly cool tid-bit. If you do a Yahoo search for 'camelsback display', I'm #4 and Lyzard is #5. I don't know what a 'camelsback display' is, but someone was looking for one. Wonder if they found it.
Give me another hour stuck in my damncube and I'll start with the crazy shit again.
Unrelated, but weirdly cool tid-bit. If you do a Yahoo search for 'camelsback display', I'm #4 and Lyzard is #5. I don't know what a 'camelsback display' is, but someone was looking for one. Wonder if they found it.
Give me another hour stuck in my damncube and I'll start with the crazy shit again.
The Old Neighborhood
Once upon a time I lived in a very strange building. It was part abandoned warehouse and part luxury townhome. I'm not sure how many roomates I had, but they were an odd lot including: a couple friends who used to live in Oregon, the drunk chick from the 'ER' show, some big fat guy I don't recognize and way too many Kathies.
Somehow, I'm sharing a room with the actress, in fact we're sharing a bottle of tequila. She's explaining how we pay the rent by volunteering to be test subjects for mind control experiments. Safe as milk. She plays a doctor or something on TV, so I figure she knows what she's talking about. A gas is piped into the A/C vents while we sleep, and our behavior the following day is monitored. I must be drunk, because this seems harmless enough. We go to sleep.
I wake up smelling something funny, like coconuts. Thirsty. Get out of bed and the room lurches. Whoa! I crash into a table covered in cassette tapes and silverware. Loud!
ER Chick doesn't even stir.
Somehow I make it out the door and into the hallway.
In the hall a couple cops are throwing occupied body bags into an empty elevator shaft.
Better take the stairs.
The stairwell looks like an Escher print. I get dizzy and fall down (up?) a flight or two.
I'm not hurt, but I'm too dizzy to stand. I climb down backwards on my hands and knees until I get to the ground floor, where the kitchen is.
On the way to the kitchen, I pass a couple naked Kathies. They're doing something to each other. Under normal circumstances, I'd hang out here for awhile, but I can barely stand. I suddenly feel sick. I head towards the bathroom instead.
When I open the door, I see someone has moved the toilet to block the doorway. I'm touched by this generous gesture-those last few steps would've been hell.
A lifetime of dry heaves later and I need some air. There's the back door.
I step onto the porch and suddenly I'm tangled up in bedsheets. I'm so dizzy it takes a long time to free myself.
Across the street two strange women stand in a doorway ,pointing and laughing at me.
Gotta get away from this crazy place.
An old pick-up truck is pulling out of the driveway. A desperate grab later and I'm pulling myself into the truckbed.
The driver starts stopping/starting/swerving , trying to dislodge me.
I manage to yell into the cab, Why are you doing this?
The Fat Guy turns around and screams, What you don't know is what you don't want to know!
I fall off the truck and the world ends.
Somehow, I'm sharing a room with the actress, in fact we're sharing a bottle of tequila. She's explaining how we pay the rent by volunteering to be test subjects for mind control experiments. Safe as milk. She plays a doctor or something on TV, so I figure she knows what she's talking about. A gas is piped into the A/C vents while we sleep, and our behavior the following day is monitored. I must be drunk, because this seems harmless enough. We go to sleep.
I wake up smelling something funny, like coconuts. Thirsty. Get out of bed and the room lurches. Whoa! I crash into a table covered in cassette tapes and silverware. Loud!
ER Chick doesn't even stir.
Somehow I make it out the door and into the hallway.
In the hall a couple cops are throwing occupied body bags into an empty elevator shaft.
Better take the stairs.
The stairwell looks like an Escher print. I get dizzy and fall down (up?) a flight or two.
I'm not hurt, but I'm too dizzy to stand. I climb down backwards on my hands and knees until I get to the ground floor, where the kitchen is.
On the way to the kitchen, I pass a couple naked Kathies. They're doing something to each other. Under normal circumstances, I'd hang out here for awhile, but I can barely stand. I suddenly feel sick. I head towards the bathroom instead.
When I open the door, I see someone has moved the toilet to block the doorway. I'm touched by this generous gesture-those last few steps would've been hell.
A lifetime of dry heaves later and I need some air. There's the back door.
I step onto the porch and suddenly I'm tangled up in bedsheets. I'm so dizzy it takes a long time to free myself.
Across the street two strange women stand in a doorway ,pointing and laughing at me.
Gotta get away from this crazy place.
An old pick-up truck is pulling out of the driveway. A desperate grab later and I'm pulling myself into the truckbed.
The driver starts stopping/starting/swerving , trying to dislodge me.
I manage to yell into the cab, Why are you doing this?
The Fat Guy turns around and screams, What you don't know is what you don't want to know!
I fall off the truck and the world ends.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Lost in the Not-So-Super Market
WARNING: May be offensive to fans of Russian and French salad dressings.
Let's go the the deli. Maybe a club sandwich will serve as a soothing balm on a downhill day. They make a mean club.
Regular Guy's not at the counter. No customers either, which is odd.
A teen-age girl pops her head up. Can she help me?
Club to go, please, on toasted wheat. Easy on the mayo.
She looks at me like I just gave a 45-minute lecture on particle physics, using all the big words. Sorry, we're out of clubs.
Could you make one?
Lost Girl says she's not allowed.
Not allowed to make a flippin' club sandwich?
Lost Girl says she hasn't been trained on the meat slicer.
(What? Does she even work here? I wonder if she's been trained on the bloody damn toaster).
How about a salad w/Italian?
Lost Girl thrusts two foil packs across the counter. One says French, the other Russian. Blecch. French dressing is mostly mayo and catsup , Russian is pretty much straight catsup. Yecch. Get these atrocities away from me. Italian, please?
Don't have any. Translation: Can't find it.
I no longer want a club sandwich. I just want a club, so I can beat this Baby Seal to death with it. I settle for a hot dog and chips. Lost Girl does manage to serve me a pickle wedge with it. It's a minor miracle, but it's enough to keep me from hurtling over the counter and giving some serious "hands-on" training with the meat slicer.
When I'm old and decaying in some horrid state-run nursing home I hope I don't need to trust Lost Girl with my bedpan. Or maybe I do.
Let's go the the deli. Maybe a club sandwich will serve as a soothing balm on a downhill day. They make a mean club.
Regular Guy's not at the counter. No customers either, which is odd.
A teen-age girl pops her head up. Can she help me?
Club to go, please, on toasted wheat. Easy on the mayo.
She looks at me like I just gave a 45-minute lecture on particle physics, using all the big words. Sorry, we're out of clubs.
Could you make one?
Lost Girl says she's not allowed.
Not allowed to make a flippin' club sandwich?
Lost Girl says she hasn't been trained on the meat slicer.
(What? Does she even work here? I wonder if she's been trained on the bloody damn toaster).
How about a salad w/Italian?
Lost Girl thrusts two foil packs across the counter. One says French, the other Russian. Blecch. French dressing is mostly mayo and catsup , Russian is pretty much straight catsup. Yecch. Get these atrocities away from me. Italian, please?
Don't have any. Translation: Can't find it.
I no longer want a club sandwich. I just want a club, so I can beat this Baby Seal to death with it. I settle for a hot dog and chips. Lost Girl does manage to serve me a pickle wedge with it. It's a minor miracle, but it's enough to keep me from hurtling over the counter and giving some serious "hands-on" training with the meat slicer.
When I'm old and decaying in some horrid state-run nursing home I hope I don't need to trust Lost Girl with my bedpan. Or maybe I do.
At Least I'm Not Bored This Morning
Getting yelled at is a great way to start the day. It's even better when you get yelled at twice. Or three times. At this rate I'll get yelled at 24 times today.
Your goddamn roof blew off last September and you are just now calling me about it? You don't understand why I can't send someone out today? You'll be lucky if you get so much as a phone call before next week. Fuck off and die. Die a thousand screaming deaths, you in-bred pig-fucker.
Same for you and your fucking shingles. Eleven months later, you notice they don't match? Tough shit.Why should I care? Your file will gather dust until I calm down enough to write a letter denying your claim. Probably next month.
That goes double for you and your goddamn big screen TV. A power surge last September killed it? Now you want money? Read your fucking policy. Power surges aren't covered. Suddenly it was lightning that did it. Oh,I see. Scream something about lawyers, but I've already stopped listening. Denied.
If Mike would fucking call and let me know the plan , I'd feel a lot better.
Your goddamn roof blew off last September and you are just now calling me about it? You don't understand why I can't send someone out today? You'll be lucky if you get so much as a phone call before next week. Fuck off and die. Die a thousand screaming deaths, you in-bred pig-fucker.
Same for you and your fucking shingles. Eleven months later, you notice they don't match? Tough shit.Why should I care? Your file will gather dust until I calm down enough to write a letter denying your claim. Probably next month.
That goes double for you and your goddamn big screen TV. A power surge last September killed it? Now you want money? Read your fucking policy. Power surges aren't covered. Suddenly it was lightning that did it. Oh,I see. Scream something about lawyers, but I've already stopped listening. Denied.
If Mike would fucking call and let me know the plan , I'd feel a lot better.
Insomnia # 7.62
I know it wasn't meant that way, but I got asked a question that hit me like a sniper's bullet. I'll paraphrase: Why don't I move?
There's stuff like my lease (I bet I can sublet), my job ( can probably use diplomacy to give reasonable notice and still get all my kudos letters) and my friends. I can't replace them. But they'll remain.
Maybe a change would do me good.
Between work, death, a bad affair,temporarily not feeling so good, a really troubling something, and more work, I'm realizing that I'm four years behind all my friends- most of whom are older than me to start with. Four goddamn years of being immersed in tiny, insular worlds. I'm washing up on beaches I'll never see again. Pointless.
The world doesn't wait four years.
Four damn years.
Too old to rock-and-roll and too young to die.
What a bunch of shit. I'm quite capable of doing either one. I'm once again willing to do the former, and newly reluctant to do the latter.
If I can still rock, and I can face down death, I oughta be able to move again.
There's stuff like my lease (I bet I can sublet), my job ( can probably use diplomacy to give reasonable notice and still get all my kudos letters) and my friends. I can't replace them. But they'll remain.
Maybe a change would do me good.
Between work, death, a bad affair,temporarily not feeling so good, a really troubling something, and more work, I'm realizing that I'm four years behind all my friends- most of whom are older than me to start with. Four goddamn years of being immersed in tiny, insular worlds. I'm washing up on beaches I'll never see again. Pointless.
The world doesn't wait four years.
Four damn years.
Too old to rock-and-roll and too young to die.
What a bunch of shit. I'm quite capable of doing either one. I'm once again willing to do the former, and newly reluctant to do the latter.
If I can still rock, and I can face down death, I oughta be able to move again.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Same Old Messy World
Let's see if anything interesting is happening anywhere:
Car bombs everywhere. That's getting old fast.Let's go back to horse and buggy days. No need for an oil war if everyone rides horses. A Horse Bomb can disposed of with a shovel and used for fertilizer.
----
How about that wacky Argentinian police force? Don't buy a car in Argentina. You won't own it long.
----
How 'bout that Statue of Liberty? Open again. Sorta.
----
Alerts everywhere! I never much liked going to D.C. much anyway. Hard to imagine the traffic being worse, but now it is. Amazing!
----
Something about Kobe Bryant. Who cares?
----
If you kill your wife and wind up having a naked crazy fit outside your motel, it makes you look guilty. The bloody knife he kept in his home wasn't a very good idea either. He's a bad man. I wonder if this story would have gotten any press if the victim wasn't a pretty white woman?
----
Finally-a valid reason to bash the French. The French have enough troops in Chad to quickly deploy in Sudan, but they won't. There's a place that really could use regime change, and pronto. Everyone should email the White House and tell Dubya they just discovered huuugge oil reserves in Darfur. Later you can blame the CIA for this misinformation.
Car bombs everywhere. That's getting old fast.Let's go back to horse and buggy days. No need for an oil war if everyone rides horses. A Horse Bomb can disposed of with a shovel and used for fertilizer.
----
How about that wacky Argentinian police force? Don't buy a car in Argentina. You won't own it long.
----
How 'bout that Statue of Liberty? Open again. Sorta.
----
Alerts everywhere! I never much liked going to D.C. much anyway. Hard to imagine the traffic being worse, but now it is. Amazing!
----
Something about Kobe Bryant. Who cares?
----
If you kill your wife and wind up having a naked crazy fit outside your motel, it makes you look guilty. The bloody knife he kept in his home wasn't a very good idea either. He's a bad man. I wonder if this story would have gotten any press if the victim wasn't a pretty white woman?
----
Finally-a valid reason to bash the French. The French have enough troops in Chad to quickly deploy in Sudan, but they won't. There's a place that really could use regime change, and pronto. Everyone should email the White House and tell Dubya they just discovered huuugge oil reserves in Darfur. Later you can blame the CIA for this misinformation.
Styrofoam Cup
Q: What happens if you sit and stare at a styrofoam cup for ninety minutes?
A: Nothing.
A: Nothing.
More Paranoia (Or Is It True?)
How come all the neat tools , like italics, font size and hyper-links are not available when I blog from work? Am I not supposed to be doing this?
Trying hard to whip myelf into a panicky, fear-filled froth, and doing a pretty good job of it too. When I start feeling a false sense of placid security I like to think about Chemtrails. Just mentioning Chemtrails is a sure-fire way to invite trouble from DoD spooks.
Chemtrails are the visible signs left by the U.S. military's secret Aerosol Jet Program. They look like normal vapor trails (contrails) at first, but instead of dissipating quickly, they slowly expand into cloud like masses, all the while raining microscopic particles of god-knows-what on the earth.
You can spot them by their unusual criss-cross pattern, and long dispersal time. Look up. See?
Why? Who knows? Some speculate that it's part of a long-running campaign to change global weather patterns for some undisclosed nefarious purpose. Others think that we are being subtly controlled by a host of psychotropic substances.
Perhaps they are using Barium to sicken and weaken entire populations. Chemtrails have been sighted in Afghanistan, Iraq ,North Korea and Iran.
Of course, one of the sites I just visited claims to have seen Chemtrails in the little blue boxes on Jeopardy and the background of ABC news.
My favorite theory is that we are being plied with conductive materials (aluminum and othe ,heavier and possibly radioactive metals). The CIA is big on researching behavior modification through electrical transmissions- if the masses are turned into recievers, they will be easier to control. The huge popularity of cell-phones has given them a cover for putting broadcast towers everywhere.
As far as conspiracy theories go, this one has it all: Secret Evil Government, Global Domination, Mind Control, Strange Sights in the Skies,Cell-Phones and Mad Scientists.
A classic! Google it.
Trying hard to whip myelf into a panicky, fear-filled froth, and doing a pretty good job of it too. When I start feeling a false sense of placid security I like to think about Chemtrails. Just mentioning Chemtrails is a sure-fire way to invite trouble from DoD spooks.
Chemtrails are the visible signs left by the U.S. military's secret Aerosol Jet Program. They look like normal vapor trails (contrails) at first, but instead of dissipating quickly, they slowly expand into cloud like masses, all the while raining microscopic particles of god-knows-what on the earth.
You can spot them by their unusual criss-cross pattern, and long dispersal time. Look up. See?
Why? Who knows? Some speculate that it's part of a long-running campaign to change global weather patterns for some undisclosed nefarious purpose. Others think that we are being subtly controlled by a host of psychotropic substances.
Perhaps they are using Barium to sicken and weaken entire populations. Chemtrails have been sighted in Afghanistan, Iraq ,North Korea and Iran.
Of course, one of the sites I just visited claims to have seen Chemtrails in the little blue boxes on Jeopardy and the background of ABC news.
My favorite theory is that we are being plied with conductive materials (aluminum and othe ,heavier and possibly radioactive metals). The CIA is big on researching behavior modification through electrical transmissions- if the masses are turned into recievers, they will be easier to control. The huge popularity of cell-phones has given them a cover for putting broadcast towers everywhere.
As far as conspiracy theories go, this one has it all: Secret Evil Government, Global Domination, Mind Control, Strange Sights in the Skies,Cell-Phones and Mad Scientists.
A classic! Google it.
Not Good
When I see hits from this domain on my web-site it gives me a bad feeling. Really bad.
"Nipr.mil is not a single domain a but a hush-hush web proxy that acts as a gateway for hundreds of U.S. military domains in order to hide their identities. It was established by the Defense Information Systems Agency (DISA) in response to a memorandum (CM-5 1099, INFOCOM) issued in March 1999 by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, calling for "actions to be taken to increase the readiness posture for Information Warfare." "Uncontrolled Internet connections," the document says, "pose a significant and unacceptable threat to all Department of Defense information systems and operations."
"Nipr.mil is not a single domain a but a hush-hush web proxy that acts as a gateway for hundreds of U.S. military domains in order to hide their identities. It was established by the Defense Information Systems Agency (DISA) in response to a memorandum (CM-5 1099, INFOCOM) issued in March 1999 by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, calling for "actions to be taken to increase the readiness posture for Information Warfare." "Uncontrolled Internet connections," the document says, "pose a significant and unacceptable threat to all Department of Defense information systems and operations."
A Normal Day at Home
Helicoptors are loud. Getting louder. Helicoptors landing on my roof are even louder. The roof of my building can't hold rain-water, how is it going to support a helicopter? I'm certain it's going to fall into my bedroom and crush me.
Perhaps I should step outside and see what's going on.
Black sedans up and down the block, a couple black SUV's block each end of the street. There's an awful lot of secret service types standing around, talking to their wrists. One of them sees me and approaches. I notice he's got a large buzzard perched on his head, but I decide against mentioning it. It probably means he's in charge or something.
He says something, but I'm busy making eye contact with the bird. For a carrion-eater, it's got remarkably intelligent eyes. Vast pools of evil, but intelligent. Not a hint of laughter in those eyes.
It's a ruse. While I'm distracted, Secret Agent Man is getting out the cuffs. Next I know I'm being marched toward the nearest SUV.Something hot and sharp hits me from behind.
"Don't let that bird hurt my cats", are the last words I speak.
Perhaps I should step outside and see what's going on.
Black sedans up and down the block, a couple black SUV's block each end of the street. There's an awful lot of secret service types standing around, talking to their wrists. One of them sees me and approaches. I notice he's got a large buzzard perched on his head, but I decide against mentioning it. It probably means he's in charge or something.
He says something, but I'm busy making eye contact with the bird. For a carrion-eater, it's got remarkably intelligent eyes. Vast pools of evil, but intelligent. Not a hint of laughter in those eyes.
It's a ruse. While I'm distracted, Secret Agent Man is getting out the cuffs. Next I know I'm being marched toward the nearest SUV.Something hot and sharp hits me from behind.
"Don't let that bird hurt my cats", are the last words I speak.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Are We There Yet?
Sure is good to be at work. Hey! Check out that dust! It may settle! I'll watch it for awhile. I'd better get used to it, because I'm stuck here, probably forever. Running later than usual this morning-burned the hell out of myself while dancing with the coffee pot- sure wish I'd had pants on.
Eventually struggled into clothing, forgot wallet. Not a big deal normally (got food here) but my car has no gas. Found forty-seven cents under the seat-forty seven cents is all that separates me from making South Richmond my permanent home.
I wonder if there's a plasma clinic within walking distance? I could sell a pint or two of blood...I usually just give it away for free, but I really need a couple bucks right now. (The nurse at the clinic told me my blood was superb the last time I went. I think she's a vampire...)
Maybe if I kick the soda machine really hard it'll disgorge a couple quarters.
More bad news. Richmond isn't getting flattened by a Hurricane. Most people would probably consider that to be good news, but I'm not them. My livlihood is dependent on the misfortunes of others- where one person might look at a giant oak tree through a bay window as a bad thing, I call it time-and-a -half.
What I'm really looking forward to is this weekend. Road trip to ol' NYC- going with some band I don't play with. I used to wonder what the hell was wrong with people that hang out with bands they aren't in, but now I'm one of them. It's not a bad thing, after all.
In fact ,it's quite cool. Weird cool. My drum-slut pal invited me. I asked him if it was in Brooklyn, which it is. Count me in!
Drum-slut Mike and I have some weird bond. I met him at a party in the woods in West Virginia-they had a stage and a generator ,so we wound up jamming. Tight! We took a break ,looked at each other, and said, "too bad you don't live in Richmond, we could put together an awesome band." Huh? Turns out we both do live in Richmond. The band was good while it lasted, but we're still friends many years later.
When I get to Brooklyn, I'm going to meet a new friend. I hope this new friendship also lasts many years.
Eventually struggled into clothing, forgot wallet. Not a big deal normally (got food here) but my car has no gas. Found forty-seven cents under the seat-forty seven cents is all that separates me from making South Richmond my permanent home.
I wonder if there's a plasma clinic within walking distance? I could sell a pint or two of blood...I usually just give it away for free, but I really need a couple bucks right now. (The nurse at the clinic told me my blood was superb the last time I went. I think she's a vampire...)
Maybe if I kick the soda machine really hard it'll disgorge a couple quarters.
More bad news. Richmond isn't getting flattened by a Hurricane. Most people would probably consider that to be good news, but I'm not them. My livlihood is dependent on the misfortunes of others- where one person might look at a giant oak tree through a bay window as a bad thing, I call it time-and-a -half.
What I'm really looking forward to is this weekend. Road trip to ol' NYC- going with some band I don't play with. I used to wonder what the hell was wrong with people that hang out with bands they aren't in, but now I'm one of them. It's not a bad thing, after all.
In fact ,it's quite cool. Weird cool. My drum-slut pal invited me. I asked him if it was in Brooklyn, which it is. Count me in!
Drum-slut Mike and I have some weird bond. I met him at a party in the woods in West Virginia-they had a stage and a generator ,so we wound up jamming. Tight! We took a break ,looked at each other, and said, "too bad you don't live in Richmond, we could put together an awesome band." Huh? Turns out we both do live in Richmond. The band was good while it lasted, but we're still friends many years later.
When I get to Brooklyn, I'm going to meet a new friend. I hope this new friendship also lasts many years.
Monday, August 02, 2004
I Love Catastrophes
Looked at one of my light boxes. A Hurricane was on my light box. The last hurricane through here ruined a lot of lives, but it saved mine. I spent last year making it up to those folks. I'd like to boast about all the people I helped get their wrecked lives together, but I only did it so the over-time could fill my coffers.
I'm one of the nicest people ever born and I'm rubbing my paws together, praying for a natural disaster to destroy the East Coast.
What do mean people pray for?
I'm one of the nicest people ever born and I'm rubbing my paws together, praying for a natural disaster to destroy the East Coast.
What do mean people pray for?
Ron Rocks
Ron switched to banjo, but Ron still rocks. He's the best. He spent five minutes teaching me how to play guitar. Wrote some barre chords on notebook paper. That was in1984.
We just spoke about why it wouldn't be a good idea for me to go to High School Reunion.
Not many friends like Ron.
Ron Rocks!
P.S. Ron is great, but his links aren't working. Update soon.
We just spoke about why it wouldn't be a good idea for me to go to High School Reunion.
Not many friends like Ron.
Ron Rocks!
P.S. Ron is great, but his links aren't working. Update soon.
Drunken Death-Match
The world's a busy place. I don't have time to get into broken-bottle bar-room brawls with foxy hollywood lesbian step-sister stripper hookers anymore. I just wanted a goddam drink.
Bourbon with a pal is good until Mr. Crusty Guy mistakes me for his wildest dream. I tell him, in my most genteel fashion, that if he pursues this I will have to kick his ass to the curbside. He knew I wasn't serious about the threat part, he laughed and bought drinks. Cheers!
But No! I'm getting the death-glare from two tongue-locked babes. I thought they were mad 'cause I was watching them kiss, but they were mad because they saw me as some kind of skin-head Nazi homophobe cross burning robe -and-a- lynching kinda guy.
The brunette with dishonest eyes launches in on me. I'm a fiend! I'm a Nazi! A gay-bashing son-of -a bitch! I'm everything that's wrong with the world!
I'm only a small part of what's wrong with the world, I admit with humility. Lie-Eyes insults the size of my manhood. Lucky guess.
Nothing I say can help me. Mr. Crusty Guy gets the joke , but Lie-Eyes has no sense of humor. Halfway through her tirade about my white supremacy I stop listening. I don't need to explain my beliefs to this person. She's wrong about everything. I'm bald because I have no hair-it's not politics. I am not a fuckin' stormtrooper. Don't equate me with that. I get mad.
My pal is getting more drinks, I'm drunk and defensive. Ah, ha! Change tactics! I'll seduce the witch. Bad idea. She's a stripper. I watch her tongue stud wag. I wonder if it heats up when she smokes crack. She looks at me like I'm a Fifty-Dollar Bill floating in a toilet.
Last Call! My pal gives me a ride home. We laugh. I escaped intact.
Bourbon with a pal is good until Mr. Crusty Guy mistakes me for his wildest dream. I tell him, in my most genteel fashion, that if he pursues this I will have to kick his ass to the curbside. He knew I wasn't serious about the threat part, he laughed and bought drinks. Cheers!
But No! I'm getting the death-glare from two tongue-locked babes. I thought they were mad 'cause I was watching them kiss, but they were mad because they saw me as some kind of skin-head Nazi homophobe cross burning robe -and-a- lynching kinda guy.
The brunette with dishonest eyes launches in on me. I'm a fiend! I'm a Nazi! A gay-bashing son-of -a bitch! I'm everything that's wrong with the world!
I'm only a small part of what's wrong with the world, I admit with humility. Lie-Eyes insults the size of my manhood. Lucky guess.
Nothing I say can help me. Mr. Crusty Guy gets the joke , but Lie-Eyes has no sense of humor. Halfway through her tirade about my white supremacy I stop listening. I don't need to explain my beliefs to this person. She's wrong about everything. I'm bald because I have no hair-it's not politics. I am not a fuckin' stormtrooper. Don't equate me with that. I get mad.
My pal is getting more drinks, I'm drunk and defensive. Ah, ha! Change tactics! I'll seduce the witch. Bad idea. She's a stripper. I watch her tongue stud wag. I wonder if it heats up when she smokes crack. She looks at me like I'm a Fifty-Dollar Bill floating in a toilet.
Last Call! My pal gives me a ride home. We laugh. I escaped intact.
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