This Shit Ain't Funny

A man walks into a bar. He says, "Bartender, give me a drink." So the bartender gives him a drink. And that's the way it fucking should be. Word!

Everyone on PBS is gay. There, I said it.

I keep getting migraines in the same side of my head and I'm thinking I need the other side of my head to say "cut it the fuck out!"

Eenie meenie minie moe, catch a politically correct, sensitive, alternate lifestyle, african-american, grrl-power, bitch like its a bad thing, genderless construct by the toe.

I didn't get enough sleep last night and my dreams are funky. And by funky I mean, you don't want to know what I dreamed, but it may have involved one of you and it may have gotten messy.

Isn't it funny how when Bush was president the media compared him to a monkey, but if anyone compares Obama to a monkey they are labeled a racist? And a monkey-basher, too, 'cause he's uglier than most monkeys.

Does anyone really believe that God put men's testicles on the outside of their bodies because he had no choice? I mean, this is God we're talking about. I know they say in church that he's a loving God and all that, but I'm thinking he was really pissed off about something when he did that and he's just never gotten around to admitting he made a mistake. "Dudes, I'm sorry. I was just super angry that day and then I got busy and never got around to fixing that whole 'balls' thing."

If evolution and survival of the fittest were true, is it even conceivable that mammals would have survived at all? Again, I'm talking about the whole testicles on the outside of the body thing, 'cause no way in hell that is going to make it through any 'survival of the fittest' bullshit. Not a chance. Mammals should be extinct.

I get more timely news updates from Twitter than I do from any other source. Sad? Or the wave of the future?

I used to get annoyed at how freely people from other countries would try to tell Americans how we should be running this country (internet geniuses), but then I remembered that billionaires in New York City have been fucking with other countries, their elections and their laws, for years and years. And then I remember that I don't actually have any real say in how this country is run (McCain vs Obama? Seriously? We couldn't find better candidates?) so it doesn't make any difference to me if foreigners think we're idiots (Sarkozy and Merkel) because the real idiots making all the important decisions (George Soros) are fucking with us all, every single one of us, at the same time. We should probably find those people and do horrible unspeakable things to them.

Is MySpace the new mullet? I mean, any time you see some loser walking around wearing a mullet you immediately laugh and feel the urge to tell them the '80s are over. But isn't that the same reaction we have towards people who tell us that we can find them on MySpace and then give us their account name there? Dude, MySpace is over.

I remember seeing a show about how the Japanese had the world's most advanced earthquake resistant buildings. The show was all about how it worked and how cool it was. So now what can we do to make a building earthquake resistant and then ready to withstand a massive tidal wave that floods the entire city right after the quake? It's almost as if the buildings need to sit on top of giant exercise balls and be able to float, while still remaining upright. Maybe we just need to build a big space ship that perpetually hovers above the ground? But then hurricanes and tornadoes would crash them. Remember when I said I thought God was pissed off when he put testicles on the outside of men's bodies? I'm thinking he had this really epic bad day one time and was just so mad that he made all the bad shit at the same time - balls on the outside of our bodies, natural disasters, plagues, mosquitoes, reality TV - and then after that he was just like, "well, I'm not taking it back even if I'm not so angry anymore because Adam disobeyed me and let Eve lead him around by his dick when I specifically told him not to. Fuck it. They can just deal with it." OK, probably he didn't say that, but maybe it was something along those lines.

I recently had penis enlargement surgery. Now its three times bigger, but its shaped like a pretzel. Dammit!

I'm not ashamed of my antique rotary kitchen wall telephone. Sure its a pain dialing long distance, but my battery never runs low, bitches.

I just heard that Microsoft is killing the Zune. And video killed the radio star. Whatever happened to The Buggles?

I got a tank of gas today. It cost me $82. I am not feeling the "hope and change" at all. Just sayin'

Did you know the entire cast of "2 1/2 Men" (except Jake) was in the movie "Hot Shots?"

If Bill Gates controlled Heaven we'd all spend eternity staring at an hourglass.

Free advice from me to you: don't text when you have pee on your hands. You're welcome!

I'm not going to the gym today. I'm going home to sleep for lunch. I'm exhausted. I used to be able to go and go and even if I didn't have enough sleep, which I never did, I could keep going. Not anymore. Now I'm like, "something woke me up at 3 and then I took 30 minutes to go back to sleep. I need those 30 minutes back. I can't function for shit today."



This is my new favorite crime show!

Game Trailers - E3 2011 - Comedy

Random Mental Machine Gunning

It sucks to be sick. Sick sucks. Sucky sick. Suck my sick.


Oh was I missing a bowl game featuring a blowout? Darn, I was busy having a life.


I just saw "Season of the Witch." I'm so confused, I thought this was a film about Nancy Pelosi's rise to Speaker of the House!


All the ice has melted in my Coke and now it tastes like piss. Yet still I'm drinking it. Why do I do this?


I'm so ashamed! I just followed someone on Twitter simply because a hot celebrity follows them. I don't even know who they are but their account is verified so they must be some kind of celebrity, too.


To sleep, perchance to dream naughty pornographic dreams!


Why is it such a pain to buy toothpaste on Amazon.com? 20,000 different types of toothpaste? Really?!


Is that Nancy Pelosi guest starring on "Lie To Me" or am I mistaken? Look, she's lying again!


There is jack crap on TV and yet I'm too lazy to get up and load my new DVD instead. This is lazy taken to the extreme.


A Taser shock to the genitals is technically sexual assault and torture, but our government calls it "family comedy" if the victim is male ?? And Taser International calls it "particularly effective." Yeah, so is a .40 bullet to the heart, but we don't allow that either except in a life-and-death self-defense scenario, assholes.


The road beckons with a siren song, yet the toilet holds me here as if 'gainst my will. Foresooth, I must poo 'ere I go. Egads!


Dad used to say "never miss an opportunity to shut up" to which I'd reply "the best leaders lead by example" and he'd hit me.


If Justice wore a blindfold our courts would be a dramatically different place. As it is we have a circus and soap opera blended together.


St Lorena
If the Press treated men the way it treats women then Jack the Ripper would be called a "strong independent man" and they'd pity him. He'd be on Tavis Smiley talking about how hard his life has been. Later he'd do non-stop interviews with local news reporters all across the country anxious to kiss his ass and tell him how sorry they are for his suffering.



We made this shit up
I once studied a martial art that had no name so we just called it "eyes, throat, balls." We didn't even have to stretch before class. These days they call it Krav Maga and it's all the rage. We were cutting edge and didn't even know it.


Remember when martial arts were for self-defense? Now we have krav maga, which is yiddish for "how to be an effective violent sexual predator"


How is it we imprison soldiers for waterboarding terrorists but not cops or bitter ex-girlfriends for Tasering unarmed men's testicles? Torture is torture and wrong is wrong.


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How ironic that they would have freed this man on parole many years ago if only he would say he was guilty of a rape he did not commit. You would think that saying you were guilty would keep you locked up instead of the other way around.

Texan declared innocent after 30 years in prison
news.yahoo.com
A Texas man had his conviction overturned Tuesday for a rape and robbery he didn't commit after serving 30 years in prison, more time than any other inmate subsequently exonerated by DNA evidence in his state.



Boo hoo Boehner
I can't believe the new speaker of the House if named Boehner. I mean, it's SO close to Boner. Yes, I realize even a boner as speaker is better than a crazy cunt like Pelosi, but even so, this Boehner cries a lot. What's up with that?



SS Pedo
Disney has just announced the arrival of its newest 4,000 passenger cruise ship, the SS Pedophile, down at Port Canaveral, Florida. It can hold 4,000 adults, or 8,000 meaty little children plus a crew of Disney predators who run the ship and keep the little buggers buggered.



The Classic Combover
Researchers at the University of Pennsylvania believe they have found the cause of male pattern baldness, and thus the beginnings of a possible cure, prompting US Supreme Court Judge Ruth Bader Ginsburg to shout "glory hallelujah, I'm gonna have my own hair again, and not just on my face!" The President himself reportedly responded to the news by asking, "have they looked into the cause of micro penis? I would really like for them to get to work on that as soon as possible."


Remember a few years ago when I blogged about the discovery that the water all around Washington DC is polluted with "estrogenic compounds" which have a castrating effect on all male animals, including humans? Well, here's the new speaker of the House:

It's Tuesday, in case you didn't know

President Obama's newest terrorism 'czar' - Mr. Hasan
So it's Tuesday. It's raining. It's kind of cold outside. Everything is gray. A muslim soldier in our military went Taliban on our ass and shot and killed 13 of our finest before being shot himself by a girl. Our president, Mrs. Obama, took his/her time responding to this crisis, calling it a "tragedy" rather than a mass murder, and stating only that s/he hopes this doesn't lead to a lot of "extremists" being mean to Muslims.


President Obama
Yes, because WE are the extremists in the twisted minds of the Hard-Core America-hating Left.

A REAL presidential response would have been something more along the lines of this:

"We were attacked yet again by hate criminals of the Muslim faith, taking the lives of 13 of our nation's soldiers. I want to make something clear, we fight to defend religious freedom in this country, but we don't tolerate those who encourage the murder of our people. We don't tolerate those whose religions are purely the spreading of hatred. We will allow you to live in our lands and worship as you please, up to and until the moment that you abuse the rights of others, at which time we will shoot your ass and send what's left of you to Syria where you will be dropped from 30,000 feet while wrapped up in a potato sack. Should your faith manage to save you from death and you land safely, good luck to you living in a nation that believes as you do, but you will NOT be permitted to return here. Not ever."


That would be far more appropriate. Of course, we elected cuntbag Oprah's love-child here, so that's nothing like what we got or can expect to get at any point in the future. Once upon a time, we had leaders in this nation, men other nations referred to as 'cowboys'. Cowboy is another way of saying "this man has balls." We have no more cowboys. We have estrogen-filled water supplies and progesterone-filled meat and anything any woman wants to buy that raises her hormone levels is fine and government-approved. Eat it, drink it, rub it on, and then pee it back out again into our water supply for men and boys to drink. Estrogen, of course, kills testosterone in men, making them weak and whiney, like our current President. Meanwhile, anything that might raise a man's testosterone levels is illegal in America. Heaven forbid our men become more manly. We can't have that. So we have outlawed manhood. Now we are a nation more pathetic than France, where their president is not only a real man, but dates supermodels to prove it.


Parlez vous francais, pilgrim?
Our President married the first girl who ever had sex with him, a woman with the face of a Pekingese dog. Then he surrounded himself with lesbians so they could tell him what to do. This is the only life he has ever known, having been raised by his grandmother due to his parents both having abandoned him for most of his life. Being pushed around by saggy old ladies who don't have sex with men is normal to him. He wouldn't know what to do otherwise.


Mrs Obama, Mrs Obama and Mrs Obama

---

In other, more interesting news, I took the car that my mother sideswiped to a bodyshop and had it fixed. So now it's all shiny and new again. Except for the radio. The radio is a pathetic pile of crap. I need to put something better in there, but it's not legally my car and I don't really want to put money into some rockin' tunes if I'm not going to be taking ownership of it.

My mom almost hit the car again yesterday as she was backing out of the driveway. Then she yelled at ME about it, mostly out of embarrassment, but also out of habit. Blame the Nearest Male is not only the official policy of the American Judicial System and U.S. Government. It's also my mother's default response.

Facebook is killing me. I've resorted to posting status updates relating to my need to poop, my return from pooping, farts that preceded my need to poop, and farts released by other people around me. No one seems to mind, which tells me only that everyone else is as bored as I am.


One thing I did learn from Facebook is that some of the retired rockers I met at the Halloween party the other night used to tour with Iron Maiden and a few other bands that I used to listen to. They've posted really old pictures on their Facebook pages of them backstage or in bars or onstage doing various things with the members of Maiden, as well as a few other bands I cared much less about. I just remember Iron Maiden because I lost more hearing at their concert than at any other concert I have ever attended in my entire life. And also I remember something about drugs, and somebody screaming really loudly, only the music was so loud that I could only tell she was screaming by the intense expression on her face as she totally freaked out upon seeing the 20 foot tall 'Eddie' puppet run out onto the stage. Apparently whatever she was on did not induce mellow feelings. She was flipping while tripping.


I'm not liking these drugs!
Wow, the sky outside looks funky right now. I guess this is the result of tropical storm Ida. Did you know that a black woman in Congress tried to mandate that our weather agency give more 'black names' to hurricanes? I'm not making this up. She couldn't exactly define what constituted a black name, but she wanted more black hurricanes anyway.

As I write this Facebook is hitting me with a Database Error and telling me I can't reply to anything. That's awesome. I just love when that happens. It makes me want to beat my dick against the table and scream "Jumanji" as loudly as I can. Yes, indeed it does. Because that's what you do, right, when the internet is fucking up and driving you insane? I guess we all express our insanity in various different ways.


Jumanji!!!
I'm trying to Twitter now. Facebook crashed and my dick was hurting from bashing it on the table, so I moved on to the equally useless and annoying Twitter. I'm tweeting. I'm tweeting my meat. Speaking of that, Super Dave Osbourne is on TV. Do you guys know who Super Dave Osbourne is?


Super Dave Osbourne
He's this old annoying man who started off on a lousy TV show that no one watched, and somehow he's still around doing his schtick. He's not funny. He never was. To give you an idea of how not funny he is, he's got a golf skit where he puts a golf tee in his mouth and lets another golfer hit the ball out of his mouth. Except, of course, the golfer misses and hits him in the nuts instead. It's the sort of gag Beavis and Butthead would think is funny.

Anyway, what's the deal with Super Dave's voice? He talks like he sucked a helium balloon completely down into his lungs and never coughed it up again. His voice is all ragged like a shirt from Walmart after its first washing, like Lindsay Lohan's vagina after a night of thrustful lesbian fun with the entire California chapter of NOW, like a plastic hybric car after a collision with OJ Simpson's Ford Bronco, like Oprah Winfrey's panties after a night gorging on Mexican food and farting, like the US Constitution after our Congress finishes with it, like Perez Hilton's ass after interviewing the Jonas Brothers. Anyway, Super Dave's voice was always shitty, but these days it's the worst I've ever heard. I don't know how he gets on TV at all, especially talk shows, with a voice like that.

Speaking of Twitter, Demi Moore tweets in text-code, as if she's talking to a middle school child using her cell phone. I can't understand a word she says. But I reply anyway, 'cause I figure if I can't understand what she's saying, she probably can't understand what I'm saying either. I've even tested this just to make sure. I replied to one of her totally unreadable tweets by saying I wanted to eat her vagina for 4 straight hours. I even included a link to a webcam photo of my tongue just to show that I was serious. Creepy, but serious. I figured if she didn't reply to that she clearly didn't understand me. She didn't reply, but 1,200 other women did.

Speaking of women I'd gladly spend 4 straight hours licking, Jessica Biel was on Conan O'Brien's Tonight Show tonight. And I missed it!!!! DAMMIT!!!!


I want to suck .. eh, nice rack!

It's Monday, duh

John Boy and Billy on the radio

After a year and a half of listening to the radio stations here in Pigeon Hole, Alabama, I still can't stand this very popular radio show out of North Carolina. John Boy and Billy, the good ole' boys with their crew of goofballs and giggling girls never make me laugh. I think I know why, though. I've always known why. It's because John Boy's southern accent is phonier than a speech by President Obama.

OK Spiky, that was the only thing I'm going to say about Obama, OK? Don't get upset. You know I love you.

John Boy may very well actually be from the South, but he's a trained radio announcer. They trained that southern drawl right out of him. Then they asked him to bring it back and exaggerate it for the radio. Well, faking and exaggerating a southern accent in the South is like taking a French car, putting a Japanese label on it, and trying to sell it to the Japanese. They won't take long to figure out that this shit ain't right.


Mondays suck
So, it's Monday again. I don't know if my workout jacked up my testosterone and somehow resulted in my becoming extra irritable, or my lack of sleep and fatigue from traveling last night finally caught up with me right in the middle of the afternoon and turned all my T in estrogen, but I nearly killed some people today. And they were old, relatively defenseless people, too. Well, defenseless except for the big fucking truck they were driving very badly. And yes, I mean 'they' were driving because Mrs. Shithead was doing her best to drive from the passenger seat while Mr. Shithead looked everywhere other than at the road. Man, if you don't want to be driving just now, that thing has 4-wheel-drive, get it off the road and hit the weeds, you cuntbag!

They were doing 25 mph. I shit you not. 25 mph. And the old bitch in the lane next to them, apparently mistaking this for a passive/aggressive attack on us "youngsters", decided to copy them and do 25, too, while sticking right next to them and not letting anyone escape.

This used to be a popular game here in Rocketown, you see. My mother and her passive/aggressive feminazi cuntbag friends would all do this every time they got behind the wheel of some of America's largest luxury vehicles ever constructed, back in "the day." These days, most women drive faster than the men, and won't hesitate to throw heavy shit at you in traffic if they think you're driving too slowly. But back in "the day", when my mom and her generation were ruling the roads, driving slow and preventing everyone else from reaching their destination was a huge feminist trend. It was a way of saying, "we're here, we're bitches, get used to it."

These days my mom is once again driving one of the largest American luxury liners currently available, but she's gotten to be such a bad driver in her old age that its all she can do to keep the ship on the road, let alone worry about what everyone else is doing. Plus, I think she heard about my niece kicking another female driver in the vagina and it scared her.


I'm joking. My niece never told my mom about kicking the shit out of that woman. We kept it a secret. Either way, she's clearly noticed the change in female attitudes in traffic. No longer are The Girls her sisters in arms. It's every woman for herself. Today they are cell-phone talking, estrogen-injecting, gotta-get-to-work, kick-your-bitch-ass, Defense Department, blow-your-country-to-hell engineer types, and they most certainly would kick Mom's ass for the shit she and her friends used to do in traffic on a regular basis. It's ironic, really, how no men ever reacted this way, despite the anti-male stereotypes she helped promote, yet it's the women now that Mom is scared of. Karma's a bitch, and she'll kick you in the cooter, too.

---

I have a female friend, she's got a serious problem. No, it has nothing to do with women kicking old ladies in the cooter. It's about her boyfriend. You see, he won't shut up. I mean, when she wants him to talk, he's got nothing to say. But when they're in the middle of drilling for oil in her Happy Place with his skin flute, that's when he suddenly feels the urge to talk his damn fool head off.

"Ooh, this is so good. Hey, how about I switch over and go from behind? Hey, why are you closing your eyes? Is this good for you? I'm going to stroke your thighs now. Can you feel me swelling up bigger? I'm not gonna come. I've got it under control. Why are you sticking your fingers in your ears and singing "LA LA LA LA" like that? Are you mad about something? Did you see any football games yesterday? Man, Alabama sure kicked LSU's ass. It was great. What's wrong? I think I've gotta pee. But I can wait. What do you think about when we're doing it? Why are you frowning? blah blah blah ..."

Can you imagine dealing with this? Dude, shut the hell up! Your woman is trying as hard as she can to imagine she's with someone far hotter than you and you just keep screwing the whole thing up for her.

I actually suggested that, in addition to condoms, she might need to bring duct tape when she goes over to his place next time. She has been too embarrassed to try this so far. I don't think her embarrassment is going to last much longer, though. He's really pissing her off. If there's one thing you don't want to piss of a woman about, it's sex. There's a lot of things they'll let slide for a very long time - toilet seats, pee on the floor in front of the toilet, socks in the aquarium - but not screwing up their orgasms. Oh no, buddy, that's when a woman gets murderously violent. Someone needs to warn this chattering jackrabbit to shut his piehole and just get on with it before she puts a bullet in his head. Problem is, I don't know the guy. I just know her. And I know she's about to explode if he doesn't shut up.

Women always say they only ever think about Their Man when they're doing it. They always claim they never think about some celebrity or some hot guy from the gym. I don't believe that. If that were true, Justin Timberlake's career would have ended long ago. I know half the women in America are thinking about him. And in the rest of the West, I suppose it's probably Mr. Beckham. They just won't admit it. Probably out of fear that they'll so hurt Their Man's feelings that he won't be able to get it up next time, or he'll start talking all through sex to distract them so they can't imagine they're doing their Dream Man and get off. Either one is pretty annoying to a woman. But only one is likely to get a man shot.

Totally Random Mental Shit

A little help, please

This whole living away thing is really rough at times. The emptiness I feel right now is almost severe enough to swallow me up entirely. I find myself cruising to WalMart and spending lots of money on stupid shit just to get out of the house. The old bitches who work there apparently think I'm going to steal everything because they watch me all the time.

Either that, or they're checking out my fine, fine ass.

I went to an air show yesterday. I have a shitload of photos of the Blue Angels, but the batteries in my digital camera died today, leading me to cruise over to WalMart to buy a charger for them just so I can download the photos to the computer. I don't need a charger plus 4 more batteries and for some reason trying to buy just a charger is a big challenge. All the battery manufacturers sell their chargers with 4 batteries. So I ended up with a cheap $5 charger that apparently takes all freakin' night to do the job. My good one is back at the house in Memphis and does the job in 30 minutes, but that's a hell of a drive just to charge some batteries.

Did you know that sometimes the medicine the doctors give you to treat a massive reaction to poison ivy can have worse side effects than the poison ivy itself? My Wife has been living through that hell for the past 6 weeks and she's not happy about it.

I haven't exactly spelled it out, but if you're paying attention then I'll tell you that I'm not currently in Memphis and for the time being I only go back there on weekends. This weekend was special and I did not go home. Instead, home came to me and we went to see the air show together. Then we had some New York style pizza for supper. I have concluded that I don't care much for New York style pizza. It doesn't taste bad. It's just too thin, like a Jew spit on some unleavened bread and then put just a tiny bit of cheese on it and called it a pizza. In fact, that's probably where New York style pizza came from, Jews spitting on unleavened bread.

Yesterday after the air show, the rain came pouring down. I saw the most fantastic rainbow in the most beautiful location ever, but by the time I could find a place to pull over and get my camera out, it was gone. DAMMIT!!!!!

People in this town all think like lemmings. This has inspired me to write a new post about traffic, but I don't feel like finishing it just yet. It's weird coming back here. The lanes are narrow and everyone only uses one of them, and always the same one, while the other 3 or 4 lanes remain completely abandoned and empty. But don't you dare get out of line and use one of the free lanes, because these bitches won't ever let you back into line once your exit comes up. Oh no, that would be CHEATING!

I need a reason for living. I need something that matters that I can hope for. I need a personal trainer, preferably a hot girl named Jennifer, to help me try to reconstruct the man I once was and get rid of this useless piece of shit I have become. I am running and walking a lot, but it's just not inspiring me at all. It's simply a way to burn away the hours between working and sleeping so that I don't feel quite so lonely and stressed. The other night I ran too far for my bladder and had to stop under a bridge to pee. While I was doing that the LOUDEST frog in the entire world began to make horrific frog noises. If I hadn't already been peeing I would have instantly started because it scared the piss out of me. Maybe he was mad because I was pissing under his bridge?

I have broken an important personal rule again. I don't do this often. But since I came to this town and I already knew 4 or 5 beautiful girls here through MySpace, I went ahead and contacted them and told them I was here. I figured if we ran into each other unexpectedly, well, who knows what the hell they might have done? I don't need to be pepper-sprayed or Tasered or castrated with a punt from a pair of Nikes in the middle of WalMart by some hot girl who thinks a stalker from the internet has hunted her down. So, just to try to minimize the likelihood of this occurring I told some of them that I was around. As it happens, I ended up meeting up with one of them face-to-face.

Yes, yes, I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking, "Steve, no one is supposed to ever see your face! All your photos on MySpace and Facebook are total fakes and now the girls will know and see that you're really a huge, fat, black guy with a hair lip and a club foot." Yes, but I decided to risk it anyway. And wouldn't you know, she said she had ALREADY decided that my photos were fakes because of all the Photoshopped images of me with dead presidents and Elvis and shit. So she said that when she finally saw me in real life she was surprised that she recognized me right away.

What the hell am I to make of that? She thought my photos were FAKES? Shit, if I was going to do that I'd pick some model, like the jerkoff who just sent me a friend request today obviously did. I mean, I NEVER meet internet friends face-to-face, so I could totally get away with that. But to not do it and then find out the several girls think I did just kind of messes with my head a little bit.

Anyway, she and I went walking for 2 hours and talked about everything under the sun just as if we'd already known each other for 4 years, which we actually have except that we'd never met in person before that night.

I just bought all 5 seasons of "Get Smart" on DVD. Guess what I'm probably going to be doing on the nights that I don't go running or walking? Yeah, watching porn on Showtime. But if nothing with titties is on Showtime then I'll probably be watching "Get Smart", the original TV series.


Personal Trainer Emergency

Just Random Stuff

Bottle Blonde recently asked Steph of Much Ado About Sumthin' how she does it, how does she blog for so long and so well without burning out. Shortly after, she posted that she was taking a break from blogging, either permanently or perhaps she'll be back, but she hasn't decided. I know how hard it can be sometimes, but even so, it makes me sad.

Even worse, Steph has said she is quitting after 500 posts and nothing is going to change that. She's almost there, so if you haven't been reading Much Ado About Sumthin', then you are really missing out and you are about to miss out for good. When she goes I will cry.


Here in the U.S., the presidential race is in full swing. On the Left, all the feminazis are falling over themselves talking about how Hillary "teared up" when asked a totally unemotional question which had absolutely nothing to do with the answer she gave, "it's hard. I cry not for me, but for the country." Yeah, I cry for the country, too, because all of our choices are so lousy. The future looks mighty dark at this point. Even if Hillary were to lose, which isn't likely considering the money and unscrupulous political machinery behind her, the other choices aren't exactly a God-send.


Hillary lost the Democratic primary in Iowa recently. Those in The Press who dislike her (Obama supporters) immediately predicted that she was doomed. All the polls showed her destined to lose in New Hampshire, the next primary, and if she did then it would be almost certain death for her dream of castrating America in 2008. But a funny thing happened, citizens of New Hampshire reported seeing an endless stream of cars pouring in from Misandrychusetts, the most feminist, misandric, and shamelessly sexist state in the entire United States of America. No one living in Misandrychusetts is legally eligible to vote in the New Hampshire primary, mind you, but as I said months ago, the feminist political machine has long been prepared to violate every law in order to get their way. They do it all the time because no one ever holds them accountable. The law simply isn't applied to feminists. So the flood of illegal voters swung the primary to Hillary. No one in the news has said a word about the illegal invasion. Instead, Hillary's supporters in the Press (the Wall Street Journal) are declaring that America has spoken and demanded Hillary Clinton over Obama. There is a reason the citizens of New Hampshire HATE the citizens of Massachusetts and vice versa, and this criminal tidal wave, forevermore to be known as Hurricane Hillary, is just one example of WHY.

The Cowboys played the New York Giants in the first round of the playoffs last Sunday. I am a Cowboys fan, so I was interested in this game above all others. I was impressed with their game plan for the first half. It was amazing. They beat on the Giants' defense with run after run for 10 long minutes, ending in a touchdown. And then their defense, apparently covering the New York receivers via email, stood waaaaay back and let Eli Manning fly down the field with pass after pass and score a tying touchdown in under 60 seconds. I couldn't believe the lousy coverage and total lack of tackling. But it only got worse in the second half. New York's defense, now tired, was ripe for a passing attack, something Dallas has the capacity to do well. But Tony Romo, the golden boy of Dallas, mysteriously went apeshit and insisted on throwing hail Mary bombs to the endzone, all of which were way off target, instead of throwing completions to his talented tight ends and simply getting the needed first downs to drive down the field and win the game with a single touchdown. When he got pressured, rather than throwing the ball out of bounds, he'd eat it for a huge loss. Troy Aikman, former Cowboys star quarterback was announcing the game and commented that Tony wasn't exactly making good decisions. That was putting it mildly.


The stock market is having hot flashes. Clearly it is experiencing menopause. Everyone is insane. It leaps up, then free-falls down. All the traders are clearly smoking crack. They need hormones and they need them NOW.

Yahoo's exercise of the week is called the "exercise ball crunch". I don't have the slightest interest in doing anything called a "ball crunch". Get the the hell away from me!

A new 'study' blames Christoper Columbus for bringing syphilis to Europe, killing thousands and destroying the lives of countless more. This would seem to indicate that the American Indians were as responsible for spreading plague and death to Europeans as the Europeans were for doing the same to the Indians. It's politically incorrect to say this, though, and so it's likely this study will fade into oblivion. The only reason it has received any press at all is because a woman did it. Also politically incorrect to say is that Columbus and his men managed to have sex with an awful lot of American Indian women, which would seem to indicate a lot of sleeping around amongst those "noble savages". I guess Pokehontus was well-named, eh? Hey, I can say this. I'm Cherokee and Choctaw. Shut it, white man!

I went to the gym right after posting this. While getting dressed for my workout I had the pleasure(?) of seeing my naked profile in the giant mirror. I think I need a stronger term than simply "looks like ass".

I removed my posts about my Family Christmases. If you read my blog regularly then you've already read them. If you don't then you don't even know you missed them. I don't mind sharing some of the drama that is home with my blog friends. But I don't want it out there for just anyone to find at any time. I posted it. You read it. It's done. And now it's gone. Now back to the usual fart jokes!

Just Real Quick

Don't - don't you want me
As a Dallas Cowboys fan, I just want to say, any man who comes to a Cowboys game and DOESN'T want to see this, is a blazing homosexual and a shameful excuse for a man. I mean, seriously, what kind of man would rather see a bunch of sweaty guys throwing interceptions than look at Jessica Simpson's hot, authentic, non-silicon, genuine Texas woman body? You fuckers need to grow a pair.


And no, Jessica didn't cause Dallas to lose to Philadelphia last weekend. In case you failed to notice, Dallas didn't exactly shut down Green Bay and they didn't even have Brett Favre or their 2 starting corners, so get the fuck over it and leave the girl alone. Professionals don't lose because a hot girl is in a skybox. But sometimes they lose when their thumb is all hosed up and they can't hold onto the ball. Quit booing the hot chick!


We no boo Jessica
In the United States, we have our police scouring the roads looking to Taser men in the genitals for not wearing seatbelts or raising their voices. We arrest men who go into parks and pay $5 for a blowjob from some homeless guy in Memphis (yes, seriously, yuck.) We use our cops to pimp for female prostitutes, refusing to arrest them, but arresting instead the men who need them and then labeling those desperate men as sex offenders, as if any sex a man has is a crime simply by virtue of the fact that he is a man.

But in China, they have pee parks. Yes, pee parks. I don't know what it is, but perhaps the following photo is an indication?


China - the next great world power?

Down in Australia, apparently they have a tradition of partying like mad throughout the entire month of December, spreading Christmas cheer for a good 30 days instead of just the one. Businesses are hoping to get more productivity out of their lively and fun-loving Aussie employees, so they're encouraging them to drink less and work more. They say it's working and that the annual Christmas partying is now down to about 2 weeks or so. Personally, I think they should leave matters alone and just send free plane tickets to overworked and frustrated Americans who need a good break. Drunken American tourists would spend enough money while down there, drinking and laughing, to more than make up for the lost productivity. Then, when it was all over, we'd pick up our shit and go back home. They call this win-win in the business world. I say the Australian establishment should give it a try. I'll be anxiously waiting for my ticket, bags packed and ready to go.


Ho ho ho, mate!

Hump Day

As I left the house this morning, I saw a bright, shining star up in the sky. And then I thought perhaps it was a burning plane crashing down. It was so bright, it was hard to look at. I kept watching it as it fell. It reminded me of an skit from a really old episode of Saturday Night Live, involving Steve Martin and Dan Akroyd:

"What the hell is that?"
"Yeah, what the hell IS that?"
"What the hell is that?"
"Oooooh, I know what that is."
"Oh, yeah."
long pause
"What the hell IS that?"

Anyway, the light went out, leaving nothing but a long tail of smoke behind. It was a flare.

Just as it went out, someone fired another one. By this time, I was in my truck and driving to work, watching this odd sight out my window, instead of worrying about the road because, let's face it, I'm the only person for miles out here.

By the time I reached 'town', as we like to call it when we get to the "Reduced Speed: 45 mph" sign, there were 6 smoke trails in the sky, with one burning flare still going. And I'll be damned if I could figure out where the hell the person firing the flares was.

What good do flare guns do if they shoot up so high that no one can figure out where the hell the person who fired them is? I mean, sure I may be aware that someone is firing flares. They may be hurt and in need of help. They may be lost out in those woods somewhere, with a bullet from a deer rifle in their ass or something. But if I have to use the flare to figure out where they are, they're shit out of luck. There's just no way.

Did you ever wonder why The Professor, with all his amazing inventions that he made out of coconuts and Mary Ann's bras, never made a simple flare gun to shoot whenever a plane flew by on Gilligan's Island? Speaking of that, why didn't he ever 'make' Mary Ann? What kind of men were those guys on that island, with both Ginger and Mary Ann being hotter than a July day in Texas, that not a one of them ever jumped on either of those girls? I don't know about back then, but these days if those girls were stuck on that island with such weak excuses for men, they'd start doing each other. Either that or they'd spike one of those coconut cream pies and get the guys drunk enough to have a little courage between them. And then there'd be some hot, hetero action, finally.


Maybe that's why the network cancelled that show at the height of it's success? Maybe the network executives and their Gunsmoke-loving wives just couldn't stand making a show where three single men didn't even TRY to jump on two smokin' hot single women on a deserted island.

Anyway, when I turned down the last street to go to work, half the Boondocks City police department was waiting for me.


"Uh, officer, I didn't even know she was only 16, I swear. I thought she was her older sister, Britney. Really, they look just alike!" I lied.


But as it turned out, they weren't there to arrest me. They were just there to block off the road that I needed to drive down in order to go to work. All I could see behind them was some truck with a hose and some guys watering down a foundation for reasons I guess only they and God understand. The cop directed me to drive down the highway to "the new road next to the new WalMart" in order to go around the whole obstruction.

How sad that WalMart, which hasn't even completed construction yet, is already a fucking landmark? That's how small this town is.

"Go down 3 blocks 'til you pass Jacob's old barn - it ain't there no mo', but he useta train Morgans and there's still a couple'a wagons he left behine when they done run off 'n got run over. Turn left at them thar wagons 'n go about, oh, say a tenth of a mile until you see a red Camaro with a sycamore tree growing up through the windshield and turn left thar. Then go until you pass the new WalMart and then right thar you get back on highway 93. Yup. That's hows you do it!"

Anyway, I took the road the cop told me to. It led me to a neighborhood we nearly bought a house in, which we THOUGHT was going to be closed off with only the original 2 entrances and no through traffic. Ah, but now there's a whole new WalMart road piercing it right in the heart that would have just PISSED US OFF if we'd moved there. I took that road and it led me to another damn cop.

"You have to go right," he said, motioning me to turn right.

"I have to go to work," I said, turning my wheels left.

"Oh, ok, go behind me," he replied. And then he waved.

Cops here will wave to you. I like this town. Even if they did once pull me over and yell at me for my habit of taking photos while driving. Past flaming accidents that are in the center of the road. With cops and firemen standing all around it. One of whom glared at me and my camera as I clicked my last photo. Then he jumped into his Chevy SUV and tore after me. Ah, but that's another story.

So I drove around the cop and went towards work, wondering why the first cop didn't let me go to my job instead of sending me to WalMart. A big 18-wheeler pulled from a neighborhood right in front of me.

"How the hell did YOU get past the cops," I wondered to myself. "Dammit" is was I said out loud, though.

And now I'm here at work. I was late. Hardly anyone else was here. The place is partly deserted for Christmas, and partly for people trying to figure out how to get here with cops directing everyone to WalMart. There hasn't been much blog traffic at all today. I visited ADW's fabulous blog and tried to get her to send me her address so I can send her a Christmas card, but she's having none of it. I tried to catch up on Marlayna's blog, but suddenly it's set to private and I'm not able to get in. I was just reading it yesterday, too. I visited Tug, whom I have never come across before. It seems everyone else has been to her blog, though, and someone I'm the last one to discover it. And that's only because she found me first.

This coffee isn't quite doing it. And my problem with my code in SQL Server still isn't resolved. I've been banging my head against this for days and it's frustrating me. Meanwhile, SQL Server has swallowed every last drop of memory my computer has to offer and it's wanting to crash real bad. Slowly but surely, I've had to shut down every other application. This browser is next.

Time to get back to work.

Grinning Monkey Monday

This message brought to you by the U.S. Department of Justice
and Taser International

Taser International has killed more men over the weekend. They are throwing a big old party to celebrate their status as the only company in America more deadly than either Smith & Wesson or Mattel, and yet less accountable than Hillary Clinton. Thanks to Taser International, cops are being instructed to torture American males in ways that guards from Abu Ghraib aren't even allowed to do, and we're all getting to watch it on YouTube before 'someone' quickly yanks it down, only to have a new one pop up by the next day.

Meanwhile, Taser International's lawyers maintain the official position that their high voltage sexual torture device is nothing more than a big electric fluffy pillow, safe for sorority girls to use while wearing lingerie and making porn videos.

So anyway, same ole same ole. Nothing will be done about any of this, except when Taser's engineers can come up with yet another way to package it and increase it's deadliness, at which point a new marketing campaign will commence, almost certainly to be colored pink and aimed exclusively at women.

"Not happy with your boyfriend's Christmas present to you? You can fry his genitals from 100 feet away and videotape it at the same time with the new Pink GrrlPower Electric Rifle from Taser International! Small enough to fit in your purse, yet big enough to torture a full grown man's genitals for a whopping 30 seconds - long enough to stop his heart and drown him in his own vomit for YOUR ENTERTAINMENT!"

So enough about that. Men are dying. Same as every other day. The difference with Taser is simply that the men are dying screaming while people stand around videoing the whole thing. It's sort of like the Roman arenas, only we're all watching it from our homes instead of gathered together in large crowds where other people can see us and possibly make us feel bad.



Holy Flying Shingles, Batman!
The damned weather has blown half the roof off of my workshop at my brand new house. And by brand new, I mean brand new to me. The damned shop is 2 stories tall and I only have a 6 foot step ladder. This means borrowing a coworker's 32 foot ladder, which I have done, and then using it to climb up and see how many of the shingles are still up there, but not nailed down anymore.

I found all but one of the errant shingles, and mostly nailed them back down. Some nails were missing, you see, and there is NO HARDWARE STORE OF ANY KIND in The Boondocks. Yes, I discovered this when I needed roofing nails and a shingle to finish the job. The nearest Home Depot or Lowes is about 30 miles away.

So, while I was in Lowes, I decided to price this ladder I've borrowed so that I can buy one of my very own for the next time this happens.

It's $300 - DAY-UM!

By the time I got home, it was dark outside. So, I have the supplies, but the job isn't finished.



New Memphismobile
On Sunday, I had to drive all the way to Middle Tennessee to see My Middle Sister. I bought her big-assed truck and drove it back to my home in The Boondocks, just outside of Memphrica. Now I have a new Memphismobile, complete with big shiny brush guard, fog lights, four-wheel-drive, and the distinct odor of dog inside.

My Wife's reaction? "How soon are you getting rid of the Bananawagon?"

As if to answer her question, I hit 'PLAY' on the answering machine and found a message from a guy who wants to buy the Bananawagon. The timing was amazing.



New Zealand is the Place You Oughta Be
While I was visiting my Middle Sister, I casually mentioned something to her husband about my desire to move to Australia. Interestingly, he responded that he had been contemplating the same thing, and had on occasion discussed it with other men at work. One of his former coworkers had done extensive research on the subject, and concluded that New Zealand was perhaps an even better destination than Australia. And so, he sold everything he had, packed up, and moved there.

So there you have it - members of my own family are telling me to move to New Zealand and become a big old All Blacks fan. I used to know a beautiful Australian girl who lived in Kansas City, worked for the Kansas City Chiefs, and quit her job there to move to New Zealand and work for the All Blacks. I wonder if she likes it there? I've completely lost touch with her (she's dumped me like a bad habit).


Kentucky Fried Sicken
On the trip out to see My Sister, we stopped at a Kentucky Fried Chicken, somewhere just past Kingdom Come. It was an interesting place, to say the least. First, when I went into the men's bathroom to pee, I practically skated in on their slick floor. It was so slick, while I was standing in front of the toilet peeing, I slid from the toilet over towards the sink. This happened several times, as I stoped mid-stream and shuffled myself back to the toilet. I finally decided that if the workers at KFC didn't care about their health rating enough to even clean their floors, then I didn't care either. The next time I skated, I'm ashamed to say, I didn't stop peeing. So, I strung a stream of piss from the toilet to the sink, as I had grown tired of the interruption. The floor was so nasty that you couldn't even tell my pee was there. Seriously.

And yet, we ordered food and ate there anyway.

And I got sick.

Who didn't see this coming? I mean, besides me, obviously.

So, by the time we arrived at My Sister's place (50 acres of horses, and some cows for tax purposes), I had an immediate need to use her toilet. And this time I needed to sit down, which I did, before filling that place with a stink that could peel the paint off a John Deere tractor and melt the tires, too. I think I was in that bathroom releasing Kentucky Fried Toxins for a solid 30 minutes. I shit you not.

While I was at My Sister's house, My Mom called me on my cell phone.

Mom: Steven? (Mom always calls me by my fictitious blogger name)
Me: Yeah, hi Mom. Wuzzup? (I like to talk ghetto to her. She always wanted me to be a rapper.)
Mom: Is there something wrong with your phone? I called your home number and nothing happened. Is this your cell phone or was that the other number? Do I not dial a '1' before dialing your cell phone? I tried it without the '1', but I got a recording telling me to please dial a '1'.
Me: This is my cell phone. I don't know what's wrong that you didn't reach my answering machine at home. You have to dial a '1' if you want to call me unless you plan to move to Memphis (and I hope to God not!)
Mom: Oh OK. (long pause) Steven ...
Me: Um, yeah, it's still me.
Mom: Are you coming for Thanksgiving, because I don't know.
Me: Yes, I was planning on it. Is that OK or is Evil Sister demanding that no one be allowed to see you for yet another holiday like she did last Christmas (I believe this is a long post I left in draft and never let anyone read, but I'm not sure)?
Mom: No, she's going to North Carolina to see her in-laws for Thanksgiving. She won't be here, so it's all clear. Everyone is coming over. Are you coming?
Me: Yes, but My Wife isn't coming with me. It'll just be me.
Mom: Oh, well how are you going to buy Middle Sister's truck and get it home then? Are you leaving the Bananawagon with them?

At this point I was in trouble. I was actually at Middle Sister's house, about an hour north of Mom's house, but she wasn't supposed to know I was in town because I didn't have time to stop in and see anyone. For her to mention it meant that she knew I was there somehow.

Me: Um ... I'm taking care of that now (no point lying if she already knew where I am.)
Mom: Oh. So you'll be here on Wednesday night or Thursday morning?
Me: I don't actually know yet. Everything is kinda chaotic right now. I'll try to let you know. And you said Evil Sister has fled the house? She's not going to be around when I arrive?
Mom: No, she's already gone. She won't be back until Friday night. She wanted to know if you were going to be here.
Me: Oh, I'll just bet she did. Well, in that case, I think I will. (insert evil laughter here.)
Mom: Oh good.

With that, we said 'goodbye' and the world's very first conversation involving both My Mom and a cell phone was over.

Getting back to Middle Sister and her Husband, they had a cat that was mighty happy to see us, especially the lap part of us. He was part Main Coone, like my cat who died earlier this year. And just like my cat used to do before I 'cured him', this cat would dig his claws into my blue jeans and tug. Since he wasn't my cat, I decided not to whack his ass for doing that, but I did toss him into the floor. Unphased, he walked over to My Wife and jumped on her lap. I later saw her toss him into the floor after a similar pant-raking. Apparently she didn't appreciate it either.


I'd love to be able to tell you about my wild weekend partying with hot chicks on a boat, or farting in the gym while squatting next to some female bodybuilder, or going to Hooters with my hot, blonde best friend, or really just anything involving hotness, but unfortunately this was pretty much the extent of my weekend. And this is about as exciting as it gets most weeks.

Later this week is Thanksgiving for those of us here in the United States of Taserica, so I will be gone, only to return later and talk shit about my family. No, I probably won't talk shit about my family. But maybe. Who knows? We'll see.

What did you do this past weekend? Something more exciting than this, I hope.

Friday nothing

I got nuthin'!

It's Friday and don't really have anything to say. I guess the streets are safer now that Captain Underpants is in jail. And thank God they sent those three girls who came to school dressed as Captain Underpants home to preserve decency. Except that there really isn't much of it left to preserve, so why bother? And oh my God, Britney is a drug addict who spends every dime as fast as she gets it according to the latest headline! Who knew?

Ellen Degeneris is being blackmailed by animal terrorists. Environmental terrorists are cruising the oceans sinking fishing boats operated by penniless men and then pounding on their chests in pride at having ruined the lives of the poorest of the poor. By the way, the man behind this Sea Shepherd terrorist cell is a millionaire. Couldn't he just send these impoverished fishermen to night school or something to help them find a better life? Why sink them in the middle of the ocean and then leave them to drown while their families starve? This is called social justice, folks. This is how it works.

I'm not reading the news as I write this, by the way. I'm just going from memory. So if every single bit of this is pure bullshit, don't blame me. I'm not the New York Times. If I were, it would still be pure bullshit, but it wouldn't be accidental bullshit.

President Bush apparently made a joke about VP Dick Cheney being Darth Vader. Doesn't that make Bush the Emperor? Is Cheney going to throw Bush over the railing with his one good arm while having a heart attack? Does he get to wear that cool suit? How does Luke Skywalker fit into this whole scenario? Is Condaleeza Rice playing Luke? I'm too disinterested to actually read this story. Someone fill me in. I'm lazy here. Cut me some slack. Do my reading for me.

Steph in Australia has redone her blog with a snappy new template. Her wild and bendy friend, Kylie, has started another new blog and her various profile pictures are cracking me up and giving me a boner all at the same time. I need to move to Australia or California and just sit around watching the hot women walk by. I swear, they don't make ugly in either of those places. It's all kept here in Memphis.

I texted a rich woman in Dallas when I pooped this morning, reminding her that she has to donate money to Susan G. Komen every time I poo. She was thrilled to hear from me and my toilet. So excited, I cannot tell you.

Microsoft says that I should stop in the middle of my squatting at the gym, to help me build even more muscle in my fine, fine ass. I'm thinking this would cause me to shit myself as I tried to regain my momentum from this highly compressed and strained position, what with my butthole being stretched wide open at this point and all. Has anyone actually tried this or did they just write the article and leave it to us to find out the hard way? I'm not shitting in the floor of my gym just to test a Microsoft theory of weightlifting. And what the hell does Microsoft know about weightlifting anyway? Nothing, that's my guess.

The stock market has gone Britney Spears on my ass, making me rich on Wednesday and then taking it all away and then some over the past 2 days. I feel like I should be on medication or something. First it was all "Yay! I've won the lottery!" and then it went straight to "shoot me now! Shoot me now!" This is what happens when friends let friends trade on crack. Everyone knows all those mutual fund managers and hedge fund hippies are drug addicts, you know. They do it all while tripping on acid and meth and shit. That's why it's so hard to predict how the market is going to go, and also why it jumps like Kim Kardashian when she gets a spider down her dress. They've all got the shakes and they're just buying and selling at every little hiccup.

"Oil is up to $95 per barrell! Sell! Sell! I'm out of milk! Buy! Buy! BottleBlonde posted a new blog thing today about farting in the gym! Sell! Sell! No wait, she's hot. Buy! Buy!

Seriously, you have to think like a doper to ride this wave. That's why I only invest while drunk. It works better that way.

OK, well, I don't have anything much else to say. Steph and I are engaged. Kylie is the maid-of-honor, which means she has to hold Steph's ankles up while we shag. And all my Canadian lovers have left me for other girls. It's a wild, wild life.

Bleargh!

I have a shitload of posts sitting in draft, so of course I feel compelled to write something random out of my head today, for no particular reason. Go figure.

Steph commented that I was a woman-hating misogynist for my news post the other day and at first I thought she was serious, which, if you know how I feel about Steph, you'll understand that it gave me a heart attack. Then I reread the post and thought, "that's not even CLOSE to what I first posted. How many times did I go back and edit this and add more stories to it and shit?"

What is it with me that I can't leave my own blog posts alone? You know, if I read a post I did 2 years ago and I see a misspelling, I feel compelled to edit it and fix it. Who is going to read this post from 2 years ago? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me?

Well, for one thing I am apparently seriously disorganized. I used to not be, so I don't know when or how this happened. But looking at my desk here, I see papers and stacks all over it and I am already frustrated as hell because I'm trying to solve a problem which is due RIGHT NOW and I can't even find all my data and research that I did a week ago. It's right here, somewhere, but where I do not know. So, fat lot of good it does me, eh?

For another thing, I am stuck, so my response to that is to distract myself with other things. For instance, I wandered over to Chris' blog and noticed that he identified the song from the Ipod Nano commericial, 1234 by Fiest. So naturally I had to go find the video and watch it from beginning to end. And then, despite knowing how much of my time this wastes, I checked my blog email and responded to it all. Yeah, this burns up my mornings and doesn't help me figure out the solution to this work problem at all, but it relieves the stress and frustration of being stuck, so the temptation is strong. I already know better than to mess with my email or my blog before lunch. It is a horribly unproductive way to start the work day. Yet, I am compelled.

I used to be smart. I used to be a problem solver. I used to be focused and productive and driven. Now I am a blogger.

I do not hate women, by the way. I just hate feminists. And by feminists, I'm talking about the female supremacist man-haters. And this group includes some very rich and powerful men, whom I absolutely despise for what they're doing. Fucking sociopaths. Fucking Eichmanns. But that is neither here nor there. Suffice it to say that just the other day I emailed a dirty joke to former LA NOW president Tammy Bruce and this proves absolutely nothing. It also doesn't really relate to the point I was making here, which is now gone like a fart in the wind, leaving only a slight burning of the eyes and nostrils as a reminder of its' fleeting existence.

Actually, I hadn't intended the news summary to be half-filled with articles relating to Grrl Power! Those stories just kept popping up as I was writing and so I pasted them in. Next thing you know, I'm off in a direction I hadn't even wanted to go. And this little habit of mine leads me back to ....

I am apparently seriously disorganized. Did I mention this before? I can't remember, but it's true. I start off nicely organized and on track. And then slowly, steadily, I fall into a pile of papers. I put magazines from my Forbes subscription on my desk. It's neat at first, but quickly piles up and I forget about them. I put the printouts from the projects I am working on in neat stacks on my desk. It starts off useful and organized, but quickly becomes 100 different pages of files and queries and code and they're falling into each other, so that one project looks like the next, and which one is which? And where is the printout that I absolutely HAVE TO HAVE and I know I printed it? Shit! I know it's here somewhere.

And when I write, I start off with a point. I start off with an idea and I know how I want to begin and how I plan to lead into it and where I'm going to end. But then, somehow, it takes on a life of its' own and becomes something I don't recognize. Half the time it becomes something I can't use and I drop it into draft, never to see the light of day, or delete it altogether.

I'd like to be a writer. But how can you be a writer if you can't make a simple point without wandering off into the desert and only occasionally hitting the mark you had set in the first place?

And what the hell happened to my spelling? And my grammar? I used to know what I was doing. I breezed all that crap in school. It was super easy for me. Now I can't seem to spell my own name. No, wait, that's the Republican Party that can't spell my name. They're idiots, as they keep demonstrating every time they send another letter asking for money, addressed to Steevn Joans.

Again, off on a tangent here, like a spooked horse tearing across a field, kicking up dust and burning energy for no purpose.

So, that song is now wedged into my brain and playing over and over and over again. But that's OK because 2 of my personal CDs that I burned for my own enjoyment have started to click and distort when I play them now, and this is a major disappointment for me. I need more music and I need to burn more CDs for the long drive to and from work. Maybe 1234 will make the next one? Or maybe it'll play in my head until I'm sick of it and never want to hear it again? That's happened before, you know. It could easily happen again.