Sevi"I enjoy eating children."-Zell Miller
So, I'm moving again. That's right, it's been too long in dreary Renton and it's about time I pull up my boot strings (or whatever) and prepare myself for the hangovers that are incurred when living in Seattle.
Yes, my new place of residence will be in the beautiful Sevi, next to the old Tower Records. So, basically, I'm living across the street from the Space Needle. You know the Space Needle, right: the ugliest man- made beacon of waste that looks nothing like a needle and only rivals the McDonalds next door in it's attempt to reach space.
For those of you living elsewhere (people who happened upon my blog by searching for Enzyte – happens all the time) I implore you to disregard the Needle. The food is a rip off and you get a better view from the Columbia tower....or your hotel.
So, Seattle it is. Why Seattle? Well, I've decided it's either Seattle or I'm going to have to sell my car to ensure that I don't drink and drive.
With no bars in Renton that are worth puking in, the closest thing is Bellevue – and I hate Bellevue. So, that means cabbing if I ever want to go out and get stinking drunk.
So, I made up my mind to move to Seattle so that I can drink in peace.In fact, there is a couple of bars across the street, and Belltown is in walking distance. I'm set! If my liver doesn't look like Paul Wolfowitz's face by January, I'll be damned.
What else? Well, I came upon this yesterday:The Happiest Place on EarthFavorite Chapter title ever: Schizophrenia – It Alarms Myself.The saddest part is that I have a lot in common with this man: I'm a hermit, in poor health, and I too worry about implants stuck in my head from when I had my wisdom teeth removed.
Like the other day, I was walking into work and for no reason at all I began savagely masturbating in the parking garage. I could have been fired. But, I simply explained the implant and apparently I get a free holiday to unwind in something called "Cedar Valley Center."So, tomorrow I get an all expense paid vacation to this place in Bothell that apparently is "hard to get into" and has "extra cushioned rooms."So, I have that going for me.
Wait, I just have to say it again: Schizophrenia – It Alarms Myself.
In other news, it looks like Bush (the incumbent) finally broke even and is at 52%. Well, good for him! The entire world was in line to kiss his pinky ring three years ago, and now he can't even get a solid ten points above the challenger.
Lord, Bush and his dad really know how to piss it all away. What a waste. Poor Georgey. Huh, so CBS is claiming that the current batch of Bush Guard records are legit and that they've been checked by "experts" for authenticity, and now, come to find out someone has found Microsoft Word "Superscript" in the document – like when the "th" after 11th jumps up and gets small like a Mario Brother. This is in a document from the early 70's. Does anyone remember when CBS wasn't a fucking degenerate joke of a network? Not that there's anything else better...maybe CNN....Oh, P.S. FUCK ZELL MILLER! This cocksucker makes Yosemite Sam look like a Freedom Rider. The guy took his jabs at Kerry from a FUCKING CHAIN EMAIL LETTER!? What a fucking degenerate. To actually thieve from a source that regularly tells us that Michael Eisner is going to give you 2000 smackers for forwarding a poem about Jesus? What a douche.Zell, I hope you Google yourself some time so I can say this:FUCK YOU, YOU DUMB, SOUTHERN, BACKWOODS, HEE-HAW, JUG PLAYIN, BAYOU FLOATING, CROCK HUNTING, TWO FACED, CROSS DRESSING (you never know), DEGENERATE, THEIVING, IGNORANT, REJECT FROM BEFORE THE SOUTH LOST THE WAR.
Man, that felt great. I wonder if Zell is defending his home right now with MX missiles? Like, he hears something outside and runs to the closet to grab an MX missile to lob at his would-be burglar. "CLARA?! Did you hear that? Great shakes! I think one of those uppidity slaves has gone and stolen a chicken! Well, tarnation, I'd better get me the MX!" Funnier things have been written, but, Zell, you're an asshole.Let's read some fanmail:
Pse.service@customercenter.net writes:
E-Bill InformationBiller Account Number:******2222 Due Date:09/20/2004 Amount Due:$26.50 Account Balance:To pay this e-Bill, click the red CheckFree pay button. You can then change the payment date, payment amount, and payment account, if necessary. To view the e-Bill before paying it, click View E-bill.Note: If you have already paid this bill, please disregard this message. It is simply a reminder that you have an e-Bill.
Thank you, PSE, I appreciate the support.
hotnews@seattletimes.com writes:Friday, September 10, 2004 10:01 AM Former U.S. Sen. Brock Adams dies at 77 Former Transportation Secretary and U.S. Sen. Brock Adams, who declined to seek re-election following a sexual harassment scandal in the early 1990s, died today at age 77, his former chief of staff said. Story: http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2002032016_webadams10.html
Brock, we hardly knew ya.
How about a blog or two?
Today we took a test over nouns, subjects, and direct objects. After the test you completed Part A on 414 #1-15.
That's almost as interesting as my blog.Wait, this just in: there's a mysterious black bag in the parking garage – I was vigilant, I called my friend and she's going to call security. So, if I'm blown up, know that I attempted to be vigilant.How about another blog and then, I'll leave you:
My son told me once a year or so ago that he had "lucky underpants". Oh, the things kids come up with. How he made this determination, what distinguished one pair of tidy whities from another, I will NEVER know. Or for that matter how he knew which pair was the lucky pair. Maybe he thinks all of his underwear is lucky, and that's why it's so blissful to be a kid. I am completely convinced I have not one single pair of lucky underpanties, but I know of at least one unlucky pair. And I wore them yesterday. I specifically recall the last two times I wore them I was not pleased with the outcome of my day. Since I have like 80 or so pairs of panties, I guess I should take them out of circulation, regardless of how pretty they are.
Man, it's amazing what passes for communism now a days.Well, it's a big weekend of packing and alarming myself.If I get bored, I'll write again, and remember to email this to a friend using the new function below – because your friends are assholes.
Godbless the children,
Tam Treckie
Friday, July 17, 2009
Oldy But An Oldy
Editorial: Whose Courting My Vote?
Hello,
I've been following the campaign, as best as I can and I've noticed that my vote has been left behind.
Both candidates love to pontificate on various issues and play good guy and bad guy to court the swelling numbers of special interest, agenda voters.
The problem with this is that we're a melting pot and we all have different values and feelings that reflect our character.
Not all of us believe welfare is good, Iraq was bad, and John Ashcroft is evil.By the same token, not all of us feel religion belongs in our schools, gay marriage is for the best, and that the UN is the police of the world.
No, by and large, Americans think for themselves and don't need to be spoon fed their opinions from Yalies that grew up with silver spoons stuck in their mouths.
That's why I'd like to know what Kerry and Bush are doing to court MY vote.
So, let's take the issues and see where the candidates stand and where I stand:
Abortion:
Kerry: Wants to protect women's right to choose.
Bush: Wants to protect the rights of the unborn.
Matt: Wants to "reanimate" dead fetuses into an army of the undead that will be small enough to make secret ninja moves that will eventually put the world in line.
Immigration:
Kerry: Calls it a "broken system."
Bush: Calls for "immigration reform."
Matt: Calls for "immigrant slavery" in which immigrants must work as slaves for approx. two years on the "fetus plantation" in order to gain citizenship.
Iraq:
Kerry: Wants to rebuild Iraq with world help.
Bush: Speaks of a "safer America."
Matt: Sends reanimated fetuses from the fetus plantation to restore order with their badass ninja moves and small hands that can poke and irritate the eyes.
The Patriot Act:
Kerry: Speaks of a "need to change the act."
Bush: Speaks of the "benefits of the Patriot Act."
Matt: Wants to amend the Act to provide deadly reanimated fetuses with universal search warrants embedded in their tiny heads so they can crush the skulls of my...err, our enemies, wherever they lurk with their small hands that can operate the nail clippers on a Swiss Army knife.
Energy Policy:
Kerry: Wants "energy independence."
Bush: Wants "energy independence."
Matt: Feels that we should work for energy reform by reducing our commute. This can be achieved, and drop energy consumption by 45% (2003 figures) by promoting telecommuting; encourage businesses to operate 24 hours a day using swing shifts – reducing traffic by 65% which will result in less fuel consumed supporting the 45% figure and averaging it out to 50%; and by equipping the reanimated plantation fetuses with harnesses that strap 100 reanimated fetuses to your car for shear fetus-power drive for a reanimated fetus/gasoline hybrid car that does 3000 miles to the gallon, thus reducing consumption by 70%.
Health Care:
Kerry: Wants to "cut waste in the system."
Bush: Wants to create "health savings accounts."
Matt: Unsure, but is pretty positive reanimated plantation fetuses will enter into the equation.
Homeland Security:
Kerry: Speaks of "homeland preparedness."
Bush: Speaks of "protecting infrastructure."
Matt: Speaks of a land in which we equip the reanimated plantation fetuses with special wings that will allow them to fly over the land with their search warrants and troll for potential terrorists that will be lurking in the homes and businesses of every American. These wings will be powered by BBQ'd pork and the fetuses will find this pork delicious – you can count on that!
College Costs:
Kerry: Talks of "college affordability."
Bush: Talks of "Pell grants and community college."
Matt: Talks of milking reanimated fetuses to prevent poverty. Matt is potentially off topic here. Did Matt mention that the reanimated fetuses have tiny hands that reach down and grasp the last peppercinni left in the bottle?
Gay Marriage:
Kerry: Wants "equal protection under state law."
Bush: Believes in a "definition of marriage."
Matt: Makes pornographic film that promises "hot reanimated fetus on fetus action."
Environment:
Kerry: Wants to protect coastal ecosystems.
Bush: Proposes expansion of wetlands.
Matt: Wants to develop measures to "somehow grow fetuses rather than birth them." Also, would like to see that this process makes the reanimated fetus arms as tiny as the fingers, so that they can unclog drains.
No Child Left Behind:
Kerry: Proposes changes to "No Child" law.
Bush: Wants to continue to tie federal funding to schools accountability.
Matt: Use your imagination. Here's two talking points – reanimated fetuses and small hands.
Jobs:
Kerry: Agrees that reanimated fetuses will create extra tax income, while only asking for BBQ'd pork in return.
Bush: Agrees that reanimated fetuses will create new jobs for wing makers and BBQ'd pork industry.
Matt: Thinks this country's going to hell in a hand basket, to the point that reanimated plantation fetuses are the best idea he's heard of in this campaign.
Hello,
I've been following the campaign, as best as I can and I've noticed that my vote has been left behind.
Both candidates love to pontificate on various issues and play good guy and bad guy to court the swelling numbers of special interest, agenda voters.
The problem with this is that we're a melting pot and we all have different values and feelings that reflect our character.
Not all of us believe welfare is good, Iraq was bad, and John Ashcroft is evil.By the same token, not all of us feel religion belongs in our schools, gay marriage is for the best, and that the UN is the police of the world.
No, by and large, Americans think for themselves and don't need to be spoon fed their opinions from Yalies that grew up with silver spoons stuck in their mouths.
That's why I'd like to know what Kerry and Bush are doing to court MY vote.
So, let's take the issues and see where the candidates stand and where I stand:
Abortion:
Kerry: Wants to protect women's right to choose.
Bush: Wants to protect the rights of the unborn.
Matt: Wants to "reanimate" dead fetuses into an army of the undead that will be small enough to make secret ninja moves that will eventually put the world in line.
Immigration:
Kerry: Calls it a "broken system."
Bush: Calls for "immigration reform."
Matt: Calls for "immigrant slavery" in which immigrants must work as slaves for approx. two years on the "fetus plantation" in order to gain citizenship.
Iraq:
Kerry: Wants to rebuild Iraq with world help.
Bush: Speaks of a "safer America."
Matt: Sends reanimated fetuses from the fetus plantation to restore order with their badass ninja moves and small hands that can poke and irritate the eyes.
The Patriot Act:
Kerry: Speaks of a "need to change the act."
Bush: Speaks of the "benefits of the Patriot Act."
Matt: Wants to amend the Act to provide deadly reanimated fetuses with universal search warrants embedded in their tiny heads so they can crush the skulls of my...err, our enemies, wherever they lurk with their small hands that can operate the nail clippers on a Swiss Army knife.
Energy Policy:
Kerry: Wants "energy independence."
Bush: Wants "energy independence."
Matt: Feels that we should work for energy reform by reducing our commute. This can be achieved, and drop energy consumption by 45% (2003 figures) by promoting telecommuting; encourage businesses to operate 24 hours a day using swing shifts – reducing traffic by 65% which will result in less fuel consumed supporting the 45% figure and averaging it out to 50%; and by equipping the reanimated plantation fetuses with harnesses that strap 100 reanimated fetuses to your car for shear fetus-power drive for a reanimated fetus/gasoline hybrid car that does 3000 miles to the gallon, thus reducing consumption by 70%.
Health Care:
Kerry: Wants to "cut waste in the system."
Bush: Wants to create "health savings accounts."
Matt: Unsure, but is pretty positive reanimated plantation fetuses will enter into the equation.
Homeland Security:
Kerry: Speaks of "homeland preparedness."
Bush: Speaks of "protecting infrastructure."
Matt: Speaks of a land in which we equip the reanimated plantation fetuses with special wings that will allow them to fly over the land with their search warrants and troll for potential terrorists that will be lurking in the homes and businesses of every American. These wings will be powered by BBQ'd pork and the fetuses will find this pork delicious – you can count on that!
College Costs:
Kerry: Talks of "college affordability."
Bush: Talks of "Pell grants and community college."
Matt: Talks of milking reanimated fetuses to prevent poverty. Matt is potentially off topic here. Did Matt mention that the reanimated fetuses have tiny hands that reach down and grasp the last peppercinni left in the bottle?
Gay Marriage:
Kerry: Wants "equal protection under state law."
Bush: Believes in a "definition of marriage."
Matt: Makes pornographic film that promises "hot reanimated fetus on fetus action."
Environment:
Kerry: Wants to protect coastal ecosystems.
Bush: Proposes expansion of wetlands.
Matt: Wants to develop measures to "somehow grow fetuses rather than birth them." Also, would like to see that this process makes the reanimated fetus arms as tiny as the fingers, so that they can unclog drains.
No Child Left Behind:
Kerry: Proposes changes to "No Child" law.
Bush: Wants to continue to tie federal funding to schools accountability.
Matt: Use your imagination. Here's two talking points – reanimated fetuses and small hands.
Jobs:
Kerry: Agrees that reanimated fetuses will create extra tax income, while only asking for BBQ'd pork in return.
Bush: Agrees that reanimated fetuses will create new jobs for wing makers and BBQ'd pork industry.
Matt: Thinks this country's going to hell in a hand basket, to the point that reanimated plantation fetuses are the best idea he's heard of in this campaign.
Fall City: Last Refuge of the White
About twenty years ago, a city died.
It was called Kent.
South of Seattle, Kent was once a bastion of real white trash. You could almost summon the back wood yokel beat of Alabama on a hot day.
But those days are gone. Kent has been ghettoized by that bastard Greg Nichols and gentrification, for good or ill, moved the Seattle streets to Kent.
By no means do I applaud white trash and poo poo any other. But that distinctive Kent way of life is now gone: Eagles for Jay Z, Tough Skins for FUBU, and Hardware stores for nail salons.
But one city has kept the trash white: Fall City.
Just outside of Issaquah, you will find a quaint town of 1,638 people that are more than willing to be your friend, if only to sell you meth or tell you about the local bar that used to sell meth and now "Would rather you eat than drink in it" in pure disgust.
Yes, Fall City is showing the signs of cleaning up the Appalachians, but the heart of Lawrence Welk still beats on.
A golf course sits outside of the town and that is what brought me out there. We decided to explore the town's bars after an hour of driving balls into right angles.
The first bar we entered was the Last Frontier, which boasts a log cabin style complete with an outdoor deck furnished in what look like acorn shells. The bathroom is a tribute to the old Bowling Alley days of good old pictures of naked or half naked women. In this case, a picture of Michelle Quan with breasts the size of dirigibles. Outside there's a condom machine and an outhouse set up to complete any biker's night after a long day contracting for "the man".
As the bikers poured in, we realized how queer we now looked compared to the men of leather. That should make no logical sense, but here in Fall City…
We had sat by two women, but soon they were joined by a man, then three men, then there were enough men to drive the point home: we weren't getting laid.
The man who showed up first was the most vocal of the lot and began telling the story of his buddy who had found out his girlfriend's son had been shaving his pubes with the man's beard trimmer. This sounded like a good old fashion yarn to begin with, but then the gravity of the man's voice changed when he began to worry just what his buddy was going to do to the pube shaving kid.
Pretty soon talk started moving from how funny this was to how tragic it was going to be if the man decided to harm or even kill the kid.
They kept referring to the man as the Bond Man, as he had plenty of bail bonds open on him.
Then, we were warned not to get jokey about the situation, as he had told it to us as an aside, because his buddy would probably stomp us.
An hour later the man never showed up and it was assumed he was in jail for killing the pube shaver.
After another pitcher, the man's oration went from pube shaving to politics and we were informed on everything from Obama's Momma pants to Al Gore's carbon offsets.
As a liberal, I supposed I should be more pissed, but I haven't been too happy with Obama lately, however my reasons are a 180 from his.
What really pissed me off was the man was a contractor, and as any good American knows, contractors are the lowest scum to walk the planet.
But, far be it from me to pass judgement on a man who is making National Geographic jokes about the President's wife.
Yes, it gets that bad in Fall City.
I casually made a bet with my friend to see how long it would take for the word "Nigger" to come up.
About 20 minutes.
We soon left.
The next bar was…like I said we were two pitchers in, so I don't really remember. However, the first thing we heard when we walked in was "She's gonna get raped."
I looked out the window and sure enough, there was a young woman with tits that could cut glass walking by.
"Excuse me?" I asked the waitress.
"She's gonna get raped."
"Why do you say that?"
"Look at her. Walking around with those fake tits sticking out. You know she dances in the city." The city, I believe, is anywhere outside of Fall City. "She was in here with her Mom. The Mom was teaching her how to massage her tits."
"Her Mom had fake tits too?"
"Both of them. You have to massage them when you get them or they'll turn hard."
"Ah." I ordered Budweiser in a bottle and got a can. My friend was getting drunk and I feared he would push the wait staff too far as he ordered nachos and made fun of the fact that they were microwaving the chicken.
I went out for a smoke.
Two bikinis came walking down the street, followed by a maelstrom of hooting and hollering.
To which the girls replied "We're only 16!" To a man who was probably in his 40s.
I returned to the bar and my friend was eating his nachos and commenting on how the chicken tasted like dog.
I leaned into him and said "Don't push it."
This did little to nothing in the way of shutting him up.
The waitress then told us how McDonald's hamburgers didn't taste right in Mexico and how a local told her it was because it was dog.
I then explained that I had heard once that dog tasted like pork.
"So does human." Came from the end of the bar.
It was the local drunk woman who had been in there most of the night drinking what looked like red wine and vodka.
"You've had human?" I asked.
"No, but that's what I've heard."
I squinted, shook my head and asked "From who?"
"A guy."
"We gotta go." I said to my friend.
A jello shot later and I was on the road.
Will I be back to Fall City?
You bet.
Will Fall City be opening a Red Robin and a Hot Topic?
You bet, but I'm sure Duvall will still be around to attract the last of the white trash.
It was called Kent.
South of Seattle, Kent was once a bastion of real white trash. You could almost summon the back wood yokel beat of Alabama on a hot day.
But those days are gone. Kent has been ghettoized by that bastard Greg Nichols and gentrification, for good or ill, moved the Seattle streets to Kent.
By no means do I applaud white trash and poo poo any other. But that distinctive Kent way of life is now gone: Eagles for Jay Z, Tough Skins for FUBU, and Hardware stores for nail salons.
But one city has kept the trash white: Fall City.
Just outside of Issaquah, you will find a quaint town of 1,638 people that are more than willing to be your friend, if only to sell you meth or tell you about the local bar that used to sell meth and now "Would rather you eat than drink in it" in pure disgust.
Yes, Fall City is showing the signs of cleaning up the Appalachians, but the heart of Lawrence Welk still beats on.
A golf course sits outside of the town and that is what brought me out there. We decided to explore the town's bars after an hour of driving balls into right angles.
The first bar we entered was the Last Frontier, which boasts a log cabin style complete with an outdoor deck furnished in what look like acorn shells. The bathroom is a tribute to the old Bowling Alley days of good old pictures of naked or half naked women. In this case, a picture of Michelle Quan with breasts the size of dirigibles. Outside there's a condom machine and an outhouse set up to complete any biker's night after a long day contracting for "the man".
As the bikers poured in, we realized how queer we now looked compared to the men of leather. That should make no logical sense, but here in Fall City…
We had sat by two women, but soon they were joined by a man, then three men, then there were enough men to drive the point home: we weren't getting laid.
The man who showed up first was the most vocal of the lot and began telling the story of his buddy who had found out his girlfriend's son had been shaving his pubes with the man's beard trimmer. This sounded like a good old fashion yarn to begin with, but then the gravity of the man's voice changed when he began to worry just what his buddy was going to do to the pube shaving kid.
Pretty soon talk started moving from how funny this was to how tragic it was going to be if the man decided to harm or even kill the kid.
They kept referring to the man as the Bond Man, as he had plenty of bail bonds open on him.
Then, we were warned not to get jokey about the situation, as he had told it to us as an aside, because his buddy would probably stomp us.
An hour later the man never showed up and it was assumed he was in jail for killing the pube shaver.
After another pitcher, the man's oration went from pube shaving to politics and we were informed on everything from Obama's Momma pants to Al Gore's carbon offsets.
As a liberal, I supposed I should be more pissed, but I haven't been too happy with Obama lately, however my reasons are a 180 from his.
What really pissed me off was the man was a contractor, and as any good American knows, contractors are the lowest scum to walk the planet.
But, far be it from me to pass judgement on a man who is making National Geographic jokes about the President's wife.
Yes, it gets that bad in Fall City.
I casually made a bet with my friend to see how long it would take for the word "Nigger" to come up.
About 20 minutes.
We soon left.
The next bar was…like I said we were two pitchers in, so I don't really remember. However, the first thing we heard when we walked in was "She's gonna get raped."
I looked out the window and sure enough, there was a young woman with tits that could cut glass walking by.
"Excuse me?" I asked the waitress.
"She's gonna get raped."
"Why do you say that?"
"Look at her. Walking around with those fake tits sticking out. You know she dances in the city." The city, I believe, is anywhere outside of Fall City. "She was in here with her Mom. The Mom was teaching her how to massage her tits."
"Her Mom had fake tits too?"
"Both of them. You have to massage them when you get them or they'll turn hard."
"Ah." I ordered Budweiser in a bottle and got a can. My friend was getting drunk and I feared he would push the wait staff too far as he ordered nachos and made fun of the fact that they were microwaving the chicken.
I went out for a smoke.
Two bikinis came walking down the street, followed by a maelstrom of hooting and hollering.
To which the girls replied "We're only 16!" To a man who was probably in his 40s.
I returned to the bar and my friend was eating his nachos and commenting on how the chicken tasted like dog.
I leaned into him and said "Don't push it."
This did little to nothing in the way of shutting him up.
The waitress then told us how McDonald's hamburgers didn't taste right in Mexico and how a local told her it was because it was dog.
I then explained that I had heard once that dog tasted like pork.
"So does human." Came from the end of the bar.
It was the local drunk woman who had been in there most of the night drinking what looked like red wine and vodka.
"You've had human?" I asked.
"No, but that's what I've heard."
I squinted, shook my head and asked "From who?"
"A guy."
"We gotta go." I said to my friend.
A jello shot later and I was on the road.
Will I be back to Fall City?
You bet.
Will Fall City be opening a Red Robin and a Hot Topic?
You bet, but I'm sure Duvall will still be around to attract the last of the white trash.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Blogs of Note
Blogs of Note
Recently, I went about critiquing emails sent to and written by me. I believe this went over well as one (1) person visited my site searching for "hubbabloo" on Google.
So, after the overwhelming response (1) to my critics corner, I will now present Blogs of Note.This will be my foray into the world of blogging and the bloggers who blog.
Blogging is one of the greatest creative outlets given to mankind, since man learned to masturbate to the Smurfette.Not only does blogging allow bloggers to blog about their life, it allows them to blog about other blogs and that's what I'm blogging about.
Let's grab a random blog and explore it, shall we?
The horrors to comeOkay....I have had the worst time trying to work those blog skins. I found one that was just darling for my scribbles that I'm planning on posting but...JEEZ they didn't wanna work! Whatever...this one is simple and it will be fine. So everyone enjoy the art and please feel free to comment or complain!
So, what we have here is a classic blog that blogs about the finer aspects of blogging. In this case, she is blogging about her blog set up. A "blog skin" is the skin of an enemy blogger that you have vanquished with your blog.
See, when you post comments in someone's blog you are blogging their blog. Now, if you post enough negative comments on a blog, the blogger will take down their blog and thus be "skinned." The blogger who vanquished the other blogger will then capture the last blog the defeated blogger blogged and post it on their blog as a blog skin.
Interesting? Let's look at some more.
It is the brutal egoists that surviveBut this is one of the results: that all people who try to write become anxious, timid, contracted, become perfectionists, so terribly afraid that they may put something down that is not as good as Shakespeare.And so no wonder you don't write and put it off month after month, decade after decade. For when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free, - free and not anxious.Yes, I hate orthodox criticism. The usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straightjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery.And there you are.
See, this blogger is, again, blogging about blogging.
But, in this instance, he/she is blogging about the writing aspect of blogging. See, some bloggers put more emphasis on "raw blog," which is just blogging to blog. While others will put more emphasis on "realblog" which is blogging as writing. There is also "showblog," "pornblog," "sellblog," and "criticblog." Mine, here, would be more of a criticblog, while the above is a realblog. The author seems dominated by his blogging anxieties and has laid them out for the reader (read: soul).
Beautiful work, really. I almost feel as anxious and confused as the author is. I wish I could reach out to him and say "listen, bubba, don't worry about the craft, we're all in this together." Then maybe shove a concrete post into his rectum and say "hey, bubba, now write me something about that."
Let's move on.
Sept. 6-10 Ethics StudyAnswer the following questions:How did you develop your sense of ethics?Is there a specific individual that you look to as a model of ethical behavior?What makes something ethical or unethical? How do you know if something is right or wrong?How do you make a moral choice? How do you decide that something is ethical or unethical?What would you advise a new employee to do if he/she were asked to do something that he/she thought was unethical?Is ethcis a subject that you would like supervisors to address on the job? (If so, which topics would you like to see covered?)
Here, we find that the blogger is blogging about work or work-related studies. This is common among the blog community. Many use blogging to help others and themselves understand the blog around them. The ethics in blogging can be quite overwhelming – like when you rip off a bunch of blogs and write about them.
But, let's go ahead and answer the author's questions:
Zaxxon
Donkey Kong
It's place and shape in the universe of pie.
I use my special cap.
With a condom.
With my special cap I said.
Ask for a payout.
Yes: the part of ethics that addresses what buttons on the fryalator get me free Zaxxon points that I can use to send in for the stuffed Ben Kenobi doll.
Recently, I went about critiquing emails sent to and written by me. I believe this went over well as one (1) person visited my site searching for "hubbabloo" on Google.
So, after the overwhelming response (1) to my critics corner, I will now present Blogs of Note.This will be my foray into the world of blogging and the bloggers who blog.
Blogging is one of the greatest creative outlets given to mankind, since man learned to masturbate to the Smurfette.Not only does blogging allow bloggers to blog about their life, it allows them to blog about other blogs and that's what I'm blogging about.
Let's grab a random blog and explore it, shall we?
The horrors to comeOkay....I have had the worst time trying to work those blog skins. I found one that was just darling for my scribbles that I'm planning on posting but...JEEZ they didn't wanna work! Whatever...this one is simple and it will be fine. So everyone enjoy the art and please feel free to comment or complain!
So, what we have here is a classic blog that blogs about the finer aspects of blogging. In this case, she is blogging about her blog set up. A "blog skin" is the skin of an enemy blogger that you have vanquished with your blog.
See, when you post comments in someone's blog you are blogging their blog. Now, if you post enough negative comments on a blog, the blogger will take down their blog and thus be "skinned." The blogger who vanquished the other blogger will then capture the last blog the defeated blogger blogged and post it on their blog as a blog skin.
Interesting? Let's look at some more.
It is the brutal egoists that surviveBut this is one of the results: that all people who try to write become anxious, timid, contracted, become perfectionists, so terribly afraid that they may put something down that is not as good as Shakespeare.And so no wonder you don't write and put it off month after month, decade after decade. For when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free, - free and not anxious.Yes, I hate orthodox criticism. The usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straightjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery.And there you are.
See, this blogger is, again, blogging about blogging.
But, in this instance, he/she is blogging about the writing aspect of blogging. See, some bloggers put more emphasis on "raw blog," which is just blogging to blog. While others will put more emphasis on "realblog" which is blogging as writing. There is also "showblog," "pornblog," "sellblog," and "criticblog." Mine, here, would be more of a criticblog, while the above is a realblog. The author seems dominated by his blogging anxieties and has laid them out for the reader (read: soul).
Beautiful work, really. I almost feel as anxious and confused as the author is. I wish I could reach out to him and say "listen, bubba, don't worry about the craft, we're all in this together." Then maybe shove a concrete post into his rectum and say "hey, bubba, now write me something about that."
Let's move on.
Sept. 6-10 Ethics StudyAnswer the following questions:How did you develop your sense of ethics?Is there a specific individual that you look to as a model of ethical behavior?What makes something ethical or unethical? How do you know if something is right or wrong?How do you make a moral choice? How do you decide that something is ethical or unethical?What would you advise a new employee to do if he/she were asked to do something that he/she thought was unethical?Is ethcis a subject that you would like supervisors to address on the job? (If so, which topics would you like to see covered?)
Here, we find that the blogger is blogging about work or work-related studies. This is common among the blog community. Many use blogging to help others and themselves understand the blog around them. The ethics in blogging can be quite overwhelming – like when you rip off a bunch of blogs and write about them.
But, let's go ahead and answer the author's questions:
Zaxxon
Donkey Kong
It's place and shape in the universe of pie.
I use my special cap.
With a condom.
With my special cap I said.
Ask for a payout.
Yes: the part of ethics that addresses what buttons on the fryalator get me free Zaxxon points that I can use to send in for the stuffed Ben Kenobi doll.
Pellgrantings
Crash Course in Geology and Other Stories"Thunder, Lighting...a storm's a brewing, baby!"Macho Man Randy Savage (I think....and really don't feel like looking it up)So, we got a volcano blowing off steam and my first thought is WTF? Isn't this one of those olden days problems? Haven't we passed the ages when we feared the wrath of God in the form of volcanoes? I think everyone is used to hurricanes and earthquakes....but, fucking volcanoes?I'm waiting for a potato famine.Ah, in other news, Tini Bigs sucks ass. This is a martini bar in Seattle and on Friday I was charged 30 plus tip for TWO martinis. Um, WTF? Jesus. I had to swallow hard when I had to tip what I thought they would cost in the first place.Seattle has been a blast. Last weekend I played tourist and visited both Pike Place Market and the Seattle Center.For those who don't know what the Pike Place Market is, let me detail: it's where they sell fun. That's right, this landmark tourist attraction is the hub of fun. Let's say you're walking along and you're like "Man, I need some fun." BAM! Here it is, partner – fun, fun, fun.Beforehand I ventured to my favorite pier bar – the Salmon Cooker. No, it's not really a bar, but more of a fish and chips shop that I drink in.I met my sister there and in passing, saw an article about the 360 the geologists made about how big the eruption (St. Helens) could be. I immediately became excited, thinking of all the fun I would have missing work, wearing a gas mask and probing random women on the street in the pitch dark ashen days of the apocalypse. But, my sister said this wasn't to be. No, the mountain may blow bigger than Friday, but certainly not as big and tremendous READ: UBER as 1980.Ho hum.My dreams of missing work and maybe thinning the population of Enumclaw and Puyallup were squashed.A beer and a half later we trekked up to Pike Place Market.Foreigners (mainly dirty LA people) will call it Pike's Market, but don't be fooled. The natives know the name and it's Pike PLACE Market. Or funville.In the market I went to the only place I ever go: the comic shop. I purchased a badass Shining poster and a badass Taxi Driver poster. Both will assure all guests in my home that I'm an 18 year old college student. All I need is a poster about beer or shots or Bob Marley and I might as well be studying for a midterm...or whatever college people do – I dropped out.Hence the writing."So, Matt, why is the Pike PLACE Market so damn fun?"Well, let me list all the ways:FishVegetablesTrinketsCan you fucking believe what kind of hijinx you can get into when your senses are assaulted by salmon, radishes, and beaded curtains?Oh, and really, really dirty people. I swear it's just a wash for a gypsy settlement.So, the sarcasm comes out. But, no, the market IS fun. Just that feeling of being a beer and a half in and seeing all these people from foreign lands and buying shit you don't need.After departing the market, we went to Pacific Place where Cary purchased a book, and I an Americano.Leaving Pacific Place on my own I immediately got lost. But, when you live next to a world renowned needle that juts up into space like....the ugliest fucking thing in the world, this wears off.After the "lost" wore off, I ventured home.I've acquired groceries!For the last month I have been living off mustard, mayo, hashbrowns, noodles, spaghetti sauce, and ranch dressing.Consequently, I have given myself a large dose of diabetes and it pains me to sit up in any position.It was time to go shopping.I go shopping once a month and buy shit that goes bad in a week.I guess I could go weekly, but you see I burn up money so quickly that I have to shop when I get paid. Now, considering that my rent is now astronomical, that cuts out one check. I only have one other check and that, my friends, goes to shopping for foodstuffs.I had a plan, too: blow time from work on going to Costco to buy non-perishable items, and go to Larry's after work for perishables.The first part worked like a charm. I bought bread and ......oh, shampoo!Now, the second part was ruined by....FILTHY CHRISTIANS!Yes, the Right Wing Christians ascended from hell to confuse normal folks and preach hatred on my fair city.The Nazi Billy Graham's daughter – who believes that we deserved 9/11 for such things as not preaching in schools – came to Seattle to ruin parking and traffic.It took me an hour just to get from the Mercer exit to the Seattle Center.But, the problems really took hold after shopping.I drove to Larry's and found that it was pay parking. Now, let me backtrack. Normally, I would walk, but the sheer volume of groceries I needed to buy would create quite a terrible carrying situation. So, fast forward and I'm at Larry's and it's underground garage says "6$ Event Parking."$6 dollars! To buy beer and Dep styling gel! Get out of here!So, I spun around the block and came back, stopped the car and stared at the sign long and hard.At the very bottom in two inch letters the sign mumbles "validated shoppers may only park for 90 minutes."So, there was validation afoot!I couldn't believe I needed to get validated for grocery shopping. The only thing worse is if I had to get validated when buying porn.So, I shopped. I bought cheese, vegetables, Dep styling gel, Ziplock baggies, Aluminum foil, milk, sour cream, bacon, ham, turkey, beer, more beer, still yet more beer, fruit, and eggs.There's probably other stuff, but I don't have the receipt with me. Let's just say it was ten bags of goods.So, I drive home and find that there is NO PARKING!You see, your Right Wing Christian is a breeder. They believe that they must eternally multiply in order to please God. Because, let's face it: God wants enough human beings on the Earth to generate enough body heat to warm his cold hands after he fells queers and abortionists.But, nevermind that. I had parking to do.So, I parked near the top of Queen Anne with five bags of groceries laced in my superhuman fingers. I had to make frequent stops and risked a mugging of terrible force.In my apartment I put my foodstuffs away and prayed to the half bat/half robot, all elephant God that I pray to: Oh, Jujitzu, please smite the whoredom of bible thumpers that have perilously plagued are nation and put a plaque of iron tarter in the spaces that I park in.Amen.My God is a vengeful God and last I heard little miss Graham was smoten with gingivitis.All in all, Seattle is great. I have made a walking map where I mark every block I've walked with a pen.After writing that I realize that I should have killed myself long ago.St. Helens – justify my love.Pleace,matt
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Vegas 5
"You look like a crackhead."
-Crackhead to me.
Friday...Friday?Um....well, waking up and realizing that the room is 104 degrees, you ate a cheeseburger in a bathroom the night before, and you're down 150 after one night - you begin to shake a bit. Not only that, but you're hungover.
My first move, on my first morning in Vegas, was to go downstairs and find some java. Only political consultants and queers call coffee java, what the hell? I guess I'm out of my gord on cold medication again, oh well.
So, I navigated the long halls of the Flamingo looking for elevators. In my hungover state of annoyance, I became upset after fifty feet of walking. Panic set in as I realized I could not recall where the elevators were and how long it would be before I started to tremble like a wee bairn.
There, before me were elevators. But, these elevators were odd. No, they were not the shining rectangles of gold that I had last used. Not only that, they were standing in a bank that was not there the night before. What could these special elevators mean?
The fastest neurons in my brain take approximately three minutes to make it from one place to another and it wasn't until I was speeding down to the parking garage that I realized I was on the service elevators.
BING!
I exited the elevator only to find an army of white-clad service personel folding blankets and preparing room service carts.I was now in their domain and had better exit immediatly before I'm fingered as some sort of terrorist looking to spike the all temperature Tide with Anthrax.
So, I fumbled to the first door out and ended up in the parking garage of the adjacent hotel.I found my way outside, eventually.
Downstairs, I spent the better portion of an hour looking for a coffee stand. There was no way I was going back to Lyndies - Nazi bastards.
Soon I discovered a latte stand and ordered an Americano, with light ice. Light ice is key if you want to drink the beverage within the first hour of purchasing it. Otherwise, you're drinking boiling water.
When the terrorists come to take down our great cities, I have a feeling we'll be pouring steaming hot Americanos from tall buildings on them, like the Trojans before.
The Trojans are a misunderstood race of people. Many of us think that they ran around like homos in body armor, wrestling each other and playing grab ass. This is not true and you must write a letter to Brad Pitt, post haste, informing him that Trojans were not fags, but good, hard working Americans who held up the fort while the Indians attacked from all sides only to take the Alamo so Ozzy Osbourne could piss on it five years later.
Man, the 1980s were rough.
I have to stop watching the History channel stoned.
Now then. I found myself in a similiar position as the night before: I didn't feel like enjoying my Americano in the prescence of Scott and Shanna. A coffee is a private thing that must be drank while playing such games as Battleship, Monopoly, or Wheel of Fortune and Scott and Shanna are sick people.
Again, like many a drunken night, I cursed Keith for not having a phone. For, it was this machine, this Wheel of Fortune, that Keith delivered 1000 dollars unto.But, I was smart and played like a champ, robbing the beast of 20 bucks, before I got bored and was back upstairs wondering where the couple had gone.No matter - there was a TV and I had a hankering for some news. I certainly didn't want to miss the death of a President or something.
With that I turned on the TV, only to hear:"Roomservice!"This was followed by a loud banging and an attempt to break open the door. It was latched and there was no way she could bust the lock.So, I sat and waited for her to leave. All the while "ROOMSERVICE! LET ME IN!" kept pelting my eardrums. After five minutes, I finally said "FUCK YOU!" And got up off the bed to answer the door, only to spill my coffee all over the floor.
I yelled "ARE YOU HAPPY!" as I opened the door.
But, there was no one outside.
Rod Serling then walked in front of me, like I wasn't there, and began explaining that I was a man, a man with everything he could want - besides a woman, some money, and half my sanity - who was robbed of his coffee by a mysterious service woman who wouldn't take no for an -But, it's late and I need a drink.
-Crackhead to me.
Friday...Friday?Um....well, waking up and realizing that the room is 104 degrees, you ate a cheeseburger in a bathroom the night before, and you're down 150 after one night - you begin to shake a bit. Not only that, but you're hungover.
My first move, on my first morning in Vegas, was to go downstairs and find some java. Only political consultants and queers call coffee java, what the hell? I guess I'm out of my gord on cold medication again, oh well.
So, I navigated the long halls of the Flamingo looking for elevators. In my hungover state of annoyance, I became upset after fifty feet of walking. Panic set in as I realized I could not recall where the elevators were and how long it would be before I started to tremble like a wee bairn.
There, before me were elevators. But, these elevators were odd. No, they were not the shining rectangles of gold that I had last used. Not only that, they were standing in a bank that was not there the night before. What could these special elevators mean?
The fastest neurons in my brain take approximately three minutes to make it from one place to another and it wasn't until I was speeding down to the parking garage that I realized I was on the service elevators.
BING!
I exited the elevator only to find an army of white-clad service personel folding blankets and preparing room service carts.I was now in their domain and had better exit immediatly before I'm fingered as some sort of terrorist looking to spike the all temperature Tide with Anthrax.
So, I fumbled to the first door out and ended up in the parking garage of the adjacent hotel.I found my way outside, eventually.
Downstairs, I spent the better portion of an hour looking for a coffee stand. There was no way I was going back to Lyndies - Nazi bastards.
Soon I discovered a latte stand and ordered an Americano, with light ice. Light ice is key if you want to drink the beverage within the first hour of purchasing it. Otherwise, you're drinking boiling water.
When the terrorists come to take down our great cities, I have a feeling we'll be pouring steaming hot Americanos from tall buildings on them, like the Trojans before.
The Trojans are a misunderstood race of people. Many of us think that they ran around like homos in body armor, wrestling each other and playing grab ass. This is not true and you must write a letter to Brad Pitt, post haste, informing him that Trojans were not fags, but good, hard working Americans who held up the fort while the Indians attacked from all sides only to take the Alamo so Ozzy Osbourne could piss on it five years later.
Man, the 1980s were rough.
I have to stop watching the History channel stoned.
Now then. I found myself in a similiar position as the night before: I didn't feel like enjoying my Americano in the prescence of Scott and Shanna. A coffee is a private thing that must be drank while playing such games as Battleship, Monopoly, or Wheel of Fortune and Scott and Shanna are sick people.
Again, like many a drunken night, I cursed Keith for not having a phone. For, it was this machine, this Wheel of Fortune, that Keith delivered 1000 dollars unto.But, I was smart and played like a champ, robbing the beast of 20 bucks, before I got bored and was back upstairs wondering where the couple had gone.No matter - there was a TV and I had a hankering for some news. I certainly didn't want to miss the death of a President or something.
With that I turned on the TV, only to hear:"Roomservice!"This was followed by a loud banging and an attempt to break open the door. It was latched and there was no way she could bust the lock.So, I sat and waited for her to leave. All the while "ROOMSERVICE! LET ME IN!" kept pelting my eardrums. After five minutes, I finally said "FUCK YOU!" And got up off the bed to answer the door, only to spill my coffee all over the floor.
I yelled "ARE YOU HAPPY!" as I opened the door.
But, there was no one outside.
Rod Serling then walked in front of me, like I wasn't there, and began explaining that I was a man, a man with everything he could want - besides a woman, some money, and half my sanity - who was robbed of his coffee by a mysterious service woman who wouldn't take no for an -But, it's late and I need a drink.
2004
2004: the year we make contact...like a truck hitting a brick wall at 90
What can I say? 2004....you dirty bastard. If 2004 were an old man walking with a cane, ushering in baby 2005, I would beat him wickedly with a baseball bat.
What do we have to say for ourselves? Well, let's look back and usher in a collective sigh, like a grandmother finding out that her grandson has stolen her Buick and run it into a liquor store.
Look, according to the election, there's a good chance that around 50 percent of you are Republicans.
Sike! Most Republicans don't know how to read.
Just joking. Obviously, judging by my work, there's a chance most Democrats don't know how to write.
So, there – I have evened it out so I can keep that one Republican fan I have in Davenworth, Wisconsin.
All in all, no matter who you voted for, it was a shitty election.
Think about it: the biggest problem with our government is the two party system, and just like most of you, I was all for one or the other. So, once again we all lost.
Not only that, but our country remains as divided as it was in 2000 and this is after the big USA! USA! USA! orgy after 911. Even in our most patriotic moments we still remain divided.
Which could be a good thing.
But, there are a lot of sour grapes and even more "political capital" mongers that are going to turn this country in a severe right turn that will even make Buchanan wince.
Maybe something a lot of us can agree on is if the religious nut bags (yes, I will write them off as such) swayed this election there is a good chance a year from now this blog will be some sort of mouthpiece for the ghost of Jerry Falwell.
Look, I'll come halfway with you Republicans on everything but the bible thumping. If you guys get a candidate that is bible-thump free, I'll vote for him.
Well, that's about it on the election front. Trust me, I hate George Bush, but hatred doesn't win elections. Just ask Goldwater.
Well, he's dead, but I'm sure you can summon him using a OUJI board and a daisy.
What else?
Iraq. Well, there's nothing funny about that. This year has seen the most brutal fighting since we pulled those strippers off the USO float in Apocalypse Now. Every day there's another 29 killed in a roadside bombing. In fact, if you check out CNN.com the headline 29 dead in Iraq is part of the title: CNN: 29 dead in Iraq.
It's grim and getting grimmer. And, to tell you the truth, if any one has an idea on ending this thing you're one step ahead of me.
Well, there is the idea of taking a time machine and making sure that the Supreme Court didn't elect Bush in the first place...but, I think Michael J. Fox has a monopoly on that sort of thing.
What else?
The FCC. The FCC has turned ugly. Accept it. Why? Who knows. I have a pet conspiracy theory that Michael Powell is a power monger and rigged that whole Janet Jackson thing so that he could be someone. Other than his father.
Boy, there's a family: the Powells. Remember when Colin was that big, lovable Teddy Bear? Now he's a pathetic house boy and his son is some sort of Orwellian librarian making unwords in his sarcophagus in Washington...or wherever the FCC's secret island fortress is. Yes, Michael Powell is a creep the likes of which we haven't seen since rats tumbled from the S.S. Nixon.
What a bastiche.
Then there was the mountain. Mt. Saint Helens....you bitch!
Yes, my great state has produced one of the most famous volcanoes since that one in the King Kong movie. St. Helens – mistress of lava, whore of the Cascades, temptress of Harry Truman. She awoke again!
And is still awake. Her lava dome is being built at the speed of Dennis Miller's vocabulary. Every day more steam and hot magma reach the surface and tempt fate. What fate? Well, according to geologists around the world – expect an eruption that may haze up the sky for, oh, say twelve minutes.
What a jip.
Moving right along...THE HURRICANES THAT KILLED NO ONE.
Now, I'm pretty sure they must have killed someone. Not that that's good....well, it could be depending on the person.
But, the damn things were trumped up to be the Seventh Sign and for weeks we waited for them to tear Mickey Mouse a new one down in Florida. Sure, they ruined homes and businesses (including my Aunt's), but where was the carnage? I really expected to see live shots of people's faces turning into mustard as they hit telephone polls at 60 mph.
What the hell?
And then sober reality hit us. Yes, starting last Saturday (PST), death and catastrophe will no longer be funny. Well, until we all collectively forget.
115,000 people dead. Wait, let me Google something.......OK, the last worst thing to hit this world was Bangladesh, 1991: tsunami (138,000 dead).
Good lord, check out this website: http://www.scaruffi.com/politics/disaster.html.
Man, apparently what kills us bastiches the most is those damn flu pandemics that they keep threatening us with on CNN. The flu is probably a shitty way to die. I haven't had the flu in a long time, but I remember it wasn't a lot of fun.
Look, the point is everyone can agree that 115, 000 dead people is not good. Well, unless you're bombing them, then I guess some people might argue that it will stop Communism or the production of weapons of mass destruction. But, the point is: when God does it, there's no excuse. And there isn't.
Tree and leaf.
So, 2004, you old bastiche, rot.
There's a lot of other things that happened in 2004, but I'm lazy and I'm not here to give you the news. No, there's hundreds of corporations that are doing that for you. A pharmaceutical company will return with the weather.
Stay tuned.
Personally, I found the beginning of 2004 to suck, but the end to be fun. Hell, I got laid.
But, this year is not about me. No, it's about the things that are around me and how they might effect me.
And the effect of the events is that I'm pretty sure that Government is about as logical as a natural disaster.
But, more destructive.
Well, I'm done for the year. More reruns will follow. I'm having a party tomorrow, stop on by. I promise cocktail sauce.
2004 – one dirty year.
Pleace,
Matt
What can I say? 2004....you dirty bastard. If 2004 were an old man walking with a cane, ushering in baby 2005, I would beat him wickedly with a baseball bat.
What do we have to say for ourselves? Well, let's look back and usher in a collective sigh, like a grandmother finding out that her grandson has stolen her Buick and run it into a liquor store.
Look, according to the election, there's a good chance that around 50 percent of you are Republicans.
Sike! Most Republicans don't know how to read.
Just joking. Obviously, judging by my work, there's a chance most Democrats don't know how to write.
So, there – I have evened it out so I can keep that one Republican fan I have in Davenworth, Wisconsin.
All in all, no matter who you voted for, it was a shitty election.
Think about it: the biggest problem with our government is the two party system, and just like most of you, I was all for one or the other. So, once again we all lost.
Not only that, but our country remains as divided as it was in 2000 and this is after the big USA! USA! USA! orgy after 911. Even in our most patriotic moments we still remain divided.
Which could be a good thing.
But, there are a lot of sour grapes and even more "political capital" mongers that are going to turn this country in a severe right turn that will even make Buchanan wince.
Maybe something a lot of us can agree on is if the religious nut bags (yes, I will write them off as such) swayed this election there is a good chance a year from now this blog will be some sort of mouthpiece for the ghost of Jerry Falwell.
Look, I'll come halfway with you Republicans on everything but the bible thumping. If you guys get a candidate that is bible-thump free, I'll vote for him.
Well, that's about it on the election front. Trust me, I hate George Bush, but hatred doesn't win elections. Just ask Goldwater.
Well, he's dead, but I'm sure you can summon him using a OUJI board and a daisy.
What else?
Iraq. Well, there's nothing funny about that. This year has seen the most brutal fighting since we pulled those strippers off the USO float in Apocalypse Now. Every day there's another 29 killed in a roadside bombing. In fact, if you check out CNN.com the headline 29 dead in Iraq is part of the title: CNN: 29 dead in Iraq.
It's grim and getting grimmer. And, to tell you the truth, if any one has an idea on ending this thing you're one step ahead of me.
Well, there is the idea of taking a time machine and making sure that the Supreme Court didn't elect Bush in the first place...but, I think Michael J. Fox has a monopoly on that sort of thing.
What else?
The FCC. The FCC has turned ugly. Accept it. Why? Who knows. I have a pet conspiracy theory that Michael Powell is a power monger and rigged that whole Janet Jackson thing so that he could be someone. Other than his father.
Boy, there's a family: the Powells. Remember when Colin was that big, lovable Teddy Bear? Now he's a pathetic house boy and his son is some sort of Orwellian librarian making unwords in his sarcophagus in Washington...or wherever the FCC's secret island fortress is. Yes, Michael Powell is a creep the likes of which we haven't seen since rats tumbled from the S.S. Nixon.
What a bastiche.
Then there was the mountain. Mt. Saint Helens....you bitch!
Yes, my great state has produced one of the most famous volcanoes since that one in the King Kong movie. St. Helens – mistress of lava, whore of the Cascades, temptress of Harry Truman. She awoke again!
And is still awake. Her lava dome is being built at the speed of Dennis Miller's vocabulary. Every day more steam and hot magma reach the surface and tempt fate. What fate? Well, according to geologists around the world – expect an eruption that may haze up the sky for, oh, say twelve minutes.
What a jip.
Moving right along...THE HURRICANES THAT KILLED NO ONE.
Now, I'm pretty sure they must have killed someone. Not that that's good....well, it could be depending on the person.
But, the damn things were trumped up to be the Seventh Sign and for weeks we waited for them to tear Mickey Mouse a new one down in Florida. Sure, they ruined homes and businesses (including my Aunt's), but where was the carnage? I really expected to see live shots of people's faces turning into mustard as they hit telephone polls at 60 mph.
What the hell?
And then sober reality hit us. Yes, starting last Saturday (PST), death and catastrophe will no longer be funny. Well, until we all collectively forget.
115,000 people dead. Wait, let me Google something.......OK, the last worst thing to hit this world was Bangladesh, 1991: tsunami (138,000 dead).
Good lord, check out this website: http://www.scaruffi.com/politics/disaster.html.
Man, apparently what kills us bastiches the most is those damn flu pandemics that they keep threatening us with on CNN. The flu is probably a shitty way to die. I haven't had the flu in a long time, but I remember it wasn't a lot of fun.
Look, the point is everyone can agree that 115, 000 dead people is not good. Well, unless you're bombing them, then I guess some people might argue that it will stop Communism or the production of weapons of mass destruction. But, the point is: when God does it, there's no excuse. And there isn't.
Tree and leaf.
So, 2004, you old bastiche, rot.
There's a lot of other things that happened in 2004, but I'm lazy and I'm not here to give you the news. No, there's hundreds of corporations that are doing that for you. A pharmaceutical company will return with the weather.
Stay tuned.
Personally, I found the beginning of 2004 to suck, but the end to be fun. Hell, I got laid.
But, this year is not about me. No, it's about the things that are around me and how they might effect me.
And the effect of the events is that I'm pretty sure that Government is about as logical as a natural disaster.
But, more destructive.
Well, I'm done for the year. More reruns will follow. I'm having a party tomorrow, stop on by. I promise cocktail sauce.
2004 – one dirty year.
Pleace,
Matt
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