Sunday, November 6, 2011

Here's a Judgemental Message


Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong is english for dumbass.

Dumbass. Dumbass. Dumbass.

The most common name for people born daily, worldwide, from today forward and from this day immemorial is 'Wrong' or ... 'Dumbass'

We ared all alike. We are all a dumbass. Has there ever been a day in which you've endured the inanity of a person in traffic or at the supermarket or at work or anywhere else for that matter and uttered 'dumbass' towards another? Or has there ever been a moment in which you've realized your own humanity during a moment of fart-headedness and either acknowledged your own stupidity or had another whisper, 'you're a dumbass' due to your words or actions?

Sure you have. You're a dumbass. You're an idiot. Face it, you're human, like me, like your neighbor, like Sarah Palin, like your dog. You're a fallible, incompetent, dumbass incapable of judgement of another dumbass with similar or even superior faults.

So, what's your problem? Really, what is your problem with other people and their stupidity?
Is another's stupidity really any worse than your own?

Who is to say that my belief that an ant can carry a rubber tree plant on its back is better than your belief that an ant can only carry a twig ten times its own weight on its back? Have you evern been an ant?

Who's the dumbass?

Who's to say that gravity is based upon the gravitational pull of the planets and the orbit of the earth in relation to its proximity to the sun as opposed to an invisible being holding it's finger to our back as a means to our floating into space where we explode and die is true and right?

Who's the dumbass?

Honestly though, it's much mor simple than that.

You see, we are all dumbasses. You, me, your neighbor, everyone.

No one has the answers, despite how certain we are that we do hold the answers. We are all dumbasses.

I relish being a dumbass. I don't want to know all the answsers. I'd rather be human and be judgemental of those who claim to know all of the answers.

Why? Because those who claim to know all of the answers are those who are fartherest from the answers they claim to know. And being judgemental of those who claim to know the answers makes me closer to the truth.

Ironic? Yes. But, being in judgement of those who claim ultimate truth is a testament to one who is closer to knowledge of right and wrong than one who is without judgement at all.

Judge lest not ye be judged.

Nowhere does it say not to judge.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Bow Your Head and Letters Pay


A five-letter word that elicits a four-letter word that has led many to believe in a three-letter word that is two letters away from a one-letter word that we all can grasp as our own...

Yeah, it's a confusing sentiment.... right? Right? It's a five letter word that can change a mind or change a world. Right? Right?

Let's skip the four-letter word that has seemingly misled history and go to the three-letter word that has wrapped it's sloth-like fingers around every generation of bicuspid bi-peds since the last one of our ancestors creeped upon the shores of Miami eons ago...

G. o. d.

G. o. d. has usurped the letter 'I' for generations. Why? because 'I' is a singular letter based upon a singular organism without need of help of additional vowels and consonants. Without another vowel, an "I" is weak. For example, there is no "I" in 'team.' Therefore, no individual can stand before us as an 'I' and win. So, Fuck you, Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson and Michael Phelps. Unless of course you look at your names collectively and notice that that there is a 'g' and 'o' and a 'd' hidden within your names. Then, of course, you are the godly trifecta.

Switching gears, nowhere in the Bible does it command one to be a friend, a buddy or a confidant. Go ahead, look it up. Sure, the big 'ol book of rules says to 'love one another', 'accept one another' and not steal another's sheep, but nowehere does it say that one has to endure the shit that anyone throws at you.

Except if you're a bartender.

Welcome to my world.

I'm the ears to the G.o.D in your L.i.f.e. That brings us waaaay back to the beginning... the one-letter word that started it all, 'I'.

I hear it all the time.... "I left my wife..." "I was cheated on..." "I'm away from home and need to let loose..."... I, I, I......

"I'm wondering if  I should..........."

"I've heard it all before........."

"I need to know if he/she is sincere...."

"I remember how it used to be....  "

The eyes tell me a story, the words tell me an opinion, the combination on both tell me the truth.

Yet, I'm the last one to be asked for advice. I'm a picture of misguidance. I pour advice in one-ounce increments and take my pay in tips.

G.o.D. comes after the hangover and before the questions. I'm simply a vessel.
Rocks or neat?

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

A Columbus Day Tribute

Dear Chris,

Your navigation system malfunctioned. Please lower your sails and reverse course. Oh, and by the way, you are a bit late in your claim to fame. The large land mass that you claim in the name of Spain has   already been deeded to Italy. Ooops.

In other news, I hate big-assed bees.

Not those plump, striped bumblebees that resemble John Belushi, land on flowers and suck nectar from stamens before heading home to pollinate their bitchy queens... no. I'm referring to those big-, hulking, steroid-laden thoraxed fuckers that sound like Vietnam-era choppers in an 80's Rambo movie as they stare you in the eye as you're trying to enjoy a moment in the sun. Imagine a family of east German powerlifters with fluttering arms the size of snowshoes and javelins protruding from  their asses chasing you from your front porch. Those are the bees to which I refer.

I don't even know what species of bee this is. I'm not even sure 'bee' is a big enough word. I'm fairly certain a sting from a killer bee would result in a visit to the hospital ER and a sting from the Steroid bee would result in amputation and a future resemblance to Marty Feldman.

In any case, I hate bees. Almost as much as I hate spiders. You put wings on a spider and you have the ultimate weapon. I sure hope al Queda isn't listening. Or Bank of America. Can you imagine the forclosure rate that Bank of Ammerica would ennjoy if their mortgaged homes were populated by winged, huge-thoraxed spider-bees?

No longer would BofA refer to only their call center employees as eight-legged freaks.

Then again, back to the original sentiment... Mr. Columbus. Enjoy your holiday. Like most noteworthy conquerors, you sailed in, you landed,, you instilled fear and you left a stinging impression that we celebrate to this day.

You big fucking spider-bee.

Tomorrow the liquor stores re-open.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Gimme Back My Bullets, Dumb Ash

Religion has been the catalyst for many of mankind’s largest, and smallest, innovations, both for the better and for the worst. Out of man’s zeal for divine preference the world has experienced the horrors of the Inquisition, Crusades, Witch Trials, the Westboro Baptist Church and the 700 Club. On the flip side, religious dogma has also given people Hope, Faith, Charity and the other four dwarves at Six Flags.
 Fittingly, today we celebrate the day that a man from a foreign country landed on the shores of a foreign land, claimed that land in the name of his homeland, his God and summarily slaughtered the natives that wouldn’t convert to his brand of religion. A better snapshot of today’s America couldn’t have been taken by Columbus himself had he had a Polaroid.

 In a nation supposedly founded on the separation of church and state it sure as Hell seems as if every GOP candidate has his or her god’s backing. The G.O.D. of the G.O.P. is one judgemental S.O.B., apparently. Gotta love religion, eh?

 Now, to further complicate matters, a group of yahoos in Ally Bamma is challenging the traditional Christian belief in putting a lifeless body six-feet-under after the soul has departed. Thank god for yahoos. Although cremation has been around since, oh, the invention of fire, traditional Christian thought is that when Jesus returns to claim his flock one day the bodies of believers that once housed the soul are going to rise out of the ground and repopulate the earth. A scene surely reminiscent of the classic ‘Thriller’ music video.

 However, Clem Parnell and his partner down in Ally Bamma have spit on the grave idea and started a business stuffing loved ones burnt remains into shotgun shells. That’s right, there’s nothing as Christian as stuffing grandpa into a double-barrelled shotgun and blowing the head off of a darned whippersnappin’ trespasser.

 Of course, traditionalists are bristling at the ‘bodies in bullets’ idea. Why wouldn’t they? Imagine that, someone being killed by a bullet containing the cremains of a peace-loving follower of Christ. Plant tongue firmly in cheek as you re-read that. Even in death, the bodies of Christians will be responsible for violence and death in the name of their religious beliefs. Go figure.

So, on this hallowed Columbus Day holiday let us remember who discovered America (Amerigo Vespucci, by the way) and live by the mantra that has brought us so far so fast in a world of religious division: If you can’t beat ‘em, convert ‘em. And, if you can’t convert ‘em, kill ‘em.

God bless America and pass the ammunition.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Been A. While ... My new name.

Funny how absentitia changes one's perspective. I'm not even sure 'absentitia' is a word, that's how long it's been since I've written. My fingers feel like pyrite laden with graphite. Yeah, you read that right.

Gone is all the fucking anger and hostility. No, really. Really... seriously.

In place of all the snarkiness and sarcasm that has plagued my mind and writing is a new-found love of acceptance and patience that only the Dali Lama and Charlie Sheen can appreciate.

My daughter turned twenty-one years old this week. A milestone for any parent. Yet, I had no way of contacting her to wish her a 'Happy Birthday' or to tell her that I love her or to give her advice as she surely headed off to indulge in the gaiety of the night that all twenty-on-year-old birthday children experience. I'm yet again a smudge on the family name that no 'Wite Out' can cover.

That's ok, though. I'm okay with that. She is in a good place, surrounded by people who care for her and love her and accept her despite her faults and past indiscretions. After all, isn't that all that we need? A place to feel accepted despite who we are and what we have done? Thank god for her new in-laws.

So here I am. Some may view me as an outcast, or a separatist, or as simply detatched. That's not a problem. I may likewise view them in the same light. Com si com sa. I'm in a good place. I have a dog who loves me, a woman who accepts me and a mind that continues to grow despite my best efforts.

I'm back. I'm strong. I'm willing and my fingers are itching to peck. By god, I have nine good peckers and one bent pecker that is the leader on the keyboard.

It's been awhile ... i'm ready to unplug the thoughts like a toilet stopped up by a dixie cup after a beer pong contest ...

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Flippety Flop

I learned a lot about myelf today. No, my newfound self-awareness has nothing to do with a third nipple, love of lubricants or other usual revelations...

Today I learned that I'm not such a bad father after all. Even after a few years of being dismissed by a child who views me as a man riddled with herpes-infested smallpox slowed by a brain full of unicorns and gauze due to guidance from one who harbors a bit of resentment .... I'm not such a douchebag after all.

And, despite my unwillingness to elaborate on that story due to legal ramifications, there is quite a lesson to be learned.

The following is a mockumentary self-help advertisement for you... and me... act now and I'll double my offer... whatever that is...


Have you recently done or said something that offended or embarrassed another?
Do you regret words spoken in jest? In anger?
Have you fallen due to inebriation?
Do you find it hard to get out of bed in the morning due to life regrets?

Well, NO MORE!

Now, you too can stand on your own two feet, one foot or clubbed fists and proclaim, "I'm Me and I'm Free!"

That's right. after today, your words and actions are nothing more than words and actions... you can claim them as your own and lose that regret.

Has this happened to you? You decide to tell your partner that you feel slighted by his or her inattention ... In response, you hear, "No, You're wrong to feel that way..."

Or... in a moment of heated discussion you express an opinion and hear, "You have no right to say that..."

Well, then this is for you. Act now and be set free from all of those self-limiting words. Call within the next 37 seconds and get not one, not two, but three times the self-awareness needed to be your own person.

Not good enough? OK! Then just call... anytime... and be set free from guilts placed on you from those who only need you for their own self-betterment. You're not a doormat and unless you have a foot fetish, you don't want to be walked on any longer. Right?

Are you a foot or are you a sock? The answer is, we are all feet. Yet, we allow socks to cover us and contain us and make us stinky. Do you want to be a stinky foot?  No! of course you dont! You want to be free, toes wiggling in the wind, unencumbered. You want to be held by nothing more than a flip-flop.

Not a sandal, but a flip-flop... because a sandal doesn't separate the wheat from the chaffe, the big from the small... but a flip flop maintains order in the foot world, just as life maintains order in your world.....

The lesson? Are you the big toe or the middle toe? We can't all be the big toe but we can all be part of the foot and without the middle toe then there is no need for the flip flop and without the flip-flp there is no casual beachwear and without no casual beachwear there is no appreciation for life and it's simple pleasures.


Ok, so I'm being a bit precocious. "What did you learn about yourself today?", you ask.

Much, I respond.

I need a pedicure.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Just a Thought ... or 12

God bless America. The rest of the world be damned.

America. Land of the free, home of the brave.

From noted poet Emma Lazarus’ “the New Colossus” which is engraved upon the Statue of Liberty,

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Or, “Fuck you, world, we have had enough.

“Take your weak, impoverished, unfed masses yearning to breathe freedom,

The wretched refuse of the Gulf Shore and those flown in from impoverished states,

The homeless, hungry and unclothed from Louisiana, Florida, Missouri and Nevada,

Send these, the homeless, tempest lost to me. To homes and jobs in Asia and other impoverished nationsd,

I lift my lamp to the the golden door, worth $1700 an ounce……..

Okie doke, so my ramblings are incoherent. Well, duh. No shit.

I’m a bit weary of the idea that I should love America.

Every day I hear and read comments from people that proclaim that “You should love America.” “America is a land of freedom.” “America is God’s chosen land.” “America will prevail through these uncertain times because, well, we are America….”

I say those are American angus bull chips with steaming green flies attached.

That’s a huge heapin’ pile of  bullshit to the everyday man in my book.

Let me elaborate a bit more, may I?

Nary a day goes by without my passing a dumbass in the left lane with a bumper sticker proclaiming the 2010 hopes of a McCain/Palin presidency. Usually on the bumper of a minivan plastered with ‘WWJD’ stickers and ‘My Kid is a future GOP voter’ placard..’

I’m patriotic to a point. I appreciate powder wigs, papyrus writings, knickers and human rights, I understand wool vests in the summer, killing pigs for dinner and holding parties for the hell of it.

But, tell me to love America, in this Day and age?....

Love? Really? America?

Know what I love? I love my parents. I love my soulmate. I love my sister, my kids, my penis and my ability to adapt to anything thrown at me. Oh yeah, I love porn and milkshakes.

Do I love my country? No. I appreciate my country, yes. Love, no.

Do I look at the men and women in our military as heroes who protect our country, no.

Do I consider these men and women as employees of a government with a bad business plan, yes.

Tell ya what, bring just a quarter, nay, a third, of the men and women who are ‘serving’ our country to the workforce while at the same time taking away the number of service men and women from the dumbass wars we are engaged in worldwide and let’s see how many lives will be enhanced on both sides of the equation.

I’m a bit weary of being told to look at a dead soldier, or thirty dead Navy SEALs, as a means to an end when countless thousands are dying without mention. If a Navy SEAL dies while on duty, well, big fuckin’ deal… that;’s what he signed up to do. Where’s the tax doillars going?

I don’t mean to sound heartless, but, yeah, whatever. We paid for that SEAL and we paid for that mission and well, we paid for that death. Get over it.

America, you should be ashamed. Not necessarily the people, but the leadership. America isn’t what the founding fathers imagined, no doubt.

Is America an Alien Nation or simply an alienation to other countries?

My opinion?

We’re just fucked.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Yelps from the Closet: An Open Letter of Apology

Yelps from the Closet: An Open Letter of Apology: "I'm nothing if not human. That may be all that I am... at least to some... but I'm human at the least. A week or so ago I was able to spen..."

An Open Letter of Apology

I'm nothing if not human. That may be all that I am... at least to some... but I'm human at the least.

A week or so ago I was able to spend a couple of hours with my daughter and her new husband. Yes, husband.

Those who have followed my ramblings here might be surprised to hear that I reconnected with my daughter after the harsh words I'd written and the harsh words she'd spoken. Yet, here we were... face to face at a TGI Fridays at midnight... me, my daughter and her husband.

This isn't a blog to elaborate on what was said during that meeting. Yeah, I know that you want to hear the details. I'd want to hear the details as well... but, I made a promise not to blog about our conversation. I intend to keep that promise because I have waited far too long to reestablish a relationship with my daughter.

This blog is a humble apology. An apology to my daughter and to her husband that I had yet to meet when I last ranted about her marriage.

You see, as a human being, a father, a flawed yet caring man, I acted upon my own hurts and anger when I last wrote about my daughter and her being married without including me. Only natural, I believe, to feel hurt as a father who is excluded from such a momentous occasion in his only daughter's life.

No. I was wrong. I now see that my daughter is strong, resourceful and committed to a man who is flawed... much like me. I was remiss to say in my earlier blog that her marriage would never last. Now I know that whether it lasts or not, my daughter and new son-in-law are committed to each other and willing to endure hardship for not only each other but for an ideal that they both believe in.

So, I offer my apologies for the words condemning a union simply because I wasn't notified. I didn't give my daughter and her husband enough credit. Maybe I wasn't such a bad influence after all.

I wish only the best for her, and both of them.... and I'll be here when they need me.

Damn, this shoe leather is tough to swallow... but surely worth it....

Midgets, Laughs and Picking Your Nose With Your Tongue

I'm proud to be a heterosexual male with quasi-homoerotic-leaning tendencies to the left.... like a Leaning Tower of Penis....

Tonight I had a gourmet dinner with my bebe, her ex-husband, two yappy chihuahas, a rather slow-witted labrador retiever and four vocal and fun-loving lesbians.

Conversation centered upon sex, picking one's nose with her own tongue and a spirited dialogue involving midgets and dwarves. Somewhere in there was family talk... one guest elaborated on her mother's sexual prowess and suggested that my bebe's ex take advantage of his youthful appearance and placate momma's burning bush of desire.

You might say, "Sure, Jeff.... just another day in the life of one life yourself who courts dissention and bizarre experiences..."

Nay... Nay, I say. This was a night unlike any other. Tonight I fully grasped my lesbianism and my appreciation for love and acceptance. I also found a woman with a wit worthy, if not better, than my own.

A group of seven included myself and one other male... my bebe's ex-husband.... and four unadulterated, unabashedly, uncensored lesbians.

Conversation started innocently enough... "Hey, you ever been to the local Swingers club? Do they have people doing it on the tables?" The question was directed to Me and my bebe and her ex.... I suppose that because we all showed up together it was assumed we were into the swinging scene. Not the case.... ewww...

"Ya know, having sex seven times a day is normal for us....."

Well, duh. There are no penises involved.

"We've been together for five years...."
"My friends 'so and so' have been together for twenty-four years..."
"I am myself, she is herself and we are ourselves...."

Amid the laughter and potty humor, which I thoroughly enjoyed and participated in, I gained a new appreciation for humanity.

I witnessed the one seemingly insecure (or unsure) straight man in the group tighten his sphincter and withdraw as those secure with themselves caused me to laugh to the point of tears as they poked fun at themselves and accepted me without predjudice. And no, I wasn't the insecure straight man.... but, I did witness that man loosen his grip on his anus as he was pressed to be himself, just as those surrounding him had done years prior.

I love to make people laugh. I get a rush from making people laugh. Squirt a tear in laughter from something I say and I'm inclined to go on until you are dehydrated. Rarely does anyone elicit that response from me... it takes an aire of ego, self-confidence, self-awareness and love for self and others to properly elicit a laugh at ones own expense....

Tonight, I shed a tear in laughter and watched as those who are usually shunned by society did the same. I was then one with all... and I was part of their humanity as thyey were part of mine.

Too bad we can't all spend a night with robin, Lisa, Vic and Jen .... we'd all be better for the experience.

By the way, Vic has posted an ad on Craigslist in search of a midget without a lesbian bias. She only wants a midget to stand by and watch as she strips naked to A HA's 'Take on Me'.....

If interested, let me know....

America... Made of Nickels

I'm not an ungrateful person. I appreciate everything that I have, things that I lack and the wisdom to know the difference. I love my family, my woman, my dogs and my fully functioning 47-year old male anatomy.

I appreciate the fact that I can be full of shit and talk out of my ass with nary a squirt of dissention. I'm grateful that I've never been able to serve a minute in service of our country due to my being born with a single toxin-filtering kidney, yet, I appreciate those dual-filtered men and women who feel compelled to protect and serve this global space we call earth.

Yet ....

..... I'm beginning to not appreciate those who vowed to serve the people of this fine country... the country with a penis (Florida). C'mon, you can't disagree, Florida is shaped like a flaccid penis... appropriate given the median age of its male residents...

Just this week, Minnesota's government effectively said, "Fuck it! We're done!" and shut down. Why did they shut down?, you might ask. Well, because the partisans couldn't decide on a budget for the state.
For the uninitiated, "partisans" is greek for 'in-laws'. No one gets along, there is never an agreement and those second-removed and farther down the line of blood are screwed and have no input whatsoever.

No one ever thinks about the little, slow-witted nephew who needs a video game system replacement or the middle-aged woman with self-esteem issues who can't afford a labia-plumping surgery.

This is America, by God. This is the land that professes, "God Bless America," the rest of the world be damned. And, by God, America is not being blessed. Nope, America is reaping the spoils of it's own blessings by raping the very society which allowed America to prosper in the first place.

I'm not an economics genius but I can see the ramifications of a government's spending $3.7 TRILLION dollars on wars over the course of twelve years. Yeah, that's trillion, with a 'T'. What have we gotten from this un-godly expenditure? A few terrorists? A figurehead (bin Laden)? A wannabe dictator (Saddam)?

Nah, the enemy hasn't eluded us... the enemy is the loss of natural resources worth countless trillions...
Hear this... despite the enormous expenditures towards war and the "war or terrorism', the government is profiting, the rich are getting reicher and the people of America are being misled.

Beginning in January, 2012, the federal government (Caps omitted for sake of disrespect) will no longer offer extended unemployment benefits to Americans who have lost their jobs due to the dismal economy. An economy that has been created by the very partisan dissention that has caused a government shutdown in Minnesota.

The only reason that a federal government shutdown was averted earlier this year is due to the enormous amount of revenue that would be lost due to American citizen's reliance on national Parks, Tourism, Mail service and other money-making ventures.

Yeah, yeah.... this isn't my normal spiel.... but I am an anger-driven speculator. The shutdown of the Minnesota government due to parties being unable to agree on a budget is such a slap in the face to America that Minnesota's entire legislative branch should take a cue from Brett Favre and simply fade into oblivion.

Let's re-visit that $3.7 TRILLION dollar expenditure that our federal government has deemed necessary to protect the interest of the American people. Who feels safer? Show of hands? Bueller? Bueller?

Unless the governments of Afghanistan, Libya, Iraq and Iran are withholding funds meant to be disseminated to me and the rest of the American public, I don't give two flying shits and a piece of driftwood about the 'wars' in those countries. The real 'war' is economic and we are losing. America is broke and on the verge of bankruptcy and those in 'the know' don't care.

Yeah, I'm a bit perturbed. I'm a bit miffed at being taken for a ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl when I was promised an easy-going spin on the carousel.

You should be a bit crapped-out as well. Do you have a job? Do you know someone who is struggling to survive in this economy? Seems the only job with security is one within the U.S. military.

Unfortunately for me, a one-kidneyed 47-year old skewed-minded man with purpose and insight stands no chance.

Good luck... the ticker just topped $3.85 Trillion.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Welcome To America... Hold the Pickles.

Welcome to America. A smorgasbord of opportunity awaits those who relocate to our fine, fat country. America is, after all, the land of the free and home of the Whopper. The numbers are out, rounded-off, so to speak, and the numbers are getting larger. One out of three Americans is obese. Not pudgy or ‘soft’ but obese. To try and put this in context, ponder this a moment: According to the CDC, in 2009 there were 33 states that were greater than or equal to 25% of the population classified as being obese and 9 of those 33 were equal to or greater than 30% of the population classified as being obese.

Talk about a growing population. Now it seems that immigrants to the land of milk and honey are swelling at the same rate as America’s home-grown populace. Apparently, being an American requires one to eat like an American which, in turn, causes one to eventually look like an American … fat and saggy.

America is now one of the world’s most overweight countries. This past week, I was at Disney World and marveled at the irony of the size of the people entering and exiting the ‘It’s a Small World’ attraction. I figure that it only a matter of time until the ‘Small World’ attraction features twirling, dancing and singing robotic obese children. There are those who go as far as to claim that parents of obese children are guilty of child abuse.

Our nation’s thundering herd is being blamed on everything from genetics to media to the workplace and technology. Technology? What does a serving of Google and a side of iPad taste like, anyway?

Truth be known, I suppose blame can be assigned to nearly anything when it comes to the blubbering-up of America, much like almost everything causes cancer. But when it comes down to the meat of the matter, the only cause of America’s population enlargement is a working jawbone. Each of us has one and most of us know how to use it. It’s just that many have no idea how to let the jaws rest.

Yes, welcome to America, brethren from afar. In order better serve you and enhance your experience, please pull around to the window and have your money ready. That’s how we roll in the U. S. of A.

The Kids Are Alright. Not.

Life’s a real bitch these days for the children of the world. Oh sorry, I shouldn’t use the word ‘bitch’, it is much too gender specific. Forgive me, Sweden.

In what is undoubtedly one of the most-lopsided acts of political correctness ever to flow from the nostrils of mankind, a preschool in Stockholm, Sweden has burst forth like an anatomically-correct hermaphrodite fetus from the womb of RuPaul.
The Egalia school enrolls children ages one through six. At least I think they’re children. There is no talk of gender division so all children are equal. No ‘him’ or ‘her’ and definitely no GI Joe and Barbie dolls, although the anatomically-incorrect design of those dolls would fit in nicely with the teaching of self-unawareness that the school is promoting.

This is an extreme in a world of divisiveness. Although the premise behind the school has merit the curriculum from the toys down to the books in the school are aimed at making all the children ‘friends’ with no distinctive differences. That, of course, will change when breasts start to perk and boys start scratching their balls at puberty. Perhaps that is the reason the school only runs to age six? A thought to ponder.

Alternatively, we have here in the good ol’ Land of Opportunity and Freedom a diametrically opposed viewpoint as is evidenced by the backwoods, banjo-pickin’, Tennessee Senate’s recent bill that is banning, nay, making it a misdemeanor crime, to teach, utter or discuss homosexuality in Tennessee’s schools before the students reach ninth grade. No self-respectin’ good ‘ol boy would want to be caught violating the state’s ‘Family Life’ program. Why, heck y’all, boys likin’ boys and girls likin’ girls don’t even happen ‘til college anyway, rigt? Right?

From an extreme of discounting a child’s self-awareness by stripping it from him, or her, or ‘hen’ as the Swedes at Egalia say, to the extreme of stripping away a child’s right to be self-aware by basically saying, “Shhhh, there ain’t no such thang as gays…. Least not til High School…” the points are clear and the lines are drawn and the kids are fucked. The politically correct are encroaching upon the freedoms of those who we’re going to rely upon to uphold the very freedoms they are being denied.

I’m moving to Mexico.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Pffft. Again, I say, .... pfft.

Just read the news about presidential candidates, the NBA finals and a volcano in New Zealand.


Not a single story has relevance to my life as I try to survive ... especially the presidential candidates...


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

What No One Gives

..... fill in the blank. What no one gives ......

Duh,... the answer is 'a shit'.

If you answered correctly, please step forward and collect your prize... a fabulous Led Zeppelin mirror.

I like chopped onions on my hot dog.

I enjoy watching a yellow traffic signal turn to red mere seconds before I pass under it.

There is no ketchup on my table, yet, hot sauce will suffice.

Gas prices just dropped three cents.

My daughter got married.

Hikers in Iran are on a hunger strike.

President Obama is part Irish.

Your pants feel just a teensy bit looser.

These are but examples of what no one gives ......

Or, maybe they do... or maybe you do ...

Or maybe I don't, or maybe I do ....

But, I'm just you ... except for the daughter thing ...

But, then again ...

Jesus Loves The Little Children ... 'Cept a Few...


"pppppppppppppppfffffffffTTTT..... HeHeHeHe..."

"OhOhOhOhOh... UGGGGGhhhhhhhhUUUgggHHhhhHHhhGGG"


"Wah Wah Wah, Blah, Blah. Blah"

A baby is born.

And that's the way it was, and that's the way it pretty much sounds.... well, minus the sound of an accompanying, spiraling turd being laid on the sheets as the final push to the finish line produces the result of a moment of drunken sex. Oh, for the good 'ol days when sounds of gratitude emanated from the lungs of one created during that moment of drunken love.

Quite honestly, I can better remember the sound of my child's mother's LaMaze breathing and subsequent turd-laying in the bed as my daughter was being hatched as I can the last words my daughter said to me before she dismissed me as a father.

Quite sad, you might say. Not so much, I reply. Let me elaborate. Stay with me, laugh with me, cry with me, cry for me, hate me, if you must.

You see, today I learned that my daughter married someone. I have no idea who the 'someone' is. I've never met him. I learned that she also has graduated from hair-cutting school. I know, there's a term for hair-cutting school, but I don't know what it is... suffice it to say, she's a hair'ologist.

Most might dismiss these revelations as 'yeah, so what?' events. High Five and Fist Bumps, bros. Me too.
Sounds harsh, but I'm not too shocked.
I'll be chastised and reprimanded out the ass for what I'm about to say but I'm a bit fond of ass play so here we go ...

To my daughter ... it won't last. Sure, a father is supposed to say, "I wish you happiness and a long life together... yada yada yada"... Nah, ain't gonna happen. Of course I wish you happiness, sorta. The same happiuness you wish upon those you love... Welcome to life, my daughter, I hope it finds you well ... hehe. You're 20 years old. You have no clue who you are, no less what you need. Shame on those who allowed you to be married.... which brings me to...


You weren't dismissed and abandoned without good reason... by the way, I found your missing Mercedes key.... I'm selling it on eBay. I'll trade it for the 19 years we were married. In any case...

You know, I wasn't as stung by the notice of my daughter's wedding as I thought I might be. Sure, every father dreams of walking his daughter down the aisle on her wedding day... I'm no exception.
Yet, I'm also now immune to hurt and unnecessary pummeling by those who continually wish to extol vindication upon me for my actions that allowed me to express my individuality. I'm like a chicken pox virus in a pediatric ward ... full of bumps and pain but held at bay by a shot of medicine ... You, my children, are my medicine...

you, and your pox of a mother ....

I do wish my daughter well... I really do... just as I know she wishes me well.... and just as I know she wishes her grandparents well.... ....

Yeah, like that ....

I'm nothing if not reciprocal ...

Oh, I Hope One Person In Particular Reads This, Part 1

We live in a world of uncertainties. There are no guarantees of love, life, happiness or success. There is no contract attached to the umbilical cord holding a clause giving a guarantee of acceptance. Just being born doesn't give one a fast pass to unconditional love. Yeah, we might all emerge from the thickets of our mother's forest of love slathered in mayonnaise and swinging from a fleshy vine but that doesn't mean that we all are all pork roll sandwich material.

This is the story of a girl. No ordinary girl, mind you, but a girl who was born a disappointment. A girl who was meant to be a boy. This is the story of a child, the third-born, the last in a series of ovary-bearing children in which the third was meant to be holding balls and a garden snake.

For sake of anonymity, let's dub this third-born lady, 'Billie' .... a child holding the hopes of a family lineage in her hands, or loins.

Billie forged ahead throughout childhood knowing that she'd never live up to the standards of her father's hopes and dreams of having a son to follow in his footsteps as a 'company man', a provider, a 'nose to the grindstone' man after his own heart.

Little did daddy know that 'Billie' felt the disappointment in daddy's heart and that Billie would ultimately be the ruthless son that he never had.

For years, Billie languished and toiled in the corporate environment in order to please daddy. During those years, Billie also managed to marry and produce offspring... foragers of future wealth for daddy's pride. Billie was a happy little product of daddy's disappointing approval until, one day, there was a glitch in the plan.

Billie's support system collapsed. The middle rung to Billie's corporate ladder shook loose during a particularly heavy footfall and Billie suffered a scraped kneecap on the ladder to egotistical success.


Daddy wasn't too happy. Daddy's daughter-who-was-meant-to-be-a-son failed for the first time. Not in business, no. Business success is a given for the offspring of hypocrisy.... No, this was a failure on a personal level.... a relationship. Billie had been rejected and called to the mat for being an unscrupulous matrimonial partner. Foul relational business practices are afoot and have been duly noted.

So, the middle rung departed Billie's ladder, leaving Billie to either accept a leap of faith to the next rung or place blame on the missing run for her inability to please her daddy. Guess which option dear Billie chose ...

The story doesn't end with Billie's poor choice... you see, Billie and her 'rung' had little 'step-ladders' who also inherited Billie's desire for daddy's love..... This is where the real story begins to take take a life of it's own, as Billie's story begins and ends with her sad story of desparate search for acceptance ....

To be continued....

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Tick Tock

T-minus 48 hours .....

That's what's left for humankind to experience life and love and hopefully gratifying oral sex on this planet before the 'Big Guy' kills us off like termites under the Orkin man's spray bottle.
Or, so says a certain end-of-days minister claiming that May 21st is the end-all day for humankind.

Now, I'm no fuddy-duddy.. I'm just a duddy... but, I think Mr. Christian is a bit off base in his thinkin'.

However, I'm not adverse to taking advantage of irrational thinking. I take advantage of my own irrational thinking on a daily basis.

On may 21st, I'll be working... bartending. Most likely, at the moment of innhialation, I'll be drawing a Guinness from the tap while ESPN blares the latest baseball scores. How fitting it would be if the world ended as a man sipped a beer at peace as irrelevant sports facts were scrolled on the bottom of a sceen for the masses to care less about.

Eh, not so much.

Pfffffffffffffft .... who really cares what happens if the world ends? Sounds harsh, I know. But, what does it matter who wins games or awards or other meaningless  shit?

Believe it or not, I gave a thought to this today. Yes, me of uncaring mind ( take that, children o' mine). I know, my thinking is a bit off the wall but my wall is in a raquetball court, so bouncing around is the norm.
Yeah, I know, everyone gives a thought to what they'd do if tomorrow was the last day of life... yada, yada, yada.... I'm not trying to claim anything new and novel here. We've all been there and done that ..

.... "I'd spend the day with my kids...."
...." I'd take the day off and play golf...."
.... "I'd whip a midget and masturbate to Kasey Kasem's hits of the 60's..."

Yeah, all those and more...

My life ends each day when I close my eyes. My life begins each day when I open my eyes. And, in the time in between those times, my life ends and begins in succession hundred of times.
Bring on the hurricanes, earthquakes and atom bombs ... they are all but major disruptions to the minor disruptions that matter each day.

I looked at the love of my life tonight as she hugged a body pillow and drooled upon it.
I have no money because of the greed and vindictiveness of an ex who hates me
My dog licked my face after licking his ass
I found gray hairs on my feet

Yet, I'm ready to die a horrific death as a result of God's Wrath on May 21sr if that's what 's meant to happen.

Why? Because this is my life and this is my happiness. I accept who I am and where I am am what I have. I have found what I need... I have found unconditional love. I don't need a belief in anything other that that to know that if May 21st brings total destruction I have all I need to make it to where I need to be.

As for semantics, May 21st still falls within National Masturbation month. The Big Bang is but a whack job in God's plan ... maybe we'll go out with a 'bang' in a good way....

For me, I'm hitting the yard sales of those 'end-time' fanatics... plenty of good porn to be found....

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Welcome to Drunken Love ...

I consider myself young at heart.

I might be way off base, but I can still relate to those in their teens through those in their thirties as well as my own generation, 40's, which I elect to refer to as 'matured' ... like a banana. A bit browned, ripe and ready to enjoy. My banana skin is easy to peel and the fruit is ripe and tasty .... (Robin, imagine a clam... (( for my best lesbian friend)) ) Now, please direct your attentions away from my abnormally large manhood ... (Yeah, I had to elaborate). ...

I recently re-entered the workforce as a provider of vice. Although I'd like to say I am now a gigolo commanding top dollar for my services, I must fess up and admit that I am no more than a humble bartender ... liqouring up patrons for my own benefit through my superior service and wit .,.. yes, I'm a whore, prospering from the inebriated masses .... Got a prblem with that? No? Good... Yes? Then move on ... hypocrite.

Yet, I'm able to see myself in those I serve .... the weaknesses, the fears, the hurts. I am able to see the inner workings of my own psyche with every drink I pour. For example... the young woman who returns to the bar asking for wine... smiling broadly as she tries to cover her tears when she asks for another glass of wine... no one sees her inner beauty in her eyes...
The man in his sixties who drinks scotch in order to bring a reaction to his wife's face ... reclaiming a moment of uninhibited laughter as a song touches a memory ... she stares at her shoes.
The young man who believes that his uninhibited actions will bring him love and lust, despite his mismatched clothing and awkward gazes ...

Nothing escapes me. I'm sober now, sorta ... I'm on the un-lit end of the wick. Guess what....  I kinda like it. No, I don't necessarily enjoy seeing you making a fool of yourself on the dancefloor. Yeah, I do. Duh.
What I do enjoy is seeing you make a fool of yourself on the dancefloor. I love it. I live for it.

It's not the inebriated side of you that I admire, it's the side of you that the inebriation exposes. I once thought that I couldn't relate to 'normal' people unless I brought myself down a notch through substances ... I still have that belief, to an extent... hell, there are some dumb fuckin' people out there... but, I have grown a bit, learned some things and accepted some truths.

I imagine that my thoughts and beliefs are right in line for a good bartender. I don't know ... but, I'll tell you this ... if I can't remember what liquors make up your requested drink, I'll tell you. But, if you tell me your name, I'll remember. Every vice has a face and every face has a name ...

Monday, May 16, 2011

A short conversation...



Shut up, the dumb fucker is gonna hear you. .....

Ya know, no he won't... he's way to gone to understand what he's thinkin'

Uh, nope... he's maybe a bit slow but he's not  dumb.

Lemme tell you what I know... your mind is really fucked

So you say

Yeah, I say

Here's the thing ...

Tell me...

Wait, let me tell you...

Not now, 'World's Dumbest' is on truTV ...

I'll make popcorn ...

I love my friends in my head ... you guys rock.

Shut up... dick.

I Have Bacon Bits In My Vanilla Ice Cream

Spank my stump and suck my toes, there are some mind-bending sexual fetishists running amok amongst us. It is fittingly appropriate to delve into the dark, furry underbelly of fetishes during the month of May, given that May is National Masturbation month. Let’s have a show of ‘hand’ from those who agree …

Most everyone with a praline or two in their plain vanilla sex lives has at least heard of bondage, tickling, golden showers and, thanks to Rex Ryan, coach of the New York Jets, foot worship. However, even those of us with a twisted mind and penchant for all things bizarre have never considered covering our nether regions with ants and crickets for a quick spurt of love. Neither have we entertained the thought of pumping the tailpipe of a 1987 Buick LeSabre. Yet, in all seriousness, there are those who entertain those thoughts and then act on those thoughts.
There is a sexual thrill to be derived from nearly anything imaginable. From amputees to vampires, from chicken suits to balloons, from feet to trees. Oh, lest we forget midgets. For many, if not most, there are no limits when it comes to boner enhancement and the elusive ‘O’.

Granted, some of these fetishes are repulsive, many are simply odd and a handful beyond comprehension. There is no doubt that some of the more bizarre fetishists amongst us are clearly worthy of psychological evaluation. Yet, who are we to judge? Hell, most all of us are poster-children for the benefits of electroshock therapy. But unless unprotected sex with a LeSabre creates a baby VW Bug and no crime is committed or person or animal harmed in the name of Splooge then why not go with the flow and allow everyone their diapered fun.

Yet, as one considers practicing one or more of these sexual thrillrides, keep this in mind ...

When it comes to sex, folks are bizarre.

Just ask the guy who’s humping his car.

But whatever you do, please don’t forget:

The video will end up on the Internet.

Now, excuse me, I must take my leave. May is now half over and I have a lot more celebrating to do.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

A Friendly Note

Friends. That was a wonderful TV series. A plethora of wonderful fads were born as a result of those six beautiful people. Hell, I myself wore 'the Rachel' haircut for a week or so until it interfered with my ability to eat grilled cheese sandwiches.

Friends. A word we all relish. We all can hear our parents telling us at a very young age that 'you can never have too many' of them. Or in my case, 'you can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose'.... Love ya mom.

Yet, what is a friend, really? Let me inject my opinion....

Fuck if I know. Yeah, I don't know what a friend is.

You see, I grew up in a simple time... a time when friends stabbed you in the back then took a bullet for you later because they felt guilty for stabbing you in the back. A time when a friend would blame you for killing a neighbor's cat, even though you didn't do it because he knew that you'd be loyal as a friend, just like he was loyal when he fibbed about you feeling up his sister on the family camping trip.

Yeah, just like that... friendship.

No more, my friends. That type of friendship is non-existent. You want to be a friend now, you'd better be prepared to pay up later. Unconditional friendship is like sex between two midgets using king-sized condoms and latex.

No, I have no connection between the two, they just seemed fanciful to me. You get the idea. Friendship now is all take, take, take. Or, depending on which side you're on, it's give, give give. You get my point, there's not banter between give and take.

I'll be honest, I'm ne of those who readily spews without regard. Yet, I'm always available to collect a friends sputem with a Hefty bag, if necessary.

We all want friends... we all want someone who will listen to our inane rants, be there for us when we are hopeless, listen to us when we make no sense. The tricky part is being there for others who consider us a friend when they are as disturbed as we are. No one's problems are ever as fucky as yours when you need someone. Heh.... Yeah, right....

Want to be a firend? You don't have to hug and offer encouragement. Sure, a blowjob might help, but it isn't necessary... Wanna be a friend? Just say, "I'm here ... "...That's it. Two words. You don't necessarily wanna hear all of my daily shit any mkore than I wanna hear yours, but I'll tell you this, If you need me,. as a friend, I'll listen... I'm here.

Right after the replay of 'The young and The Restless' at 7:00... otherwise.....

Allow Me to Piss You Off....

"A horse is a horse, of course of course, and no one can talk to a horse of course, that is of course, unless the horse, Is the famous Mister Ed!
Go right to the source and ask the horse. He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse. He's always on a steady course. Talk to Mister Ed......"

These are, most likely (at least in my mind), the last english-spoken words heard in the bin Laden home before the theme to "S.W.A.T" richocheted throughout the sand-filled living room in the Bud Abbottsbad townhome of the most reviled man in the world. So yeah, I live vicariously through music...

You see, there was no cable TV... no internet... no hi-def connection to the latest Hollywood,secular devil fare available to the most-wanted. hate and devious being ever to walk the planet.. aside from Mel Gibson, of course. This is Pakistan, after all. In Pakistan, high speed internet is heard with audible screeches resembling frogs in heat on a warm spring evening ... dial-up modems in a tandem chorus.

Bada Boom, Bada Bing, Blam Blam Deep Six Ya Sam ... Drop the popcorn and count the virgins, Mr. Ed isn't the only big-lipped mouthpiecs that was silenced by network censors...

I ramble about the bin Laden killing because, well, it means nothing to me. Nada. I'll even venture to say that to most of those with a brain able to reach beyond the surface, the killing was inconsequential.

Here's how I see it ... Obie is sitting at home with his wives, tub of unbuttered popcorn on his lap, about to watch the third season of Mr. Ed on VHS. Obie's men have sent smoke signals, luckily intercepted by our CIA experts, claiming that his NetFlix shipment of 'American Pie' videos are en route ...
Obie loosens his turban, hits the play button on the VHS when suddenly, *knock knock", a rap at the door.


"NetFlix" ... is the reply.. "Delivery for Fred Phelps Jr."...

As shuffle here, a scuttle there ... "ka blam, ka boom"... instant peace and retribution for a country scorned.

Read between my lines and you get a tongue in cheek rehash of the bin Laden killing. As you might surmise, I'm not impressed. Why, you ask? Let me elaborate...

Bin Laden brought fear to most through a network of extermists who touched the lives of few. Face it, al Queda is a pussy organization on the scale of Fred Phelps hate-mongering. We can either choose to listen and fear or ignore and live. Suuure, this man orchestrated a horrendous crime which not only killed thousands of Americans but also instilled fear into the hearts of those who believed in the safety and security of being residents of America.

Gut check.

Osama bin Laden is not our terrorist enemy. Yeah, he was a bad guy... we all need a bad guy to focus on... a face to equate with evil... I often put my ex-wife in a turban and white beard ... but hey, does that make it any more real? Maybe, at least for me ... but for America? Nah...

If you want to eliminate terrorism in America, storm the homes of the big bankers and oil men... I want to see the SEALS bringing justice to the real terrorists who are bringing America to it's knees. Storm the homes of Bank of America execs... big oil chairmen, Wall Street financiers...

Let the bullets fly without fear of reprisal. After all, these are the fuckers who are killing our people. Not some bearded man who is a figurehead for an ideal. Religious ideals will never be eradicated. Nor will greed. Yet, greed will always triumph.

Jeezus, Jeff, you sound like you're preachin'...

Me? Never. I just call 'em as I see 'em. And, as I see 'em, I'm a red-blooded American who sees a reason for those not financially fortunate to understand the hatred of others towards people just like me.

I'm not afraid of al Queda or any other extremist group... not in the least.

I fear the majority. And that majority sits under a dome in our nation's capitol. That majority is the terrorist group who holds me, and you hostage. I'm not un-American, I'm just realistic. Bin Laden could never withhold my healthcare benefits ... just sayin'...

'A horse is a horse, of course of course,

and no one can talk to a horse of course,
that is of course, unless the horse,
Is the famous Mister Ed! ........"

Saturday, April 30, 2011

My apologies

Hello dear friends ... I apologize for my absence the last few weeks. Aside from familial abnormalities, I have been overwhelmed with an abundance of lint caused by the added electrical energy of the spring season.

I am formulating a new and unusual blog based upon my mind's perception of youth. These thoughts will be presented to you in a new blog very soon.

Your patience is appreciated. NanANana Boo Boo ....

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Be not afraid ... Be not at all afraid...

I hate spiders. I really do. Spiders are the most repulsive creatures that ever emerged from a silken sac of love. Not only do I hate spiders but I fear them. I fear that they will emerge from their hellish homes behind my bed's headboard and scurry towards my slumbering body. Wait, there's more .... Once they see that I am positioned on my side, they will dart towards the one opening that beckons... my ear... and enter the cavernous confines of the ear canal to lay eggs ....

Once laid, the eggs grow and multiply until finally, they erupt into a flow of baby spiders that tickle my brain and scurry within my inner workings until they drive me insane ...

Now, there's an irrational fear. No matter that it really happened to me, I think ... It's irrational.

Extreme fears are fears that tend to be irrational and irrational fears are fears tend to be determiners of who we become.

Fear is natural. Fear is a survival instinct. but, fear should never define us. Fear of failure... fear of rejection... fear of hurt ... fear of being ridiculed.... Nah, these aren't natural fears. Basically, anything that another human can do to you shouldn't incite fear. I'm not talking about the gun that is being aimed at you... shit yeah, that causes fear... but the dumbass holding the gun isn't to be feared. Until the gun is fired, you are in control.

In one's life, everyone else holds the gun. A boss. A spouse. An ex. Kids. Cops. Government. Banks. Yourself.

Fear is the one thing that never loosens it's grip on any of us. I feared fingering the 'submit' button after writing a blog blasting my children for their uncaring, selfish nature that is based upon, what else? Fear.
Without fear, in a manic state, I dismissed a life of luxury in order to find comfort and, I found all I was wanting and needing but also found fear.
Yet, fear allowed me to find safety and acceptance. Fear is a companion. A companion that nurtures growth. It is how I face fear that determines who I become.

Fear is an ally and I can now use fear as a strength. I know my fears and my fears feed my strengths and my strengths cannot grow unless my fears grow as well. My fear of being alone feeds my appreciation of the love I have for family and Pam. My fear of being dismissed by my children fuels my drive to educate others about the horrors of bi-polar disorder. My fear of Jersey Shore feeds my letters of appreciation to the REELZ Channel for reruns of Cheers. The circle of Life.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that every individual has a fear ... no, many fears... rational and irrational. But, fears are not meant to stop thought and word and action... they are meant to cause thought and word and action...

We are born as individuals, to act as individuals.... to think and speak... to hurt and help ... to fear and grow.

Be you. No one else but you.

I fear no reprisals....

But, I still hate spiders.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

"Cut Me Mick! Cut Me!"

The 'Rocky' movies are the best. Not even Dino de Laurentis and his 'Ten Commandments' speak to the masses like a blow to the gut that Apollo Creed gives the Italian Stalllion.

I might be wrong, and I usually am, but I believe that it was during the sixth round of the epic fight between Rocky and Apollo Creed that Rocky suffered a blow to the head that drew blood. In the corner, Rocky implored his trainer, Mick, to cut his brow so that he could be bandaged and continue his fight.

"Cut me, Mick!," he implied. "Cut me!"

There was no turning back. Rocky had been beaten and pummeled to the point that he couldn't see the opponent standing before him, the very opponent wanting to send him to the canvas.

"Cut me, Mick!"

The canvas was the last thing that Rocky was concerned about seeing. Rocky wanted to see the eyes of the one who intended to put his body and soul on the canvas in defeat. Rocky didn't want to see the end of a fight, he wanted to see the beginning of his victory.

"Cut me, Mick!"

I'd like to alter the words of the Rock ...

"Cut me, Anna ..."
"Cut me, Avery ..."

I see the canvas that your blows to the head have sent me reeling toward .... and, well ....

..... your bitch-slaps to the head won't end this round in a TKO.

My gloves are off.

My mother has been in ICU for two weeks. A surgery that was meant to last 4 hours lasted 8 hours and a hospital stay of four days has become a two-week stay in ICU consisting of pneumonia, blood loss, ventilators and infection.

And, at no time, through any of this, have you, my children, my supposedly 'loving' children, made an effort to call, text or email their grandparents. No messages of love, support, encouragement ... nada.

It isn't because these bastians of society didn't know of their grandma's health. No, they did.
It wasn't because their grandparents overlooked them due to their parent's divorce ... they didn't.
It wasn't due to any lack of messaging that their family is in need of love and support at a time of need ...


These children are unfeeling, selfish, loveless bastards. Bastards bent on taking out their hatred of me for my own actions and extending that hatred of me to those who are innocent and loving towards them.

As one of my offspring said, "I have all the family I need, I don't need yours."

How does a parent react to such a statement? I'll tell you how this parent finally reacts to such a statement ...

Fuck you. You have no genes of mine. You think that you have disowned me. No, I disown you. What you have done to your grandparents, who are innocent, is inexcuseable. You will one day regret your actions and I will relish the day that you hurt due to your stupidity. Just don't contact me to ask for an ear to cry upon. My ears are closed. You are non-entities to me. Cry to your otherwise clueless relatives who have no sense of right and wrong. Idols of the world and the things material you value so much can always give you all you need. Notice, my tongue is in cheek.

Never, ever, expect me to be there for you. Your time is up and your message has been noted. No child of mine would ever be so heartless and uncaring. Where did you find your lack of soul? Nevermind... I know.. Tell your mom I said, "..." (Insert no words here)

"Body Blow"

Ok, so maybe I shouldn't be so harsh ... maybe i should accept your feelings of hurt and abandonment as a result of my leaving and divorce from your mother...

"Against the ropes.... "

No, not this time. I've done that enough. This is not about me... this about those closest to me who you feel you can hurt and therefor hurt me ... a low blow.

Rocky stood up and absorbed many more blows before finally accepting defeat in the original Rocky film. Yet, Rocky didn't lose, Rocky won by not losing, despite the brutal beating he endured. Swollen eyes, bloody lips and bruised ribs didn't deter Rocky from realizing his own strengths.

My mother will survive. My family will survive. I will survive.

Cut me, Mick.

Beware my right hook.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

The Book of Fred - From the Westboro Baptist Church

It was discovered that a sacred text was smuggled out from the holy of unholies, the Westboro Baptist Church. Not to be confused with the Book of Life that most zealots espouse as being worthy of upholding, the chapter and verse revered by the WBC is considerered true and verifiable by the members of the congregation who are, oddly enogh, also considered verifiable. The book of Fred reads as follows:

These are the acts of Jesus as exibited in the WBC Book of John... Chapter Eight, Verses 2-11

"And early in the morning He came again into the Temple seeing dissention and all the people came unto Him; and He sat down, ordered a plate of grits and crispy turkey bacon and proceeded to teach them the difference between those worthy of acceptance and those worthy of God's 'other' kind of love."

"And the scribes (liberal media) and Pharisees (democratic government) and Phelpsians brought unto Him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, after prying her lips from the phallus of a Wisconsin governor, They say unto Him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the Law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest Thou?
"This they said, tempting Him, that they might have to accuse Him."
"But Jesus stooped down, snickered, and with His finger wrote on the ground, as though He heard them not. You see, Jesus was disaccociated with such petty things. So when they continued asking Him, He lifted up Himself, and said unto them, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her". And again He stooped down, and wrote on the ground." Upon closer examination, it was seen that Jesus had written, "My daddy hates gays and really wants someone to hold mis-spelled picket signs."

"I'm not hearing anything" ... saieth the Lord. "You know why? Because, duh, I'm the only one without sin. I have first dibs, hand me a skimming stone, as they are best for skipping over the sinners."

"And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last and handed Jesus their stone. And Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst."
"When Jesus had lifted up Himself, and saw none but the woman, He said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee?
"She said, No man, Lord."
"And Jesus said unto her, Well, I hold a rock which I earned for being without sin. I guess you're screwed." (John 8:2-11 WBCV)


I twisted the Bible verse no worse than the Westboro baptist Chruch twists the texts to suit their own purposes. These hate-filled espousers of faith and virtue have been granted the right to voice themselves despite the hurt and anger it causes those who it directly and indirectly affects.

Therefore, let me be the first, or thousandth, to invoke my right to freedom of speech and say that the Universe has a special place in a sucking black hole for those like Fred Phelps and his hypocritical ilk. I would never approach Freddy or his congregation with any intention of harm but I wouldn't cry if his God smote him in a fit of fury. I'd be first in line to picket and protest his funeral. Not because he was being buried, but because he was even concieved and doesn't deserve a plot of land in the earth that my feet trod upon.

I'm a bit perturbed by this man and his suckerfish ...

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Yelps from the Closet: Are you stupid? If so, don't read.

Yelps from the Closet: Are you stupid? If so, don't read.: "It was a long day for the Lord. Wine doesn't just make itself. There are grapes and vines and stomping involved. Yet, Jesus loved his wine..."

Are you stupid? If so, don't read.

It was a long day for the Lord. Wine doesn't just make itself. There are grapes and vines and stomping involved.

Yet, Jesus loved his wine. By God, he had it in mind his last meal. Nothing goes better with bread than a nice dry red paired with a sacrificing of oneself.

And the Lord spoketh and said,

"hey, yo, you thee, I don't even speak anything other than old-school roman and maybe  a bit of Latin,... ergo, what the fuck you talkin; 'bout?'

... And  those seeking knowledge responded ... ' huh?'

And the wise one stumbled upon his thoughts before realizing that 'huh? was an answer that spoke to the masses.

The Lord,some God, spoke unto the ones seeking guidance and said ... "Go home, you will make a fool of yourself  as those before you have done..."... "Ye are a dumbass worthy of notice yet capable pf knowledge ..."

And, I could only comprehend this message as one of, 'This is bullshit', I haven't learned nothing in my long life" ...

Simply put, I'm not simply put.

Decipher me and my mind.

So, Jesus left the masses with no clear direction yet all those around him somehow knew what he wanted them to do and how he wanted them to react.

................................................ Fast forward two thousnd years, give or take a decade.

Think for a momnet.

Think a bit more.


Welcome to self-awareness.

Slow down and think for a moment .... you are more than what your mirror shows....

For Your Consideration




Where are you on ths above scale?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Yelps from the Closet: A Week in A Syllable

Yelps from the Closet: A Week in A Syllable: "It is amazing the difference that 120 hours makes. Five days of 24 hours. 1,440 minutes a day, 7,200 minutes in five days. As the numbers in..."

A Week in A Syllable

It is amazing the difference that 120 hours makes. Five days of 24 hours. 1,440 minutes a day, 7,200 minutes in five days. As the numbers increase the time stays the same.

"Jeff," you say, "What in the HELL are you getting at?"

Good question. The answer is simple .... Monday started like shit, ended wonderfully and morphed into a period of five days, 120 hours, congealed into a package resembling a Jello Mold full of cat food and M&M's. Do you eat it or pick at the good stuff?

To make a long story short, I shed a skin this week. I shed a great deal of anger and suppressed pain. Yes, I have been harboring a bit of anger and pain in case you haven't noticed. Some, if not most, might be visible in a few of my past blogs. But now, I plan on presenting the new kinder, gentler, civilized Jeff. All due to the last 120 hours of my life. No, really.

Again, you might ask, "Hey, dipshit, what the fuck you talkin' 'bout?"

I don't know exactly, to tell you the truth. All I know is that on Monday night, February 14, 2011, at approximately 8:30 PM, my life changed with a single-syllable word ... "Yes".

The next morning, the sun shone brighter, the birds snored louder and I listened to a Babyface song on my iPod. More importantly, after plugging my ears with soda straws, I didn't have any anger. No resentment. Not because of Babyface (I quickly jumped to a Megadeth tune on the iPod), but because of a word uttered in response my request. 'Yes'.

Now, how does a man who uses his pain and anger as an outward expression of self continue to express the anger, hurt and pain that drives his creative ego when the pain is erased by a single word of commitment?

It's a fair question ... the answer for me is simple. I continue to write. You see, I don't forget the anger and hurt, I only now choose to express it in a more positive way. It's as if the arm at the westbound tollroad access closed during rush hour for the eastbound traffic to head home is dropped during approach. If that makes sense to you then you need to call me,  you have issues.

To make a long story short, my yin committed to my yang and, as such, my soul released baggage that would put me over the limit for a flight to the future.

No more anger. No more resentment. No more hindrances.


Let the life begin.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

A Thought For the Saviours

In high school, I once had an assignment in my Creative Writing class to write a description of myself in a scenario of my own choosing.

I believe I was sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. I remember that I envisioned my face and body standing on a beach, gazing upon a sunset as the waves lapped at my feet. What I remember most is that my feet, the waves, the tiny shells in the surf, the sunset as it transitioned from yellow to pink, all grasped my mind and became a part of who I was at that moment in my life. I wasn't a man, I was a being. I was just me. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no past, there was no future, there was only the now as the foam dissipated between my toes.

What I can't imagine is my face and how my face reflected who I was at that moment. I can only imagine that who I was then is the reason that I can now picture that sunset. Despite my worries... the seemingly insurmountable obstacles that I faced then and the horrors in my mind, escaped me but the fears of rejection overtook me like a posse of Arizona cops stopping a work van at the El Paso border.

I never see my face in my own foibles. I picture the faces of those charged with petty crimes attached to my body. Many times... No, most every time, I feel obligated to apologize to the face attached to my body. Other times, I feel obligated to apologize to the body attached to my face.

Fuck it, man. That sunset that defined me segregated me from my own existence. Even as another soul gazed upon my sunset as a sunrise a world away, I was oblivious to a life lived in tandem with my own based upon the simple rising and setting of the sun.

A man, woman or child a world away from me gazed upon sun and shared hope that we all share hours before I awoke from a wet dream. And, although I will not elaborate on the wet dream aspect of the connection, we all awoke with with basically the same ideas...

Ok. even I realize that what i'm writing is difficult to grasp ... but what I'm asking you to ponder isn't....

Think. Remember. Youth isn't lost, youth is buried with an 'X' marking the spot. Who you are isn't defined by who you are percieved to be and who you are meant to be isn't defined by what you've been taught.

Think back to those assignments in High School or college or junior college thhat required you to express yourself. Remember how you felt as you expressed yourself despite the fear of ridicule.

That was who you are. That is who you are. That is what makes you worthy. That is what makes you capable of changing this fucked-up world we live in.

This blog is disjointed but this blog is coherent. After all, if you can be you, and we can be individuals, than we can exist as one.

I'm craving low-salt peanuts/

Yelps from the Closet: It Takes a Head Wound to Coagulate a Bleeding Nati...

Yelps from the Closet: It Takes a Head Wound to Coagulate a Bleeding Nati...: "Boom shaka laka laka laka Boom. Ka-Blam. Pfft .....fart ... Welcome, take your seat in the front row. You are witnessing the implosion of..."

Yelps from the Closet: My Padded Room.

Yelps from the Closet: My Padded Room.: "Nothing is more frightening than the feeling that life and its circumstances have you backed against a wall. Luckily for me, my back is..."

Yelps from the Closet: Inspired by a Friend For My Children

Yelps from the Closet: Inspired by a Friend For My Children: "2:41 AM. Wednesday, January 19th, 2011 ... Here I am, once again sitting perpendicular to a computer. As I stare upon the screen, I contemp..."

Yelps from the Closet: One Man's Stink Bug

Yelps from the Closet: One Man's Stink Bug: "Stewie was confused. This new abode was a far cry from the promised land he'd been heard about. 'This is America', he thought, 'not the land..."

Yelps from the Closet: Mirror

Yelps from the Closet: Mirror: "You don't like me. That's ok. I don't like me either. Do you like yourself? That's ok.I don't like you either. Know what that makes you? I..."

Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors

Yelps from the Closet: A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors: "Following is a little-known aside to the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. All names have been changed in order to avert..."

Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred

Yelps from the Closet: The Wizard of Fred: "The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above...."

Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.

Yelps from the Closet: My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.: "I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked. Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumpin..."

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

My thoughts are a Four-Lettered Word.

I'm sweaty. I'm stinky. I'm tired and I'm ready. ... and, I'm naked.

Bring on the funk. Hit me with the deep backbeats and the soul-thumping bass beats that speak to my soul.

Tear the roof off the mutha, tear the roof off the muthasucka ....

The roof.. the roof ... the roof is on fire. I don't need no water, let the muthatfucka burn....

These were the words of Shakespeare as he translated them from Latin.

Quite the proper rapper, that english bastard. Shakesey might have recognized love and loss but he never understood life and survival. Shakespeare was the rap star of his generation ... the Milli Vanilli of his time .

Sure, he could rhyme. No doubt, he could piece together iambic pentameter and draw those into his words. But, he didn't grease the life of those he imagined and that is why he is no more worthy of recognition than an author of any of the 'Twilight' novels.

It might seem as if I'm slamming Shakespeare, one of the most revered authors and playwrights of our time. Don't misunderstand my words... I am slamming the bard. But, I'm slamming with all due respect.

You see, Willy Shakes wrote his words, in his time, hoping to be ridiculed and disliked. He looked in the mirror each morning, snarled at his appearance and directed his displeasure of life and self through his words.

Shakesy viewed his own weaknesses in that mirror. He played out his pain an retribution for his pain in that mirror. And, he spoke to those with thheir own mirrors.

I have never understood Shakespeare ..... thees and thous and english without cursing ... I don't get it.  But, I do understand visions based upon vision.

I also gaze upon my countenance each morning with displeasure with my life. What I have written is unworthy of my own acceptance. Bill Shakespeare and I can relate ..... Yet... yet ....

Yet..... what I write and bring to others, no matter how insignificant it may seem to be ... is important.

Important. That's a 15-syllable word.  Why do I say that? Because my dumbass thoughts are no less important than your dumbass thoughts.

You are me. I am you. You are Stephen Hawking. Stephen Hawking is you. You are worthy of respect and respect is within you.

Do you see where I'm headed? Your mind is your mind. No one can ever direct your life and your beliefs unless you allow it to happen.

I lost you at Stephen Hawking. That's ok. Maybe you never even knew who Steven Hawking was, or is ...

Hawking could have easily penned MacBeth ... the visions he and Billy Shakes shared are similar ....

Oh Home, Oh Home.. Where for art there Home? ....

... dismiss my craziness as reality .... I do.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

The Wizard of Fred

The skies blackened. Winds swirled and began tossing begonias from their beds as if a giant turkey baster had been squeezed from above. Pandemonium gripped the populace. This had been prophesied.


Silence. ...

......... silence ...... (wait for it)........ silence ............

At first glance, a structure, a building, had appeared to descend from the sky. Not a building, but an apartment... a one bedroom loft, guilded in pure gold. Above the door of this loft was posted a thumb and forefinger touching tip to tip.

Silence was deafening as the door to the loft opened ... no squeaks, no creaks ...

"Welcome to Westboro.." ... the tiny voices exclaimed. The reverend Phelps has been expecting you. "

Unsure where he was, the shaken figure of a man exited the loft apartment ... looking to his left, he saw legs prodtruding from the foundation of his loft... Panic began to overtake him until ....

".... those are the legs of the wicked Fred of the midwest ... "

"But, I was only a minute ago watching 'Jersey Shore' and plotting my return... your church never had any place in my plans.... How might I get back to heaven and be with those who are worthy of my love?'

"Take the shoes before you and put them upon your feet ... they will keep you safe in your journeys througout the land..."

So, the visitor from the House Above took the Hush Puppies from the feet of the slain one which
the loft apartment had landed upon, laced them upon his feet and mingled with the masses.

.... let's see how this apocalyptic scenario ends....


Friday, January 28, 2011

A Care Tag In A Coat of Many Colors

Following is a little-known aside to the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. All names have been changed in order to avert lawsuits by the Hanes Corporation.

".... Alas," proclaimed Jacob, "I had no inkling that thy directive to create a coat of many colors would be such an arduous task ..."

"Thy directives were clear," saieth the Lord. "No mixing of colors, no flaws of any type. I made myself clear."

"But, Lord. ... there were no deviations in color. The reds were vibrant. The yellows were stunning. The blues were worthy of immersion. The combination of colors were arranged to complement each upon the other in order to proclaim your glory, no matter who might wear the garment. I spun the garment based upon your each and every directive. Are you not pleased with the result?"

.... Pause....


... Pause ...

"Jacob, thous dost not understand thy God and His adhereance to standards of excellence."

And God reached down and with a forefinger and thumb grasped the multi-colored coat that Jacob had fashioned.

And God said unto Jacob ...

"Gaze upon this... the devil is in the details."

Squinting and amazed, Jacob gazed incredulously upon the tag affixed to the back collar of the garment.

How could this happen? The writing was nearly illedgible. The instructions for caring for such a valuable garment were exposed, upside-down.

"How dost thou explain this?," asketh the God of perfection? "Thy garment, worn by one chosen by Me, God, the Fashioner of Huamnkind, has a flaw. Yay, though I directed there be a small tag affixed to the coat which provides instructions for it's proper care .... Yay, though I require adherance to universal production standards ... "

"But Lord," inquired Jacob, "How have I failed you? This is my finest creation, meant to be worn by only the most worthy of my offspring. How have I failed you?"

And the Lord replied ... "Look upon Joesph as he wears the coat. The tag with wash and care directions is visible from behind as he walks among the heathen. And, although his brethren recognize his ignorance and wish him harm for his wearing a garment which is less than holy, Potiphar and Pharoah dismiss his ignorance as subtle humanity."

"Wait, wait ..." exclaimed Jacob, "My tag was upturned? How might I correct this oversight in order to produce garments worthy of your acceptance?"

God hesitated ...

"I shall call a meeting ... I shall consult my constituents in order to provide an answer. Because, an upturned tag with care instructions on a coat of many colors is a major flaw which will cost the kingdom millions."

And Jacob called for Joseph ..............................

Interpret this any way you will ... Think. Really, think ... find your tag.

Sunday, January 23, 2011


You don't like me. That's ok. I don't like me either.

Do you like yourself? That's ok.I don't like you either.

Know what that makes you? It makes you just like me.

It's a wake up call for both of us, eh?

Who's the dumbass now?

Friday, January 21, 2011

One Man's Stink Bug

Stewie was confused. This new abode was a far cry from the promised land he'd been heard about. 'This is America', he thought, 'not the land of 'chi' and slanted views of those who preceded me in the far east' ...

Stewie grasped tightly to the breadcrumb lodged against the wall of the large picture window. Trying to find a place to call his own, he settled upon the name of the cramped quarters that was labeled "NOSYD" on the window. Balls of wadded fiber padded his setting. A chill slowed his mind and limbs yet enough warmth was provided by the padding within his new cylindrical home to ensure safe passage through the bitter winter months.

This new perspective inspired Stewie to reflect upon his existence. One pregnant relative in Shanghai booked passage to Guang Dong yet ended up in Baltimore Harbor, Maryland. Mother Nature doesn't wait for a pregnant lady. Three days later, two thousand babies are born. Six months later, an extended family of several million are scattered along the mid-Atlantic.

Stewie wondered where his hundreds of siblings were living as he gazed through the clouded window of his new home. How he found this home was a mystery in itself.

"Let me think about this"... Stewie thought. "One second, I'm doing a mating dance for women who look just like me and the next minute I'm getting sucked.... sucked right into a swirling vortex that was both exciting, frightening and strangely erotic."

Then, from an approaching voice ...

..... "Damn, these fuckers are annoying. They just won't die and when they do, they stink like Hell. DYSON needs to develop a filter to eliminate Stink Bug odor....ugly bastards too ..."

"What?" Stewie thought... "What is a Stink Bug? I don't smell anything..."


Circle of life ... Hakuna Matata.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Inspired by a Friend For My Children

2:41 AM. Wednesday, January 19th, 2011 ...

Here I am, once again sitting perpendicular to a computer. As I stare upon the screen, I contemplate words of wisdom that have been thrust upon me by those who not only appreciate my blogging rants and raves but also view my writings as helpful and hurtful to those who might read them.

I get it, I really do. I have voiced my opinions based upon pain that I hold close. I rant. I rave. I vent.

As a result, I have alienated those who I wanted to draw close.

I'm nowhere near being a man being worthy of admiration. When I open my mouth, I often say the wrong thing. When I create a new page on the computer, my fingers put forth feelings as they speed from my mind without regard to those who may be at the recieving end of those finger-peckings... It's the manic-depressive way...

Many times, my words are filled with verbage that hurt those who have hurt me. I have every right to express my feelings yet I can't place all of my hurt upon those who hurt me. I write to grow but I can't grow when I stifle the growth of those who have seemingly stifled my own growth.

There's a thought. I can't grow by heaping hurt upon those who have hurt me. I. Can't. Grow.

I have heaped damnation upon my children, my ex-wife and my ex-inlaws in order to accept myself. Yeah, they all discarded me as a result of my self-discovery ... rightly so. Hyprocisy is a fickle bitch ...

I will now do something that those who once loved me will never do...

Many of my writings have been defamatory due to my personal hurt. I write from the heart and I write in the moment. What I don't understand is the impact of the written word when read by those who are subjects ...

I will not apologize for my feelings. I do apologize to my children, Anna and Avery, for the way that I expressed my pain of rejection. Imagine being disowned by those you love the most for simply being who you are ...

Feelings are dangerous. Feelings are visceral and external. Feelings do not define a person. My feelings led me to write blogs such as 'Gimme Back My Rib, Dammit' .. but my feelings were pointed towards a moment in time.

You are not unlike me. You have hurt someone with words or actions. Somewhere, someone will never accept you as worthy of inclusion his or her life ever again. Is it something you said? Something you wrote? Something you did?

A simple belief might be the catalyst in separating you from your life.

Bottom line ... To my children, Anna and Avery, I apologize. You are both innocent. You are victims of a dissolusion of a marriage that I initiated. I'm not apologizing for my reasons for leaving your mother but I am apologizing for the way I did it.

I am also apologizing for publicly voicing my pain in your hatred of me. I don't hate you. I don't blame you for how you feel about me and my actions. I just ask that you give me a chance to be 'me' before you discard me.

I write as a form a therapy but some therapy should be kept in a locked cabinet. I'm not sorry for expressing myself. Yet, my outward expression of inner feelings towards the rejection of my own children is hard to resist when  writing.

Ok, so this sounds disjointed and awkward .. it is. I only want my kids to see me as human. I'm not perfect and I have certainly written things that exemplify my hurt .. but I love you nonetheless ...

What can I say?

Growth requires a separation of foundation and the unknown. Your foundation requires a  shaking of the unknown that I provide ...

Deep shit, eh? Think about it...

Sunday, January 16, 2011

My Padded Room.

Nothing is more frightening than the feeling that life and its circumstances have you backed against a wall. Luckily for me, my back is pressed against a padded wall which absorbs a great deal of pressure.

The walls are worn and marked with outlines of my struggles. They cushion each blow even as the round buttons that connect the stitching press into my body, reminding me that the wall is there. The buttons make an impression upon my psyche, often my soul, to remind me of the beating.

The padding reminds me that I'm confined in an insane asylum. The cushioned walls confirm my sanity while the pressures that pound me against the walls confirm the insanity of life.

I'd rather be bounced around in a padded room of reality, a room that absorbs the blows of supposed normalcy, than be backed against a wall of sure and solid concrete that is unforgiving and definitive.

Lock the door and leave me to my own devices and I'm free. I can flop and bounce and fall and punish myself without fail. I can scream and flail and ramble and mumble while bnging my head against a wall that accepts each blow with impunity. I'll grow as a creature of insanity because of these padded walls of life.

My world and the future of my world is padded. I have no bleeding from my headbanging and insanity. The walls of my life are padded with white buttons and sturdy stitching.

What do your walls feel like when you are beaten?


Friday, January 14, 2011

It Takes a Head Wound to Coagulate a Bleeding Nation.

Boom shaka laka laka laka Boom.


Pfft .....fart ...

Welcome, take your seat in the front row. You are witnessing the implosion of the greatest civilization to grace this planet since the Roman empire fell as a result of being oversexed and complacent. The over-sexed part was fun, is fun and will always be fun but the complacency part can put a crimp on the lifestyle of a nation sure of itself .... especially with the sex part...

Order popcorn, a hot dog, maybe a beer ... enjoy. Enjoy the show because this is one game that is going to result in an upset victory by anyone and everyone that isn't the United States of America. Let me warn you... if you like me now, stop reading. If you have an open mind, read on but know that I am who I am and I believe what I believe ... As PeeWee Herman once said.. "I'm a rebel, Dottie... A loner... and, I love my bicycle..."

You see, people aren't people any longer. People are Republicans, or Democrats, or Tea Partiers, or Libertarians, Wiccans, Green Thumbs, Masturbators,  or simply confused ... People are no longer considered individuals capable of individual thoughts and beliefs. People are cordoned off into groups based upon loose interpretations of right and wrong based upon their beliefs. And (tongue in cheek) beliefs are  not acceptable, but worthy of judgement. Damn you... and me....

People are black or white, right?. Yes or no. There is no gray, or grey .... My black is a combination of all colors and your black is, well, black. My white is an absence of any color and your white is, well, white. No variations ... nowhere. I reference myself because I speak for myself but, as a member of society, I speak for you... There are no shades of gray anymore .... as a shade of gray with a percentage of sanity composed of whites and blacks, this disturbs me ... I feel as if I am a minority in a box of human crayons and there is no built-in sharpener.

ok, deep shit... let me move on...

Me? I think Reagan was a great man and a great leader. I also think Bill Clinton would be a great president, again. Shit, that makes me hated by 75% of society. I also have such a boiling disdain for the Nazi-esque Tea Party movement that another 15% of my 'likeability' quotient is bludgeoned. I'm now shunned by 90% of the American population. Add the embarrassment that my children have for me and the disapproval of my love, Pam, for my forgetfulness in emptying the trash, and you have a whopping 98.672% disapproval rate ... hard to overcome in a time of societal disarray. If it wasn't for the 1.3% approval rate that I have for myself I might be disillusioned ...

Despite the obvious, there is absolutely no reporting of news without opinion ... FOX News, CNN and any network 'news' sources, a la CBS, NBC, ABC, etc do not report news without opinion. Opinions are as contagious as the common cold and the common cold is not predjudiced in who it affects ... Sadly, people with weak minds based upon televised opinions are as prone to contracting a diseased view of reality as those with a weak immune system are prone to contracting the flu... This is why I watch the Weather Channel and only the Weather Channel ... weather happens and if Al Roker is wrong I can call 'bullshit' and he has no recompense and has to choke down a cheeseburger for every instance his forecast is wrong.. (it's in his contract)... I long to see a stomach staple 'pop' and silence Stephanie Abrams during a locust storm in Kansas ... By the way, I view Stephanie Abrams as a twisted mind in the most highly regarded way... she is funny as Hell and is the only one who could tell me that I was going to get 40 feet of snow and make me snicker in my thoughts of snow-induiced suicide... in any case...

Jeff? ... you ask ... what in the hell are you getting at?

Good question... let me quiet my mind so that I can convey my thoughts ...  shhhhh.... no, really, shut the fuck up and give me a second.....

.....  ohhhhhmmmmm...... ohhhmmmmm..... shhhhhhhh ....... ok, I'll give this a shot...

............ This past weekend, a mentally unstable individual sought to make an impact by violently attacking those he disagreed with, or something. Based upon his mental instability, he could have as easily assaulted diners at a Waffle House because of his belief that IHOP has better breakfast deals. Instead, he visited a Safeway, drew a weapon and took aim at those he felt had no interest in his best interests politically, personally or otherwise. In a moment of passion, he drew a weapon, charged forward and fired at those in his path with reckless abandon. What inspired him to do so isn't known. What is known is that he was 'different' ... he was 'odd' ... he seemed to be lost in thought and processed thoughts in a way that most of us consider 'eccentric' Everyone from the girlfriend he kissed six years ago to the teachers who awarded 'B' grades in community college agree that he was not normal. What is clear to anyone with a clue is that he had a progression of thoughts that started somewhere in a clouded reality and ended in national tragedy.

Crazy is as crazy does. But, Mr. Crazy had a disdain for his target and his target's supporters.Where that dislike originated may or may not ever be known but what is known is that he didn't know his victims personally ... he only assumed that his victims had values and beliefs not in line with his own  and, as such, were not worthy of acceptance.

I'm in no way making excuses for this guy... what I am doing is trying to draw a comparison ... this loose cannon murderer side by side with the loose cannon media machines that inspire such polarized behavior that seemingly inspired this murderer. Believe me, I've had my mental moments. I've never been inspired to act on my disdain for the inactions of others in such an elaborately planned way. Have I pictured myself as a vigilante bent on making a point and eliminating a threat to humanity? Sure... who amongst us hasn't? But who is to say who is sane? Surely not I ... I can only say that in my own defense, Snooki is safe and no Kardashian sister is carrying my baby...

 Jared Lee Loughner is a person who fixated on a single thought and decided upon a simple choice of right and wrong, a choice of his own and one different that most any one of us would settle upon. Did you hear that *snap*? That was his mind in a single moment which was predicated upon a single thought prior to a moment suggested to him before his idea to eliminate an individual he didn't know for reasons that he he didn't understand but reasons that he based upon an idea of what he supposedly believed based upon his association to a title society demanded of her.,.. Democrat ,... Again, *snap* ...

Yeah, that was one long-assed sentence.

Loughner could have as easily been an espouser of liberal extremists as of conservative extremists.

...I wanted say this before promoting the realization that I'm not republican. I'm not democrat. I'm not libertarian, green party, tea party or any party. I believe in the Human Party, and I'm starting to think that the Human Party is a grassroots movement. And, the Human Party is the one party that we all belong to without argument. Yet, no one claims to be a member of the Human Party.

I do not vote along party lines.I'll even go a step further ... if I don't agree with anyone in a political race, I won't vote. Throw your rocks at me and call me part of the problem ... whatever. I'll throw those rocks right back at those who only vote because they are told to do so ... who is the one who has expressed individual rights? Why settle for the 'lesser of evils?:' There is no 'lesser of evils' when it comes to those who supposedly represent me and my future. Judge me if you will ... I don't care. I'd rather be myself and accept my future based upon my act of defiance coupled with the majority's act of obedience than be a pawn to a complacent belief in the empty words of a pawn in search of acceptance. ... long story... think about it...

If you know me at all (and most don't or don't want to) you know that I can go on forever about the dangers of religion, politics and money and how they bring out the very lowest base of humanity ... Then again, if you have read my blogs, know me and have any idea of my purpose you also know that I have a grasp on what I feel are the important and relevant aspects of human nature and survival... Hell, I've survived death a few times for some reason ... maybe I have something to share...

I don't know Gabby Giffords. i have only visited Arizona to play desert golf and drink during corporate sales shindigs, which led to my pissing off rattlesnakes in the desert ... I hope that she recovers. I have a strong feeling that she will recover and she will be more a voice for humanity than she every imagined possible. I also see her assailant as being vilified as an example of society and media. I might be wrong, but I'm not. This tragedy will be a bookmark in our nation's history but it will be minimized by whatever political faction that can spin it to it's advantage.

What I do hope is that Gabby Giffords survival will be an inspiration to those who see radicalism as a means to an end. I will tell you right now that based upon what I have read about Gabby Giffords and her outreach efforts I know that her struggle for survival will inspire many to embrace her values.
I also know that the story of her assailant will inspire others to seek help for others that are misunderstood while at the same time condemn those with mental conditions.

I'm at a crossroads ....  I grasp what those like Gabby Giffords have sought to accomplish for those who are in need of help and acceptance ... yet, I am one of those who would seek  to benefit from the
very programs that failed her assassin.

There are many at the same crossroads ... what is unnerving is that media outlets with unwavering agendas are pounding signs into the ground at those crossroads .. signs that will appeal to the 'feelings' of those who want direction but can't quite decide on their own who is responsible for the tragedies of American life as they unfold ...

We are all potential Jared Lee Loughner ... despite mental deficiencies, which we all have ... If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times .... Who will we allow to flip our switch from sanity to insanity?

Sweet Dreams ... they are all you own outright ...