If you're like me, and I know I am...

Sunday, January 21, 2007

'Go to hell, gringos!' says Chavez

Hugo Chavez, commie nutjob or democratically elected leader of Venezueala

It's the bad ass who makes the girls' hearts beat faster.

I know ... I'm supposed to hate Hugo Chavez because he's
a socialist, which in America means he's basically a communist.
But in America we also toss liberals, democrats, hippies, anarchists
and real Christians into that pile as well. So forgive me if the
popular dilution of the term Communist has desensitized me
to the fearful power the word is supposed to conjure.

But these days, I sort of have to respect anyone who will
tell the United States to fuck off. Hugo Chavez may be a
nut, but he's a duly elected nut. And I'm not so sure that he's
entirely a nut, he's just portrayed that way in the media because
he's anti-American. But then again, I don't even think he's
anti-American per se, he's anti-Bush. Well so am I.

It says a lot about America that even people who "hate us"
hate our government more than they hate ALL of us. When
people hate on the French, it's the French people that they hate
not just Jaques Chirac

Personally, I like a big ass

Gisele Bundchen

I don't care what supermodels think, I just want to hate them.
Is that wrong? Does that make me a bigot? You know what? I
kinda don't care if it does. I think it's wrong to despise those weaker
than you. It says something nasty about your character, but there
is nothing particularly wrong or immoral about despising those
who are put on a pedestal high above you especially when it is
for spurious reasons like physical beauty ... which somehow makes
their opinions more valuable as well.

Brazilian supermodel Gisele Bundchen recently spouted off on the
current debate over anorexia and the fashion industry. The fashionistas
have recently decided to keep super skinny models off the stage so
young would stop getting the idea that they needed to starve themselves too.
Gisele says fashion isn't responsible for anorexia, shitty parents are.
It's mom and dad who create poor self image among girls whose
irrational fear of becoming obese makes them starve themselves to death.
Well, that is probably true of families who allow their daughters to
read fashion magazines and emulate these God awful scrawny models, yes.

It's like video games and devil music, I think there is a relationship
between them and bad behavior, just not a causal relationship. For
example, only assholes listen strictly to death metal, but death metal
doesn't MAKE you an asshole. And if all you do is play violent video games,
then you might be anything from a little too tightly wound to a violent prick
waiting to unleash on an unsuspecting public.

I don't think looking at one picture of one skinny hosebag is going
to make a reasonably well adjusted girl puke up her lunch in admiration.
But the images of the fashion industry are MUCH more pervasive
and potentially damaging than shitty music and socially retarded
video games, which are really more like symptoms. By constantly
shoving unreasonable touched up images of hyper beauty in our faces
for decades, the fashion industry has actively taken part in convincing
a generation of girls that they are fat pigs who can never be skinny enough.
And if the self-centered and self-proclaimed fashion experts come to the
conclusion pretty much on their own that they need to keep ultra skinny
models off the runway and out of magazines to be more responsible and
promote healthier body images among their own consumers world-wide,
then I certainly won't disagree with them. It's just good business if not
actually moral.

So eat a cheeseburger you skinny empty-headed bitches, lay off the
coke for a week or two and you'll soon know the joys of being like the rest of us.
Heaven forfend.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Another reason why cats suck

Listed in a story in the UK Guardian about feral children:

· Andrei Tolstyk, Siberia, abandoned by his parents as a baby. When discovered by social workers in 2004, aged seven, he walked on all fours and bit people; they believe he was raised by the family's dog.

· Traian Caldarar, seven, Romania, found living on the streets in 2002, three years after fleeing his mother's violent partner. Still the size of a three-year-old and with no speech, it is thought he had survived with help from stray dogs.

· John Ssebunya was found in the forest in Uganda, aged six, in 1989. He had fled a violent father, and for two years a group of African Grey monkeys accepted him as a peripheral member of their group.

· Ramu, found in Lucknow, India, in 1954, aged seven. His mother said he had been snatched by a wolf as a baby. He lapped milk, chewed bones and had an affinity with wolves in the zoo. Died in 1968.

You'd NEVER see a cat take an active role in the raising of a human being.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

The long, dark water intoxication of the soul

A California woman died this week trying to win a Wii video
game system for her kids. Read the whole story here.

Contestants at a radio station were trying to "hold their wee for a Wii." They
started off drinking small bottles of water every 15 minutes
just to see who could hold out for the longest. The winner
won a Wii game system. The loser in this case got a massive
headache and died from hydro intoxication. It's real and it
happens. But what a stupid way to die for such a stupid thing.

I had mixed feelings about this issue. As a guy whose avocation
it is to comment on stories like this, I'd like to blame someone
or criticize something but who or what? Sure it's a stupid contest
based entirely around the notion that Wii sounds like wee.
Yes, it's dumb to have a water drinking/pee holding contest
but you wouldn't expect anyone to die from it. I mean, if
people don't die in hot dog eating contests, why would you
expect someone to die from drinking water and not peeing?
So even if this had been my idea, I think I'd have gotten passed
the guilt pretty quickly. No one was forced to do anything
against their will.

Then you kind of think it's nice that this woman was doing this
for her kids when she succumbed to death. But then you
quickly realize that not all acts of self sacrifice are equal. She didn't die
trying to save her kids from Nazis. She didn't die trying to
steal food for her kids. She didn't even die in traffic on her
way to work, which could be seen as a kind of noble sacrifice.
She died for a third-rate game system that her kids probably
just thought they had to have. But still I can't blame this woman
for wanting to do something stupid to win a game system for her
kids. We don't all get the chance to truly sacrifice for our kids
by saving them from sheer horror so it's nice that we can suffer
some discomfort to express our love.

But then I realized that this doesn't make me think so much about
the sacrifice of parents so much as it does how God damn selfish
kids can be. And yes that does include some of the crap I've pulled
in my life, though I have to say I'm an angel compared to some. I
suppose it's the nature of kids to try and get all they can get. It's
some kind of survival instinct that forces the weak and runty to
die. It's why older kids pick on the little ones and why if you
are pouring out to glasses of pop both kids will claim to be getting
the one with less in it. They start of crying to be held and fed
and end up crying that you didn't get them the Sims 2 expansion
pack they wanted. They turn their noses up at a $10 gift certificate
these days or a book. Or 23 hours worth of mp3s loving downloaded
and burned by hand. Or good advice.

It's hard to make an impression on kids. They have too much
stuff and not enough to do. As lazy and unused to work as I was a kid,
I worked like a slave compared to how under-worked kids are today. I walked
beans, bailed hay, milked cows, worked construction, washed dishes,
cut gladiolas (harder than it sounds) and flipped burgers.

Each entitled generation has less to do, fewer needs and more luxuries
to pine for. What an empty existence. It's not even better to give than
to receive in this case. One can get no joy from giving to someone who
thinks you could have done a lot better than you did when you did
a lot better for them than anyone ever did for you, at least in terms of
dollar amounts. I'd kill for someone to spend a buck fifty on a gift for
me that is actually meaningful.

And so we have one dead mother who died having a lark in order
to win a third-rate game system for kids whose first thought
upon hearing the bad news was "Why couldn't it have been an
Xbox 360?"

Saturday, January 06, 2007

My Bullshit New Year's Resolution Post

I don't know who invented the notion of
the New Year's resolution, but they should be
horse-whipped through the streets and forced
to eat the mountains of saccharine they've
inadvertently forced the world to suck down
every year from columnists and broadcasters
talking about what their resolutions for the
upcoming year are going to be.

"I'm giving up fructose!"
"I want to lose three pounds!"
"I want to stop hanging around junior high
schools on my days off!"
"I want to learn a new word every day!"
"I want to come out to my parents!"

It's all crap if only because most people don't
know the verb form of resolution is resolve
and they end up saying "my resolution is"
a thousand times rather than "I resolve to"
even once.

And of course the really subtle subtext of
all of this is that no one does what they resolve
to do.

"I broke my resolution the first day!"
"The first day? I broke mine the first hour!"
"Hahahahahahahaha! RETCH!"

Do it. Try to do it. Whatever but for God's sake
just shut up about it already would you? Year
after bloody year it's the same God damn patter
at home, at work, on TV.

I'm starting to understand why some right
thinking old people get to the point where
they'd just as soon die for having lived too
long. You see and hear the same pap over and
over again. If one more person tells me it's not
the heat, it's the humidity I resolve to bake them
in an oven at 350 degrees for an hour and half
until they are fork tender.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Monday, January 01, 2007

Foxy Lady

The Story of Miss Ann
A Dances with Racist Skanks Film

A Dark Fox Flying Nachos

Production for Lifetime Television
copyright 2007

The empty foyer of a Victorian home. Children's shoes are lined up neatly on a mat by the door. A backpack and school jackets hang on hooks above the mat. A figure appears as a shadow through the curtained window of the front door. The doorbell rings. There is a pregnant foreshadowing pause and then the bell rings again.

A woman's voice (Ann)

A middle-aged woman with a nice ass, maybe too tightly clenched, walks to the door and opens it. A handsome young mostly white man with black hair (Greg) in his late teens is at the door.

Well, hi there, mister, why'n'cha come on inside here?

Hi Miss Ann. Is your son, Todd, here?

Yes he is, but I tell you he's upstairs taking a nap as is my husband, coincidentally. Which is a real shame too 'cause my pot roast is all done and ain't no bugger here to eat it. Would you like some?

Why sure, Miss Ann. I could never say no to putting a tasty piece of meat in me.

What a coincidence, neither could I.

The pair move into the dining room where a lovely Norman Rockwell style dinner is laid out with four place settings. The two sit down and eat pot roast and have a casual conversation.

So Greg, did you know that Indians used to rape white women?

Well, gosh no, I didn't Miss Ann.

It's true, as far as I know and as a professional educator who is allowed to work with children of all races, ethnic backgrounds and socio-economic statuses, I would hardly just make up something like that now would I?

No ma'am, that would be effin' crazy.

Exactly. So I understand you have a little Indian in you Greg, is that right?

Why yes'm, but I ain't never raped me no white woman before.

Are you sure? Maybe you did it some night when the moon was full and the red skinned savage inside of you took over. Could you have done it then?

Maybe. I don't know. I don't think so. But I suppose anything is possible.

Uh-huh. Anywho, I've always wanted a little Indian in me, too.

What do you mean?

You know.

Nooooo.... I don't. What?

Yoouuuu knoooooow.

(Thinking long and hard) Oh, I think I know what you mean.


No. Not really.

Do I have to draw you a picture ... you dirty, dirty red skin?

OK, that might help.

Ann scribbles on a napkin turning it this way for a few seconds then turning it and scribbling furiously again. She pauses for a few seconds to appraise the drawing. Scribbles a few more details. Looks down approvingly, then pushes the napkin across the table to Greg. Greg looks down at the napkin. He turns his head to the left and then to the right without seeming to comprehend what he sees. Ann turns the napkin 180 degrees and then Greg's face registers sudden recognition.

Ohhhh. OK. I get it. What's that say?

Slippery when wet.

Greg throws up pot roast in his mouth just a little bit.

Oh God.

And I have to tell you ... the forecast is calling for mostly cloudy skies with a chance for drizzle.

[a bit of a pause]

You see, Greg, one might well ask what a grown, supposedly educated, woman would be doing prattling on about Indians raping white women over a hundred years ago. Well, I often fantasize about getting the shit raped out of me by Indians. It's just a thing I do to jump start the old libido. When you get to be my age, it takes an act of God or a really filthy bi-racial violation fantasy to get the motor running. Is it love? Not so much, but then after 20 years, neither is marriage. But why am I boring you with all this incessant chatter, you filthy savage, when we could be desecrating the sanctity of my living room with our bodily fluids.

Wait, let me get my purity list from my wallet first. There's a bunch of freaky shit on here I'd like to cross off ... if you don't mind?

Mind? I insist. Todd's got one of those. I understand he's already marked off a midget, an amputee's nub and "giving a chick a pearl necklace while thinking about a dude during group sex when you think your parents are asleep upstairs." Which one are you on?

Well, I was hoping to knock out hate fucking a racist and a friend's mother all in one go, but if I could add changing positions without taking it out and A to M then I get a bonus point for doing four things in one go. Two points if you piss on me for a finale.

Done and done!

[bompa chic-a-bomp baaah bomp bah dah for about 5-10 minutes]


Well that was different.

What a learning experience. I guess deep down, we really are all just the same in spite of our obvious and hideous racial differences.

Yeah. Well, thanks for the pot roast. Tell Todd I was here. Bye.

Bye. (aside) Oh you crazy kids. Where's my "hot water bottle?" Todd! Dinner's getting cold!