the mixed-up mind of the misplacedmtnman

CELEBRATE HEROES, NOT PARADE OCCUPIERS

2011-11-17T10:14:00.001-05:00

The Veteran's Day Parade in downtown Columbia was a well-organized and moving display of local law enforcement officers, military personnel and high school ROTC cadets.

Unfortunately, amid the rows of passing troops, vehicles and marching bands, along came a rag-tag group of eight or ten sloppily-dressed, angry-faced, sign-toting protesters pumping their fists and chanting, "We are the 99%!" In the middle of heroes and veterans who bravely serve their community and country, these arrogant malcontents just couldn't resist advertising their completely unrelated cause of class envy.

While no one begrudges these mobs their right to free speech, the 99% of citizens who came out to participate in a celebration of cops and soldiers would have preferred they kept their dumb demonstration over on the State House grounds.

Even the Chick-Fil-A cow had the decency and good sense to pause from promoting the consumption of chicken instead of cheeseburgers to show his respect and appreciation with "high-fives" and "thumbs-ups" to the patriots marching past.

Apparently even cows have more brains than these Occupy losers, these "useful idiots" for the left.

AS THE IMMIGRATION DEBATE HEATS UP, SO DOES FRITO-LAY'S FLAVOR LINE

2011-08-26T11:06:00.007-04:00

Yes, one of the positive results of the growing number of immigrants from countries to our south pouring into America is the noticeable increase in the number of really good Mexican Restaurants, as well as the expansion of Frito-Lay's product lines into hotter, spicier offerings. Say what you will about "jobs being taken away from Americans" and "Emergency Rooms overwhelmed by illegals seeking minor medical care with no insurance" and "all these stinkin' signs written in English and Spanish," one good thing about the Mexican Invasion is the increment in flavorful snack foods that set your mouth on fire.

Just the other day I was traveling in the Southwest, and by "Southwest" I mean the "Gilbert/Outer Lexington" area, and happened upon a little nondescript convenience store where I decided to stop and purchase a soda and a snack of some sort. Due to the fact that there are an abundance of Mexicans that work in the many fields that surround this area, this mini-mart had a plethora of piquant palatables of which I could partake.

I found, for instance, these new varieties of Cheetos and Doritos labeled "FIERY FUSION," which feature the flavor of "Sizzlin' Cayenne and Cheese." They are very spicy and hot, and the burn stays with you for quite a while, which if you are a connoisseur of spicy snacks is a good thing. They also have a flavor much different from the traditional "Flamin' Hot" line for which Frito-Lay is rather famous. Those products are somewhat generically spicy-hot, whereas the "Fiery Fusion" line is more "cheesy-hot." If you are a fan of hot snacks you'll love 'em. If you're not, then you have probably already ceased reading this blathering blog of bullcrap and moved on to something else more entertaining.

There is also the "FLAMAS" line, which is Spanish for "Flames," obviously. This branch of snacks features a heated version of Doritos as well as some twisty corn snacks called "Turbos," which is Spanish for "Turbos." These snacks, or "botanas" as indicated on the "Spanish-first, English-second" packaging, have the contrasting flavors of hot peppers and lime. Mexicans are big on hot peppers and limes, which are apparently prevelant commodities in their part of the world and thus, important ingredients in their style of cuisine. They do have a point, seeing as how Margarita cocktails complement hot salsa and chips rather exquisitely while one is awaiting the arrival of the main course at any given "restaurante de Mexicana."

Hotter and spicier versions of Frito-Lay's corn chips are not the only examples of America slowly turning into another third-world country. I have also spotted Ruffles potato chips bearing the name "Queso Jalapeno," which is Spanish for "questionable jalapeno flavor." These crispy snacks are nothing like a hot version of the good-old-USA-made, Cheddar-Sour Cream Ruffles that you know and love, these taste like Ruffles dipped in spicy Cheez-Whiz, which is pretty good if you like that sort of thing. I'm not so sure, but at least they didn't re-title them "Rufflitos."

PSALM 152

2011-02-11T09:20:00.004-05:00

God of Wonder! God of Awe!
From the pit of destruction you have saved me again;
From the depths of despair you have snatched me once more.
Though I was but scum of this earth,
Too lowly even to be considered human,
Your hands of grace have found me
And raised me up as a mighty eagle
To soar high above my adversaries,
To ride the winds of your empowering Spirit.
Praise you, Magnificent Father,
For your comfort and mercy,
Your bulwark of eternal, unconditional love
When I deserved nothing,
When I was at my worst,
And all hope was lost.

PSALM 151

2011-02-09T21:26:00.003-05:00

My God! No man should endure such pain.
My Lord! No man can survive such torment.
I cry unto you and my enemies surround me,
All the powers of darkness have infested my soul.
My friend has deserted me;
My lover has deceived me,
Now I weep and am mocked by the world.
Rip out my eyes, Lord, eviscerate my heart
So that I may neither see my foe overtake me
Nor feel her blade in my back.
Take away my breath,
Crush my bones back to dust:
I have lost the will to live
In a Hell such as this.....

WHY THE "BIRTHER" ISSUE IS RELEVANT

2011-01-27T11:22:00.004-05:00

If you just read that headline and it caused you to sigh and roll your eyes, you just reinforced my point. The "Birther" issue - whether or not Barack Obama was born in the United States - has become another example of how the left brilliantly manipulates the media and uses their own wrongdoings to disparage and silence their adversaries.

Here's how it works: A candidate must be a legal citizen born in this country to be eligible for the office of president, right? That's the rule. That's the law. Like it or not, every candidate in the history of this country has had to produce a birth certificate and prove their status. No problem. That's why Arnold Schwarzenager can't be president. Well, that and the fact that he is a failed governor of California (pronounced Kah-lee-for-nee-uh).

Then along comes Barack Obama, who apparently views himself as above the law. He says, "Sure, I was born in America. I was born in Hawaii." But when asked to produce a birth certificate he says, "Mmmm...nope! Not gonna do it." Some people, who still care that this country is a land ruled by law, not one ruled by men, stand up and say, "Wait a minute! We have laws here! That's not fair!" Obama, backed-up by left-wing media lapdogs, responds with accusations of racism. These opponents are labeled "Birthers" and defined as people enraged at the idea of a black man being president (half-black, actually). The fact that Obama can't produce a birth certificate is inconsequential. Instead the media's focus becomes "Who are these crazy right-wingers trying to oust our beloved president?"

Every normal, law-abiding citizen in this country has a copy of their birth certificate, or can at least figure out where to go to obtain a copy. Who in this day and age doesn't have access to this basic information? Unless you were born back in the 1800s, it ain't that hard, and there are many instances where this information is required. You know, like to obtain a driver's license, attend school, apply for a marriage license, etc.? Even Cabbage Patch Kids and "Build-a-Bear" stuffed animals have birth certificates for crying out loud!

So what is the problem with Barack Obama's birth certificate? Why can't he pony up like everyone else? Why won't this guy release any of his personal records like every president before him has been required to do? Because he doesn't have to, and you're crazy.

This issue proves without a doubt what a worthless, biased media we have in this country, and what a corrupt organization the Democrat Party has become. However crooked the Republicans might be, the damn Democrats are infinitely worse because they get away with it. Questions aren't asked of them. Rules don't apply to them. Laws aren't enforced on them. Only if you were a lying, cheating, enemy of America would you associate with this group. Only a slimeball of the worst kind would hang out with these people.

The "Birther" issue demonstrates how incredibly dishonest this 44th president really is, and how detached and unaccountable he is to the American people. It illustrates his dictatorial attitude and his disregard for the ways and traditions of this country. It is further evidence that this man deliberately keeps us in turmoil, desiring us to argue amongst ourselves over trivial issues like this while he is busy "fundamentally transforming" the country.

This issue could be settled easily if Obama would simply fork over a birth certificate, even if it was forged, which shouldn't be a difficult thing for him to pull off. But no, Obama and his shills in the media use this issue to marginalize their political opponents, portraying them as "nuts" and "extremists." Obama intentionally fuels this debate by keeping his records hidden and daring anyone to question his word.

Racists, Birthers, Tea-Partiers, Republicans: These are all just pejorative titles given to conservatives in an effort to belittle them and separate them from the dumb-masses who are blindly following the destructive path of this administration. I'm not aware of anyone calling for Obama to step down because of this issue. I haven't seen any bumper stickers declaring: "He's not MY president!" All I hear is sensible people asking questions like: Why don't Democrats have to play by the same rules as everyone else? Why is this president above the law?

But most of all: What the hell has happened to my country?!

DO I NEED I.D. TO JOIN THE L.W.V.?

2011-01-27T08:40:00.008-05:00

After much debate and discussion, the South Carolina House of Representatives approved a measure that would require citizens to present some form of photo identification before voting in an election. Republicans assert the new law would cut down on voting fraud, but Democrats disagree, saying it is unnecessary and will disenfranchise minorities, seniors and those with lower incomes. (In other words, the very groups that the Democrats use all over the country to steal elections.)

The spokeswoman for the left-leaning League of Women Voters says the bill is a waste of time and money since there is little evidence of voter fraud in South Carolina. This is exactly the point: We don't want to become another Chicago. We're not waiting around until the fraud happens, we're enacting pre-emptive measures to ensure it doesn't happen. We all know the Democrat Party is salivating over the possibility of having millions of illegal aliens vote for them. Not requiring any ID at the voting polls is the first step in this direction.

I wonder if the gender-discriminative League of Women Voters wastes the time and money installing security systems in their offices? After all, there is very little evidence anyone is planning to break in.

*Disclaimer: This opinion piece was in no way advocating vandalism, burglary or any other crime against the League of Sissy Cheaters so that the lamestream media could use the incident to blame Sarah Palin and the Tea Party for the violence of deranged leftists.

UNBEATABLE DEFENSE STRATEGY

2011-01-25T08:53:00.009-05:00

I would like to take credit for devising this clever, fool-proof plan, but I can't. I simply observed it over the years being used by others. This is a methodology employed by leftists that ensures they emerge victorious from any and every argument, discussion or debate. It is so brilliant that I have to admire it, especially since it is used over and over yet still remains effective.

STEP ONE:
Engage in any carefree activity you wish. Say anything at all, whatever you feel. Do anything you feel like, no matter how it may affect you or anyone around you. Throw caution to the wind and just be yourself!

STEP TWO:
When your unsuspecting opponent responds with: "Huh?" do it again and increase the severity if possible. For instance, if you just stated: "Gosh, this global warming thing sure is something," your second statement should be something more drastic like: "Polar bears are drowning, you know."

Or perhaps you just emailed someone and wrote: "Will you still love me anyway? Will you still need me when you're victorious? Will you still want me when I've nothing to say? Will you still love me anyway?" When the recipient writes back: "What??!" shoot off another one that says: "Am I your passion, your promise, your end? I say I am, yes I am, YES I AM!" That will muck with their head.

STEP THREE:
Now, your opponent is going to respond using reasoning, logic and facts. Don't worry. This is all part of the plan. He will say, "What are you talking about? Temperatures have been on the decrease since the 1990s! Didn't you hear all those reports about how the information was exaggerated by activist scientists? I can show you a website that documents and disproves all of the lies included in Al Gore's movie. And I read an article on The Drudge Report that documented the increases in the polar bear population in recent years.....because polar bears don't drown! They are capable of swimming up to 60 miles offshore! I researched this claim on the internet and discovered that the cases of drowned polar bears were recorded after a severe storm.....and only constituted a mere handful!"

Whew! Now that's a load of information, but don't concern yourself with any of it. We're going to steamroll right over it in just a second.

In the case of your flirtatious email exchange, your victim will respond saying, "Hey! Are you writing these things to me, or are you quoting Melissa Etheridge song lyrics just for the hell of it? What do you mean by these questions and statements? Please elaborate and engage in an adult conversation with me."

STEP FOUR:
Attack with a vicious strike. Take their argument and twist it, flip it around and throw it back in their face, while you veer off the course of the conversation and onto a "high road." Something like: "Oh! Excuse me for caring about the planet! I didn't realize you harbored such a hatred for defenseless animals!" and stuff like that. Just ignore the facts and focus on emotional platitudes.

As far as your emailing goes, just keep it simple. Fire off a couple of snotty lines like: "Oh, stop over-analyzing everything, Richard. I do not need song lyrics for you to know how I feel about you."

Now please don't laugh! I know this response makes no sense whatsoever, but that's all part of the strategy. Confuse the hell out of them so they drop their defenses. You send him a couple of alluring messages, get him all hot and bothered, then spit cold water in his face. That's beautiful! Now you can relish those feelings of power and superiority you have manufactured in your own mind. How dare that lecherous oaf react to your titillating teases! The very idea!

STEP FIVE:
Now pull back and parry. If you can, cry and seek pity. Pretend you genuinely care about the issue, though what you are actually doing is stealing your opponent's freedom away from them. Say something like: "I think we need to do something to make this world a better place (it's always a home run to insert the words 'for our children' right about here), and you're just standing there opposing me, letting this precious planet die!" Using the phony cause of environmentalism, you can force people to behave in ways that you decide are appropriate. You can limit their ability to make decisions for themselves, and even go so far as to tax them for some made-up, unquantifiable term such as a "carbon footprint."

In your email to Richard, use a vague accusation such as: "Why do you have to make everything so complicated?" See, that rockets the ball right back to his side of the court without any explanation or evidence. You've taken what you started, turned it around and made it an affront on you! Gosh, Richard! What's your problem? Why are you being so difficult? Why don't you just leave the poor girl alone and let her torment you?!

STEP SIX:
At this point your opponent will begin to back down in an effort to preserve civility and harmony. After all, they didn't start this cockamamie argument, nor did they wish to enter into it! They just want to move along and get back to their quiet life. Don't let up. Keep the pressure up. Pretty soon you'll have people sorting their trash, driving tiny electric cars and feeling guilty for existing. They'll accept higher taxation to assuage this guilt, even if ethanol and "green" jobs turn out to be government scams that actually do nothing to "save the planet."

Poor Richard, he's just trying be a friend to this crazy woman and now she's acting like he's violated her in some way. He writes back: "So sorry! I was not trying to complicate things. I was simply asking a couple of questions to help me better understand your feelings. I just wanted to be clear about what you were thinking when you sent those emails. I'm not trying to force you into a relationship or anything." He thinks this will perhaps remedy the situation.

STEP SEVEN:
Launch a second wave of attacks. Now that you have assumed control over your enemy, dictating what kind of cars they can drive, what kind of fuel they can use, what kind of containers they can drink out of and what kind of bags they can use to carry their groceries, push harder and further. Demand that global warming be taught in schools! Enact laws that punish the few remaining who refuse to comply with your ideology. Bankrupt companies! Shut down industries! Control products being manufactured in this country (if there are any left).

See how this works? You take a simple little issue like warm temperatures and grow it into dictatorial control over the whole country. Now you can address other "concerns," such as obesity. Shouldn't the federal government do something about fat people who eat too much? Or how about poor, unfortunate people who have no health insurance because of pre-existing conditions? How can we sit by and continue to allow this travesty to exist? The benevolent federal government must step in and take over this entire industry as well, because they do everything so much more efficiently and sensibly.

And what happens to Richard? Richard gets another snide missive that reads: "Richard, this is not a forum for my feelings. I was just screwing around when I wrote that stuff. If you have a problem with me, talk to me directly." Richard then decides to go offline so that he can knock his head against a brick wall and get the same results, after which he seriously contemplates the advantages of a sex-change operation. He sinks into a miserable depression for two days and one sleepless night, until you call him up and sing, "Hello, best friend!!" and pretend like the whole exchange never even happened.

And because he is a good man who feels love in his heart, Richard will let you slide.....

RED-HOT R-R-R-RUFFLES ROCK!

2011-01-19T15:20:00.006-05:00

There is a reason why this blog is entitled "The Mixed-Up Mind of the misplacedmtnman." I don't focus on one particular issue for too long. I like to mix things up and keep it interesting.....for me. Some days I'm focused on politics, some days I experiment with some fictional material and some days I just feel like writing about something trivial. Take today for instance. Today I made another interesting discovery at my local grocery store that I think is worth mentioning: New Ruffles Molten Hot Wings flavored potato chips.

Now, one reason this topic is relevant to me is because I worked for Frito-Lay back in the 90s when their "Flamin' Hot" series was first introduced on the East coast. Lays, Cheetos, Fritos and Doritos all had their spicy-hot versions, and in recent years I have even found Chester Cheetah's Flamin' Hot Popcorn and Flamin' Hot Funyuns (covered in an earlier post). I love these spicier versions of Frito-Lay's top sellers, and in my opinion no other company makes hot snacks that taste better. Plus, I don't really care what you think.

Never in the history of Frito-Lay have Ruffles ever been offered in a hot version. Instead, Ruffles have always come in rather bland, traditional flavors: Original, Barbecue (BBQ), Cheddar & Sour Cream (CSC) and Sour Cream & Onion (SCO). Up to now, Ruffles have always been marketed for their original function: a strong, ribbed, dipping chip. But with Molten Hot Wings Ruffles, the salty, wavy snack has branched out in wonderful new directions. Now a bold new potato chip loaded with spicy seasonings packed down between all those jagged, undulating ridges brings a whole new flavor experience to the party.

Dipped in Lay's Smooth Ranch Dip, these chips that taste of juicy hot chicken wings are awesome, but a handful right out of the bag are tasty as well. While admittedly they are not bright red and "Flamin' Hot," they do evoke a low-key, slow burning in the mouth and stomach that is pleasantly warm and flavorful. I suggest they are a welcome addition to the Ruffles line (and hopefully not just a "Limited Time Only" flavor).

In addition to Ruffles Molten Hot Wings, another variety called Ruffles Loaded Chili & Cheese is also being introduced. I am sure they are good too. Look for Ruffles on Facebook, click the "Like" button and get a coupon for a free bag!

"CIVILITY" EQUALS CENSORSHIP

2011-01-17T16:44:00.009-05:00

I should have known better. Thumbing through a State paper delivered to me free of charge on Monday, I was reminded once again why I don't subscribe to this moribund medium of misinformation. Out of the five "Letters to the Editor," three of them were sanctimonious, hand-wringing pleas for the end of the "climate of hate," the "vitriolic rhetoric that led to the tragedy in Arizona," the "poisonous rhetoric coming from America's right wing." One letter declared, "As the Messiah of the mindless, [Rush] Limbaugh is as guilty as if he had pulled the trigger himself."

It's almost laughable how these people always refer to conservatives as robotic, mindless followers while they carelessly parrot these liberal lines, but it's pointless to ask them to open their eyes, take their fingers out of their ears and do a little research before they start talking down their noses about a subject of which they are clearly ignorant. Their intellectual superiority forbids it.

Apparently unbeknownst to them, it came out last week that Loughner was not a right-wing talk show listener or a Fox News fan; he was a believer of left-wing conspiracy theory movies. Other than hating George W. Bush, the 22-year-old pothead was apolitical. His animus towards Gabrielle Giffords began in 2007, long before Sarah Palin hit the national scene or the Tea Party formed, but these facts won't change the minds of the fervent letter-writers eager to regurgitate Democrat talking points without question. They never let the truth straighten their political slant, and once again they absolutely cannot allow a crisis to go to waste.

Given the opportunity, liberals will blame, blast and bemoan conservatives without proof or evidence to back their claims, pointing their fingers with condescending derision and malice. When conservatives respond to their false accusations and disprove their claims, then we hear the cries for "civility" and an end to the "climate of hate." In other words, shut up! This is just another tactic of the disingenuous left to silence their opponents when they see they have lost an argument. The manner in which they have attempted to exploit this tragedy for their own political gain is disgusting.

So mockingly label me a "Ditto-head," but I get more current, accurate information from WVOC Talk Radio on any given day than I ever would from The State Newspaper.

CAROLS AND IMITATION INCENDIARY DEVICES

2010-11-29T13:38:00.008-05:00

This past Sunday was Advent Sunday, which means someone at the church I sometimes attend lit the first of five candles on the advent wreath. This actually surprised me, because I didn't think we were allowed to have FIRE in the sanctuary anymore. What were they thinking? Someone could get hurt!

This church was founded in 1913. My grandparents attended worship there throughout their marriage until their deaths. My parents grew up in this church, went to Sunday School together, were married there and are still members today. When I was coming along, this was the church I was raised in. Of all the special occasions, I remember the best services ever were the "Carols and Candles" celebrations. These were special services held late on Christmas Eve during which we sang many traditional Christmas hymns. As a grand finale, the entire congregation would stand and sing "Silent Night" while holding candles. At the second line of the final verse, as we sang "Son of God, love's pure light" everyone in the pews would raise their candle up in the air. Witnessing this massive sea of candlelight, if you weren't in tears by the final "Jesus, Lord at thy birth" then you just didn't understand the meaning of Christmas, Charlie Brown. Go ask Linus to explain it.

Never in the history of my church did this service ever cause a fire. I don't recall anyone burning themselves with the candles, nobody's clothes were accidentally ignited, and other than a little wax dripping on your hand if you weren't careful, the midnight Christmas Eve service was executed perfectly year after year. Everyone packed the pews to participate.

But apparently someone out there now thinks we are a congregation of retards. Some government official, a fire marshall or an insurance company bureaucrat stepped in and said, "JUST HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, YOU PYROS! WE CAN'T HAVE A BUNCH OF JESUS-WORSHIPPING CAROL-SINGERS HANDLING OPEN FLAMES IN A CROWDED BUILDING!"

And now we don't get to hold up the candles anymore. I think it's a shame. As a kid, I remember looking forward to the Christmas Eve service. Besides being an excuse to stay up really late and a rare opportunity to be trusted with a lit candle, this service was incredibly beautiful and moving. The sanctuary would have poinsettias and fresh fruit on every sill of the stained-glass windows, a huge tree stood at the front of the church, the advent wreath was alight and the choir would be decked out in their bright red robes. A kid could really experience God in a setting like that, holding a lit candle all his own and singing "Silent Night."

But no. Somebody so much smarter than everyone else came along and put a stop to this travesty, this foolish and wreckless behavior. We must not endanger ourselves and expose our children to FIRE! Away with the dastardly, perilous candles! God save us from these horrific luminary hazards!

This is what happens when liberals take over things. Because they think they are the most intelligent and caring people that ever existed, they insist on protecting everyone from everything by imposing themselves on every aspect of our lives. It doesn't matter that there has never-ever been a problem or that this has been a tradition for ninety-seven freakin' years, a liberal will step in and piss on everyone's party just because they know better. They are superior beings, and the rest of us incompetent boobs just need to shut up and sit still in our pews, obediently singing the new revised and politically-correct hymns they have provided for us. Sure, the new battery-powered faux candles that you click on and off don't have the same effect, but we're saving the planet here!

"Footprints" is replaced with "Carbon Footprint." And they wonder why membership is dropping off.....

MY LOVE, THE WONDERCUBE

2010-11-19T09:39:00.044-05:00

I love Rubik's cubes. I find them fascinating. When I was a kid I had one of the original 3x3 models: the six-sided, six-colored standard version that everyone had back in the 70s when the game was first invented by Hungarian sculptor and professor Erno Rubik. Since then, over 350 million cubes have sold worldwide, making this the world's top-selling puzzle game of all time. I own over a hundred of them myself.

What I didn't realize until now was that more than just a clever little puzzle intended to tweak the mind and exercise the fingers, the Rubik's cube played a vital role in helping me understand my love life. I know this sounds bizarre, but strangely enough God often uses unusual things to teach us remarkable lessons about life and love. See if you can follow my twisted logic here.

Women are like Rubik's cubes. They are complex and confusing, intricate and multifaceted. They can be tight and difficult to manipulate, or quite loose and prone to fall apart. Many men won't even pick one up and give it a twist; most will at least give it a try. Some can manage to solve one side and find sufficient contentment in that; some can even get two sides to work out and are very proud of themselves. Only a select few will truly master the game and be able to complete the mystery with minimal effort and celerity.

But the woman I love is quite different. This woman is the most befuddling, the most difficult, the most perplexing and frustrating puzzle ever made. She also comes at a very high price. She is the awesomely-unique 7x7 Wondercube: 218 small individual pieces all delicately held together by a sturdy axis. Wonderfully shaped and beautifully colored, everyone wants to hold my Wondercube because after all, she is the smoothest and most complex rotational puzzle game in the world! She blows people's minds! Everyone wants a chance to twist her!

But no one ever wants to solve her.

I can't blame them. Do you know how many possible permutations she has? Just try to fathom 1.95 times ten to the 160th power! That's a number that won't fit on your calculator, bub. That's a number that makes everyone shake their heads and walk away. That's a monumental problem that a normal person with common sense would never get involved with.

But not me. From the moment I first held the Wondercube in my trembling hands and felt its curvaceous pieces sliding so pleasurably and precisely between my fingers, I was insanely obsessed. I couldn't put her down. I couldn't let her go. I had to conquer this conundrum.

Well, as you can imagine, it was a long, hard road. Friends and family pleaded with me, "Just stop messing with that thing! It's driving us crazy!" They were convinced it was an impossible task. Still I labored on, memorizing maneuvers that would accomplish desired moves, learning from mistakes that forced me to start over, and reaching milestones from time to time.

"Look! I moved this piece over to there!" I would cheer.

"Great," my detractors would say and roll their eyes. They were not impressed. They thought I was wasting my time.

At one point I was so angered by the apparent insolvability of this impossible algorithmic nightmare, I actually broke her. I didn't mean to, but I was not being careful, twisted a little too hard and she popped. Three or four pieces flew out and I froze in disbelief. What had I done? I hurt my poor, precious puzzle! I tried to make amends, I hastily tried to jam things back together, but I only succeeded in knocking out more pieces. I was left holding a jumbled mess.

Most people don't think about the inner workings of a Rubik's cube, much less a gorgeous Wondercube. All they notice is the attractive exterior. They think it's just a bunch of square little cubies somehow stuck together in a pretty way, and they don't give the insides much thought. Actually, the guts of a 7x7 Wondercube are incredibly diverse and much more complicated than a simple 3x3. The hundreds of interconnected pieces have to be shaped oddly yet perfectly to allow skillful maneuverability, and specific pieces have to be in specific places in order for the assembly to function properly. One piece out of position leads to disaster, but held together the right way, the Wondercube is an amazing work of animated art to behold. She's the most awesome and addictive puzzle I've ever handled. No other twisty game could ever inspire or satisfy my curiosity to such a high level.

But presently I had a broken cube and a broken heart. How would I ever solve her mysteries? Now I couldn't even play the game, much less win it! My obsession worsened. I was tortured by the memories of her. I cursed God for the very creation of her! Then I would see her, her pieces torn out and lying there like eviscerated entrails, and my heart would break all over again. It was excruciating. The very sight of her crushed me. All I wanted was to hold her like I used to, to feel her spinning happily in my loving hands once again, but I could never make it happen. I had ruined everything, and ruined her. She didn't even want me to touch her.

Then one day, as I was stupidly arguing with God and feeling miserable about our long, stormy relationship, he said to me, "Why don't you just try to put her back together? Trust me." So I tried. I wasn't convinced, but I tried. I didn't think I could do it, but I started looking at the big picture and examining other pieces that were already in place and correctly positioned, and I began to truly appreciate those. From there I continued my intensive study of all her rows and columns, each color and every layer, discovering how beautifully-made her inner ticks and idiosyncrasies really were. I was working diligently to solve my problem, but I was also falling in love with the entire evolutionary process, not just the end goal. I was learning how to fully comprehend and appreciate this incredible masterpiece that God had assembled for me, understanding exactly how she was held together and made to operate, not just the methods of manipulation I employed to move individual tiles on her surface. She was more than beautiful on the outside, but she was magnificent on the inside, brilliantly crafted and fascinating to interact with on multiple inner levels that only I could see and touch.

Eventually I got her back together. I was overjoyed! The feel of her in my hands again was euphoric. All of the fussing and fighting seemed silly now that she was working with me again. How sorry I was for hurting her! I would be more careful from now on.

Well, things were pretty good for a while after that. I focused on treating her delicately and made every effort to be patient and understanding. I took things slowly and enjoyed my education, but my ultimate goal was still looming in the distance. I wanted to solve her!

"Patience," God said from time to time as I grumbled with frustration. "Trust me," he said, and I knew he was right. So I kept praying and twisting, screwing up and starting over, still feeling like this was a puzzle I would never solve. No one would. No one could. She was impossible.

Yet I could not put her down. I could not give up on her. I wanted to, but my heart wouldn't let me. I looked at other puzzles, but they didn't interest me at all. I prayed over and over for God to send me a new, easier puzzle that might somehow take my mind off her, but this was not his plan. So I kept practicing on the one I had, difficult as she was. After all, I already had so much time and effort invested in my Wondercube, I couldn't give up now. No puzzle, no matter how beautiful or challenging, could ever compare to her complicated splendor.

I soon reached another milestone, coming to the harsh realization that it was the vast complexity of my Wondercube that held my attention, inspiring my mind to fire synapses and my heart to pump blood to my extremities. Without her, I would still be living in a boring, non-challenging 3x3 world! Why would I want that? Lots of guys can master 3x3s, but no one had ever completely understood my 7x7 Wondercube. I held on and kept twisting.

But still I could not solve her. Oh, how she vexed me! Sometimes I would lie on my bed, suffering from the pain in my broken heart, and wonder what in the world I was doing wrong. "I love you with all my heart and soul," I would say to her, "but you don't love me back. You won't let me solve you!"

"That's not true!" she would say, getting angry with me. "I do love you, and I've given you the damn instruction booklet but you won't read it!"

"You just want other men to solve you!" I would say, and then feel terrible because this only made her more angry. She turned away from me and withdrew, and my obsession burned within me. I wallowed in self-loathing and depression. I knew she was letting others touch her and it was killing me. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. They would never be able to solve her, not in a million years.

So I bided my time and kept praying, mainly for God to kill me or at least take my love for her away. Neither happened, so I continued studying the instruction manual and memorizing moves. I was unhappy and frustrated, but at least she was still in my life (we had a cute little 2x2 between us).

Finally one day out of the blue I had an epiphany. I was mad as hell because she was torturing me with her indifference and lack of affection. I had her yellow top side solved and was going for the white bottom side when everything came to a halt and I couldn't proceed any further. Her four bottom corners would not spin into position no matter how many times I performed my algorithm. My hands were executing the correct procedure, but I wasn't getting the desired result.

"What am I doing wrong, God?" I pleaded. "Why won't she do what I want her to do?"

"Perhaps you're not looking at her the right way," he suggested. "Look again."

I looked. What was I supposed to see? I twisted the puzzle. One corner in, three out. I twisted some more. Two corners in, two out. More twisting. Now one corner in again, three out!

"I give up!" I shouted. "I'm just going to smash this puzzle and end this whole ordeal!" But then, in the midst of my horrendous conniption fit, I suddenly had a stunning, remarkable thought: What if she truly was an unsolvable puzzle? What if there was absolutely no mathematical solution to her madness? At all. Ever. I looked at her intently. I looked into her, and through her. Then I reasoned: If I learned to love her because of her impossibility, then that in itself would make her solvable for me.

Eureka! I had a new plan! Like a tongue that keeps pushing on a loose tooth to feel the sweet pain, I endeavored to thank God for every negative thought that entered my twisted, troubled mind. "Thank you, Jesus" became my algorithm. The pain reminded me I was still alive and loving her, not completely dead, and I thanked God for that. Pain I can twist through, death I cannot. And besides, she was my pain, my beautiful, life-inspiring pain that God had put in my life to break me and bring me into his will. I just had to turn to him to discover his purpose.

"It's your intellect I respect," she said softly. "Relax, sit back and remember that you own me in a way no one else ever will."

Of course! That was it! When I reassembled the Wondercube, I had put a corner piece in wrong! Of course the puzzle could not be solved! God was right! I was looking at it all wrong! This puzzle had to be solved in an unsolved position! What an idiot I have been! She does love me!

So I popped out the corner and put it back in the correct way, and now I can solve this puzzle anytime I want, over and over again, without all the unproductive drama. Of course, sometimes I forget what I'm doing, lose my place and mess up the process, but I now know how to stop, get my bearings back and start over peacefully. Every once in a while I get a little excited and pop a few pieces out because I'm going too fast and am a little careless, but because I am able to see her as God sees her, he enables me to make the necessary repairs and proceed more slowly and cautiously. I am able to appreciate her just as she is, solved or not. I am able to love her in any state. No one knows the Wondercube better than I do, inside and out, and no one adores her more deeply. I thank God for my perfectly-crafted Wondercube. She is precious in my sight, and feels so right in my hands.

ONE MAN BAND ROCKS THE STATE FAIR

2010-10-30T14:13:00.011-04:00

Hey, can you play an instrument? The guitar? The drums? The harmonica? Maybe the tambourine? Well, if you could that would be pretty cool. If you could play and sing at the same time, that would be even more impressive, wouldn't it?

But only if you could learn to play all those instruments simultaneously, sing pretty good as well, and have the infectious, gregarious personality required to effectively work a tough crowd at a State Fair, only then would you begin to approach the supreme talent and awesome abilities of Paul David, otherwise known by the stage name "Bandaloni." As soon as I laid eyes on this crazy Canadian and his cumbersome contraption, I was instantly mesmerized by his incredible act and friendly demeanor. I am now a proud member of the Bandaloni Fan Club.

I had already decided to skip the State Fair this year because my youngest son and I don't enjoy the rides and I don't need all the extra calories from the corn dogs, but at the last minute my dad offered to take us. I decided what the heck, it will get the kid off the XBOX for one afternoon and I could use a little fresh air myself.

Just after entering the front gates, we were making our way over to the Ellison Building to look at the sand sculpture when we stumbled upon this oddly-dressed individual standing in front of what looked like a giant old-time radio. He had on a lime-green golf shirt, red tie and matching checkerboard cap and socks. He was strapping on his back some sort of drum-shaped steel structure on a frame with heavy-duty backpack straps. Realizing he must be some sort of musical act, we decided to stick around and watch. When my ten-year-old asked how much the apparatus weighed, Bandaloni joked, "About as much as you, little buddy!" This we had to see.

Now, I've seen some interesting musical acts in my time, but none were as amazing and entertaining to watch as this Rube Goldberg conglomeration of instruments being skillfully manipulated by the masterful Bandaloni. Here's how it works: straps connected to his shoes control the percussion pieces. The left shoe controls the bass drum pedal, which is strategically mounted inside the round structure so that it strikes an electronic trigger. The right shoe operates the hi-hat stand protruding from the top of the assembly. A "ching ring" is mounted atop the hi-hat, a tambourine-type instrument commonly used by drummers. A string fastened to the neck of the guitar tugs at a single drumstick that swivels and strikes another trigger that resembles a snare head.

One thing I must note at this point: besides the overall ingenious mechanics of this eclectic instrument, the finesse in which Bandaloni plays it impressed me most of all. I could tell this guy had put his heart and soul into mastering this machine. Operating the percussion section requires him to march around, which adds to the amusement of the lively show. The slick, surreptitious shuffle he dances while playing "Mustang Sally" in particular made me chuckle aloud, and soon had me tapping my toes along with his animated music. But here's the really cool part: marching produces a resounding thump and crash from the bass drum and open hi-hats, but standing still, leaning forward and rocking on the balls of his feet, he can tighten the straps and change the sound to a softer thud and the chick, chick, chick of a closed hi-hat. How incredibly cool is that?

While all this is going on, Bandaloni is effortlessly strumming away on the guitar and alternating between singing and playing the harmonica. Cleverly affixed to the harmonica holder around his neck are two microphones. The one to his left is a standard mike; the one on his right is run through an octave-splitter, which enables Bandaloni to vocalize back-up three-part harmonies whenever necessary.

Now that I have adequately explained how it is all done, I am sure you would like to witness a demonstration of Bandaloni in action. Luckily for you, I was so captivated by this unique performer that I purchased an autographed photo, an audio CD and an all-encompassing, highly-informative DVD. This last souvenir offers behind-the-scenes footage of Bandaloni repairing his equipment in his basement, rehearsing his music in the garage, and loading the gigantic "Vandaloni" that safely transports himself and his equipment all around the country. Not only is Bandaloni the entire band, he is also the sound guy, the roadie, the guitar tech, the drum tech, the driver, the booking agent, etc., etc. This guy can do everything!

So without further unnecessary elaboration, here is a brief clip of Bandaloni rehearsing a new Beatles tune in the garage. The large radio behind him conceals his rack of electronics and amplifier. As you view this, remember that everything you hear is being produced by one guy. There are no overdubs. There are no hidden musicians. There is no rhythm track or drum machine. It's all done live and right before your eyes.

Here you can see the skillful musicianship of Paul David, but his amicable interactions with befuddled onlookers during his street performances are better represented by numerous videos posted on You Tube, this one HERE for starters. There is also an official Bandaloni website you can peruse.

After Bandaloni's set at our State Fair, we hung around to chat with him and let him know how much we enjoyed the show. You never met a more friendly, humble guy. "Where are you heading next?" my dad asked him. "Home!" he said with a heavy sigh. "I've been on the road for five months!"

Hopefully Bandaloni is safely home in Canada by now, enjoying some much-needed rest and relaxation with the wife. But by golly, I hope the South Carolina State Fair is smart enough to hire him to perform next year, because I definitely want to see this guy again. I might even visit the Fair everyday he's there, because Bandaloni alone was well worth the admission price.

"D" STANDS FOR "DELIRIOUS"

2010-10-28T10:28:00.004-04:00

Poor Barry. He still thinks he's so creative and clever. This is what happens to a child who has been coddled his whole life and pumped full of phony self-esteem. He assumes everyone adores him no matter what he does. He just keeps on running his mouth and stumbling over his own idiocy while everyone else in the room fidgets in silent embarrassment for the oblivious juvenile, wishing for his own good he would just shut up and go away.

I'm referring, of course, to the way Obama keeps campaigning in safe states using his pitiful, third-grade analogy about how "Republican" starts with an "R" which stands for "Reverse," whereas "Democrat" starts with a "D" and so on. I mean, I understand that for the good of his party the president must put on a brave front and pretend that the butt-whoopin' about to be delivered next Tuesday doesn't bother him, but the immature arrogance that he continues to display in the face of nationwide opposition is.....well.....embarassing! "D" stands for "DUH!"

I wish I could draw political cartoons, because I have a good one in my mind's eye if I could only sketch it out. The scene is Obama driving a car (representing the country) with a petrified, wide-eyed couple in the back seat (who represent the American people in general). Obama, unaware that the car is about to careen off of a cliff into a gorge (of socialism - or maybe just tyranny), is turned around to the couple and joking condescendingly, "Those Republicans want us to put this thing in 'R'!"

Or better yet, the people could be standing at the side of the road watching skeptically as Obama and a carload of Democrats, liberals and other outright communists happily plunge over the precipice, relishing how smart and brave they are, haughtily shouting, "WE'LL NEVER THROW THIS THING INTO 'R'!!" After the vehicle has crashed and burned, one of the people standing there could say, "Geez, all he had to do was apply the brake and turn the wheel a little."

But no, just like the nerdy loser who doesn't realize what a nerdy loser he is, Obama is still out there for all to see, crying, "Who's with me?! Yeaaaaaaaaah!" and running from the room with no one following him. This president, blinded by his own delusions of grandeur, still thinks he can act like a benevolent dictator and us moronic masses won't notice. He doesn't realize that the only brainless dupes still hanging on his every word are the drones that make up the liberal media.

Them and all his mindless minions out there stealing votes and rigging the voting machines.....

WORDS MEAN THINGS

2010-10-24T11:48:00.004-04:00

Walking along a wooded path with a small troop of Cub Scouts, I listened as one of the adult leaders was speaking to the boys about alligators, snakes and other creatures indigenous to the particular area we strolled through. During the brief discussion, he made reference to a certain rattlesnake that was "poisonous," at which point a second adult leader offered the correction: "venomous."

"What?" the first man asked.

"The correct term is venomous," the second restated. "That particular species of snake is commonly caught and consumed by other animals, birds and even humans, therefore technically it is not poisonous, it is venomous, meaning its bite contains harmful poison. The snake is not poisonous in and of itself, as are certain animals and plants that can cause illness or death if eaten."

"Whatever," the first adult said dismissively, resuming his walk and talk with the boys, but I smiled widely and furtively offered my approval to the second man for his grasp of words and definitions. After all, he was exactly right: a rattlesnake can be cooked and eaten because its flesh is not poisonous, but a bite from the same could very likely be fatal due to the fact that it is a venomous creature. Words mean things. Specify appropriately.

Of course, if you were standing before an unidentified serpent and asked the question "Is it poisonous?" and received a reassuring "No" for an answer, subsequently you would not at all be pleased to hear, sprawled upon the ground after suffering a vicious attack, the unhelpful, condescending clause: "But it is venomous."

So choose your words carefully, taking into consideration context as well as clarity when attempting to convey a thought, for sometimes obvious brevity outweighs verbose specificity. For instance, the notion that this column was a "laborious, trite and asinine attempt at profundity" can be superceded by the simple phrase: "It sucked."

DEAR GEE-OH-PEE

2010-10-11T15:23:00.006-04:00

To Whom It May Concern:

Enclosed please find the pledge slip recently mailed to me by your organization which I have returned to you. As you will soon realize, this envelope does not include the contribution check as per our telephone conversation, so please allow me to explain.

When George Bush got elected in 2000, I was all for the "compassionate conservatism" he campaigned on. I was ready for Republicans to reverse the leftward tilt of the Clinton years and get the country back on track. But despite the handling of the War on Terrorism in the face of constant Democrat opposition, my enthusiasm began to wane as Bush's appeasement to those on the left seemed to increase more and more the longer he was in office.

Needless to say, I found this somewhat irritating. I voted for Republican control of the government based on conservative principles, but instead spending increased, government programs enlarged, and beauracracies expanded. In essence, the Republicans adopted the philosophies of Democrats. The country was heading in the same direction, albeit at a slower pace. By 2004 I was fed up with Bush's compassionate conservatism, but given the liberal alternative, John Kerry, I decided to tough it out and give him four more years.

It was a long and impatient wait.

In 2006 you guys blew it and lost Congress to Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid, which made things worse exponentially. By 2008 I was more than ready for a new face, a new direction, mainly rightwards. Someone fired up and ready to pick up the pace. Instead, you guys gave me John McCain, the media darling famous for reaching across the aisle (in other words, compromising conservatism and surrendering to leftist Dems). Even my lackluster vote for the lovely Sarah Palin wasn't enough to elect old McCain and stop the socialist freight train known as Obamamania.

Now the country is in a horrible state. Now Republicans claim to be the ones who can help us fix this mess.

Well, here's the deal. My contribution check represents your broken promises in the past. Now you know how it feels to expect one thing and get the opposite. I'm not angry, but I am fed up. I'm not deserting you, but this time things are going to be different. This time, you guys do what you've promised and then I'll send in my check. You guys better forget about the "Grand Old Party" and start behaving like a "Great New Party," one that will embrace and enact real conservatism, not some watered-down, wimpy Republicanism. Otherwise, you'll never see another check from me again.

Obama derisively proclaims that "teabaggers" want to return to the policies of the past which is funny, because actually they do. What's wrong with that? Who wants to go forward, when forward is off the cliff of socialism? They want us to return to the past all right - when America was proud and free and prosperous - but that was not during the Bush era. They're thinking farther back, to the Reagan years. And I think that's a good place to start.

So please, you guys, don't blow it again. Don't seize control of Washington and then peter out and become "Democrat-lights" like you did last time. Be bold, be brave and do the things you've promised to do. If you don't, in the eyes of the massive Tea Party Movement, G.O.P. will stand for "Gone Overboard Permanently."

Here's to a successful 2010,

the mpmm

THE EDISTO ISLAND MATTRESS SWING

2010-10-11T15:21:00.013-04:00

Those who have ever vacationed at Edisto Beach will fondly recall a certain unique landmark that can be spotted along SC-174, the singular scenic drive out onto the coastal island. The "Mattress Swing" is what my family has always called it, but some old locals refer to that bend in the road as "Mattress Point."

Admittedly, it's not that big of a deal. It's just an ordinary mattress on a wood frame, suspended by four ropes under a giant live oak tree. But the idea is pretty novel, and looks to be a fun ride. Whenever my family travels to Edisto, we always look for the Mattress Swing, and usually find it occupied by a little kid or two, swaying gently in the warm breeze, while a handful of adults lounge in chairs nearby. Dad always jokes, "You wanna stop and get your picture taken on it?" and the kids all laugh as we speed by, anxious to reach the beach house. The Mattress Swing is always a prominent reminder that "We're Almost There!"

A man named Frank "Tish" Gadsden, whose mother was a direct descendant of the original slaves on the island, lived in a mobile home near this tree and decided to construct the hanging apparatus so he would not have to lie on the ground when he dozed outside in the summertime. It seems his wife would insist upon this arrangement when he was on a drinking binge and neglected to bathe regularly.

The swing was initially an eyesore to some, but when many visitors to Edisto Beach stopped to photograph or draw the local oddity, Tish decided to start charging five bucks for the priviledge. Later the price doubled as the fascination continued.

I visited Edisto Island this past weekend, and was disappointed when I passed the spot where the grand tree stands and saw no Mattress Swing, only four loose ropes dangling on the ground. What happened to the Mattress Swing? Where were the people who used to hang out there, selling produce, playing cards and waving to passers-by?

I got angry when I heard the rumor that local government officials had decided that if Mr. Gadsden wanted to continue his little souvenir photo operation, he'd have to purchase a business license and pay taxes. Isn't that just like those greedy idiots? I thought. They crack down on some poor old guy making a few bucks off of a homemade swing, an unusual art display that became an invaluable advertisement for the town, a beloved landmark that gave the area unique character, and thereby ruin the whole thing for everybody. Way to go, jerks. Hello gubmint - goodbye swing.

But after doing a little research on the internet, I discovered that this may not actually be the case. You see, Mr. Gadsden died on November 12, 2009. Evidently no one has seen fit to take up his legacy and continue his work. That's why there's no "Mattress Swing" anymore. That's why Edisto has lost its landmark.

Either way, it's a shame.

DISSENT VERSUS DISTASTEFULNESS

2010-10-07T08:51:00.029-04:00

The Supreme Court case involving the Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas, caught my attention recently. Sure, it's a landmark case dealing with the First Amendment, a direct challenge to free speech protections and all that, but there's actually an easy, common-sense way to adjudicate this so-called "Right to Say Anything I Want."

Members of this radical religious group think it is their Christian duty to show up at the funerals of American soldiers who have been killed in combat, antagonistically bearing signs with slogans such as "Thank God for Dead Soldiers" and "You're Going to Hell!" Casualties incurred in Iraq and Afghanistan are, as these nut-jobs claim, God's punishment for the United States' sins of homosexuality and abortion.

But as the old adage goes, "Opinions are like buttholes - everybody's got one." I believe the crux of the free speech argument is that although we all have a right to speak - even offensively - no one has the right to scream their free speech into the ears of those who do not wish to listen. You have a right to your own opinion, but others have a right to not give a crap and ignore you. Please get out of my face and leave me alone.

This reminds me of the infamous bumper sticker that liberals rushed out to paste onto the rears of their cars to demonstrate their superior opposition to "Bush's War on Terror" (which they promptly removed when these same military actions were relabeled "Obama's Overseas Contingency Operation"). The sticker, which I always read with a condescending Thurston-Howell-the-Third-voice, said "DISSENT IS PATRIOTIC." At this my silent thought was always, "Yes, but being an anti-American snot-nose is not."

To me there is a difference between offering an intelligent voice of opposition and simply acting like an attention-seeking jerk. That is the discernible "fine line" I hope the Supreme Court will determine has been crossed by these lunatics who think military funerals are the ideal opportunity for staging their insensitive, misguided protests.

You want to preach against homosexuality and abortion? Fine. Preach away in your own pulpit, and let people decide for themselves whether they want to come and listen to you.* Write a letter to the editor, start a newsletter, design a web site or call up talk shows on the radio. But just because this is your stalwart position on these issues does not give you the right to act offensively directly in the face of others trying to avoid you. Hold your rally elsewhere. Nobody is saying you can't carry your controversial signs and act like an imbecilic brat, just do it someplace else. Maybe God does hate fags, as you so loudly proclaim, but I think he dislikes Christians who do mean and hurtful things in His name even more so.

Even the liberally-minded Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg questioned the funeral-protesters' motives, saying, "This is a case of exploiting a private family's grief." Exactly. The key word there is private. You want to protest the military? That's fine, but a private family's funeral service is not the venue, dude.

Now if we could only get Justice Ginsburg to offer a similar opinion concerning detainees at Gitmo. I get the feeling she is only siding against the so-called "Christians" because of their religion. If they converted over to Islam they'd have it made.

But back to my main point: You want to protest the war? March away. Wave your signs. You want to do it by dressing in all pink and camping out on the front door of the President's private residence? Oops, now you've lost me. You have now become a weirdo extremist. You want to raise awareness about the casualties of our entanglements overseas by writing a critical magazine article? Okay. Have at it. You want to include photos of the body bags as they are off-loaded at the airport? Nope. Now you've crossed over the line into schmuckdom. You want to demonstrate your outrage at Islamofascist terrorism? [ding!] Good for you! By burning Korans? [bzzzz!] Bad idea. You want to exercise your First Amendment right to oppose abortion? I wholly support you. You want to accomplish this by holding up englarged graphic images of aborted fetuses? Holy crud, now I'm just going to puke on your shoes.

The issue here is not so much free speech as it is the manner in which that speech is delivered. In the case of the Westboro Wacko Baptists, I would think we could all agree that it isn't their message we wish to silence, it's their attitude that is offensive and hateful. They're not being bold and patriotic, and certainly not godly. They're just being jerks. Anyone with common sense can see that.

This, might I dare venture to add, also applies to the "Ground Zero Mosque" debate: You want to build a mosque? Fine! At Ground Zero? I don't think so, a-hole.
________________________________________________________
*Note: Some preachers can even shout "G.D. America!" and still maintain a sizable congregation (including a future president and First Lady!). Sorry. That was really uncalled-for.

ALLERGIC REACTION, RECOVERY STAGE

2010-09-05T16:01:00.013-04:00

Ben stands in the bathroom, utterly defeated. He has pushed as far as he can, he has avoided the inevitable too long. Now his own body rebels against him. It can allow this foolishness to continue no longer.

Ben clutches the lavatory with both hands, sweat pouring from his temples and running down his flushed cheeks as he recalls and regrets what events from previous days he can. He remembers, as if in a former life, the Newcastle that started it all. He grimaces as this thought triggers volcanic activity in his stomach, his breathing becoming slow and deep in an effort to quell the unrest. Soon fragments of memories flash through his mind like a horrific slide show, fleeting glimpses of a stale pizza on the kitchen counter, an old Tarzan movie he saw on TV, the smiling face of the liquor store clerk, a bottle tipping over and back in quick repetition, the dizzy blur of glass shattering as he stumbles into his desk, and the vague remembrance of lying on the floor at one point, his toes throbbing.

This is hell: a dark, twisting, labyrinthine nightmare he cannot seem to escape. He runs around corner after corner only to find himself back where he started. He gropes in the dark, he bumps into walls, he stumbles over thresholds but never finds an exit.

Ben remembers waking up abruptly, looking at the clock and seeing 7:15. He got up, threw up a bit while taking a shower and came downstairs refreshed, ready to fix himself breakfast, thinking he could just pop back into reality without consequence. After a tumbler of orange juice and vodka to steady himself, he then realized it was PM and not AM. He had lost all concept of time. He stumbled back to bed and decided to drink no more.

Hunched over the bathroom sink, Ben is now ready. He has fortified himself with club soda and a little more orange juice for flavor, and waits for the cleansing process to begin. The poison must be detoxified, which will take several hours, most of the day. Standing there impatiently, it occurs to him that he has not urinated in over twelve hours. His liver and kidneys ache as if there were needles protruding from his back.

Finally relief comes, if he can call it that. Violent projectile vomiting ejects a blast of bubbly liquid from his throat that fizzles and flows down the drain. The first round is orange and plentiful because of the juice, subsequent emissions throughout the day will become clearer and less voluminous until the soda supply is exhausted. The last deposits, bright yellow with bitter bile, will signal the emptiness of his stomach and the end of this stage. In between trips back to the sink, he trembles and sweats profusely, waiting on the next wave. He curses himself and his utter stupidity. He fluctuates between sitting with his head down and pacing around the house, biding his time, praying that death will be avoided one more time. Lying down does no good. This is not a sickness one can simply sleep off. The key is just to not die.....

Two days later, as Ben sat sipping a cup of coffee and feeling healthy again, he struggled to understand why his mind was not content remaining in a normal state. What possessed him to assault himself in such a way when there was so much peace and happiness to live for? It came to him that his Jekyll and Hyde existence was no longer an innocent game. These were not the humorous little hangovers of his early days. These were serious health hazards that would definitely kill him if he continued. These were not the youthful indiscretions of a school boy. These were the suicidal tendencies of an out-of-control alcoholic. Just then a simple but profound concept struck Ben in his heart. He didn't want to be this kind of person anymore. He simply couldn't be. And that was that.

Ben was aware of AA and other available rehab programs, but deep down he knew the only true path to redemption and recovery was spiritual. God can perform many miraculous wonders, and teaching Ben to exist without booze was an easy but impressive one. There were no cumbersome twelve steps or lengthy meetings, just one simple prayer, over and over: "Jesus, save me from myself." God is always there for those who seek Him. God was there for Ben.

The change was incredibly drastic, but most people weren't even aware of it. It wasn't an outward conversion that demanded attention, simply a silent inner resolve that he worked on alone and unnoticed. A relationship with Christ can be like that. Not everyone has to be bombarded with the private revelations of a once tortured soul who has suddenly seen the light. Most people expected Ben to be normal. Most people knew Ben.....as Ken. And he liked it that way.

So ended the dark years for Ben, now known as Ken once again, an anonymous individual touched by the hand of God and saved from the grasp of death. How or why he fell into the darkness in the first place is unimportant. The crucial part of the story is how he emerged victorious, praising God for his mercifulness and forgiveness.

The tale does not end here, however, for the struggle to serve God and live in peace is an ongoing adventure. Living "happily ever after" takes a lot of work. The tribulations never cease. How Ken chooses to deal with them in the future will determine how his life turns out in the end. He is over this temporary illness, but his chronic allergy he will battle the rest of his life.

ALLERGIC REACTION, INFLAMMATORY STAGE

2010-09-01T16:26:00.013-04:00

The room is dark except for a stream of light sneaking beneath the drawn window shade. It is morning in this house, but Ben is not stirring. He lies still as if dead, completely oblivious to the state he is about to wake up in. The bedspread is on the floor, the sheets twisted and damp with sweat. He slumbers unaware, the digits on the clock advancing by the minute, as his body silently scrambles to heal itself from his precarious, self-inflicted abuse. His inner organs struggle desperately to process the poison that has inflicted them, while his brain is switched to "off."

Ben's mind is presently in nowhereland. A black void. A dreamless, vacuous existence in which time passes unbeknownst to it. One second it was cognizant, the next all consciousness instantly evaporated as if it were suddenly preserved via cryonics. The mind has no clue when this may have occurred, or how long it has been since it happened.

Luckily Ben takes precautions. He knows to put himself in a proper location before ingesting the rocket fuel that launches him into this deep space. He will wake up once again in his own bed, in his lonely little room, safe and sound. Of course, he will still have that usual flash of horror when he sits up, feels the ungodly aching and stiffness, and begins to regret what he has done. Fractured memories like random movie clips in quick succession will begin to whir through the projector of his mind as his brain begins to stir, but he will quickly shut it off. He will rise slowly, stagger over to the dresser like one wading into a violent ocean, and stare with bloodshot eyes at the pitiful wretch in the mirror. There he will come across the critically wounded soldier, the bottle drained to less than an inch, and wonder how anyone could possibly consume that much and live.

He's been through this routine before.

Here he is moving now, awakening gradually like one beaten and blackjacked, feeling pains in muscles he never thought he ever used. Rising with great effort and inching across the room, his head swimming with dizziness, he baby-steps around an overturned trash can and sees broken bits of glass strewn across his writing desk by the window. His chair is tipped forward against it. With no memory of the cause of this disturbance, plus no time or energy to waste on it just now, he instead focuses momentarily on a terrific pain in his foot. Two of his toes are black and blue. He must have kicked the bedpost in the dark by accident again. His hip is also unusually sore, like it's not riding in the socket just right. Probably slept on it wrong. There are minor cuts on his right forearm as well, crusty scabs already formed over them. He wonders where those may have come from.

Reaching the dresser, he spies the bottle.

Reasoning irrationally that less than an inch is pointless to save, he pours the last four ounces into his glass for medicinal purposes. He is not thinking clearly. He is struggling to survive. He takes the first two ounces in two strong sips, pauses to feel the burn in his empty stomach, then proceeds before any nausea might arise. He must get this down. To prevent his brain from alerting the nerve centers, he must quickly plunge it back into unconsciousness. Pick up where he left off. Continue the ghastly process.

Anesthesia administered, he now limps over to the closet for some clothes, then decides just to keep on the shorts and sweaty T-shirt he is already wearing. Who is going to care? Who is going to notice? He sits on the bed and delicately pulls socks and shoes over his injured toes. He checks his watch and sees the numbers: nine...three...five. The business day is underway. Stores are open. He hobbles downstairs like an old man and begins searching for his car keys, glancing only briefly at the stale, hardened pizza still sitting on the counter. It doesn't concern him at the moment.

Must have...more medicine...to prevent the inevitable...

Finding the keys he edges out the door and is gone. He will be back shortly with reinforcements. There will be hell to pay tomorrow, or the next day, but today he will not succumb to his conscience. He will not listen to reason. He will not allow himself to think about it. Today he wants to ride the wave, embrace the destruction, and enjoy the obliviousness. He is in a zone - a danger zone - but foolishly he imagines this is all a game he can cheat at and win. The smallest part of him knows he will lose in the end and suffer greatly, but the demons infesting his mind drive him onwards, and cackle with delight when they hear him utter, "Screw it..."

ALLERGIC REACTION, OCCURRENT STAGE

2010-08-10T10:57:00.007-04:00

Ken strolled into the restaurant with little else on his mind besides the internal debate over which he should order, the lasagna or a pizza. The lasagna was very good here, but so was the pizza. Decisions, decisions.

"Table for one?" the cute and perky hostess inquired enthusiastically. She was young, probably a local college student, her medium-length blonde hair pulled back in a taut ponytail. The silver rings on her fingers and the small tattoo on her inner wrist made him cringe. Vandalized beauty.

"Um, no," he replied politely, "I'd like to place an order to go."

"All-righty," she sang cheerfully, "They can help you right over there at the bar." She motioned in that direction with the stack of menus in her hands, smiled cordially and then turned to other incoming customers behind him. He would never cross her mind again. He was sure of that.

The bar.

As Ken approached the high wooden counter, he could smell the beer taps. There were two waitresses moving about, filling pitchers with ice water, filling glasses with tea, rushing off to deliver them. There appeared to be no bartender. No one seemed concerned with his presence. Instead of taking a stool at the bar right away, he decided to visit the Men's Room.

It was a small room with a single toilet and a lavatory, painted a lurid brownish-orange color. Someone had tried to be "artsy" and bold. Ken was not particularly impressed. He looked down and saw that the bowl of the toilet was quite full and threatening to overflow. The tank was hissing like a bomb set to go off. Lovely. He decided he could hold it until he got back home.

Exiting the bathroom, Ken spotted another attractive employee of this fine establishment arranging condiments and tidying up a freshly-vacated table. He approached her with the line he was going to speak already prepared in his head.

"I know six-o'clock on a Saturday night is not the time that you want to hear this..." Oh, no! His heart skipped a beat halfway through his delivery. She thinks I'm some old freak trying to hit on her! Her youthful face showed slight traces of apprehension, but not exactly shock. "...but the toilet in the Men's Room is overflowing. It's not bad. I think it might just need a plunge or two." She relaxed.

Ken raised two fists before his chest and mimed the motion of plunging a toilet just once before he continued on his way. She had smiled and said, "Oh. Okay, thanks," but still seemed unnerved that he had spoken to her. He wondered if she thought it was him who had caused the clog and had come to confess. He went back to the bar area, knowing there was no way to clarify or explain the situation satisfactorily, now regretting having said anything at all.

Back to the bar.

Bottles, bottles, lovely colored bottles. On his stool now, Ken's vision played across the labels of all the liquor bottles standing rigidly at attention, row upon row, proudly posing for inspection beneath the accent lights over the bar. Ahhh, I love you all, but you do not love me, Ken thought, and studied the menu instead. He already knew what he wanted, but he had to have somewhere to focus his eyes until someone helped him...no, waited on him.

"What can I get you?" another sprightly Southern accent finally addressed him, and he absently ordered a pizza, not really seeing her or even hearing his own voice until it said, "...and I'll have a Newcastle while I wait." The sound of the words awoke him with a shudder. He studied her expression cautiously, as if she would deny him this last request, but she did not flinch. She intuitively punched it up on the register without comment. Routine customer. Reasonable order. Nothing out of the ordinary. He smiled and she smiled back as they exchanged payment and change. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The chilled glass of golden-brown ale was set before him. Ken waited until she was gone before he lifted it, lest he seem too eager. Then his hand was grasping the cold beverage, it was tilting to his lips and one, two, three, four, five, six gulps of glorious refreshment were waterfalling down his throat. Gently he replaced the glass on the bar napkin and waited, eyeing other customers around him. No one acknowledged him. No one saw him, or knew he existed. That's the beauty of invisibility, he thought, and brought the glass back up for another siphoning.

All alone in the crowded restaurant, all alone at the crowded bar, Ken's mind began to withdraw, to turn inward. Introspection and self-reflection, or self-preservation? Changes were clicking into place. Thought patterns were rearranging in his brain. Partial plans were coming into view. Grand ideas were swarming into his consciousness, but he suddenly felt content to keep them to himself. He felt independent and strong, lonely but satisfied. He was one with his self.

The Newcastle is drained now, the foamy residue clinging to the sides of the glass and sinking slowly to the bottom. Ken has diminished...but not finished. Something...or someone else is arising. Cold beer has been converted into warm energy, and a new power is anxious...and happy to take over.

If she comes back over here, I will order another one, he was thinking. One more would be perfect. Perfect for what? The question struck him as funny, and he smiled to himself. His judgment was fading, his willpower subdued. He was free to embrace the comfortable bliss and forget the melancholy of reality. Screw you, screw the world. I am in a zone of contentment where you can no longer reach me or hurt me.

The girl did come back, but was holding the pizza that he no longer cared about. She laid the square cardboard box on the bar in front of him and went away again. He placed a dollar bill under his empty glass and carried his dinner out to his car. He drove home by rote, his thoughts solely focused on one argument: Whether he will kill Evan tonight or not. Yes or no? No or yes? He definitely will. He definitely won't. The debate continues on into the house, as he sets the take-out box on the counter and collects a bucket of ice from the fridge to take upstairs. He will not return for the pizza.

Deliberately climbing the stairs, he realizes his abilities to resist have been exhausted and he has resolved to submit. He will worry about it later. The face of the one he loves, the haunting, torturous smile of the one who does not love back, helps him over the threshold and he considers the argument no more. He must kill Evan and kill himself. The ice is cold, his glass is clean and Evan awaits in the closet. He has stood there many weeks awaiting his death.

The closet is opened and there it is, a fifth of Evan Williams Green Label. Eighty-proof bourbon whiskey. How patiently and quietly it has waited here so long. Let the execution begin.

Without thinking about it, without trying to understand the transformation or considering the consequences, he takes down the square bottle and breaks the seal, twisting Evan's sturdy neck with his eyes clamped shut. He savors the bouquet as if it were fine wine rarely enjoyed. He is home where he belongs now, back from a vacation to harsh reality. He checks the fullness of the bottle and chuckles. Brother, you ain't got a chance. He mixes with club soda to prolong the process, but the duration is irrelevant. Time is suspended in hell. Hours and minutes do not matter when you are hopelessly lost in an alternate state.

If you had been there, if you had seen him, you would have known right away, though he would have refused to discuss the subject altogether. He wouldn't have given it a thought. Wouldn't want to. At the time, he would not have been able to distinguish one from the other.

Ken had become Ben once again.

PEDAL ON DOWN TO THIS PARADISE CITY

2010-08-09T07:25:00.031-04:00

Thumbing through this month's issue of Greater Columbia Business Monthly, I came across an interesting little one-page article all about Joe Mellet, the "leader, spokesman and visionary" for a new "Bicycle Only" subdivision in Lexington County. The basic idea is, automobiles would be restricted to parking lots on the periphery of the neighborhood so that only non-motorized vehicles of the two-wheeled sort would be found within the 140-acre development. Service roads for emergency vehicles would of course be provided, but residences in this "high-minded scheme" would be occupied by bicycle enthusiasts only.

On the surface, this sounds like a fantastic idea, doesn't it? An "eco-friendly, car-free community?" Read all about it HERE, and see brief biographies of the advisors, volunteers and associates working on this project. You will surely be impressed, as I was, how many of them care about the environment and recycle as often as possible. One is a "serious Bob Dylan fan." Another heads up a non-profit that promotes "environmental sustainability through a shift to more plant-based food choices." Mmmm-mmm! That sounds tasty!

Now, I don't wish to be mean-spirited here, I'm just poking a little fun at these good people with grand intentions. They mean so well. I am by no means attempting to cast aspersions on anyone's noble concept. I just had a few questions come to mind that seemed to me like better ideas for sit-com scenarios than real-life experiences in a place called Bicycle City.

1.) Your in-laws from Minnesota come to visit for a week. How exactly do you haul them and all their luggage up from the parking lot to your house on the back of your bicycle? Mom and Dad are sure going to be impressed with the lifestyle you are providing for their daughter and grandchildren when they have to hoof it half a mile with their heavy Samsonites.

2.) I suppose transporting groceries or other small purchases could be done with cute little baskets attached to your bicycle, but what if you decide to undertake a little home improvement project and need a few two-by-fours? How does having larger items delivered on a diesel truck via the service road save the delicate planet more than the average guy who zips down to Lowe's in his pickup truck and fetches them himself?

3.) Someone in the family gets hurt or becomes terribly ill. They need to go to the Emergency Room right away. Do you piggy-back them down to the parking lot on your bicycle or wait the hour and forty-five minutes for an ambulance to come? In either case I hope it's not your wife in labor. She's gonna get a little eco-unfriendly if you don't get her to an epidural pretty quick, bub.

4.) Imagine instead of working as an activist or theorist of ecological design, you had a job that required you to dress nice. Maybe you're going to meet with a potential client, one you would really like to impress. You get all dolled up, go to grab the bike in the car.....uh.....bikeport, and suddenly realize it's raining. Not just a shower but pouring. Do you call to cancel the meeting due to inclement weather, or do you call a friend who owns a car to bum a ride? Perhaps he can sneak up the service road to pick you up, but what if one of your high-minded neighbors spots you in the process? The greenie Gladys Kravitz of Bicycle City spies you slipping away in an engine-driven four-wheeler, and soon she has reported you to the homeowner's association and you have instantly become the biggest hypocrite of the neighborhood! What will you have to do as penance to the planet in order to get back in their good graces? You may be excommunicated from the subdivision altogether!

Tune in next week for a very special episode of "Bicycle City."

I don't mean to disparage these people. If they want to develop, live in and maintain an all-bicycle, car-free city, I say that's fine. Have at it. But don't expect everyone to embrace the idea. Everyone needs a religion, and theirs is environmentalism - which is fine - but pardon me if I prefer to drive my car to a different church. Living in a "bicycle only" neighborhood is fine if you are seldom in a hurry, aren't going far and own a lot close to the parking area, but is this lifestyle practical for the typical American family? Should it be? I don't know. The concept is quaint but the actual follow-through seems a little problematic. I tell you what, why don't you throw a big B-Y-O-bicycle barbecue and see how many of us show up? Maybe I'll dust off the old velocipede and pedal on over!

Nah. I'm sorry, but Bicycle City is another example of liberal idealism, and demonstrates how those who consider themselves "progressives" actually prefer to go backwards. That's fine with me, as long as they don't force the rest of us to follow. Sorry, Joe, I don't wanna go.

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #432: "I HAVE MISLAID MY PINKISH-TINTED EYEWEAR"

2010-08-02T13:14:00.013-04:00

When I spot an individual sporting eyewear with particularly thick lenses, I immediately think of the unfavorable appellation "Coke bottle glasses." This is a teasing term many of us have used to describe these ocular aids for those with severe vision impairment.

But is this nomenclature really fair? Is this specific description of eyeglasses designed to help the near-blind see a just and reasonable name for such a necessary resource?

I think not. After all, there are many companies all over the world that manufacture carbonated beverages in glass bottles, so why should the Coca-Cola Company get all of this free publicity? Shouldn't this eyewear be referred to in more generic terms, such as "soda bottle glasses?" That would be more fair to other soft drinks such as Pepsi, Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper. I prefer Diet 7UP myself.

Now, if anyone were actually reading this website and contemplating leaving a comment in response to this ridiculously politically-correct nonsense, perhaps my point would matter. But it doesn't. Nobody gives a flippin' farsighted fart about the issues I raise on this blog, and apparently no one cares to comment either. Be it politics, personal insights or the latest flavor of Chee-tos, I get absolutely no reaction to my rants from anyone. I have no "followers."

This is because I have a mixed-up mind that no one remotely understands, and this is why no one loves me. I am doomed to exist alone and unwanted. If you perhaps stumbled across this blog sometime after my death, and thought maybe reading these postings would in some way help you better understand the person I was in life.....what's the point, a**hole, I'm dead now!

Oh.....sorry. I must have misplaced my rose-colored glasses. Due to the advancement of optical technology, "Coke bottle glasses" are a thing of the past and are an irrelevant topic of discussion anyway. Forget I mentioned it.

GRAPPLING OVER GRAHAM'S GAYNESS

2010-07-30T08:06:00.016-04:00

One of the most ridiculous and mean-spirited insults that Senator Lindsey Graham has had foisted upon him is the charge that he is gay. Now come on, there are numerous issues that we could debate with our representative, there are several questionable votes for which we could criticize him, but his sexual orientation? As with race in this country, I thought we were supposed to have moved past this sort of thing!

I didn't like his vote for Kagan. I think she is a terrible pick for the Supreme Court, and will be worse than Ginsburg for decades to come. But I listened to Graham's reasoning for his vote, and read a couple of opinion pieces supporting his decision, and I reluctantly had to let it slide. I still don't like it, and I think America will suffer terribly as a result of her appointment, but Lindsey was right: elections have consequences and Obama would just find somebody ten times worse anyway. What can you do? Act like a jackass Democrat and make a fool of yourself opposing her, knowing she will get seated anyway, or take the high road and let it go? After all, it's not Lindsey's fault you people elected Obama. This is the hope and change you wanted, right?

I guess certain people aren't satisfied with simple political debate such as this and prefer to resort to giggle-spattered whisperings about Senator Graham's sexual orientation. Lindsey is in his mid-fifties and is not married, therefore he must be gay! Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. I am in my forties and am not married, but that is only because I sucked at the marital racket. Apparently I am impossible to live with, but that doesn't cause me to crave the affections of my fellow man. It just means that I now get to do what I want without interference from a nagging female.

Since Senator Graham has not been spotted out and about town with a woman on his arm, naturally we must assume he is a homosexual. Quite frankly, I think those who are interested in this subject are sick. They, like many viewers of modern television, are obsessed with sex. They have an unhealthy fascination with what other people do naked behind closed doors. Personally I shower, but that's nothing anyone would be interested in seeing, nor really needed to hear about in the first place. But that disgusting thought aside, perhaps Lindsey just doesn't care all that much about marriage or dating. Maybe he is happy being single! Is this possible? Can the twisted, perverted minds among us fathom such a concept? Maybe he is too busy working at his job to worry about hookin' up with a hottie!

I don't know. Lindsey might be gay. But who cares, besides the sex-obsessed, sophomoric simpletons who are always looking for this kind of a scandal? I don't give a rip what turns the guy on - if anything - as long as I don't have to hear about it. It's none of my business, nor do I care for it to be. I am just as uncomfortable around "openly-gay" individuals as I am "openly-heterosexual" people loudly recounting their licentious sexual escapades for all to hear. Can everyone just shut up about this topic and keep to themselves? Whatever happened to modesty?

We are all told that we should be tolerant of people with varying sexual preferences, but the first chance available someone yells, "You're GAY!" and this is supposed to be a horrendous insult that ruins someone's reputation perpetually thereafter. What we are told we should lovingly accept and carefully understand suddenly becomes a major negative that ends someone's career and shames them forever. In reality, this is just another low-blow tactic used to silence those with whom the accuser disagrees.

Hopefully, just like the tiresome old charge of racism, the ridiculous accusation of gayness will soon become an unimportant and empty threat. For once I wish we could forget about sex and return to the real issues for the love of Bill Clinton. None of this debate over sexual preference really matters in the long run. I long for a time when such things were not discussed in public, and the word "faggot" simply meant "a bundle of sticks used to fuel a fire," instead of the hateful, humiliating invective some people use it as now.

Besides, it is much more effective to call someone a liberal or a progressive these days anyway. That's offensive enough. If that doesn't work, try socialist.

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #666: SATANIC SPOUSAL ABUSE INSPIRES DAYLIGHT DRIZZLE?

2010-07-29T13:08:00.012-04:00

There is an unusual type of weather that occurs during the summer months during which precipitation falls while the sun is out and shining bright. Whenever this happens, someone will inevitably say, "Oh! The devil must be beating his wife!"

Now, I don't know who started this saying, or why some people feel compelled to say it when this phenomenon happens, but this statement always causes my mixed-up mind to meditate on this minor matter when I hear it.

First of all, when did the devil get married? This is the first I have heard about him taking a bride. Where in The Bible did this story occur? I must have missed that chapter. Where was the wedding held? Who officiated? Who did he marry? Who was in the wedding party? Who was invited to attend? Exactly what holy vows did these two love birds exchange?

All of these questions seem pertinent to me, because of all the institutions that the devil must despise, I would guess that marriage has to be high up there on his list. Why would the master of evil, the proponent of everything bad and unhappy in the world, be interested in sharing his existence with another, and doing so within the confines of a Christian tradition? Does this make sense?

I would imagine the devil is selfish, mean, unfaithful and wild, and would not be interested in the whole ball-and-chain lifestyle. I would think he would be more of an advocate for infidelity, adultery and fornication. But if this is the case, perhaps his marriage is terribly unhappy, and this is what makes him so ornery and cantankerous. I'm just sayin'. I've been married a couple of times myself.

If the devil is indeed hostile towards his spouse, why only when the sun is out and it is raining? He could beat her at any time, and one would assume that an entity referred to as the prince of darkness and everything horrible would do so thoroughly and often, so why only on the rare occasion when this unique climatological phenomenon occurs? What is the link between this odd weather and the Beelzebubs' situation at home? Why doesn't he beat her every night like the typical abusive husband?

For that matter, what does the devil's abuse towards his supposed marital companion have to do with the weather anyway? Since when is he the cause of rain? Why do some people assume that the devil's behavior is capable of affecting the climate? I thought only God Almighty commanded Heaven and earth! Why give Satan credit for a little precipitation just because the sun is shining? Sure, the devil is blamed for many things bad and unpleasant, but a sun-lighted rain storm should not be one of them! Rain is good! Sunlight is beneficial! Combine these two and many times you will witness one of the most awesome weather conditions ever visible: a rainbow!

So while I do not mind hearing the expressions "The devil made me do it," "Speak of the devil" or "You conniving little devil," I would prefer not to give any undue credit to the evil one downstairs for things that do good and instill life. Rainfall on a sunny day should be thought of as the happy tears of God blessing the earth with warmth and moisture as He looks down on his most beautiful creation and is pleased. The devil's rotten treatment of his other half doesn't have anything to do with it.

Just as a side note: I will also let slide "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" and "Devil With the Blue Dress On" given that they are pretty good musical tunes that do not purport to convey meaningful Biblical messages. Nor am I opposed to "devilled eggs" or "devilled ham," which are culinary terms simply referring to the spiciness of the food, not the religious affiliation.

FOR THOSE WHO DWELL IN MEL'S HELL

2010-07-18T16:31:00.007-04:00

Okay, okay. Let's all have a hearty laugh at the expense of the out-of-control, enraged Mel Gibson. Let's all look down our noses and act offended by his violent and obscenity-laden outbursts during a phone call with his ex, Oksana Grigorieva.

But let me ask you: How beautiful is your wife? How desperately in love with her are you? Could you imagine what it would feel like if this woman you so deeply loved suddenly turned on you, walked away from your relationship and took your child with her? Then, just to add a little acid to the poison, she set you up, recorded a private phone call and humiliated you in front of the whole world?

Oh, no, no, no. You have no idea what it feels like to be betrayed in such a cruel fashion, because you've never been through a divorce. And not just a good-old-fashioned regular divorce. I mean a mean, nasty, no-holds-barred, everything-goes civil war. When you find yourself in the midst of one of those, then come talk to me about the inappropriate behavior of Mel Gibson.

There is one person who is definitely not laughing right now. That would be Alec Baldwin. Remember his angry telephone tirade with his 11-year-old daughter while he was engaged in post-marital warfare with Kim Basinger? The "thoughtless little pig" who wouldn't answer his phone calls? Alec understands Mel's outrage. Alec has been there and felt that. At the time I found it odd how everyone came down on him, but no one mentioned how Ms. Basinger's dirty trick inevitably affected the little girl every time she had to hear her father's hurtful words replayed in the media. Two wrongs don't make a right.

We all get mad. We all say things we regret. But not many of us have those rants recorded and aired on the national news over and over. Don't get me wrong. What these men did was horrible. They should be ashamed, and probably are. These poor women don't deserve such treatment. But until you have been miserably manipulated by a conniving succubus who stabs you in the back and continues to twist the bleeding knife while you are dying inside, don't be so judgemental. You don't know how it feels. You don't understand how much it hurts. These are manly men reacting to what they see as excruciating torture inflicted by a heartless, smiling female. You can't imagine the pain. You can't comprehend the devastation. Your wife still loves you. She would never put you through such an ordeal.

The only thing that can save Mel now is time. He blew it, he got busted and now he's going to pay for it for a long while. As one who has experienced this sort of thing and done my share of screwing up, I can sympathize with Mr. Gibson. I too had my poor heart ripped from my chest and trampled by the woman I adored and worshipped. I did and said things that, thank goodness, went unrecorded. I was insane at the time. My advice for Mel would be to lay off, get a grip and cut your losses. Find a way to deal with this woman in whatever way you can, because there is nothing you can do to change the fact that you two have a kid, and now you have to raise him together yet separately. Just because you two adults are crazy doesn't mean you have to drive your kid crazy, too.

Oh, you might also want to exercise some self-control and lay off the sauce. It couldn't hurt.

YOU GOTTA FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT TO BE WHITE

2010-07-14T11:12:00.004-04:00

Just recently, NAACP president Ben Jealous issued a "challenge" to the Tea Party. He advised them to "expel the bigots and racists in your ranks or take full responsibility for all of their actions." Hmmm. Is it just me, or does anyone else find it hilarious when the leader of an elitist, intolerant, racially-exclusive organization starts lecturing average, diverse American citizens about bigotry? Isn't the NAACP bigoted by definition?

Is all this outrage because racism actually exists in the Tea Party movement, or is it perhaps due to the fact that this grassroots uprising is now threatening the NAACP's liberal agenda, and their stranglehold on the black community? Be honest, Mr. NAACP President, how long have you been jealous? After all, where are all these incidents of racism? The only one I heard about was the case where union thugs (not Tea Party participants) cursed out and beat up a black man for distributing "Don't Tread On Me" flags at a rally. Mr. Jealous never expressed concern about that violence. He never advised the SEIU to "take full responsibility for all of their actions." Of course not. The SEIU is his political ally.

Therefore, I have a little advice for the NAACP: Stop trying to dredge up all this phony racism within the Tea Party. It ain't workin'. It ain't there. Besides, why waste your time fighting with imaginary foes when there is so much real racism out there in the world? Take a look around you, Mr. Jealous! You will find you are bombarded by racially-offensive things! There are blatant occurrences all over!

Take polar bears, for example. They're all white. They have their own exclusive habitat up there at the North Pole. No black bears and no brown bears allowed. What's up with that? Why doesn't the NAACP address this bigotry?

Think about it. There are white blood cells, white collar workers, and White Castle hamburgers. You got white bread, white grapes, white chocolate and Dove white soap. There is whitewater rafting, the Whitewater Development Corporation, the White House and White House apple juice. There's also White Out, white noise, white pepper, white tie dinners, White Lightnin' moonshine, and Evan Williams White Label Bourbon. There is Bing Crosby's "White Christmas," James Cagney's "White Heat" and Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit," not to mention the White Knight of "Alice in Wonderland" fame. There are white-tailed deer, white foxes, whitefish, white whales, whiteflies, white-throated sparrows, white elephant gifts and Betty White. I might also throw in the "blue-collar comedian," Ron White. There are great white sharks, the band Great White, and that other all-white ensemble, Whitesnake. Let me also include white oak, white pine and white cedar trees, as well as the White River of Arkansas, the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the White Cliffs of Dover, the latter being often referenced in film and song. These are but a few of the many racially-offensive items that the NAACP could address.

But no, the NAACP is all over the Tea Party like white on rice, wasting its time trying to manufacture artificial racism, when we all know they are a bunch of phonies. Mind you, I'm not one to whitewash the situation if real racism does occur, but in this case I'm not buying it. I think the NAACP is just desperate to hold on to their power, and they won't stop until everyone of the Caucasian persuasion sends up a white flag of surrender.

God save the red, WHITE and blue from these perpetual race-baiters.....

NEW LTO CHEETOS SHIPPER

2010-07-10T10:53:00.005-04:00

One of the most difficult yet memorable times in my life was those few years that I worked for Frito-Lay. Sure, getting up at four o'clock every morning was tough, and working 60 to 80 hours a week in an unairconditioned truck was grueling to say the least, but I still have many happy memories from those days.

For this reason, I cannot walk into a grocery or convenience store without checking the Frito-Lay section. I love to go see how neat the route guy keeps his shelves, whether he employs proper facing/spacing/lacing protocols, and how many endcaps and displays he maintains in the store. I also love to check to see what new and interesting flavors Frito-Lay has to offer. They are always introducing new "Limited Time Only" flavors that come and go quickly, and I like to sample them all.

Just recently I walked into my corner convenience store and discovered a new stand-alone display: a Cheetos shipper featuring two "LTO" flavors: Cheesy Cheddar BBQ and Cheesy Enchilada. Both of these flavors have been offered before in larger bags in grocery store markets, but this was the first time I had seen these flavors in 99-cent packages.

Now, in case you do not know, or perhaps just because I feel like writing about it, a "shipper" is a pre-packaged display that route salesman are required to "pull" from the warehouse and sell. Normally one would have to build a wire or cardboard display separately and then fill it with product from the truck, but a "shipper" is like a decorated cardboard box with the product already in it that the salesman folds out and sets up quickly with little assembly time required. It is a small, portable and temporary display that sits in the aisle of a store and can be moved around if needed.

"Shippers" are reserved for small items, such as single-serving bags, cookies, crackers, nuts and the like. Large bags require traditional displays to be built, and take a long time to assemble and load. Shippers are a quick drop and bring in fast money for the route guys. A Cheetos shipper is an extra two-dozen bags of product with minimal effort. Pop it open, set it up and there you go. Extra shelf space in no time, and the flashy display generates quick sell-off. Ching, ching, ching. Watch it and weep, Golden Flake. Frito-Lay is king.

Both the Cheetos Cheesy Cheddar BBQ and the Cheesy Enchilda flavors are extremely tasty and highly recommended by the author of this website, although embarking on a career with the infamous snack food company that manufactures them is not. They will work you to death. I'm just sayin'.

MY LATEST OBSESSION: THE 7x7 "DAZZLER"

2010-07-09T11:40:00.018-04:00

I love Rubik's cubes for reasons you would probably not understand. The ability to take something that is totally screwed up and make it right again is something I have never been able to do in my personal life. Hence, my fascination with these puzzles. A mixed-up Rubik's cube is not a problem too great for my mixed-up mind. Too bad nobody is willing to pay money for cube unscramblings, otherwise I might finally establish a career path.

Now, I'm not just talking about that six-colored, six-sided 3x3x3 twisty puzzle from the 1980s. The concept of the Rubik's cube has evolved well beyond that simple mechanism. Thanks to the brilliance of Greek engineer Panagoitis Verdes, the V-Cube company boasts that they have the patented technology that enables them to manufacture puzzles ranging all the way from 2x2 to 11x11. Before you get excited, however, I must tell you they only presently make 5x5s through 7x7s. I have been eagerly awaiting a 9x9 for several years now.

A 7x7 V-Cube is, therefore, the largest Rubik's cube-type puzzle that one can buy, providing one knows where to find one. EBay is one possible alternative, though personally I would recommend just going straight to the V-Cube website and ordering from there. You're not going to save that much money buying V-Cubes off eBay.

My first 7x7, which I purchased two years ago, is quite weathered and worn. Four stickers have come completely off. This tends to happen when you handle a plastic, stickered puzzle too often, and I was in the habit of scrambling and solving mine at least once a day. Sometimes more. My 7x7 has endured a lot of use, and has held up well. On rare occasions the mechanism catches, and a piece or two may snap out (there are 218 pieces altogether). Popping one or two back in is relatively easy, but one time a whole section of cubies exploded into my lap. That time required much patience and skill to reassemble this complex contraption. Despite these minor mishaps, the 7x7 V-Cube is one of the most well-conceived, masterfully-built puzzles I have ever played with and believe me, I have over 100 Rubik's cubes in my collection from all over the world. My V-Cube is my favorite.

But having almost worn out my 7x7, I decided to check the V-Cube website for new products, hoping the 8x8s, 9x9s or 10x10s were now being made. No deal. Not yet. But I did find a slight variation to the original 7x7 puzzle. This is a 7x7 "Dazzler" model. It proclaims to be the only seven-color 7x7 in existence, which isn't surprising seeing as how no other company makes a 7x7!

The seventh color, in addition to yellow, black, orange, red, green and blue, is white. Cleverly the eight corners and six center tiles have been "blanked out." One may think, as I initially did, that this would make the puzzle much easier than a standard 7x7. I won't have to worry about centers or corners! No problem!

Actually it is a problem, because now I have lost all reference points as to where I am on the puzzle. Centers and corners are how you set yourself up to solve a Rubik's cube, and they are the colored markers to guide you along your way. No help here. The corners and centers don't matter, although I always reserve the center tile with the "V" for the black side. From there yellow is opposite black, blue is opposite green and.....oh, well, you don't want to hear all that technical cube enthusiast talk.

The other main difference between this cube and the standard 7x7 is this puzzle features colored plastic cubies with no stickers. This will ensure a much longer life span for this massive twister, which I have begun focusing on much more than my old version. I think I like this new model even better than the previous. It's a more difficult challenge. An excellent mind occupier. A great brain teaser. And Lord knows, it's the only difficult problem I've been able to solve in my life lately.

LIVING IN AN OBAMA WORLD

2010-07-08T11:13:00.021-04:00

I consider myself an avid enthusiast of the English language, and I like to believe that words have definite definitions, but this is not really the case during this "Obama Utopia." Whether I name it "Obatopia" or Utobama,"* this administration seems to have the ability to rewrite the dictionary at will. Words and their meanings are rather topsy-turvy these days, so I have to make that extra effort to keep up. If I'm not paying close attention, I might not realize that "Comprehensive Immigration Reform" actually means "Amnesty for Illegals and Future Votes for Democrats." I'm just sayin'. Liberalspeak can be awfully tricky.

For instance, in the distant past the word "racist" meant "one who hates another because of their skin color." Boy, those were the days. Then the definition evolved into "white persons" (because we all know black people can never be racist). But now "racist" has come to mean "anyone who opposes Obama." Whew! Is that all-encompassing or what? Quite an accomplishment for a man who is only half black.

Now, never mind the fact that race never enters my mind when I express concern about the unemployment rate, "Cap and Trade," or NASA's new mission to help Muslims "feel good" about themselves, I am a RACIST by (the newly-rewritten) definition. If I was a Black Panther who openly and vocally advocated killing white people and their babies, then the Obama Justice Department would find no fault with me. I would be cleared of all charges. It's just that simple. As Walter Cronkite would say, "That's the way it is."

I used to think I believed in "freedom" and "The American Way," but not now. This is just not the case anymore. According to the Obama Administration, "freedom" and "The American Way" mean "massive government control" and "socialized health care." I start uttering words like "individualism" or "free market" and all of a sudden I am a "selfish capitalist oppressor" who "wants the uninsured to die!" It's okay to switch to GEICO to save money on my car insurance, but if I express the idea that maybe my taxes are a bit high, instantly I have declared myself a proud member of the "greedy rich" who doesn't want to pay my "fair share." Of course, if I was a rich liberal who cheated on my taxes and really didn't pay my fair share, I just might be appointed chairman of the powerful Ways and Means Committee, or chosen to run the I.R.S. That's politics in Obatopia.

I think Arizona has the right to pass a state law to enforce a federal law that continues to be ignored by Washington, so that means I am an "anticonstitutionalist." In fact, if I believe in securing the border at all, that makes me a "xenophobic immigrant hater."

I support "terrorism" and "national security risks" - if you go by the current definitions, which are "tea parties" and "concerned American citizens." I am "pro-military" which makes me a "warmonger," and I firmly believe in the second amendment, which to Obama means I am an "antipathetic gun-clinger." I consider myself a Christian and respect the Bible, which by definition means I am a "religious extremist" who is also most probably a "bigoted Muslim basher." Who can tell?

I am "pro-marriage," which makes me a "homophobe," but I never make the mistake of calling a gay person a "heterophobe." These things only go one way. I don't buy into the "global warming" hoax, nor the phony "green jobs" scam, which earns me the titles "flat-earther" and "climate assassin" respectively. I would mention how I feel about abortion, and perhaps quote the infamous liberal bumper sticker "KEEP YOUR LAWS OFF MY BODY," but I'm sure Obamacare will settle that issue in due time. No sense in adding "male chauvinist" to my resume.

Worst of all, I am a frequent listener to talk radio, which makes me an advocate of "hatespeech." Well, call it what you will but I enjoy it, much more than the "lovespeech" of commentators such as Joy Behar, Rosie O'Donnell and Bill Maher. Sorry. That's how I roll. Furthermore, if I in turn express opinions based on what I've heard on the radio, I am immediately labeled an "incendiary, uninformed ditto-head." I actually prefer "Michael Savage myrmidon," but they both mean the same thing: "stupid right-wing robot." I guess I should have followed Obama's advice and gotten my "facts" from the Huffington Post.

So there you have a mere sampling of the civil and sensitive language of the left: not so much political debate as it is simple name-calling, which can be fun once you get the hang of it. I say embrace the silly insults and simply define their true meanings. When I am called a "Nazi neo-con enemy of the state," I just smile and say, "Yes, I am a conservative, but I prefer the phrase 'pre-Obama American.'"

I am also vehemently opposed to roaches, broccoli and Broadway musicals, which I think makes me an "anti-insect, vegetable-hating cultural retard." But I could be wrong.

*pronounced oh-buh-TOE-pee-uh and yoo-TOE-buh-muh.

A CLASS ACT CALLS IT QUITS

2010-06-20T17:30:00.003-04:00

Via Twitter, 24-year-old Amanda Bynes recently announced that she is giving up acting. What a shame. I was introduced to Amanda when my daughter watched The Amanda Show on Nickelodeon. I always thought she was hilarious and quite cute. Now, as you can see, she is a real knock-out.

Amanda starred in the wacky comedy Big Fat Liar among other films, and she was always very good. I think she even had her own sit-com on one of the big networks. She was successful in many ways, but never because of upskirt photos, outlandish behavior or anything like that. She didn't get sent to rehab, she didn't throw up on the sidewalk or do any of the embarrassing things a lot of young actresses do nowadays in an effort to remain a hot topic of the tabloids. Amanda was just good-old, happy-go-lucky Amanda. You gotta love that smile. She had real class. I'm sorry to see her go, but at least she went out with dignity and modesty. I hope she enjoys her private life again, and may the paparazzi never pester her.

THE DREAM THAT IS HER

2010-05-30T12:10:00.000-04:00

It isn't so much a dream as it is just a rerun of a familiar theme that constantly plagues my broken heart. It is a most unpleasant scenario that I am forced to relive over and over. It is my eternal punishment for loving her.

She will be there, as beautiful and as indifferent as ever, and there I am, reaching out to her, begging for contact, never getting a response. Soon I become angry, enraged at her apathy. Desperately I scream curses at her, I break things, I throw myself to the ground, but to no avail. Nothing affects her. She remains cold and unfeeling. She is a shell with no soul.

The scene closes with her walking away with someone else or just disappearing with a heartless smile and a flip of her flowing blonde hair. I am left behind, crushed and empty. I wake up sweating, full of angry tension which devolves into exhausted depression. This is not a nightmare. This is not a dream at all. This is simply a recollection of feelings I have experienced time and time again, and will experience many times again: overwhelming love for someone who will never love back.

She comes in and out of my life, and every time my heart is ruined further as I realize I still love her, but cannot love her. And I can never love any other. So I am damned to this hell, where I must look upon her beauty but never be allowed to indulge in it. Her skin I cannot touch, her lips I cannot kiss and her eyes are blind to me. She is food I can smell but cannot taste, wine I can see but cannot drink.

But, I ultimately understand, it doesn't matter anyway. She is a shell with no soul. I am a fool. She is my dream. That is my reality.
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Note: This piece is a selection from "The Secret Writings of the misplacedmtnman," a hidden blog to which only he has access. Here he has allowed a brief glimpse at the utter nonsense this melancholy moron engages in over on that elusive page, which no one would be interested in reading anyway. But, for your jovial entertainment and open ridicule, this short blurb has been posted on the home blog.

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF BEN

2010-05-29T13:27:00.000-04:00

Ben groaned slightly as he got out of his car, his muscles aching and his bones creaking. He was in a bit of a fog but could still feel a little pain that was the result of his constant assault on his own body. This was nothing a couple of shots couldn't relieve, however, so his mood was positive, almost euphoric. He was lost in a dream state. Decisions on the purchases of the day busied his mind: scotch or gin, bourbon or rum, what do I feel like today? The possibilities excited him. Sweat beaded on his brow.

It was five minutes after nine and the sign on the door had just been flipped around from "Closed" to "Open." Ahh, Ben thought, Right on time.

"Excuse me, sir," said a scruffy voice from behind, and Ben turned to find an older gentleman in a wheelchair. "Are you going in there?"

Ben was not an intellectual, not some brilliant thinker, but he was a pretty good observationalist. Some drunks are. They spend a lot of time sitting around quietly pondering things and watching people, exercising their troubled minds. So this situation that presented itself to him was immediately obvious. No explanation was necessary. This man, bound to his wheelchair, was unable to maneuver up onto the sidewalk and into the liquor store. Apparently this establishment had successfully evaded the laws put into effect by the Americans with Disabilities Act. There was no handicap ramp.

Ben was a hopeless, professional alcoholic but not an angry, uncaring person. Quite the antithesis. Ben was a very emotional, very caring person who felt things much too deeply. Maybe that's why he became a drunk, to numb all the pain and suffering he saw in the world. Or perhaps he just enjoyed the taste. Whatever the case, he was especially touched by this poor man's plight. Because this liquor store was across the street from the Veterans Hospital and this man was wearing one of those baseball caps with some kind of Vietnam-military stuff on it, Ben understood this man deserved respect. He deserved attention and assistance. He at least deserved access to alcohol.

"Are you going in there to get you a bottle of something?" the old man asked again.

"Sure," Ben said with a polite smile, "What can I get for you?" Ben was fully prepared to pay for a pint of whatever his fellow booze enthusiast wanted, even if it meant adjusting the size and scope of his own purchases, but the elderly man was already pulling a twenty dollar bill from his wallet.

"I'd like a fifth of vodka, if you don't mind," the man said, his wrinkled hand trembling slightly as it extended the money. A pleasant smile broke upon his scruffy, unshaven face. "Kinda early for this sort of thing, eh?"

"Yeah, well, I like to avoid the crowds and get here early," Ben quipped, a little routine joke he told himself every morning. "You never know what kind of day you're gonna have, so a little pick-me-up always helps."

"Tell me about it," the man responded, now appearing more haggard than old. "I've got to go over here and deal with this damn VA this morning. Prob'ly waste my whole day. Damn government."

"Yeah, and now people want the government to take over everyone's health care!" Ben remarked, and felt a sudden tinge of regret for making such a political comment. That was last night's bourbon talking. Reign it in. Keep to yourself. Don't be offensive.

But the man took no offense. On the contrary he said, "Those idiots ought to come visit the VA, see how well the government runs a hospital. It's enough to drive a man to..."

"I'm on it," Ben smiled, holding up the twenty as he pulled open the door and stepped inside.

First customer of the day. The little store all to himself. Ben liked this. He preferred these small, off-the-beaten-path joints that were quick and easy to duck in and out of. Get it, got it and go. No time to muck around. At times, acquiring alcohol must be executed like a pit crew. A surgical strike. Bing, bang, bong. Know what you're going to buy beforehand, walk in, grab it, pay and you're gone. Mission accomplished. Otherwise you're going to linger too long and get confused, hypnotised by all the pretty bottles filled with forbidden liquids, and something bad might happen. Your brain will become distracted and lock up. Your mind will play tricks on you. You will begin to shake, sweat and feel paranoid. You might buy the wrong thing, too much or too little, and then you have to double back to another liquor store down the street, regroup, calm down and do it right.

This particular store he calls the "Mexican Liquor Store." That's because a person of obvious Spanish-Latino decent runs the place. He speaks no English. He nods and smiles, scans the bottles with a laser-pointer thing to ring them up and often makes incorrect change. This does not bother Ben. Just sell me the booze. You don't know me, I don't know you, keep the change. This is the extent of our relationship. Smile, thank you, goodbye.

This store used to be the "Gay Liquor Store." That was when "Frank" and "Richard" first opened it. Ben did not know which one was "Frank" and which one was "Richard," but they seemed like nice guys. They were polite and cordial, always wishing him a good afternoon or a great weekend, and Ben always returned pleasantries. The place was decorated with theater posters advertising upcoming plays and there was a colorful rainbow sticker on the glass door. This was "Frank Richard's Beverage Mart." Then one day Ben entered the store and found the Mexican behind the counter. The name of the store never changed, so Ben never figured out whether Frank and Richard sold the store, or if this new guy was just running it for them. As long as the merchandise did not change, Ben didn't really care.

Sauntering up to the vodka section, suddenly Ben was confronted with a dilemma: 750ml, 1 liter, 3.75 liters.....damn metric system! Which one of these is closest to a fifth! Ben was sure he had done this math before, but this doesn't matter to the alcoholic mind. A blank is drawn. Synapses misfire. The cogs creak to a halt.

Sweat was now dripping down his temples. A slight surge of nausea welled in his gut. Ben stood staring at the clear bottles, but nothing would register, only the horrible, invasive feeling that the Mexican was staring at him. Decision, decision. What should he do? He just couldn't think!

Finally it occurred to him to ask the man himself. Ben, feeling really on the spot now, hurried back to the door, stuck his head out and asked the man in the wheelchair which size he preferred.

"Go ahead and get the liter," he said. Ben took care of it and began breathing easily again. Afterwards, Ben handed the man his change and watched him stash the bottle of vodka in a sack he carried on his lap.

"Thank you so much, my good man," the old veteran said, "God bless you."

"No problem at all," Ben said, feeling a sense of loss, not wanting the man to leave, desiring to sit and enjoy drinks with him, to hear incredible stories of adventures this man had surely experienced. "Thank you for your service," he managed awkwardly, and felt kind of stupid for saying it. How cliche. God bless America. But it was what he felt. He was just inept at conveying sincerity.

The old man just nodded and began to steer himself away in his motorized wheelchair, across the parking lot towards the crosswalk to the hospital. Ben watched him for a minute, as if the old man were a friend or relative that was going away. There was a small emptiness in his heart. So many times Ben has come close to connecting with people but never seems to accomplish it. Be it fear or awkwardness or self-consciousness that holds him back, he doesn't know. He can never figure it out. But he doesn't waste too much time worrying about it. Life goes on, even for the anathematized.

Gin, Ben suddenly decided, and strode confidently into the store once again. He clutched the bumpy bottle with a steady hand and placed it gently on the counter.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, as if he had just arrived for the first time. The Mexican, knowing little or no English, smiled blankly. "Better give me a few of these as well," Ben added, setting four random mini bottles of flavored rum beside the gin. Flavors didn't matter. Something tasty for breakfast, Ben thought. The disinterested Mexican rang it all up on the register.

Though the place he lived was less than a mile away, Ben did not wait to empty a couple of the small bottles of rum. The first one he chugged in two gulps upon exiting the parking lot, the second just after the only left-hand turn that was his street. Quickly a great warmness filled his belly. A burning sweetness lingered in his throat. By the time he pulled into the driveway, a soothing lightheadedness had washed over him. His eyes were beginning to focus. His cranial cogs were whirring efficiently. His muscles moved with renewed smoothness. No pain. No memory. No worries. Just another damn day. For someone as sick as Ben, this was his normalcy. For someone in hell, this was his heaven.
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Note: This piece is a tribute to John O'Brien, author of the novel Leaving Las Vegas. Here the mpmm has merely expanded on the life story of Ben, the main character of that book, and attempted to emulate the writing style of Mr. O'Brien.

THE DOUBLE-CROSSED CROSS

2010-05-11T14:03:00.002-04:00

There is a myth that is perpetuated by the news media, Hollywood films, liberal commentators and yes, even our government, that is so completely backwards it would be funny if it were not so destructive to this country. What makes this lie so infuriating is that it is not a misinformed, accidental mischaracterization innocently presented with good intentions, but instead a deliberate attempt to besmirch decent, God-fearing people.

This egregious falsehood, of which all should be aware, is the looming danger of right-wing extremists who want to take over the country and impose their religion on everyone. These gun-toting, Bible-thumping hicks feared by the liberal elite are said to be closed-minded and rooted in hate. They are racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic (fearful of foreigners), epistemophobic (fearful of knowledge).....and they shop at Walmart when they are not watching NASCAR. Everything horrendously politically incorrect.

As President Obama would say, "Let me make this clear." When the left wing of the political spectrum refers to "Christians," this is exactly their opinion of you. Anyone who believes in God, prays to Jesus, trusts in the Gospel or worst of all, might dare share their faith with others! is a vicious threat to them. This is the key. You might not crack open a Bible except for maybe once a month. Or ever. You might only pray on Sundays, or after you did something you feel bad about. You might not even say grace before eating a meal. But if you happen to mention even a minor religious experience or blessing from God to a liberal, you greatly offend them. You might just as well confess to being a member of the KKK, or admit to being a fan of the Jonas Brothers. You're a nut! You're a religious extremist! You actually talk to God and believe He hears you??!!

I know this because I attend a church that is overrun by liberals. I get a clear view of these people all the time. I see how they act and I hear what they say. I understand how these people operate.

During a Sunday School discussion one morning, a woman actually made the following comment concerning the lesson topic, which was "Saved.....or [my denomination]?":

"I don't know!" she said with a scowl, "I'm just uncomfortable with that word 'saved.' It makes me think of people handling snakes and stuff!"

This is the typical attitude of a progressive. They don't mind religion as long as it doesn't affect them spiritually, but as soon as it seeps into their comfort zone of ignorance, they don't like it. They imagine this far-right, invasive threat. This is important to understand, because these people think that they are the most intelligent, open-minded and tolerant among us. They think they are so caring and involved. But they are the opposite. They are empty. They are the most allodoxaphobic (fearful of opinions) and ecclesiophobic (fearful of church) people you will ever meet, so they join a congregation that focuses on non-spiritual issues such as global warming, homelessness, recycling, etc. They don't mind being told that they must separate their trash, drive a Prius or run a Meals-on-Wheels route. But subjects such as salvation? Evangelism? Hey, hey! Let's not start acting like a bunch of Jesus freaks! I don't want to hear all that "fire and brimstone" stuff!

The danger of this "progressive Christian" attitude, which can be summed up by the phrase "Why Can't We All Just Get Along?" is because liberals typically cannot abide anyone who disagrees with them, and it is their opinion that practicing Christians should be censored or completely silenced altogether. "True believers," whom they refer to disparagingly as fundamentalist Christians or the religious right, need to shut up and go away. Their views have no place in this modern, secular society.

Remember Obama declaring that the United States could no longer declare itself a "Christian" nation? Obama is a progressive who claims to be a Christian.

Anyone who has an inkling of a clue what Christianity is all about understands that we, as followers of Christ, are encouraged to share our faith with others. I don't say commanded there because the use of such a verb might frighten the timid who don't understand Biblical direction. I like to think of command more like "I highly suggest you do this for your own good" rather than "do it or else you will immediately die and go to hades."

Anyway, this principal of the Christian faith is constantly being called into question by progressives. They are forever crying "Separation of Church and State!" in order to silence spiritual discussion and to justify removing references to God in public places. It's a wonder churches are still allowed to place crosses on their own spires. Many are forbidden to ring their bells anymore, as you can understand how offensive the sound of ringing church bells is to a liberal.

When you understand that this perversion of the separation clause is a weapon wielded against Christianity specifically, then you begin to comprehend the raging intolerance towards this one faith.

Christians are not encouraged to share their faith in order to recruit more members, increase their numbers and seize power, they do so for their own spiritual health and the spiritual healing of others. But this is the paranoid mindset of the progressive, who constantly fears an army of religious oppressors who will take away his rights to immorality and perhaps cure his ablutophobia (fear of bathing). The illogical conclusion that Christians are this enemy, when there are actual religious zealots all over the globe who murder and overthrow in the name of Islam, is baffling.

The truth is, the crazy Christians that fit the description feared by liberals are so few and far between it's ridiculous. They are outcasts, anomolies and lone wolves who usually end up in jail or get their compound torched by Janet Reno. Actual, normal Christians are good, decent people who would never force their beliefs on anyone. But let me offer an example of someone who would.

Seventy-six years ago a war memorial was erected in the Mojave National Preserve to honor American military veterans who died while serving this country. Just to be completely clear, this was simply a seven-foot, white cross bolted on top of a rock in the middle of a friggin' desert. Nobody except those who deliberately drove out there to see it were subjected to it. It was not in the middle of Times Square, it was not on top of the White House, it was in the "sprawling desert."

Well, you might have already guessed it. Some jackass former park service employee, who is so much more culturally-enlightened than everyone else, cried "Separation! I'm offended! That religious symbol must come down!"

After a lengthy legal battle that went all the way to the Supreme Court, it was decided five to four that the cross could remain. Get over your damn self, stay out of the desert and get a life.

That was two weeks ago. This past Sunday the National Park Service suddenly realized that the "controversial" cross had been stolen. On Tuesday Linda Slater, spokesperson for the park service and genius part-time detective, cleverly surmised possible suspects could range from nefarious scrap metal scavengers to individuals with an interest in the case.

Oh, really?

Here is the real danger in America. Here is a glaring, textbook example of how liberals react when they don't get their way. They simply ignore the majority, break the law and impose their opinions anyway. Screw you! If we can't have the cross removed via the court system, we break in at night and steal it!

The news story is HERE.

And here is a perfect example of how vitally important that sacred "Separation of Church and State" clause is to progressives. Just yesterday Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi encouraged Catholic leaders to "instruct" their parishioners to support immigration reform or, more specifically, amnesty for illegal aliens. "I want you to speak about it from the pulpit," she commanded, "I want you to instruct your....."

.....and then, unable to come up with the word "parishioners" despite being the devout Catholic that she is (What do you call those stupid people sitting on those long, benchy things??), she continued with her detailed marching orders.

"The people, some.....oppose immigration reform, are sitting in those pews, and you have to tell them that this is a manifestation of our living the gospels."

As you can imagine, the scene erupted with shouts of "SEPARATION! SEPARATION!"

Not.

But when asked for clarification, a Pelosi spokesman issued a statement that, after some other namby-pamby, pandering crap, said "...the speaker believes the faith community has played and will continue to play a critical role in our national debate."

So see, liberals have NO PROBLEM WHATSOEVER when they can use their fake churches and their phony religiosity to FORCE THEIR BELIEFS on you, using twisted Biblical concepts, a holier-than-thou, elitist attitude and a coffee-table-sized Family Bible. But YOU, a harmless person of faith who believes in Heaven, Jesus and the power of prayer are THE ENEMY OF THE STATE. You must be silenced. You must be dealt with. You must be eradicated forever.

What progressives don't realize is that you can take away the symbols, you can silence the public debate, you can burn our Bibles, you can beat us down and oppress us, but you cannot remove our faith. You may decide to exterminate us all, but we have Heaven to look forward to.

God save us all from liberalism.....and the true oppressive extremists.....

NEWS ABOUT THE NUDES

2010-05-11T11:09:00.000-04:00

This morning on the television news I was surprised by all the discussion concerning the 2010 Miss USA Pageant. The lamestream media is all in an uproar about some "racy photos" once again (remember the Carrie Prejean outrage last year?).

Relax, people. This is simply another publicity stunt to generate more interest in the contest. Since the Miss USA Pageant does not include a "talent" competition like the Miss America Pageant, the girls participating are judged solely on their physical appearance. Naturally they submit the most revealing, sexy photos they can. That's the whole point of the contest!

Let me put it this way. You can go do a Google search and find as many titillating photographs of these girls your perverted mind could possibly lust over. Here I have featured a "glam shot" of the lovely Miss South Carolina. But don't get too excited. You're not going to find anything more revealing than the giant posters of women in their underwear displayed in the Lingerie section of every Target store in America. I'm just sayin'. The brainless blabbermouths on every cable news channel are just useful idiots for the Miss USA Advertising and Public Relations Department. That's all. Take a cold shower and move on with your life.

In related news, the June issue of Playboy Magazine will feature photos of their 2010 Playmate of the Year in dramatic, anaglyph 3-D! It seems "readership" has been steadily dying off since 2006, and Hefner wanted to do something new and edgy to draw attention to the old rag.

You know, as much as I prefer 3-D women, I still don't think I will opt for the nerdy cardboard glasses with red and blue lenses. I would feel very silly on top of EXTREMELY DISGUSTED WITH MYSELF FOR BEING SUCH A SINNER!!

I'm not a porn kind of guy. I love and respect women. But the reason I was interested in this story was due to the hilarious comments that accompanied it. Here are the funniest ones:

"Are you sure it's not in 34-D?

"Avata-tas!"

"Nice try, Hef, but come back when a subscription nets me a Build a Playboy Bunny kit."

And my favorite (and the one I thought of): "Here's to hoping Scratch and Sniff doesn't make a comeback."

DADDY'S GIRL TAKES ON THE WORLD.....

2010-05-05T09:53:00.000-04:00

It was a long, three-hour ride, and I had been a little nervous that the time would pass slowly and uncomfortably. One of the most painful experiences one will ever endure in life is the realization that your baby girl has grown up and is leaving you. At one point you are king of her world and can do no wrong; the next you are just an awkward embarrassment in front of her friends who needs to be quiet. One day you are "Daddy!" and the next you are "Oh, Dad!" One minute you are the apple of her eye and then suddenly all you get is the rolling of the eyes.

I lost my baby girl much sooner than normal due to divorce. It doesn't matter whose fault it was, it doesn't matter who was the plaintiff and who was the defendant, the bottom line is my baby girl moved away and lived with her mother from the time she was about six years old. I missed a hell of a lot of stuff. Oh, I did my best to keep in touch with her. I called her on the phone as often as possible without being irritating. I exercised my visitation rights to the fullest and had her over every other weekend as prescribed by the court. I visited her school at least once a month to have lunch with her in the cafeteria. I did everything I could to be a good daddy, despite my marital incompetence.

But none of these things prevents the inevitable. Baby girls all grow up. They become little girls, then teenagers and then before you know it.....gulp!.....they start thinking about college. Whoa, Nelly! How did this happen so fast! It seems like only yesterday I was changing her diaper and wiping her nose! Now she has breasts and is shaving her legs and.....where the heck did the time go?   Where is the rewind button!

Some people may find me intrusive or offensive, but when I see a young couple watching their little girl slip down the colorful slide of a McDonald's Playplace, I go up to them, tap them on the shoulder and warn them: "Enjoy her now. She'll grow up faster than you could ever imagine. I remember watching my baby girl wallow in the ball pit like it was yesterday. Now she wants me to look at colleges with her."

College?! How could I have a child old enough to go to college? This can't be happening to me!

But it is. My baby girl is eighteen years old. She has her own car, her own phone. It's like she has this whole other life without me.  But what can a dad do? Nothing. Baby girls have to grow up and they have to live their own lives.

Sitting in a restaurant with my beautiful, grown-up daughter, I was quite relaxed and comfortable. The ride had gone fine. She had filled all the awkward silences with tales of her busy life: issues with mom, dealings with friends, fears of the future, etc., etc.  I knew this was good psychotherapy. She had to get things off her chest and I was glad she felt at ease talking with me. I was not the center of her universe, but I was still in the galaxy. Good old dad.

She had also confessed that she didn't really want to go to this college, but her mother had put her up to it. I confessed that I really didn't want to pay for it, but the decision was up to her. I had only her happiness in mind. Good old dad.

The waiter came over and took our order. I went with the chicken fingers and onion rings which earned me a look of disapproval from my health coach daughter, but she quickly refocused on other matters. A discussion with our handsome young waiter concerning Caesar salads turned into a lengthy, giggle-spattered conversation. A little blushing was involved. Our waiter was overly helpful and very courteous.

While delivering our diet sodas, the random, innocuous question popped up: "So, are you guys tourists? Enjoying sort of a father-daughter vacation?"

Yeah, whatever. Just hold the tomatoes on my salad, will ya?

But it soon became obvious to me what was going on. The waiter was making terrific eye contact with my daughter. Visiting the college, eh? What major are you interested in? Have you considered Nursing? Nursing is an excellent major. That's what I'm taking and I really like it. You should consider Nursing.

Yeah, and you should consider what the Obama Administration is doing to the Health Care System, bud. I thought this to myself. My input in this conversation was not at all necessary. I kept quiet and observed the smiling, the giggling, the blushing. This waiter did not seem to have any other tables.

My salad came with tomatoes. Although I said it was alright, I could just pick them off, the waiter was terribly embarrassed and hurried back to the kitchen. Excessive apologies followed with a fresh, tomato-free salad and extra honey mustard dressing.

How is your steak? Perfect, she says. Delicious. What part of the cow does a filet come from anyway? Another look of embarrassment. He hurries off to find out. I picture him doing a Chris Farley smack on the head behind the kitchen door: "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" He comes back with the answer and casual, delightful conversation ensues. My chicken fingers were pretty good, not that anyone cared.

Waiting for the check, we are approached by the waitress who had been serving the other tables. She is nervous, embarrassed, obviously reluctant to ask my daughter this question: How old are you?

My naive, oblivious daughter comments on this odd inquiry afterwards, and I smile widely at her.

"You don't understand what just happened, do you?" I ask. She shakes her head. Oh, to be young and innocent again. "Our waiter put her up to that! He wanted to know how old you were but was afraid to ask!"

Another one of those "most difficult" experiences fathers with young daughters must endure is when they realize they are indeed attractive to other people. You mean? You think he likes me?! Daddy can say it a million times, but when a strange boy comes out of nowhere and pronounces them beautiful, it finally sets in. Then they become dangerous. Then you've lost them forever.

Walking out of the restaurant, my daughter had come alive again. She was on cloud nine. Someone liked her! Imagine the possibilities! All of her depressing complaints previously shared on our trip suddenly became insignificant. Now she thinks going off to college may be good for her after all!

No, what would be good would be you crawling back into your diaper and giggling when Daddy tickles your toes with his whiskers.....

ANOTHER mpmm TRUE CONFESSION!

2010-05-04T11:05:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make. This is something that I have been hiding for a very long time, and I just feel the need to get it out in the open. I cannot conceal this secret any longer. I have tried to keep this under wraps and have done so successfully for quite a while, but I am ready now to expose myself and get this horrible truth off my chest. I can't carry this burden any further.

This admission comes from a heavy heart, and it is not easy for me to humiliate myself by revealing my problem like this. But it has to be done. This doesn't mean I am going to give it up by any means, but by admitting that I have a problem I will relieve myself of the guilt I have harbored until now. I want to come clean.

I didn't get hooked on this stuff due to a traumatic childhood or anything dramatic like that. I just like the taste of it. Now, I know some will condemn that as a cop-out, but this really is the truth in my case. I absolutely love the taste of this stuff. Nothing else can satisfy me as sufficiently. Sure there are healthier alternatives that one could choose to drink, but I prefer the good old original. I like it and I want it. I don't care what anybody says.

It seems nowadays that popular opinion has turned against this substance, and most people frown against its use. "Don't drink that!" people holler. Well, I know it's not good for me but darn it, I like it! Everyone is always trying to get me off of it, forcing me to partake of inferior substitutes that are better for me, but I rebel. I sneak off to the store and buy it, sometimes gulping a whole bottle down in the parking lot before returning home, pretending I am up to nothing. Sometimes, when no one else is in the house, I will buy a half gallon of the stuff, and engorge myself like a glutton for several days. And I enjoy myself! I do not regret my actions! I am an addict, and I can't be stopped!

So I don't care how damn healthy your stinkin' watery, bluish-tinted skim milk is, I like RED TOP VITAMIN D WHOLE MILK!!! And you can deny me all you want around the house, but I will go out and purchase it for myself and drink it with impunity! Because I like it! And I'm not giving it up!

GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD.....

2010-04-30T11:52:00.000-04:00

Today is going to be another one of those posts that I write but then delete off this website quickly thereafter. I know I am going to regret posting this. But sometimes I just need to vent, and since the rest of the world seems content with ignoring me, I might as well talk to myself on my blog here. I'm the only one who listens anyway.

Today I posted a disturbing "Status" headline on my Facebook page that said

"...is beginning to understand why some people lose their minds, turn against the world and become mass murderers."

Now, I know that is over the top. I know that statement is inflammatory and may offend some people, but it's true. I am beginning to understand why people become old and grouchy and constantly irritated with the world. It's because everything sucks. When one is young and healthy and has their whole life ahead of them, this fact is not noticeable. They still have their hopes and their dreams, and don't realize what a heartless, cruel world this hell-on-earth is. A couple of years into his forties, one begins to see the dark.

Sure, I believe in God and put my trust in Jesus, but there are still all these totally frustrating PEOPLE to deal with on this planet! Forget all the tyrants and corrupt political officials on high, I'm talking about the everyday, average assholes I bump into over and over during my quiet, daily routine.

Here's an example. The other day I was standing at the coffee machines in a convenience store trying to decide whether to purchase the Fat-Free Cappuccino that contains sugar or the Sugar-Free Cappuccino that contains fat, when a young lady approached. Now, I'm not one of these old guys that doesn't know how to act my age. I would never imagine myself so cool and irresistible as to flirt with an attractive young lady in a convenience store. But I am a Southerner and I know my manners, so I stepped back and smiled while motioning for her to go ahead of me. Ladies first.

This little snot, without so much as a grimace, whips up to the machines, makes her selection and walks off without a word. No courteous smile, no polite "Thank You," no acknowledgement whatsoever! It's times like that when I wish I had a gun.

If that were the only negative experience I had to cite I could write it off as an unfortunate, isolated encounter, but this sort of thing happens to me day after day after day! I don't know what the hell I did to deserve this treatment. I don't know what went wrong that caused the whole world to hate me. But it does.

Another example: A good friend, someone I have known for a long time, the very person who basically led me to Christ, hooks up with me on Facebook. "Let's do lunch!" he says. "Great!" I reply, "Name the time and place!"

Well, it's been about six months and he's still ignoring me. Yep. Haven't heard a word. Nobody has time for the miserable old misplacedmtnman. Motherfudge.

It wouldn't be so bad if my punishment only affected me. But it affects those around me as well. My young son has a friend that goes to our church and is in his class at school. For months, months, these two have been begging me to let them get together to play one afternoon. I have tried over and over and over and over, but every time I call, this kid's parents come up with some excuse as to why Junior can't come over. He's on restriction, he got a bad grade, he committed some crime, whatever! Why don't they just quit all the bullcrap and admit the truth:

WE THINK YOU ARE A WEIRDO FREAK AND DON'T WANT OUR CHILD AROUND YOU!

That's fine. Whatever. I know I am an anomaly. I've come to accept that. But after calling them about six hundred times and inviting their kid over, one would think they would return the favor just once and invite my kid over. Not that I'd let him go.

Most recently, I happened to stumble across an old girlfriend on Facebook. Oh, wow! I haven't thought of her in ages! We were pretty hot 'n' heavy back in our day! At one point we even thought about getting married! It would be fun to have a quick chat, and reminisce for a second or two. Let me just dash off a harmless "Friend Request".....

Denied. Rejected. Blocked. Snubbed! She didn't feel it would be appropriate for us to have "Daily Access" to each other.

Look, bitch, I didn't ask to go fumbling through your underwear drawer, I just thought we could communicate briefly on a friendly level! Get over your damn self! God these people piss me off! Who the hell do they think they are?! I noticed she wasn't too high-and-mighty to connect with my former best friend! What's up with that?

God, thank you for instilling in me a severe queasiness at the sight of blood, and a cowardly fear of firearms. That, and the readily availableness of high-proof alcohol, may be the only thing preserving the jerks in this despicable world.

GET 'EM WHILE THEY'RE HOT: CHESTER CHEETAH TURNS UP THE BURN!

2010-04-26T12:17:00.000-04:00

Being a fan of Frito-Lay products, I am always on the lookout for exciting new snack foods to sample and enjoy. And because I have nothing else interesting to write about on this stupid, pointless blog, I might as well mention a recent discovery I made at my local convenience store.

Now, I don't know if it was Frito-Lay that pioneered the "spicy-hot" genre of salty snacks, but it is my opinion that they definitely perfected it. I worked as a route salesman for the company when Flamin' Hot Lays first hit the market, and they immediately began to sell like hotcakes, even though they were actually potato chips.

Soon Flamin' Hot Crunchy Cheetos were introduced, followed by Flamin' Hot Doritos and Flamin' Hot Fritos. Sometime later Chester Cheetah's Flamin' Hot Fries came out, along with Chester Cheetah's Flamin' Hot Popcorn and Munchies Flamin' Hot Snack Mix, a blend of Rold Gold Pretzels, SunChips, Doritos and Cheetos all covered with the signature spicy-hot cheese flavor. Most of these products are still available in selected markets throughout the country, or can be ordered online HERE. Although Flamin' Hot Doritos are no more, that particular brand has numerous hot and spicy flavors to choose from that are comparable.

But just recently I made a very exciting discovery for one who does not have much of a life and gets a thrill out of this sort of thing. Hanging on the Frito-Lay display rack at my corner convenience store were clips filled with two brand new hot and spicy products: Flamin' Hot Cheetos Puffs and Flamin' Hot Funyuns! How ~~cool~~ - I mean - HOT!

I can tell you from experience, both offerings are very good. Definitely repeat-purchase items. I am not a fan of regular Funyuns in particular, but the "Flamin' Hot" variety are quite tasty. The hot Cheetos Puffs are delicious and have a pleasing texture, but will leave a staining red residue all over your fingertips, which is not a terribly good thing when you are trapped in your car, waiting for your child in the elementary school car line with no napkins.

Anyway, that's my piece for today. I didn't intend for it to be mind-blowing or earth-moving. I just felt like writing about the Cheetos, that's all. You can't be intensely profound every day, you know.

DEW YOU CARE ABOUT THIS DEWMOCRACY?

2010-04-23T10:39:00.000-04:00

Last summer the creative minds handling the Mountain Dew brand came up with an impressive promotion called "DEWmocracy," an ad campaign implemented to increase sales and explore new flavors of the infamous citrus soda. Three new variations were introduced: Supernova, a strawberry-melon flavor; Revolution, a berry flavor; and Voltage, a raspberry-citrus flavor. The idea was, online voters would decide which new Dew would become a permanent addition to the Mountain Dew line. On August 17, 2009, Voltage was announced the winner and fans of sugary sodas were overjoyed. I myself voted for Voltage.

For the summer of 2010, a whole new DEWmocracy campaign has been announced. This time the new and interesting candidates are Typhoon, a pink-colored strawberry-pineapple flavor; White Out, a white, smooth citrus flavor; and Distortion, a green-tinted lime flavor. Voting will take place between April 19th and June 14th, with the new winner being released on Labor Day 2010.

Those wishing to participate may go to www.dewmocracy.com and cast their vote. Currently Typhoon and White Out are tied nationally at 37%, with Distortion close behind at 24%. South Carolina is currently going to the Typhoon Party with a strong 40% percentage, while North Carolina, Georgia and Alabama are leaning towards White Out. Peruse the website for up-to-date polling results to see how your favorite flavor is doing.

Good luck to these three new varieties and may the best flavor win. I myself will not be able to participate, as I am only allowed diet sodas. Oh well, I might sneak a sip or two in the name of journalistic integrity to keep myself properly informed. I really don't want to throw my vote away. In any case, I'm sure this will be a fun and successful contest enjoyed by many. Support this DEWmocracy, drink up and vote!

It must be very disheartening for the folks over at Mello Yello to get their butts kicked so bad year after year.....

"WATER" THEY THINKING?

2010-03-24T16:02:00.000-04:00

Well, I just got the word. Vacation Bible School at my church is coming up this June and the theme for the week-long event has been announced:

CLEAN WATER FOR ALL GOD'S CHILDREN

"This curriculum is designed to enable children to understand the importance of clean water for health, and to show them ways to share in the mission of taking clean water to all the children of the world. It also teaches the value of water in our lives and encourages conservative use."

Oh, whatever. Believe me, there won't be anything conservative about these classes, so I am sure there won't be any mention of "Jesus walking on the water," "washing the disciples' feet with water" or "being baptized with water." Don't you worry about that. The message imparted to the lucky youngsters attending my church's summer program will be "How Can We Save Our Planet?!" They will focus on the religion of liberalism: "Global Warming" - - oops, make that "Climate Change."

Why do they even bother calling it "Bible" school, when nothing whatsoever from this text will be discussed? I believe a more accurate title would be "Liberal Indoctrination Classes." This is what happens when progressives take over the church. No wonder membership has dropped off dramatically.

THE SINKING SHIP OF HEALTH CARE "DEFORM"

2010-03-23T11:13:00.014-04:00

Not so long ago I remember hearing Harry Reid quote statistics documenting how many poor, unfortunate people were dying every day because the "historic" health care bill had not been passed. Well, it passed, and now I don't hear much about it. Despite the fact that none of the benefits of this all-inclusive miracle cure have been enacted, I guess all those people stopped dying, knowing help was on the way.

As usual, the left in this country have used the isolated sob stories of a select few to steamroll a massive increase in government control over the rest of us. I don't know why the public keeps falling for this tactic. I don't know why more people don't see that their freedoms and their country are slowly being taken away from them by these progressives.

Here's my take on Health Care Reform for what it's worth, which is exactly what you paid for it. The way I see it, health insurance is like a fleet of lifeboats. There are a lot of people who can be helped by the lifeboats, but there are some individuals still left in the water. Those who got in the lifeboats did not throw the others out, and want with all their hearts to help these poor souls, but what can they do? They were advised to get into a lifeboat and so they did! They took the time to consider the matter, and spent a lot of their hard-earned money to secure themselves a safe spot in advance. Why is it their fault that there are some still left to be saved?

Now, some of those in the water are there because they choose to be, and that's where they wish to remain. They don't care about the lifeboats. That's fine. They're young and healthy and can take care of themselves. But perhaps there are some in the water who did want to get into a lifeboat but for some reason they couldn't. They were distracted by other more pressing concerns, maybe were putting it off for some reason or another, or were prevented from getting in a boat because of other restrictions. These people really need help.

But there are others, many others, who are not even registered passengers and therefore were not even supposed to be on this voyage! Where'd all these stowaways come from? They've been sneaking into boats, taking up space that was intended for legitimate passengers, and now the whole system is in danger of collapsing!

What the Democrats have done to solve this problem is force a ramshackle, completely unaffordable plan down the throats of us all, essentially ordering everyone into the boats, despite the catastrophic results. Instead of devising a plan to call for backup, expand the fleet of lifeboats or perhaps provide some other type of flotation devices, they have commanded everyone to simply rush the boats and jump in.

This, of course, is completely unsustainable, will inevitably sink all the lifeboats and drown everyone, but at least these brilliant politicians have given some "hope" to those in the water that they too might be saved. It was with great pride and humble compassion that they enacted their grandiose plan - despite its many flaws - which they promise will fix everything in due time if everyone will just shut up and tread water for a few more years.

What the Democrats have done is ruin the entire system for everyone, while they stand smiling and congratulating themselves on the deck of the sinking ocean liner, knowing full well that a congressional rescue helicopter will be arriving shortly to whisk them away from the problem below.

DON'T TELL ME WHAT KIND OF DAY TO HAVE

2010-03-23T09:42:00.000-04:00

There is a little matter that I would like to clear up concerning our public school system. This week, as is the case every month, all students will enjoy an abbreviated school day. Elementary and middle school students will get out early, while high school students will come in later than usual. I have no problem with this arrangement.

My problem is with the terminology that is used. Teachers and school officials continue to refer to this shortened schedule as a "Half Day," when this nomenclature is completely mathematically incorrect! If students normally attend school from 7:30 AM until 2:30 PM, this constitutes a seven-hour day. One half of seven is three-and-a-half, which means a "Half Day" would end at eleven o'clock! But "Half Days" don't end at eleven, they end at twelve noon! So technically this is not a "Half Day." It is a "Four-and-a-Half Hour Day" or more precisely, a "0.6428571 Day."

While most people correctly refer to the high school version as a "Late Start," it bugs me that the elementary school staffers will not use the more accurate term "Early Dismissal" instead of "Half Day." One day the students are going to smarten up, do the math, realize they are being held an hour longer than officially declared, and protest by walking out at eleven.

But then again, the way public schools teach math these days, probably not.

I AM MY BROTHER'S KEEPER

2010-03-18T08:21:00.000-04:00

Matt was a bully. He bullied everybody: little kids, big kids, girls. It didn't matter to him. As long as they were defenseless. There really was nothing to like about Matt, which was probably why he was a bully. Nobody liked him. He was a real jerk. If you had a weakness, Matt was sure to exploit it and ridicule you mercilessly. As a result, everyone avoided contact with him if at all possible, which inspired him to bully further, since no one paid him much attention otherwise.

One day I was walking home from school, strolling through the woods on a path that led to my house, when I came upon Matt bullying my best friend. He had him pinned against a tree, his fist held up, as tears ran down my poor friend's face. The moment my friend's frightened eyes met mine, incredible anger swelled within me. A white hot rage boiled in my chest. I had had enough of this pestering bully.

As Matt the Bully turned to see what it was my friend had suddenly spotted, I dropped my school books on the ground and lunged forward.....

Excuse me for just a second. I have something to gripe about, and if you have by chance read this far into this post then you are going to hear it. You know what bugs me? I read a lot of other blogs that people write and I don't get it. They write about doing their laundry or walking around town or baking some double chocolate fudge and I think Who the fudge wants to read this boring tripe?! I mean, I understand a blog is an online diary of sorts but come on! Spice it up a bit! Get creative! Make it funny or horrific.....or.....anything! Lie, for heaven's sake!

Then, at the other extreme, there are the ones who compose so deeply that I don't even know what the heck they are talking about! They write using metaphors and weird words that most people wouldn't use regularly. They write indistinguishable poetry like:

THE WIND ANIMATES

Grass ripples
Leaves dart around
Bushes jiggle
And trees dance and sway...

Which I find much more interesting
Than any man-made structure

Unless it's being blown up or torn down with a crane...

Okay, seriously. That was something I just made up, and I actually understand it and like it. Other people's poetry is much harder to understand. I don't really care for it. If I can't catch the meaning reasonably quickly, I just move on. There's a fine line between "deep and creative" and "unintelligible bullcrap." Get over yourself.

I guess the thing that really irritates me is the comments. Oh, they get tons of 'em! Ten, twelve, fifteen comments that are gushing with admiration for the astounding profundity of the author. "This was such a thought-provoking post," they write. "This piece really touched me deeply." Whatever! All I see is a glaring typo right in the middle!

I'll tell you right now, I'm not here to "touch" people. Get the hell away. I don't need your loving comments. I've suffered through divorce twice, I can handle rejection. I'm used to it. I enjoy being ignored. I'm not going to "tag" you, "tweet" you or "poke" you to get you to read my blog. Take it or leave it. I write this stuff for me, not you.

But my main point is, on this blog you are not going to read flowery, spiritually-uplifting paragraphs that encourage and inspire. I can't stand that crap. This blog reflects real life, which involves sarcasm, pain, ridicule and a little 86 proof. If you were truly my friend, you would understand that.

The fact of the matter is, when I dove at Matt, he dodged and I missed, and he subsequently beat the snot out of me and my friend. But I learned something very important that day. I was a good person for coming to the aid of my friend, and for enduring the same pommeling he received. I did not walk away and forsake him. My best friend, whatever his name was, could rest assured that I would always be there for him. No matter what. Unfortunately he later moved to Charlotte and we lost touch. I think he's married now and has a kid.

Anyway, Matt would one day end up in prison, and be gang-raped by men much larger and more evil than himself. His days of picking on those less powerful would come to a sudden, painful end. And I do mean end. Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Some matters can be left to God. It's not all up to us. "Everything works out in the end, even for those who are not very good at sounding pious while quoting Bible verses," (Ecclesiotomous 14:10).

Sorry. I am laughing because every bit of this was made up. Total bullhockey. Completely out of nowhere. I apologize. There was really no point to this post. I was simply trying to be profound.....

THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED

2010-03-16T09:03:00.002-04:00

Most people are shocked and seem to get a little upset with me when I tell them that I don't play the drums anymore. So what? I'm sorry, but drums are no longer the main focus of my life. That's just the hard truth. I still like the drums, I still enjoy watching someone else playing them every so often, but my time behind the kit is over. I've moved on. Deal with it.

In fact, it seems I listen to less and less music these days. There are reasons why this is so, which I will lay out succinctly in this piece for my own benefit. Please feel free to not comment.

1.) Age. I am older these days. I have work, women and children, and the state of the union to think about. We have an out-of-control government attempting to seize all of our God-given liberty in this country, which you would know about if you turned off the music and paid attention.

2.) Divorce. I've been through it twice, which means just about any song that I hear on the radio, in church or in public in general will very likely remind me of something from my past relationships. Though love may be a pleasant subject for you, an overly-nostalgic sentimentalist like myself can become hopelessly depressed at the very sound of music, which will then require high-proof liquid medication in disturbing amounts.

3.) Medium changes. I had all the music I ever needed when cassette tapes came along and made large, round record albums obsolete. Then, when my cassette tape collection exceeded the slotted filing system I utilized, they invented compact discs. Now that my CD collection has swelled to a satisfactory size, they've come out with this iPod thing - mp3s and mp4s - and dammit, I don't care how many songs you can cram on that little thing! I want my record albums back!

This is the main reason I have lost interest in music. Pardon the "old timer" routine, but in my day we had to ride our bikes to the mall, go to a record store and thumb through the record albums to find what we wanted! It took effort, which was rewarding in the end. We might go all the way up there and find out they were sold out of KISS Alive! You might have to buy Frampton Comes Alive instead, and there's a distinct difference.

I am also disappointed that the glorious art of album covers has been lost. Remember how important cover art was? How long did I sit and study the cardboard sleeves of Rock and Roll Over, Flirtin' With Disaster and other albums emblazoned with elaborate artwork? How many hours did I spend reading all the enclosed materials included in KISS albums? How many Dio albums did I not buy because the album covers frightened me and made me think I would fall under the spell of Satanism if I listened to them? How many rotations did I log on the spinning wheel of Led Zeppelin III? How much did it cost to produce that intricate masterpiece?

Yeah, nowadays no one cares about album covers. Now you just go online and download your music right to the iPod. Eh. No big deal. To me, music has lost its charm to a certain extent because of this. Sure, a good toe-tappin' number is cool, but I long for the days when album collections were large, delicate works of art that you could closely examine for extended periods of time. There was something for you to hold, look at and study. There was plenty of stuff to read on that record sleeve. Modern music has lost that novelty. Now you go "Google" the information if you want it. Now you carry around that whole music library on one tiny little electronic device.

In my day you also had to be knowledgeable about turntables, record needles and the proper care of albums. "Hold it by the edges!" I remember my father telling me. Records scratched easily, could be completely ruined if misused, and would warp or melt if not stored correctly. I have a vivid memory of a girl breaking up with me, and me smashing the record she had given me.

Damn you! I shall forever destroy all memory of this broken union! I was thinking as the brittle, plastic disc shattered like my poor, broken heart, and little black shards rained like my dripping tears all over my bedroom floor. I was a little over-dramatic back then, too. I never liked Prince anyway.

Have you ever tried to break a compact disc? Not as effective. Not the same experience. The best you can do is maybe deface it with a lighter or scratch it across some concrete, which is not nearly as satisfying. It's kind of like "slamming the phone down" when you're angry. It doesn't work with modern cell phones:

"I hate you!" (WHAM!!) versus "I hate you!" (beep.)

Nowadays people are less careful with their music, because like everything else it has become disposable. Ruined that disc? Burn another one. Don't like that song? Delete it and download a different one. Lost your whole music collection in a fire? Oh well. Buy another iPod and spend a few minutes downloading it again. No prob.

There's no sense of value. There's no satisfaction of owning something important. Most kids don't even bother putting their discs in the sleeves anymore. They don't have to. It's not all that necessary. Sometimes they don't even label them!

I go and I look in my closet, where I have stored there over a thousand compact discs of half-hour, old-time radio shows (another reason I don't listen to music). They are all in individual plastic jewel cases, neatly labeled and organized alphabetically by show title in easily-accessible drawers. More than once I have thought, I could put all these on an iPod, get rid of all these cumbersome discs and filing cabinets and have it all at my fingertips!

But there is something more fulfilling about having all the discs there in my closet to look at and admire. There is something more satisfying in being able to see this grand collection I have assembled. It is more rewarding to me to be able to reach into this vast assortment of selections with my hands and find the episode for which I am searching, rather than simply scroll through a menu on a little screen with my thumb. I would rather have a large library to riffle through than a small electronic device that I would probably lose.

THE ONLY REASON I LIKE MIKE

2010-03-15T11:02:00.000-04:00

I just want to point out one thing about Michael Jackson. A lot of people continue to ridicule this poor guy because of his legal problems, drug use, issues with little boys and odd things that happened to his face and skin color over the years, so I would just like to offer one positive fact about him. My mama always said, "If you can't say something nice about somebody then don't say anything at all," so I would like to admit the one little thing about the "King of Pop" that I find interesting.

Yes, this unfortunate soul was cursed with horrendous success and it obviously destroyed him psychologically, driving him into a madness searching for the childhood he was denied. Why else would you put up a ferris wheel in your backyard and speak in a little boy's voice your whole life? The guy definitely had problems, and ever since "Thriller" he has totally creeped me out. I have been known to say that if I saw Michael Jackson walking down the street (assuming he was not surrounded by a sizeable entourage) that I would take my children by the hand and cross to the other side. I wouldn't want to get anywhere near him. He's scary enough on TV.

But there was one redeeming factor about Michael Jackson of which a lot of people are not aware, and so that is why I wasted this time writing this: Michael Jackson was a big Three Stooges fan. Did you not know this? He most certainly was! This is why he liked to invite groups of children over to his ranch and have huge pie fights! He loved the comedy of The Three Stooges! How many of us, secretly in the back of our minds, have not toyed with the thought of how awesome it would be to engage in a massive food fight like the ones featured in the films of Moe, Larry and Curly?!

I also discovered just recently that Michael Jackson even had a camper decorated with artwork of the famous trio. This vehicle he used to transport all of his guests around the Neverland Ranch. Isn't that awesome? Wouldn't you like to cruise around in a cool custom job like this, providing it had been properly cleaned and sterilized and Mr. Jackson wasn't actually with you at the time? I wonder if they plan to auction this thing off now that he has passed on? Some wealthy Stooge enthusiast would probably be quite interested in it. It would be great for traveling and tailgating if you're into that sort of thing.

So there you have it: Something nice to say about Michael Jackson. The next time you hear someone making disparaging remarks and telling rude jokes about this deceased pop star, you can throw in this tidbit of information to quell the ridicule. Because aren't we all just a little tired of hearing about this troubled fellow at this point? Can't we just move along and pick on somebody else? Thank you. I would appreciate it.

"EL SABOR DEL PERU"

2010-03-08T10:18:00.000-05:00

Like many Americans, I have a fascination with carbonated beverages. I love 'em. One of my favorite vacations was a trip my family took to Atlanta, Georgia, where we visited the World of Coca-Cola, formerly known as the Coca-Cola Museum. What's so great about it? Rooms full of nostalgic memorabilia, meeting the Coca-Cola polar bear, a 3-D movie and a sampling room where you can taste all the products made by the Coca-Cola Company to your heart's content! What more could you ask for?! It's a soda junkie's dream come true!

This doesn't just include Coke, Sprite and Mello Yello. No! Remember Coca-Cola is a worldwide operation. They make and sell stuff all over the globe that you never even heard of!

Take, for instance, Inca Kola. Never heard of it, have you? Of course not, unless you've spent some time in Peru. In South America, Inca Kola is the bomb! Peruvians like this soda more than Coke! Coca-Cola, that is. I'm not talking about the other stuff.

Inca Kola is a cream soda-like beverage with a really cool "electric pee" color and a flavor that hints of banana bubblegum. No kiddin'. It's sweet and fruity, but not as sugary as your average American soda. I know this because I sampled some Inca Kola at the World of Coca-Cola, along with many other unique foreign beverages.

Just recently I traveled to Charlotte, North Carolina, just over the South Carolina border, to visit a friend. Yes, believe it or not, I do apparently have a friend. Two actually, but that's beside the point. While in Charlotte we browsed around this large market just outside the Carowinds property where numerous Mexican and South American shops can be found. Everything from clothing to jewelry to food items can be purchased there.

In one of the little grocery stores I spotted some two liters of Inca Kola and got very excited. "Inca Kola!" I exclaimed, "The Golden Kola!"

My friends just stared at me oddly as they so often find it necessary to do, and inched away so that no one would associate them with the nutjob in the soda aisle. I hesitated near the golden bottles, not wanting to buy a whole two-liter of the stuff. I'm supposed to avoid sugary things. This doesn't mean I avoid sugar religiously, but I like to steer clear if I can.

That's when I spotted the individual cans in a cooler. Awesome! Soon I had in my possession two chilled 12-ounce containers of tasty Inca Kola to take home and enjoy. Nobody cared, especially not the non-English-speaking proprietor of the store, but I experienced a few brief moments of happiness. I take what I can get. I don't care what you think.

Now if I could just get some Diet Inca Kola made with Splenda, then I would be satisfied. Unfortunately, they don't make it.

YOU KNOW URINE TROUBLE WHEN.....

2010-03-05T12:06:00.001-05:00

Strange as it may seem, just recently I was given an invitation to attend a party! Can you believe it?! Someone actually acknowledged my existence and welcomed me into their home! On top of this bewilderment, these people then offered me delicious food and drink! Right there on the spot! At no cost to me!

So there I was, indulging myself in potato chips, cream dip and marinated meatballs, and enjoying an ice cold glass of beer! I was standing off to the side, minding my own business so as to not intrude on the personal lives of anyone when I overheard this guy making a joke. He was saying something to the affect of, "I'm a magician. I turn bourbon into urine," at which a handful of women giggled as he took a slug of his drink.

This caused my mixed-up mind to wander a bit. Turning bourbon into urine. Big deal. That's an easy trick that anyone could do with a jigger of 86 proof, but when you imbibe to the point that you change your urine into bourbon, then you have really accomplished something! Believe me, that's when you've performed an amazing feat, but you certainly won't be cognizant enough to appreciate any applause. It's not a happy condition to be in. It means you are very close to death and if you stop now, maybe all you will suffer is a hellacious, three-day hangover and minimal kidney damage. Maybe all you will have to endure is eight hours of feverish trembling and several trips to the bathroom to violently vomit a lovely mixture of orange juice, seltzer water and stomach bile into the sink. When you are finally able to pee without pain and it changes in color from dark brown to light yellow again, you will not be so anxious to repeat this dangerous trick. You will not feel so gifted in prestidigitation, but instead very weak and ashamed for several weeks.

I watched the other party guests talking and laughing and having a grand old time. I wondered what it would be like to live in a world like that. I prefer to remain anonymous. I finished my beer, set my glass in the kitchen sink and quietly ducked out the back door. No harm done. No one noticed I had been there, nor that I was gone. No one was troubled with my presence. I went home and to bed. I don't like parties.

THINGS YOU MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT THE mpmm (AND DID NOT CARE TO ASK)

2010-03-05T11:27:00.001-05:00

I love handbells. Most people do not know this about me. I love handbells. Handbells are awesome. That's why I go to the particular place of worship that I do, because they have a massive set of handbells that stretches out five octaves and goes from little bitty bells to humongous ones that have to be rung with two hands.

Every Monday I cannot wait until 6:00 PM. That's when my group, called the Tintinnabulators, convenes for another intense rehearsal and I get to assume my position at GAB3. I call my spot this because I play G, A and B in the third octave range. I also play A flat and B flat as well. My bells are pretty big and my notes are all found in the bass clef, but the guy next to me handles the largest ones that go from G sharp all the way down to low C, which is about three lines below the bass clef. He has about six or seven bells that take up a lot of room and require him to jump around quite a bit.

I don't do the jumping around thing. No way. I don't like the pressure. Some people can do that very well but I prefer to stay put and handle my GAB3 with precision and skill and very little flair. I know exactly which little notes in the music are mine and I like to focus on them without worrying too much about any others.

See, I can read sheet music but I don't know notes. Being a former percussionist, I know how to count time signatures and follow notes, but I don't know the scales. In percussion music, one note represents the hi-hat, one note represents the snare drum, etc., etc. So I learned to read music that way and not this note is a C, that note is a G and whatnot. So when I play GAB3 I know which little black blobs represent my bells, and I ring them accordingly in each number we perform. But if you asked me to point out which notes are D4s or G7s or LMNOPs, I would have no clue. I could figure it out eventually, but I might have to ask the nice lady next to me.

So there you have it. The misplacedmtnman admits his passion for handbells. Malmark handbells that cost tens of thousands of dollars to be exact. So be it. Who could have known? No one, because no one cares and I'm sorry I wrote about it.

WHY DO WE NOT INTOXICATE OURSELVES AND FORNICATE?

2010-02-03T08:37:00.000-05:00

"Why don't we get drunk and screw?
I just bought a waterbed; it's filled up for me and you....."

So goes the whimsical song by Jimmy Buffett, which immediately sets the clanky cogs of my caliginous cranium in motion. Who first conceived this concept of a sleeping apparatus filled with H2O? I thought subjecting oneself to warm water whilst dozing inspired involuntary urination. Why would you want to slumber on the equivalent of a swaying ship anyway? I think I would throw up!

"Hey, honey, guess what? I got rid of that warm, comfortable mattress made out of soft material and replaced it with a big sack of water! Woo hoo!"

Yeah. That should go over well. Better yet, why don't you fill the bed with Brandy? Then you would always have an ample supply of booze on hand, and your body heat would keep it nice and warm. You could mount a spigot on the headboard to dispense the beverage into snifters, so that you could serve your lovely bedmate without having to get up!

The only problem is, that much Brandy would be really expensive and pretty women are repulsed by me anyway, so the whole idea won't work. It's a wash. I think I'll go back to bed.

MIXED-UP MIND TOO HOT FOR FACEBOOK

2010-01-26T08:40:00.000-05:00

There are people out there that have a Facebook page and rarely, if ever, change their headline. This I don't understand. Can't they think of anything to post? Don't they have anything to say to the world? And don't get me started on the comments, or the lack thereof specifically. I change my headline at least two or three times a week as new ideas strike me, and only rarely do I get one or two lame responses like "Joe Blow likes this" or "ha ha u r funny." Is expressing oneself via the written word becoming that obsolete? Somebody text me and let me know.

It really sucks to be a writer because nobody talks to you by writing back. That's just how it is. Sometimes I just want to post something really offensive in an effort to rile people up, but I always chicken out. I don't want to offend people. I just wish someone would friggin' talk to me. So I recently posted ".....is used to being ignored by those who claim to love him.....he's been through divorce twice, you know....." I'll see how well that goes over. I'm also considering posting ".....is now available for the fathering of children. Interested applicants should submit detailed resume and recent nude photo for immediate approval....." Naaah, I better not. Maybe I'll just "tweet" that.

Here are some other personal thoughts that I have been pondering lately that I really hope you will read and then not comment on.

HOW TO PRAY
Somewhere in The Bible someone came up to Jesus and asked Him how they should pray. This is an interesting question that even I have been asked on occasion. A lot of people wonder how to pray. What should I say? How do you talk to God?

For me, the answer is simple. This you figure out as you grow older. You want to know how to pray? Take your beloved teenager down to the DMV and get them their Driver's License. As you watch them drive away in a car, you will figure it out!

"Oh my god! What have I just done?! Please, God, please! Watch over my child!!!"

THE REALITY OF DRINKING ALCOHOL
I have always been told that drinking is bad and that it destroys brain cells. I don't see it that way (obviously because I've had my share). I don't believe drinking destroys brain cells. I think that drinking awakens the brain cells and causes them to function fully, but then they suddenly realize how much reality sucks and they commit suicide. That's my theory and I'm stickin' to it. No wonder they kicked me out of AA.

THE BEAUTY OF BEING INVISIBLE
People don't just ignore me on Facebook. They like to ignore me in person as well, which is really awesome when you hate having to deal with people in the first place. The other day I attended a college basketball game with my son and there were several empty seats next to us. A couple and their children came over to sit there because they knew the people sitting in front of us. As the man and wife passed by to get to the seats, I recognized the woman because I went to school with her for TWELVE years. That and because she looks exactly the same as she did at graduation. This chick, who I will give a random, anonymous name such as.....oh, I don't know.....something like Elizabeth Hopkins, had no clue who I was as she looked me straight in the face! I playfully punched her arm and said "Hey!" like an idiot, and her face was as blank as death. She seemed a little confused as to why I would dare address her and then I remembered: she has not changed since high school. She is still royalty and I am still a nobody. This fact had slipped my mind.

That's okay, Liz. I'm just teasing. I wasn't really expecting a response from you. I was merely testing my powers of invisibility which apparently are still working perfectly. I laughed all through the game and all the way home. How awesome it is to be invisible! Who says getting old and fat is no fun? The ways you can mess with people's heads! Next time I will punch harder!

THE mpmm GLASSIFICATION METHOD

2010-01-06T10:32:00.000-05:00

After very extensive and time-consuming research, the following is the "Glassification Method" I have devised to classify and organize my glassware collection. I categorize each of my glasses into one of four main categories: Everyday, Stems, Highballs or Lowballs. Each category has various sub-categories as are listed beneath.

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EVERYDAY
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These are the typical styles of glassware found in the average home or bar that are used for everyday practical purposes, as opposed to fancy glasses that are brought out for special occasions. My collection focuses more on the latter, but nonetheless here is how I categorize these common glasses.

DRINKING GLASSES

Tumbler - 12 oz. everyday drinking glass for soda, milk, iced tea, etc.

Fountain Glass - uniquely shaped beverage glass with a small base which tapers upward and outward to form a large mouth (also known as a "Coca-Cola" glass).

Juice - small 6 to 8 oz. glass, used for smaller servings of juice or milk.

BEER GLASSES

Beer Mug - heavy mug with handle; can be plain, paneled or ribbed.

Pint or Pub glass - standard bar glass used to serve ales, etc.; also called a Mixing Glass when used to prepare cocktails.

Pilsner glass - tall glass that tapers outward; used to display the effervescence of beer.

Wheat Beer Glass - larger than a Pilsner or Pint Glass; hourglass-shaped vessel having a wide surface area that accommodates the foam of wheat beer and allows more air into the glass when it is tilted.

Yard Glass - very tall and narrow glass with a bulb for a base that holds one yard of ale.

Schooner - a short, fat and dimpled glass mug used for serving German beers.

COFFEE GLASSES

Cup - standard glass cup and saucer used for serving coffee, tea or cocoa.

Mug - typical glass mug with handle

This photo shows the different vessels that may be used to serve coffee and other hot drinks: Glass Cup and Saucer, Glass Mug, Hot Toddy (or London Dock) Glass and Irish Coffee Glass.

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STEMS
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A stem is any glass that stands on a stem or foot. Here I break down this category into these sub-categories: Wine Stems, Dessert Stems, Cocktail Stems, Beer Stems and Coffee Stems.

This photo shows the size and shape differences of these wine stems: White Wine, Red Wine, Claret and Pony.

WINE STEMS

White Wine - typical stemmed wine glass used for white and blush wines.

Red Wine - larger and wider bowl so that red wine is better able to "breathe" or oxidize.

Balloon Wine - very rounded, globe-shaped bowl that focuses the aroma of the wine at the top of the glass.

Hock Wine - small, 4 oz. bowl used for serving Rhine wine.

Roemer Glass - decorative bowl on thick, ribbed stem of colored glass, also used for Rhine wine.

Champagne - Various styles include Flute, Demi-flute, Coupe (or Saucer), Hollow-Stem, Tulip, Trumpet and Mini.

Claret - 5 oz. wine stem having a small bowl slightly flared at the lip.

Port (or Pony) - small 2 or 3 oz. wine glass used to serve sweet dessert wines such as Port and Madeira.

Sherry - small 2 or 3 oz. trumpet-shaped glass.

Sherry Copita - tapering flute smaller than Champagne flute but more rounded than Sour Glass.

This photo displays these specialty stems: Champagne Flute, Sour Glass, Sherry Copita, Sherry Glass, Port Glass.

DESSERT STEMS

Parfait - Tall tapering glass used to serve ice cream or dessert cocktails; can be thin and dainty for special use or heavy and thick for less formal occasions.

Sherbert - a small ice cream bowl on a stem; usually etched, ornate and very formal. A Sherbert Glass without a stem would be a "Dessert Bowl."

COCKTAIL STEMS

Cocktail - 4 oz. conical-shaped bowl used for serving most cocktails.

Martini - 3 oz. tighter, conical-shaped bowl for this specific drink (supposedly holds the olive better).

California Cocktail - thicker-walled, 3-1/2 oz. cocktail stem with heavier base.

Margarita - large, round, usually double-bowled specialty glass for this drink.

Hurricane - large, hourglass-shaped glass on a foot; size of body varies; used for serving slushy tropical drinks.

Poco Grande - similar to a Hurricane Glass in shape but smaller body and features a prominent stem instead of a short foot.

Frappe - very similar to Hurricane Glass but smaller, less curvaceous and slightly wider at the mouth, used for serving drinks utilizing liqueurs and crushed ice; can also be confused with the Parfait Glass, which is more straight-sided.

Cordial - small, 1 to 2 oz. stemmed glass in a wide variety of shapes and designs used for serving cordials and liqueurs.

Pousse Cafe - special cordial glass with a flared lip used for serving layered cocktails.

Absinthe - decorative, 7 oz. footed goblet that is accompanied by a specially-designed absinthe spoon through which water and sugar are poured during absinthe preparation; glass usually has some type of distinguishable reservoir at the bottom of the bowl to denote the proper amount of liqueur to use.

Snifter - large footed bowl; used for serving Brandy and other aromatic liquors; size of bowl and length of stem varies (see photo).

Inhaler - large, wide, footed flute with flare at the lip used for serving Brandy, Single Malt Scotch or other aromatic liquors.

Chimney Stem - also called a Scotch Glass; tulip-shaped stem having a rounded bowl like a snifter and a tapered, chimney-shaped mouth which concentrates the whisky's aroma at the top of the glass.

Grappa Flute - a specially-designed, chimney-like tulip flute for serving Grappa, an Italian brandy distilled from pomace wine.

Sour glass - small 4 oz. flute used for Whiskey Sours.

Some Specialty Stems: Hock Wine Glass, Balloon Wine Glass, Parfait Glass, and Chimney Stem.

BEER STEMS

Goblet - heavy, stemmed glass for lagers, etc.

Pilsner stem - Pilsner glass on a short "foot" or stem.

COFFEE STEMS

Hot Toddy Glass - footed glass coffee mug with handle commonly used for coffee drinks, etc.; also called London Dock Glass.

Irish Coffee Glass - hourglass-shaped glass used for coffee cocktails.

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HIGHBALLS
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Highball Glasses are larger vessels that are necessary for cocktails that contain ice and mixers. Generally speaking, a glass in the Highball category can range from 8 to 14 ounces and is cylindrical in shape.

Highball - thin-walled, decorative, 8 to 10 oz. glass for drinks utilizing sodas, tonic, etc.

Double Old Fashioned - shorter, wider, 8 oz. glass for cocktails that contain a lesser amount of mixers (Old Fashioned, Scotch and Soda, etc.) (Note: Photo shows OF, DOF and TOF for size comparison).

Triple Old Fashioned - short, very wide, 10 to 12 oz. glass for larger highballs.

Tom Collins - 12 oz. glass used for Tom Collins, Rum Collins, etc.

Cooler - tall, thin, usually decorative, 8 to 10 oz. glass used for "summery" drinks utilizing juices or ades.

Zombie - 14 oz. tall, straight-sided glass used for serving this drink that contains many ingredients.

This photo shows the size comparisons for these glasses: Rocks Glass, Double Old Fashioned, Highball Glass, Tom Collins, and Cooler.

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LOWBALLS
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Lowball Glasses are shorter, smaller vessels used for cocktails that contain little or no mixers or ice. In other words, straight liquor (in most cases).

This photo shows the size comparisons for these Lowball Glasses: Whiskey Glass, Rocks Glass, Delmonico and Double Old Fashioned.

Old Fashioned/"Rocks" - small, short tumbler used for liquor served "over the rocks" with no mixers.

Whiskey Glass - approximately 4 oz. glass used specifically for straight whiskey without ice.

Delmonico - 5 oz. straight-sided, plain glass used for Fizzes and Rickeys; very similar to Juice Glass.

Punch Cup - small, dainty cup with handle used for serving punch (most commonly come in a set with a punch bowl and ladle).

Shot Glass - 1 to 1-1/2 oz. glass used for straight shots of liquor; can be plain, paneled, footed, etched, etc. A 1-1/2 oz. shot is called a Jigger.

Here are some examples of different styles of shot glasses: Footed, Handled Shooter, Flared, Paneled and Barrel.

Double Shot/"Shooter" - tall, thin, 2 to 3 oz. glass for layered cordials, specialty shots, etc.

Souvenir Shot/Shooter - a shot or shooter that has some sort of logo, advertisement or humorous decoration on it.

Measuring Shot - any small glass with demarcations on it used for measuring.

Bistro Shot - heavy-bottomed, 4 to 6 oz. shot glass used for layered cordials and specialty shots.

Vodka Shot - small, 1 oz. flared shot glass used specifically for straight Vodka shots.

Chimney Shot - tall shot glass with long and narrow tube-like opening usually used for serving chilled Vodka (several glasses are served standing in a bowl of ice).

Quaffer - also known generically as a "Double Bubble" Shot Glass, a "Jigger Chaser" or an "Over Under" Shot Glass, this is a uniquely-shaped vessel that allows a shot to be accompanied by a chaser in one container; bottom chamber holds 2-1/4 oz. and the top holds 1-1/4 oz.

Featured in this photo are different styles of shot glasses: Shot, Souvenir Shot, Measuring Shot, Double Shot or Shooter, Chimney Shot and Bistro Shot.

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STEMLESS
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I must mention here that a recent European style that is now widely available is "stemless" wine glasses. While these glasses are perfectly acceptable for serving room temperature red wines (especially for those who are apt to tip, spill and break delicate stemmed glassware), they should not be used for serving white, blush or Champagne. The function of a stem is to keep one's hand off the bowl of the glass so that the beverage maintains its chill longer. Wines that are meant to be enjoyed cold should be served in a stemmed glass (preferably pre-chilled).

I also have in my collection a "stemless" cocktail glass, which is a conical bowl that rests atop a glass globe which can be filled with shaved ice, thus (in theory) keeping the drink ice-cold throughout the consumption process without having ice in the drink itself. However, I have not found that this interesting-looking apparatus makes all that much of a difference. Unless one happens to be a really, really slow drinker, a 3 to 4 oz. cocktail should remain sufficiently cold if a stemmed glass is properly chilled and one keeps their palm off the bowl.

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PLASTICWARE
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Due to the growing popularity of granite and marble countertops, many are now discovering the hazard that these surfaces pose to delicate glassware. Therefore plastic drinking vessels in numerous shapes and styles have become available in recent years. While I could perhaps forgive you for serving drinks in plastic cups or stems at a picnic, a tail-gating or other social gathering that was held out-of-doors or around a pool or patio area, it is very low class and uncouth to serve beverages in plastic drinkware when entertaining at a proper event indoors. Please do not greatly offend me by doing so. Know your glasses.....and use them appropriately!

MISCELLANEOUS MOMENTS WITH THE mpmm

2009-10-30T09:09:00.000-04:00

ONE OF THOSE JOBS THIS AMERICAN IS STILL WILLING TO DO!

The other day I was raking up all the pinestraw in the yard so that my mom could use it in her flowerbeds. I worked for a good hour or so, raking all the straw up into two large piles. Then I took an old king-size bedsheet and rolled the first pile over onto it. This enabled me to lift the four corners of the sheet and form a large sack with which I could tote the pinestraw over to where Mom wanted it.

As I had finished moving the second pile and was raking up the remnants that I had missed, this man of obvious Hispanic origin came walking down the sidewalk. Seeing what I was doing, this man walked right up into my yard and began spouting off in a combination of Spanish and broken English. I deduced that he was attempting to explain the superior landscaping job he could perform for me, in that he was pointing around the yard, at the flowerbeds and so forth.

After politely declining his services several times, I was taken aback when this assertive young fellow absolutely refused to take no for an answer and actually tried to grab the rake right out of my hands! I had tried to explain that the job was finished, all the pinestraw had already been raked up, and I didn't need any help at this time, but this jackass just wouldn't give up.

Now quite irritated, I jerked the rake away from his grasp, held up the last handful of pinestraw and informed him quite forcefully, "NO MAS!" This, of course, means "No more!" in Spanish, but it can also be translated "Stop!" At this he finally got the hint and continued on his way.

There was no harm done, but this episode really pissed me off, because this is the sort of attitude we are going to have to deal with more and more in this country. Simply because I am an overweight American white guy, this Mexican...or Latino...or whatever...just automatically assumes that it is beyond my ability to operate a common rake and do a little yardwork, so he feels compelled to trespass on my property to show me how he can help. Well guess what? I don't want your dang help! Get out of my yard! Get off my property! And learn the language!

WHY IT IS IMPORTANT TO KNOW YOUR LITERARY CHARACTERS

The other night at church supper the children were encouraged to dress up in Halloween costumes. One beautiful young girl with flowing blonde hair was dressed in the attire of a Gryffindor from Hogwarts, the magical school from the Harry Potter series. She had on the black robe with the Hogwarts crest, the white Oxford, the yellow and crimson tie, etc. As she approached I exclaimed in my best British accent, "Hello there! Why, it's Hermione Granger!"

The little girl's face brightened dramatically and a huge smile broke across her face. She stared at me for a second, then happily dashed away, off to concoct another Polyjuice Potion of some sort I am sure.

"Oh, thank you so much!" her mother said, "You're the first one to get it right. Everyone's been calling her Harry Potter all day! She's been so discouraged."

"Hey," I bragged, "I know my Harry Potter characters."

I really do. I know the difference between Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. I know the difference between a Mandrake and a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I even know the difference between Fred and George Weasley!

Okay, maybe that last one went a bit far. Even Mrs. Weasley can't tell the difference between Fred and George. But I am a huge fan of the Potter series. It is the greatest literary series of our time. You should definitely read it.

A SAMPLE OF HOW JUVENILLE I REALLY AM

The other day I went by my doctor's office, because I had to return a stool sample kit I was given as part of my physical examination. When the receptionist asked, "What is this?" I simply answered, "Oh, just some ridiculous crap the doctor insisted I bring in."

Yeah. That joke didn't go over so well on my Facebook page either. But I don't care. I think it's funny. I don't need your condescending comments anyway.

FOR THE LOVE OF RICHARD SPIVEY.....

2009-09-24T10:43:00.000-04:00

I don't know about you, but I have several unusual sayings that I utter on certain applicable occasions: funny lines from stand-up comedians, quotes from memorable movies or simply ones I made up myself from my own life experiences. I could explain several of them for you here, but that would take up too much time and space, so today I would like to focus on just one:

"Oh, for the love of Richard Spivey!"

This is an unusual phrase that nobody in the world would understand unless I explain it. You see, when I was in eighth grade I was a skinny, scared little punk who never got in much serious trouble. I was still just a kid and had yet to offer any real challenge to authority. That year in school my homeroom teacher was Mrs. Spigener, a most severe and frightening-looking teacher with a loud, commanding voice. I cowered in fear from Mrs. Spigener and would never have dreamed of crossing her, so I always behaved myself and made sure I was properly in my seat when the morning bell rang.

Then inevitably, almost every day, in would come Richard Spivey, late as usual. He would slip in after the bell, and take his seat directly in front of me. I unfortunately sat right near Mrs. Spigener so Richard was forced to take the last seat available, the one right in front of the teacher's desk.

As Richard took his seat, an invisible cloud of cigarette smell would follow him, like the perpetual cloud of dust that surrounds the Peanuts character Pig Pen. Richard would sit down and the overwhelming odor of a well-used ashtray would hit my nostrils. Then, as he turned around to face me, the cinnamon smell of Dentyne gum would blend with the cigarette smell in a unique, redolent bouquet.

"Do I smell like smoke? Can you smell cigarettes on me?" Richard would whisper, and I would give him my daily nod. Of course!

"LATE AGAIN, MR. SPIVEY," Mrs. Spigener would bellow in her normal tone.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry," Richard would answer politely but confidently. Richard was so super cool. He wasn't scared of Mrs. Spigener. He was a rebel. And he smoked cigarettes.

To this day the pungent smell of tobacco smoke does not bother me, especially when it has overtones of cinnamon Dentyne gum. In fact, I find it rather intriguing and pleasing. Smoking or Non? I don't care. The smell reminds me of Richard Spivey and my youth.

Of course, I realize the dangers of smoking, and I don't engage in that activity myself, but I am not offended by those who choose to do so. It's a free country. Light up if you so desire. It's your life.

But this is where the saying "For the love of Richard Spivey" comes from. This exclamation denotes exasperation at someone who has developed a positive attraction towards something negative - something harmful, stupid or dangerous.

My daughter wants to get a tattoo? My son aspires to become an extreme fighter? Oh, for the love of Richard Spivey! What in the world are they thinking!

Richard Spivey left my school after the eighth grade, but not before he had threatened to kill me a few times. He wasn't so much a bully as he was just a mean practical joker. One time he announced that he was going to pummel me at a Foreigner concert because I had flirted with his girlfriend (I actually hadn't, but he was convinced I had). For a week Richard taunted me with this impending doom. During class he would give me an evil smile, point to me and then slowly draw his finger across his throat.

"You're dead on Friday," he repeated menacingly over and over that week.

I, of course, showed him nothing but respect. I didn't want to fight! I refused to counter his challenge, maintaining my innocence. In desperation I even tried to back out of going to the concert, which angered my girlfriend, but who wants to get their butt whooped in front of their date? I didn't, but this escape failed. I had to go.

My only option was to continue being nice to Richard - not weak and whining - but just firm in my stance that I had done nothing wrong. I would laugh him off, saying, "If you want to kill me I guess that's what you're gonna do but I'm telling you, I never messed with your girl, I swear. I would never do that to you, Richard. I'm not stupid."

Perhaps he got tired of the game, perhaps he never intended to follow through on his threat -whatever the case - Richard eventually relented and agreed to let me live. No violence took place and we went our separate ways. But I never forgot Richard because I always admired his confidence and rebelliousness. He was cool, and I knew he was a good guy deep inside.

Some twenty years later I was at Cub Scouts with my eight-year-old son, and introduced myself to one of the other fathers, whose last name happened to be Spivey.

"No relation to Richard Spivey I hope!" I joked, not expecting him to understand.

"Richard Spivey? That's my brother!" the guy said.

What a small world it is. According to his brother, Richard is still alive and well, and still puffing away on those cigarettes. What a rebel. Long life to you, my good man. God bless you.

But for the love of Richard Spivey, give up those cigarettes!

RANDOM THOUGHT #92: "TIME TO SPEAK OUT"

2009-09-20T12:12:00.000-04:00

Alright. I have remained peaceful and quiet for far too long. I cannot remain silent any longer. Someone must speak out and say what has to be said so I am going to do it now. My patience is running thin.

No, I'm not talking about the socialistic take-over of our country. Glenn Beck is handling that part of the problem quite well. I highly, highly recommend his book Glenn Beck's Common Sense, which is a perfect starting point for learning about and understanding what is going on in American politics today. I don't care if you consider yourself to be politically-involved or not. If you are a decent American citizen, you need to read this book. I'm just sayin'.

.....and especially if you consider yourself to be a Christian. It's YOUR religion that is under assault in this country. You better put down your Bible and figure out what is going on before it's too late. Because if the powers-that-be had their way right now, they'd take that precious Bible away from you quicker than they take campaign contributions. And then they'd take your gun.

But that being said, there is another issue that has been irritating me for a long, long time. So now I must speak out. What the heck is wrong with people today that they think they can go around in flip-flops all the time? This, to me, is a very disturbing trend that I think seriously needs to stop. What's with all the naked feet?! It drives me crazy! This is NOT the beach, people! This is real life! Dress accordingly.

It's not that I am opposed to naked feet. Quite the antithesis. I actually believe that most women have very pretty pedal extremities and I very much appreciate having a clear view of them but let's face it, many people do not have attractive feet. Especially men. Men should not expose their naked feet in public! It's gross, it's unattractive and it's.....rather feminine, frankly. Put some loafers on those lower appendages, man!

And don't even get me started on the painted toenails. Nothing is more unnatural and unappealing than painted toenails, especially painted toenails on ugly feet. That can ruin the concupiscence of any situation in no time, ladies, so please stop it. It is superfluous and unnecessary. Your feet look fine without it, I assure you.

And no tattoos! Please!

I am simply sick and tired of seeing young, old, skinny, fat, white and black feet everywhere! And many times nasty, dirty feet! Ugly! Disgusting! Put on some shoes, ya hippies! Is everyone on permanent vacation? I don't care! This is not the Middle East! This is America, and in this country we used to wear shoes and socks! It's not that hot here! This is supposed to be a developed, civilized country. We shouldn't go around in sandals all the time. I know times are tough, but can't everyone afford a decent pair of shoes?

Now, of course there will be those that accuse me of being "in the tank" for the wealthy sock manufacturers or acting as a lickspittle for the nefarious National Association of Cobblers. But I assure you I am not. I have received no compensation from Nike or Adidas. I am simply a concerned citizen. Flip-flops symbolize laziness, apathy and a repudiation of traditional modesty. Get your filthy feet out of my face! Do you all have Malibu Rum on the brain all of a sudden? Is putting a couple of sneakers on just too darn hard for everyone nowadays? When you are not in the bed, or lounging around your own house, please properly attire your tootsies! I am tired of seeing bare feet everywhere in public. It's an insult to decency, and it's a major distraction to those of us who believe some things should only be shared intimately or at the pool: primarily feet and belly buttons. Your cooperation is appreciated, but will never happen.

My grandfather lived to be 92 and never during the course of his life did I ever see his bare feet. He was always dressed, and dressed appropriately. He was a respectable man. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever saw his lower neck either. He always wore a tie. But I'm not saying we need to go that far. Just put on some shoes. I'm not even proposing mandatory socks. Just cover up your toes and keep the stink away from me. Thank you, and good.....galoshes.

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.....

2009-09-15T08:39:00.000-04:00

I don't read the newspaper on a regular basis, mainly because I know how biased and unreliable the journalism profession is these days, but I will pick up a discarded copy once in a while to scan the comics, the movie listings or the Letters to the Editor. I am never disappointed with the letters people write in, as there are always plenty of whiny missives complaining about the horrible Republicans alongside the glowing tributes oozing with blind devotion to President Obama. They sure cover all the bases, huh? Who is surprised by that?

But in the Monday, September 14th edition of The State, I was quite surprised and dumbfounded by a couple of the letters sent in by citizens of this great country actually bemoaning why we all can't get along and agree to let our benevolent government take over health care. As one reader from Gilbert wrote in:

"We are living in a country where the citizens choose their government representatives to act in their best interests, but we are being told we cannot trust these very people with our welfare when it comes to administering a program to provide for our health care. We are told we should trust the corporate entities whose goal is to enrich themselves from our pockets.

No, I think I will put my faith in the government 'of the people, by the people and for the people.'"

Wow. That is truly astonishing. What faith this person has in government, and the likelihood that our representatives will actually listen to the people who elect them. Maybe I'm not as enlightened as this devotee, but I think this issue was exactly the point of the Tea Parties and the massive March on Washington this past weekend. Many Americans do not feel like those in Washington are listening! At all! Does this person truly believe that when someone is dealing with a complicated illness that some faceless bureaucrat crunching numbers in Washington will know better than a local doctor or a health insurance professional?

This constant demonizing of "corporate entities" as greedy, money-grubbing badguys always irks me. The big insurance companies are evil bastards because they actually turn a profit. If this guy is so opposed to businesses actually staying in business and "enriching themselves from our pockets," why doesn't he set an example by quitting his job and doing everything for free? Let's see how long he survives on that idea. After all, if he is earning a paycheck from some company, isn't he "enriching" himself? How anti-government!

In fact, let's all stop being greedy money-grubbers and quit our jobs. That's the only way for everything to be fair, isn't it? Let's all just live off the federal government, because everything from the government is equally distributed and free, right?

The fact of the matter is, insurance companies are frustrating as hell to deal with, and often do things that don't seem fair. Will a massive government bureaucracy work better? An insurance company has to turn a profit to stay in business. Government does not. Who do you think will be more caring and concerned? Perhaps if government took their greedy little controlling hands from around the insurance companies' necks they would be free to be more competitive. No, that thought could never cross a liberal's mind.

Then there was the letter from a guy in Aiken, arguing in favor of socialism. The headline was "New Definition of 'Socialism' Covers More Than You Realize." His point was that if you are opposed to Obamacare because you think it's socialism, then you should imagine an America without public schools, without government agencies regulating commerce, without the FCC, the postal service, highways, police and firemen, no public library or public utilities, and of course, no money spent on national defense. All of these government programs could be considered "socialist."

Well, there you have it. Point made. The horror of no government-run schools. The government runs all those other entities so well, why shouldn't they take over health care as well? But why stop there? Why shouldn't the government take over all aspects of our lives: what foods we eat, what movies we watch, what cars we drive, etc., etc.? Why should we the people be forced to make any decisions for ourselves whatsoever?!

This, of course, is not what this guy is suggesting. No one with any brains is saying the government should take over everything. But that being said, no one on the other side is suggesting we completely abolish the federal government in its entirety either. There are certain things, outlined in the Constitution, which the government is authorized to address. Sorry, but health care is not one of them. I don't care how many times they say it, health care is not a right. It is a privilege. Fallacies do not cease to be fallacies simply because they become fashions (someone named Chesterton said).

But wait! What if the government did take over health care? Wouldn't that enable them to control other aspects of our lives? Well, there was a government that did exactly that. A political party came to power and began implementing programs to take care of anything and everything that benefited the "common good." They declared war on cancer and banned smoking. They railed against alcoholism and slowly pushed the beverage industry away from beer and booze towards natural fruit juices. They banned advertising aimed at children. They decided Coca-Cola was unfit for kids. Breweries began producing mineral water, and sweet cider became the official drink of the people.

Not only did they promote physical fitness, they nationalized "evil" industries, and they heavily regulated the Walmarts of their day to ensure safe working environments and so forth. They promoted organic foods, promised government-made cars, implemented anti-animal-cruelty measures and made many other progressive advances. The movie industry chimed in and began producing a steady stream of "allegorically worshipful" films about their leader. Political correctness dictated the language of the time, what could and could not be said, what was offensive and what was acceptable. This political party worked tirelessly to cultivate and encourage devotion to the state, and to perpetuate the idea that if you were not part of the solution, you were part of the problem.*

This was the Nazi Party of Germany in the 1930s. This was the party of Adolph Hitler. Any of this sound familiar?

When we start wishing the government would assume responsibility for our health care, which would enable them to control every other aspect of our lives, we better be careful what we wish for. We just might get it, and some of us just might get it good.

I'm sorry, I just find it very disappointing that there are people in this country - right here in my state - that have forgotten the concept of "rugged individualism" and put so much faith in a nanny-state system of government that they think will solve all our problems and will be able to provide everything to everybody. This, despite the overwhelming evidence from European countries that have already tried all of this and failed. When you get everyone dependent on the government, where then will the government get the money to support this unsustainable monstrosity?

Oh, yes. From the rich. You see, the problem is this country has become so bogged down with liberal myths: corporations are evil, government is benevolent; the poor deserve everything for free, the rich should pay "their fair share"; Republicans are bad, Obama is good. It's all going to lead to the death of this country.

This is a decision between Liberty and Tyranny. Be careful which one you choose.
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*From Liberal Fascism by Jonah Goldberg, copyright 2008.

THE WAGES OF GIN IS DEATH

2009-08-18T10:16:00.000-04:00

"Wine is fine but whiskey's quicker
Suicide is slow with liquor
Take a bottle, drown your sorrows
Then it floods away tomorrow....."

So goes the famous song by Ozzy Osbourne, but how exactly can a person commit suicide by drinking alcohol? Is this really possible? This was the subject of a horrible movie (that won Oscars, by the way) called Leaving Las Vegas. Now please, nobody go out and rent this movie because it is an absolutely terrible movie filled with profanity, nudity and really bad acting. I don't care how much you love Nicholas Cage or Elisabeth Shue. They are embarrassingly pitiful in this lame movie that is overflowing with cheesy dialogue, ridiculously stupid characters and gallons of liquor. Leaving Las Vegas is basically a dark, depressing look at a miserable guy who loses everything in his life so he decides to drink himself to death.

And that's the good part of the plot.

So how do you "drink yourself to death" exactly? It sounds like a pretty tasty way to die, huh? Sounds like a fun ride to the end with little or no pain, doesn't it? Don't you believe it. Death by alcohol is one of the slowest, most painful ways to die. Just to prove my point, leave us examine this drawn-out, horrendous process, shall we?

First of all, you would think that at the onset one would have to have a really good reason to begin assaulting themselves with alcohol. Actually this is not always the case. As Ben, the lovable, despicable character from Leaving Las Vegas openly admits, "I don't know if I started drinking because my wife left me, or my wife left me because I started drinking.....but %&$#@ it all anyway....." Alcoholics don't always need a reason to drink, they just want to.

Once one begins the process of killing themselves with alcohol, you would think this would involve many mornings wrought with sickly hangovers. This is not entirely true. Surprisingly, alcoholics tend to experience a reduction in hangovers as they progress into the dismal abyss of severe alcoholism. Inexperienced amateurs who experiment with alcohol excessively usually wake up in the morning feeling terribly sick. They have a splitting headache, they're nauseous and they hurt all over. This causes the average person to stop drinking, which makes perfect sense in a normal world. But the reason amateurs get horrible hangovers is because they don't drink correctly, if there is such a term. They drink margaritas, Rum-and-cokes, or some other sweet and tasty cocktails that disguise the alcohol taste. It is usually the sugar and/or the caffeine that is causing the headache and nausea, not so much the alcohol. The alcohol is doing things much more subtle and destructive.

Alcoholics know to use the direct route: straight up, right out of the bottle (and preferably as soon as possible). Maybe some ice, maybe a little club soda, but never sweet mixers or cola. They like the strong taste of straight alcohol and it gets them where they want to go without any interference. And alcoholics don't let up: when the immediate effects of alcohol wear off, they immediately refuel. They may feel stiff and shaky in the morning, a little disoriented and slow-thinking, but this is nothing another drink can't cure. This usually puts them back on their game and they feel better. Alcoholics know: to avoid hangovers, keep drinking.

But a crash will eventually come. It may take a week, it may take a month, but eventually the hangovers catch up, the body crashes and they have to sober up. This "drinking through the hangovers" process usually ends with a horrific episode, say, they "black out," wake up in a strange place, their pants are soaked with pee and they can't remember where their car is. A sobering experience like this leads even the most die-hard imbiber to take a couple of days off. But even though they "slow down" or even quit for a short while, as soon as they start feeling better and the embarrassment wears off, another drink seems like a safe idea. Then its back into the vicious cycle.

IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE LOSES A PANCREAS
When food or drink hits the stomach, it is absorbed into the many blood vessels lining the stomach wall. It is at this point that the blood sugar level rises and the good-old pancreas begins producing insulin, a hormone that regulates the breakdown of carbs, proteins and fat. Basically, as I understand it, sugar in the blood is converted into energy and the insulin put out by the pancreas brings the blood sugar level back down to a normal level. Excessive alcohol consumption damages the pancreas by lessening the amount of digestive enzymes it releases, so that the enzymes begin attacking the pancreas. This leaves you with an inordinate blood sugar level, which eventually leads to a plethora of painful problems. Leave us examine a few. For those of you who are unfamiliar with "Death By Sugar," which is very similar to the effects of diabetes, here is a list of the symptoms. This is how you die slowly but surely from alcohol abuse.

MY HEART BURNS FOR BOOZE
Probably the first symptom a burgeoning alcoholic will notice is constant heartburn. They can blame this on their penchant for spicy foods, but overindulgence in high-proof alcohol is usually the primary reason for an ever-inflamed throat. Unfortunately, over-the-counter heartburn medicines such as Prilosec and the generic Omeprazole have become readily available in recent years, so this symptom is easily avoidable. Meanwhile the alcohol is leading them in the direction of more serious problems with the stomach and throat.

I THIRST, THEREFORE I DRINK
Alcohol consumption causes dehydration, which is why alcoholics are always thirsty and why they drink too quickly. They often experience dry mouth, and you will notice they have a propensity for chapped lips. Sometimes they wake up from sleeping and their mouth and throat are so dry they have difficulty swallowing. This is why they keep a glass of water at their beside, or at least.....ahem.....a bottle of something.

Dry mouth makes one more susceptible to dental problems like gingivitis and gum infections, so diligent care of the teeth is very important, otherwise the Rum won't be the only thing that's gone, Captain Jack. Alcoholics who pass out at night after drinking don't usually brush their teeth - a practice I would not recommend - but the alcohol does kill any germs or bacteria in the mouth. Actually I just made that last part up. Don't believe everything you read.

DANG, NOW I'M HUNGRY
While extreme alcoholics dwindle away because they eventually stop eating, most heavy drinkers experience the opposite. Alcohol is an appetite stimulant, hence the beer gut or, as I call it, the "Bourbon belly." Alcoholics (and diabetics) experience extreme hunger, sometimes constantly. This naturally leads to serious weight gain in the spare tire area. Diabetics need to watch their diet, avoiding sugar, carbs and salt. Unfortunately, alcohol makes one crave carbs and drinking tends to lead to apathy where the diet is concerned. Alcohol also affects how the liver clears fat from the blood, so as long as fatty keeps drinking, fatty keeps getting fatter.

OH, I SEE - - OR MAYBE I DON'T SEE
The first serious symptom of alcoholism is blurry vision. The drunk wakes up one morning, bleary-eyed as usual, but the blur in his left eye never clears up. It stays irritatingly blurry. This is caused by damage to the retina's blood vessels which can lead to visual impairment called diabetic retinopathy. Not good, dude, and despite what one might think, more drinking does not help clear up this problem.

DISCOVERING YOUR FEMININE SIDE
Another unusual symptom of this process is yeast infections in the crotch area. Oh yes. You didn't know guys could get yeast infections? They absolutely can! That "heat rash" in their nether regions isn't just because they have overly-sweaty neuticals. That's the alcohol causing that itchy crotch and reducing the body's ability to fight off infections. Keep consuming booze by the fifth (and that doesn't refer to the day of the month, dude) and one will soon discover an itchy groin is a constant irritation that never goes away.

WOW, I AM SO TOTALLY HOT!
I'm not talking about your decrepit body! Have you noticed an increased sensitivity to heat lately? It's not just because it's summertime, you fool! When one has reached the diabetic stage, alcohol causes the blood sugar to spike dramatically which can cause dizziness, heart palpitations, heaviness in the chest, hot flashes and increases in body temperature. This is why alcoholics sweat profusely, and why their sweaty regions can harbor yeast infections. They're always hot, in the true sense of the word. I recommend Gold Bond Ultimate Body Powder.

OUCH, MY ACHING JOINTS
Has one of your friends ever asked you, "Why do you move like an 80-year-old man?" Do stairs give you trouble - and you're only 42? Do you blame your sore joints on old sports injuries? Your weight gain doesn't help, of course, but aching bones and joints is another sign you have imbibed your way into diabetes, and this can lead to more serious problems such as osteoporosis. Way to go, sport. Time to hit the Joint Juice (which is quite tasty with a little Vodka, I hear).

BE STILL MY BROKEN HEART
Did you know that people who have diabetes are twice as likely to develop strokes or heart disease? This is true. Keep guzzling that Gin and you are severely increasing your risk of various cardiovascular problems, including heart attack, stroke, coronary artery disease and the narrowing of arteries. The ex may have broken your heart, but the booze is killing it.

I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE A WASTE
Your kidneys contain millions of tiny blood vessels that filter waste from your blood. Severe damage to these organs can lead to irreversible end-stage kidney disease or kidney failure. This would require dialysis or a kidney transplant. How well do you think Obamacare will handle that? As an alcoholic, you'll be "rationed out" for sure due to your poor lifestyle choices. But I'm sure they'll give you a few pain meds to help you along.

NOW YOU ARE SERIOUSLY GETTING ON MY NERVES
Excess sugar can damage the walls of the tiny blood vessels that nourish your nerves, particularly in the legs. This causes tingling, burning, numbness and pain in the feet. Left untreated, this can lead to loss of feeling in the limbs altogether. Insufficient circulation or nerve damage in the feet will increase the risk of various foot complications. Cuts or blisters become serious infections. Severe damage might require the Obama administration to amputate your feet. No, seriously! He said that didn't he? Didn't I hear that right?

YOU'RE MAKING ME HURT ALL OVER
That's the alcohol, dummy. People with diabetes often suffer from undiagnosed pain that comes and goes in a variety of areas. There's nothing you can do about it.....except stop drinking, idiot.

DARN, NOW I'M JUST DEPRESSED
Depression is another common side effect of alcoholism. Alcohol is a depressant, and depressed diabetics don't need further doldrums drummed up by drinking. But alcohol makes me feel better! What happens when you stop? Now you feel worse. Welcome to the vicious circle. Hope you enjoy your stay.

NO! THAT TOO?!
Yes sir, you manly-men! This is the one side effect no one wants to hear about: erectile dysfunction. Oh yes! Alcohol-related diabetes is the anti-Viagra. That's the hard truth - or should I say the "soft" truth? What did you expect to happen after you zapped your nerves and narrowed your blood vessels? Bye-bye, Mr. Happy! Soakin' up all that hooch is not helping your love life, Romeo! Lay off the liquor, loser! The only good news is, alcoholics don't really care about sex anyway.

STRANGELY ENOUGH, I ALMOST FORGOT THIS LAST ONE
Of course the most common ailment associated with alcohol is memory loss. This is due to.....I forget. Anyway, while some marriages are something some of us are wanting to forget, destroying brain cells and wiping out the memory by drinking ourselves to death is not the way to go. Try some constructive counseling or attend an AA meeting. Or start a blog that no one reads.

So that's how it ends, my friends: slowly and painfully, organ by organ, limb by limb. Not exactly the way it was glowingly portrayed in the movie Leaving Las Vegas. Unlike Ben, who enjoyed a brief sexual encounter with Sera and then casually died after climax, the real-life result of alcoholism is the slow death of your pancreas, which in turn begins to kill off the rest of your body systematically and thoroughly. Much pain and suffering is involved, and it's no Hollywood Oscar-winner, believe me. There will be no cheerful applause. Thank you, and goodnight.
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Note: Much of the medical information cited here was from Everything Diabetic Now, a group on facebook. The rest was recalled from personal experience or just made up altogether. For further study, I highly recommend the novel Leaving Las Vegas by John O'Brien. Skip chapter one and the rest of the book is an in-depth, disturbingly-honest look into the mind of a hopeless alcoholic that I found compelling if not vaguely familiar. The movie failed to capture the witty-gritty flow of the book, and despite his winning the Oscar, Nicolas Cage didn't do that great of a job playing Ben in my opinion. Sorry. I'm just sayin'. The book was better.

RANDOM THOUGHT #56: WHAT COLOR IS CHARTREUSE?

2009-07-31T09:24:00.001-04:00

In my family, whenever someone brings up the subject of painting, my father always jokes, "Why don't you paint it a bright chartreuse?" Whether it be a room of the house, a piece of furniture or the backyard fence, whenever there is a debate over what color something should be painted, my dad always suggests "chartreuse." I don't think he even knows what chartreuse looks like. He just thinks it sounds hilarious. And he hates making decisions about paint colors with my mother.

So I got to thinking, what color is chartreuse really? A shade of pink or purple? Does anyone truly know?

It may shock and surprise you, but I found the beginning of the answer in my Old Mr. Boston Bartender's Guide, published in 1966. Most people, in times of difficulty or confusion, turn to the Holy Bible. While that is a most wise source for inspiration and knowledge, it didn't help in this case. All I found in the Bible is that after building the boat, Noah got loaded on some wine, passed out naked and embarrassed his sons. That was a little TMI. Not sure I needed to know that.

So one day while perusing through my handy little bar book, I came across a recipe that called for Green Chartreuse. Then I found another that called for Yellow Chartreuse! Wow! This stuff comes in different colors? What is this stuff? According to the "Liqueur and Cordials" section in the back of the book, Chartreuse is an herbal liqueur made by Carthusian monks in France. Do tell! Carthusian monks?

Now, please do not confuse "Carthusian monks" with the "Carpathian Sorcerer" that caused all that weird, hate-filled pink goo to infest New York City in Ghostbusters II. They have nothing in common. Carthusian monks are harmless religious folk who take a vow of silence and live in the Chartreuse mountains of France. Of course, they also brew up and enjoy quite a bit of this potent liqueur, so being a Carthusian monk can't be all that bad.

Anyway, this is when I resorted to another pointless Internet search. I mean honestly, how many people waste hours of their time researching booze on the web?

Well, seeing as how there is an official Chartreuse website (presented in three languages) and quite an extensive writeup on Wikipedia, someone besides me cares. In fact, a Google search of "chartreuse" turns up about three and a half million results.

According to Wikipedia, Chartreuse is a French liqueur composed of distilled alcohol and 130 herbal extracts. The liqueur is named after the Grande Chartreuse monastery where it was formerly produced. The liqueur is currently produced in the nearby town of Voiron under the supervision of monks from the monastery. It comes in two colors: the 80-proof yellow version and a 110-proof green variety.

Well that sounds enlightening, doesn't it? Now where can we find some? (As if anyone but me were interested in such a thing!) This may seem a difficult task, as your average side-of-the-road liquor store doesn't carry such an exclusive brand of liqueur. No, you have to go to a big-time operation, such as Green's. They have some, but only the green kind. The only store in my town that carries both colors is Morganelli's. They have both the yellow and the green, but be prepared to fork over plenty of cash if you want to enjoy this high-class booze. Chartreuse runs about fifty bucks a bottle.

But just why should you purchase a bottle of Chartreuse and have it available in your home bar? Well, first of all, let's see what Jim Gaffigan says about owning a home bar in his new DVD, "King Baby":

Well, that may be the case but what about your next formal dinner party? You want to be sufficiently prepared to properly serve your guests at that, right? Well, according to Emily Post in her classic guide, Etiquette, after a formal dinner a proper host serves coffee and liqueurs in the drawing-room:

"Liqueurs are offered exactly as coffee. The guests pour their own, or saying 'Chartreuse' or 'Mint, please' their choice is poured for them."

Now just what exactly are you going to do when the Senator's wife requests Chartreuse and you don't have any? You uncouth slob! You incompetent boob! How could you be so thoughtlessly unprepared! I shall not be attending such an uncivilized gathering at your home any time soon.

Of course, then again, I wasn't ever invited.

Oh, well. I don't care. I have my own bottle of 110-proof Chartreuse, as well as the appropriate glassware to serve it to myself with. I don't need you.

So there is the answer to my question, "what color is chartreuse?" Officially it is somewhere between green and yellow, as if you had mixed these two delicious liqueurs together. You see, despite what you have been told in the past, sometimes alcohol is the answer.

RANDOM THOUGHT #73: "ANGUS BURGERS"

2009-07-12T11:31:00.001-04:00

You know, sometimes I think the advertising and marketing people who work for the fast food industry show a certain lack of creativity. For instance, "Angus Burgers." A few years ago Hardee's revamped their entire menu and started focusing on quality, individually-cooked "premium" burgers made from Angus beef instead of the typical mass-produced sandwiches made from frozen patties. Burger King soon followed this lead and began offering their own version of the Angus burger. Now I see McDonald's has finally gotten on board, as they are now promoting a high-end, quality hamburger made from Angus beef.

My question is, why do all these restaurants always copy each other? Angus beef! Angus burgers! Why can't one of them offer something original?

What about the other Young brother? Why not offer a Malcolm burger? Sure, everybody loves Angus and his spastic antics as he darts around the stage sweating profusely. But who holds the rhythm together? Malcolm! Malcolm stands back there by the drum riser, patiently grinding out the rhythm chords to every AC-DC song, never desiring the spotlight or the adoration of the fans. Other than an occasional "Tee-in-tee!" shouted into his microphone during the chorus, you never hear from shy little Malcolm back there! But it's his guitar work that turns the creaky cogs that make up the grand heavy metal machine known as AC-DC music. Angus' lengthy guitar solos would sound mighty empty without Malcolm's diligent rhythm chords backing him up and filling in the void. Without Malcolm, AC-DC would not be the same.

So I think it's time for Wendy's or Rush's or my favorite, Sonic, to step up and be original. It's time to pay tribute to the unsung hero of heavy metal, the driving force behind all those "four-on-the-floor" head-banging classics for which AC-DC is so famous! It's time to rise up and recognize the masterful musician who makes it all possible! You've all tried the tired-old Angus burger, now try the MALCOLM BURGER!

For those about to eat, I salute you.

RANDOM THOUGHT #18: "TOMATO KETCHUP"

2009-05-28T08:39:00.001-04:00

They call it "mustard" because it's made from mustard seeds. It's called "horseradish sauce" because it's made with horseradish root. They call it "barbecue sauce" because it's used to flavor barbecued meat. But what is the origin of this sauce we call "ketchup?" And why on the bottle does it say specifically "Heinz Tomato Ketchup?" Is there any other kind of ketchup? I think it's time for another seemingly-pointless Internet search.

According to one website, the Chinese invented a concoction they called "ke-tsiap" in the 1690s, which consisted of pickled fish and spices. Oh, yummy. Who doesn't love pickled fish?

In the early 1700s the popularity of ke-tsiap had spread to Malaysia, where British explorers first sampled it. By 1740 the sauce, renamed "ketchup," was an English staple. It soon became popular in the American colonies. "Tomato" ketchup wasn't invented until the 1790s, when New England colonists first mixed tomatoes into the sauce.

The H. J. Heinz Company was established in 1869 and, through their superior marketing maneuvers and advertising campaigns (not to mention great taste!), they prevailed over other manufacturers of tomato-based sauces called katsup, catchup, catsip, catsoup and catsup, just to name a few. Heinz, with their particular brand of tomato ketchup, would set the modern standard.

Quite the controversy continued on for years as the determined catsup rebels struggled for equal acceptance with the ketchup loyalists. But alas, in the 1980s, when ketchup was declared a vegetable on the U.S. government's Standards for School Lunch Menus, the catsup conglomerate suffered a disheartening setback. Because of its alternate spelling, catsup was not on the approved list. It was a severe blow. For most, this ended the debate. The sauce has henceforth been widely recognized as ketchup.

There is a stubborn but dwindling catsup faction that still exists to this day, but most people prefer to call the delicious red sauce ketchup, and most people prefer Heinz. It's "America's Favorite."

Now, I wonder what the origins of tartar sauce are? Back to the web!!

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #322: "THE MOST IMPORTANT ISSUE - LIKE - EVER!"

2009-05-28T07:36:00.000-04:00

Just as I feared - just as I adamantly warned everyone - President Obama has indeed selected a candidate for the Supreme Court that is far to the left in her political beliefs. But even the New York Times has begun expressing concerns about Sonia Sotomayor.

Why is this?

Is it because she once uttered the racist statement, "I would hope that a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn't lived that life"?

Is it because she proclaimed in a 2002 speech that legal decisions by judges of her background should be affected by their "experiences as women and people of color"?

Is it because 60% of her decisions as a judge on the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals have been reversed by the Supreme Court? That's three out of five, by the way.

Is it because, as Andrew McCarthy of National Review Online reports, "Judge Sotomayor is unabashed in claiming license to judge, and, indeed, to make law, in accordance with her feelings and her politics, which are decidedly leftist. For her, the nation’s appellate courts are the places 'where policy is made' by judges, not the places where policy already made by the public is applied by judges"?

NO! Of course not! None of that stuff is important!

As Charlie Savage of the New York Times reports:

"In nearly 11 years as a federal appeals court judge, President Obama’s choice for the Supreme Court, Sonia Sotomayor, has never directly ruled on whether the Constitution protects a woman’s right to an abortion. But when she has written opinions that touched tangentially on abortion disputes, she has reached outcomes in some cases that were favorable to abortion opponents.

Now, some abortion rights advocates are quietly expressing unease that Judge Sotomayor may not be a reliable vote to uphold Roe v. Wade....."

So HOLY CRAP we better investigate the heck out of this woman before we support her, otherwise our right to MURDER BABIES is at stake!! Forget the fact that she lives by "the rule of judge" instead of "the rule of law," WE MUST PRESERVE OUR RIGHT TO END UNWANTED PREGNANCIES!! "CHOICE" IS HANGING IN THE BALANCE!! WE MUST KNOW WHERE THIS JUDGE STANDS!!

Sometimes I just sit back and wonder, why is killing fetuses so important to these people? I mean, nobody is making them get pregnant. Nobody is forcing them to have sex. Why is the right to an abortion so sacred? It just seems to be an unnatural obsession, like we're pumping them full of sperm and forcing them into "Labor" Camps or something. Isn't free speech or the right to bear arms to protect yourself a greater priority?

No. To these people the state-given right to kill their own children is of utmost importance. That's all they care about.

Call me crazy, but that's just weird. It just don't seem right.

RANDOM THOUGHT #322: "JACKBOOTED THUG"

2009-05-11T10:39:00.000-04:00

A derogatory phrase thrown around a lot in politics nowadays is "jackbooted thugs." For instance, "members of ACORN are Obama's 'jackbooted thugs.'" What exactly is a jackbooted thug? Do they actually wear jackboots? What are jackboots? This sounds like an interesting Internet search for today.

The Urban Dictionary defines a "jackbooted thug" thusly:

"Jack booted is a derogatory term used to describe an overly oppressive and authoritarian individual or group, often denotes violent tendencies. Thugs, thus described, are those in the service of an oppressive authoritarian, usually employing violence to achieve his/her/their master's goals."

Okay, that was pretty obvious. I guessed all that. What I want to know is where the phrase comes from. What is a jackboot exactly? Can I purchase a pair at Target?

In a letter to the New York Times on July 5, 1995, Robert Perloff of Pittsburg explained:

"A jackboot is a large, strong leather boot, the top of which covers the knee. Worn especially by cavalry officers as protective armor in the 17th and 18th centuries, it was later adapted as part of the uniform of many military organizations, notably Nazi storm troopers.

Because of its military association, the jackboot came to be used frequently in such phrases as 'jackbooted, goose-stepping Nazi storm troopers.'"

That is what I was looking for. That is a much better description. Now if I could only find a photo.

Well, after extensive searching on the Internet (which I spent way too much time on, I assure you), I have come to the conclusion that "jackboots" are any plain leather boots that come up to the knee or higher. One website suggested that the term may refer to the boys, or "jacks," that helped remove the boots, and that "boot jacks" eventually led to the term "jackboots."

So there I have it. Now I know exactly what I mean when I call the ugly old ladies on The View a group of jackbooted thugs carrying the water for the Obama dictatorship. Now I am clear.

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #732: "MORE MISS CALI BASHING"

2009-05-05T15:04:00.001-04:00

Make no mistake about it, when it comes to anger, jealousy, resentment and hatred, the "angry white men" of the KKK have nothing on the fascist Pink Shirts of the GayGayGay and their allies in the media.

Take Miss California USA, for example. All she did was confess to be a Christian and give her honest opinion on Homosexual Marriage a few weeks ago and to this day, the Gay Mafia and the mainstream media continue to hurl vicious insults and damning accusations at her. You'd think she was Sarah Palin, for crying out loud.

Most recently, The Today Show's Matt Lauer cheerfully announced with a smirk that while Carrie Prejean has been advocating traditional marriage as of late, RACY NUDE PHOTOS OF HER THAT ARE WAY TOO INAPPROPRIATE FOR US TO SHOW ON NATIONAL TELEVISION have surfaced, thereby TOTALLY discrediting her and the entire Christian community altogether so why don't all of you just SHUT UP and let us enjoy a healthy heapin' hunk of Gay-on-Gay marriage, huh? I mean geez, we can't have attractive young women posing in underwear ads, can we? What is the good old USA coming to?

Meanwhile, over at Dancing With the Stars, some unknown "star" I've never heard of was busy having yet another supposedly-embarrassing wardrobe malfunction that duly impressed the judges and was wrought with rampant hilarity! I've watched a few moments of this show and believe me, this is the whole point of the program and the reason for its popularity. All the women wear very revealing and potentially malfunctionable outfits that men watch with hopeful expectation, much like they watch NASCAR to see the fantastic car crashes.

But surprisingly, none of the judges on this show based their scores for dancing ability on the contestant's religious preference, despite the fact that she bared her boob on national TV.

In other news, RACY NUDE PHOTOS of Jennifer Love Hewitt surfaced this month when Maxim magazine published their latest edition as usual. The revealing photos (typical of this rag) failed to cause a surge in gay marriage support, but instead were enjoyed by heterosexual males nationwide quite thoroughly. No one asked Miss Hewitt about her opinion of gay marriage, nor did they care what church denomination she attends on a regular basis.

So as usual, the media feigns mock outrage at partial nudity when it is politically expedient, while they profit handsomely off of the same all the time! Any opportunity to SQUASH a conservative will be exploited beyond belief, but the sexual escapades of a liberal such as Barbara Walters in a racy, tell-all book are lauded and admired. If Carrie had been in favor of gay marriage, does anyone believe the photos would have any significance? Of course not.

As far as Miss Cali's old photos go, out of the six EXTREMELY CONTROVERSIAL pictures that have supposedly been "uncovered," only one has been made available to the public, and believe me, I've seen more revealing poses in the Wednesday Walmart circular. Victoria's Secret catalogue would have rejected this photo. I've seen more nakedness in a Dove Soap commercial. I've seen more skin during an Olympic volleyball competition. This is the same pose they photographed Hannah Montana in, and everyone thought it was wonderful and cute.

See, the only difference is, Miss Cali is a CHRISTIAN, therefore she is a hypocrite and an anti-gay voice that must be silenced. If you are a gay liberal fake news moron like Matt Lauer, you have no moral values therefore you can never be a hypocrite.

The incredibly beautiful and intellectually-superior Miss California said it best when she responded, "I said I was a Christian. I never said I was perfect."

I love you, Miss Cali. How about we engage in some traditional marriage ourselves, huh? You freakin' ROCK!

RANDOM THOUGHT #65: "GOD IS DEAD?"

2009-04-29T16:48:00.001-04:00

According to a recent article in Newsweek Magazine (which I by no means read on a regular basis), "the number of Americans who claim no religious affiliation has nearly doubled since 1990, rising from 8 to 15 percent." This in an article announcing "The End of Christian America."

If they would only admit that "Global Warming" is a religion, that percentage would plunge.

The liberal media, who would love to see Christianity die out altogether, once declared in the seventies that "God is dead." Maybe in their hedonic big-city life, but not here in the good old South. We still have plenty of churches around here, and we still believe in God.

European countries now consider themselves "post-Christian" nations, as their Muslim populations multiply and the enlightened, "non-religious" folk die off. During his recent apology tour, President Obama was delighted to inform the Europeans, who will soon be known as Eurabians, that America can no longer be known as a Christian nation.

It is true that many Americans, like our benevolent dictator, are too immersed in their own delusions of grandeur to focus on any higher power other than themselves. Why, they are so all-powerful that their choice between paper or plastic might either destroy or save the planet! Good luck with that.

Personally, I'm not an Obama-worshipper. I don't deceive myself with thinking that I could possibly harm God's creation. In his "Prologue to Jurassic Park," Michael Crichton writes: "You think man can destroy the planet? What intoxicating vanity." He finishes with: "We've been residents here for the blink of an eye. If we're gone tomorrow, the earth will not miss us."

As for me, these recent declarations in the news spurred my lazy butt out of bed for the first time in months, maybe years, and I took my son and myself to church.

And just to piss off the liberals even more, I went to a BAPTIST church!

DISTURBING THOUGHT #32: "GERMANS LIKE TO HIKE WITH THEIR BOOTS ON! (AND LITTLE ELSE)"

2009-04-26T14:10:00.000-04:00

Just what in the heck is the world coming to? I can't believe this story, but it is certainly true. Appenzell, Switzerland has just passed a law banning "Nude Hiking." Who knew this was a problem? As it is, voters in the heart of the Swiss Alps are quite fed up with German tourists parading through their picturesque region in nothing but hiking boots and socks, so now they have a law that fines nudists 200 Swiss francs for doing so.

Just for the record, I myself am not opposed to "Nude Hiking" except in the case of ugly German gays as well. Nobody wants to see that. Sheesh! By all means you may read the story HERE, but for the love of swingin' Petey do not do a Google search for "Nude Hiking." The image results you will find are far from sexy Swiss blondes traipsing trails teasingly. Ugh! I may be scarred for life. The things I endure for the sake of research.....

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #730: "CORN IS FER EATIN'"

2009-04-21T17:08:00.000-04:00

Just as I suspected, just as I knew, it seems ethanol made from corn is turning out not to be the energy euphoria liberals all told us it would be. The California Air Resources Board has just released a report that determines the production of ethanol is actually more harmful to the environment in the long run than good old oil. Dang it!

According to the report, "when it comes to greenhouse gas emissions—not strictly from emissions when compared side by side, but when considering the entire cycle necessary to create corn ethanol" - it's actually worse than oil. Raising all that corn also uses up a lot of water, and requires deforestation to clear land for more corn fields.

Isn't it fun to watch when liberals find themselves in a conundrum like this? What's more important, saving the water and the trees, or destroying the evil oil industry? Hmmm. I have to think that one through a while longer.

So once again if we would just "Drill Here, Drill Now" like some crazy rightwing haters like myself and Sarah Palin have suggested, we could have all the oil we need, saving the corn to make tacos and burritos for all the illegals, which is a whole 'nother thought process altogether.

Leave us not go there today.

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #729: "MISS CALI LOSES PAGEANT DUE TO RAMPANT GAYNESS"

2009-04-21T15:11:00.000-04:00

The "Miss USA 2009" title went to Miss North Carolina, Kristen Dalton, on Sunday. But the big news that came out of this pointless contest was Miss California's answer to a question from one of the judges, Perez Hilton, an openly-gay blogger who knows so much about fashion, poise and beauty, I'm sure. When asked about her opinion on same-sex marriage, Miss Carrie Prejean replied:

"We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite marriage. And you know what, I think in my country, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that's how I was raised."

Because of her answer, in Donald Trump's opinion, the gay blogger most probably gave her an overly-low score and cost her the contest. Later in a video blog, Hilton blasted Miss Cali, saying she gave "the worst answer ever" and was a "dumb b****."

So it appears we do indeed live in a land where you can choose, but if the fascist homosexual girly-man obsessed with his own sexuality disagrees with you, you get schmacked down and called ugly names. You see, not only can you not disagree with homosexuals, you have to overtly endorse and promote their behavior because they, after all, are morally superior to you and your grandparents.

This gives me an opportunity to express my thoughts on this matter. What would happen if we all became gay? Answer: the population would die out and the Muslims would take over, okay? So as long as the heteros are reproducing and replenishing the planet with more infidels, happy young men who fancy their own gender are able to frolic about freely. If we die out, guess what? There are no gay Muslims. They execute homosexuals.

So I don't care what you and your boyfriend do behind closed doors, but making a mockery of marriage in an effort to normalize your deviancy just doesn't jive with me. Don't you people get it? When our average fertility rate drops below 2 babies per couple (it's at 2.10 now), the population ceases to replenish itself. Am I crazy? A rightwing nutjob? Go HERE and view the current fertility rates by country. Notice a trend? European populations are no longer replenishing, much less growing. At the top of the list? Women in Muslim countries. They have as many as six or seven children each.

Take a moment to ponder that. Then you will understand why non-Muslim women in France are forced to wear head coverings so as to not upset the "youths." The French find same-sex marriage so progressive, so impressively multicultural and diverse. The few old ones that are left anyway.

MIXED-UP THOUGHT #13: "AVAST, YE SCALLYWAGS! JOHNNY DEPP IS A MUSLIM?!"

2009-04-15T13:12:00.000-04:00

With the recent increase in piracy going on off the coast of Somalia, one would think we should all blame Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom for our new-found fascination with pirates and all these ship hijackings as of late. Were these "criminals" perhaps inspired by the Disney movies? Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of Rum. That's what the news media wants us to believe. Some isolated incidents are happening somewhere over there in A-FRICK-a. Nothing to worry about. No big deal. Just some pirates.

The truth of the matter is, these so-called "pirates" are actually Muslim terrorists, complicit in the globalization of radical Islam and the destruction of all infidels - meaning you and me. The sooner we realize this, the sooner we can protect ourselves from this perverted, evil religion that hides behind so-called "moderate" Islam.

Don't be fooled by liberal terminology. Don't succumb to blind apathy. If you don't wake up, your country is lost, your religion is gone. This is not a test. This is the real thing. There are no good-looking, long-haired, tattooed "teenagers" in three-cornered hats bearing swords and seeking treasure and Rum. These are dangerous fanatics bearing Korans and burqas seeking martyrdom for their religion, and they would sooner cut your throat than steal your gold. That's the scary truth. They want you dead in the name of Allah.

RANDOM THOUGHT #13: "CIGARETTE COMMERCIAL"

2009-04-14T17:36:00.000-04:00

There is a "public service announcement" running on the radio these days put out by Phillip Morris that cracks me up every time I hear it. You see, because those bastards at PM tricked gazillions of people into smoking cigarettes for years, they have now been eternally condemned by law to put numerous warning labels on their packaging, and to run commercials to inform the general public of the dangers of cigarette smoking. This is because if they didn't, none of us would realize that smoking is not good for us, would we? No, we'd be eating cigarettes for breakfast with milk and sugar.

Does anybody else find this humorous? Tobacco companies are forced to run attack-ads criticizing their own products and they still turn a massive profit. Ha! Screw you anti-tobacconists! We'll never go out of business! What other industry could thrive despite constant campaigning against itself? Alcohol maybe? The lottery?

So this commercial I hear is a guy telling about how he went online to peruse the Phillip Morris website to check out information on cigarettes, and he says with the utmost seriousness, "There's a lot of information there. But for me, it all came down to this. I discovered there is no safe cigarette."

Really. That is utterly amazing. There's not like a cancer-free version? You're kidding?! I can't believe this!

Do you get the feeling the folks over at Phillip Morris are trying to insult our intelligence? I mean, how frickin' STUPID would you have to be to go online expecting to find information about a healthy, alternative cigarette that lowers your cholesterol and promotes liver function?

Actually I think this commercial is Phillip Morris' way of saying, "YEAH! DARN RIGHT WE KNOW OUR CIGARETTES WILL DEFINITELY KILL YOU BUT WE'RE SELLIN' THEM ANYWAY, YOU NICOTINE-ADDICTED IDIOTS, AND WE'RE LAUGHING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK!!" That's how I see it. No, seriously. They really care. And Budweiser wants you to drink responsibly. And if you have a problem with gambling, you should steer clear of the lottery.

RANDOM THOUGHT #122: "ROADSIDE MEMORIALS"

2009-04-14T17:14:00.000-04:00

I don't know if this is unique to South Carolina or the South in general or what, but why is it that when there is a fatal car accident on our state highways, the family of the deceased place a memorial where the crash occurred? You know, you've seen the white crosses on the side of the road with flowers and whatnot that say, "In Loving Memory of Judy" or whatever there along the highway. On 378 headed towards Sumter there must be twelve roadside memorials alone.

When someone gets shot at a convenience store, we don't put up a plaque that says, "In Loving Memory of Richard Morgan, husband, father and brother, who was shot and killed here while purchasing a pack of Marlboros and a Pepsi." We don't put up memorials downtown at busy intersections that say, "Valerie Hoffstedder was hit by a bus and killed at this intersection, July 23, 1982. May her spirit live on." You don't arrive at Hole #7 on your favorite golf course and find a sign stating, "This hole dedicated to John Smith, who, until his heart attack here on May 4th, 2002, was shooting two under par." This would get exceedingly creepy. You'd think, DANG, people are dying everywhere! Hey! Don't sit there! Bob Jameson was killed on that park bench in 1994! Show some respect!

Isn't this why cemeteries were invented? To keep all the death stuff in one location? I mean, people get killed and die all over, but we put the bodies in certain designated areas near churches called graveyards, not the exact spot where the actual death occurred, right? But for highway accidents we put up a cross at the precise mile marker where someone nodded off and crashed into the woods. Why is this?

I think it's because the mourners want to warn the rest of us: "Watch out. Pay attention. Don't mess around. Keep your eyes on the road. You could get killed around here, in fact, right here. Someone else already did." But think how disturbing it would be if a hospital had a sign out front that said, "In Loving Memory of the 623,749 people who have died here since we opened." That just wouldn't seem right.

RANDOM THOUGHT #82: "WHY IS THERE TaB?"

2009-04-14T11:14:00.000-04:00

The other day I was wondering, Who drinks TaB? You know, that diet cola in the pink can made by the Coca-Cola Company since the 1960s? Obviously somebody is still drinking the stuff because I see twelve packs of it in the soft drink section of my local grocery store. Isn't TaB the same thing as Diet Coke?

But then I survey the vast selection of Coke products available to me and realize that there is Diet Coke, Diet Coke with Splenda, and Coke Zero - all basically the same thing, right? What's the difference? Why carry all these very similar products instead of consolidating the line?

Well, that makes for today's pointless internet research project. According to a TaB fansite (yes, there are websites for everything):

"The difference between these products is the sweetener used. Diet Coke is sweetened with Nutra-Sweet (aspartame), Coke Zero is sweetened with Nutra-Sweet and Ace-K (acesulfame potassium), Diet Coke with Splenda is sweetened with Splenda (sucralose), and TaB is sweetened with saccharin and Nutra-Sweet."

Oh, so it's all in the sweetener. Different folks prefer the taste of different fake sugars. Call me crazy, but I'm not that picky when it comes to diet sodas. They all suck in my opinion. There's just no substitute for high fructose corn syrup. Yummy.

Other interesting tidbits about TaB (courtesy of Wikipedia):

TaB was originally called TaBB, but was shortened during its initial development. It's called TaB because dieters are easily able to keep "tabs" on their calorie consumption - since TaB has none. TaB is not an acronym for "Totally Artificial Beverage," "Totally Awesome Beverage," or "Titties and Boobies" as is inaccurately asserted by some.

For some reason, probably related to anal retention issues, TaB enthusiasts insist that the "T" and the "B" be capitalized while the "a" remains lower-case. This matters to them greatly. It's like the 7UP thing (no hyphen!).

At the height of its popularity, the TaB name was briefly extended to other diet soft drinks, including TaB Rootbeer, Orange, Ginger Ale, Strawberry, Lemon-Lime and Black Cherry. I don't remember any of those.

In 1993, they introduced TaB Clear, which bombed in less than a year just like Crystal Pepsi did, during that odd period of time when cola manufacturers tried to convince us "clear" was healthier and cleaner. Nice try.

TaB is available in Norway and Sweden under the name "TaB X-tra."

TaB Energy Drink should not be confused with TaB. The former is an energy drink marketed to women and tastes nothing like the latter. In either case, however, your friends will definitely laugh at you and think you are gay if they catch you drinking one.

So the answer to my question, "Why is TaB still around, when there are so many Diet Cokes to choose from?" is simply that there are still enough TaB consumers out there to keep it on the shelves. The same thing goes for C2, that half-sweetened version of Coke. It's still out there if you can find it, and sells quite well in some markets.

Now, a couple more questions to ponder: 1.) Why does TaB only come in twelve-pack cans? and 2). Why is there Sprite Zero but no Diet Sprite anymore?

The simple answers are: 1.) Because that's the way TaB sells, and 2.) Because Sprite Zero sells, but Diet Sprite didn't. It's all in the dough. Simple marketing numbers. So just keep purchasing your TaB in the precious little pink cans and it will stick around. Otherwise, just like Diet Coke with Lemon, it will become a mere memory to someone who cares.

That would be me, not you. You don't waste hours of your time thinking about TaB and then writing a blogpost about it. That's my job. I'm here to entertain.

RANDOM THOUGHT #237: "THE DISNEY SKYWAY"

2009-04-04T18:50:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wondered what happened to the Skyway buckets at Disney World? Nah. You probably don't concern yourself with thoughts about attractions at Walt Disney World that have been refurbished or removed, but this is an issue that fascinates me even though I could never afford an actual trip to the park. But I can dream, can't I? Besides, there are tons of websites dedicated to this subject, which makes for interesting, if not totally pointless, research practice. I like finding answers to my questions.

The other day I was remembering the Skyway, which was a gondola lift attraction at Disneyland, Disney World and Tokyo Disneyland. This ride took visitors back and forth between Fantasyland and Tomorrowland via small, four-person cable cars, and offered a spectacular bird's-eye view of the park from high above. But this exciting ride has been removed from all the parks. Why?

Several reasons, but mainly due to the - - pardon the expression - - rather crippling "Americans With Disabilities Act." Disney was forced to eliminate this attraction because the gondolas were too small to store wheelchairs on, and stopping the entire ride to assist disabled visitors on and off individual cars was impractical and irritating. There was just no way Disney could redesign this attraction to accommodate the handicapped and prevent accidents.

So because a small number of people could not access the ride, the whole darn thing was scrapped. Now nobody can enjoy it. Thank you, Political Correctness. A select few can't participate, so let's ruin it for everyone! Now we are all equally as miserable. How wonderful. It seems even the Wonderful World of Disney is not immune to liberal fascism.

Now that I have given the knee-jerk curmudgeon's reaction, I can now give you the simple, honest reason: It was the money. Different theme park rides carry varying insurance risks. Given the fact that the Skyway was a small open bucket dangling precariously in the air at a great height, you can couple crazy people attempting to jump out with mean people spitting or dropping items on park visitors below and realize what an insurance risk this ride must have been. No wonder they axed it. It's hard enough to keep people seated until the ride comes to a complete stop when the attraction is on the ground!

The Skyway at Disneyland shut down first in November of 1994, followed by the Tokyo version in 1998 and the Disney World system in 1999. And that was the end of the Disney Skyway.

One other point that is interesting to note. According to Disney history, it was the original Disneyland Skyway that inspired the idea for Walt Disney World's remote location. The legend is that Walt Disney got the inspiration to build a second theme park when he heard the story of a family who decided to leave Disneyland after observing from the Skyway that rush hour traffic was beginning to build on the nearby Santa Ana freeway. He decided his next venture would be a theme park in a more secluded location to prevent the intrusion of the outside world. This is why Disney used dummy corporations and cooperative individuals to secretly buy up 27,400 acres (or 47 square miles) of land out in the middle of nowhere, so that the Florida theme parks would be completely removed from civilization.

This is why when you come down I-4 and take the Walt Disney World exit, the excitement and anticipation builds to a frantic level as you drive.....and drive.....and drive.....and drive to finally reach the parks. Most first-time visitors do not realize how far off the beaten path this resort is. However, the distance from the exit to the actual parks is not so vast that a budget hotel out on the highway will not suffice and save you some money on your vacation bill. Staying on the Disney property is wonderful and ideal, but if you're looking to save some money it's worth the extra drive to stay off the property. How much time are you going to spend back at the motel anyway? If it has a bed and a pool, what more do you need?

Whether or not that Disneyland Skyway legend is true, the outside world was clearly visible from the ride and this ruined the isolated, fantasy effect of the park, which was designed to remove one from the reality of modern civilization. So it is understandable that it had to come down. Why for the other remote resorts some sort of larger, enclosed gondolas that accommodated the handicapped and prevented accidents couldn't be dreamed up by Imagineers escapes me. It seems to me Disney dropped the ball on this one.

Meanwhile, spectacular bird's-eye views of the Disney property in Florida can still be viewed, albeit for mere seconds, when the elevator doors open on the Twilight Zone: Tower of Terror ride at the Disney Studios park. But those leery of the tame Skyway experience will surely not enjoy this horrific thrill ride, which is the equivalent of a falling, runaway elevator.

One final thought: Wasn't there a skylift ride similar to this at Carowinds in Charlotte at one time? I seem to remember as a teenager waiting in line forever to ride a ride like this over Carowinds, but a lengthy search on the Internet turned up nothing. Anybody?

WONDERFUL EFFICIENT GOVERNMENT

2009-04-03T08:10:00.000-04:00

I just received a letter from the Registrar's Office of my local school system. The letter is dated March 27, 2009. I just received this letter. The letter states, and I quote:

"John will be permitted to enroll in ****** Elementary School beginning with the 2008-2009 school year. Proof of residence has been established with our office. This is a Temporary assignment, and will expire on 5/3/2009."

Isn't that nice to know? My son is eight months into the third grade, on the A-B Honor Roll with perfect attendance, a mere eight weeks away from summer vacation, and the school system is just now getting around to issuing a decision on my residency, papers and forms concerning which I filed with the system back in July of 2008. Because I have an unusual living arrangement, this is a hoop I have to jump through every year - notice this privilege expires in five weeks - just so I can subject my son to the public school system year after year, like I'm so friggin' excited about it.

No, I don't really live in this school's jurisdiction, I'm nefariously attempting to sneak him into an inferior learning facility on purpose! Ha ha ha! My evil plot is exposed!

Government schools. And you stupid idiots want to entrust our entire health care system to these people? This can't be my country. The people in my country would not be this dumb. Of course, seeing as how most of the population are indoctrinated in free government schools, free government health care sounds tempting to a bunch of mind-numbed sheeple.

GAMPA'S "BUTT PICTURE"

2009-03-29T09:22:00.000-04:00

This peculiar piece of artwork hangs in the upstairs bathroom of my parents' home over the toilet. The 8x10 "painting" consists of four simple brush strokes that depict the backside of a beautiful woman. Although the signature says "Picasso," I highly doubt this is one of the famed artist's masterpieces.

For many years this framed artwork hung in the office of an architect that my father worked for as a consultant. My dad had always admired it for some (perverted) reason, so when the architect died and his office was cleaned out, the other partners of the firm bequeathed it to my dad, and he took it home and hung it over the toilet. This seemed to be the appropriate place for such a risque piece of art. Over time, it became known to my children and myself as "Gampa's Butt Picture." That's how we all referred to it.

When my youngest boy was five years old and still mastering bathroom procedures, one day he was standing there relieving himself and curiously studying the artwork. He seemed a bit befuddled as he stared at the almost-pornographic rendering in deep five-year-old thought. As I waited to assist him in getting his jeans back up and fastened, I wondered what curious thoughts he could be thinking, looking at this semi-erotic painting.

Suddenly he turned to me and asked, "Is that really Gampa's butt?"

ECO-NAZIS ARE COMING FOR YOUR DETERGENT

2009-03-28T14:43:00.001-04:00

SPOKANE, WASHINGTON - Last July citizens of Spokane County became the victims of the nation's strictest ban on dishwasher detergent made with phosphates. The Eco-Nazis claim the measure is "aimed" at reducing water pollution, and will expand the ban statewide in 2010. Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Michigan, Vermont, Minnesota, Illinois, Massachusetts and New York all plan to follow suit.

But now many people are "shocked" when they discover phosphate-free green products leave their dishes "encrusted with food, smeared with grease and too gross to use without re-washing them by hand." As a result, some citizens of Spokane have become "Detergent Bootleggers," rushing to neighboring states to buy Cascade, Electrasol or heck, even some cheapo Walmart stuff to get the job done.

Supporters of the ban acknowledge that it is not very popular - but they're sticking with it anyway.

"I'm not hearing a lot of positive feedback," admitted the head Nazi behind the ban who knows so much better than you. She argues that phosphates are difficult to remove from wastewater and often end up in rivers and lakes where they.....GASP! They promote the growth of algae! Good Lord! This is indeed an outrage! Now algae is considered water pollution? Yes! Algae "gobbles up oxygen" that fish need to survive, because of course fish are not capable of swimming to an alternate location to find oxygen, obviously. And they will die.....supposedly.

But if we eliminate the phosphates then the algae will die, so I'm not sure if I should call myself a phosphate-hater, a fish advocate or an algae-aborter. That's a tough one. Which do you hate more, fish or algae? Has anyone asked the fish or the algae how they feel about this issue? After all, the algae apparently like phosphates. Why does the algae have to die? Why can't the fish learn to adapt?

This is one of those phony scams based on the irrational emotional fears of some environmental nutcase. I ask you, where is the PROOF that more algae in rivers and lakes is choking the fish? Where's the scientific data? Why can't these Eco-Nazis spend their time developing better ways of eliminating the algae, or filtering wastewater so that the phosphates are more thoroughly removed, instead of taking away our detergents that work and putting Cascade and Electrasol out of business? There goes more American jobs!

One Spokane resident "is washing his dishes on the pots-and-pans cycle, which takes longer and uses five gallons more water. He wonders if that isn't as tough on the environment as phosphates."

The Eco-Nazis don't care. They just want to take your detergent away. They want to impose their beliefs on you. Phosphates have already been banned nationally in laundry detergent since 1993, and now they want your dishwasher soap as well. They are currently pushing a bill on Capitol Hill that would ban phosphates nationally. What's next? Hand soap? Shampoo? I think they want us all to be filthy hippies!

Liberalism. It is a mental disease. And it is dangerously contagious.