Friday, January 30, 2009

Another Ring

I hate my birthday. I think I might have ALWAYS hated my birthday, but my memory is kinda "smokey". Not only is it like Christmas, where I'm reminded by how little my family really understands me (don't get me wrong, I need for nothing and am grateful for their consideration, but the things they give belie a serious disconnect from my persona), but it's usually a really shitty day for me. On my 30th, I had heart surgery, and that was maybe the high/low water mark among birthdays, but let me give you a glimpse of my day SO FAR.

2:00 AM- violent diarrhea with cramping until 3:00 AM. No idea why.
5:25 AM- Earthquake (4.6). No harm, but woke me. I thought it was the dog doing something.
6:30 AM- Decide to make an omelette (I'm good at this). Got some egg on my hand and couldn't get the soap out of the SoftSoap dispenser dealy, so I pounded on it a few times, and it ejaculated cum looking soap all over my shirt and pants. I rinsed it all off and was then cooking and wearing a cold shirt with suds.
7:00 AM- Omelette done and eaten, I change clothes and get re-ready to go to work, and poke myself in the eye.

It'll be all downhill from here, I'm sure. I told Schmoopie I'd be lucky not to lose a limb today.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Be Careful Out There

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Brain Dump

The following are things I've been meaning to blog about but have not gotten around to posting. Clicking on images should get you a better view (if that's what you want). In no particular order:

Skegness is SO Bracing:

I've always said that.

Can we somehow thin the herd around here? Like starting with these types:

And can we send the murderous jack-booted thugs of the Denver Police Department with them? It's embarrassing to me that the Democratic Party would have let these brain-dead barbarians off the hook for their many documented instances of blatant abuse against (Democratic) friend and foe alike. Any excuse to kill a motherfucker who fails to "respect their authoritah" I guess. And note the delightful t-shirts the DPD made for themselves to commemorate the savagery:

Jesus Zombie Christ I'm glad to be away from there. I lived there for nearly twenty years and NEVER had a good experience with them. If you need help in Denver, just handle it yourself because adding these monsters will only make things worse. Also hope that they don't just decide to shoot and kill you anyway (they may still lead the nation in police killings).

Then I ran across this:

In the 7 deadly sins department, I'm five for seven. Not bad. I particularly like the "lust" pile. I could hang out there for a spell. *ahem*

Those who know me in the "meat world" know that it doesn't take much to get me on a righteous tirade about Walt Fucking Disney, and this little gem made the rounds on the internet lately and merely underscores what a burning douche this "national treasure" was. Rot in hell Walt, you fetid bit of cream cheese covered afterbirth.

In happier fantasy thoughts, I saw this. Oh Leia, how I wanted to DO things to you. Pardon me, I need a moment.

Every time I see a headline about sex slaves, I always WANT it to be a story like what's pictured above, but in the end it's always some soul crushing story about kidnapped girls forced to work in brothels in third world tourist places. Where are all the happy sex slave stories damn it? These Leias look happy. They make me happy. Pardon me- need another moment.

So, being of Scotch-Irish decent, I was aware from the time I was little that my family name had a coat of arms, and woo hoo hoo- it features a boobie!. It's a bizarre thing that also features a bird of some kind chewing a wound in it's breast so that the blood can feed it's offspring. Cheerful, eh? I prefer to think of the boobie (it was lactating). Lot of fertility images for just one coat of arms, and perhaps accordingly, I not only had no difficulty in knocking up Miss Schmoopie, but told her immediately after the filthy carnal episode was complete that she was "in a family way" both times (and was right). I later learned my father had done the same with my mother. Weird. In any event, I first saw the coat of arms I was really little and didn't like the colors and didn't give it a second thought. Later, it became popular to have coats of arms made for family names that didn't have them, and a cottage industry was born. I don't think the one I saw in my youth was a contemporary creation, but really don't know. Something jogged it in my memory recently and I thought that if the coat was historically genuine, then I may also have a tartan. I looked it up, and I do. It's fucking hideous:

So my ancestors were tasteless breeders. Fucking lovely.

I'm not all that into cars, and my next new car purchase will be 100% electric, so it'll be a while before I change vehicles, but THIS friggin thing scratches where I itch:

Just imagine it in green with gun-metal grey wheels. Ooh la la...

Finally, I've no idea what's happening here, but this is how I feel these days:


Friday, January 09, 2009

Weird Dream

I know that every time someone tells you about a dream they've had, it always sounds stranger than expected because you don't normally get the visualizations, but I have to try to tell you all about the dream I was having until my alarm sounded this morning.

It started with me in a forest of huge bigger-than-redwood trees that were spaced unusually far apart. Almost like a prairie with the occasional giant fucking tree. Among these giants, one old fallen trunk was semi-uprooted and leaning at about 85 degrees. The trunk was maybe twenty feet in diameter and all the branches were long gone- just a tree trunk and exposed root base holding the incline. I went to the tree and climbed up the jagged and knotty root base and walked the top side of the trunk to near the end and was surprised that my weight didn't even make the tree wiggle or sway.

So then the environment changes (as is the case with dreams) to the tree trunk being at Cannon Beach, Oregon and the weather is beautiful. I'm sitting there and it's breezy and nice, and I see a small jet coming in from the sea about five feet above the water. My first thought was that it was a drug runner, but then the jet turned toward me (rather than hitting some buildings) and it's not a normal jet. It's a strangely shaped plane whose shape is like what you'd get if you pushed opposite corners of a square piece of paper a little together and away from one of the other corners. Like a wrinkle in a carpet that tapers. I'm sure I'm not going to be able to explain this very well. Suffice it to say, it's an unusual shape that is decidedly un-airplane-like. It flies around like a spaceship or something- it can fly at about any speed, and can stop and change direction in perplexing ways, but doesn't seem to be able to hover. I'm watching this crazy thing move in all these improbable ways, and I see "U. S. Air Force" written on it, and am impressed with the technology. I'm looking at it all over for signs of jetwash, jet vectoring, heat distortion- anything, and I'm seeing none of it. I have no idea what is propelling this thing. Then a conventional F-16 shows up and they proceed to dogfight.

At this point, the dream changes from a first-person experience to a movie, where my minds eye is a camera that follows the action. The two planes cat-and-mouse through a canyon environment and after a few minutes, the pilots salute each other and they exit the canyon- the F-16 banking left, and the weird plane to the right.

Toward the left is some kind of large alien looking structure that is involved in carnage. Now, this thing is unclear, but it has four "guns" that are shooting some kind of energy or plasma beam. The gun turrets are openings with top-hinged metal plate covers that swing up to expose the guns. Like the cannon port covers on an old battleship, or in my parlance, like some Star Wars At-At kind of thing. Observe:

Now, in this case, the guns are not covered by the "doors" or "lids", but rather the windows are. But in my dream, the guns of this thing pop up from under covers like the headlights of a Corvette (you know, the old ones with pop-up headlights. Why they got rid of that feature is beyond me- I think that was the only reason why I liked Corvettes as a kid.)

So, there is this alien plasma-death-ray shooter thing with four "guns"- two by two. All hell is breaking loose, and the death ray dealy doesn't cause explosions or fire or anything- it quickly dissolves matter, leaving empty space. There isn't much sound with it either. The F-16 engages this thing and is dissolved in short order, but the weird plane with it's unpredictable flight path is bobbing and weaving around the periphery of the death ray range. Unable to get close to the source, the weird plane pilot is becoming frustrated and flies behind the cover of a building, and while behind it, one of the death ray guns shoots a hole in the foundation of the building, exposing daylight. The pilot of the weird plane flies into this new hole the building and behind that a new empty space is formed by a following death ray (or whatever I'm calling it) plasma shot, and the pilot flies to that point. The alien weapon is shooting in a path, and the pilot of the weird jet is following this path of not-destruction, but vacant space, closer and closer to the source. The alien gunners it turns out can't see through their own weapons beam, so the guy gets closer and closer as the aliens continue the firing. Then, as the aliens finally turn to shoot somewhere else, the weird plane emerges right up in their grill, so to speak, and shoots them with whatever he has, and it makes a "pyew pyew" sound and the gun turret blows up, but the explosion is too close, and the weird plane is damaged. The pilot ejects, but his inertia carries him toward the alien turret he's just blown up, and as the heavy metal lid closes over the smoking detritus that was once a death/plasma gun, he strikes the outside of the alien vessel and his ankle is trapped by the closing metal lid. He's held there in agony like a bear in a trap, as the scene changes.

Cut to what I think is the United Nations building, or maybe an underground bunker somewhere- perhaps the Pentagon. Someplace important, with dramatic lighting and cherry wood paneling. This scene is very Dr. Strangelove-esque, or maybe a little like the Henry Fonda movie Fail-Safe. The setting is a wood paneled room with an unnatural red-orange tint, like color movies from the 50's had, and it begins with a close up of Lee Majors on the telephone.

He sets the phone down and does his best satisfied squint (flexing his dramatic range) and says to either Katie Segal

or Mercedes Ruehl

"Get me Eisenhower!"

As she leaves the room, she passes a seated Peter Sellers

who has a strange grin on his face, and she says to him "Is that a problem?", and he replies "That depends- do we have enough cocktail spoons?" and then the camera zooms in on his smile featuring terrible Austin Powers teeth.

At that moment my alarm clock went off, and so I have no idea what the possible meaning or consequence of the cocktails spoons might have been. This may help explain why I'm so often tired, even after sleeping...


Thursday, January 08, 2009

Are We Not A First World Nation?

To all of you who were duped into thinking that Obama was somehow a "change" agent, I'm very sorry you were mislead and hope that you don't lose your idealism. This guy has begun to show us his real nature and it's not looking good:

* He got involved after all in the fiasco with his Senate replacement.
* To preside over his inauguration, he chose a homosexualmisist priest (the suffix -misia is from the Greek word "to hate", in lieu of the less applicable -phobia for "fear of". Incidentally, "homophobe" is also not the right word, as "homo" only means "same". If it really is fear of gay people, the word is "homosexualphobe", which admittedly doesn't roll off the tongue)
* He wants CNN's Sanjay fucking Gupta as Surgeon General. Fuck me sideways with a stick! Not that fucking guy. This is the same biopharma shill that Michael Moore dealt with (and made look really fucking stupid AND compromised on national television), and since when do we need to turn to television talking heads for appointments? That's the kind of dumb ass thing I'd expect from the current idiot-in-chief (Tony Snow was spokesperson for the White House, you see). You want change Obama? Bring back Jocelyn Elders. She was the last Surgeon General worth a fuck. She suggested masturbation was natural and not unhealthy and Bill "come here and let me pork your intern cooter with my Partega, while I spooge on your schoolmarm dress" Clinton fired her for it.

Now today I hear that D.C. Inauguration officials want attendees to bring their own toilet paper to the event? Why? Don't they have enough copies of the Constitution for people to wipe with? When did we become so third world?