Pleased to meet you …

After last weekend I can say the end is very near. Here are the latest signs of the apocalypse:

1) Prince was better than the Rolling Stones.
2) A University of Tennessee quarterback won a big game. (There is now an 11th circle of hell I am sure.)
3) Prince is less controversial that Janet Jackson.
4) A University of Tennessee quarterback beat a Quarterback from University of Florida.
5) Tony Dungy is a world champion.
6) It rained during an NFL event. (Maybe Football is not God’s sport after all.)

* props to bc for collusion in this list

The editors of Time Magazine have announced that:
“You, yes you.
You control the Information Age.
Welcome to your world.”

Well… Then… Thank You.
I mean, Thank Me! Along with bc, I will accept this honor on behalf of me and I would like to say a few words to those that have helped me. And since I helped myself, I would like to thank me. Give myself a pat on the back and shake my hand. I really could not have done it without me and I really have to hand it to myself.  It has been a hard year with many trials to sustain. The publication of my book, “How I would have become ‘Person of the Year’ if I had done it.” is being postponed because I am the PotY. My movie “The Good Me” be being postponed in favor of other similarly named lesser films. The pictures of my vagina being worn by Britney and Lindsay, were particularly trying times.

I had many successes as well. The discovery of 368 new species in Borneo, the successful war in the middle east then the equally successful peace. My children with Angelina, and Katie; the adoption of all children in the conflict regions of Africa, were personal highlights. But nothing will top being being; me. I would like to quote a former president who misquoting me uttered a famous phrase.  

Simply:
“Ask not what I can do for you, ask how you can thank me.”  And the answer is CASH, small bills, unmarked and in packages of no more than $9,999.00.

Bring it!

I have had enough and I am in a fighting mood. How may times to I come to your neighborhood, with Origin of the Species, in hand, awoke your ass up before noon and try to get you to convert.

Let me count… Oh, NEVER!

So now its on. I have a white shirt, a thin black tie, a copy of OotS and an old bicycle, a had full of pamphlets and I am coming for you. Don’t try to hide, Sunday morning I am coming to your home and am going to convince you that Atheism is the true way. That when you die, you rot. That our ancestors were monkeys and that is good. That the 10 commandments are just suggestions from a book and that is OK to choose another set of life teachings. In particular, I am going to bring with me the complete lyrics of Nin in Nails and Prince (early Prince of course.)

Give them some of their own medicine. Hi, I’m and Atheists and I’m here to help.

What an innocent question. That was what my Significant Other asked. My problem is that I answered. Stupid me.

SO: So how was your acupuncture?
ME: Great, is is so relaxing, I really get into a zone, almost float away.
SO: Does it hurt much?
ME: Yea, it was real intense, but I relax into it. She used a lot more pins this time, and used more on my hips, legs and lower back. She said I was really tight.
SO: On your legs?
ME: Yea, it is my back that is getting worked on.
SO: How old is your acupuncture lady?
ME:
SO: So what exactly is the process and is she attractive?

OK boys and girls, I now realize I have walked 50 yards into a Sarajevo mine field and I am a body bag. So I did what I always do when faced with my own stupidy, I continue to be stupid.

ME: Lets see, I strip down to my underware and lay down on a massage table, she comes in massages my back to see where there issues are. She then will put pins down my back and legs.
SO: So does another woman see your ass?
ME: ugh… some of it…
SO: And does she message….

I know you are saying, “you are so hosed you donkey.” “What kind of nubbins are you?” No sir. I am brilliant.

ME: Yes, would you like for me to set you up an appointment? I am happy to do that, and you might really enjoy the expierence.
SO: Let me think about it… but I am gald you enjoy it.

And we lived happily ever after. At least until she hears about my massage therapist.

There is AA, NA, OLGA, WODA and even SAA.
We all know Alcoholics Anonymous, friends of Bill. Most of us have heard about Narcotics Anonymous and it’s sister organization On Line Gaming Addiction. Now I know about a self help for infidels, sorry people that cheat. Is this as confusing to you as it is to me? Well let me provide some context.

Earlier this same day:

So I’m trying to get someone to do something for me and not getting any response. I call and call but nuttin’. So what do I do, I get my ass out of the chair and walk over to see her. Then I commit embracing moment number whatever. I say “Sharron will you ….” On her screen is the forums of survivinginfidelity.com, at that point I was putting my eyes on anything but the screen and her boobs. I stuttered my question, started to smell the fear in my own sweat dripping cold down my side burns and not sure I heard that she would get back to me because my heart was pounding too hard.
So now I have this information, what am I to do.

I go a lurking. I spend the next 2 hours reading the forum and getting darker and more demoniacally depressed. I was never interested in cheating, my girl is my best friend and the cost of loosing that is too high. BUT this site is a train wreck on crack. You can not move your eyes from the pages with a crowbar and a wooden mallet. Phrases that tug at your heart, rip at your soul and make me laugh like Richard Prior.

…I’ve thought about it and if he did give them away to the OW and she did get them appraised at our jewelers…and let’s say my jeweler who does know me tells my husband….what is he going to do???? …

I checked his wallet tonight & found a receipt for a strip club for the town he was most recently in, dated Aug. xxth. 3 fucking days after he pledged his love (after admitting to the 2nd girl) and swore he wanted 2 change. WTF. What is it going to take 4 me 2 c him for what he really is: a sex crazed, cheating, lying piece of shit!!

it’s only been 3 weeks since I found out about the sex affair and 3 months since I knew about the emotional affair. So the question to all of you is whether I should go knowing everything in me wants to kick the crap out of this guy. On one hand I

As a Internet geek I am use to abbreviations; lol, lmao, afk, rtfm are common and comfortable for me. But… when I see the likes of EMA, MLC, OW, OM, ONS, PA, EA, RD, STBX; my eyes cross, my ears bleed and I get a pain in my left nut that won’t go away.

I figured OW is other woman and OM is the converse, but PA and EA stumped me for the longest time, I know there was a glossary but that seemed like cheating, so to speak, and then I got the context right. Physical Affair and Emotional Affair was the answer. STBX was soon to be “x.”

Next thing I know it’s 2 hours later and I feel dirty and used; cheated on and ashamed. If ever there was an advertisement for monogamy this web site is it. As a guy, attractive members of the female verily catch my eye, from time to time. But the pain that these people experience make me just cringe with anticipation. This is am underworld rife with possibilities of deception and I think I’ll keep it in my pants. (Under lock and key, tied behind my back with duct tape.)

Feel like test driving adultery, my suggestion: Just Found Out. Enjoy the hook-up.

The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while the Company is true.

I hesitate to call to your attention to Cute Overload®. I hesitate not because the disturbing nature of the images at this site, but because some of you may like them, and that can not be tolerated. They say a picture is worth thousand words, but not these pictures. The only words that describe these pictures are: diabetic coma.
Well, Make Me Puke. I can not look at this without Dramamine. If you like these items; I pity you. If you create these; I loathe you. Their assault on my retinal system are overwhelming. Too much, I say. You people must DIE.

There is a saying “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I hate both in this case. The game of creating “too cute” images is fiendish, at best. Pictures of kids in flower pots, puppies sleeping with rabbits, or kittens humping dogs are a hellish assault on our soul, an infernal infection of our psyche and a malignant barbarously cruel attempt to make us care. /spit

This is the most diabolical assault on our civilization ever. Not black plague or MTV can compete. No, I say, nothing is so heinous and attempt to destroy the moral fabric of cynicism in our lives as these images.

Cute Overload states

At Cute Overload®, we scour the Web for only the finest in Cute Imagery™. Imagery that is Worth Your Internet Browsing Time. We offer an overwhelming amount of cuteness to fill your daily visual allowance. Drink it in!

Poppycock I say. Bunnies in cups, must die. The Cynicism of our Nation is at stake. You must boycott these images, thoughts and feelings at once. It’s not just your duty as an American, but as a human being.

Do something Cynical T O D A Y.

I need to get something off my chest. I hate to lump people together, but lately I have noticed a trend. Let me explain. I spent a few “record hot” days at a local swimming pool and it was an eye-opening event. I don’t go to the pool too much. I’m old, not in good shape and in general not interested in the water as much as people watching. Nevertheless, the pool that I have been frequenting has an influx of Europeans this summer and there are uncomfortable trends I have noticed.

Euros wear un-American bathing suits. The men wear white Speedos that leave nothing to the imagination, and frankly, that is not a good thing. Cold water and white Speedo’s, don’t they watch Seinfeld on The Continent? Now that I said “Guys in white Speedos” I’m singing “Knights in White Satin” with mangled words. Guys in white Speedos, never hiding their junk. I could go on but I’m no Justin Hayward and I am disturbing myself.

The woman are just as frightening. They wear swimsuits/fashion statements from 1974, and universally the fabric is so thin that surface tension holding the suit in place is a force of nature untapped by modern engineering. If JPL could harness whatever is keeping the suits on the women the shuttle tiles would never come off.

Number two on my list of trends; Euros sit uncomfortably close to each other. I have seen, many times, where three or four couples will walk in together and the women peel off from the guys and go sit in the kiddie pool while the guy will congregate right next to each other pulling lounge chairs so close as to make the whole group appear as one. I have even seen guys drape their legs over each other. This is an affront to the American values of truth, justice and the 3 food gap. You know that unwritten rule where guys always leave one seat between them when they go to a movie without women or leave every other stall empty. Yea, that rule.

The third un-American trend I noticed is grooming realted. Men groom more fastidiously than women. When I first saw the previously mentioned group of women stand up from their Kiddie pool interpertaion of “The View” I thought that their bathing suits bottoms had funny/fuzzy wings. Maybe it was a modesty shield. But No. That was not the case. I felt like Kurtz at the end of my journey, —“The horror! The horror!”— except I did not die. I was just left with a pit in my stomach, a pain in my eyes and pride that the bikini wax was an American invention. All I can say is God Bless America.

These folks and their tendencies in pool behavior and attire need some good old American conformity. I am thinking of holding classes, maybe non credit 100 level course, at the local university in order to provide an education and civic service but to also cement the precepts of democracy and conformity for all times it these newest emigrates and visitors.

I had a dream last week inspired by a confluence of Codeine, Southern Writers and a Slava Tsukerman film.

In dream there was a prison yard somewhere in south Louisiana, a Cotton Mouth slowly swimming by. The dream-camera pan starts to zoom out on a cluster of buildings. We see a large slab of red mud ringed by razor wire. I did not know if this was some Angola want-a-be until the camera comes to rest on peeling whitewashed sign. Across it in a simple stencil are the words “Toy Prison.”

The rest of the dream was sketchy, a few creatures milling about. There was that dream knowledge that my dream prison divides along racial lines. Lounging on the blacktop that serves as the weightlifting pit are the PBS Characters that have hit hard times. There is Elmo, arrested on suspicion of third degree sexual assault. Sitting on the bench press station flexing was Barney with his prison bitch BJ. I guess that’s how they roll on Sesame Street.

Various members of the Disney Crew populate the Basketball court. Goofy, who has lost his boyish good looks to the pinch while Mickey has so many tat’s that he is unrecognizable. I had an impression that Balou shanked Bugs Bunny in the liver with a filed down Barbie Doll, but that may have been the ruminants of Cletus Purcell in my brain. (or the Codeine.) Which brought me to the third group of racial recidivist were in bleachers and the playing catch on a make-shift football field. They look to be the most dangerous of the bunch. Yosemite Sam the hard-core raciest form Texas with a confederate flag tattooed across his heart; Marvin the Martian with his newly shaved head and the single star tattoo.

I really need to lay off the painkillers and James Lee Burke at the same time. It’s not good for my sleeping pattern.

Can you guess who this person is?

We’ll give you a hint: Best known for his ultra-violent work of the ’80s and ’90s, he’s become almost as famous this century for being as completely out of touch with reality as the Bush Administration and Tom Cruise.

Saddam Hussein? Very close, but wrong.

Yes, it’s that wacky Mel Gibson, looking very “Runaway Bride meets Pepe LePew”.

Here’s a Second Question: Has anyone ever seen Mel and Osama bin Laden together? 

We haven’t either. Hmmmm.

Third Question: Would you ever accept a ride from this guy?

We wouldn’t, particularly on a Saturday.

- bc, from an idea by ml, and facilitated by db