Logic Negated

2011-08-24T18:48:00.003-05:00

I think about theology too much. I know, I should be posting this at www.AwesomeBrewers.com but that site is temporarily down. Once I get Awesome Brewers back up, I will re-post this there,http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif since this story is actually about beer.

I had an hour and a half drive from the customers location to my hotel by the airport today. That, combined with the techno station on XM, and the beautiful Connecticut countryside, is a formula for theological pondering. I spent the whole drive refining my heretical philosophy of moral evolution.

It goes something like this. Moses, Abraham, Issac, and Jacob were retarded. Lets not even go back to the time of the Judges, Cain, or Adam. SRLSY, these people were so mentally challenged that they could not hold down a job at McDonald's. Before you think I sound all high and mighty, let me remind you, yes, I have read "The Horse and His Boy." I don't want Aslan to tear the shit out of my back. I get the whole "pride" issue. That is not what this is about. I envy Cain and Moses. I wish I could look at a field of barley and see a miracle, instead of thinking about genetically modified 6 row versus traditional 2 row grains. But that is not what this post is about. This is a beer post, not a theology post. To make a long thesis short, it goes something like this: As humanities intelligence grows and evolves, so does the moral standard that God holds us too. What is a sin now, was not necessarily a sin 2,000 years ago. As we grow, the need for divine intervention decreases. Theologians replace prophets, acceptance of medicine and science replaces miracles, and reasonable atheism replaces golden calves. Free will is the only gift God gave man, and He wants the choice to choose Him to be just as neutral today as it was thousands of years ago.

Sorry! This really is all about beer, I promises!

I only told you that story so I could tell you this story:
I had just come to the end of a long drive. My mind was a whir with deep (to me) theological musings. I stopped at a gas station to top off the rental car before I returned it. On the other side of the gas pump was a mid 90's Mustang Cobra. The body was beat to shit, but it had nice tires. The teenage couple leaning on the classic American muscle shuffled, and looked me up and down. As I started pumping my gas, the chick approached me. "Hey, we need help. We drove to a beach camping trip and then learned, on the way back to Massachusetts, that the fuel gauge is busted. Can you spare a dollar to help us get back home?"

I looked over at the dude, and he looked down at his shoes in shame. "Seriously?" I replied, "How old do you think I look? I have to get going."

She stomped closer, "No one wants to help us because they think we are druggies! Look!" She showed me her forearms. "We are not on drugs, we just need to get home." I snorted. "Really? I know a thing or two about drugs. Just because you don't have track marks does not mean that you are not looking for your next fix." Her boyfriend looked up, "no, man, it's not like that." His girl shushed him, "I am for real. We just need a few gallons to get back home."

Then I started thinking. Joy and I recently had a good laugh at first world problems. I had just spent an hour and a half masturbating my Christian faith, and here were a couple of stupid 17 year olds asking me for help. I was 17 once. I am stupid now. How can I fault them for doing both at once? I reached into my wallet and gave them a dollar. On my way to the front desk, to pay for the gas, an old black man walked up to me. "Hey man, I am a Vietnam vet. I need some money for food." I heard the roar of an American V8 and looked back and saw the young lovers pealing out of the parking lot.

I hesitated for a second. "No man, I am for real! Here," He pulled out his VA ID card. "I am homeless. I just need some change for a dollar burger." Shit, I thought, he pulled the VA card.

If you don't know, my wife makes her paycheck by helping to perpetuate war, and I make mine by helping to clean up afterward. I felt like I owed the vet something, so I looked into my wallet. I had a twenty and a single. SHIT, I thought, this is my beer money! It's kinda hard to expense "random, needy people in a parking lot." I gave him a dollar.

As I drove away, I thought about that. It is all good and fun to theorize about heretical theologies, but what does it mean if you refuse to live by the most basic Christian principals? What right do I have to question the status quo, if I can't even live up to the quo? How can I say that we are held to a higher moral standard if I can't even care for my neighbor? I was not ready to go to bed, so I went to a hole in the wall liquor store. I was looking at "all the beers." Coors, Miller, Bud. They also had all the indy beers like Boston Lager and Mikes Hard Lemonade. Then I saw something in the corner of the cold case. It was behind a 12 pack of Mad Dog. There it was, a six pack of Lagunitas Little Sumpin'. I wanted to ask the proprietor about this diamond in the rough, but he was from India and didn't speak any English.

I love Lagunitas. I pray that Awesome Brewers will, one day, be like them. I pulled into the hotel parking lot and turned up the radio. Liquid Metal on XM was doing a melodic medal set. I could not turn off the radio in the middle of that. The parking lot overlooked the Bradley International Airport and the sun was setting. It was beautiful. The combination of nature and architecture was somewhere between Ayn Rand and C.S. Lewis. Combine this with the fact that I realized that my seat belt clip could open beer bottles, and that explains why I spent almost an hour in my rental car in the parking lot.

I just popped the top on another amazing 64.2 IBU, 1.076 OG, tasty beverage. I only have two questions:
1. What right do I have to call myself a Christian?
2. Do I always pick yeast that attenuates too far?

2011-04-06T22:41:00.002-05:00

If there is anyone who who is still here, all my writings have now migrated to: http://www.awesomebrewers.com/

2010-10-04T21:41:00.001-05:00

My Halloween Party invitation:

http://www.awesomebrewers.com

Stop on by if you happen to be in McKinney TX.

2010-07-20T21:23:00.002-05:00

Man, I saw way too many thongs tonight.**

Ok, that sentence gives the off the exact opposite vibe I was going for. Let me explain:

With less then 4 hours of sleep under my belt, thanks to Dollar Rent A Car, I headed off to work. I knew the the main focus of our latest install was the mental health ward, but I did not realize how much time I was going to spend behind the electromagnet sealed doors. Doing a wireless survey is a lot like the opposite of looking for a well with a divining rod - you have no idea what forces are at work, and you want everyone to think they understand what you are doing. I had to leave the hospital with a 1000% Lynx guarantee that the mental health ward had acceptable -db scores for the wireless panic buttons. I think they will be all right. But, this assurance is at the cost of my sanity. I will not tell you the story of the man who told me, in old testament fashion, the lineage of a used car lot. I will not tell you the story of a woman who always knew exactly what temperature it was. I will tell you the story of the man who laughed at people who thought he was talking to trees.

I was one of those people.

He corrected me.

I will never be the same. If you thought this was deep, let me help. I did not have this thought until I met the clairvoyant prostitute. No, not in the hospital, I met her in the bar.

~Back to the man who laughed at people who thought he was talking to trees~
I was walking around with a beeping suitcase, acting like I knew things about -db, when I saw a guy talking to a tree. I stared at him because I felt superior. I knew that I didn't talk to trees, so I had to be better then him. Then he made eye contact. It was one of those moments when you wished that there was no God and that your great grand parents where those fish who swam into a cave and liked the food. After a lot of blind fucking, you could have been born, withought sight, but with the evidence of eyes. That would have been easier. Instead this guy in the loony bin talked to me.

"Have you ever talked to trees? They will think you are crazy! HAHahaha!"

He laughed for a long time. It was the laugh an evil comic book villain would have. It will never leave me. Who are "they?" I wish that were the last sober thought of the day. Unfortunately, a lot happened between that moment and the drunken moment I am living in now.

I want more Yuengling. It truly is the Bolsheviks beer. I just drove all over tarnation to get some Yuengling. BTW, I hate KevinO. But that is another story.**

On my way from the hospital to the hotel I called my brother, Adrian. After work on Friday I am driving up to Lawton America to attend my little brother, Daniel's, wedding. This is the most depressing thing I have ever done in my life.

I hate Jessica, his fiance. I really hate her.

In fact, I have never hated any other human so deeply. I am good at looking at the silver lining. I almost felt sorry for the clairvoyant prostitute at the bar tonight. Ok, ok, she was probably not clairvoyant. But she sure could read minds. This was probably, only the 3rd time I had actually met a prostitute, and she was good. Not good looking, mind you, they never are. (Although this would be the second thong I would see today. It was more attractive then the first, which belonged to the woman who always knew what temperature it was, but still not worthy of Girls Gone Wild.) She was just good at what she did, you know - reading minds and all that. I watched, just to observe her habits, as she made her mark and went out to the parking lot "for a smoke" aka to give a dude a BJ for $20. I think she just did this to show her powers. I watched her bum free drinks off several travelers. I watched her make eye contact with the locals and duck under their stares. We had a dialog going on, in our heads. I predicted her every move, and she flipped me off behind the back of some big fish in a little bowl. I did not truly believe in her super power until she got kicked out. As the manager asked her to leave, and she walked to the door, eyes tearing up, I thought, "this is a human being. If you prick her, will she not bleed?" My empathy almost took over, and then I looked over my shoulder. She was outside the window smoking a cigarette. She winked at me, and we both flipped each other off in unison. I shit you not. I wish Fox Mulder were there, because she is proof of supernatural powers. She truly could read minds.

As much as I was ready to see the good nature in this mutant hooker, I cannot, for the life of me, see any good in the woman my brother is about to wed. It gets worse. Adrian just found out this week that he was supposed to be the best man. Jessica does not let Daniel talk to his family. All communication either goes through her, or her family. When Adrian demanded that he be allowed to talk to Daniel, alone, before he accepted, Jessica decided that he was not worthy. So, Adrian is not going to the wedding, and I just learned that I will be asked, hours before the ceremony, to take his place. Yes, I know there is more then hours before the event, but I still have not been asked. So, I am being clairvoyant, not exaggerating.

The last thong I saw tonight was at the bar. This is KevinO's fault.** Did you know that in PA you can only buy beer at bar after 10pm? That whole sentence just sounds weird.

BTW, I have 18 Yuenglings in my bag. Whoever wants to come over on Thursday can help me finish them. I can use all the counseling I can get before Friday.

2010-02-23T21:12:00.002-06:00

I found my home tonight. I love hippies. Mad Anthony's brew pub in Fort Wayne Indiana is amazing. It is tucked away, just outside of down town, in an antique drug store. Run entirely by hippies, they have 10 beers on tap. The patrons are mostly struggling musicians and everyone was extremely friendly. Between freely handing out samples of all the beers, talking about the local music scene, and commenting on the fact that I was in possession of illegal clove cigarettes, they went out of their way to make sure everyone who walked through the front door felt welcome and like a regular. I want my brew pub to have the same atmosphere. A few people in the corner were playing cards, some middle aged guys were watching the Olympics and talking about politics, the musicians were talking about the indi music being played, and a couple of collage guys were looking at hotties on their phones. Everyone was drinking microbrew and everyone treated me like I had been coming there since 1960. I don't know. Maybe it was something in the beer, but I want bring this feeling to Dallas.

2009-08-18T21:02:00.000-05:00

Perl helps private investigators bring criminals to justice.

I was sitting in a bar, wearing my “I know regular expressions” xkcd t-shirt, and a guy walked up to me and slapped me on the shoulder.
“Perl! Where did you get that shirt? Talk about the story of my life. A steroid dealer who had several NFL players on his frequent buyer program found out that his girl-friend was tipping off police, so he murdered her and then killed himself. The girls family hired us to go over 80GB of data to find out if there was evidence to support a wrongful death lawsuit.“

And they use Perl to grep through all this data!

Hmmmm. I guess I shouldn’t be so excited about that. It’s still cool, though.

2009-06-25T22:31:00.001-05:00

A fifteen story tall post modern structure interrupts the seemingly endless plain of northern South Africa. In the near desert that was once Botswana, sheet metal shacks and small huts congregate around the monstrosity, like pagans bowing down before the blasphemy that defies the natural order of its surroundings. Paul walks through the market on his way to the bank. It has been a two day journey from the coast, and he is anxious to get there, but every step that brings him closer fills his mind with fear and paranoia. He stops at a venders cart and orders a beer. The dark skinned local pours a straw colored liquid out of an old plastic milk jug into a cup made out of a Coke can. Paul tosses a few Euros down and pounds the tepid brew. As he walks away he wonders if the fact that he didn’t regret wasting perfectly good money on that swill was proof that he really was an alcoholic.

The lobby of the bank was surprisingly cool, and clean. The center of the building was open, so you could see elevators ascending and descending, taking patrons to and from the offices that overlooked the lobby floor. People of all nationalities paused and enjoyed the refreshing atmosphere. After making a deposit or withdrawal, most of these individuals would have a long trek ahead of them. This place was an oasis in more ways than one. Paul took it all in for a moment before beginning his climb up one of the staircases. For some reason he was just not in the mood to take the elevator. He sighed as he took the last step onto the fourth floor. Hundreds of terminals with dark curtains suspended on what looked like circular shower curtain rods loomed before him. About a third of the terminals were in use and only about half of the clients cared enough to close the curtain around them. Paul waked by a fat middle aged elderly Korean man who was checking the contents of his digital safety deposit box. Apparently he felt no shame about retrieving his illegal Hentai, because he left the privacy curtain wide open. Paul cocked his head to one side as he walked by and watched the Asian’s monitor. He thought about informing the manga connoisseur that there were never actually any tentacle Digimon, but decided against it.

Paul smiled as he thought about the similarities between picking a terminal and picking a urinal. You should leave at least one open space between you and the next guy. He wondered if they thought about this when they decided how many terminals to install. He picked a suitable terminal and scanned in his thumb prints and entered his password before inserting his drive and uploading the key. There was no need to close the curtain. He was simply going to withdraw the file from the safety deposit and close the account – no need to view any of the contents here. After the download, he shoved the drive in his pocket and closed the account. As he started his descent down the stairs, he looked up at the executive offices on the higher floors. “What a shame,” he thought, “somewhere up there is Kevin O’Neil. Even though this is the first time in years that we are on the same continent, I have never felt so distant.” Paul grinned as he mulled over just how witty his thoughts were.

2009-05-20T21:48:00.001-05:00

San Francisco is nothing like I imagined it. For one, I did not see a single fag. I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. I saw Alcatraz. (from the shore, but still) I drove down some steep twisty streets. And yet, San Francisco is nothing like I imagined it. For some reason I thought it would be a modern city. I swear, the last piece of construction was completed in the 70’s. I thought it would be crawling with hippies, like Portland. But no, everyone there is Asian. Ooh, BTW, did I mention that EVERYONE in San Fran is Asian? Totally cereal.

I wanted to go out to eat. I wanted to drink. There were 17 restaurants within a 1 mile radius of me. They were all Asian. I talked to the clerk at the hotel. “Do you know of any hotels around here that I can get a beer at? That aren’t Asian?”

“No, you have to drive 5 miles to get to the nearest American restaurant.”

“Well, OK, I’ll try anything twice. What is the best Japanese restaurant around here?”

“HaHa! Stupid American! Sushi is for the workers, eh, how do you say? The labor workers. It is for those who can’t afford Sashimi. Here eat Sashimi.” I didn’t know if I should feel honored or insulted. I ate the raw fish. It was awesome. The coolest thing about the raw fish that I ate was that most of it was brought in by locals who caught it hours earlier, and some of it was actually sea snail, and some of it was actually illegally poached sea snail. Why do illegal things always taste so much sweeter? I was there for hours eating whatever the locals tossed across the bar to the bartender and drinking whatever rice based alcoholic beverage he tossed at me. It was awesome!

That is the one redeeming thing about business trips - drinking with Asians. For example, tonight I was drinking Yuengling and eating 150,000 scoville heat unit wings (http://www.quakersteak.com/food/menus/core_menu.pdf)and it sucked. You know why? No Asians. OK, maybe that’s not true. Last night was awesome and there weren’t any Asians there, just Italians. That is the one redeeming thing about business trips – drinking with locals. I’m done with trendy bars. Long live Asians!

2009-01-12T23:23:00.001-06:00

"The people who cast the votes decide nothing. The people who count the votes decide everything." - Joseph Stalin

For my birthday, my parents got me a t-shirt with that quote on it. I have been wearing it for the past few days because I have been amazed by others reactions to it, and when you are on a business trip in a strange city you can get away with wearing the same cloths every day until they start to noticeably smell.

My dad told me, a long time ago, that the only jokes that were funny were the ones with a premise that was extremely close to the truth, or the ones with a premise that could not be further from the truth. What he forgot to mention is that much like the slapstick of Americas Funniest Home Videos, the best jokes are only funny to the outside observer, the one who is not getting racked in the nuts.

I was not even thinking about what I was wearing when I went up to the ticket lady to check my bag. I handed her my drivers license and my boarding pass. When she scowled and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?” I instinctively thought that there was something wrong with my ticket. I looked down at my boarding pass to make sure that I did not accidentally hand her the month old one that I was using as a book mark for The Fountainhead. It was a second before I realized that she was talking about my shirt. I mumbled, “Eh, it’s just… elections, uh funny.”

Now, in my defense, she did catch me off guard. I did not think to have a rebuttal prepared. She typed something into her computer and took my bag. I was deep in thought about what had just happened while I meandered through the ropes leading up to the TSA check point. The agent took my ID and made a point to noticeably pause and read my shirt. This is always an awkward moment. What do you do – stand still and let the individual read the text, straiten out the wrinkles to make it easier on them, try to obscure the message like it is some sort of mistake, or just pretend like there is nothing written on your clothing and stare back at them like they are crazy? The later is the typical treatment I get from women in Wall Mart who have phrases written on their busts or butts. I learned that his does not work so well with members of the same sex who have a badge. “You think that’s funny?” he said. “Um, yeah,” I replied. He took an extra long time making sure my drivers license was not fake before letting me pass.

At the bar in the beer belly that overlooks the Bible belt of America, I thought I noticed a few dirty looks. Starting to feel paranoid, I asked the bartender, “Is this shirt offensive?” “Well, yeah,” he replied, “I could see how people might be offended.” I did not question him further on the subject, even though I was confused by his answer.

Sitting here, drunk, in my hotel room, I am still confused. What I thought would be a hilarious joke is apparently deeply offensive. Perhaps I misjudged. Maybe the joke neither close to the truth or far from the truth. Maybe it is in that same purgatory of humor that Dane Cook resides.

Of course, the alternative is far, far more depressing. Maybe, just like Americas Funniest Home Videos, to the outside observer the joke is hilarious. Maybe, to the guy with the camera, this is side splitting humor. Maybe, just maybe, the reason why the joke is not funny is because we are the guy getting hit in the nuts.

I don’t like this joke anymore.

2008-09-23T23:30:00.000-05:00

It’s always that second beer that gets you.

Joy could hear it in my voice. I wasn’t scared… I’m too lucky to get scared; I was just flustered.

It’s that second beer - the one right after the beer you have after the one you had after the last one. It’s the second beer that really gets you.

As if he was attempting to be stereotypical, he had a white crack head chick (a few dominoes short of a full set of dentures) sulking behind him. “Gimmy your money!”

Fuck that second beer. If it had been my first beer, the first beer, that is, after the last beer, I might have attempted to be reasonable with him. But, no, I had to take that second beer with me. I love it when someone offers you a plastic cup for a beer take out.

The bartender knew what he was doing. He saw the swagger in my step. He knew that the beer I just pounded was the first beer after the last beer. He was the one who closed my tab. He knew…

“This one’s on me.”

Staring at him through the Sammy Oktoberfest, fresh off the tap, I asked him, “why is this one on you?”

He didn’t answer. I missed the train. Some black kid with just enough crack to keep a whore in toe thought he could bow up to me.

If it had only been the first beer after the last beer I would be asleep by now, Cartoon Network my only lullaby, but no; there had to be the second beer.

“Hey Joy, I need to get across the river.” She probably thought that I was just drunk and being bitchy. Unfortunately there was another reason for the tone in my voice, that damn second beer!

I took the train to the central station. When I got there, I was supposed to switch trains. I got off, and saw the black kid in the hoody with his crack whore. I stepped off the train and watched him watch me. He stood between me and the train I needed to get on. “Gimmy your money!” Honestly, I was a little shocked. If I only had the first beer, I might have realized that I didn’t have any money. Of course, we know by now that this was not the case; I had the second beer. “Fuck you!” I yelled. He pulled a knife. We stared at each other. I thought about flexing my pecks, then I thought about how lame that would look, as I do not have pecks, then I noticed that the train behind me was about to leave. I backed onto it, and watched the kid through the closing doors. After a lot of heavy breathing, my train came back to the central station. The kid was not there anymore. I crossed to the train that would take me home, and waited. I waited. Then, I waited some more. I looked at my cell phone. 11:12 PM It was at this point that I saw the sign. “Trains hours: 6:00AM – 11:00PM Mon – Fri”

Fuck.

Because of the second beer I was still at the central station. I was across the river from my hotel. I started walking, and after I was thoroughly lost, I called Joy. My cell phone battery was dying. She probably thought I sounded like a little bitch.

“Hey Joy, I need to get across the river.”

2008-07-15T23:33:00.000-05:00

OK, that was a close one. A desperate search, lasting no less then one minute was just underway. I just got into my hotel room after picking up dinner and was about to sit down at my computer when I was overwhelmed with panic. The beer in my hand was a pop-top. Frantically, I looked around. There has to be something in a hotel room that can act as a bottle opener. They teach you in school that bottle openers are all around you, all you have to do it look and you will notice them. A hotel room, however, is such a small area I thought I had found the exception. I carefully examined all the counters and flat surfaces, but none would do. I looked in the bathroom, and in all the drawers. Finally, at my wits end, I looked in the closet and found the object of my desire. So, here I am. I’m sitting naked in front of my computer with an iron and a twelve pack of local beer.

There were no restaurants within stumbling distance of my hotel, and I am in an “interesting” part of St. Louis, so I decided to buy dinner and bring it back to my room. Hmmm, I must not forget to expense this stuff. It’s time to take inventory.

12 bottles of Schlafly Pale Ale
4 White Castle Sliders
2 32oz bottles of Gatorade
1 Starbucks double shot in a can
1 32oz bottle of chocolate milk

It’s going to be one hell of a night.

I don’t know what it is about a hotel room, but as soon as I close the door behind me, I have an incredible urge to take off all my cloths. It’s like there is some unspoken rule that things that are normally unacceptable, are ok in a hotel room. I somehow feel that this is what everyone does, but no one talks about. Hotel rooms are the one place where a man can truly feel free. If I ever decided to rub mayonnaise all over my chest, you can bet that it would be in a hotel room.

This iron is really not the best bottle opener. All in all, this hotel room is not that bad. I mean, it has a lamp, a fridge, and a microwave. Of course, it does not have enough power outlets to operate all three simultaneously, but that is to be expected. This is America. We don’t take kindly to madmen who run around hotel rooms naked, trying to heat food and cool it at the same time. I mean, if you are into that, it’s fine, just do it in the dark, so no one can see you through the window.

My rental car is an SUV hybrid. I can’t help but feel that it is an unholy combination. So, do I hate the environment, or not? It’s like a neo-Nazi, skin head waving a flag around with a peace sign on it. Hmmmm, this reminds me of a story that Rosene and I thought up one night. I’ll have to tell it tomorrow. There is a gang fight in the hallway right now. I need get ready.

2008-06-09T19:57:00.000-05:00

Is marriage a institution of the church or the state? Adding to the confusion, California:

"Should voters approve the measure, Cruz said, offering another potential outcome, it could inadvertently affect traditional marriages. That's because the amendment would undo only part of the court's decision -- allowing gay couples to marry -- but not the rest, which says that same-sex couples cannot be recognized differently than opposite-sex couples, he said. 'If you've got those two rules -- that you can't let them marry, but you can't give different options to gay and straight couples -- then one possible outcome, if the amendment were to pass, is that no one could get married in California,' Cruz said. "

GOOD! It should be illegal for the Government to regulate a religious institution. This could be awesome - or just funny.

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;"

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/06/07/AR2008060701531_2.html?hpid=moreheadlines

2008-05-12T22:36:00.001-05:00

Dream, May 4, 2008

I am in a church, but I do not feel comfortable. Something is wrong. The pews are filled with Frat boys, and the there is a projector displaying youtube videos that frat boys would watch.

They are all drinking American piss water beer out of 32oz mugs. Part of me wants to drink cheep beer and watch youtube videos of high school chicks acting stupid, but part of me is disgusted buy this unintelligent behavior.

I decide to walk away. I went out the back door and noticed that that church was situated on a lake. There was a boat dock that extended out into the water. I walked out onto the dock and noticed that there were several other people there. At the end of the dock, there were several super heroes: Superman, Spiderman, Wonderwoman, Longshot, and Wolverine.

Superman, said to me, “Carnage has merged with Superboy. He is beaming us up, one at a time, and killing us.” Just then, Wolverine disappeared with a pop and a gust of wind. Superman hung his head, “Wolverine just died.”

Wonderwoman was next, then Spiderman, then Longshot. Each one went to their death in the spaceship up above with a gust of wind. Superman explained, “The spaceships transporter beams up a few cubic feat of air with the body. Air rushes in to fill the vacuum, and that’s why you feel the wind.”

After Superman was beamed up to his death, I knew that I was next. I knew what was about to happen, so I jumped into the lake. I held me breath and tried to sink as deep into the lake as I could.

Shortly thereafter, I got beamed up onto Carnage/Superboy’s, bridge. It looked like a cross between the bridge of the Enterprise and the living room in my old Arlington apartment. Several gallons of lake water splashed down around me. Just as Carnage/Superboy was about to kill me, I held up my hand.

“Wait! Before you kill me, I just want you to know that the carpet on your bridge is never going to dry in time and it is going to get all mildewy and smelly.”

Just then, his arm morphed into a simple, stabbing tool. I thought about laughing, but I got stabbed through the heart and woke up simultaneously.

2008-04-01T19:01:00.002-05:00

Who the fuck stole my blog? Other then the comment about "Nova Scotia’s gold" (a fact, prove me wrong) the last couple of posts have been full of self-loathing and bullshit.

Today, once again, Yuengling showed me the light. My first-born son's middle name is going to be Yuengling. Xander Yuengling Lamoreux. Fucking badass!

Recently, Georgia passed a law forbidding breweries from distributing their own beer. They required that separate, state controlled, companies handle the distribution. Everyone found a straw man company to take care of their distribution, except Yuengling. They told Georgia, "We've been doing it this way since 1829 and, we are not about to change our tune for you. So, today, you can get Yuengling Lager anywhere from Pennsylvania to Florida. But they refuse to go farther west then Georgia, because they refuse to put up with that bullshit.

Awesome.

Xander Yuengling Lamoreux, I'm drunk in your honor, tonight.

But seriously, Xander Yuengling Lamoreux is an awesome name. With a name like that, you could easily become the Beast, if not the Antichrist. At the very least, I expect him to become the bass player for a progressive Viking Metal band.

But on a more serious note, I need to recant. The past couple of posts have been pussy, if not worse; gay. I have been living like a rock star, what have I to complain about? A couple of weeks ago I committed a felony. You have no right to complain about the state of the union unless you have done something as kickass as a felony. This is a deep-seated principal that few people can comprehend. Lets take the drug trade for example. The most common badguy in any action thriller is a drug dealer. So, this begs the question, "why do people deal drugs?" Is it because people are just that evil? No, I'll tell you. IT IS BECAUSE DRUGS ARE ILLEGAL.

It is one of those bullshit Zen Buddhist sayings that sounds deep because it is so simple; but it is true! Bottom dwelling scum suckers will deal whatever is illegal. Now, maybe the powers that be are keeping us safe. Maybe they made drugs like marijuana and coke illegal so they would not have to battle the same bottom dwelling scum suckers who would be selling things, like weapons grade uranium, if people like you and me could get a blunt stick at the local Circle K. OK, ok, we can get a blunt stick at the local Circle K, but you know what I mean. However, you could look at it the other way; maybe they made our favorite substances illegal because they are easier to control then things like books. The problem with books is they contain things like ideas. Ideas are hard to regulate at the border. So, what we have is a system. People pedal things because they are illegal, and things are illegal because we know that people will pedal them.

So, when push comes to shove, we all have to pick our roles. Either you are the guy who makes things illegal to make yourself feel high and mighty, or you feel high and mighty because you do what is illegal despite the lofty powers that be.

In a world without reason, there is no other recourse.

So, what prompted me to come to this realization? Well, tonight I was drinking Yuengling: lots of Yuengling. My flight got delayed about 8 beers. In the bar there was a TV. This bar happened to be in Philly. Philly happens to be in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania happens to be having a primary in a couple of weeks. So, the democrats are fighting for votes. Now, I have been impressed in Obama, for a democrat, but tonight, I lost all respect for him. On his tv spot, which aired every commercial break, he talked about the oil crisis. He commented on how “unfair” it was that the oil companies are making record profit despite $3.25 a gallon prices. Fucktard. You know who has a higher profit margin on a gallon of gas then the oil companies? THE GOVERNMENT. Lets not even get into the fact that the price of gas has not gone up in the last 30 years compared to the price of gold, the American people are too stupid for economics. Lets just look at the raw numbers, today. On every gallon of gas you buy for $3.25 the oil companies make about $0.15. The government is making about $0.70. Hmmmm, someone is ripping us off.

We live in a world without reason. Americans vote, live, and die by a system that has nothing to do with facts or logic. There are only two roles you can play, as I see it. Either you choose to help enforce the broken rules of a system whose only purpose is the perpetuation of the system, or you can break the rules of said system, thereby ensuring its existence.

I may have not chosen the more honorable path, but at least my path has brownies. MMMmmmm, brownies.

2008-01-28T19:29:00.000-06:00

I just solidified 3 beliefs of mine, which I had previously been unsure about.

1. Killing purely for personal gain is wrong, in any scenario.
2. The world is a worse place because of the Iraq war.
3. President Bush and the members of congress who voted to give him the power to invade Iraq are guilty of murder.

2008-01-10T01:35:00.000-06:00

Fuck emo kids, fuck the Goths, no one can hate the world as much as I do.

I’m in Vegas, I should be drunk right now, ok… I got that part right.

This is worse then Iowa. When you are alone in a shitty state, surrounded by a shitty gathering of people called a town, it is easy to find others like yourself. They hate their current state as much as you do, so, you have company. In Vegas, all that you see are families, frats, friends, and hookers. I have none.

It is only in the midst of such enormous crowds, that can one feel so lonely.

I spent the night at a bar with a former Navy officer. He had some amazing stories to tell. In short, if you thing that piracy is a thing of the past, your wrong. I promised that I would pass on the story. Next time I am drunk, ask me about it.

2007-12-10T20:25:00.000-06:00

I’m scared of Web 3.0.

I just watched “The Quick and the Dead” and I am scared to death of Web 3.0.

Go to jail. I know that it was a horrible movie.

Tonight was slightly different. There was no good chill pad within stumbling distance of my hotel so I went to the convince store for dinner, picked up a 12 pack of Yuengling, and headed to the hot tub. Maybe the headstrong nature of the Yuengling sons*1 contributed my current mood, but I’m totally cereal; I’m scared of web 3.0.

Maybe it was the time that I discovered the Libertarian party, only to learn that my Dad was registered Libertarian 8 years before I was born. Maybe it was the time I thought I would introduce Ron Paul as a candidate to my Dad, only to learn that he was one of the 432,179 who voted for his presidency 20 years before this coming election.*2 Or, maybe it was the first time my Dad beat me at Guitar Hero. I don’t know, but the principal is the same. Just like in “The Quick and the Dead,” a father has to be better then his son; if not, who does the son have to look up to? And that is why I am scared of Web 3.0.

We have all read Neuromancer.*3 We think we are tough shit right now, but the world has changed an awful lot in the last 13 years. It is the next 13 that frighten me. When I have a son, will I must still be in tune with the world enough to be better then him. Nothing scares me more then conceiving a son who can beat me. The kind of worldview that that will build can destroy a man. I don’t know what is in store, but all I can do is stay in touch, and keep ready. Son, I’m ready for you.

1 http://www.beerhistory.com/library/holdings/yuengling.shtml
2 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Libertarian_Party_(United_States)
3 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neuromancer

2007-12-06T02:11:00.001-06:00

Before 9/11 there existed 7 nations not controlled by Rothschild family banks. Iran Iraq,Cuba,Afghanistan,North Korea, Libya and Sudan.

As soon as 99% of Nova Scotia’s gold was removed from the rubble of the world trade centers, Rudy Giuliani ordered the site “cleared.” It did not matter that only 50% of the remains of civilians and firefighters had been recovered.

“Do you think that all of the worlds wars and economies are controlled by a few men, gathered together in a smoke filled room?” - Question to Dr. Graff

“Well, I don’t know whether they smoke or not.” - Answer

Sometimes, I don’t know why I even care. Then a night like this happens. The bartender said I could drink as much as I wanted for free, as long as I stayed and kept her company. It was midnight, and she had to close by herself. She said, “A lot of fuckers like to come in here late at night and start shit. I would feel safer if I knew there was a good ol’ boy from Texas on my side.”

It is easy to think that the only way you can make a difference in life is if you can punch Rudy Giuliani in the mouth. That will never happen. Maybe there are other reasons to live. It’s just a thought.

2007-11-29T22:06:00.000-06:00

I will never forget her brown eyes. All Freebirds employees are excellent judges of taste, but I like to believe that they are also excellent judges of character. This trip to Freebirds started out like any other. I progressed down the line, as my personal chef paid careful attention to my preferences and created a piece of art that was my Full Bird. For most, the Death Sauce is enough to give their burrito the kick it needs, but some like it hot. The Habanero Sauce is just what I need to remember that I am alive. I like to consider myself quite the macho man, but what I think is irrelevant. I have to receive that recognition from someone I trust. Who in the world could I trust more then the person who provides me with the greatest experience to ever be wrapped in foil? She looked me in the eye and asked what type of sauce I would like. Confidently I replied, “habanero.” She turned her gaze down to the work in progress and began dousing the liquid fire over the rest of the delectable ingredients. “Tell me when,” she said.

The trick is to wait. Don’t cave. With every dash, the temptation is the shout, “Stop!” Wait it out. This is where you learn the measure of your stature. Eventually the burrito artist will look up form their work and question your fortitude, “Just tell me when to stop.” The longer this takes, the more confident you can be how others view you.

After a few moments I was surprised that she was still shaking the bottle over my Bird. Intent in her work, she kept her head turned down and continued to evenly coat the surface of the open-faced burrito with the condiment formed in the blistering heart of hell. I curled my toes and grit my teeth, and then just when I thought I could bear it no more, she lifted her head as if to signify that I had passed the test. I have never seen a more beautiful set of eyes. “Yes, you can stop now!” I screamed. Later, as I was enjoying my silver clad piece of heaven, my friend asked me why I was crying. “They are tears of joy,” I explained. “Never before has anyone thought so highly of me or given me more credit then my brown eyed girl did today.”

2007-11-15T21:35:00.000-06:00

98%ALCOHOLIC

San Jose Dating

2007-10-31T17:08:00.001-05:00

I’ve been watching Rachel Ray on the food network all day because it’s Halloween, and if Satan is going to answer Toki Wartooth’s vengeance prayer it may as well be today. I don’t want to miss it.

2007-10-23T08:17:00.000-05:00

65%

Free California Personals

2007-10-02T22:36:00.000-05:00

I was walking back from the place with the cow on the roof, and the infinitely black puddles that filled the potholes reflected miniature galaxies of light from the shop fronts. The suburb of Chicago that I was currently stumbling through has become a Mecca for Greek migration. (And yes, I am making it sound like Greeks are nomadic, if not predatory miscreants, who have some implied need to move around. I am also likening them to Muslims, or Muslims to them.) [But, that is another story] {Also, we need to watch “The way of the Gun” again.}

But, I digress. So, there I was – alone on a dark street outside Chicago just after the rain made a depressing mess of things. Sulking, I hung my head and thought about all my woes. I walked forward, and suddenly, was bathed in light. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the glare. What was this sign from above? A heavenly chorus rang out. An answer to all of life’s problems stood before me. I girded up my loins and bravely marched into the liquor store.

Perspective is a marvelous thing. As above-mentioned, I had been at the place with the cow on the roof. While there, I had partaken in a few drinks born from an amazing vodka. I was, as they say in the south, buzzing. That was some good vodka!

It might have been the voice of God, it might have been my subconscious, it may have even been the fact that I was tipsy, (That was some good vodka!) but I knew what I had to do. Given my previous luck, I headed to the section of booze that was born in west Europe (what is now Poland to be exact) and made famous by Russia.

A casual reader might not catch the drift of what is really going on here. Allow me to explain. The need to drink more at this particular moment was not a sign of my alcoholism. It truly was a miracle. When I was suddenly bathed in the warm rays of the liquor store sign, I had a revelation. All of the questioning in my mind, all of the fear and doubts - they all steam from the same vein. I continue to question my purpose in life. For some reason, however, I have never questioned myself when I was writing. This house of booze reminded me that I need to get back to my stories.

I looked over the bottles of clear liquid. I needed inspiration. It was not so much that my hand reached out for the bottle, as it was that the bottle belonged in my hand. Sometimes, a sign, even from God, can be misinterpreted. I purchased a bottle of Van Gogh vodka.

It tastes not good.

I am resolved, though. I am going to write. By the end of this year, I am going to send a story off to be published. Shit. Ok. Here I go. (Damn! That vodka that I had at the place with the cow on the roof was really good.)

2007-09-20T00:29:00.001-05:00

It’s not easy being more aware of the world then you are supposed to be. I mean if you point out that the Skull and Bones chose our current president, you get tasered and ridiculed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sE76LQwT6qA

The government does not have to work hard to create a false reality for us. Our propaganda teams probably get to play a lot of mine sweeper. The US most likely does not spend much of your tax dollars on disinformation. We as a people are doing our damnedest to keep ourselves in a fantasy world.

Sometimes I get pissed off at everyone around me for honestly thinking that the mainstream media is feeding them anything other then complete shit, but then I realize that they might simply have an aversion to 87,000 volts.

I just wonder what would have happened if he pointed out that nearly all alternate energy research is being carried out by, or under the control of, the oil industry. He probably would have been shocked by an n-machine powered stun gun, just to prove a point.

2007-08-28T20:58:00.000-05:00

“Dog fighting used to be a noble sport, until those niggers got involved.”

“What?!”

“Well, you know, it’s kind of sad to see two dogs going at each other like that, but the whole time their tails are wagging. They like it. That is, until the blacks took it over and now it’s just disgusting”

Sometimes I hate America. I landed in Columbus Ohio yesterday and then I drove my rented Malibu two hours through the uninhabited lands that lay to the southeast. For that solitary couple of hours without radio reception, as I neared the West Virginia border, I thought this state might be America last hope. The landscape was hilly and completely wooded. A heavy mist filled the valleys as the orange glow of the sunset reflected off the green mountaintops. It looked like a backdrop for The Last of the Mohicans. It was beautiful. With the rush of wind in my hair and the white noise of radio static in my ear, I though, “I love America.”

Today, after a long day of work, I retreated to the only tavern within stumbling distance of the Comfort Inn I was staying at. The bar was pretty crowded for a Tuesday night. The ball game was on the TV and it looked like it would be a fun night away from home. The clientele was welcoming to a guy wearing a DARE t-shirt. The younger guys wore their baseball caps backwards like a belated tribute to Fred Durst, and the older guys sported their fading tattoos. I was in a really good mood. Everything was going great until the idiot on Fox Sport Center made a reference to Michael Vic.

“Fucking nigger.”

The middle-aged guy on the barstool next to me muttered to me for the first time. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, so I turned away from the tub and looked at him.

“Huh?”

“Dog fighting used to be a noble sport, until those niggers got involved.”

I was in a state incomprehensive shock. It was like I was watching the Miss Teen USA pageant. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww) Words were coming out of his mouth, but they didn’t make any sense. The more he tried to explain himself, the more I just wanted him to die. I think he understood this, because he moved to the other side of the bar and kept to himself for a while.

I was still a little fired up when a black guy in a Nike jersey walked in and sat at my corner of the bar. The bartender walked by our end of the bar a couple of times and the black guy tried to flag him down to no avail. I took a heroic chug and slammed my empty mug down. The bartender walked over, leaned over the bar and looked me in the eye.

“Another one chief?”

I motioned with my thumb to the black guy. “Yeah, and I think he needs a beer too.”

“Ahh, don’t worry about him.”

The bartender walked away, and the black guy muttered “what the fuck” and stormed off. Before he was out the door, a guy who looked like the redneck version of Jeff Gordon mumbled, “Thank god.”

When the bartender brought me my drink, I slid my credit card at him, asked for my tab, pounded my beer before he came back, and left without tipping.

I am the first guy to tell you that affirmative action is bullshit. I think that any black person who thinks I owe them “reparations” for things that took place before any of my ancestors left Europe is a dumbdick. And I believe that part of the reason why black people make less then white people, per capita, is because too many of them aspire to be rappers instead of engineers.

What really pisses me off is that any time I say the things that I just did in the last paragraph, people associate me with the very people who made me so mad tonight that I had to leave the bar before I got drunk.

Sometimes I hate America.

2007-07-25T02:13:00.001-05:00

I don’t have enough faith to be an Atheist.

I have too much faith in math to believe in evolution.

I know too much history to be considered a Democrat or a Republican.

Joy is asleep, I’m drunk, and I am watching cable while browsing YouTube. There are a few things that seem interesting.

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The new Mercury Hybrid gets 28 mpg highway. (today I got 27.5 mpg highway, shut up Rosene)

Al Qaeda is active in the Iraq today. They were not active in Iraq when Saddam ruled the nation with an iron fist. (we don’t hear about how Saudi Arabia financed 9/11 and Osama Bin Laden is receiving weekly medical aid in Pakistan)

Gravity is currently used to produce energy, even though we are told that it, just like magnetism, can never be used to produce free energy. (I’m not talking about the N-machine, although I do plan on building one)

The ancient Phoenicians mapped the coast of the Antarctica before it was covered by ice. (3 billion years after scientists tell us that it was a winter wonder land)

There is still no reasonable, scientific, explanation for why Saturn has rings. (other then it looks pretty)

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Please tell me that there is a reasonable explanation. I mean, the concept that there is some powerful organization operating behind the scenes, controlling the media and our education is ridiculous - Isn’t it?

2007-07-16T20:15:00.000-05:00

It started out like any other business trip. My flight was delayed - the car rental place lost my reservation - the hotel attendant had to finish his line of coke before the stroke of 1:38AM. It was 2:14AM before I found cartoon network on the TV.

At 6:45AM I was wandering around the campus of a small Christian Collage, in Florida, looking for an unmarked building that might house a small server farm, another day at work.

6:46AM – 5:06PM Nothing worth noting.

At 6:28PM I realize that I am hungry. Walking about a mile along the beach, (I thought about swimming, basking in the sun, making a sand castle - but partaking in any of those activates ALONE in the definition of a person who has never heard the heroic melodies of Viking Metal) I notice that Outback Stake House is closed for renovations. About 500 feet further is Raindancers Steak House. I am fully prepared to pay too much for a piece of cow and a beer, tip 27% and bill all of it to MITSI.

The sun is beating down. It’s only 91 degrees out, but the humidity is 93%. I push the door open and bask in the cool breeze of AC. There is a little tramp, dressed in black - she looks me in the eye. “We have a dress code.” It is not worth slaying her, that is the only question that comes to mind. I turn around. Dragonforce T a blazing, I head back the way I came.

I call Joy. She says some stuff. My mind is preoccupied with the true reason for my call. I wait for a pause, and I speak. “I want cow. I want beer. Hooters is the only place that will give it to me.”

She said, “I trust you. You can do whatever you want. I need to go. My phone is dying.”

Fuck.

Either Joy is the most awesome woman God ever created (even better the Eve - Joy never created Calvinism) or she is setting a trap. Girls like to set traps.

Fuck.

I call Lesbo. He’s gay. I don’t even listen to him.

Fuck.

I want cow. I want beer. I walk into Hooters.

It was the best decision I ever made. (I’ll explain at the end. Until then, I’ll write.)

I order some wings, as hot as they can make them, some beer, and a piece of cow. I have a revelation, I’m drinking Yengling. I’m in heaven. Everything is cooked just right, the beer is cold, and I have another revelation. The wait staff is not dressed any more slutty then the chicks at Texas Road House, who we (Davison, Towers, and I) used to hit on. The patrons are couples, families, and old people. I start to not feel bad about being at Hooters. Then I wonder if this is a trap. Girls like to set traps.

Fuck.

Then, in the middle of my enlightened bliss, I have a revelation on top of the revelation that trumped my last revelation. Florida will sell a pitcher (PITCHER) to a single person. Also, I am at the farthest southern point in the world that will sell you a Yengling. (The waitress informed me that just 23 minutes south, at the Hooters in Miami, you cannot order Yuengling) I love Joy. Girls like to set traps. This is the end.

Fu… No. Wait. I trust Joy.

In the middle of my most recent revelation, I have a revelation. I trust Joy. I’m on my second pitcher (PITCHER, for those of you in Texas) of Yuengling and I realize that it is not a trap. It’s not a trap.

2007-05-30T21:05:00.000-05:00

We have spent long hours thinking and praying about this issue. Although we have not been convinced of our error, due to multiple ambiguities in the law* we have decided to get a marriage license with the intention of honoring our parents.

We do not wish to get dwell on the legality of this issue, as we have many other uncontested points. We desire to respect and honor our parents, and have decided to submit to their wishes, especially since Joy is currently under her parent’s authority.

We apologize to those we have offended or hurt. This was never our goal.

Jason & Joy

* “Therefore, every marriage entered into in this state is presumed valid unless expressly made void by Chapter 6, Suit For Dissolution of Marriage”-Texas Family Code §1.101

2007-05-29T22:19:00.000-05:00

On Marriage Licenses, a revision.

The more reading we did on the subject of marriage licenses, the more we realized that we wanted nothing to do with them. Before marriage licenses were available in all states, records of marriage were kept in family Bibles. The couple getting married, the pastor, and usually one other witness signed a marriage statement in the front or back of a Bible. This practice was still widely used as late as 1923. Today in Texas, such a marriage certificate is legally binding and holds as much weight in a court of law as a marriage license does. This is crucial to the point that we are trying to make.

If you look up the definition for marriage license, there is only one description: a license authorizing a man and a woman to marry. We do not feel the need to ask the state to authorize our marriage. What is interesting is that the state does not require us to ask for this authorization, either. We will not be breaking any law. We simply desire to put Christ first.

We do not want to get a marriage license, however, we do desire a marriage certificate.

The fundamental difference is that we do not believe that the states authority is greater then Gods. We do not believe that we need to ask the state for permission to get married. We do not believe that the state should be involved in any of Gods institutions. We would be appalled if the state regulated baptism, or taxed communion. This is the same principal.

Marriage is an institution created by God and therefore is holy. Since it is the model of Christ’s love for the Church, and, thereby, our means of salvation, it is the most Holy institution. God says that marriage is a covenant, one witnessed and sealed by Him.

The Bible tells us that there are two important requirements for marriage. The two parties should be equally yoked, [2 Corinthians 6:14] and there should be witnesses. Ruth 4:9-12 shows this applies, specifically when Boaz seeks out witnesses to secure his right to marry Ruth. There, the witnesses even pronounce a marriage blessing on them.

Historically, all the states in America had laws outlawing the marriage of blacks and whites. In the mid-1800’s, certain states began allowing mixed couples to marry, as long as those marrying received a license from the state. The problem is that these new marriage licenses had many un-Biblical stipulations.
As recently as 1967, it was illegal in many states for couples of mixed race to receive a marriage license.

Today, Christians make up one of the largest factions of American voters. Everyone, Republican, Democrat, Communist, and Constitutionalist, wants their vote. Christians are nothing more then a demographic to politicians. When push comes to shove, Christian values are tossed to the wayside. Christian arguments are not the ones being pushed in the courts. If a politician tried to argue that gay marriage should be banned because it is an abomination to the Lord, he would be laughed out of the courtroom. A great example of this is Washington state. Washington’s anti-gay marriage ban was not pro God, it was pro procreation. Religion was tossed to the side, and naturalists and biologists were brought before the court. God had nothing to do with Washington States gay marriage ban.

We did not even need to look as statistics, although we did anyway, to know that we wanted nothing to do with the customs of the day. In the past few months, many of our friends asked us why we were not abiding by the customs of the day. We have an answer. The customs of the day are a gross abomination to God. The custom of the day is to live together for a while “to make sure you really want to get married.” The custom of the day is to get a divorce as soon as things look rough, or you are getting bored. (This has become the only place anyone in this day and age actually cares about a marriage license.) We have decided to not live together and to not have sex, even though it is the custom of the day.

We want our marriage to be a shining light to the world. We want our marriage to be a mirror that would reflect Christ’s relationship with the church. We want our friends to look at us and see that we are different then the couple on TV. We want our marriage to be a witness, and one way for that to happen is if we choose to be slightly different and make a point about the severity and eternal consequences of such a union.

2007-05-09T21:14:00.000-05:00

“This isn’t what I was expecting. I really don’t like it.”

“Hangon a second…”
The waitress waltzes into the back.

An average size man, who needs to shave, pushes through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. He storms up to the offending table. The lights dance in the sweat that covers his nearly bald head.

“Is there a problem?”

“Ah, I just really don’t like this.”

The cook pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes off his forehead. What is left of his dark hair is slicked back, and his sharp nose stabs in the direction of the offending patron.

“Well, don’t worry about paying for it then. And don’t worry about ever coming back here again, cus if you do, your dish will be well spiced with my favorite seasoning, rat poison.”

The cook ignores any reaction the customer might have and proceeds straight to the bar where I was sitting. He grabs a bottle of vodka and takes a long swig before heading back to the kitchen. At that moment, I fell in love with this place.

I found the perfect Italian restaurant. It is a hole in the wall just outside of Boston. On the TV was a Red Socks game and diner table conversation revolved around business. For example, it would not be a good idea to invite Rochelle to the picnic following little Pete’s baptism, because her brother still owed the family five thousand dollars. I was immersed in Italian American culture and it was great. Their accents were charming, the food was amazing, and never once did I expect to be fully informed of the details surrounding the events that took place around me. I was polite, and in turn, everyone else was civil. It reminded me of my last trip to Massachusetts.

Whenever I am going to be in an area for a week, I make sure to pick a local bar and go there every night. It is not until the third night that you can really see what is going on. It is not until you are either ignored or accepted by the regulars that you can truly see what an average night is like. I love the North East. There is so much history here. Last time I was up, I visited Americas fist medical library. I have seen the Liberty Bell and stood on the ground where the shot heard round the world. Old, here, has a different meaning then in Texas. But this sense of the past is not limited to the history that you can read about in the history books. Everyone knows everyone else’s family. A few months ago, when I was last in the Boston area, I made my home in an Irish pub. Although it bore a few similarities to the Italian place I just returned from, it was worlds apart.

Technically, the Irish beat the Italians. From 1800 to 1860 America was flooded with Irish immigrants. Most of these people were illiterate and found jobs in manual labor for an economy that was booming. Although the first generations of Irish immigrants were considered less then human and worked for a fraction of the wage that any other American would accept, they chose to retain a fraction of their dignity by keeping the traditions and customs of their motherland. It was not uncommon to see a sign outside a bar that read “No dogs or Irish allowed.”

The Italians followed suit. Starting in the 1880’s Italian immigration peaked. The children of these immigrants, attempting to find a place in the new world, were welcomed by the opportunities provided by Prohibition. The rest is history. To this day, the Italian Mafia controls most labor unions and has a well-known and powerful influence in the politics of this great nation.

The cycle continues. The Irish and Italians are considered valuable ingredients in the melting pot, however the flood of Mexican laborers, are viewed with contempt. Like the cultures that cam before them, they choose to retain an element of their heritage. Like a safety blanket, they cling to their past culture. This behavior is nothing new. Despite the constant ramblings of personalities on Fox News, and the likes of those who claim the name “Minute Men,” this trend is just the next page in the great American evolution.

It is fifty years from now. I am sitting in a rocking chair on my front porch, smoking a pipe, and listening to Slip Knot. My grandchildren are in the back room making fun of me for listening to old fart music, and wondering why I don’t understand their generation. Over the past thirty years, China has become more and more liberal. With a population greater then even this manufacturing powerhouse can sustain, a flood of Chinese immigrants are illegally crossing the border. They take manual labor jobs that no red blooded American would touch with a twenty foot pole, and they gladly work for less then the minimum wage of $15 an hour. We are having a cookout and my son’s coworker, Carlos, parks and walks up to the front of my house. Six pack in hand, he notices the newspaper at my feet. The headline reads, “Are Americas borders safe?” Carlos straightens his tie, “What do you think about those damn chinks sneaking into our country and stealing our hard earned jobs?” I pound my beer and smile. There is not use explaining it to the poor bastard. Fifty years from now he will understand.

2007-04-18T23:49:00.000-05:00

I have been watching a lot of cable news tv. Obviously, the topic of conversation has been the VA Tech shooting. Tonight, I learned what a sick and twisted individual the murderer was. He was less then human. He did not deserve to live, and yet, no one noticed the signs. He was a (very) bad writer, and he liked guns. Anyone who knew him should go to jail. He was demented. He tried to cry out the world, and he was ignored. He tried to let everyone know what he was capable of. No one should have missed this. How else can you interpret it? He was so messed up, that he even took pictures of himself, attempting to look like a badass, with guns. Guns.

If I ever mess up, do something too extreme, or totally snap, I’m taking Davison down with me. This picture will be all over TV, newspapers and the internet. Sorry Davision.

2007-04-17T20:23:00.001-05:00

Room 103 will go down in infamy.

My story starts a long time ago. OK, it starts yesterday. It feels longer - whatever. I got to DFW later then recommended and was, actually, glad to hear that my flight was delayed. (this meant that they would let me on it) Apparently, the North East has been pounded by storms and severe weather. They have had a lot of rain. The ground is so water logged that trees are falling over and knocking down power lines. It’s not pretty.

Today was a normal day at work. I got pushed over the limit, cursed out the customer, and simultaneously bonded with him, before actually accomplishing anything. People talk differently north of the Masson Dickson line. It scares me how well I fit in.

After getting back to my room and working for a few more hours, I decided that I needed to get seriously drunk. I thought long and hard about driving. My hotel is out of the way, and the nearest restaurant is just over a mile away. I asked the lady at the desk where the nearest place to get food and beer was. She explained that it is just up the road. I asked her if it was “stumbling distance.” She chuckled, confused, and told me that it was too long to walk, but if I headed down the highway, I would see it.

I finally decided to do the right thing. I need the exercises, so I chose to walk. I hugged myself and marched into the freezing wind. The day I need more then a DARE t-shirt to protect me from the elements, is the day I stop living. The road leading away from my hotel double backed on its self as it snaked up the hill. I thought about forsaking the highway and climbing straight up the hill, but the path was too muddy and overgrown with thorns.

A mile and a half later, I came across “UNO’s Chicago style Pizzeria and Pub.” It was awesome. I sat at the bar and drank 9 pints of Yuengling Lager. As the patrons came and went, our conversation went from the VA Tech shooting, to feminism, to Christianity, to beer, to music, to business, to property, and, then to cars. I knew I reached a new, higher plane of consciousness when I shocked the bar with my revelation that, if everyone who listened to AFI and Justin Timberlake had, instead, listened to Dragon Force, the tragedy in Virginia would have been averted. (ask me about it later, it’s true)

Once happy hour was over, I prepared for my trek back to the hotel. The wind’s bite had lost its sting. I knew that I was the King of England. When I came to the hill that bested me earlier, I knew what had to be done. Departing from the paved path, I stomped down, though the mud and thickets. Multiple choice, pick one:

A) I underestimated the rain, and the ground was less sound then I realized.
B) The brush was thicker then it looked.
C) I was drunker then I though.
D) All of the above.

When the world stopped spinning I got to my feet and marched into the hotel. Covered in mud and weeds, I demanded a wake up call at 6:45. I know the lady at the front desk remembered me from our earlier conversation, but she would not look at me. I got into my room and decided to title this post, “I’m naked.” I am naked. The first thing I did in my room was strip and jump in the shower. I then, immediately, hopped into bed and started typing. One sentence into my post, I forgot what my room number was, so I got up, opened the door and looked. Apparently you are supposed to put your cloths on before stepping into the hall. The neighbors were not impressed.

And this, my children, is the story of why this post is titled “Room 103 will go down in infamy” and not “I’m naked.”

2007-04-10T20:03:00.000-05:00

Sex is gay.

I decided to check my junk mail folder to make sure that nothing was misplaced by the all seeing eye of google. I should not have second guessed gmail. I had 238 porn spam messages in my junk folder. I was not pissed off.

I went down to the bar and had a few. Upon returning to my room, I decided to watch some TV. After some time of wandering through the channels, I decided that I was drunk enough to objectively monitor the habits of this strange and interesting monster that is me in a hotel room.

News Channel - Imus scandal 45 sec
News Channel - Imus scandal 25 sec
News Channel - Imus scandal 10 sec
Flip
Flip
News Channel - Imus scandal 5 sec
News Channel - Imus scandal 2 sec
Pokemon 45 sec
Rerun: House of the Dead 2 200 sec
History of aircraft cariers 205 sec
Sports show 15 sec
Sports show 5 sec
Reality TV 10 sec
Nun 2 sec
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
E True Hollywood story: Hugh Hefner 206 sec
+ Playboy
Flip
Flip
Girls gone wild infomecial 37 sec
Crocodile Hunter 47 sec
-----------------------------------------------

News Channel - Imus scandal 20 sec
News Channel - Imus scandal 5 sec
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Pokemon 25 sec
Rerun: House of the Dead 2 20 sec
History of aircraft cariers 30 sec
Sports show 5 sec
Flip
Reality TV 2 sec
Nun 1 sec
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
E True Hollywood story: Hugh 215 sec
Hefner + Playboy
Flip
Flip
Girls gone wild infomecial 49 sec
Crocodile Hunter 30 sec

---------------------------------------------

News Channel - Imus scandal 5 sec
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
News Channel - Imus scandal 1 sec
Flip
Pokemon 2 sec
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
Flip
E True Hollywood story: Hugh Hefner 305 sec
+ Playboy
Flip
Flip
Girls gone wild infomecial 67 sec
Crocodile Hunter 10 sec

I was pissed off. I consider myself to be on a higher plane then most mortals, and yet, it was obvious. I was being controlled by tits and ass! There is nothing deep, psychological, or intellectual about it. A couple of blurred out boobies and ass cheeks caused my clicker finger to pause. I passed out in a state of hatred for my very existence.

The next day I went to work. The memory of the night before was fading, with the hangover, and I was content to do what it is that I get paid for. Then, I went to lunch with the customer. Now, this guy was a very fat, old, ugly, man. This did not bother me, at first. He then began to tell me about his wife to be. He attempted to claim that she was better than mine. OK, I though, that’s cool. No man should intend to marry a woman who is not the single best woman in the world. I thought I was going to hear a love story. I was wrong. “Do you get to try out your wife for 90 days before deciding if you want to marry her or not? Will your wife be forced to fuck you whenever you want for the next five years? I didn’t think so. My future wife is better.” If my sword were nearby, I would have cleaved him in two. Instead, I called him an asshole (please, don’t let word of this pass on to my boss) and I went back to work. Of course, he was speaking of his mail order wife. They are real. Lots of Americans use them. They must remain married for 5 years, in order to become US citizens. During that time they are basically sex slaves, with the threat of divorce, and deportation, hung over their head. I was more pissed off then I have been in years.

Tonight, at the Martini Bar (they get 10 points for an original name) I was people watching. This venue is a little more high class then I prefer, however it is the only place within stumbling distance of my hotel. There was a table with a bunch of business people discussing their quarterly numbers. One chick, obviously, did not do very well. The alpha male of the group, before retreating from the bar, said “Damnit Lauren, you want to sell more? A little makeup goes a long way!” There are a lot of people who need cleaving. I really need to start carrying my sword with me. I’m pissed off.

When I started this post, I thought it was going to be against business people. I quickly realized who the true culprit was. I remember a day when sex was awesome. It was an integral part of every good action movie. The hero had beliefs and he fought for what was right. As a reward for triumphing over evil, he got to lay the woman down by the fire. Now, any asshole who comes along, thinks he deserves a little fireman time with a decent piece of meat.

If all that is good in the world was a result of the true men doing what needed to be done, in order to get the chick - then what kind of place will tomorrow be, if every fucknut who comes across the wayside thinks he deserves to get his jollies, for doing nothing more then being an asshole?

2007-04-03T00:48:00.000-05:00

My Dad reads a lot. I always knew that, but tonight was weird. I was just stumbling across the internet when I came across a list of Libertarian quotes. There were a few that I would have been willing to swear were paraphrased from my Dad. It was weird to hear these words come from a different source. It is fun to follow the chain of influence.

Of all tyrannies, a tyranny exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. – C. S. Lewis

There's no way to rule innocent men. The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren't enough criminals, one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible to live without breaking laws. – Ayn Rand

If you are not free to choose wrongly and irresponsibly, you are not free at all. – Jacob Hornberger

The human race divides politically into those who want people to be controlled and those who have no such desire. – Robert A. Heinlein

2007-03-30T00:11:00.000-05:00

It was a man’s meal - steak, rare, baked potato, and a tall glass of Samuel Adams, drought. I felt like I was the king of England. After 4 more Samuel Adams and a shot of Bombay Sapphire, I bid the bartender goodnight and began my trek back to the hotel. This only helped to increase the sense of masculinity that was overwhelming me. A quarter mile is not long when you are in a Trans Am, but on foot, it is interesting to say the least. Let me explain. A winter storm warning does not mean the same thing in South Dakota as it does in Texas. I was clad in nothing more then my favorite DARE t-shirt and jeans, as I marched through the sleet and snow. It felt great. At this point, I was sure that I could take on the entire army of the Persian empire by myself.

Then I got to thinking. What the hell did I do today? What did I do yesterday? What have I done all week? I’ll tell you. I bullshitted. I bullshitted for up to 14 hours a day. My mind was disengaged, my muscles atrophying, and my soul was in a state of despair.

At times like these, it is hard to justify the existence of the human race.

2007-03-28T00:57:00.000-05:00

OK, lets ignore the fact that I have not posted in a metric year. I have some thoughts in my head and some alcohol in my veins. Many of my friends have posed questions in reference to the fact that a certain Honey Biscuit and I have decided not get a marriage license. I will now address all of these questions.

“What do you have against that institution of marriage, as it exists in the USA?”

The institution of marriage in the United States is nothing more then a means of population control in the guise of a socially acceptable Judeo-Christian value. Before the civil war, African-American slaves in most states were not allowed to marry. Before 1967, inter-racial couples were not allowed to marry in some U.S. states. Should flawed humans elected into offices of a government based on the principal that God and religion play little to no role in law making, control the most sacred of God’s institutions?

Marriage is an institution created by God and therefore is holy. Since it is the model of Christ’s love for the Church, and, thereby, our means of salvation, it is the most Holy institution. Would you allow the government to regulate who can partake in communion, or who may be baptized? God says that marriage is a covenant, one witnessed and sealed by Him.

“But C-4, modern legislation is based on Christian principal, and should be supported by believers!”

Sorry, I hate to be the guy who shatters your worldview, but erstupidude! (who am I kidding, I love to be that guy) Christians make up one of the largest factions of American voters. Everyone, Republican, Democrat, Communist, and Constitutionalist, wants your vote. You are nothing more then a demographic. Republicans have the monopoly on this demographic, and they have done a great job of exploiting your belief system. However, when push comes to shove, everything you believe in is tossed to the wayside. Your arguments are not the ones being pushed in the courts. Honestly, if a politician tried to argue that gay marriage should be banned because it is an abomination to the Lord, he would be laughed out of the courtroom. A great example of this is Washington state. Washington’s anti-gay marriage ban was not pro God, it was pro procreation. Religion was tossed to the side, and naturalists and biologists were brought before the court. God had nothing to do with Washington States gay marriage ban. But, if you don’t care about the principal of the matter, then you can sleep soundly tonight.

“Well, then, what do you think is required for marriage?”

Two things are needed for marriage.
1. The blessing of God. The best way to achieve this is to seek Him. The man and the woman should be equally yoked and have a respected teacher in the church oversee the ceremony.
2. There should be witnesses. Ruth 4:9-12 shows this applies specifically when Boaz seeks out witnesses to secure his right to marry Ruth. There, the witnesses even pronounce a marriage blessing on them.

“So, then are you saying that our marriage is not valid?”

No, everyone I personally know who has been married has fulfilled every requirement. Some have submitted themselves to unnecessary restrictions, but this is their prerogative.

“But, C-4, your marriage is going to be legal, as per the laws of Texas! Why are you making it hard on yourself by not getting the license?”

It is true. Joy and I will be legally wed in the state of Texas. That’s not the point. The members of the raiding party who threw the tea into the harbor in Boston on December 16, 1773 continued to drink tea after the event. They were making a statement against import taxes, not tea. Joy and I are simply trying to make a political statement against the institution of marriage as it is viewed by the masses in America today.

By being able to proudly proclaim that an official government document authorizing our union was never issued, we are saying that the states authority played no role in our decision.

We will be married in the eyes of God. Whatever the state chooses to do after that fact is a moot point.

2007-01-24T18:08:00.000-06:00

http://cbs3.com/topstories/local_story_024170719.html

2007-01-10T21:07:00.000-06:00

“I sell drugs.”

We had been sitting at the bar for almost an hour and got all the required banter out of the way. Once we had proven to ourselves that the other was worth striking up a conversation with, we started with the basics. He asked me what I did, and then waited for me to answer and return the question.

“I sell drugs. Yeah, I know it was a set up, but I just love telling people that I sell drugs for a living.” It turns out that this guy is a representative who flies all over the country pedaling pharmaceutical wares to doctors. After quite a few more drinks, we were undoubtedly what Chuck Palahniuk would call “single serving friends.”

It was not long before a drug commercial reared it’s ugly head on the plasma TV that we were using to watch a rerun of Sundays football game. I chuckled as the man on the screen proudly proclaimed, “I have genital herpes!” At the end of the commercial a fast soft voice listed all the side effects of the medicine. My single serving friend saw me laugh.

“You know, they do that on purpose.”

“What, get herpes?”

“No, make a pill that has the side effect of ‘dry cough.’”

“A dry cough helps suppress herpes?”

“No!”

“Well, I’m just a little too drunk to figure out what you are talking about.”

“OK, well America is full of hypochondriacs. More then you can imagine. The average housewife watches Oprah, flips over to Fox News to catch the current Terror Level, and then spends the rest of the day trying to figure out what illness she believes she is suffering from this week. Naturally, you might assume that this is good for my business. However, the insurance companies don’t like the idea of shelling out bookoo bucks, so every thirty something can have a prescription for the latest-greatest cure for whatever ales you.”

“I hate Fox News.”

“Me too. Anyway, have you ever been to a doctor and he offers you some free samples of medication? Usually, it is some form of allergy medication, high margin stuff if you plan on investing, but the doc will give you an ass load of these single serving packets. I give those single serving packets to the doctors.”

“I don’t go to the doctor. Ever.”

“Good, but most people do. They believe that they are suffering from some sickness, and all they want are pills. It does not matter what the doctor puts in front of them; they will take it. So, my job is to make sure that the first experience people have with those pills is a mediocre one.”

“The armadillo effect- the only things you find in the middle of the road are yellow stripes and dead armadillos.”

“Yes, something like that. If you try a new drug and you focus more on the ‘dry cough’ side effect then the fact that you can run through the country fields without sneezing, then you are less likely to force your doctor give you a prescription. Basically, the ‘side effect’ of the drug weeds out the bullshitters. The insurance companies pay the drug companies to pay me to give out free samples of our product, to doctors, which are laced with these ‘side effects’. If the benefits of the drug outweigh the ‘side effects’ then the doctor will give you a prescription, and that prescription is free of these inconvenient additives.”

“I’m really drunk.”

“Yup, and that’s why I don’t feel bad telling you my insider secrets.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Sure you will.”

I did remember. This conversation really happened. Once again I am forced to admit the horrifying reality of the truth. Everything you know, this world you are content living in, is all a lie. If every part of our existence is a lie, then what does that say about the sum of our experiences that make up our reality?

2007-01-09T22:52:00.000-06:00

The sound of her grinding teeth was so unpleasant that Mike Conner felt a tingle run down his spine as he struggled to hold the seventeen-year-old girl down. Mike and Bill were exorcists, not dentists; the damage to her molars would be permanent.

“In the name of the most high God…” An unearthly shriek erupted from the teenager, and splattered Mikes face with saliva and bits of teeth. Bill laid hands on the victim.
“By the power of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you to leave this girl!”

Instantly, the young woman fell back into the comforter. They left the girl in a heap on the bed, her sobbing the only thanks they received. Mike fumbled for his car keys. “God really didn’t like that girl too much. Did you hear her gnashing her teeth? He doesn’t normally let them go that far.”

Bill brushed off his robes, “and I’m sure that you are qualified to comment on the Lords love – you being his favorite son and all.”

“Why do you have to be such an ass like that?”

Bill instantly regretted what he had said, not because he disagreed with the statement, but because he really sounded like a hick when he said it. Billy Joel Brown was raised in the country outside Birmingham Alabama. He rebelled against his Southern Baptist parents when he decided to become a priest. Embarrassed by his unintelligent sounding southern accent, he often spoke with the haughty air of an actor trying out for a guest appearance on Fraser. This didn’t work, and he knew it.

Mike slammed the door of his black ‘66 Pontiac GTO after he slid into the drivers seat. Even after three years of dwelling on the thought, it still pissed him off when Bill brought up his relationship with the Lord. He knew that God loved him, but love is a choice not a feeling. It’s true that God loved him, but Mike new all to well that God didn’t like him very much. The fact that he was still breathing was proof of that.

His parents were strong Christians whose single flaw was spoiling their only son a little too much. Like most children in that situation, Mike Conner didn’t appreciate it, and he flew in the face of his upstanding parents by falling into the Goth scene. He painted his nails black and wrote poems about death. His actions confused his parents so much that they nearly allowed lives to fall apart in a never-ending struggle to win their wayward son back. In the summer of ’94, Mike finally got to experience death first hand. A cracked out burglar broke into his family’s home and killed his parents while they slept. The cops never found the man, and Mike was forced to live with the mystery of why he was overlooked that night, and why his parents had to die so a junkie could steal enough jewelry to pay for his next hit.

Two years passed, Mike turned 19, and he met the love of his life. She was beautiful, smart, and rich. Her only flaw was that she continually nagged Mike and tried to get him to go to church. A couple of years later, Mike convinced his wife that they should invest in the Los Angeles Xtreme. At first the idea of the XFL sounded like a great one, and Mike even got his wife onboard. They poured all of their savings into the franchise. After the first game, where Mike’s wife overheard him explain to a buddy that the only reason he was interested in investing in the XFL was because of his dream to get a lap dance in the stands by one of the cheerleaders, she sold all their stock. Because the network ratings for the first game were twice what was expected, Mike and his wife made a nice profit. When the XFL failed, miserably, Mike’s wife proclaimed that God, not Mike’s sick fantasy, saved them from financial ruin. That winter, Mike convinced his wife that a new Corvette would be just the thing God wanted in their life. To make sure that she knew what she was missing, Mike sent his wife with the car dealer on the first test drive. As they pulled onto the highway, a semi blew a front tire and slammed into them. The dealer and Mike’s wife were pronounced dead onsite.

Bill got into the passengers side of the car and pulled on his seatbelt. Mike revved up the engine and dumped the clutch. He was still mad, so he tried to burn up some aggression with the tires. They flew down the little street and nearly hit a car pulling out of a driveway. Bill dug his fingers into the seat, “shit, you’re going to get us killed!”

“If we were only so lucky!”

“Don’t start with that again! You’re an idiot! You have no idea what it means to believe!”

“Those who live righteous lives, and fall into Gods good graces are taken up into Heaven! Do you really think that God would let anyone he truly likes spend another day in this shit hole you call Earth? I have every idea what it means to believe! You can’t argue with the logic. I have seen it first hand. God is up there, and he is orchestrating everything. He took my parents into his arms as soon as they began to get a taste of the reality of this world. He gave my wife a rich, fulfilling life, and then he carried her home before she could have the chance to grow old and ugly. Yet, he refused to let me enter into his mansion three times! And if that is not enough proof, I could remind you about how my wife, a godly woman, was probably the only one who made money off the XFL. If that does not make you believe, then nothing will.”

“Do you know what your problem is? You are a self centered, egotistical, little two year old who thinks he understands the whole world because he just learned to take a shit on the big boy potty. You can’t accept that there is more then you can comprehend in this existence!”

“Let me guess, you can comprehend this existence, because you had a divine vision. Think about it for a second, why would Mary come to you in a dream and tell you that you should stop worshiping her? Wouldn’t it make more cense if God told you to stop worshiping Mary? Are you sure that was a prophesy and not just an undigested piece of meet or a spot of mustard?”

“Watch your tongue! I was shown the truth in a holy vision. It was not just a divine lecture. I did not receive a holy scorning for worshiping improperly. I was taught to believe. It was the most real thing I have ever experienced in my life.”

“I wish my lesson had been that easy. By the way, I’m sure that the redneck being interviewed by the Weekly World News would tell you that seeing Bigfoot was the ‘most real thing he had ever experienced’ too.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right. Everyone needs to try, and fail, to kill themselves three times in order to realize that God is truly in charge of the affairs of men.”

The two drove on in silence for almost an hour. The sun was starting to set as they pulled up to a dilapidated house in the ghetto. The Mexican family who lived there hurried them to the back room. The tv was tuned to a Spanish channel and the volume was turned all the way up. It was obvious that the residents just wanted to drown out the screams of the middle-aged man duct taped to a filthy old Lazy Boy. Mike and Bill placed their hands on the man who smelled like he had not bathed in a week. “In the name of the Most High God.” The man began convulsing like he was having a seizure, and the chair creaked under his weight. “By the power of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I command you to leave this man!” The man opened his eyes like he had just woken up from a bad dream and began questioning his family in Spanish. They rushed to him and began pulling off the tape. In the midst of all the commotion, no one noticed the two exorcists slip out the front door. As they got into the car, Bill took off his hat, “as usual, that was easy.”

Mike started the car, “yeah, just once I wish it were a little more like the movies.”

Bill smiled, “I guess the guys in the movies don’t truly believe.”

Mike chuckled, “maybe they just need a vision.”

“Or perhaps they should just try to kill themselves.”

They both laughed as the car accelerated and pulled onto the highway.

2006-12-04T23:30:00.000-06:00

I know what you’re thinking. “OMG, C-4 is not here! How do I breath?” Have no fear! Even though I am stuck in South Dakota, I am still looking out for your wellbeing.

I trust you, and I know you don’t need this reminder, but just in case, TODAY IS NINJA DAY! So break out your dark black, creep around in the shadows, and keep the memory of that little blond, crippled, blind girl, who spoke with a lisp in your hearts. Also remember the spear that went through her head.

For more info:
http://www.askaninja.com/
http://dayoftheninja.com/
http://www.realultimatepower.net/

2006-11-17T01:41:00.000-06:00

“Holy shit! You’re a Lamoreux?”

Thank you, Joy, for telling me I should post tonight.
I thought about just going to bed tonight at a reasonable hour, but then I heard the words of the sweetest honey biscuit ring through my ears. “I posted tonight, you should too.” Well, there was no way I was going to post completely sober, so I walked down the street from my hotel and ordered a Samuel Adams. I bullshitted with the guys at the bar long enough to know who was worth chilling with, and who was just trying to sound awesome, in the vain hope that a local slut would overhear and put out. After a while, I thought I was done. I had learned a lot about patriotism and cigars, so I was ready to call it a night.

Then, out of nowhere, someone mentioned LoneStar. I piped up, “You mean that shitty beer brewed in Fort Worth?”

“Yeah, in the 70’s I lived in Dallas and all the dingy bars had LoneStar on tap, and it was cheep!”

We talked, while some up and coming businessman bought us drinks, and we swapped stories about Texas and local brews. Shiner was not big back in the day, so my slightly inebriated self jotted down the man’s address. I told him that before he could diss
Texas beer, he had to try Shiner. I’ll send him a few bottles this week. He wanted to return the favor, so he asked for my address. I gave him a business card.

“Holy shit! You’re a Lamoreux?”

Apparently, Hokey is as big in the Dakotas as Football is in hick Texas towns. Listen, my children, this is your future! Years ago there was a Lamaoreux, and he was virile. He moved to North Dakota and started fathering sons. He had six, in total. All of them were gods on the ice. Apparently, minor league hokey is overrun with Lamoreux’s and it is a household name in the Dakotas. It’s a strange and awesome world that we live in.

2006-11-01T21:45:00.000-06:00

Today’s post can be found here.

2006-10-26T19:11:00.000-05:00

Yes, Samuel Adams is better when you drink it from the tap, in Boston. Massachusetts is the most commie lib state in the union! No, this realization has nothing to do with my most recent (only) trip here, it come from all the Bud K, Smoky Mountain Knife Works, and Shotgun News magazines I used to read as a child. I knew a knife or nightstick was cool if it was illegal in Massachusetts. Now that I think about it, that might have just been a marketing ploy by the country of India where all those cheep blades were made. I doubt you can find a true G, a real gangsta, on the street with a genuine ripoff of a Klingon, spring loaded, tri-blade dagger. (Daqtagh) Hmmmm, well, anyway, Massachusetts is liberal.

I went to a Boston pub tonight and ordered a Samuel Adams - always a good decision. Everything was going great until I realized that there was a big sign on the wall that read “This is a non smoking establishment, Massachusetts state law.” I was really jonsing for a clove, too. Anyway, it was ok. I got some food and it was good. The five 32oz. draught Sammies I ordered were good too. Ok, yes, I am a little drunk now, but hey, I’m in Massachusetts. I don’t have to worry about any thugs sneaking up on me with authentic replicas of German Luftwaffe daggers.

Anyway, once again, I come to the conclusion Aristotle came to, after wandering in the desert for 40 years, “no matter how awesome the city is, life sucks if you are alone.” I mean, the gay guy at the bar is fun and all, but you can only talk so long about gold, glossy, glaze paint. (yes Lesbo, I did)

Anyway, right now I am really missing a roommate, coworker, fellow closet anime watcher, hetero-lifemate, friend, or honey biscuit. (yes Joy, that last one was a reference to you…. naked, covered in melted circus peanuts, dancing to the theme song from the 80’s classic movie “The Flight of the Navigator”) OK, I am done complaining, and I am still drunk. I am going to wander around downtown Boston smoking like there is no tomorrow. I will not let the fact that is 36 degrees outside bother me. (even though all I packed were t-shirts) I’m off!

2006-10-24T02:46:00.000-05:00

"You know, Rambo 3 is a great example. Al-Qaeda literally means ‘the database' and was originally the computer file name of the thousands of Mujahideen who were recruited and trained with help from the CIA to defeat the Russians."

"Shhhhhhhh. Thats just the preservatives talking."

"But you see, Orwell was right! We are at war with.... wait. 'The preservatives?' What the H are you talking about?"

"A long time ago, beer manufacturers learned that UV rays from the sun caused beer to go bad quicker. It has to do with the crystalline structure of the molecules that make up glass and nucleation sites for carbon dioxide to gather. Don't worry, the first people to learn of this did not understand it either. However, the dark beer bottle was invented. No one knows for sure what came first, dark green or brown, but ask any weeping Indian, there are enough of both laying beside historic Route 66 that it does not matter. What matters is that Miller High Life took the higher path. Instead of doing what was best for the beer, they did what was best for them. They kept the clear bottle and just added a bunch of preservatives to make it seem like the beer was fresher. That clear glass bottle in your hand is a testament to the standard of influence that you allow into your system."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"More studies and research have been poured into the effects of the color of glass on beer, then have been poured into the effects of preservatives on people. Are you sure you are in the right state of mind to make a comment about the Government of the United States of America?"

"Um... yes."

"Good. Just remember, 'Vote or Die!'"

2006-09-26T23:50:00.000-05:00

My head feels heavy. It takes effort to keep my eyelids open, and my peripheral vision is just a blur. I keep focusing on distant objects just outside of this reality. The coppery smell of blood fills the air, and I try not to think about what it looks like under soggy red wad of newspaper I am pressing against my stomach. As I stumble down the filthy street, I begin to feel the light tickle of my very life dripping down the inside of my thigh. The nice thing about a gushing wound is that the blood coming out of your innards is the same temperature as the rest of your body, so you don't feel just how much you are covered with it. Somehow I always though being gutshot would be just a little more elegant then this. Damn the movies! People on the silver screen either drop dead when they get shot, or it just pisses them off enough to be awesome. I killed three men after I was hit, but now my movements are slower. Every step is torment.

SNAP

The miniature sonic boom of a bullet cracks near my ear and the report of a rifle shot immediately follows. In one fluid motion I fling the crumpled up newspaper back to the gutter, swing my MAK-90 off my back, and fall to the ground in the prone position. I have an idea where the sniper is, and it would be a tough shot for me, even on the best of days. I prop my rifle up on it's bipod, and stare down the barrel. Sure enough, there is a silhouette in the second story window. Somehow I manage to stop my body from shivering. Even though it's warm outside, I'm starting to feel a chill. I take aim and start to squeeze the trigger. The sniper manages to squeeze his first. The last thing I see is the lightning bolt of his muzzle flash.

* * *

I played this fantasy out in my mind again, today, while I was talking to a client on the phone. Nothing new. It's a common one for me – my last moments after a firefight in the street, following a violent revolution I lead in Guatemala. Something was different about it today, though. It was quite a chilling revelation. I realized that now, because of a certain woman with a hypnotizing smile and mystical eyes, dying as a gunfighter in South America is 67% less likely to happen. It's a weird thought.

Wow, I have tried not to change too much in the last year, but this is one small concession I am willing to make. Love is a strange and powerful thing.

2006-08-28T22:53:00.000-05:00

while(1)
{
do stuff...;
}

Wow, didn't that just make an ass out of Knepper! OK, I learned my lesson. The other day I wrote a similar piece of code. I assumed that it would put the program in an endless loop that would run for all eternity. That was not the case, however. The pseudocode above describes a loop that will run as long as 1 = 1, or more appropriately put, while true = true.

I'm an idealist, what can I say? I just assumed that there would always be truth in the world. I just figured that there will always be the laws of logic controlling the ever complex clusterfuck that is the universe.

My little piece of code ran just fine until yesterday when logic broke down. I was in Arlington with the most beautiful clove smoking druidess this side of Valhalla, and we were out in the raining and the blowing with my girlfriends girlfriend, Madeline. After wandering the highways and splashing through the puddles we decided to rent a movie. For no other reason then we were in carnal mood and the chick on the cover looked hot, we rented AeonFlux. The movie was not terrible in and of it's self, but what it brought about was pure chaos and disorder.

The plot involves a totalitarian government providing peace and safety at the cost of freedom. If there is one easy way to get C-4 to like a movie, be sure to include a totalitarian government providing peace and safety at the cost of freedom. There have been several movies that did this and earned my seal of approval – Equilibrium, Ultraviolet, V for Vendetta, The Matrix, Serenity, the list goes on. It is a common plot or subplot. We are all familiar with it. The idea is deeply ingrained in our consciousness. As I thought about this, I furrowed my brow. Nearly every American is familiar with this concept, and yet they all still play flawlessly into the hands of the maniacal dictator. They hang on every rumor of war and pay close heed to the terror level alerts. As they drive home from the theater featuring a dramatic freedom fighter, they thank the NSA for tapping their cell phone when they call their friends to tell them what a good movie it was. At Wall Mart they buy the DVD where the iron handed ruler monitores all his subjects day and night, and then they walk into the parking lot and feel safe and content to see a mobile police camera tower watching over them.

When I thought about this, thunder crashed and my program jumped out of the logic loop and ended. We deserve whats coming.

2006-08-02T00:31:00.000-05:00

I'm reading “Guests of the Ayatollah” by Mark Boden, the author of “Black Hawk Down.” It is about the 1979 hostage crisis at the American Embassy in Iran. The most interesting thing about the book is the unique view it paints of the entire situation. The rescue attempt was the first field operation of Delta force, an organization who's existence was denied by the government until the mid 90's. There are several other facts and stories that are mentioned in the book that were less then public knowledge at the time. This is just another example, similar to the MK-Ultra project, that re-emphasizes the fact that the United States Government has lied, or withheld truth, to it's public in the past. Thank goodness the American public have such a short attention span!

I remember a day when gas prices were less then half of what they are today. The American public does not. We were told that Hurricane Katrina knocked out refineries in New Orleans, and the oil supply was disrupted. This little hiccup caused gas prices to jump in ways that no Caucasian will ever achieve. If it were not for the fact that America has the concentration of Tinkie Winkie in the throws of a crack induced conniption fit, there would be more concern over the fact that the prices never came back down after the chain of supply recovered. I'm pretty sure I predicted this, and I'm pretty sure someone owes me a dollar. People forgot why prices went up, so they didn't get pissed when they stayed there.

If it were just gas prices, I would not be as pissed. It's the fact that I have been doing some research and things are not good. Deep Ellum is dying. Trees went out of business. I loved that place! Downtown Dallas is turning into a shit hole because businesses are not able to pay rent. All the Engineering companies I have looked into are downsizing again, just like they did after 9/11!

It's not that all this stuff is new. I am not saying that this kind of thing has never happened before. What I am saying is that when W and the rest of the federal government tell us that the economy is stronger then it's been in five years, and America is booming again, they are lying. They lied before. They will lie again. The question we must ask ourselves is, “why lie?” What benefit is there in hiding the truth, and who reaps that benefit? If you know that, then you win. Go try to win.

2006-06-28T18:57:00.000-05:00

A letter from Jimie:

We, (as in you an i,) are in sore need of an adventure. we havent seen each other in years and years and years, and if we were dogs, you'd have missed pretty much my whole life. and i dont even want to thing what it'd be like if we were fruit flies. so here is what we are gonna do. the following paragraph is a setting for a day that you are coming over to pick me up. i will write about the events leading up to us getting on the way, then you are going to add to it with what happens next. then i'm gonna add stuff. then you're gonna add more stuff, and vicariously through the internet we are going to live out an adventure just like old times, only now we have a lot more freedom cuz i'm not gonna get tired in the car, and you arent going to have to be home by 9. you can write as much or as little as you want, but you have to keep the adventure going.

this story begins like every other story........

!#$%^&*#^&*%!!###*&$%^#!$^)^$%&(%^&

it was a dark and stormy night....which was ironic, because it was supposed to be the middle of the day at 1:00, when jason said he'd be there to pick jimie up for their latest and greatest adventure of galactic proportions. but alas, as always he was running a wee bit behind and jimie suddenly found herself with fading make-up and a dark and stormy night looming before her. just as jimie had decided to call it a day and go take a nap to forget the frustration of being forgotten for the 50billionth time, as if on cue to her mental despair, aunt ju-ju zipped past. (passing the house and going around the block, of course.) jason had staked the place out, verifying it was safe to park and pick up, as there was no sign of aliens attacking, communists overrunning, or jimie's dad. with great trepidation jason approached the house, on the alert for any signs of the aforementioned horrors. with a great many apologies and excuse-making, jason and jimie got on their way. once onto the highway, the almost ritualistic discussion of what they were going to do that day began. neither wanting to be the decisive one, the trip began with a road.

YOUR TURN!!!!
LOVE,
JIMIE

C-4 wrote:
Jimie and Jason end up driving west down Rodgers Ln. for no apparent reason. Whether it is the longing desire to get out into the country, or the driving force of disdain that the city builds up in them we will never know. What we do know is that before long our undecisive adventurers are glancing at the cancerous spread of glowing light pollution in the rear view mirror, and marveling at the vast expanse of star filled sky ahead of them. Before long Jason and Jimie are not on Rodgers Ln. anymore. Where they are is irrelevant, well, at least Jason thinks so - hopes so. He has not been paying any attention to road signs and has just been navigating the Frosty way, taking the road less traveled by. Once again, he addresses Jimie, "So, what do you want to do?"

Jimie wrote:
robert frost metaphors aside, they do in fact find themselves on a road less travelled, though not completely un-travelled for there are tell tale signs of previous vagabonds. like the weathered skeleton hanging from the tree, the branch grown thick enough within its ribcage to keep it lodged despite the gusty oklahoma winds. but seeing as how this adventure will not be a horror story, no one is disturbed by the spectacle and they drive onwards.
jimie is thinking hard of something specific to do when a rather loud pop breaks her concentration and jason discovers aunt ju-ju has a flat tire.
"great," jason says resignatedly, turning the car off, not even bothering to pull off to the side as this particular section of road is situated in a copse of trees and isn't even paved. jimie bounces from the van, eyes lingering on the skeleton back up the road, waving at them in a cadaverous, but nonetheless cheerful manner. jason begins getting the neccessary equiptment from his van. he locates the jack, but not the attachment with which to pump it up. "ah, yes. i used it to put my little brother in a chokehold. i must have not put it back. jimie, can you find me a stick on the ground?" to which jimie replied, "um, i don't think there's much of a point. you don't have a spare tire." jason hastens around the back. realization dawning on him like a blast from an imploding red giant, he remembers that he never replaced the spare from the last flat---eight months ago.
"it looks like we have some walking to do." jimie commented ruefully. and the ever prepared duo grabbed their towels, and a bottle of tasty vodka. now the only question was which way to go. the last sign of civilization was a formidable walk indeed. and the road ahead was as of yet, unknown. "which way do we go, jason?"

C-4 wrote:
Jason decides that the best offence is a good defense. Since this is not a horror story, he does not want to get into battle for his life with whatever caused the skeletons be stuck in the tree, so he opts to head down the road away from civilization. "This road has to go somewhere," he remarks. The night air is cool, and full of energy. The walk down the gravel road would have been murder in the scorching Oklahoma sun, but it is actually pleasant at the particular time of night that it was. Jason could not tell exactly what time that was, as he still had no concept of time, but by the position of Venus with respect to Orion he was quite positive that it had to be some time between 8:30PM and 8:30AM. The stars were out in full force. The night sky was filled with their little green twinkling lights. Attempting to impress Jimie with his vast celestial knowledge, Jason pointed to the sky. "It's only on nights like this that you can make out Cassiopeia with such clarity." Jimie glanced up toward the heavens and squinted. "If by 'nights like this' you mean 'ones that are completely overcast' and by 'Cassiopeia' you mean 'a swarm of fireflies,' then your right." It's true. Jason was right.
As they continued on, the air became more humid, and before they knew it, our illustrious duo found themselves completely enveloped in a dense fog. The cause of such a meteorological event became evident after Jason stepped into a large, wet, dark substance that he would later realize was a lake. Actually, it was Jimie who realized this first. The first thought to cross Jasons mind was, "Goodbye cruel world. The zombie amebas from Alpha Centaury have finally captured me!" We must not criticize Jason too much, though. Even though he was not the first to see the lake for what it was, he was the first to see the small row boat for what it was – a small row boat. It's not that Jimie thought it was anything different, it is just that she was looking the other way.

2006-06-14T00:37:00.000-05:00

Get out of your bomb shelter! Stop stockpiling water and rice! Do not move to Montana! Everything is ok. It has to be. I know I'm not worried anymore.

Tonight I got to ask one of my favorite authors, Chuck Palahniuk, a couple of questions. After hearing him speak, I realized that he was far more in tune with the state of the world then nearly any other person in existence. He is brilliant, and capable of seeing reality in it's purest form. He has the amazing ability to toss aside most of the subjective biases that plagues the rest of us. I knew I had finally found the one person who could answer my question.

C-4: “What do you think is the single greatest contributer to the downfall of western civilization, as we know it.”

Chuck Palahniuk: *think* *think* *weird face* *think* “I don't think western civilization is downfalling.”

Wow! There you have it! I'm going to sleep well tonight. By the way, G,I. Joe's and Transformers are for rich kids. Fuck you guys.

2006-05-16T22:53:00.000-05:00

“Do you know what you've done?”

First of all, I want to know what kind of question that is. Of course I know. I am the only one who knows what I have done. Until I heard him ask that stupid question I had no idea how completely lost and ignorant everyone really was. It was not until I heard those words, spoken with such sincerity, that I realized no one was going to agree with me. I knew that there would not be a single soul who could truly know what I had done. Everyone would just be too wrapped up in the headlines, the gossip, and the bullshit. That's all anyone likes anymore, the stuff that does not matter. You are all superficial. You are all phonies! I'm not saying I am any better. I thought the same way once. It was not until I came across a book, a while ago, that I started to think about things differently.

This morning I went to the bookstore and bought The Catcher in the Rye. I’m sure the large part of me is Holden Caulfield, who is the main person in the book. The small part of me must be the Devil.

The first time I read the book, I thought it was ok. The story was good, but the main character, Holden Caulfield really got my goat. All he did was complain. He never did anything. It made me so mad that I just wanted to scream. I forgot about the book for while after I met Gloria. She made me start thinking about a lot of things differently. One day I was just sitting on the couch and I saw the book on the coffee table. I started to get mad, because someone had spilled something on the table, and the cover was all sticky. I got up, and I was going to show the book to Gloria, just to show her the mess, but then something caught my eye. There was a long dark hair stuck to the cover of the book. I knew it had to be Gloria's. That was real. No one thinks of about real life anymore. In the movies, books never have a big sticky spot on the cover. That strand of hair seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world, because I knew it was real. I think that is when I decided to go to New York. I didn't know why then, but I just knew that I had to go.

I went to the building. It’s called the Dakota. I stayed there until he came out and asked him to sign my album. At that point my big part won and I wanted to go back to my hotel, but I couldn’t. I waited until he came back. He came in a car. Yoko walked past first and I said hello, I didn’t want to hurt her.

We live in a world where people define their lives by song lyrics and cardboard cutouts of celebrities. How is someone supposed to live if they know that these fake words and false images are giving us wrong ideas.

Then John came and looked at me and printed me. I took the gun from my coat pocket and fired at him. I can’t believe I could do that. I just stood there clutching the book. I didn’t want to run away.

I didn't think of him as a real person. He was an image. I did what I thought I had to. I don’t know what happened to the gun. When I heard that dumb question I knew no one would know. I did not do it to get famous, I did not do it because the government brain washed me, I did not do it for Yoko, I didn't even do it for Gloria. I did it because I didn't want to be like Holden Caulfield who got pissed off at the world and never did anything about it. I still can't believe him. He looked right at me and said, “Do you know what you've done?”

I just shot John Lennon

2006-04-17T21:50:00.000-05:00

“You know, that contains a chemical that is a common constituent of gasoline.”

“Fuck you, I don't care. It's my body, I'll smoke if I want to.”

Sure, I probably should not have said “fuck you” to an eleven year old girl, but as far as I am concerned, she gave up her right to be considered innocent when when she used the word “constituent” in a sentence.

“I'm not talking about your cigarette. I'm talking about that chocolate bunny. It contains phosphatidylcholine. It is chemically extracted using hexane. I bet you didn't know that. You probably don't know a lot of things.”

I was really pissed. She was balancing on the edge of the pool, playing with a pansy that she obviously stole from the flowerbed next to the apartment managers office, and talking about chemistry. I almost pushed her over the edge, but I was worried that the water would splash up on my cigarette. Instead, I decided to attempt to destroy her young naive belief system. With a bit of luck, I'd have her in in tears running off to mommy before the sun set.

“So your saying that I should stop eating chocolate just because it has chemicals in it?”

“No, cus then you would not be able to eat anything. Everything has chemicals in it, silly. I just figured that dozens of people must have already told you about all the chemicals found in cigarettes, but I bet no one has ever talked to you about the chemicals found in chocolate bunnies.”

At this point I knew my evil plot was going to be harder to pull off then I though. The shove into the pool was looking more and more promising every moment.

“Well, your right. But that is not as important. The chemicals in chocolate bunnies are not as bad for you as the ones in cigarettes.”

Her eyes lit up. She jumped toward me, and clapped her hands. I got pissed, because I lost my chance to push her into the pool.

“So, you know a lot about chemistry? Sweet! I always wanted to know how to make spider webbing. I mean, think about it. If I knew how to make spider web, then I could build an awesome hammock that I could stick to two trees! I'm not good at tying knots.”

At this point I realized that pushing her might still be a good idea. It would be so much more rewarding to see her face plant the concrete then just fall into the water.

“Look, I'm not a chemist. I just know that some chemicals are worse for you then others! That's reality.”

“How do you know? Did someone explain this to you?”

“It's common knowledge. You learn about it in high school. People have written a lot of books on the subject.” I had her with this one. She could not argue with me anymore. I pulled the, 'I'm older then you – therefore smarter then you' card.

“Did you know that during the Civil, War Alexander Gardner used to move dead bodies around with him so he could set them up in more emotionally powerful positions before he took their picture?”

This little girl is crazy.

“No, and what does that have to do with anything? You're crazy.”

“All the people who saw the pictures realized how horrible the war was. They thought they saw the face of battle. This was news. Unfortunately, it was a lie. People don't die in heroic poses. They usually just look stupid or pathetic. Alexander Gardner did not think that reality was a good enough example of the truth, so he doctored reality just a little bit. A guy who took one to the head and landed in what looks like a technical yoga position, with his face in the mud, does not give you the same sobering feeling of loss that a stretched out arm, reaching for something unseen, does. It was not until years later, that people heard about his trick.”

Why the hell is this interesting?

“That's sick. He basically lied to everyone. Wait, how do you know about this?”

“I read a lot of books my big brother brings home from collage.” She pulled the 'I read more then you - therefore I am smarter' card. With a stupid little smirk, she continued. “Anyway, why do you say that he lied to everyone? Do you really think that reality is always the best representation of truth? Here is the kicker, though: all that stuff you know about good chemicals and bad chemicals, is it reality or is it truth?”

. . .

“I don't know. I never cared this much about what is in a chocolate bunny. Tell me, what is more important, reality or truth?”

“How am I supposed to know, I'm just a kid.” She shrugged her shoulders and then bit her lower lip as she started to sway back and forth. “Anyway, can I have one?”

“Oh uh, sorry. That was my last chocolate bunny.”

“No, a cigarette...”

2006-04-12T00:11:00.000-05:00

Today was a really weird day. I woke up at 3 in the morning with an overwhelming sense of paranoia. I knew that an evil plot was afoot. After a few hours on the web, I had pieced together an elaborate plot that linked myspace to the Illuminate. (ask me about sometime, it is scary) With little sleep under my belt, I headed off to work. I spent way too much time getting text to speech working in Perl, because I continued to feel the creeping of eyes watching over me. It did not help that my friends at work had the appearance of brain dead zombies, thanks to an unrealistic deadline.

After hitting the gym in Plano, where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average, I drove home and felt like I was the only one in the world who knew that everything that everyone believes in is just a big joke – it's just a joke. At that point, I understood that I had to do something. I could either realize that I am, indeed, an avatar, or I could just bust a phat chill like the real C-4 would. I chose the latter.

After reading some inspiring Palahiuhniauhuiauhuk, I gave SBC the finger by talking to a hot chick on my VOIP. When my roommate got home, we went to get a pizza. While Papa John was getting it all ready and gently sliding it into the oven, we took a short walk down to Luckies to get a beer. Now, walking around in white suburbia, one does not normally feel judged. The gays, Muslims, Democrats, and fans of the Dixie Chicks are all welcome here. It is kind of like San Francisco, the day after Brokeback Mountain was released on DVD. I, however, was singled out. Our short quest for Shiner took us past a Starbucks, and let me tell you, the looks on the faces of all those neo-preppy conformists, who stood out front so they could smoke while they drank coffee that was prepared in such a way as to give it a name even longer then their own, told me that I was not welcome on this side of the tracks.

An emo kid named Jean-Paul even took 5 seconds to put his double, iced, fat free, whipped, caramel, mocha, frapecheno down and make a quick entry in his diary about the nerve of some people. It was like, just because I was wearing a !YoQuiero Jesus! Tee shirt and and a pair of magical tennis boxers, I was not welcome in my own hood. Life is tough when you are just a young buck like me. No one knows what it is really like on the street.

The evening ended well, though. I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my roommate and pounded some Miller High Life light. Right now I feel like I could take on the world. Thank you Sarah Michelle Gellar, for giving me my dignity back.

2006-03-27T23:49:00.000-06:00

Have you ever watched CSI Miami? Neither have I. I did watch an episode of the original CSI, though. I think I was drunk or something, but for some reason I decided to watch an episode of the hit TV show that has many noise-a-holics and silence-a-phobes glues to their set. It was actually kind of cool. The elaborate scientific process that the investigators went through to determine the truth made me marvel at all of the advances that this great nation has made in the last 100 years. To think, that if the right people are given enough of the tools and money, the bad guy will be found. It gives you faith that wrongs will be righted and evil doers will be brought to justice.

You would think that the federal government, with nearly limitless recourses, would have the worlds greatest CSI team in the world. Maybe we do, all I'm saying is that it is a shame that we never get to use it.

I mean, if a federal building were to be bombed, that might be just the ticket to pull some tricks out of our hat. If two skyscrapers, designed to withstand the impact of a large plane, crashed down, killing thousands, you would think that just one or two of these guys would get to walk around the crime scene and look for clues. Whenever someone is murdered, ulterior motives pop into everyones mind, and detectives are put on the case to see how feasible it might have been for someone to frame an innocent party. (I used to watch Matlock when I was a kid) How come the government has not done this?

On April 19, 1995, the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, was bombed. Eyewitness accounts claimed that there were two explosions, seismographs (including one in Lawton that I saw myself) reported two readings, and the first official reports stated that there were two bombs. Several demolition experts and military personnel (including a general) begged to have the demolition of the building postponed, so more investigation could be completed, but they were ignored. NO FORMAL CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION WAS DONE. No BATF or FBI agents were injured. Mysteriously, they were all absent from work on that weekday morning. The demolition was scheduled and carried out within a month, even though rescue teams had recently discovered a leg, possibly belonging to a 169th victim. Nothing was done to determine the identity of the leg, as the search would interfere with the demolition. The remains of the building are now buried, locked behind a fence, and under armed guard. Many people in Oklahoma at the time asked questions about these strange facts, but the main stream media never reported them.

If you remember hearing of such strange actions as these growing up, it is not all that surprising to learn that they have been repeated. Construction workers cleaning up the derbies of the 9/11 attacks were surprised that, while the metal beams at the top of the towers were still quite intact, the ones in the basement, supporting the structures, had been melted into puddles. Of course, NO FORMAL CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION was preformed, and much of the iron and other metal remains were shipped overseas as soon as the rubble was cleared. The governments official story has not changed as time has passed. This might not seem crazy, until you realize that 5 of the 20 suicide hijackers are still alive, and have been interviewed by the BBC.

In both cases, anti-terrorism legislation, that expands the governments power greatly, had been drafted and printed shortly BEFORE the events. I could go on for hours, however, no one cares. I just brought up all this to make a point.

I recently saw “V for Vendetta.” It was pretty good, but one thing just kept irking me. Why would the powers that be allow a movie with such anti government, pro terrorist, and down right anarchist ideas to be produced? Then it hit me. Those bastards in the smoke filled rooms must have been rolling on the floor laughing when they thought this one up. The movie is just one big joke! I feel like the dumb drunk on the couch who gets the punch line five minutes too late. It really is quite embarrassing.

You see, while V blew up buildings to spark awareness in the minds of the masses and obtain freedom for the people, the government has been blowing up buildings for the purpose of blinding citizens and stripping away our liberties. I get it now! LOL!

2006-03-13T21:36:00.000-06:00

Lest all ye sober heathens forget, tomorrow (March 14th) is Purim! Even though some people will be honoring the day for other reasons, ( http://www.steakandbjday.com/ ) I will proudly read the Book of Esther and get firshickered in order to prove my Jewishness. Honestly, more Americans need to accept this holiday as their own. I really don't know why more people are not as exited about this as I am. This could be big. I have a feeling that in 10 years, this is going to be a larger event then the Super Bowl! I feel that it is my civic duty to spread the word. The only reason I can conceive of, that would explain the lack of attention that this great day is getting, has to be ignorance. If more people knew the basis of this celebration, there would be parties in the streets all across America that would make Marti Grass look like a picnic! (even pre-Katrina Marti Gras) I really hope I don't have to explain this to anyone who reads this page, but for the sake of future history, I will.

Purim is about two things: HOT CHICKS and DRINKING!!!!!

The Jews got something right! The book of Esther is hilarious! The moral of the story is that hot chicks are awesome. Let me give you the cliff note.

1.This king is pissed cus his queen doesn't do as she is told.
2.He has a huge beauty contest, and the sexiest lady in the kingdom, Esther, wins.
3.A Nazi tries to convince the King to kill the Jews.
4.Esther says, “Look dude, I'm hot and I'm a Jew. Quit bullshittin."
5.The king is like, “Well, you are hot....”
6.They hang the Nazi and get drunk

So, unless you are an Aryan or a homosexual, you should bust out your copy of the Torah (or the Old Testament if you are a Christian or Scientology) and toast to hot chicks saving the day!

2006-03-07T00:11:00.000-06:00

That's why we can't have nice things.

“Miscellaneous fees may apply. “ - - Compass Bank http://www.compassweb.com/personal/checking/freeChecking.cfm

“Remember when a rave called a rave well i do.... IMHO i believe dallas club kids killed the rave scene. i used to go to raves and there were chicks knee high boots running around anime outfits (they even had tails). Now u got 2 a rave(afterparty "music festival" or whatever the hell u wanna call it these days) and u c a bunch of rich dallas club kids standing around doing nothing. IMHO they killed the fuckin scene.... where ar my anime chicks runnin around hot pink?” - - http://www.txraves.org/

“The Senate voted to reauthorize the Patriot Act this week, failing to include common sense reforms to bring that law in line with the Constitution by restoring checks and balances and ensuring the protection of the fundamental freedoms and privacy of all Americans.” - - ACLU

“Tom-Yum-Goong ... Compared to Ong-Bak, which was noted for its lack of wirework and CGI, this movie uses CGI in several scenes,” - - http://en.wikipedia.org

Ignorance is bliss! I wish I had not learned all this today. Knowledge is not always power. Sometimes it is down right depressing. It is going to take a kick ass pair of “hoe boots” to bring my spirits back up and give me faith in humanity, once again.

2006-02-27T23:31:00.000-06:00

Today at the gas station, I overheard someone make a comment about all those damn illegal Mexicans taking our jobs, lowering our standard of living, and perverting the American way of life. I could not agree more. God bless the Mexicans!

On Valentines day, like every other red blooded American, I went to the flower shop to get something nice for the woman I love. If any of you have ever played hot potato with me, you know that I have no concept of time. It was just after 5 and every Joe six pack in Arlington was getting his last minute roses. The scene that unfolded in front of me was so convicting that, for a second, I zoned out and looked like a well preserved zombie, staring off into space. There were three Mexican day workers standing in front of me in line. By their smell, you could tell that they got a good workout preforming whatever manual labor it is that they are contracted to do. I did not hear a single word in English, but if actions speak louder then words, then theirs were deafening. Just as the three of them got up to the counter, a flurry of motion took place. Wallets opened, singles came flying out of socks, and change was carefully counted on the countertop. Forty-seven crumpled dollars later, the trio headed toward the door with smiles so big that they would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. Two of the Mexicans held the double doors open, so the one carrying the roses would not have to worry about bumping his precious cargo. No one will ever know, and there is no way to explain, the inadequacy I felt when I put my small bundle on the counter and slid my plastic through the reader.

I don't know who received those roses, and I don't even know if she understood them enough to respect what they represented, but I realized right then that it did not matter. Like the poor widow who threw two mites into the offering box, this display was a shining example of how you can't really give anything until you have nothing. Maybe our standard of living is too high. Maybe we need to be taken down a couple of notches. Then, maybe, we will know what it truly means to give, and I'll bet you a dollar that we would do it more often.

2006-02-19T23:00:00.000-06:00

I'm thirsty.

2006-02-12T23:20:00.000-06:00

I know, I know, you are all tired of reading my political posts. No one wants to hear about the philosophical ideas that make up my world view. You are all bored with my talk of governmental policies and the way that things aught to be. I promise, this will be my last one... until I get drunk and post again, or something.

After just less then two hours of research and much thought, I have come to the conclusion that women have no place in the military. There is a valid reason for this that is impossible to argue against. Women have no place in the military, because when they come across the half eaten human remains of a zombie attack, they puke.

2006-02-01T10:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I was sitting at my desk listening to some chick cry about how her laptop was broken, how it was not abuse, just a bad design, and how important it was that it get fixed by the end of the week. I put her on hold to “research the contracts physical damage clause,” not because I did not know it, but because I wanted her to think that I was at least attempting to help her and the super mario level I was on needed my full attention. When I defeated castle #7, I came back on the phone.

“After reading over the physical damage clause of the contract, I'm afraid that I just can't set this up for service.”

“What! But it's not my fault! Read me that clause now! I don't want to hear your sleezy interpretation!”

“Ok, um.... Here we go. 'Physical damage is not covered under the standard contract.'”

“Go to hell, asshole.” click

With this last call still fresh in my mind I went to lunch. I had Taco Cabana and made sure that I ordered a beer. I sat outside and thought about my life. 5 years and $65,000 later I am making $11 an hour, working in a high stress environment, and sitting next to a guy who just got his GED and was explaining how he is looking for another job because he is overqualified for this one. I drove back to work and sat in the parking lot for a second before I called my roommate. After a short conversation, my mind was made up. I went to my desk and typed a quick letter to my supervisor stating my intent. I gathered all my belongings and leaned over to the guy who sits next to me. “If anyone asks where I am, I quit.”

I said a quick prayer on the elevator ride down to the first floor and headed home. I'll let you guys know how it works out for me. Peace!

2006-01-24T09:57:00.000-06:00

I just threw up a little, in my mouth. I was watching the nomination debate over Judge Alito, and our old friend Ted Kennedy decided that he should share with the world his personal beliefs. I thought I was ready for anything he could say. I mean, this Ted! I figured nothing he said would surprise me. Well my friends, just like that time I thought I had made a mistake, I was wrong. Once he began carefully constructing his case against Alito, I found myself shouting, “Amen!” That fat, pinko commie, bastard made some really good points and I agreed with him. It seems that today, everyone in hell is getting the Ebenezer Scrooge treatment.

2006-01-16T00:27:00.000-06:00

The African American civil rights movement has just made its greatest leap forward since officially declaring Tiger Woods “Black.” Today, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. earned the official C-4 stamp of approval. I raise this 32oz Miller High Life Light to you, Dr. King! You see, I just ran across this awesome quote by good old Jr. “Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity”

That could be my anthem. I am constantly depressed when I look at the people who fill two of my most influential realities.

“Sincere Ignorance”: These are the people who go to Sherlocks on a Friday evening in Addison. These people are successful in life. They have nice cars, but don't work on them. They know how to dress and make sure that they don't look they did a year ago. They watch reality TV, and honestly believe that the people and the situations are not scripted. They are the people your mother wants you to hang out with, because they obey the law, make good money, and are accepted by the ruling class. They have a comfy place in life, and will do anything to keep it. They are moral because they do not do illegal drugs. Even though they abuse the legal ones, they truly believe that it OK because they either have a prescription or they can buy it at a nation wide chain. They are honest, because they truly do believe that everyone who tries can reach their economic class if they work hard. All the while they are building fences to keep the ones, who try the hardest, from getting into their country and working to achieve that level. They really do believe in Jesus. You might not know this, because they are scared to admit it, and realize that your belief in Vishnew is just as valid. They do not understand the vast majority of reality, but they are educated and really do think that the way they exist is for the best.

“Conscientious Stupidity”: These are the people who get kicked out of Wall Mart in Lawton. These people have nothing. If they have a car, they work on it all the time. They dress how they like. They watch reality TV and know that it is scripted, because they think everyone and everything above them is scripted. They are the people your mother does not want you to hang out with, because they break the law, have no money, and are scoffed at by the ruling class. They have a shitty place in life, and will do anything to keep it. They are honest, because they do drugs for the effect, regardless of the legality. They are moral because they will always share their stash with you, even if they might shoplift the occasional Tonys Pizza from Wall Mart. They really do believe in Jesus. You might not know this, because they are pounding Crystal Palace gin, but if you tell a blasphemous joke or try to convince them to be “tolerant” they will politely tell you that they would rather not go to hell, thank you very much. They have a good handle on reality, and see the world for what it is, but they have rejected everything that is indicative of the upper class - including education, because they see society as one big script and they don't like the part they were cast to play.

I'm sure this is not at all what Dr. Martin Luther King was talking about, but he was still cool. In these two groups of people, I tend to cross freely between the tribes, but I usually only see the worst in both camps. It seems that whatever world we choose for ourselves is in a sad state of affairs. Maybe we need more people to play devils advocate. Maybe we all need to take some advice from another reality

2006-01-10T01:21:00.000-06:00

The cup in my hand rules. Not because it is at least 87 proof, but because it was in a hot tub tonight. Rosene and I found the local hot tub, and we busted a fat chill. Drink in hand, it was by far, one of the 4 best hot watter experience I have had in the last 6.5 days. Man, it changed my belief system. By the end of the week we will have a pool table. In two weeks, we will have stools for the bar. In seven years I will finally have a job that utilizes my degree. As you can see, my life is on the up and up.

I saw a grown man have a nervous breakdown today at work. I don't know all the details, but please, for the love all that is holy, if you call someone and they tell you to click on the bubble, just click on the fucking bubble! Well, the real reason I am writing this post is to remind myself of something at work tomorrow. As it turns out, I have been praying to God for one thing, and and working my hardest to achieve the opposite. Instead of attempting to defeat the SA-X tomorrow (which is really hard, for those of you who have never played Metroid Prime) I am going to start the rest of my life. It is kinda a big thing. I will let you all know how it goes. Till then, have just a little too much fun.

2006-01-04T01:58:00.000-06:00

Missouri looses again! I am really beginning to hate that state. First, they come up with the abomination that it Missouri Meerschaum, and now they have made a fleeting attempt to undermine the significance of my latest discovery. Sure, they came up with the worlds largest prime number, but anyone can come up with a prime number. Watch. 7 Big fucking deal. What I did was truly amazing. Of course, I have not told anyone about it yet. Before I do, though, I need to explain what put my mind in the unique state required to make the discovery.

For Christmas, a recently upgraded and luminescent girlfriend of mine, got me a CD that took me straight back to the yonder days of yore, before the war. You see, I was 14 at the time, and I was just beginning to realize that I hated my parents and that the whole world really was, indeed, against me. At this time, secular music was looked down on by my parents. I was in the early stages of my nerd like development, so I had recently built my first computer. The game that was all the rage was Descent 2. It changed my life. The kicker to this game was that it was one of the first to use real CD music, instead of just midi or wav files. In fact, if you put the game CD in an audio CD player and skipped track one, you could listen to the dear sweet industrial music and piss off your parents! (whenever my dad played Descent 2, he changed it back to the midi music - for real) One of the bands featured on this God inspired playlist was “Type O Negative.” I got my hands on one of their CDs and decided to rebel against my parents and the world. Without this band, I might never have become a Libertarian, skipped my senior year of high school to go to Texas, killed a tree, or made the discovery of the next millennium.

There is one other element that is crucial to understanding how I could have to risen to such a heightened level of awareness that was required to reach into heaven and receive this knowledge from Gods hand. I was wasted out of my mind on Absinthe. It was glorious. This was not the cheap, knock off, American stuff. This was the 140 proof, green, wormwood filled, nectar of the gods, shipped from France via England to the grand U S of A. Yes, I broke at least 2 laws getting it, but hey, it was worth it. I mean, those of you who know me best, know that I would not just break the law for any old reason.

Between loosing a fist fight with Rosene and coming to the realization that the ceiling was liquid, I decided to do what would not be possible in any other state of mind. I decided to find the worlds first random number. This is actually far more difficult then any of you realize. ANY!
You see, there has never been a random number known to man before this event! Many have done doctoral and post doctoral work in the futile search for a random number. Thousands of computer programs have been written to discover it, but they have all failed. They all make the same mistake of using a system. If you use a system, it is not random. Nerds and fags try over and over again to look for a way to produce a random number but they don't know what a random number even looks like! If you use an equation to pick a memory location, and then preform a mathematical operation on it's contents, the resulting number is not random! By combining systems and adding levels of complexity to the process, you do not make it any more random. If anything, it is more structured! And still, most mortals would not know a random number if they saw one. “Oh, that system must not work, cus when we told it to give us a random number between one and five 5 times, we got a 2 twice, and no 3. Well, maybe a real random number generator would give you a 2 ninety-nine times out of a hundred. It is statistically possible. So, the nerds and fags just look for a system that that gives results that they think look good. This is how they sleep at night.

I chose to reject their methods and just reach into the metaphysical realm and grab a random number from the dice that God plays with when he is bored. (or feeling like a gangsta)

At least I think that that is what I did when I was trashed on Absinthe. To tell the truth, I don't remember much of what I did or discovered – well, other then the liquid celling. But if I had wanted to come up with a random number, I'm sure I could have, and Missouri still sucks.

2005-12-28T02:53:00.000-06:00

I have been here before. In fact, I spend most of my days in this wretched dark corner of my reality. In the Fall of 2000, I declared a small rectangle of airspace to be the Micronation Libertaria. Ever since then I have always considered myself a foreign diplomat in matters involving the masses, who claim to be loyal followers of Neo-American Western law. For the longest time, I had grouped all of those, who choose to simply accept reality as it is, into a small box and label it insane. Now, with the walls closing in around me, I am beginning to understand how the existential existence that I have chosen for myself has entrapped ME. Instead of letting me feel free, my world view drives me into a self mocking cadge of denial. What do you do when nations like the Republic of Minerva, prophesy from the Pseudepigrapha, idioms from 19th century children books, and other impossible logical extremes, actually DO define your belief system?

2005-12-14T03:23:00.000-06:00

“So yeah, my loan only got deferred for a couple of months, I still don't have a job, the rest of this year is going to be one big stress head ache, and my cost of living is going up.” I might as well have added, “and I now wear turtle necks and watch Trading Spaces.” I was talking to my favorite mortal, my elegant girlfriend, (Yes that's right. This blog has now been completely dedicated to talk of my girlfriend and how I want to spread mayonays on her and slide her down the hall... right behind her sexy brother.) and I realized that I sounded like a little bitch.

Whats wrong with me! I never used to worry before. I used to just slide right up to important points in my life, close my eyes, and jump. It was great. Worrying never accomplishes anything other then making you look like you were one of those little boys who brought his My Little Pony over to his friends house to play G.I Joe. Oh, sure, it was a warhorse. I'm sorry... FAG!

Speaking of fags, I just get a kick out of the one at work. So, all the people on lunch were sitting around the Christmas tree in the lobby at work. Everyone was giving pointers on how the decorations should be hung, and what the toys under the tree should look like. Since this could be considered interior decorating by a reasonable stretch of the imagination, the gay secretary was overseeing it. No one saw the disaster looming on the horizon. The women were admiring the toys under the tree, and one of them remarked, “It's something how girls have such complicated wish lists, and all little boys want are race cars and toy guns.” The resident homosexual crossed his arms, and said, “Well, not all little boys,” with slightly more of a lisp then even he was accustomed too. Everyone looked down and blushed. An overwhelming sense of empathy filled the room, as all my coworkers felt embarrassed for the woman who made the wayward comment. I tried not too, honestly I did, but I just burst into laughter. Not knowing what else to do, I went back to my cubicle and started playing Mario on the Gameboy Advanced. Now, I get dirty looks when I venture into the break room.

“Now C-4,” you are thinking, “that's just insensitive, and it has nothing to do with this post.” But, you're wrong! Not about the insensitive part, about it's relevance to this entry. You see, if you spend all your days worrying and bitching at you friends about how complicated life is right now, you look like the little boy who does not want a toy gun for Christmas. OK, you're right. That story had nothing to do with this post. I just had to tell it.

I just want to apologize to all you guys who had to deal with a whiny C-4 over the past few days. I promise it won't happen again. You can tell I have been out of it. I haven't drank in a week. “But C-4,” all the cockgoblins in the audience begin to shout, “aren't you drinking a beer right now?” Yes, but “a beer,” as we all know, does not count as drinking. I used to be much less responsible then this. Ah yes, I can remember it like it was last week.

I had Wednesday and Thursday off. My friend, John, from the “Hillary Duff was legal here first, state” came down to visit. (Yes, that is the actual state motto.) At the same time, my friend, John, from Texas came over to visit and God sent and ice storm. Now, if we had made plans or thought ahead at all, we would have been fucked. The ice storm made the roads impassable – not because you could not safely drive on them, but because anyone who learned to drive in Texas could not safely drive on them, and they were making sure that they took everyone down with them. So, we were not disappointed when we realized that we could not go anywhere. Suddenly, all the time spent not planning and worrying payed off. We got drunk, watched some horrible movies, (and T3) and told stories. It was great. Of course, it got better as we got a little more intoxicated. We eventually decided to hit the bar. “But C-4, drinking and driving is dumb!” First of all, NO IT ISN'T!!! Second, we didn't anyway. Since cooper street had a dear, sweet, fresh coating of ice, we skated to the bar! How pimp is that? Of course, we slipped and fell a lot. ALL OF US! NOT JUST ME! The best part was when I got pissed at John and decided to punch him in the face. To this day, he thinks I was sliding and just trying to regain my balance.

What is the point of all this? I don't know. I just know that I have not been myself lately. I have been stressing a lot, and trying not to show it. I do know the cause of it, though. I have not been reading my Bible and praying. Whenever I pray, I feel like a Calvinist. I feel like God has a plan, so I don't need one. Before you argue theology with me, just hear me out. John Calvin would believe it. It is just nice knowing that an all powerful, all knowing Being gave your life some thought. It's hard to think that it could be too shitty when you see it from that point of view.

2005-12-02T21:31:00.000-06:00

I love scaring corporate bigwigs and homosexuals.
For the past few days, I have been showing up early to work, so I can
work on my van, which is still sitting in the parking lot. The
hilarious reactions started yesterday. The company I work for has a
kind of strict dress code. For the gay secretary, this is no big
issue. He is always stylish, and looks great. I brought a change of
"business casual" cloths, but I still had about 45 minutes to log in,
so I was working away on my van. My legs were under the rear axel,
and I was giving the wheel hub a big bear hub, so I could reach the
part behind it that I was going to town on with a hack saw blade.
(not a whole hack saw, just the blade) I ended up getting a lot of
grease on my face, as I attempted to squeeze my head behind the hub
and see what was going on. When I finished for the day, I decided to
run to the bathroom and wash up before I grabbed my new cloths. I was
wearing, a Pizza Biz t-shirt, filthy ripped up jeans, and an equally
filthy suit coat. (it was cold out, and I had this one laying around
from some goodwill run in years gone by) I could not see my face at
the time, but it was smeared with enough oil to lube up a sun bathing,
beached whale. I walked into the office building and started down
toward the bathroom to freshen up. I nearly ran into our gentle
secretary as he was rounding a corner. He gasped and a look of horror
filled his face. "Are you al right?"
"Yeah, I replied, I'm fine." I continued on to the bathroom he had
just emerged from and realized how funny I looked.

Ok, this brings up a confusing point I need to make clear. I have no
problem with sharing a bathroom with a gay guy. I mean, it is not in
every bathroom that you can glance over at your neighbors package and
not get into a fight. Also, he leaves such charming notes. "Please
take a hand towel and clean up your mess on the counter so the next
visitor will not be inconvenienced." But I digress.

Since Wednesday we have had a few corporate auditors wandering around
and scribbling on notepads. This morning, I walked into the
bathroom, dressed just like I was the previous day, and one of these
guys saw me. He glared at me with an evil eye, and watched my leave
the building. I went back to working on my van for a while, and then
I came in to wash up. The corporate guy intercepted me this time, and
he had his little friend with him. "Excuse me sir, this building is
private property." I nearly laughed. "Yeah, I know, I work here."
I flashed my badge and walked past. When I came out, I could hear
them around the corner talking.

"Yeah, the tire is off and everything!"
"You mean he's working on his car in the parking lot? I mean, I just
never heard of anyone doing that before."

When I passed them I started giggling a little. They looked at me
like I was insane, but I'm strangely ok with that. The company I work
for kinda sucks, but they are very formal and professional and
apparently, I'm very low brow. This is going to be an interesting
job.

2005-11-29T21:30:00.000-06:00

“Everything a man needs.”
I smiled at the Wall Mart cashier and payed for my wares. 2 sticks of deodorant, 3 sets of pliers (one vice grip 2 regular) and 12 beers I interpreted the sparkle in her eye to mean that she knew there was story behind my purchase, but that she respected the mystery too much to ask for an explanation. I wondered if she had any idea.

Today started out like any other work day, just a little worse then the one before it. Unfortunately, it went down hill from there. I missed the traffic report, so I got stuck on I30 for almost two hours. I had just passed the loop 12 exit, and I was starting to crack. The Asians in the Honda next to me kept staring at me out of the corner of their eye. On the other side of me was a menacing 4 foot concrete wall making sure I could not escape my infinitely slow, but inevitable fate. I had no choice but to continue on my path. It had all the trademark signs of a trap. I glanced over, and the Asian was looking at me again. I pretended not to notice. Suddenly, I heard the rhythmic beat of chopper blades. It was Nam all over again. I got frantic. Like a rabbit hiding from a hawk, I could not bear to sit still any longer. However, at the penultimate moment, the crazy redneck in the pickup behind me made a break for it. He managed to pull off a 13 point K turn in the middle of I30. He was attempting to make it back to the loop 12 exit just 20 feet behind, and he almost made it. Just when it looked like he might pull it off, a huge Dodge dually driven by a woman putting on her makeup smashed into him. I saw the whole thing in my rear view mirror. “NOOOOOOOOOooooo! Tex, I need you man!” I was in tears. In basic, Tex and I had become closer then brothers. He always used to tell us stories about how everything really was bigger in the Lone Star State. I will miss him, always.

I pulled myself together and forged my way through the flood of vehicles that stood between me and my cubicle. I was almost home free. I could see the clear opening up ahead, and my heart jumped. I swung the battle van into the next lane and smashed down on the gas peddle. I swung into my exit lane and started to ease down on the break. My speed did not slow. Joy turned to despair as the peddle fell all the way to the floor. As if to mock me, the break light flashed on. “I'm hit!” I swerved into the other lane and missed my appointment with death by four and a half inches. I reached down and gripped the emergency break. It slowed me down to a controllable speed, and I cautiously completed the final three miles of my journey by carefully utilizing all my gears and working my e-break more then I have in the last 13 years.

I was 45 minutes late, and there was nothing I could do. I tucked me head down and ran between the rows of cubicles, hoping my boss would not see me. I heard the elevator door open, and flew into an empty cube and held my breath until the footsteps passed. Once I made it to my computer, I logged into the system, and started my work day. Just as the bell rang for my break, I turned and came face to face with my supervisor. “Come to my office.”

“You have a problem with authority, Mr. Lamoreux. You believe that you are special, that somehow the rules do not apply to you. Obviously you are mistaken. This company is one of the top software companies in the world because every single employee understands that they are part of a whole. Thus if an employee has a problem, the company has a problem. The time has come to make a choice, Mr. Lamoreux. Either you choose to be at your desk, on time, from this day forward - or you choose to find yourself another job. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes Mr. Rhineheart, perfectly clear.”

I got off work and waited for my partner in crime to pick me up. We drove in silence. In unison, we drew out a cigarette, snapped open a zippo, and lit it. There was no need for words.

As we left the Wall Mart behind us, I smiled to myself. The look on the cashier's face gave it all away. She knew exactly what had transpired. I know I will never see her again, but the thought that there is another soul in this crazy world who truly understands what I went through was enough to make the entire adventure all worth it.

2005-11-08T03:03:00.000-06:00

I just watched Star Wars Episode 3 for the first time. Needless to say, I hated it. It is not because I am Star Wars junkie, or that I am a patron of good Sci-Fi. I was deeply disturbed, as one who would like to consider himself literate. It raised an interesting question: Is it even possible to have good acting if the script is as horrible as the one I just witnessed?

2005-11-02T23:53:00.000-06:00

I haven't tried this in a while. I'm posting without a single drop of alcohol in my bloodstream. I'm not even sure if this can be done. See, this week I am kind of fasting from alcohol. Don't worry, I haven't matured or realized the error of my ways or anything trendy like that. It is just that alcohol is not what I need right now. You see, I am in a weird place in life. I am attempting to switch jobs, move, take care of 5 years of thoughtless borrowing, and figure out what God has in store for me. I decided that I should take a week to focus hard core on my job search and handle the responsibilities of being an adult while I make peace with my parents.

In order to achieve this, I am going to have to bullshit a lot. I'm not good at bullshitting. Talking with banks about your plans on repaying them involves telling them what they want to hear about your future plans – aka bullshit. Attempting to make those plans reality requires that you tell your potential employer what he wants to hear – aka bullshit. In order to calm your parents down about the direction your life is headed, you have to tell them what they want to hear – aka bullshit.

When I drink Gods truth serum, I am not good at bullshitting. For some reason I feel compelled to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. When I drink, I have a hard time doing repetitive and mindless paperwork. My thoughts wander, and I start to think. When I drink, I get creative and artistic, and I want to write fiction. When I drink, I have an overwhelming desire to hang out with my friends and talk about theology or other issues that I believe actually matter.

Overall, I'd say that drinking makes me human. I can't have that right now. I need to become a machine. I need to fit into the system, take a standard input and regurgitate a standard output.

Anyway, that is not what this post is about. I just wanted to make sure that we were all clear on that.

* * *

Today has been crazy. There never seems to be a simple answer anymore. I have really been seeking guidance lately, but I don't know how to go about it. I'd like to get it from God, because it seems like he should have a good idea about whats going on, but I can't just very well ask Him. I mean, I'm not saying that I can't talk to Him, I'm just saying that every time I try, I think about it too much. “Dear God, please give me a kick ass job, if it is in Your will.” I always thought that prayers that ended with “if it is in Your will” were bullshit. I mean, they sound like a cop out. It takes less faith to ask for something that you have already convinced yourself you might not get. God never got pissed at Moses and Lot for the times they tried to change His will. So, I am not good at asking God for things. I don't know how it should be done. More importantly, I don't know how much he cares or intervenes in the first place. He could care less if I eat Froot Loops or Lucky Charms for breakfast. Does he care what I do for a living? Will he help me get what I want, or is that the down side of free will? “No fate but what we make for ourselves.” That's awesome if you are in a position to change history, but if you are a no talent ass clown, then that means that there is no magical force that will make sure you succeed.

I guess all I can do is read the Bible more and try to see what God has to say about all this. He made the rules. I might try looking in the rulebook.

2005-10-24T00:13:00.000-05:00

The problem with being our age is that, by all rights, we shouldn't be adults, but we are. - Rosene

2005-10-19T00:18:00.000-05:00

None of you will ever know how close this post came to never existing.

So, tonight I was talking to my drop dead sexy girlfriend, and then something weird happened. I the window I tried to close stayed up. Slowly, all the programs I had running began to lock up, one by one. If I had been in windows, I would have thought nothing of it, but this was Linux! That does not happen. When I realized that I could do no more, I let out a cry of desperation. I forced a hard boot, and my ear was filled with a stange sound. I could not figure out where it was comming from, untill BIOS asked me to reboot and select a boot device. My master hard drive had failed! The read/write head was flying all over the platter, and smashing into the sides of the case. It was about this time that I realized that I was still on the phone with an extremely gorgeous woman. All I could say was, "Ooooww!" Then I cursed a little.

You see, there is a lot at stake here. I am suposed to be going on a massive job hunt this thursday. I need access to my resume and the internet. I felt helpless without my computer. I began to seriously wonder what I had done to piss off God. As soon as I told my woman "good night" I got to work on my PC. First, I ripped out the hard drive that was trying to tap the beat to Mombo Number 5, and attempted to make my second hard drive (the one with linux on it) the master. The jumper was in place, and the bios knew what to do, but bam! My previous incompetance proved to be my downfall. The boot loader program (grub) was installed on the ha drive that now claimes paperweight status. The OS would not boot. "OK," I thought, "I'm better then this." I searched everywhere, and finally I jumped up into the air and held a CD above my head. Knopix! I would be able to access my linux drive, and get on the net! I would, that is, if I were not being subjected to unholy torment for my sins. Knopix booted, (after I changed the boot order in bios to let my slave CD drive boot first, because my master is having problems now, too) and then BAM! again! My screen went black, and then popped up with "signal out of range." I hate my monitor, bust most of all, I hate my motherboard for having such a shitty video card! I searched through my closet, and found an old PCI video card from my 586 days, and gave it a shot.

What do you know? More then two hours later, I'm in Knopix. I'm on the NET, and I can find my resume on my old Linux drive. I might be able to find a new job after all. If I do, I'm building a new computer. May the nerdiness of this post be a testment to my technical abilities. If you want to hire me, call (817)719-0469 Thank you.

2005-10-12T01:26:00.000-05:00

I forgot what a good Libertarian Heinlein was. I am reading “Read Planet” right now, (well, not right now. Right now I am drinking a martini, listening to Paul Oakenfold, and trying to forget that my girlfriend said that I require sleep, like most mortals) and it truly is an awesome book. Time and time again, I am confronted with things that I don't like. Most of the time it is a peer/organization/authority figure/random stranger who seeks to instruct me on how I should live my life. The other 13% of the time is just an individual who ran into a peer/organization/authority figure/random stranger who told them how to live their life, and they listened. The Libertarian slogan should be, “Don't try to tell me what my slogan should be!” I could go into a deep metaphysical conversation about why the principals that Libertarianism are founded on are logical, based on the fact that “reality” is word used to describe a subjective interpretation of flawed chemical compounds that make up an individuals memory of small slice of “truth” that no one will ever, objectively, view in this life.

However, I will just let you know what my plan of operation is, if I ever find myself on a primordial planet, charged with the commandment to restart the human race. (this has long been a fantasy of mine. My only request is that if I get my chance to play Noah, a particular biped, with burning sapphire eyes, golden locks of hair, and a down right sexy brain, will be by my side getting things off on the right foot, instead of not being by my side, not getting things off on the right foot, not being funny...)

#1 I'll construct weapons. Free men must be armed. If a man is not capable of defending himself or providing for his family, he is already dead. The state of this new world will define the type of weapon. I would like to be able to find iron ore, forge it into a barrel, and make gun powder, but the iron ore and potassium nitrate might be hard to come by, so I will probably have to settle for the makeshift spear and bow for the first couple of years.

#2 I'll brew beer. This will not be all that difficult, but it is a necessity, none the less. It must be accounted for in the plan. Alcohol brings out the worst in human nature, it's true, but it can also bring out the best. It is a magnifying glass for the elements that make men tick. If the finer things, (poetry, literature, art, music) are to persist, alcohol is a must. It has a liberating power. It unlocks hidden parts of our soul. If we are to found a new society, Gods truth serum must be part of it.

#3 I'll build a pool table. If there is one thing that man was created for, it was sport. Humans have put forth more effort in the arena then any other other place. We all claim to wish for good will toward all men, but secretly, we all want someone to fail. If God created man for the sole reason to watch us battle each other, it would not surprise me. He must be sitting up in heaven, in a comfy chair, beer in hand, watching ESPN 87. On this channel, all the wars and football games are broadcast 24/7. Humans are designed to challenge one another in elaborate movements, governed by strict rules, which must be amusing to anyone capable of thinking that is on a higher level. I don't want to end this, however war is not something a new society needs right off that bat. Instead of encouraging violence against the members of my new community, I will allow the natural desire for challenges to be settled over a game of eight ball.

2005-10-05T23:13:00.000-05:00

I had some free time tonight, so I decided to e-mail my representatives. (both in Texas and Oklahoma)

"Those who would trade their precious freedoms for a little bit of safety are deserving of neither freedom nor safety."-- Ben Franklin
There are still a few of us who value the principals that this nation was founded on more then temporary feelings of security. The decision to rebel against England was not made based on the desire for immediate safety and security. We chose to piss off the super power of the world and bring down upon us the wrath of hell, for the sole purpose of being able to proudly proclaim that we are free men! If the terrorists who inspired the Patriot Act wanted to truly destroy America, then they can go to sleep with a smile on their face, knowing that they were far more successful in their goal with the help of the Bush administration, then they would have been with all the planes that Boeing has in service. Instead of targeting everyone and hoping to find a rat, lets just target the rats and make such an example of them that we will cause the feeling of true patriotism, and not blind nationalism, to fill the hearts of Americans. This will turn every able bodied, free, citizen into a member of the only force that can truly be effective in nipping the terrorist threat in the bud. Anyone who threatens the freedom of the American people is a terrorist. America wanted a powerful weapon to battle terrorists, and now the barrel of that magnum is pointed at her head. The hammer is cocked, her finger is on the trigger, and on December 31st she will pull the trigger, unless you make sure that the parts of the Patriot Act that were scheduled to sunset do! Thank you for your time.

2005-10-04T02:19:00.000-05:00

“Well, you can just go to jail.” That's all I have to say to you rational, scientific, lackluster, drones, who only believe about the world what you were taught by Billy Graham and Peter Jennings, as children. You should spend your time downloading the Martha Stewart, made for TV, movie, instead of reading this post.

“The price tag is wrong.” This statement should not make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I mean, I work at CompUSA for crying in the rain! Any retail store is going to have price tags that really are wrong and customers who are just guessing, in hopes of getting a better deal. In fact, I would say I hear that quote, on average, four times a day. Now, granted, it is never from a slouching man with empty eye sockets and a deep East European accent, but just the same, it should not have weirded me out as much as it did.

He came into the store with one hand resting on the shoulder of a tan skinned, wall of muscle. Following behind, by about ten feet, was a little girl, around the age of four or five. She was singing in another language and skipping along, as if the whole world were a playground. Somewhere underneath the bicep, triceps, and vein covered forearm was an arm beckoning me to come over. I approached and my gaze passed from the man who summoned me, to the man who started talking, to the little girl, who didn't care that I was looking at her, in order to avoid the hollow gaze of the middle aged man with no eyes. Apparently the seeing eye muscle bound hero didn't speak English. I refused to focus on the little man who spoke to me. If the eyes are the gateway to the soul, what does God do with people like this? “We need to buy a computer.”

I told them to follow me, and I began to walk past the rows of unholy thinking machines. They stopped, and I turned around. Like iron to a loadstone, my eyes snapped up to meet the black voids that seemed as if they could house all of the secrets of the universe. As soon as the mystic had me attention, he spoke. “This is the computer we will buy.” He pointed at a Hewlett Packard. “The price tag is wrong.” A gig of ram, Lightscribe DVD/CD RW, and a 3.0 Ghz Pentium 4 - $849.99 does not seem unreasonable. I wanted to explain to him that he must be mistaken. First of all, the date on the price tag is recent. Second, the computer is not on sale this week. And third, you are blind; you can't even know that you are pointing at a yellow tag. I wanted to say this, but all that came out was, “Let me go check.” I shrugged off my feeling of shock, and entered the SKU number in the IMS system. My heart jumped, and then almost stopped. $799.98.

I slowly made my way back to the row of HPs. The little girl looked me in the eye, and give me a devilish grin. I wondered if her name was Pearl. “Yeah, that tag is wrong, it's actually $799.98. Um, before we take this up to the register, I just wanted to let you know that we have a two year service plan for only one thirty-ni....” I thought I saw a dim glow in the cave of his empty sockets, like a candle surrounded by the veil of a thick fog, when he interrupted me. “I know what will happen to the computer in two years. We don't need that. We will take the second plan you will offer us, the one for $99.99.” I thought about asking him how he knew the price of the second plan I was about to mention to him, but then I realized that the greater question would be how he knew what would happen to the computer in the next two years. Just then, the little girl jumped in front of him and put her finger to her lips, shushing me. Why argue? As I filled out the sales ticket, I asked them where they were from. Bosnia? No, that doesn't make much sense. But, where is a gypsy actually “from” anyway?

There are so may questions I wanted to ask. It's not every day that you get to meet a blind mystic who knows the future. Instead, I just filled out the form and rushed to meet them as they made their way to the check-out - Bulky He-man leading the blind seer, and the dancing young girl trailing behind. For a second, I wondered if they share any relation, other then the one to the Prince of the Air. Before I can muster the strength to ask them this, the unearthly family is walking out the door, and I am left standing with a dumb look on my face. The rest of the day flew by. I hope their computer breaks down and they will be forced to bring it back in for work. I want to get a second chance to meet them. But somehow, I doubt anything will go wrong.

2005-09-28T00:35:00.000-05:00

What is right in front of our eyes is usually in focus. We have no way of knowing if what we observe off to the side is really what we think it is until we divert our attention. And even at that point we have no way of knowing if it was always this clear or if it remained blurred and pixelated until we chose to bring it into existence by focusing on it. Most people go about their lives and allow their minds to be filled tot he brim with superficial and truly unimportant details, that they miss the greater picture. We are surrounded by an entire universe. There is a lot out there. Every now and then, I look at the clouds. Sometimes, they think no one is looking, so they turn down the resolution. At moments like these, you can't help but realize that we are on the verge of something big, something terrible. If you don't have a word in your vocabulary, you don't have a concept in your mind. The idea that someone in another culture has thoughts that are beyond me is frightening. If everyone loses sight of an aspect of reality, it will cease to exist. It will lose it's definition, and even if it is right in front of our face we will not be able to see it, because we will not have the concept as a reference in our mind. It just makes you wonder, how much have we already lost? How much is looking us in the eye, and being ignored? How much will disappear in our lifetimes?

2005-09-20T22:32:00.000-05:00

I feel so trendy! I got home tonight around 8:45. I figured that I would grab a beer, some mac and cheese, and watch TV. I forgot that they don't have, you know, “good” things on TV anymore. Out of morbid curiosity, I watched the last 15 minutes of Big Brother. I learned that the characters on that show are deep and unique people. I wanted to listen to their thoughts and ideas so much. Then it hit me! Thats what blogs are for! They are like reality TV, only on the Internet. Reality Internet! LoLs! So, from now on I am just going to talk about my day and how it made me feel. It's gunna roxors.

I am going to be the savior of Dune! The drain pan on our AC is broken, so all the moisture that condenses is dripping into a bucket. This morning I found a half gallon of dear, sweet, precious, water that had been captured from the air. Realizing that my windtrap is working well, I adjusted the fittings on my stilsuit and headed off to work. Work sucked. However, when I finally got home, I found a card stuck to my door. “Garland G. Tetens Deputy Constable” It was complete with a Tarrant county seal and everything! “Shit,” I thought, “they've finally come for me.” The note on the back of the card simply said, “Call me.” It listed a number, and then the depressing news. The note was not for me. No standoff with the constable awaited me. No battle with the law, or a reason to finally slip off the grid and live underground, the stupid note was addressed to the previous owner of this apartment. I am starting to get really jealous of this guy. This is not the first time authorities have attempted to contact him here. They've called and sent letters. This guy is good. The cops and other jackasses have no idea where he is! *I raise my Miller Highlife Light above my head* I salute you, Byron!

For some reason, I feel like I am the last American left who can really respect what Byron has accomplished. The freedom loving patriot is dead. He has been replaced by the castrated, whimpering, bitch - the worthless dog who cowers with her tail between her legs, willing to go to great lengths to give up freedom and liberty for the prospect of a safe and eventless lifestyle devoid of any meaning. I hate Gorge W. Bush. It took me a long time to come to this point. Until recently, I have been defending him, if for no other reason, then it was trendy to hate him. But now, it is clear what his motive is. He is looking to transform the free citizens of this great county into dependent subjects. He is eager to rip your rights from you, in the name of protecting you. 9/11 was just the start. You are not free. Katrina has shown us that. You don't own your land, and you don't have to right to defend your home. Have any of you been paying attention to this? It does not matter that you are being forced at gun point to leave your house. It does not matter that while you are gone, the police are confiscating your guns, and it does not matter that once you return you will not get them back, even though the cops have said that they can't protect everyone from the looters. You see, this was all done for your good. Bush said so, and he defended the actions taken in this place. You, my fellow citizen, are not capable of thinking for yourself! You lack the good nature that Big Brother has in his heart for all mankind! Come, my friends! Turn over your sense of wellbeing to the kind hands of the government! They can protect you better then you can. You don't have to take my word for it, watch the news. It is obvious by their reports that any who tried to stay or keep their guns were mentally unstable, and deserving of the brute force that was issued to them. ABC news taught me that those who wanted to defend their house and home were contemptible traitors to the state!

Sorry, I just got a little carried away there. I don't want any of you to get the wrong impression. All I'm saying is that if I lived in New Orleans, I would probably be one of those guys shooting at the cops and “rescue” helicopters.

2005-09-15T15:15:00.000-05:00

************************************

** Continued from previous post. **

************************************

The absolute look of shock on the governors face told Scott that he needed to further explain himself, and the speed of his previous answer bolstered his confidence.

“Throughout history, governments have sought to control their inhabitants through fear or bribes. In a totalitarian state, the average citizen does as his sovereign wishes, because he fears the wrath that is to come if he is a disappointment. A free state bribes the common man with the sweet taste of liberty, and earns his submission as a sort of payment. 'Quid pro quo' Both of these systems have their faults. The totalitarian government must continually give the citizen reason to fear, and the free state must constantly remind the citizen of all the liberties he must be grateful for. The slightest lack of vigilance on the part of either ruler sends the people into an apathetic stupor. Order breaks down, and societies crumble. It took centuries of subtle, social engineering to create a new breed of citizen - a man who's motivation to serve his government comes not from the government, but from his peers. In our glorious nation, the masses expend as much of their energy doing as they are commanded, as they do working to keep their fellow men in check. There is no need for the government to maintain order, that job has been handed over to the people.”

The governor inhaled deeply, and leaned forward. “Yes, yes, but what does this have to do with fashion?”

The sense of euphoria that the conversation filled Scott with, gave him the courage to boldly go on with his argument. Never before had he be able to talk of such things. All of his friends and co-workers had such specific educations, that their vocabulary would never have allowed such a dialog to ensue. One day Scott had decided not to wear his buds to work. There was no rule or regulation that required that he wear them, it was one of those things that everyone simply did. The government provided every man, woman, and child with a pair, and they chose to wear them every day. When asked how he lost his buds, Scott tried to explain that he did not “loose” them, he just wanted to see what it would be like to go one day without music and mindless banter being force fed into his ear. The concept of purposeless curiosity was completely lost on his co-worker, and ten minutes later Scott was wearing his spare set just to put an end to the questioning. On his lunch break, three of his friends chimed in for a “quick-chat” session. They had all heard the story of how he showed up without his buds, and made jokes about his ineptitude. “Yeah Scott, if you didn't have your buds, you wouldn't be able to have this quick-chat right now. Err-stupidude! How would you get through the day without music anyway? Hahaha! I know I would have absolutely died!”

Scott leaned back and answered the governor. “The citizens of our society have completely turned over their free will to the state. Now, admittedly, a government controlled education system has been crucial to altering the minds of the young while they are still malleable, however, it would have never been possible to use this tactic exclusively. It's too obvious. Sooner or later there would have been a great rebellion against it, as those who valued their free through began to see it being stripped away from their offspring. The desire to have someone in authority dictate your will had to come from within. It is impossible by its very nature to impose this upon a uncooperative subject. Also, this mindset had to be instilled on the populous at a very young age. It had to be in place before the education system could get to work on them. Individuality and the desire to be different arises at this very early age. It is driven by selfishness, and selfishness is an instinct that was necessary for survival at one point in time. If everyone is exactly the same, then everyone is deserving of the same rewards and punishments. It is selfishness that drives an individual to seek to elevate himself above the crowd. He must find differences in himself to justify his greed. This desire to take more then ones own share is the only thing that has brought humanity up to this point. It was necessary that some get more then their fair share, and it was necessary that some die out because of this. There were not enough resources in the early days of humanity to allow all to live and grow and advance. If all had been given a “fair” share of the resources, it would have resulted in the extermination of the human race.”

The governor slammed his fist against the table and his nostrils flared. “Again, you give me a history lesson instead of an answer! It does not matter that individuality was necessary in the past. In our glorious new society there is enough wealth to go around, if everyone is willing to do their part. This is where our system of government comes into play. We give every person a job to do, and provide him with everything he needs - even a little more then he needs. The only thing that humanity had to do in order to rise to this glorious new level was to give up a few primitive notions of uniqueness. Let me ask you one last time. How do the rulers of this great nation keep the mind of the average man open to our instruction and command?”

“Making it a delight to work in a specific job, live a certain lifestyle, and believe that your leaders are on par with a father figure who has your best interest in mind is easy, once the nearly impossible task of turning over your most deep seated personal opinions to another has already been accomplished. Fashion did just that. 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' This is where the most basic notions of individuality came about. If a foreign entity determines what is aesthetically pleasing to your sight, then you have lost this key element. Why is it that no one would dare wear last summers coveralls to work? Ask anyone in the factories, and they will tell you that it is because the color is absolutely hideous. They might explain that the way the seams around the ankle are hemmed up is simply appalling. And yet, last summer, this was good and beautiful. If you say that it is not the opinion of the beholder that has changed, you would be wrong. It has, indeed, changed, just not from any inward thought or revelation. What the average citizen honestly believes to look good is determined by someone other then that average citizen. It was this great jump forward that primed John Everymans thought process to let other concepts of his be decided by an alien influence as well. Trends are the ultimate drug that keep the subjects of this country in a state of complete acceptance. In as much as the masses don't decide what they, themselves, think looks pretty, they also don't decide what it is they truly want to do with their lives.”

The governor waved his hand, and six armed guards stormed into the room. The laid hands on Scott and lifted him to his feet.

“Take him to the Hall of Justice and have him executed.”

Scott kicked and fought, knowing that it was all in vain. It's just one of those things that everyone simply did. As soon as the great oak doors closed behind him, a panel on the opposite wall slid open, and a gray haired man with dark circles under his eyes emerged.

“Another failure?”

The governor rested his chin in his hands. “He was too observant - not leadership material. It's all right, though. There were twelve placed in the program. Surly one of them will be what we are looking for.”

The old man sat down and sighed. “The only flaw in our system is finding new replacements for senior positions. Oh well, I have a feeling we'll have better luck with the next candidate. He is already wearing the new light cyan coveralls.”

“Didn't we just release those this morning? Wow, give him an “E” for effort.”

2005-09-13T02:18:00.000-05:00

“What is it that sets you apart?”

A thousand spiders crawled up Scotts back, and his eyes searched the enormous chamber for something to lock onto, so the fact that he could not bear to look the Governor in the eye might be easily excused. With no such luck, he cast a sideward glance at the small man across the table and gripped the arm rest.

“Uh, er… Beg your pardon?”

“It’s not that difficult to see. You are different. For some reason, you don’t behave like the rest of your peers. Their logic and reasoning is alien to you. Just humor me, why do you think that is?”

Third grade had been hard. Without warning, Scott was taken out of the school system. His tests placed him as an accountant with middle management potential, but for some unexplained reason he was ripped from his career training courses, and place in a private school. He had never heard of the existence of “private schools” until he was instructed that he was chosen to receive a more “rounded” education then his friends. Of course this made no sense at all. Everyone knew that third grade was when you were finally old enough to be placed in a career path, and then the rest of your education was designed to put you in a position to truly excel in that placement. A surgeon has as much of need to know about eighteenth century art as a programmer must be aware of the effects that interest rates have on the real estate industry.

“So, Scott, why does your mind function differently from that of the guy standing next to you on the buss every morning?”

Involuntary twitches and subtle shifting in the chair did not help the answer come any easier. No one receives training for questions such as these. From the eighty-seventh floor, much of the east side was visible. At eight thirty-six in the morning, most of the inhabitants of the north-east quarter were heading off to the factories. Even though the busses resembled little more then platelets coursing through a narrow capillary form the vantage point, Scott knew all too well exactly what it was like on the street. He made the mistake of staring too long at the road that led up to the industrial sector of the town.

“Scott? Is there a problem?”

The awkward silence that followed would have become legendary if anyone else had been there to record it. After an unknowable amount of time elapsed, Scott realized that he was expected to actually answer this question.

“No, uh, there is not a problem. I, uh, what was the last question?”

Like a disease, an evil smirk, originating from the left side of the Governors chin, slowly spread until it had transfigured his entire face.

“No Scott, you’re wrong. There is a problem. You don’t fit in. Do explain, to the best of your knowledge, why that is that?”

There is no record of the time that elapsed, but for Scott it was a surprise to hear his vocal cords quivering in response as soon as they did.

“Well, when the rest of my co-workers were busy learning the tricks of the trade, I was cast into a private school where I spent most of my time studying thing that have no bearing on my placement in society. I constantly find myself deprived of some small piece of information that those around me learned while I was being instructed about the useless facts pertaining to pieces of literature that have not been read by anyone in over a thousand years.”

“So, it is just the lack of knowledge that hinders you from communing with your compatriots?”

“Well, no. Sometimes I recall something that should have no bearing on my job, but my mind starts drawing comparisons. I later realize that if I had never learned some concepts, I would not spend as much time worrying about the effects that they have on my efficiency, and I would just do what is required of me.”

“So, you start thinking above your position?”

“Oh, no, I never claimed that. It is just that with this unique schooling that I have received, I…”

“No, you do start thinking above your position. That is why you don’t function as well as those next to you. Don’t be ashamed. That is to be expected, and that is, ultimately, why you are here…”

On the street, down below, a buss lost a tire to a wayward piece of scrap metal. The occupants started a pilgrimage, on foot, to the factory that was just seven minutes away. Donned in matching coveralls, with “buds” blasting their favorite sounds in their ears, the teeming mass below did not mind the minor inconvenience. The change of routine would become fodder for lunch time, kwik-chat, messages.

Scott, being so lost in though, almost missed the Governors last question. “What do you think is the one thing that gives US the power to make the common man want nothing more then to do the bidding of a select few government officials, who chose to use his labor for selfish gain?”

As if it were an automated response, the word left Scott’s mouth before he had time to comprehend its meaning.

“Fashion.”

-To be continued.

2005-09-02T23:49:00.000-05:00

So, today I worked out some of my finances – never a good idea. I had a shitty day at work, and every time I didn’t sell an insurance plan on a computer I thought of it as one more six-pack I could not afford. With gas prices reaching for the stars, I can’t help but think that the powers and principalities that be, are really trying to hit me where it hurts. The most wonderful woman in the world, whose mere existence gives bipeds everywhere a good name, lives two hours away. Mix that with the thought that some of my best friends in the world reside in the same forgotten corner of Texas, and you can’t help but want to embark on a Jihad against the forces of the Illuminati who have kept atomic powered cars off the street for the last twenty years. As much as these things have fought their hardest to tear me from my pedestal on cloud nine and cast my soul down to the realm of mortals, it was nothing other then a few ounces of wayward mucus that drove the final stake through my heart. I don’t believe in germs. I don’t get sick. All illness is psychosomatic. Normally, I can will the sniffles away, but today was different.

A co-worker of mine, who knows me well, suggested that it might be allergies. He pointed out that pollen is not a germ, and you can see it. Another co-worker who knows me better blamed a diet, whose staples are ramen noodles and Miller High Life Light, in conjunction with sleep deprivation, but I would not accept this. I know when I have been bested. I have allowed my fears and uncertainties to take control of my subconscious. All day my mind dwelled on thoughts of separation from those I love, financial problems, and the way that the neo-preppy conformist generation has embraced the nightmares prophesied about by Ray Bradbury and Aldus Huxley. It does not take a doctorate to realize that that a brain completely enveloped with distopian revelations and mystical eye withdrawal can easily slip into mental illness. This runny nose of mine is just the physical manifestation of a conceptual problem. I don’t anticipate on it being an issue much longer. Tomorrow morning I am going to Lesbos house, and we are going to drink beer, eat Cheerios, and watch Saturday morning cartoons. Life does not get much better then that. I hope the rest of you can find such solace in a fallen world.

2005-08-21T11:30:00.000-05:00

...and you wonder why I love Hunter S. Thompson so much.

2005-08-21T05:14:00.000-05:00

So, just for tonight, I am going to forget everything that Lewis Carroll taught me. There is more to reality then the sum of ones memories. Sure, it makes sense to think that your only definition of what actually exists is the culmination of a few chemicals, stored in some random order, in a hunk of bacon, stored in your melon, which has come into contact with a completely unique set of experiences, but for some reason, I am inclined to believe differently this evening.

I have seen absolute truth tonight. For those of you who have never witnessed pure, unadulterated facts about the universe which we know and love, I suggest this to you: Get a few good guys together, mix with alcohol, and stir with a Ball Python until God’s truth serum starts working its magic. I grantee it’s fun fun for everyone involved.

2005-08-13T00:59:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I made a life changing resolution. I explained part of this to Sam and Speed when they cam over to my illustrious castle and decided to play 20 questions. For those of you whom I have kept in touch with know, this summer has been an absolutely crazy time in my life. I have bummed with awesome friends and spent nights with hobos. I’ve looked for real work, and settled for quasi work. I’ve been poor, and I’ve been really poor. To sum it all up, this is the first time in my life where I have actually experienced the real world. Through all my trials and tribulations, I have managed to always find the time and means to go out and have adventures. Without them, my existence would be meaningless. As the sun begins to spend less time in the sky, and thoughts of Fall begin to fill my mind, I have finally settled down a bit. I have a place to live where I can truly be free to do whatever I want without having to answer to a higher authority. Even if you know that I have been looking for this for the last 6 years of my life, there is no explaining how it truly makes me feel. I am in contact with a job recruiter now, and the current plan is to have a real job within a month of next Tuesday. It may be the fact that for the first time in my life, my daily routine is beginning to resemble something similar to that of the masses who make up the aftermath of post modern American culture, or it could simply be the fact that many people around me are beginning to evolve and change as they grow older. (an occurrence that I am not subject too)

Whatever the case may be, several people in the last couple of days have talked to me about things like maturing, growing up, and putting an end to being dumb. In case you don’t know me very well, I do a lot of dumb things. Like a normal, rational human being, I took all of this into consideration. I combined these thoughts with ones that seemed to be burned into my soul by a particular pair of mystical eyes, and mixed it all around with a few words of wisdom provided to me by my bro, Skittles. With a 9 hour shift ahead of me, I had ample time to come to a conclusion.

I will never mature. I refuse too. It is a moral stance, and I must make it. “Maturity” is a catch phrase tossed about by non-thinking sheep who find comfort in conformity. “Immature” is a derogatory sounding way of saying, “not like the rest of us.” The more I think about it, I realize that it has nothing to do with responsibility, intelligence, decision making, or morals. You are mature if your peg fits into the predefined hole. If you have free will, free though, or are simply a result of nature destroying the mold in which you were cast, then you are labeled “immature.”

But wait, oh, you fine upstanding friends of mine, who worry about my place in this mad world in which we live, there is more.

I have not cast your words to the wind like so much chaff. I am grateful for your thoughts, and there is a second part to my resolution! I am going to attempt to become a better person. This does not mean that I am going to go out of my way to obey more of mans laws, or vainly try to fit in with what is expected of me by the neo-prepy conformists. Oh no, but I am going to try to humble myself and look at the choices I make in a more encompassing light. My problem is that I tend to realize that I have everything figured out. At this point I usually ignore the voices of those around me and plow ahead, full tilt boogie. A recent revelation of mine, and I thank Skittles for this one, is a concept that is not new to physicists. Reality is altered by the act of observation. Some experiments cannot be repeated, and everyone observes a given situation differently. Reality is nothing more then an individuals memory of their impression of parts of an event. I have just recently come to the understanding of how drastically different two peoples perception of reality can be for the same event. It is mind blowing.

So, my vow is to never mature, but to instead seek to grow in understanding.

2005-07-24T23:29:00.000-05:00

My life has taken a turn for the uh, well… My life has taken a turn. There have been events that fill me with fantastical joy, and occasions where I have been pretty sure that I was going to just go to jail because at least there I would not have to worry about two hots and a cot.

A few days ago I went to Lawton with Sam and Joy. Wow, I think I am going to make Christmas cards with the picture of the three of us puffing away on a hookah. It was heroic. Two days of chemical induced inebriation proceeded two days of absolute drunkenness caused by the most powerful drug I have ever experimented with, and the end result was a feeling of dizziness and drowsiness that would have been less of a surprise had I only read the metaphysical warning label in my mind.

So many, seemingly random, blessings have been bestowed upon me recently, that I have a hard time not running around all day babbling incessantly about squirrels and screaming, “I’ve got monkeys in me!” Of course, this time of joy has been pock marked by several down right depressing events that have an uncanny ability to make one question the divine order which must be in place. My brothers Godson was stillborn, and it is hard to see how something that brought so much good into the lives of desperate people could be tossed away, haphazardly, by an all knowing, all seeing God. Rosene and I are trying to get approved for an apartment we found, and one thing after another is jumping in the way. If a mans home is his castle, we are the poorest of paupers right now.

The one thing that gives me hope, is the fact through all of this I have gained a fortune. One of the most valuable things in the world is a good story, and I have at least 87 new ones. Just for the hell of it, I’ll tell a really bad one now.

Three years ago there was a little Mexican boy named Pepipeto. He came from a poor Mexican family and he did his best to help his family earn enough money to put piping hot tortillas on the table. His father was a street peddler, and every day Pepipeto woke up early in the morning and hiked to the edge of town where he would gather straw in big bundles. He would tie together the bundles with string from the burlap sacks that his mother got from the market. After he had gathered six bundles, Pepipeto would walk back into town where his mother and sister would weave the straw into hats that his father would sell in the market. One day, Pepipeto was heading out to look for straw when he saw an old, blind man. The blind man gazed off into the distance and said, “Never gather straw from the graveyard.” Pepipeto was startled, so he asked the man what the H he was talking about. The old man just repeated himself, “Never gather straw from the graveyard.” Pepipeto quietly walked away. He had never thought to gather straw from the graveyard before, but for some reason he now had an overwhelming urge. Looking over his shoulder, Pepipeto snuck over and gathered one bundle from the grave yard. Before he knew what was happening, he was home, and his sister was weaving the straw into a hat. That evening, his father took it to market, and a rather dumb looking Gringo from a school in Longview bought the hat.

A few days ago, I was driving toward Plano with Joy, and I was spastically reading street signs and allowing myself to be taken aback by advertisements because I was in a rather good mood. You see, we were heading over to visit Brooke and Lesbo, and I could feel something awesome in my bones.(It was either something awesome or bone marrow cancer. But for the sake of the story, I will say it was something awesome, because, amazingly enough, I was wearing a Mexican hat that I purchased on my Jihad to Mexico three years earlier.) There was something special about this day. When we showed up at Lesbo’s, I noticed a sign on the neighbors door with a scene from the Wizard of Oz printed on it. Upon politely asking Lesbo about this. (Asking = pounding the rum and coke in my hand, running out into the stairwell, ripping the poster off the door, running back into Lesbos, and demanding, “WHAT IS THIS?” ) I discovered that his neighbor had a new roommate and was throwing a party to welcome him. Everyone from the apartment complex was welcome. I knew that this was my moment to shine. I demanded that we go investigate. Joy was smart enough to act like she was cool with this idea, but as soon as I knocked on the door, she took off running down the hall, in search of cover. The door opened, and we were greeted by an overly friendly guest.

Somehow, we managed to drag Joy back into the new apartment and make small talk with what became apparent to be participants in a homosexual sausage fest. They were nice people, though, and they offered us snacks. I could tell that my Mexican hat was a huge hit. I knew that I had to go out on the balcony to share this experience with those outside. This sounds like an easy task, however it proved to be quite a feat. For before me was an invisible barrier! I, of course, could not see this. It was invisible. I proudly marched out toward the veranda, and bam! I face planted my ancient nemesis. I muttered something like, “Oh, so that’s what an invisible barrier looks like.” For the next three and half minutes, I lived in shame.

Later that night, Joy stole the Mexican hat, and put it on.

Maybe I’ll tell a better story next time. It is just that I am running on no beer right now, and er, uh… Look, I found a website! www.iheartboobs.com

2005-06-26T01:41:00.000-05:00

I don’t have a lot of time to write, but I just wanted to say that everyone need to read “God’s Debris” by Scott Adams. It is the single most blasphemous book that God Himself has ever inspired. I finished it in one day. It made my head spin around inside my skull. I spent my day at work trying to imagine things that are impossible for this Earthly brain of mine to comprehend. It was awesome, and frustrating. I think everyone around me thinks I am crazy. I was talking to a customer today about wireless network cards, and I had a revelation in the middle of me speal. I said something like, “It is hard to say the exact range for your house. No one understands radio waves. Everyone accepts them as fact, because they think someone else understands them, and if someone understands something, it has to be true. But don’t tell Cisco; if every one stopped thinking that someone understood radio waves they would cease to exist, because they are nothing more then a delusion our collective minds have formulated.” They bought the card. I think they did it just to make me shut up.

Oh yeah, then my boss got worried when she wandered into the training room to see what I was up too. (I was at a computer by myself, laughing hysterically. ) See, I had to take an online racial and sexual harassment course. We had to watch videos of people in the workplace who were subjected to harassing situations, and then write about how we thought the people felt. I learned that is only possible to harass women and minorities. I thought that, in the name of diversity, I should show these people how even majorities can be offended. So, when the dude in the movie told a joke about lazy Mexicans, I wrote that it made the Mexican in the room feel good, because it reminded him of home, but it pissed off the white chick because “her mother was going to med school and trying to raise 2 children as a single mom. One day she came home, and her daughter was crying because soccer practice was canceled, and she had to get a ride home from her friend who had a two parent family. She realized that her mom was not able to take as good care of her by herself, as she would be able too with two parents, even if they were both mommies, and was distraught. So, her mom decided to go to taco bell and make everyone feel better by bringing home Chalupas. On her way home, tragedy struck. She got into a horrible car wreck and is now a paraplegic. But through it all, the family bonded and overcame all the obstacles. In then end, the accident was a blessing, because they found the true meaning of what really makes a loving family. So, Rebecca (the white woman) was offended by the joke because she has a special place in her heart for Taco Bell and Mexico in general.”

If you know me, you know that I make myself laugh, and this was hilarious. So, when my manger heard me, she came to see what was funny. She read my response and asked me two questions. “Er, how do you know her mom was a paraplegic, and how do you know that her name is Rebecca?” I just laughed more, and she awkwardly walked out of the room. I am surprised that I still have a job. How do I even breath at night?

2005-06-14T00:10:00.000-05:00

So, life as a vagabond is cool. I decided to get a crap job to hold me over while I look for a real one, and wound up with a week to blow before any of the jobs that want me need me. So, I went to Houston with Sam to visit Joy and Speed. It was awesome. We camped down by the beach, boy-eee, went to the worst kegger ever, and gave a pork chop sandwich and smoke detector as a birthday present. Tomorrow I have 2 interviews, and I hope to be working soon. Hmmm, this post is really lame. I want to write something else at the moment, and that is all I can think about, so I guess I’ll quit bullshitting. I just wanted to say something to some of my loyal friends who have not heard from me in while. I’ll try to call all of you soon. I have no money at the moment, however if there will be free booze, I’ll find a way to make it to wherever you are.

2005-05-30T01:29:00.000-05:00

There is nothing like the sweet sound of Rachmaninoff to keep you between the lines after you have had one too many to drink, or is it Mozart? I tried to explain this to my second younger brother as I gave him the first driving lesson of his life that could actually amount to anything. “Obey the posted speed limits and other traffic signs. Come to a complete stop for a full three seconds when you see a red octagon, and most important of all, even if your friends think you are a fag, (it does not matter, you can drink more then them anyway) tune into the local classical station. At one in the morning, any NPR station will do. Don’t worry, the old reruns of ‘All things Considered’ will be over by now.”

And just like that, I sentenced myself to no less then 87 months in purgatory. Shit. Maybe, I am a bad influence. Right now I am staring at my monitor and pounding some cheep brandy. As I contemplate my future, nothing else seems more apropos. I can’t stay at home any longer. When I was 17, I left, and there is no going back. My parents continually make sure I am aware of the fact that I am not welcome here. I am so grateful to have good friends, though. I am leaving Lawton on Thursday, and heading to Longview to tie up some loose ends. Then it is off to the Dallas/Fort Worth area to crash at one of my die hard friends place till I find something for myself.

There are a few concerns, on my part, even though I have some semblance of a plan. The one that worries me far less then it should is that I have no money. I have always been able to manage in the past, and I think I’ll be able to work it out now, even if that means transporting a few plants across an imaginary line. Needless to say, I’ll have a good story in a few months. Then, there is the whole job thing. I have been working my ass off to apply to every job on monster, careerbuilder, workintexas, and a dozen other dot coms that have some sort of semblance to things related to computers in the past month. I have been dropping off, on average, 4 resumes a day. This tells me one of two things. First, dot coms are full of shit. Second, my license to work (Degree) is worthless. I guess we will find out, here in a few days. Of course, the biggest thing that really gets to me is the possibility that I will find a good paying job, a place to live, and that I will live out the rest of my days in misery. Computer Science Engineering is great and all, but I would rather write. Right now, the greatest achievement that I can think of is to write the great American novel. It is kind of disheartening to think that the career path I am following could not take me farther from that goal.

Current long term plans: none
Current short term plans: balls to the walls, something has to happen.

2005-05-26T00:59:00.000-05:00

“It tastes like old pineapples.” That is all that you can think when you come too. The next thought involves something about staying between the white and yellow lines, but you are still smacking your lips. “What is that taste? Rum, maybe tequila, did I smoke tonight?” Then you become aware of that fact that you have more then just a simple sense of taste. The thoughts about staying between the yellow and white lines become predominant in your mind, and you grip the steering wheel. The car swerves, and you later realize that you did a better job when you did not concentrate on it. It is the next set of thoughts that sober you up. Without them, you would feel no inspiration to write. That bed, although it be laden with a Barbie comforter and teddy bear, seems all to welcoming at this point. A dark mist fills your mind, and all you can remember is the evils of the night. There were so many. Strippers and thieves, liars and dealers, hosts of people who try their hardest to live lives that fly in the face of every thing that you have come to know as good and right. You begin to wonder, why was I so forgiving?” Evil deeds of the night act themselves out before your minds eye, and you can only grit your teeth in frustration. “Had I been sober, I would have slugged that soneovabitch in the mouth.” “If I had not been so inebriated, I would have gone with those guys to Dragon West.” “Were that I was in my right mind, I might have made out with that chick.”

And the evil in your own heart pores forth. Had it not been for the whisper in my ear, I would have awoken in a miry pit. Had I not listened to the words of an old friend, I would have been lost. Had I been sober, I would have fallen. I know to whom I owe this victory. I know also to whom I owe my vengeance. May I never forget tonight.

2005-05-24T04:19:00.000-05:00

I am a fucking hard core gangsta! Don’t you forget it, bitch. If there is any doubt in your mind, let me just give a shout out to my set, and relate to you the events of my evening. Everything started out straight. My little bro and I went to the liquor store, and I picked up some 6 point and a bottle of K&D. We drove past the signs that read, “Cruising prohibited, under city ordinance 25-07-01.” You know you are in a good part of town when you can be put in jail for driving down the same street too many times in an hour. The crew pulled up to my brothers apartment after we yelled at a couple of hookers, who approached the van of awesome at a stop light, where I took too long lighting my cig. Like true Gs, we fired up the old SNES and put on Mario 3. The liquor was not going to hold out much longer. My bro pulled out his cell, and after a lot of bad noise, Seth from across the way dropped by and we picked up a twanky. After Seth took off, I took a long drag off my clove, and looked at Adrian. “Dude, if I ever get an interview with any of these jobs I have been applying for, I am going to have to take a wiz quiz. You know I can’t smoke any kill. How am I supposed to get ill?” His fiancé pulled out the bong, and he reassured me. “I already know. I am only keeping half of this. Jerome said he would trade me 10 tabs for a dime.”

For those of you who did not grow up on the street, let me do some math. The going price for a Loretab 750mg bar is $2-$3. GIs will buy them for $4. If you get $20 worth of weed, and trade half of it for 10 pills, you can sell 5 of the pills for $4 a piece to the GI in the apartment next to you and make out with a dime and 5 Loretab for free. You gotta love middle aged pot heads who can get prescriptions and capitalistic home boys.

The peeps smoked, and I popped 2 tabs and finished the beer. The night was young. We were about to hit up Taco Bell when the phone rang. Morgan and her co-worker got off work early and needed a ride. Nothing seemed like a better idea to a bunch of throwed gangstas then to head over to the titty bar and pick up a couple of strippers at 1:00 in the morning. (See, they agreed to buy us Whataburger if we would do them this favor) Somehow, we managed to not get pulled over. When we got back to the chill pad, Morgan and Adrian got into a fight. She wanted to have some of her friends over, and my brother wanted to lounge in the living room, with his peeps, and play Mario under the influence. It was a great debate, and both sides made several good points. Adrian pointed out the fact that she was a slut, and he didn’t give a shit what she wanted to do. She said... well, I forgot what she said, she’s a slut. When all the alcohol, Loretabs, and weed had been consumed, we all headed out. We had to call it a night early, because Adrian and Jeremy had to be at work at 8:00 in the morning. I really am ghetto fabulous.

So, “Why,” you may be wondering, “is C-4 trying so hard to prove his heterosexuality and convince the world that he is still cool.” Let me explain. I am about to go to bed. The room in which I am residing is painted pink. As soon as I feel like nodding off, I’ll crawl into the bottom bunk and pull my Barbie comforter up to my chin and rest my head on my old teddy bear that now serves as a pillow, as I attempt to catch a few Zs in my little sisters room. If I don’t try to make sure that all my friends realize how tough I am, I’ll probably cry myself to sleep. Damn, I need to get out of here.

2005-05-18T23:02:00.000-05:00

“We are all mad here...”

I was surrounded by pill heads. If it came in a small ovoid capsule, these people were taking it. Vicodin, Oxycontin, Percocet it didn’t matter. They all get the job done. Suffering with the pains of reality, these people turned to anything that could be found in small brown plastic bottles. With typecast letters describing proper usage and slips with scribbled signatures, the room was filled with people comparing chemicals and doses. With all the talk about research, studies, and lab rats, I was convinced there the room had a cumulative doctorate in pharmaceuticals. “Oh, yeah, this is basically Oxycontin, it’s just the generic version.” “I know how you feel. I don’t know how I would get by without a few Xanax to pop every now and then.” “After a few of these, I can’t even feel my back, let alone the pain that used to make my life a living hell.” Of course, just hanging around with people who take massive amounts of drugs to escape from their reality is nothing new to me. What really irked me this time, was when the conversation switched to the dope that these fiends were feeding to their children. I questioned the state of a country that allowed addicts like these to breed and pass on their habits to their kids. I could not take any more. I grabbed my shit, and headed for the door. I had to spend some time with people who had a better grasp on their lives and refused to bullshit en mass. I left my family and the church pot luck dinner, and headed over to my brothers apartment.

I knew that at my brothers apartment the drug addicts would at least be truthful with themselves. When they took drugs, it was because they thought their life was shit and they just wanted to feel good. I seriously began to wonder if I was the only person alive who looks at this fucked up world and still wonders. There really is so much to wonder about. I am on the cusp of what will become the rest of my life, and I am starting to have serious doubts. I know it is self centered and egotistical to presume that I am somehow different, to believe the nature destroyed the mold in which I was cast, but sometimes it is really hard to find anyone who can see past absolute vanity of this world and take a look for two seconds at the things that really matter. All the people at church want to know if I will find a good wife, settle down, have 2.5 kids, and join a reformed commune where I will loose all touch with the world and learn to hate and despise all those infidels who dare interpret the Bible differently then John Calvin did. My parents want to know why I am not bent on finding a “perfect job.” One where I will work for no less then 65 hours a week, take my family on company sponsored BBQs, and above all, make a metric ass load of money. Of course, the one group who I can relate to the most, and agrees with me about the coefficient of bullshit in the above listed fantasies, would like me to take a just more then minimum wage job, so I can consume all manner of legal and illegal substances to hide from the fact that we live in is a world owned and run by those who have no idea about the reality of life for the common man on the street.

I’ll take “D,” none of the above. I just can’t help but feel that there is more to life then this. “Ohhhhh, there’s an original though.” Fuck you. How many people actually, seriously, question it? As I look forward, I am beginning to see my existence in what must have been the same light that Hunter S. Thompson viewed his. The more I expand my horizons, the more I learn about people, the more I begin to understand what makes the world go round, the more I am filled with nothing less then fear and loathing. I’m not sure what I am going to wind up doing, but I do know that it is going to piss a lot of people off. That’s the only way I’ll know that I’m heading in the right direction.

2005-05-11T18:58:00.000-05:00

So, I graduated. Awkward. If anyone from LeTourneau is reading this, I just want to let you know that while I was enrolled, I drank… a lot. OK, now that that is out of my system, I can tell stories! I am currently in Lawton Oklahoma visiting family and friends. I plan on staying here for no more then 10 days. Then, whether I have a job or not, I am moving to Dallas. I might have to live in my van down by the river for a while, but I have faith that the Lord will provide. God takes care of the faithful and fools. I know that I must fall into one of those categories, so it’s all good. Yesterday I tracked down my little brother, and we decided that we were going to party like it’s 1999.

I knew we were going to have a fun night when I ran into the liquor store. I wandered past rows and rows of bottles and started thinking about what I should get. I had to figure out the logistics. We were going to be somewhere in the bad part of town, and there were going to be three Lamoreuxs present. Obviously, taste or quality was not going to be a deciding factor. We were going to be drinking for effect. I stumbled up to the counter and piled four Cammo 9 point 40’s on the counter and a bottle of Everclear. The clerk looked at me with the same sympathetic stare you give to a June bug in the urinal. Sure, you could go out of your way to save him, but why?

I have been driving around without the rear seats in van. Instead, there is a long yellow couch that looks like it fell out of the 70’s. As we drove through the ghetto at unsafe speeds, all the home boys bounced around in the back, and cursed at me when my driving caused them to spill a few precious drops of the nectar of the gods. We were about to head to my brothers apartment when he came to a realization. “Dude, we need a dime.” I turned down the music, “Where are we gunna get one?” My brother thought for a second, “I don’t know yet. The Lord will provide.” We stopped at the busy intersection of Fort Sill Boulevard and Gore. As the cars stacked up, and waited for the lights to change, my little brother lunged out the window. “Carl! Hey! Carl! Roll down your window!” I looked over and saw a guy in a beat up Tempo on the other side of the intersection roll down his window. “What? I just got off work.” My illustrious sibling formed his hands into a funnel, so as to make sure his voice would carry.

I felt like 2-PAC, there were all eyes on us. The little old lady in the Buick next to us looked like she feared for her very life from these ruffians who were yelling strange things at the top of their lungs, and a cow boy in a run down Ford pick up truck glared at us as if to say, “I’m from Texas, and I have a shotgun.” None of this affected my brother, though, as he continued on with his conversation. At the top of his lungs, he yelled, “I need a dime!” Carl opened his car door and stepped out onto the street. “What?” My brother repeated his request. “I need a dime!” Carl laughed and said that he would meet us back at the crib. At this point, my brother looked around and noticed that we had become a public spectacle. As the light turned green, he screamed with all his might, “Yes, we are talking about Marijuana!” Everyone in my van exploded into laughter, and I nearly got into no less then 3 car wrecks as I tried to make our way back to the apartment while I laughed my ass off. When we finally arrived, my brother and I just looked at each other. I started to remember what things were like back at home, and I thought to myself, “all those people who believe me to be lucky would probably not admit to the existence of a creature like my brother.”

2005-04-23T10:35:00.000-05:00

“Science fiction and history have nothing to do with the future or the past. They are written about the the world today.” - Dr. Watson

Dr. Watson is awesome. In class on Friday we finished watching the movie “Hero,” staring Jet Li. During the discussion I mentioned that I hated the movie. I made my usual remarks about how a movie is more then it's plot, character development, and dialog. Every movie has a message, and every director tries his best to get that message across as subtly as he can. The ultimate goal is to gently prod the audiences thinking in one direction, and hopefully, influence their beliefs. In this way, directors are some of the most powerful people in the world, because they can mold the minds of the masses. Christians are especially susceptible. They tend to look at movies in the most superficial way. They are more offended by the crude language or violence found in a film then by the underlying message. Sometimes I just want smack parents upside the head. There are deeper issues here! Children are not as naive as you think! They learn lessons and draw morals out of everything in life. I am not even going to get started on how the Bible is filled with crude language and violence, because I have already digressed from my main point.

“Hero” is nothing more the a propaganda toy for the Chinese government. It's main message is one of blind nationalism and submission to the government. It spouts a slightly re-worded doctrine of manifest destiny, and imperialistic ideology. Even though it is set 2000 years ago when China was first born, it is about today. China recently passed an anti-sedition law, targeted at Taiwan, and held massive protests in the streets against Japan. China is attempting to expand its “sphere of influence” again, regardless of the cost.

I have long believed that all good science fiction is written about the here and now, and I have tried to explain this concept to others. I had never thought about applying this idea to the realm of history, though. It makes you wonder, “how much of our understating of history is accurate?” Every time a history book is re-written, a little bit of current events are being poured into it. It is like the child's game, telephone. Would someone living in the year 1776 agree with any of the reasons we attribute to the revolution, or would these concepts be completely foreign to him?

Oh, and if you think that you are free from the propaganda machine just because you live in the good ol' USA, think again. Every year the government pours millions of taxpayers dollars into Hollywood. Most of their influence is just skin deep. For example, the Air Force wanted to boost recruitment in the 90's, so they worked with producers of “Air Force One” to make themselves look awesome. Real enlisted men flew real fighter planes around so they could be filmed and used in the movie. It was very expensive, but the government decided to pay the tab, in the interest of public appearance. So, one has to wonder how deep this goes. There is a lot of evidence to suggest that the movie “Conspiracy Theory” was nothing more then an elaborate part of a disinformation campaign.

Next time you go to the movies, remember that you are a volunteer in a brain washing program, and try to figure out what ideas the director is attempting to impose on the lost sheep of neo-prepy conformist generation.

2005-04-22T10:37:00.000-05:00

Waking up with a sweet spring breeze blowing over you, through an open window, after you get more then 3 hours of sleep for the first time in days, has the strange ability to make you think that you are a god. For some reason senioritis has not taken a strong hold over me. My favorite, past, and future room mate and I are still planning on moving to a new city before we have jobs or a place to live figured out. Normally, an intelligent observer would consider this to be fool hearty, or irresponsible at best. Today, however, I shot the intelligent observer right in the face. Before you think I am taking crazy pills, let me explain. I woke up this morning with a strange feeling in my bones. I took a shower and became aware of mystic forces that I am in control of. Everything appeared to be normal. I put on some viking metal, and started messing around on my computer. My mind was filled with thoughts about all the great obstacles that I need to overcome in my immediate future, and then an unspoken prophesy came to fulfillment. There were noises out in the hall, and I did not want to be bothered by them. It was at this moment that everything reviled its self, and I came to realize my true potential. I squinted my eyes, and focused my psychic energy. Slowly at first, like a hesitant child taking his first step, the door began to creak and move. Then it sped up, gathered momentum, and slammed shut. I sat back in my chair with a smug look on my face. I felt content. If I can will doors to close with the power of my mind, then everything else in life should be trivial and insignificant for me. And that, my friends, is how I can go on without a care in the world even though my existence as I know it is coming to an end.

2005-04-12T10:29:00.000-05:00

I love making life harder for myself. I often choose the path less traveled by, not for some sort of poetic or artistic reason - in my search for individuality - but because I am a masochist and I want to take that path that leads straight into the DMZ. If there are not a metric ass load of land mines and North Korean snipers, I somehow feel that life is bland and meaningless. For example: I already have more work then I can possibly do. My senior design team has been complaining about the amount of time I have been spending on the project, my microcomputer does not read from memory yet, and I just told my Electronics 2 proff that for my final design problem I am going to design a Brain Computer Interface that will enable a paraplegic to drive forward and turn left or right in an electric wheel chair. I don't know why I told him I was going to do something that I know I do not know how to do at the moment, but it sounded cool at the time. With all this on my plate, you would think that I would be spending all my time slaving over a hot soldering iron or plugging away at my computer. Well, actually, you'd be right! The only problem is that I have spent all my time nerding around on something that has nothing to do with school. I have been designing a lucid dream enabler. It is basically a tape recorder, special goggles with LEDs, and a REM detector. The idea is that when I enter REM the device will turn on, the LEDs will flash a few times over my eyes, and the tape recorder will say, “You are dreaming.” The idea is that I will be aware of this signal, realize that I am dreaming, and take charge. I hope this works. I'll keep you all posted. I have to get going, the napalmers are coming!

2005-04-04T00:48:00.001-05:00

Have you ever read The Time Machine by H.G. Wells? On Saturday I woke up and ran down to the lab to work on my senior design project. I ended up slaving over it until five that afternoon. It was a gorgeous spring day - the sun was shinning, birds were singing, a gentle breeze kept lazy kites aloft while families laughed and played in the park - and I spent the majority of it in an artificially lit room, bent over lifeless machines. As I walked to the cafeteria for dinner, I saw a group of students frolicking on the grassy lawn. They tossed frisbees, laughed, and flirted with each other like they didn't have a care in the world. I looked over at them, my eyes squinting because they were still not adjusted to the bright sun, and realized that they were doomed. I know how history will work its self out. The descendants of these pathetic, happy, ignorant, fools, will continue to become less and less productive. After a while, they will serve no other purpose then to be food for the future generations of those like myself. I don't enjoy thinking about this destiny, but mine is not to question why. Well, I need to get going. I have a metric ass load of homework to get too. I don't want to change the course of history.

2005-03-30T01:51:00.000-06:00

The day had been mundane. The only unique thing about it was the vast number of noteworthy occurrences that never came to pass. Time flew by, and Nathan and I tried desperately to make sure that we sat down and didn't rock the boat. We did homework, made small talk with those who passed by, and lived up to the expectations that our parents have for us. We were tired. The melancholy events of the day were wearing down on us as we drove to Wall Mart that evening. We meandered past rows of flashy merchandise that millions of functioning Americans work eight hours a day to earn the power to fill their homes with. We purchased some Pepto Bismol, light bulbs, and a can of peach Diet Rite soda. It was obvious that we were not in danger of affecting anyone else’s life in any way. That is, until we got in the car and Turn the Page came streaming through the radio.

Nathan drove past school, and we continued on in silence. When we got to the highway, I mentioned that we should head West. I don’t know if we went off in search of Hotel California, or we just wanted to leave behind everything and everyone that made up our socially acceptable lives, but we drove all night. Just as the golden sun began driving away the first stars, we turned off the main road. We were in the desert somewhere, and you could smell the dry dusty road when the warm wind blew in through the open window. Infinitely long strands of barbed wire ran along either side of us, safely fencing in the small patches of green creosote bushes and prickly pears that swam in an endless ocean of sand. Since we had finished the soda, only a few smokes had served as sustenance. After a few more miles of desolation, we came to a crossroad. There was a church on one corner and a gas station with a small diner attached to it on the other. Behind the diner was a dilapidated old shack with the word “BAR” printed in black hand drawn letters on the front.

We pulled up to the small wooden building that served as the central hub of what must have been considered by someone at some point in distant history to be a town. The diner looked like it had one been painted white, but years of natures destructive forces had attempted to conceal that dirty secret. There were a few cars (mostly old, battle hardened, pick-up trucks) parked in front of the diner, so we guessed that it was open. When we opened the door and walked in, we were confronted with a barrage of harsh glares and piercing stares from the patrons and staff of the small establishment. We took seats at a table by the window. The waitress took her eyes off us long enough to fill an elderly mans coffee mug. He was wearing a solid blue button up shit that was stained with motor oil, and a head of full of silvery hair that was quite disheveled. Other than Nathan and I, the youngest person in the room had to have been at least fifty. Finally, the waitress came over to us. We ordered two ups of coffee and waited for her to return. When she arrived, there was an awkward silence. I broke it by asking for a menu. She hurried off, and fussed at the woman who was sitting at the cash register behind the counter. They looked around for a while, and then pulled two menus out from underneath a stack of old newspapers. Their yellowish tint told tale of how many years they had rested on the counter unused. Obviously, everyone here was a regular and already knew what was served. It was likely that they no longer even had to go through with the formality of ordering. The cook probably began working on their breakfast as soon as they walked through the front door, and the waitress brought it over as soon as it was done – toast just the right shade of brown, eggs done over easy, and bacon crisped to perfection – just they way it should be. We were quite possibly the first people in twenty years to force these people back into using such primitive forms of communication. I ordered biscuits and gravy, eggs, and sausage. Nathan got a large omelet. As we ate our meal, it was obvious that the two mean at the counter were attempting to whisper about us. They were hard of hearing, so their conversation was not entirely private. When we finished and stood up, the men seemed startled, as if they had no idea what we would do next. We paid our bill, left a tip, and headed back out to the car.

For the next week, our mysterious appearance would be the subject of much conversation at the diner, and for months, the story would continue to come up at at random intervals. I began to realize that this was the most noteworthy accomplishment of my life. Nathan and I headed back down the old road. We had subtle smirks on our faces, three cigarettes left in the pack, and the day was just beginning.

2005-03-22T02:20:00.000-06:00

I am in one of my more contemplative moods. Today, I started to change my opinion on an important issue. I don't change what I believe very often, so it always catches me off guard. I start looking at the big picture, and getting depressed. The big picture is not a pretty one. This world we live in is fucked up. There is no other way to put it. I have been thinking about what I do, and what I should do. In any situation, I would like to think that I do the the honorable thing. I have decided that societies version of what is honorable is wrong. There are two things that people always say when you are trying to figure out this existence.

1. You should work hard to achieve your goals. You should strive to become a functioning member of society who pays his taxes, raises his children, and has a successful career.
2. You should just be happy. It does not matter if you have not achieved personal wealth, as long as you enjoy life.

There is a fundamental flaw with both of these ideas. They put the individual above everything else. As far as I have figured it out, true honor comes from putting others before you. As I am ready to graduate and finally start my life, I am bombarded with hints and suggestions from my family and friends. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only person who feels like he has been too blessed. There are thousands of people who are dying around the world right now because people with power and wealth dictate who will live like kings and who will die like dogs.

I don't know. I am just starting to look forward, and I wish I had been blessed with a spirit of divination. I want to know that I will be able to justify my existence.

2005-03-10T02:52:00.000-06:00

I think I have always loved the smell of gasoline. I should have known. It really does not matter now. It has all been in vain.

Two years ago I was playing Dungeons and Dragons with a new group down at the public library. I was pretty exited. My D8 was on my side, and all my stats were top notch. Since there were a few beginners among us, we started off our campaign with the Sunless Citadel. My character was a fighter, and I reached level eight before anyone in the game got to seven. Everything was looking good, until I started talking to one of the foreign exchange students in our group. He was from Israel, and he always seemed to know what was happening in the news. One night, he came to me asking about dual wielding, and I felt an itch. Normally, I ignore such persuasions. The mind is uncharted territory, and it is not like me to speak up whenever I feel unfounded whims pop up, like dandelions overnight, on a spotless lawn. However, this night was different. I asked him a few personal questions: “Why are you playing D&D with us?” “Why are you in America?” “Why do you look up to me in such a way?”

The answers were not only absolutely terrifying, but they were strangely comforting. It turns out that my new page was once a member of the Massad. When I asked him about a few of his adventures, he prefaced his answers with the question: “Are you in any way affiliated with INTERPOL?” Instantly, I realized that I was about to get into something more complex and important then anything I had ever been associated with in my life.

That first night I learned a few things. 18-year-olds who tell recruiters they play Dungeons and Dragons are automatically given low security clearance. The official statement from the army was, “They're detached from reality and susceptible to influence.” From what influence, he never explained.

As I began to question the very concept of reality, I became aware of the horrifying truth; the masses have never questioned what they know to be true.

Democracy, Republic, Representation, Freedom. Few words are more powerful in the hands of the mob. As I began to learn more, I realized how futile my efforts must seem. The organism that is the American public needs to be awakened. The only way this can be accomplished is through shock value. History has proven that it is only on extremely rare occasions does this method work. I am left with no alternative.

As I flick my zippo, I can do nothing else but pray. I hope everything works out for the best. Reality has shown me otherwise, but I hope my dieing gesture will be all that is needed to wake the illiterate from their stupor.

2005-03-06T21:40:00.000-06:00

I have been thinking about the very way that people think about reality. I am one of those romantics who believes that back in the days of yore, the common man was not only smarter then the average modern day man, but more philosophical. (this thinking was not helped by my recent viewing of the movie “Gladiator”)

Yesterday night, I saw something incredible. On a pack of smokes the words, “No underage smoking allowed!” were written. To me, this phrase was awe inspiring. There is so much to work with here! For example, lets look at the grammar. The sentence is worded as a command. From what authority this that command given? Is it the governments? At what age does the government start to take the control of your personal actions? When, officially, are you too young to think for yourself? Then, the answer to that question begs: “What right does the government have to take control of minors lives? Shouldn't their parents be in charge of that? Should we assume that parents are incompetent? Who then is competent? After we have decided who is competent, the following question remains: Do those who are capable of higher thought have the right to overpower those who can not comprehend the deeper intellectual things? Should we have a ruling class who determine the guidelines that the lower classes must follow, or are all men created equal with the same opportunities to make or break their own lives? If we accept that, then you must ask, who created mankind?

For a while I thought that I had finally figured out why our ancestors were smarter then us. They did not have as much intellectual stimulation. The Native Americans did not have government warnings stamped on the side of their peace pipes. Therefore, when something came along that did inspire intellectual thought, it was not written off as something commonplace. The fact that we are so bombarded with potentially intellectual ideas means that we are conditioned to ignore the vast majority of them. Could it be that the the enlightenment was the worst thing that happened to the human race? Could it be that making intellectualism freely available, in fact, hindered our societies intellectual growth?

Or, maybe I am fucked up. All of this could be explained quite simply. Tonight, a girl said to me, “We should study the etymology of meta-cognizance.” It could be the fact that this caused me to start thinking about the words the describe the concept of thinking about thinking, that inspired this post, or it could simply be that this phrase, coming from a woman, freaking turned me on.

I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I decide.

2005-03-01T01:16:00.000-06:00

I don't know. Maybe I am beating a dead horse, maybe I have already posted this, and maybe God is going to strike me dead for typing what I am about to say, but I hate Christians. Why do they always have to make believing in God look like it is the stuff of morons and fools? Seriously, the next time I hear someone argue that ignorance is close to hollyness, I am going to beat them in the head with a a claw hammer. The only thing that pisses me off more is when people try to use logic to argue that logic is flawed, and that there are truths that have have no logical way of proving. Today I encountered both of these pet peeves of mine.

I guess it all boils down to one thing, assumptions. I hate assumptions. Other than making an ass out of Knepper, they do nothing other then create alternate versions of reality that weak minded people use to hide from the terrifying concept of thinking. It seems that no one simply looks for truth. They look for ways to prove what they already know is “true.” It happens to me more times a day then I care to count. Ignorant people wanting to proliferate their way of thinking, go about seeking to dispel any ideas or concepts that challenge them.

This does not seem very awe inspiring or ground breaking, but it leads to an interesting conclusion. If you “knew” that the sky was red, you could go out of your way to attain small fragments of truth that would support your belief. Small portions of the sky, viewed at certain parts of the day do, indeed, appear red. However, if you wanted to discover the truth, it would not be hard to realize that, under the vast majority of circumstances, the sky appears blue to the human eye. The only way that one can easily come to this conclusion, though, is to approach the issue with a blank slate. Again, I am reminded of one of my favorite Philip K. Dick quotes. “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, continues to exist.” The best way to find the truth is to approach the question knowing that you do not have the answer. The only way to truly know anything, is to first know nothing.

2005-02-21T11:11:00.000-06:00

So far it has happened twice this week. I sat down and realized that I wanted to do something. I had this longing in my heart to go out to a specific place and take part in a specific activity. The only problem was that I had no idea where or what this was. I concentrated and looked deep within my soul. The feeling was strong. It was almost a physical burning in my chest. I knew I could not ignore it. After some time I came to a startling realization. I could never know exactly what this desire is, but I can know for sure that it is to go somewhere and do something completely impossible. It might be something as simple as throwing small rocks into orbit on Phobos, or it could be as elaborate as traveling into the distant future, to a point where mankind has ceased to exist and for some reason the moon is in a much closer orbit. I know exactly what I would do in this future Earth. I would go to Hanauma Bay on Oahu late at night, drink some Absinthe, and talk to celestial beings about philosophy and theology.

So, I asked myself, “Why would God make me in such a way that I desperately want to do something that is completely impossible to do?” I mean, as Frew would say, “Thats just silly.” It's not like I have not lead an adventurous life. I've gone to raves, partied in clubs, been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, spent a week in Las Vegas, gone on a Jihad to Mexico, and thats just the legal stuff! I am pretty sure that if I ever have grandchildren, I will be able to tell them that I have truly lived. I don't know. Maybe this discontentment is a good quality that the Creator instilled in us. Maybe it is the the driving force that keeps civilization moving forward. Maybe it is the one thing that keeps our species from becoming extinct! More likely though, it is the working of the devil. That sucks.