Bully for you.

I am again, annoyed, within seconds of awakening from my brief journey into the world of slumber, I am jolted awake by my television, which I use also as an alarm clock. This morning, much like many of them, starts out with my vision settling on the worlds news, if you can call it that. You have stories about british navy in Iran and the severe storms in the mid-west but then they really hit me. They had a report about some cities that have put stiffer penalties into their anti-bullying laws. Laws? yes laws that make bullying a crime. Yes, I am now positive that Chuck Darwin is rotating in his grave so furiously that he may just drill his way to New Zealand. Kids need bullying, you can't outlaw it. The bully is a necessity in your childhood developement. The evolution into adulthood is not easy and not supposed to be easy. Surviving the Tyranasaurus Rex of the playground, proved that you had the survival abilities to go on to another, higher and more aggressive, grade. I was bullied when I was a kid, I was bullied alot. I was a blond, blue eyed, chubby cheeked fatty, the perfect target for a good bullying. Every day I would get on the bus and get some kind of verbal or physical rebuke. I clearly remember the threats of a kid named Billy, he would torment everyone who was smaller than him and since this child was the size of a small lakeside cabin and about as intelligent as one, if said cabin had a severe learning disability, he would just torment everyone. I seriously, lived in fear of this kid for years, terrified that he was going to pummel me next and, even when I did get beaten, I then set to worrying when I was gonna get beaten again. Billy wasn't the only one, I was not a well liked child, plump, as I have stated but I had the double whammy of being smart as well, this put me on a bullying waiting list and as the good grades stacked up, so did the beatings. I know what I am talking about when it comes to being bullied, so I can attest to the fact that it is good for kids, it helps them. Fast forward from my childhood and I can say that a couple of years later, Billy was still trying to bully kids but he didn't seem so big anymore. By the time I was in my early teens my growth spurts had come on fully and Billy was still the same size he was in grade school, sure he got bigger eventually and he never stopped trying to be a bully but he just wasn't scary anymore and I got tougher and wasn't afraid to fight by then and niether were my friends, so Billy decided it best to just leave us alone. The story of BIlly is true, I have not seen him in years, the last time I did he was picking on some kids, way younger than him. The thing people don't get is that, for people like Billy, bullying is in their genetic code, you can niether, teach nor beat it out of them, it is who they are. Think back to the kid who was the biggest bully in your school and you will notice that they are as recognizable as a kid with downs syndrome. The bully always has that wide low brow, perfect for inflicting and taking damage. Their hands and shoulders are always abnormal sizes for grade school kids. A gap is common between their incissors. Of course they have the strange ability to grow facial hair well before anyone else in their class. Last of all they are slow, almost as if they are cold blooded. These kids should not be punished because your kid is a wussy, they are simply fulfilling their genetic programming. If you don't want your kids to be bullied, just make sure they stay away from the dangerously large child who looks like a caveman. Personally I would think you would rather let your kid grow up not to be a little mary, that is just my opinion though.

Halles suicide attempt.

Okay so apparently, according to some big flappy Hollywood mag, Halle Barry "attempted" suicide after her breakup with baseball star David Justice. I have to put attempted in quotation marks because of the awful amount of BS that whole idea suggests. She claims that, after their break, she was so distraught that she wanted to die, so she "attempted" suicide by asphixiation, running her car while she was in it and it was in the garage. After a while, she had an epiphany and didn't inhale enough gas to die. That is not an attempt, that is a consideration but definately not an attempt. I remember high school and all the suicide attempts that people talked about, all the girls with the cross slashed wrists, not slashed length ways mind you but cut, instead, from pinky to thumb, the non-lethal way. As everyone knows, those girls had their perks, really all you had to do was act sympathetic for a couple of beers and you would be in for some emotionally distant, backseat, crazy girl hanky panky but those sideways scars were attempts at attention, not suicide. I have seen a few people who have attempted suicide, they tend not to move alot because of the coma they are in, or they tend to have large scars that are very, very noticeable. If you look up the word attempt in a thesaurus, you will find such words as, strive, stab, ones all, tackle, take on, try, endeavor, exert. You will not find the words, half assed, poor show, or whoops. I am sick of people saying they attempted something when it is obvious that they did not attempt it at all. An attempt is an exertion of effort, you must try. If you leap from a building, in the hope to die but inadvertantly hit something that slows your rate of descent, leaving you alive but in a vegetative state, that is an attempt. If you sit in a garage with the car running, in the hope of dieing but when the gas gets a bit wiffy, open the door to let the garage air out, well, that is just being dilatory. Hollywood is no stranger to the "notice me" type of suicide "attempt" and mabye it makes for good news but I find it odd that they always pop up ight when a celeb is flagging. I am just saying, in high school, you are not fully developed, you crave attention and will do anything to get it. After high school that should stop, you should have to grow up and let the word attempt mean what it really means. I sometimes think about my own self inflicted death, I would ingest four gallons of blue paint, tie two grenades to my stomach, find a nice fat group of hippies and pull the pin. If, somehow, both of the grenades were duds, at least the painful vomitting of paint would most likely convulse me to a gruesome death, take that stinky, love children. If, by some slim chance, I survived, I am sure I wold be a vegetable in the aftermath. I would not, however, drink a teaspoon of NyQuil and then have a vision of my grandfather and choose not to robotrip to death. In summation, Halle, you thought you may want to die after a bad day, join the club, it is called the human race and we all go through it everyonce an a while. Everyone, everywhere, at some point in their lives considers doing themselves in, it's the lemming in all of us (getting a thrumming guitar lick in your head every time you are dealt the ace of spade, is the Lemmy in all of us). You are not special, you are human but, above and beyond all that, you attempted diddly poop.

Hey

Okay I don't get paid for this blog so I don't have to do it every day. This week I have been busy so I haven't had time to right much. I want to do another advice column, so send me your new questions and I'll write 'em up good, or if you have other non-advice queries, go ahead and send them. You can reach me at joebjorklund@yahoo.com or just leave me a comment here. Try challenging me, even though you can't, I am the highlander!

On the subject of coincidence.

Why does it seem that every time any of the really powerful nations on our planet think they may want to invade another country, there is always a very convenient coincidence that helps things along? So now some sailors get caught by Iran because they had drifted too far into iranian waters, wow that is something. You would think that seasoned sailors would rarely drift off course, especially in water that isn't rough, what a handy coincidence. I mean, if Iran doesn't give up the sailors, Britain will have no choice but to invade and I am sure America will have their back. Is this not getting a bit rediculous? WWI starts when the arch duke of Austria-hungary is assassinated and right at the point when tensions are highest. convenient? Yes! World War II, America gets involved after a convenient early morning attack on pearl harbor. The world trade center certainly fell at an opportune moment in history, getting us even further involved in the middle east. If you study any small amount of history, you will find that it is just brimming with coincidence. Every time I see a news report I can't help but think of how things are becoming predictable, like the WWF was predictable back in the old Hulk Hogan/Andre the Giant years,(it probably still is but I don't watch it anymore). What really bugs me is that people are duped by the plot holes and bad writing that the world government writers come up with. Is this what happened to the writers for Full House and Growing Pains, did they get government jobs? Personally I expect more out of british writers and I am really disappointed with their work in the last few decades. I mean the death of Princess Diana was well written but I felt that, once Elton John got involved, it became too mainstream, really took something away from its original indie feel. I do feel that some really amazing stuff is coming out of places like Bosnia and Luthuania, the starving artist really brings something out of people. Finally I just want to say, I am more than happy to watch but could you at least try to make it more believable? I mean, the same plot over and over again is fine for your average history watcher but some of us need a little more. I know we are not the largest demographic but we are out here. Thank you.

Answering a love question.

A Mr. Tobias Blanders sent me this question:

I heard how you helped Doug and Janice Phlegmmingway repair their rift in their relationship. It was heartworming to see the look in their farces when they told me they were going to put the ferris wheel back in the carnival. And that they would be running it together again, just like old times.Knowing that you are good at relationship advice, I have a question to ask.
I really like this girl from the movies but she always does the samestuff every time I watch the video. How can I get her to stop actingand be real with me? Also, how do you send flowers to people in the movies?

Thank ya kindly, Toby Blanders (Ringmaster of Toby B's Cinnamon & Bacon Cotton Candy wagon)

Well Mr. Blanders, your problem is not a new one, I have have suffered through such a relationship obstacle on several occassions. The woman you are in love with in the in the moving picture film, has been trapped there by the dark lord of the underworld. This melevolent creature lives in Hollywood, USA and holds thrall over several of todays hottest young celebrities. This wicked nether worldly imp trapped your fine young lady and placed her in a celluloid prison where she is doomed to repeat her role in the film over and over again. It is kind of like going to heaven or hell, if you were a good person and kind to others, when you are captured by the evil one, you may end up in a happy movie, if you were bad, however you may end up repeatedly being slaughtered by a chainsaw for all eternity. If you are really good I have heard that you end up in a collection of soft core pornography or as an extra in the Godfather. If you are really bad, you end up as the lead in a Paul Verhoven film. This, for some, is a blessing either way, being in film pergatory easily beats the average day af your normal johny on the street, so to some it could be the equivilent of Valhala. There is a trick to see if they are happy or not and that is to slow the film down and watch it frame by frame. They are usually trying to talk to you through the screen, the only way to tell for sure is to watch in slow motion. Make sure you have a pen and paper handy and be sure to write down what she says. She will eventually give you the name and address of her capture. Then you must go to him and kill him, this will set her free from the evil magic that traps her in the void. Do not worry about the evil one, or all the killing you have to do. They may look human, him and his minions but once their worldly body dies, they revert to the monsters they really are. When the police see it they will let you off scott free. I hope that answers your question Toby, good day and good luck.

P.S. As far as sending people in the movies flowers, you need to realize that they get many flowers from several varied admiring fans, So sending flowers may be passe. Instead, send very deep, heartfelt love letters, make sure you let them know that you would do anything to be with them, including but not exclusive to murder/suicide scenarios. At first they may shun your love letters but given time and persistence, they should eventually come around and realize that they can not live with out you.

Racial profiling in the media.

I know that media people say that they are impartial and try to view the world through glasses of a uniform color. They make the claim that all people are equal in the eyes of the media. Really? Then explain to me, please, why is is that every time you people have a story about a new robot or computer system there is always a side story that has an asian kid saying how impressive it is? That has gotta be racial profiling, does it not. 'Yes Phil, I am reporting from the electronics expo and, oh hey here is a conveniently placed asian guy'. Gimme a break, just because they invent most of the advanced electronics on the market, you think that all of them are gonna be experts on science, that is wrong. I would be careful too there mr. media man, you could offend one of them one day and you'ld get a good old butt kicking, after all, pretty much every asian on the planet knows some form of karate, it's common knowledge. Did you ever notice that, if the media covers a drunken brawl, there is always an Irish guy in the background, swigging out of a bottle of Jameson and yelling about his pot-o-gold or whistling a song about soap. Okay mabye that doesn't always happen but the media would like you to think that leprechauns are magic wand wielding, rainbow riding, suger crazed, twinkle fairies, definition, penis waving, homosexual, cocaine using, twinkle fairies and we all know that this only covers half of the leprechaun society. The other half, being violent maniacs who kill anyone who has touched taken their gold. What about the media acting like so many black people are drug dealers? We all know that that is the Cubans. Look at the TV show cops, I am white and have committed a few crimes but I have always worn a shirt throughout every caper. Then you get those commercials that make you think that tuna fish want to be eaten and that they are disappointed when they don't get selected. It is wrong to racialy profile, they know it but they do it anyway, gotta keep the audience rivetted, give the punters what they want but first tell them what they need to believe. I am off now to get some food at this middle eastern buffet down town, hope the place doesn't smell to much like camel, I geuss I could always wrap one of their towels around my face though.

On the subject of the Grand Canyon Skywalk.

I sit and marvel at the stupidity of people so often, that, if it was ever to become a sport, I would be in the hall of fame the first year. Ironic, because I find hall of fames to be one of those stupid things made by stupid people that I marvel at. Tourist attractions, wow, those always get me too. I am from a town called Hibbing, Minnesota and Hibbing has a tourist attraction. They call it the Hull Rust Mine, it is supposedly the worlds largest open pit mine, I will not argue its contention for such a title, being that I will not waste my day researching world wide open pit mine volumes. If you ever see a picture of the Hull Rust, or are unlucky enough to see it in person, you will undoubtedly say, 'wow, that is a big hole'. A sad fact, however, is that through out my childhood I met people who had come from all over the country to espy yon massive crevasse, this is something that I just could not grok, (read,'Stranger in a strange land', for the gist of this word and then use it in sentences, I like it). I have traveled this country pretty thouroughly and seen many of our nations tourist attractions. Mount Rushmore, pretty weak actually, kind of a waste of time and explosives to put up the likeness of four ex-presidents, I believe it would have been a bigger draw if they would have carved a hot chick with massive milk jugs in the cliff, that would be something to look at and think about the climax of the Alfred Hitchcock classic, North by Northwest, awesome. You have the Gateway Arch, which I believe is a half of a global marketing scheme set about by the McDonalds corporation, it is also a very stupid and I have been known to throw rocks at it if I am nearby. There is the Space Needle in Seattle, San Fran has the Golden Gate bridge, Los Angeles has many plastic tits, all tourist attractions, all man made. I may gaze upon these various structures if I happen to be passing but I would never go down the street just to see them and no way would I pay to get close to any of them, exempting, of course, the boobies, I am, after all, not a monster. Do I feel like this makes me better than the average tourist? Yes, it does but only because I am. I do enjoy natural tourist traps, however. The Salt Flats, the Boundary Waters, Red Rocks, Joshua Tree, Yosemite, Yellowstone, those are enjoyable because they are real, not man made. Now the Grand Canyon, of which I have barely seen any, is about to be set on the border between natural and stupid. The Hualapai, indian reservation has just finished having the Grand Canyon Skywalk built. For a meager twenty five, or possibly seventy five dolars, there has been conflicting price reports, you can walk out on a glass bottomed, horseshoe shaped walkway and stand above four thousand feet of void. Now that is stupid. How the hell can there be a market for this kind of thing? And twenty-five bucks? Free would be over charging. The saddest fact of all is that they expect to have the thirty million they borrowed to make this thing, paid back to the lender in under four years. I realize that there are alot of stupid people out there, with a lot of expendable wompum but to be able to pay back the cash that fast is terrifying. Then you have the fact that land prices between Las Vegas and the skywalk are going up and developers are snatching up real estate as fast as they can, for hotels and what have you. I have heard that the tribe who owns the skywalk is poor and in deep need of more money, so why not do the natural thing and, I don't know, open a casino mabye. I know it is a novel idea, to put a casino on a reservation but mabye it would work out. Just think about it, if it went well, I suppose you could have casinos in every reservation in America some day. The skywalk thing, is another sad thing about our country, that makes me wonder even further about the nation wide numbskullery we suffer from and the only way I could ever support this venture, would be, if say every once and a while a piece of glass gives way and there is a mass plummet. That would be worth twenty-five bucks.

Great new business idea, get in on the ground floor.

Here it is guys, my road to riches. There is a couple of towns I have heard of that have the greatest money making resource in all the world. I speak, of course, about families with large amounts of disposible income who also have, by a stroke of luck, retarded children. Nestled in our countries lovely western landscape lie the sleepy dessert cities of Colorado City, Arizona and Hildale, Utah. These two burgs are said to be overflowing with "simplton gold", my sources say. Being that these cities are members of a fundimentalist mormon sect that practices polygamy and really pushes for marriges to ' keep it in the family', as it were, these two towns are now a smorgasbord of non-variety, ironic if you think about it. The two sister cities harbor a population, just over eight thousand citizens, at least four thousand of them have been traced back to two founding families. Now, through years of inbreeding, the Shangri La of the twenty fourth chromosome is ripe for the picking. So if you wish to invest, I am planning on moving in and hitting a niche market in its prime. I am moving to Hildale and opening a speciality store. What am I selling? One thing, that thing is, you geussed it, Superman suits. Think of the market outcry they must have in these cities, positively over run by Corkys, ( Sorry I burnt down the restaraunt dad), they are everywhere, as far as the puffy eye can see and they need their Super suits. I will, of course, only sell the finest suits. Lovingly crafted by master seamstresses, the material, from silk worms of unequaled quality, or I will simply have hobos from Kansas City sew the damn things from cloth I make them dig out of a fabric stores dumpster, not like the reres are gonna know, right? I will just charge, mabye five thousand for the basic model and scale up from there. Sounds like a fair business practice to me. I know some of you might be thinking,'Joe, you can't take advantage of the mentally handicapped like that'. Well, I'm not, I am trying to take advantage of their families with all the old money. Everyone knows retards don't have any money, unless you count George Lucas, (whoa, take that Jar-Jar, ooooooh he nasty). If retards had their own money I would open my own store in Richfield, Minnesota that would sell magic, invisible, flying, icecream scooters, (you really have to work in that city for about a year to get that last sentence but it is somewhat self explanatory). Well, anyway, there is money to be had here so hop on board, soon we will all be swimming on a tidal wave of decelerate dough, sluggish simolians, re re riches, lethargic loot, limited lucre...Etc... you get the point. They will spend the money, believe me, the minute those beady eyes see red and blue we will be seeing green. Hurry aboard, the ship is sailing.

On the subject of Saint Patrick.

I am a drinker as you all know, I don't tend to need much reason to have a snort or twelve on any given night. Now if you give me an excuse to wallow in the sweet booze of life but I gotta say, I think I am done with old Saint Pat. Sure big Irish holiday, lotsa fun, drinkin' and feastin' but when you read about it a little too much, it just ruins it for you. Here is some of my new problems with old Pat. First, he was born in Roman occupied England, so he isn't really Irish at all, I am simply saying, how many Canadian saints do we have in America? Not that this sainthood bit makes any sense to me anyway, most of my life I had hoped that canoizing meant what I was hoping it meant, firing the corpse of the saint to be at a large target, inwhich the bullseye says,'SAINT', if the corpse hits the bullseye, well, that's that. Sadly, that is not the case, instead it is a long drawn out thing-o-ma-boring that I care not to deal with. Really, where is the panache? Then you have old Pat chasing the snakes out of Ireland, now I know that this is most likely imagery for christians burning the pagans at the stake and chasing them out of Ireland, or mabye it is a view on the religious beliefs of Pelagius, which I am not going to get into because of a further boring factor, I'll just tell you, it is all a long story about original sin and mans, blah, blah, blah..... All imagery aside though, wouldn't it be more fitting if old Pat was just some drunken nut bag with a stick that roamed Ireland in search of the very few non-indigenous snakes that live there? I personally am tired of these big party days having religious backgrounds. If I am out drinking to beat the band, I don't want some saint hanging over my head or looking down his or her nose at me, except mother Teresa, I would like to get her saintly ghost good and drunk, bring her down to Tijuana and get her to tell the doctors over the border that we need those prescriptions for the orphanage down the street, then we will sneak the drugs back to this side of the fence and sell them at a huge markup. It would definately work. Who is gonna question, or search the ghost of Mother Teresa? Think about it you wrinkly old goldmine. Well to sum up, chasing the snakes out of Ireland is about as impressive as me chasing the polar bears out of my backyard, I do like bagpipes though, that, at least I can still enjoy about old saint Pats day, even though they were invented in the middle east, oh well such is life.

No fault of your own.

So I have to speak up on another thing about our society that makes me all red behind the eyes and summons the voices from the dark places inside of me. No fault auto insurance, what a stupid concept. In most states in the good ol' U.S. of A. (holes) you are required to have auto insurance, if you wish to drive about on the public streets and highways. The irony of living in a so called,"free country", that requires you to do so many things and follow so many rules is not lost on me but that is a subject for another day. The thing that is bothering me today is that, no fault insurance is basically a way to tell you that you are responsible, at least ten or twenty percent, for any accident even if it was not in the slightest way your fault, just because you are there to get hit. This is a perfect example of bureaucratic stupidity. In a no fault policy, you are responsible for bieng in ahe area, even if your car is parked in your garage, well I geuss, you parked it there, shoulda known that eventually someone was gonna get wasted and drive through your garage door. Insurance companies are such crooks and on such an amazing scale. They will gladly take your money from you but you have to shake them by their nuts to get them to pay out a claim, I can't see why the american people allow them to operate any more, one would think we would learn our lesson after a few decades. How can you hold a person responsible for occupying an area? That is what humans do best, take up space, you can hate them for being the loathesome lumps of wasted flesh that they are but that shouldn't make any difference on their deductible. Insurance companies claim that no fault keeps the rates lower, that is a big bowl of crappy-O's, they are soley to blame for the price of auto insurance. They set the prices, if they wanted the prices to be lower, they could just lower them, however, it is much easier to make up a lame excuse. The american people will swallow it anyway, that is what they do best. Oh how I hate these insurance people, hate so much. What about Act of God insurance, in our super religious society, shouldn't everything fit in this catagory? If he made all this stuff and is responsible for all these people, then isn't it his fault? Why would I have to pay a premium against gods will, sounds like heresy to me, also, what gives insurers the right to tell us what god is responsible for and what he isn't? I thought the lord worked in mysterious ways, so a drunk crashing into you could be as much gods doing as having a rain of frogs destroy your house. God fault insurance, mabye all these insurance companies should turn their panhandles toward the big ministries of the world, 'Hey you guys represent your version of god' they would say,' so give us all the money to insure everyone'. They would follow up with. could the insured have a rider on their contract that states that they must pray in order to recieve act of god insurance, or the only way to lower their premiums would be to sacrifice their fattest calf or newborn son? I just had to rant about something for a while, it bugs me that I could be held responsible for the stupidity of others but I am not allowed to beat people when I see them being stupid. Such an unfair idea, mabye if the smart could beat the stupid, the stupid would evolve into the smart, is this not the basis of natural selection?

Your body is a temple.

In the recent weeks, here in lovely San Diego, I have been privy to some conversations I have decided are, to say the least, very dumb. I work at a bar, I hear all sorts of verbal spooge fly from the mouths of the stupid and ignorant of our world. Lately, a hot topic of conversation has been people with tattoos. Many tourist business men have been discussing the fact that lots of people have tattoos and how, and I say this as a truism, heard by mine own ears, how white trash they are. 'Those white trash girls with their tattoos, what sluts', they will snear,'How can they do that to their bodies they say'?, or how about,'I would never get with a woman like that'. There is also the old classic,'The bible says your body is a temple'. All of these arguements are as stupid as they are compelling, or actually stupid...er, um, than they are complelling, because they are pretty stupid and I would like to visciously attack them, if you would bear with me. First I must go after the 'tattoos are white trash', argument. This I find to be an ironic statement, being that it is usually thrown from the mouth of a man, who is doing these things, 1) dinking a beer such as Budwieser or MGD, 2) has already tried to pick up at least four women on the street, by employing the 'woooo baby, bring it here',shout, 3) has discussed kicking a fags ass in the ot to distant past. All these things are very white trash, if tattoos were also white trash, I think the ladies with tattoos would have responded to his mating calls. The sad ' I would never get with a woman like that', statement is a silly, silly, sad one, I have seen many of these, so called, men in action on a late booze filled evening and I can say, without feeling like I am a big fat fibber, that they would get with a lamp post if they thought they could get away with it. The shear fact that these guys claim they wouldn't screw anyone or anything that would allow it is beyond me. Mind youthese are the same guys who love to tell me that they are away from their families for a while and wondering where the hookers are in the city. No lie, they do it all the time, here I left my big purple pimp hat at home, damn. Lastly, the whole your body is a temple thing. How can you be outside of a bar, pouring chemical after chemical down your cancerous throat, while you puff away on cigarettes and then have the audacity to tell a person that the body is a temple? Most of these guys are ridiculously overwieght as well. That is tantamount to telling someone not to do anything to the outside of your house, because you have a wild scheme to light the inside on fire to raise the cost on the market. These people are hypocrits, the worst kind of crit and I hate them with the many fibers of my very fibery being. By the way the arguement of, how will it look when your seventy? That is just a poorly thought out thing to say. When you are seventy, no one, anywhere, other than the deeply depraved, will want to see your sagging naked flesh, so who cares what it will look like? That is what I needed to say, film at eleven.

Base ball season just around the corner.

Ah yes, nearly spring and soon, baseball will be back. Along with it, I am hoping, we will get plenty more of those steroid stories from the last few years. I just can't get enough of those fat TV news anchor persons talking about how steroids are ruining the sport. I love it, love every bile spewing moment of it. It reminds you of the good old days, the days of fresh Cracker Jacks and box scores that had not been tainted by steroid use. American baseball just ain't what it used to be man. Babe Ruth, he never did steroids no sir, he just drank, alot. Boy could he hit though, WACK!!! Man what a player, it was almost as though all the drinking he did made him a stronger player. Wouldn't that be something though, if drinking made you stronger? Wow, imagine that, living in a world where alchohol did something totally unheard of like, I dunno, raise a mans testosterone output. wouldn't that be wild? A guy could go out drinking at night and work out in the morning and actually get stronger by drinking. Of course if that was to be the case, you would have all manner of man getting violent when they'de had a few too many and who has ever heard of such a thing? Guys would probably get all sexually revved up as well, that would be a strange world to live in. If you mixed those imaginary hieghtened hormones with the judgement impairment we already know happens when you imbibe too freely, guys would be trying to go home with anyone just to relieve their physical urges. Think of all the early morning regrets, it's just too awful. Let's also consider the effect it would have on younger lads, give them testosterone laden booze and their already crazy hormones could just go spinning out of control. They would probably try all manner of stupid things all amped out on crazy, an overload of hormones rocketing through their brains. Well I am sure glad that this isn't a factual essay and is just my simple musings about days gone by and, hopefully, days never to arrive. Yes, keep the sport clean, like the Babe did. No DHEA, no horse nut cocktails, just good old, non-testosterone increasing booze, mabye the occasional stogie or two and there is nothing wrong with a quick pregame prostituit to keep the wit sharp.

Why ask if you don't want my answer?

For the life of me I cannot gauge why people ask me things if they don't want my honest opinion. Tonight, for example, a former navy pilot asked me what I thought was wrong in our country. I told him and I was polite about it, I used easy words and told him all the things I believe to be wrong. I told him how I felt that the world catered to the lowest common denominator, how the government and the media push to maintain the status quo. I discussed the fact that the IQ of our country was so low that monkeys with calculators would be a more fitting system of government and how it seems that stupidity rules over our land and its people. Mediocrity holds sway over us and it is a sad future we face. This all seemed to irritate him rather more than it should have and he told me I was talking down to him. I told him I couldn't help how he felt and he only felt that way because I am smarter than him. At that point he told me he could kick my ass, to which I replied,'no you can't I am also a better fighter than you and I am sober'. 'You think you can kick my ass do you', was the responce,' I was in the navy'. I took this as a question and I felt the urge to also explain that I was in full control of my physical and mental capabilities, where as he was almost tipping over. Angry was he, so angry infact that he neerly took a swing at me, an effective attack, if he was not steadying himself on a bar rail. I appologized to him for the falling down he did so fluidly and asked him to go home, sleep it off and if he remembered our conversation he could attack me at a later date, I was wholey polite abouut it. 'You California fags think you're so bad ass' he yelled, spattering me with spittle. ' I am not a Californian' I said back,'I am from Minnesota'. He suddenly became less indolent. 'You are from Minnesota'? he responded then uttered' Hey me too, go Vikings'. 'Sorry man I am a Pckers fan', this he liked not one iota.' How can you be a Packers fan'? Another query, the answer to which he also did not enjoy as I told him how I felt that the Vikings were a sad excuse for a football team and how I felt that they were destroying the ideals of my proud Scandinavian heritage. This I must admit I did soley to piss him off. Unhappy with any of my statements he mumbled incoherently and stumbled away. The man behind me asked why I did that to the fellow,' To make him use his brain', was my retort. 'I suppose you think your smarter than me then don't you'? was his rather annoying come back. I simply stated that if you must ask such questions, you already know the answer and if you don't want honesty don't ask retarded questions. This fellow also stumbled away yammering unhappily. Lies make people happy but the truth makes them scared and angry, that I believe is the downfall of humanity. If you can not face reality, stay at home and watch Americas Next Top Model or Survivor but please keep your ignorance and stupidity away from me. I don't wanna catch dumb.

Stupid Bills day of stupid.

Bill had just turned fourty-two years old and once again his mother had browbeaten him through his entire birthday dinner. It had been getting worse every year, especially since dad died. He was pretty sure his mother was going completely crazy and didn't know how to relieve himself of this burden. Bills only friend, a wise and kindly desk lamp that sat near his bed, told him the only way out would be matricide. That very night Bill formulated and followed through on a wickedly violent scheme. Half way through the act of disposing of his victim, He felt overcome by guilt for what he had done and cast himself out of his third story window ending his life. After the police had finished their investigation and decided Bills death was a suicide, his mother returned to the apartment in tears. 'What was he thinking'? She wondered as she took in the sight of Bills ruined mattress, shredded and ripped apart, most of it stuffed into compost bags. 'Oh my Bill', she sighed 'What was going on in that crazy head of yours'? 'Idiot', was all the lamp had to say.

No story today, must rant.

So I have heard all this crap about the film,"The Secret"' a new cult that smacks of Scientology or some other such mind cabbage. I can not fully attack this secret thingy with the full brunt of my rage yet, I haven't learned enough about it, what I do know is it is one of those things were in people tell you that all the negative things in the world are caused by negative people. That is what has irked me so badly. As everyone who knows me knows, I am a, by many peoples standards, a very negative person. I hate so many things in this world that if I had one of my lifelong dreams, which is to have an explodey button ( a device that would remotely detonate people and things that piss me off ), the world would be strewn with the headless corpses of thousands of former annoyances. People who ask me to give them money, that apparently I find to be spare, gone. Kids that wear Misfits hoodies but don't know who the misfits are, terminated. Drivers that seem to want to control the flow of traffic because they feel the people behind them should drive at a speed they think is safe, kablooey. I could go on for nothing short of forever, the explodey button wasteland, stretching before all I survey. Yes I am negative but I am a productive negative person. My dislike for the things around me is what keeps me revved up and ticking like the human timebomb that I am. The people from the secret crapfest are just a bunch of those morons who can't handle what the hippies call,"bad vibes,man", by the way, hippies, boom! The greatest inventors of our time are usually negative people who find a way to make something work because it irritates them so much. Positive thinkers are just annoying little sheep monkeys that find stupid little niches in life that make them happy and then they drone on and on about how angry people mess up the world. Are not most wars started by people who think positively about how they want to make other people think or act the way they do? The contented masses just go, ' Oh well, could be worse I suppose, at least I have my flower pots on the window ledge of the hovel I live in because of the declining state of wages in my country'. Visualize yourself in a better mood and you will be in a better mood. Not me brother, I will visualize you careening off of an overpass, or walking into crosswalk traffic and becoming pavement pizza. The worst part about positive thinkers is that they seem so smug about all their positive spewings and act like they have a leg up on you, it all makes my mind go to the dark places that most of my friends agree, is a funny place to visit. Positive things cannot be achieved by positive thinking, only true negativety gets anything of worth to humanity, actually done. This positivity trend is going to be the death of enlightenment and free thought, if your life is so good why would you strive for anything better? If you are a hippy anyway, you must realize that the balance of the universe must be held intact, so the more positive the folks around me get, the more viciously anti I must become, to keep the forces from swaying and the world spinning out of control. In this I will give you all an excercise, next time you are really angered by someone, picture their big, ugly head bursting all over the counter at your local super market, their smooth grey matter befouling the four hundred coupons they have decided to use in the checkout line. If all those silly mental image practices work, we should be on our way to a better, if somewhat, more brain goo splattered future. Up the resistance, down with the annoyingly positive, we shall use their weapon to defeat them. Amen!

Soup of the day.

' So they think that they can just dump me after all these years, do they'? That was the question that Fred Engalls, also known as Colonel Fred asked himself as he finished evesdropping on the the restaurant share holders meeting. It was being held in the back office of Chez La Fondue, a New York City hot spot for the past two decades. For those past two decades Colonel Fred had been the head Saucier, many believed him to be the greatest living american soup maker and now the ingrates were planning on dumping him. 'They probably want to go for one of those younger more dangerous soup punks from Albany' were his thoughts' but I won't let em get rid of me with out a fight'. The whole time he spent listening to the share holders griping about lost profit and former fiscal years and especially how he had to "trim some old fat from the payroll", Fred was hatching a plan, a plan for revenge! Palid, pinch faced Miss Patricia Brown was the head of the share holders commitee and one of the Colonels greatest adversaries, she was the one who wanted to get rid of Fred the most, she was the one that had to pay the most.
It was quarter to midnight the same evening that Miss Brown went missing. After a very short police investigation, her disappearance was listed as an unwarrented waste of department money, the police figured she had just run off. She of course, did not run off, Miss Brown would later show up at the next share holders meeting. The menu read, rack of lamb and red potatoes with vinegrette salad and Cream of Vengeance soup for starter

Short story week.

Relatively happy with my first short story on Friday, I have decided to make this week,short story week. I will write five short stories which I hope you all enjoy.

Space traveler, biologist, swami, adept, high level master of several forms of martial arts, many of which had the workds kung or tao in their titles, Daniel Trenfant III had as many titles as he had fingers. It may be important to note that, if you counted thumbs and pinkies as fingers, that Dan had twelve. Picked on as a child by his small minded classmates for his deformity and suffering the lowered self esteem that a poorly thought out name like Danny Danny octopus fanny could pass on to a young lad, he poured him self into isolated studying and advanced learning, gaining knowledge far beyond his years. By the delicate age of twelve he had already graduated from high school and was sought out by several of Americas finer coligiate institutions. When Dan reached maturity he had collected as many as three BAs and four Doctorates in medicine, arts and the sciences. At the age of twenty one, he was the youngest person ever to be named to the NASA space program and was soon on his way to Mars with seven other colleagues, who, upon arrival at the red planet, would began terra-restoration excersises to make the crimson rock more of a greenish blue rock. On the evening of December seventh two thousand twenty five, the shuttle succesfully landed on Mars and Dan was the first man ever to step on it's once unreachable ground. 'Looks very red', was the first sentence that flew from his awe struck lips, befuddlement making him completely forget the lengthy peom by Wordsworth he had originally intended to recite, 'Oh Damn it', was the second. The first two weeks of terraforming went by as one would expect, slowly but as things got clicking, and water began to flow once more on the ancient and seemingly lifeless sphere, the pace picked up a bit. A very big bit infact. Mars took on a whole new life of its own and the planets atmosphere adapted quickly, beyond any dreams of its pioneer hosts. Within seven years over half of the planets surface had reformed into a lush oasis and strangegly enough, here and there, animal life began to appear. One night as Dan relaxed next to one of the rippling streams that ran about the land, he heard a noise that he did not recognize but it sounded like laughter. Following the sound toward the outlet pond that he knew this river spilt into, he espied a sight that shook him to the very soul. In the small pond, giggling and splashing about, was a woman, the most incredible woman ever to giggle and splash about across his now weeping eyes. 'Excuse me miss, do not be afraid', Dan spoke to her fully expecting her to flee,' My name is Dan, I am from Earth'. The beauty did not flee, she turned to him and absorbed him with her dark eyes,' That is the worst pick up line I have ever heard', was the responce the woman flung back. Taken aback once again by the fact that this radiant goddess spoke his language,' Huh, wha, mungafaw...'? was his retort. 'Very eloquently put there mister, so you gonna hang about all slack jawed and flustered or are you gonna get naked and hop in this pond'? Stuttering but knowing a sure thing when it told him it was a sure thing, Dan stripped to his nude suit and waded into the icy water. 'Wow', said the woman, ' I hope it was as cold on land as it is in this pond, elsewise your member is liable to shrivel right up inside of you', said the lass. 'Hey no need for that', scolded Dan, 'I am in a slight state of shock right now and had been suprised to see such a raveshing lady in a pond on a planet we had belived to be devoid of lifeforms'. The woman gave a flirtatious stare,' I am sorry tiny but if I am such a beauty shouldn't it be gaining size rather than seamingly trying to hide in your anus, at any rate, I will try and be more polite in the future, mabye you just look poorly endowed when you measure yourself against those ridiculously odd sized hands, geuss it disproves that myth about hand size though doesn't it'? Stunned by this further attack, his penis was one thing but his hands, that was going to far and at that Dan wheeled about, collected his belongings and walked back to camp all the while trying to block out the shouts of,' Oh don't be that way, I was only playing, come on back and we can give it a whirl, see if anything interesting pops up'. Back at the encampment, Dan packed his gear and insisted on immediate reassignment to Earth, within hours he was in the air and glad to be leaving his once beloved experiment. As he watched the orb shrink in the porthole of the transport ship tears formed in his eyes, he then spread out his hands and let them drip on his supernumerary digits, 'What a bitch', Dan spoke and never set foot on Mars again.

A short story about time travel.

Glenn Williams was a man on the edge. He suddenly found his whole world crumbing around him, in the matter of a few hours his life had completely fallen apart. Glenn, however, had a plan. He would not just change his life, he would completely reassemble it after inadvertantly and thouroghly destroying it. This man, you see, had discovered the secrets of time travel. One evening while he scraped away at an ancient chunk of decaying mortar, on the old victorian home he was remodeling, he happened upon a dusty old metal box. Thinking it was some sort of time capsule, or memory box, Glenn decided it would do no harm to pop it open and have a look inside. Expecting to find some yellowed pictures or mabye love letters from some forgotten romance, he was not at all ready for what he would discover. For in this tiny metal box lay something that would make all his pain one day go away. It was a book, it had a cover, the cover read this, Past, Present or Future: The Laymans Guide to Time Travel. Suprised yet intrigued by his discovery, Glenn pocketed the book, disposed of the case and took it on the hoof to his home, telling his boss that he had come down with a very fast setting flu. Catching the 15B home wasn't the fastest bus route to his suburban ranch style but it was the first one he passed so he hopped aboard. The longer route gave him a chance to peruse the inner pages of the book. Since childhood Glenn had been a devotee of science fiction and fantasy, he grew up with an insatiable lust for all things sci-fi and devoured the trivial, the fact and the fiction like, well, like a fat guy eating something he really, really likes. It could work, he thought to himself, I could actually travel through time. Anxious to show his beloved wife the great news, he burst through his door and ran up the stairs in glee. In his bedroom he was horrified to find his wife in the arms of another man and, another man in the legs of his wife. A mighty and verbal brawl of words and tears then began, Glenn, using the word whore alot, his wife, using the word limp alot. Then there was the punch, a strike so hard that it nearly broke the womans neck, so nearly, infact, that it did actually break her neck. It only took a few minutes for her to actually die but it seemed like forever. Suddenly terrified for himself, Glenn ran his mind over what all this meant, it didn't matter if his wife was having an affair, he had killed her, he was going to go to jail for sure, most likely get the chair. Wait, wait, the children are at their grammys place, it is Friday, surely no one will know what happened here until monday, mabye, just mabye there is time, all this Glenn pondered as he gripped the newly acquired book. The next two days were spent in his garage, studying and building, the designs on the pages of the age-old tome. What he assembled, using house hold items, an arc welder and most of his long dead ninteen-eighty two Ford F-150, he had finished his task. It was magnificent, an exact replica of the machine that was laid out in the pages of the time travel text. Tapping it into the home power supply and an old Grummand generator, Glenn stepped inside the apparatus and placed his fingers around the starter key. "With a flick of this key, I, Glenn Williams, make everything right again", he communicated to noone in particular, then he turned the key. The report was nothing shy of really loud, droning and banging noises, waking many of his slumbering neighbors, then an explosion of biblical proportions and a bright light. Glenn woke up two hours later on the floor of his garage, blood flowing from several wounds on his face, arms and torso. He was surounded by firemen and paramedics. Is the wife killer going to survive? He heard, from what he could only geuss was a police official. The answer was muffled in his ears but the gist of it was, not too damn likely officer. At that , Glenn breathed his final breath and passed from the living world. In his hurry to set his life right, he had not finished reading all the text in the venerable manual, it simply stated this. "The conundrum of time travel is only this, we can never prove or disprove the working reliability of this machine, the fact being if you travel backwards through time, you could never possibly know. The world would be exactly the same as you had always remembered it. The actuality being that, even if you did manage to change the past, it is the past you would also grow up in".

Epilogue: Glenn Williams stands outside a middle school, it is the mid-ninteen seventies. It has been over thirty years since he has looked upon this school, he touched the pavement of the parking lot to see if he was dreaming. The tar was hot in the afternoon sun, it hurt his finger tips a little bit if he left them there too long. Glenn waited for the final bell to ring inside the class rooms, watching as children shuffled out the school doors and onto the bus arrival area. Fifteen minutes passed and then he saw what he was waiting for, a chubby, young lad of only thirteen, Glenn recognized him on the spot, not his face so much, it had been many so years but he could never forget those horrible hand me down cloths his mother forced him to wear day in and day out. Glenn stomped his way to the boy, 'Glenn Williams'? He asked, the boy did not respond, choosing rather to stair at elder Glenn in the fashion of most timid, chubby, young lads who are suddenly confronted with a person they are somewhat intimidated by. Holding out an envelope to the boy, he spoke again,'This is for you, read it carefully and remember it'! At that the future Glenn Williams turned and stalked away. As he reached the spot he had arrived in and awaited the machine to hasten his return, he reminised about his old school, looking whistfully at the signpost infront of the academy of youthful teachings he read the name to himself, ah, good old Benjamin Franklin South Middle School, what crazy memories. As the automatic recall kicked in on the time travel device, Glenn thought only this,'Hey, wait a second, didn't I go to Franklin Roosevelt Middle School North'? There was a sound, not unlike the sounp the word ZAP would make if it was an audible noise and a bit of smoke.

But, why would they do that?

I have decided that my title question, may be one of the most ignorant queries known to man. I am a devotee of conspiracy storys, movies, novels, ETC. I absolutely and whole heartedly enjoy them. Even the drivel sprayed from the mouth of Michael Moore and his annoying ilk, tend to hold my attention, even teachings from the mouths of idiots can bring forth tiny bits of wisdom. As of late I have watched two most interesting programs, Loose Change, which is all about the attacks of September eleventh 2001 and America, Freedom to Fascism, which revolves around the Federal Reserve bank and the IRS. I would suggest that anyone watch these films, they are, at any rate entertaining, be they true or false, I am no expert on such things but I don't mind watching them, even for the possibility of a debate later on down the road. UFO consiracy, military mind control, banks being run by aliens in hopes of conquering the world, even the Batboy, or Bigfoot. No subject no matter how ridiculous, is still worth my time. There are many days and night, when at least some odd subject will spill out in bar time conversation and me and my compatriots will have a rousing discord about something or other but, there is always one person in the group who, just can not hang, intellectually, as it were. If you bring up any area of questioning, say the urge for world governments to control the populace, or large businesses to exploit people for their own gain, these people always go back to the,"but, why would they do that"? Line of reasoning. Well in answer, power, duh. People in power, even a little bit of power, like to control the people they have power over and will use fear, money, greed, education or lack of education, drugs and alchohol, violence, virtually any exploitable avenue they can, to keep a hold over, what they consider, their lessers. That is just the way it works, every government throughout history, since the dawn of government has done exactly this, every one ever!!!! If you can tell me one that hasn't I will remit my statement and eat this keypad but I am not worried, because you can't. The kings of Europe so feared the Viking expansion in the late 900's AD that they introduced Christianity, soley as a way to control them and band together nomadic clans that refused to recognize a common king. Adolph Hitler, was heavily funded by people who wished to relieve Austrian Jews of their business and market interests, so they could have them, for the money, money=power. This is not a history lesson though, I would go on ad nauseum with such little examples. This blog is about stupid questions, if youre arguement is either," I don't think that's true, I don't believe that's the reason," or, " But, why would they do that to their own people"? You should not be arguing with people, that is like going to a knife fight and forgetting, not only your knife but also forgetting that you are a quadruple amputee that not only has no hands with which to wield said forgotten cutlery but is also woafully lacking in the legs necessary to escape with. If you are going to hang about and try to join into a discussion you know nothing about, the best option is to disguise your ignorance with the sipping of some fermented grain and nod your head knowingly, this will give you the look of a man with an opinion that is simply trying to absorbe the comments and if asked a what do you think question, simply reply,"Not really my cup of tea, that subject" This is a safe comment because it shows that you have other things on your mind. I am in no way saying that I am an incredible brainiac, who never says stupid things, truth be known, stick my foot in my mouth so often that my tongue has tread marks on it. I am simply asking people to choose their arguments mor eclearly and do not trust people in power, they are bad. Bye, bye.