Monday, March 14, 2005

The Spoils Of War

I have stopped feeling surprised about the depth of quasi-criminal, questionable, immoral, or outright criminal activity in our government's present administration. Shame on them, and shame on us for putting them into power. With any stroke of luck, someone, somewhere (again) will find that elusive needle in the haystack - incontrovertible proof that this war is being fought with lies- and get the warmongers out of the Oval Office for good. Aww, fuck it. We have seen needle after needle on an almost daily basis. Apparently we have some kind of genetic predisposition to blow shit up, human beings not exempt.
I'm sure this is enough to keep us all entertained for some time. The thing I like about "Liberating Iraq" most is all the exemplary and noble use of our very own weapons of mass destruction - bunker busters, depleted uranium, a list too long to acknowledge... Where have all the cowboys gone? They're all in Basra, Fallujah, Tikrit, etc., using their feeble little minds to implement our very own brand of democracy and freedom, taking orders from head cattle wranglers Chevron and Halliburton.
But who would Jesus bomb? Seriously, though! God is on our side, right?

Well, here's the soon-to-be blasted-to-bits answer to that Jesus question:,,2089-1522978,00.html
Hallucinate if we must, right? I rather enjoy the practice! Let's just go ahead and draw the Russians in, which is the highly likely outcome of any aggression towards Iran. WW 3, playing out in a war-scenario planning room near you TODAY!

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Sunday ends so abruptly.

Another weekend has come and gone. The end of my one-day respite from work (hard manual labor) has taken with it sunshine and 72 degree warmth. My wife is due back in town tonight, and I have nothing to show for it. No hangover, no dirty laundry, no dishes strewn about the house in random places. Nothing. The dogs and I went for long rides looking for the place where I could let them off their leashes. Tough to find in NC's capital city.
A security guard at a local women's college approached me today to warn me of the "No Dog Unleashed" rule on campus. I let them off anyway, only after I was out of sight of the guard shack. Sidda Lee, my older Weimaraner, got into the pond going after a tennis ball she found for me to throw. Sure enough, the ripple sensor on the pond went berserk and sent the overzealous and possibly longing for a penis of her very own security guard into a whirling dervish of a frenzy, speeding along the trail leading down to the water's edge in a golf cart troubled under the weight of her ample - and I mean ample - Coors Light fast-pitch rec league ass.
By the time she made it to the pond, the dogs were again restrained and we were headed back to the car. She drove by and paused to say "Beautiful dogs." Did she deserve this tirade? Did my dogs shit on her well-manicured campus lawn? Yes, and yes. Sidda Lee got into the car and shook herself free of the excess water clinging to her coat. My car reeks of something between stagnant pond and wet dog.
Nobody rides for free.

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Number 2 - The Shit

I can't quite find the capacity to get into the gym and not look at the American subconscious hard at work. Maybe it's something bigger, or deeper certainly, than what I am able to surmise just from watching the fitness-minded go about their routines in the weight rooms across America. You see so many different types of people, so many different types of bodies and personalities. I can't figure it out. What drives this march of lemmings to subject their love-handled physiques to endure an onslaught of discomfort? And to do it repeatedly?
Comfort is the goal of any rational being, right? It seems we are all hard-wired for the calm that warmth and security provide. I can only put my money on one bastion of sublimated pathos:
Sure, I can go to the gym and get my workout, but I can't help but cringe at the guy walking through the joint like he's about to burn holes through the clothing of the ladies with his mere eyes. Luckily for the ladies, there is a "women only" section that has just opened. It's usually packed. If he had any clue whatsoever just how painfully obvious his advertisement was, he'd probably refuse any advancement he made on the opposite sex, too. Sex works a sales game, too...and this guy looked the part, albeit that of a used car lot attendant out to get you a smokin' deal on a new ride. It wasn't just that he made it common knowledge he was on the prowl, it was the whole game. Designer wife-beater tank top (heave), gel in the hair, wrist bands (leather, no less) and the "I'm quite okay with my metrosexuality" yoga cargo pants with the three extra pockets, custom Nike shoes (not the kind you should actually exercise in, but, they are 'in' this season.) He locks eyes with me and I quickly look away, thinking,"Please, you are going to either make this last squat my first hernia, or you actually think I am out to cop your style, steal your girl... or your dude," then it hits me - this guy is so gay! Gay, gay, gay, up in flames GAY. My head turns down and I fend off his glance, returning his stare with the What-the-hell-would-you-know-about-rock-music-Mister-Frankie-Goes-to-Hollywood? look. I am actually hoping his style soon plunges into the abyss of short-lived trends such as men's clogs, feng shui, and karaoke." Oh, Christ Almighty...karaoke lives...and refuses to die. And this guy will probably end up taking some chick home he meets at the gym, introducing her to his cats and his IKEA couch, and she's gonna be hot for him, and she's gonna give up the goods, but he won't commit himself to one woman when there is so much out there for him to try! Karaoke is just the beginning. Not that there's anything wrong with it. People need hobbies.
For the record, if you are blowing pole, munching rugs, in love with someone male or female - no matter the gender- it's a good thing. I just enjoy a brand of stinging humor. Someone, somewhere is laughing. Love is all that matters. I have nothing against IKEA. Peace.

The First Rule of The Mind

I get to put up a site that I can use to get the word out. It's about me and you. It's about the state of things, or at least the way things appear. I am fatigued by the largesse of websites that run afoul of the real intrinsic beauty of the net. This blog is designed with truth as the only rule for its existence.
I am going to call it as I see it...
I will only use what MY source creates as fit for a metaphysical and physical sense of consumption or acknowledgment. You use yours, and we will create our futures together.
If this is the case, then what ship shall we sink today? I hope you readers out there understand my blog's "sacred cow" pledge: There is no Sacred Cow. This I pledge.