Another day, another perusal through the headlines

I am back. I have some more stories for you. Thankfully, they are short and in some ways I think that I prefer the headlines. I mean without the story there is more room to make stuff up, stuff that is funny. But before the fun, I saw the headline from the testimony of Debbie Rowe, Michael Jackson's ex-"wife" and mother of his children (uggghhhhh!!!!! shudder shudder! at that thought), at Michael Jackson trial.

"Jackson's ex-wife calls him a great father"

I am sure he is a great father, notwithstanding the dangling of the shrouded in guaze baby off a balconey (but who is counting that incident), it is his actions, read diddling (I love that word) of, with OTHER PEOPLE'S CHILDREN that is in question. Sure, he doesn't diddle his own children, you know what something like that would do to a child psychologically speaking in time. That kind of stuff can cause some great psychological trauma to a child's mind. You carry that kind of shit with you forever, like luggage (thanks Eddie). It is good to hear that he has not been caught doing his "thing" with his own kids.

On the other hand, it is perfectly justifiable to do it somebody else's kids. I mean, to do that to your own kids is SICK but to do it to somebody else's kids is living life. I am joking, though I am seeing it as an attempted Michael Jackson rationalization. It is a scary thought.

Enough of that Michael Jackson, the real reason I brought you all here is this story that I culled off the Internet. It is more a gentleman's spin that I have on this one but it did give me pause for thought. Here goes...

Norwegian Court Convicts First Woman for Rape

OSLO (Reuters) - A Norwegian court has sentenced a woman to nine months in jail for raping a man, the first such conviction in the Scandinavian country that prides itself for its egalitarianism.
The 31-year-old man fell asleep on a sofa at a party in January last year and told the court in the western city of Bergen he woke to find the 23-year-old woman was having oral sex with him.
Under Norwegian law, all sexual acts with someone who is "unconscious or for other reasons unable.

Now a number of things come (oops, sorry for the reference) to mind here. Now, I am assuming that she was performing oral on him. I do not know about you, any women out there MUST think like a guy here, but is there a more pleasant way to be awoken than to have a 23 year old, Norwegian girl performing oral on you? I have to say that "performing oral" does not really cut it with me. It is just not blunt enough so I apologize for using that term and I apologize for being as blunt as I intend to be from now on. But I digress, you could take out the 23 year old Norwegian girl and insert (damn those double entendres) whatever character floats your boat, I was just sticking to what we see factually speaking.

I am sure I speak for a lot, I would say the vast majority, of men here. A guy would, most likely (damn I am uncomfortable using absolute words, not the vodka) NEVER turn down a blow job, whether he is asleep or awake. It is the one thing the unites ALL males. No man turns down getting oral. To quote Richard Jennie, it is sex without having to work. It mixes a male's two greatest pleasures, sex and sloth (or is that 2/7th of the deadly sins, I am thinking add gluttony, envy, pride, wrath and greed you would have quite a party going on there).

Be honest. How upset would you be if that happened to you. You pass out at a party and you are awoken with a warm, wet "kiss". How bad is that? Of course, if it were a guy doing it to a female it may be construed as creepy (I am being generous there) unless he posted the footage on his website and in that case it is enterprising.

It just made me think. I could also envision her getting herself off on him. However, that does not seem likely given the scene as set out, though it is not out of the realm of possibility, unless she were really drunk and had no self control, which would seem to be more of a male thing. Then again, what the hell do I know?

I have another headline and story that I culled. Given that it is Passover I found it really funny.

Birds May Be Behind Exploding German Toads

BERLIN - Why are toads puffing up and spontaneously exploding in northern Europe? It began in a posh German neighborhood and has spread across the border into Denmark. It's left onlookers baffled, but one German scientist studying the splattered amphibian remains now has a theory: Hungry crows may be pecking out their livers.
"The crows are clever," said Frank Mutschmann, a Berlin veterinarian who collected and tested specimens at the Hamburg pond. "They learn quickly from watching other crows how to get the livers."
So far, more than 1,000 toad corpses have been found at a pond in Hamburg and in Denmark. But the pond water in Hamburg has been tested, and its quality is no better or worse than elsewhere in the city. The remains have been checked for a virus or bacteria, but none has been found.
Based on the wounds, Mutschmann said, it appears that a bird pecks into the toad with its beak between the amphibian's chest and abdominal cavity, and the toad puffs itself up as a natural defense mechanism.
But, because the liver is missing and there's a hole in the toad's body, the blood vessels and lungs burst and the other organs ooze out, he said.
As gruesome as it sounds, it isn't actually that unusual, he said.

I left some of the story out but I did have some obvious observations. Frogs as one of the ten plagues was good, but here we have exploding frogs, which would have been supercool. Frogs-good, Exploding frogs--COOL!!

The one thing that I was thinking after reading it isn't "that" unusual. I am even more thankful that I am not a frog (not that I would be aware I was a frog if I were a frog). Funny, but I have never envisioned myself living in my pond, then spontaneously exploding, not to mention having a crow peck out my liver. I like the water but having my liver pecked out and exploding have never been foremost in my thoughts. I cannot talk for anybody else regarding me having my liver pecked out or exploding, however.

I think I have milked the news today. I want to thank all the people and freaks who have made these ravings possible, along with the exploding frogs. Ciao!

I cannot think of these things on my own

I am back. I have to say I must not have much of an imagination. Then again, as you shall soon see, I do not need one. Reality, not imagination, does provide fodder for my acid tongue (or digital type as the case may be). I have another news story for all of you to read, it is another good one, though there is no cannibalism involved, so this story may not leave you hungry, which may or may not be a good thing (thank you Martha Stewart, I have not slagged her in this so that may be something for a later date).

NEW DELHI (Reuters) - An Indian who became a man to marry a female relative was dumped after the surgery, a newspaper reported Monday.

Twenty-nine-year-old rubber tapper Kuttiyamma, born with both male and female genitals, had been in love with the relative, Laura, 25, for 15 years before having surgery to become a man and change her name to Binu, the Hindustan Times reported.
But Laura became engaged to another man and Binu is suing her for breach of trust after spending 50,000 rupees ($1,150) on the sex change in southern Kerala state.
"She had agreed to marry me after the surgery," the paper quoted Binu saying in the petition. "I took loans to pay the hospital bills."
Laura's fiance has since backed out of the wedding after hearing of Binu. The paper did not say how Laura and Kuttiyamma/Binu are related.

I am not sure if I am citing these stories properly but this one is off a Reuters feed. But do you see what I mean about reality here. I was thinking how nice it is to live a cloistered life. This way you do not have to come into contact with people who would just as soon eat you (if this is something that you enjoy, then all the power to you) and other choices of behavior and lifestyle. I am not going to comment or pass moral judgment. I will point out the funny bits, though.

Let me begin. The first thing that comes to mind is that being born with both male and female genitals does make it possible to go fuck yourself literally. I am not sure if that is good or bad. I guess it really does depend upon how you feel about yourself. I mean if you are self loathing, then the sex you have with yourself could be angry and intense. I now find myself going somewhere that is best left to your own imagination. I will just guide you to the darker and sicker impulses that we all share. It is like I have some sort of depraved skeleton key to the mind, or the depraved parts of the mind.

I did not know that Kuttiyamma was a female's name nor Binu male. I think that it is funny that she/he is a rubber tapper. Think about it. His/her male genatalia could be fashioned from the very material she/he taps. She/he can feel at one with his/her new pieces.

Laura's fiance backs out of the wedding. I wonder if he "backed" out or was it more of running at top speed, screaming at the top of his lungs. How freaky is that? You get engaged and your fiance's cousin comes out after a sex change to profess his love for your fiance. I mean you have it all. The creepy factor scores at least 83 out of 100. You have that transgender thing, which is just freaky when you stop to think about it. I mean you have men and women, but when you start to get into the shades of gray (and I do not want to comment on sexual orientation, but that just adds another layer of complexity which makes me hanker for the simplicity of the "shit lovers") of a man in a woman's body (I am talking of identity and nothing physical there so get your minds out of the gutter) or vice versa, my head starts to spin.

I must say that I do not care. You are who you are. The whole thing is filtered through one question...what does it mean to me? If it means nothing, which this one does, then what do I care who or what you sleep with. Whatever floats your boat is fine with me, just take a shower, brush your teeth and wash your hands before hanging with me. Beyond that, I have no hard and fast rules or revulsions that I can think of right now.

So your Laura's fiance, you have the transgendered relative and the added ick factor of them being related, though we do not know how close. The closer it is in terms of relations the ickier it gets. Now, if they were lesbian would it be so bad? I will leave that question for you to answer for yourselves, though you could share your answer with me. (I guess not, said in a woman's voice, huh, Willie?)

I do like the lawsuit for breach of trust. What the hell is that? I get the sense, and it is only that, that Kuttiyamma became Binu as a sort of "surprise" for Laura. There is another question....how did Laura get that name while Kuttiyamma/Binu have more Indian sounding names? I digress. It just goes to show you. BE CAREFUL WHEN PLANNING SURPRISES!

You do have to hope that the surprise is wanted by the other party. If you do something drastic or dramatic you are liable to find yourself with a new penis but nowhere to put it. I do look at it this way too (it is the problem with being a male). At least he/she did not go from male to female in the sex change because it does not make ANY sense to me to lop off an appendage for the purpose of a surprise for somebody else. That is just psychotic, of course, it could lead to the penis eating of the German cannibal, so perhaps there is an upside......for somebody.

Thanks for coming out! Ciao!

Can we talk?

I am back. Today is not quite that funny but something rather funny struck me on Saturday afternoon. We had the first Seder, the family dinner marking the beginning of Passover and telling the story of the Exodus of my people from slavery in Egypt (for those of you keeping score, thanks for coming out.) at my in laws house (or is that outlaws?). As is usual, my wife is the one that is leaned upon to really help out and cook and stuff. I am pretty useless at that, but I think that it is more by design. I am at my best when I am able to sit back and crack jokes at everything and everybody.

As is usual, we have to go there for about four or five, though nobody really shows up until six and my mother in law is driven by her anxiety about being late, is always prepared. It means I have to sit at my in laws, with my thumb up my ass, for a few hours. This is where the funny observation occurred.

We get there and I feel like a cup of coffee. I walk into the kitchen and see my mother in law has fixed herself one, which is good because it is her house. She is having an instant coffee in a styrofoam cup. She does this often. She does this so that she can feel like she is out in a nice place having a coffee.

I am struck by two things. One, what nice place is serving instant coffee? I mean I crack up going into old diners that do not brew decaf and sell/serve Sanka. I want to go OUT for instant fucking coffee?? Okay that is chuckle part one but the best one is what "nice" place is using the good bone white styrofoam cups? I guess it gives her the feeling of being in one of the finer donut shops, though even they are using paper cups these days.

As I said, I just find it all funny in a quirky sort of way.

Even better was listening to my father in law talk of his blood thinner medication and the bruising that sometimes occurs. He was telling this to his nephew, brother in law and the nephew's fiance. My question is at what age is that we start to tell anybody within earshot about our medical issues and stories. I was almost shocked he did not start to get into the story of his ass doctor appointments and the removal of his colon polyps. Oh the best part is he says to his nephew, as if he is thinking better of telling his medical stories, "I shouldn't say anything. I don't want to embarrass you."

I am not too sure who was embarrassed at that point. I just wanted to howl and make my wise ass retorts, but I figured the point would be missed so I kept my mouth shut, with tears in eyes as I had to bite my tongue, literally. The question was asked, in jest I believe, about blood thickeners. I did say they just add pectin to the blood or a slurry of water and corn starch. That way your blood can have the consistency of the sauces used in Chinese cuisine.

I am thinking that my father in law is at that stage in life where he no longer censors his thoughts. He just says whatever he is thinking. It is a rather funny window into somebody's mind. Then again, I really do wish that he would roll down that damn shade and draw those curtains. There are just some things that people, me, just do not want to see.

We had the second Seder at my mother's house last night. That was interesting. It is nice to see my aunt, unlce, cousins and their spouses and children. Isn't that a warm thought? Well the conversation came around to nude beaches. My cousin's wife had the same thing to say that I observed while in Europe and Greece (as if Greece is not in Europe) back in 1986. I was wandering a nude beach on the island of Santorini and found myself struck by something. Why is it that people I find on nude beaches, partaking in the sun in the nude, are the people who I think should be wearing clothes? To put it another way, why were those in the nude the ones that I least wanted to see naked? My cousin's wife said the same thing, so I am wondering if it is a universal truth. If it is, we are scraping the barrel of what constitutes universal truths, heaven help mankind then.

Well, that is all for today. Thanks for checking in. Ciao.

The cannibals are back

I am back. Do you recall the German cannibal news story I relayed in an earlier post? Well, there is an update. The top German court has ordered a retrial saying that the manslaughter, there is a funny term considering the killing and eating as it is exactly what it was, conviction was too lenient. Do you think????? Those Germans sure do know a thing or two about slaughter, manslaughter, don't they?

Stop me before I kill and eat again! You see this goes to prove a long held belief of mine. We, as a society, have gotten too far removed from the origins of the food we eat. We see various cuts of meat in a supermarket but cannot put the face to it and respect that animal that gave its life, such that it was, to nourish us. That is too bad. I am beginning to think that this cannibalism thing at least puts you closer to the origin of your food.

This reminds me of a story, a true story, that I found in the news in December and sent around to an unfortunate number of friends. I found the story so sick and, yet so funny that I had to share it. I will reprint a synopsis of the story for you all now.

REUTERS
2:58 p.m. December 15, 2004
MEXICO CITY – A Mexican man killed his lover in a drunken, drugged fight then cooked the man's body in tomato and onion sauce and ate it over three days.
Police found Gumaro de Dios Arias grilling rotting human flesh for his breakfast, including part of a heart, when they raided a shack he lived in near the Caribbean beach resort of Playa del Carmen, a police chief said Wednesday.
"He was preparing stews. There was a grill where he was cooking part of the heart and bits he had cut off the body. It was terrible, terrible," said local police chief Martin Estrada, who was among a dozen police who raided the shack.
Arias told police the victim, a young man, arrived at his cardboard hut in a wasteland area with a mutual friend who then left the two of them drinking and taking drugs.
The pair had sex and afterward a fight broke out during which he killed the man with blows to the head, police said.
Police arrested Arias, 25,Tuesday after a tip off.
"They said there was a person eating a person," Estrada said.
"We found him lying on a folding bed and to one side was the corpse which had been torn apart and which it seems he had been eating for three days," he told Reuters.
The corpse, which had its back ripped open and its innards pulled out, was missing various parts, like a thigh, he said.

Fun story, huh? But see the humor. I mean I now think twice about any cravings I may have to eat Mexican. Eating Mexican food has taken on a whole new meaning. But think of the whole scenario. I mean somebody comes over to your cardboard hut (substitute brick house, townhome, condominium, apartment if you cannot fathom the idea of cardboard hut living--I wonder if there is a market for a Martha Stewart type magazine for Cardboard Hut Living Lifestyle, if not there is another idea to explore) and you decide to get high and have sex. What went wrong there. I think we can safely say that something went terribly awry there, but at what exact point did the whole thing turn from drunken, high sodomy to murder and a meal? What was that moment when the line was crossed, you know that point of no return? Well, it was no return for the victim/meal.

I am thinking that sodomy does tenderize human flesh. That may be the lesson, so I wonder if the German dude figured that out before hand or just braised his victim. Back to Mexico for a second, it seems to me that given the timing was around Christmas, that this is the gift that keeps on giving. You have somebody who serves as drug partner, sex partner and then breakfast, lunch and dinner. I guess over time you may have to go to the store to get some Human Helper. On day three, you must be getting pretty sick of leftovers.

I was thinking that it was the perfect date gone horribly wrong. I am calling the perfect date dinner, movie and sex. Here we have the sex and will substitute getting high and drunk for the movie. The dinner here has different meanings to the participants. I mean the victim IS dinner and the killer is having dinner, but alone. That may be a lesson to all of you out there, IF YOU DECIDE TO HAVE YOUR DESSERT FIRST, THERE COULD BE TROUBLE THAT YOU DID NOT BARGAIN FOR!

I have said enough for now, but remind me to get into the John Wayne Gacy thoughts the spring to mind because of that damn Mexican story. In fact, it is not Wendy's (the alleged finger in the chili story) that scares me but Taco Bell. Would you want to eat authentic Mexican food now? Happy eating all and ciao!

Procrastination?

I am back. Something funny occurred but before that another funny thing happened and it is cracking me up. I continue, ten years later, to be called by a fomer customer of the old drug store. This woman is intelligent and truly troubled. Without really getting into it, and truly you would really have to experience it (the conversations and my skeptical view) to really understand where I am coming from here, but she has a seizure disorder and these forms of delusions and hallucinations. She was living on her own, but the medication she was on was causing her to sleep for about twenty hours a day. Oh yeah, she also smoked and could have potentially fallen asleep with a lit cigarette and burned down her building.

The building is city housing and given the age and level of maintenance I saw ten years ago, perhaps razing the buildings was in order. They were going to tear those apartments down and build condominiums until the city stepped in and screwed the whole deal, causing the bankruptcy of another customer. In the ensuing years, it proved to be a mistake as the apartments in the area continue to deteriorate. But I digress from the fun. Thanks for coming out.

Anyway, she still calls me from time to time. She ended up admitted to the Clarke or what ever the psychiatric hospital is. She was then released into a group type home where she could be monitored as it was not safe for her to live on her own. Now she goes through spates where she calls a lot (at least twice a day) and then it tapers to nothing for weeks. For ten years, she has been calling and eventually gets into the same loop of conversation. She asks about my wife and son, by name, my mother, my brother and sister, also by name, and others from the store.

She calls the other day and then asks about my siblings, Rona and Reggie. Now, my brother, whose name is Michael and whom she called by the correct name for ten years, is now Reggie. I do not know where the hell she got Reggie from but I think it is the funniest thing around. It is so out of left field that it could stick. She did this on Monday.

Needless to say, I call my brother to tell him his name is now Reggie and he says he prefers his given name of "Reginald". Now, I cannot stop calling him Reggie. We play basketball on Tuesday and I am calling him Reggie. The best is that on my way out, my son says "Tell my uncle, Reggie, I say hi.". I giggle my ass off every time I think of Reggie and I have no ass left, please help. This condition makes sitting very difficult and painful.

I was going to ask to be sent some ass, but like the shower from days earlier, I do not like how that sounds. I add it to let you know I was thinking of it, but I thought better of really exploring that dark avenue.

Now on to the real purpose of today's journey into my madness. I was tooling around the Internet and hit a site that had a link to a quiz "Are You a Procrastinator?". I decided to click the link later. I think that is the test. If you go right away to click the link, you are a real go-getter. If you do not, well then I think you have answered that question. It just cracked me up. Think about it. Just putting in the quiz link is the test for procrastination in and of itself. It was brilliantly simple.

It did get me thinking, though. The deep thought for the day is that we all, or most of us anyway, tend to procrastinate, at least at some time. (how is that for really broadening an idea to cover everything). It makes me think that there was some evolutionary basis for that behaviour or mind set. I wonder what purpose it serves or served. If anybody has an answer to that one, I would appreciate hearing it, later, if you get around to responding. All ideas will be considered and not laughed at, at least not that any of you would know of.

That is it for today, on behalf Reggie and myself, ciao.

This may offend some, though I am not sure whom, but I can guess

I am back. I would like to tell more of my in law stories but something else came to mind. My wife bought some Irish Spring soap and I got to contemplating on that. I know how weird that sounds. Actually, it is more pathetic but then again it really isn't. It is about awareness and how unaware we normally are about many things. I mean who would spend any time thinking about soap? And better yet why?

Here is why. You never know when the most obsequious of commodities may harbour funny ideas. By way of strange example, back in 1986, I actually took a course, while at university, on the basis of joke potential. It was an art history (Modern Art 1876-present) course taught by a Dutch professor. He started by showing slides of the Palace of Versailles, barouque and rococco works. As we were seeing the oppulence of Louis XVI (or was it the XIV, does it really matter?) I was taken by the use of red velour. To me it was not Louis XVI but Louis the Pimp (remember this was a time when pimping was not as easy, but it was good to be the king, unless your head was on the chopping block). See the jokes just flowed from there. The best joke was that this professor would wear the same damn sweater, pilling and all, for a month on end. Every month had a different sweater. January was a black and white stripped thing and February was reddish burgundy, in honor of Valentine's Day, no doubt. March was January again, which was a nice sense of deja vu. Perhaps he only had two sweaters or these were his "Tuesday" sweaters, I do not know. But that is what I mean by finding the funny in a situation.

Back to the soap, as I was lathering up in the shower, I really took a look at the soap. I also remembered the commercials back in the 70s where they would slice into the soap with a pen knife showing the strips of green and white. I was suddenly struck by the fact that it looked like Colgate Palmolive, marketers of Irish Spring, since P&G and I assume CP have outsourced their manufacture of soaps to concentrate on the marketing (value add), had come across a way of fusing those small, worn out pieces of soap (we all have had them) into a "new" bar. I thought that was brilliant.

Do you recall the tag line "Manly yes, but I like it too." That was some good writing. I mean soap for men and women. Strong enough to get rid of man stink but gentle enough for delicate woman stink. Speaking of which, I guess I should bring a bar with me to Mayfair to give to Stinky. You will be happy to know that I have not seen Stinky there for a week. I hope he is okay. I would find it ironic if he should succumb to his own stink.

Anyway, back to Irish Spring. Think about it, the name--IRISH SPRING and it is a deodorant soap. Now, here is where I could offend, but I have to say it. That is something that the Irish are known for, their good hygiene and body odor. I saw "Waking Ned Devine" and the aftermath of St. Patrick's Day and cleanliness and good smelling is far from the first things that pop into my mind when thinking Irish and Irish Spring. That is just me. Ciao.

Another story of insanity

I am back. I just wanted to relay a story of insanity in my family. Actually this one is dealing with my father in law, so I do not have to worry about a fault in the genes for me personally. My wife, though, that is another story. I feel bad as I have seen her future and it is that of my mother in law, a lovely person but nuts. The only saving grace there is that my father in law is further down the rubber room highway.

Here goes the story. It is another Friday night dinner but it is small. We are sitting at the kitchen table. I have to say that usually there are ten or so people crammed around the dining room table with a single leaf added. As I like to say, I feel penned like a veal. I will then make "moo" sounds. It gets worse when there is more than ten people attending, I then have to go eat alone in the kitchen. That is to get away from the conversation, if I can call it that, and smacking elbows with the person wedged next to me.

That is the set up. All five of us are at the kitchen table. My son is eating and holding his fork with the tines up while he chews. My father in law looks at him and says, "You should point fork down. What happens if you slip and you fall face first on your fork?"

I had to look at my wife. It was in disbelief. Just when I think that I have heard the most improbable of things occurring, somebody speaks and enters the competition. I scratch my head (damn lice! Get out!) and try to recall when the lad was diagnosed with narcolepsy. My son has this awful habit of just passing out at the dinner table. He does it often, like maybe once when he was sick. He was not sick here.

Did my father in law not have anything to worry about that he had to create this one? Should we put a cork on the end of the boy's fork so that he does not poke himself in the eye? Should we change his name to Ruprecht? I just cannot understand that one. I mean you could hear the sound of the guys with the padded truck ready to knock on the door and take him to that rubber room.

Just picture yourself passing out on your fork. How likely is that to happen? Well that is my thought for the day, so careful while eating, you just never know when that narcolepsy will hit you. Ciao.

Saturday day special

I am back. I had a thought occur to me this morning and I had to share it. My mind ran to poronography as it sometimes does. I am sick but I can live with that fact. Anyway, I got to thinking that as depraved as I think that I am, I am easily topped. I mean whenever I think I have found the depth to which humanity can sink, somebody is always able to come around and lower the bar. I think that explains my sick fascination with those cannibalism stories, of which I will write later (not today).

That is the set up. I was in New York on business about nine years ago. This was at the time that then Mayor Giuliani was "cleaning" up Times Square. They were in the midst of getting rid of all the skin and porn shops in the Times Square area, the Disneyfication of New York. As if it has done so well for Disney World and Disneyland, let alone EuroDisney. I mean think about EPCOT. The tagline should be come see the future as we imagined it in the early 70s. Funny how things did not turn out the way envisioned as we awaited the next ice age (global warming? ha!).

Anyway, my colleague and myself had time to kill before heading out to Laguardia to come home, so we decided to take a walk on the side of debauchery and hit a porn shop. We were perusing the titles and in some ways looking for the sickest things around. He gravitated to the "Forced Entry" genre, which is sick but I found what I thought was the most disgusting title I could ever find. It was Shit Lovers 4.

Now, the subject matter is disgusting enough for me. I mean I have no interest in incorporating feces into the sexual experience. Call me crazy. If that floats your boat and there are others like you, all the power to you. You sick fuck!!!! Now the thing that got me, and still does, is that damn title. Think about it.....Shit Lovers 4.

Somebody had to get through volumes 1 through 3 to get to 4. How much of that crap, pardon the pun, can one stand? Actually as I ask that question, I want to take it back. I live by one rule and that is NEVER ask a question that you do not want an answer to. That was one of those questions whose answers I really do not want to know.

Just close your eyes and think.......I did not get enough of that mix of sex and shit with Shit Lovers! Damn, I wish they would make a second volume! My head is about explode thinking about that. That is the happy thought for the day!

Now aren't you all glad that you came back to read that? At least, it beats the hell out of my last couple of posts, at least in my opinion. We all know what that is worth, though. Well I am going to run and enjoy this beautiful day. Ciao.

It begins again

I am back. Here is a thought to ponder....In the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey. Thank Beck for that gem. Just think about it for a while. Meditate upon it. Thank you. For all the time you spent on that stupid, but clever remark, you still remain the monkey in the time of chimpanzees.

Okay, here is a question I have wanted answered for about twenty five years. Where the hell is my blue baseball glove? I have not seen it since I was 14 or 15. That glove was so well worked in that it is not funny. C'mon, somebody must know what happened to it. Did the cleaning lady throw it away or take it? She could barely speak English, let me change that, she could NOT speak English, what the hell did she need with a baseball glove? Again, I am thinking that being blue and old she pitched it, but why? It was not cluttering up the house, and given the general state of that house and living amongst packrats, of which I am one, tossing that glove would not uncluttered the house. Where is it?????

I know the quality of these posts is really diminishing. I just thought I would wing it today. My mistake. I promise to only post if I have something even remotely funny to say. Ciao.

It begins again

I am back. Here is a thought to ponder....In the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey. Thank Beck for that gem. Just think about it for a while. Meditate upon it. Thank you. For all the time you spent on that stupid, but clever remark, you still remain the monkey in the time of chimpanzees.

Okay, here is a question I have wanted answered for about twenty five years. Where the hell is my blue baseball glove? I have not seen it since I was 14 or 15. That glove was so well worked in that it is not funny. C'mon, somebody must know what happened to it. Did the cleaning lady throw it away or take it? She could barely speak English, let me change that, she could NOT speak English, what the hell did she need with a baseball glove? Again, I am thinking that being blue and old she pitched it, but why? It was not cluttering up the house, and given the general state of that house and living amongst packrats, of which I am one, tossing that glove would not uncluttered the house. Where is it?????

I know the quality of these posts is really diminishing. I just thought I would wing it today. My mistake. I promise to only post if I have something even remotely funny to say. Ciao.

Just a Question?

I am back. I have a short post today, thankfully. I was glancing at the front page of the The Toronto Star today, which is not usually something I would do. I hate that paper and I am continually surprised how they keep coming up with new ways of justifying my dislike of that "newspaper". I mean here is a paper that has NEVER let the facts get in the way of an opinion. I digress. The front page is dedicated to Britney Spears, her pregnancy and her love of french fries. All I can say is WHO THE FUCK CARES? Is that really front page news? The Liberal Party of Canada feathered their party nest by funneling taxpayer money from the government, OUR government, such that it is, and The Star has Britney on the front page.

Sorry, but it just burns me up! Now I may be looking for things to justify my dislike of that rag but at least I can acknowledge that fact. I just wanted to rage about that as I am in a good mood right now and have very little to really say. I mean it is sunny. There is no snow on the ground. It is spring. Come prance through the forest with me! La la la!

Enough gaeity for now. Back to blogging. I got nothing right now. Damn tax return and all that. Ciao.

I wan't going to post but.....

I am back. As I said, I was not going to post and then wouldn't you know it, I find something that made my head spin. I will reprint part of the article that I came across. Here it is.

"KARLSRUHE, Germany (Reuters) - A German cannibal and prosecutors launched rival appeals at Germany's top criminal court Wednesday against his manslaughter conviction for killing and eating a willing victim.
Reuters Photo

Armin Meiwes was sentenced to eight and a half years in January 2004 after a gory case that both fascinated and repulsed Germany and the world.
Meiwes admitted to killing a Berlin computer specialist, Bernd-Juergen B, he met via the Internet, but was spared a murder verdict as the victim had asked to be eaten in a startling case of sexual fetishism.
Meiwes recorded the deed on video tape and shocked the court with his matter-of-fact account of how he severed the man's penis at the latter's request, and how they both tried to eat it, first raw and then fried in a saucepan. "

Now again the fun just writes itself. First off, I have to ask myself what is my fascination with these cannibal stories. I guess I find them to be so outrageous and so far from my world, I think. Now, I am wondering what that bag in the freezer is. I should go ask my wife. I'll be right back. If I don't come back, please have somebody check my freezer for me!

Just kidding. Now for the important questions. If you attempt to eat somebody's severed penis raw does that make you gay? What if it is cooked? What if it is your own severed penis (shudder and squirm) that you eat, are then gay?

These stories just raise these types of questions. In fact, I lost a posting that was similar in tone to this story. I will have to try to redo it later, complete with jokes and questions. Well, I will leave you all with that thought for the day, or at least the image you have created in your own head. Ciao for now!

I have returned to post again

I am back. I have not been arrested. Uh-oh! There is a knock at the door, as the door bell has never worked in this house. It is the police! Just kidding. Not that I think that anybody was fooled there. It really does lose something when you cannot see my facial expressions, assuming I have one, a face that is.

I am getting just too weird (or is that insane?). My good friend Willie fed me my own words on Friday and I want to share them. They were said back in 1987 and I know that they still hold true. Actually they were two questions that I had then and they have never been answered. Please note that I must use profanity here as it really does convey how truly vexing I find these notions.

1. What or who is the fuck that invented soap on a rope?

I mean to get into it, the simple problem I have with soap on a rope is how something so innocuous, like soap, gets turned into a weapon so easily when put on a rope. Now, the stuff you use to get yourself clean, remind me to tell my Mayfair story speaking of clean and smelling good, could be turned into a weapon of choice, in prisons in any event or so I've been told, by adding a simple rope. Tie two of these soap on a ropes together and you have home made numchucks. It is a disaster waiting to happen or at least opening the door to some mayhem. In fact, that gives me an idea.

Word of warning, avoid me in the shower at Mayfair. Actually, I do not like how that sounds. It has a George Michael, hanging out in public toilets sort of implication to it, so just forget I had written that. I won't be anywhere near a public restroom or shower, you can bet on that now.

Before I get to the second question, and I want to mention the Mayfair story. I go there to workout. I rather enjoy doing cardio work on this ARC Trainer machine. They have three. I have been beside this guy, who may be Indian descent not that there is anything wrong with that, but he absolutely STINKS. I tell people and the first question is invariably, "Is it B.O.?" To which I have to reply, "What does it matter? Would it change the stink in any way?"

I try to take the machine the furthest away from him, as he goes on for two sets of about 45 minutes, while I go for an intense 30 (details that you all care about no doubt). Anyway, he seems to like the middle machine. Anyway, at some point it is as if the current in the gym changes and I suddenly become downwind of him. My nose, and those who know me know that I do not have the greatest sense of smell, is assualted with what can only be described as pure STINK. It is like something crawled up his ass and died and he is exuding that odor through his pores. I start to gag and wonder how this can be. At some level, it is very funny.....until that smell hits my nose and I lose sight of the humor as my eyes are tearing up and I am choking.

It happened yesterday. About twenty minutes into my set and he is on and the current shifts. I am moaning and waving my towel to get the air moving back towards him or at least anywhere away from me. I had told a friend about him but he did not fully believe me. Last week, he walked behind him as he was going and the look on his face was priceless. It was like the look on the face of the guys in Seinfeld with the parking valet's B.O. infecting Jerry's Saab, Elaine's hair and Jerry's jacket (when George finds out that Susan has become lesbian after they break up). It is like walking into a wall of stink. In fact, I have been in the change room before working out when this guy comes in and takes off his shirt. Then, WHAMMO! My eyes tear, my nose is assaulted and I want to vomit. This guy has some fierce B.O. It is damn unhealthy for all. I am wondering if Mayfair has some sort of offensive body odor policy. I will have to find out. The least they can do is force him to hose down before he works out. I guess they may need the hoses, with the big pressure, they use at the circus to clean the elephants.

The second question, recall this was posed in 1987 so you really have to remember the context, is to follow.

2. Who the fuck invented Molly Ringwald?

Now, I know that question is rather meaningless. I mean she would eventually disappear from the public view. Damn that aging thing, when a teenage red head becomes and adult and is no longer needed. Is that the future for Lindsay Lohan? Mandy Moore? The more things change the more they stay the same. How deep is that thought?

Now, on to something completely different. We have a small room in our basement that we were using to store "crap". Crap by my definition is just the collection of "stuff". We kept our clothes drying rack in there as it is right beside our washer and dryer, great detail huh. Anyway, with the addition of my son's old clothes and toys, you could only walk on to a two foot square of empty space. My hockey equipment was somewhere near the back wall, impossible to get to as it was. On Sunday, my wife cleaned out the crap. I did the hauling but she did the actually cleaning. Instead of having a garage sale which would entail having to haggle with people over our crap, she insisted we just put the crap at the curb.

It has been the most interesting sociological experiment watching people stop and pick through somebody else's crap. I know one man's garbage is another man's treasure but whole scene from the front window has been better than anything I have ever seen on television, without dialogue. Besides, a garage sale would have entailed holding the crap for a while longer, which means that inertia sets in and I would never get rid of the shit. Anyway, out went a torchiere lamp that we had (I was never crazy about it) but it worked though it had not been used in close to ten years, a workable Canon inkjet printer, old fax machine (thermal paper), old Kenmore canister vacuum cleaner, plastic wagon with other baby toys and a plastic potty that was never used (thankfully, I mean the next thing you know I would have been using chamber pots and putting them out just to see who would take it). Also there was an old, mini stereo/cassette and CD player that really ceased working unless working entails an annoying buzz for sound.

I have been watching things "go". The stereo went first without problem. Then I watched an SUV stop and take the toys and wagon. Another SUV pulls up and a woman inspects and takes the potty. Somebody took the fax machine. I can still see the vacuum, lamp and printer as well as our old coffee maker. It still works, I just cannot justify buying a new carafe (which I probably shattered) when I could get a new coffee maker for the same price. I guess I like getting my coffee on the "outside". We put out an old runner that was a mat for boots at the front door. I just watched a woman inspect that and decide to claim it. She stuffed a piece of wood lattice in the WalMart bag with the runner and off she went.

I am thinking that I am a psychology student and I just baited the maze. I am now observing the experiment. People are funny but predictable. I think that scares me the most. I figure that if I can figure that out, what happens when somebody who is really smart sees that and exploits it. Great, now I will be up all night thinking of that evil scenario. Ciao for now!

Why? Why? Why?

I am back and pissed again. I had a decent post done up that got lost. Technology can be a real bitch. I guess I should really back these postings up when I write them. Live and learn. Or is that live, do not learn, but complain about things not working. I think I will go with that.

I have a new idea of what strikes me as funny today. I have been following the trial of David Ahenakew in Saskatchewan. As an aside, I have been to Manitoba and I would not really recommend it as a vacation place, I can only think that Saskatchewan is a step in the wrong direction, but that is just me. Anyway, here is a guy who is an Order of Canada member and was a former head of the Assembly of First Nations who is being tried crimanally for willfully promoting hate against an identifiable group. He told a reporter for the Saskatoon StarPhoenix in December of 2002, the Jews were a "disease" and Adolf Hitler was trying to "clean up the world" when he "fried six million of those guys" during the Second World War. He is a real beacon of enlightend thinking.

In any event, his lawyer, Doug Christie, noted lawyer to Holocaust deniers James Keegstra and Ernst Zundel, has had his client testify that he is a "holocaust victim". "Thousands and thousands of Canadians--they should be answering questions about their hatred toward Indians."

First point is have these "Thousands and thousands of Canadians" voiced their hatred of Indians as he did of Jews? My guess is no. So that makes this statement the proverbial red herring. It has no meaning as it does not cause him to answer for the statements he DID make to a reporter.

He has used the excuse that he did not know that the reporter would publish the statements. Again, if you are dumb enough to make them to a reporter then I have no sympathy for the consequences that you may suffer. But to me the best is yet to come.

Yesterday, Doug Christie and David Ahenakew revealed that a mitigating factor was that he had doubled his diabetes medication and a had a couple of glasses of red wine. He no doubt washed down his diabetes meds with some alcohol. Here is the funny part (and it may lead me to be charged with "hate"ful speech but I am willing to fight the "man" on this one). Is it just me or are they resorting to old "drunken Indian" defence? I mean talk about using stereotypes.

Here is a man spouting hateful and just plain stupid and impolitic speech. Then, he compounds it all by having no balls. He wraps himself up in a justification purely based on his membership in a "victimized" group in our society. But the best is that the bow on his package is to perpetuate a sterotype of his people in the eyes of Canadian society. It is all so laughable.

The best part is that Doug Christie has picked himself another winner of a fascist client. Well, just think about it. A Native Canadian alluding to the fact that he is a drunken Indian so that he can justify making his idiotic prejudicial comments (because he did not "think" that they would be reported). He has also claimed that the Jews started the Second World War. I guess he was out drinking when things came to pass.

I guess the hate crime people will be knocking on my door soon as I post this, so you may not hear from for a while. Or will you.....ciao.

A Change of Plans

I am back, which I know is obvious, but it has become my opening line, so please let it go. Anyway, I was going to write about this story I saw in the news in December. It is a disturbing but somehow funny story but I decided I would do it later. I really need the news story, which I have to "find" again, to set it up properly. I did send it out to a number of friends. Of course, it makes me wonder how I have friends when I treat them to such disturbing news stories. That is a question that I will leave out there.

I have decided to recount a recent story in my own life, such that it is. I turned forty in July. That is funny since I could never see myself being forty when I was younger. I think I always figured that I would have been assassinated (did you ever notice that there an awful lot of "s"s in assassinate, and that it is really two asses together. There is something else for you to contemplate when you have a free moment, either that or watch some paint dry, which is a whole lot of fun, especially if it is an oil based paint in an enclosed, airless room. I guess at that point it is not really watching paint dry but more akin to getting high while sniffing insolvents, I digress). My wife thought that it would be a good idea to go to Fantasy Island in Grand Island, NY, with my then seven year old son. I am not so sure how it was "for" me but that is my problem.

As a kid, I went there with my family far too many times to recall. It was about the only amusement park that I recall visiting with my family. We did do Disney World once, ONCE. We were staying in Clearwater Beach, FL, at the Sheraton Sand Key (1978) which would turn out to become the hotel where Jim Bakker diddled (there I am using that term) Jessica Hahn back in the 80s, if any of you recall. We did a day trip to Disney World in Orlando. It was an unmitigated disaster as my siblings and myself (we were aged 7, 9 and 13 at the time) really would have preferred to be back at the hotel, on the beach and in the pool. Anyway, my little brother apparently got into a snit and tossed his hat to the ground, which would have gotten him tossed out of a baseball game. We get back to the hotel and my father, on hotel stationary, wrote my brother a letter signed as Mr Disney, requesting my brother never come back to Disney World on account of his rotten behaviour. The funny thing is that he, nor any of us, have been back since. I mean what is the thrill of a six foot rat, anyway. I think that to subject a child to that is rather funny but cruel, that is of course, after the crying begins.

We used to do Fantasy Island, though, and I do not recall many complaints. I have driven by the place numerous times in the last twenty five or so years and have not felt the need to go there, at all. Anyway, this is where I am going for MY birthday so as not to disappoint my wife and son. Do I get a say in MY 40th birthday, obviously not and yet I accept that. As my birthday fell on a Saturday, it became an easy thing to do, notwithstanding the hour wait at the border to cross into the US, but that is reality in 2004.

I was hoping for rain or a snowstorm to get me out of it. Alas, it was sunny and warm. I guess that is okay for some but to tell the truth, I have always enjoyed it rained on my birthday. I must be some kind of freak. Did I just compare myself to Michael Jackson? This has got to stop. I am something different from a "freak", I just do not know what it is.

We get to the hotel and take my son for a swim. That was fun. My wife gets the idea, and it was a good one, that we should go to Fantasy Island after five. That way it is not so hot, admission is half price and we do not have to stay that long. I was game for that.

We arrive and I look around and think that these look like good folks to celebrate my 40th birthday with.....NOT! It was like a fat, tattooed, polyester freakshow in the place. I may be a bit snobbish but how come people still seem to think that the mullet is proper hairstyle for anybody? It was more like mullet island in there.

I soon learned that the place was misnamed. I told some cute blonde my fantasy and all I got was a smack in the face. Well, I should speak to somebody about that.....or write this down (I guess I just have) but I think that I have another business idea, and this one capitalizes on something that really sells....SEX and fantasy. Ohhh, I will keep it under my hat (or zippered) for now.

Anyway, we go on the log ride. I am sitting alone in the back with my wife and son in the front. I am bearing the brunt of the splashes and I am soaking wet, my shirt, shorts and underwear. That is not to say those upfront were not wet but I seemed to get it worst. They went on again and I stayed in the sun hoping to dry out a bit. They went on again. They both came off soaked. My wife says she got some of the water in her eyes. I had to respond given the green colour of that liquid, "what makes you think it is water." That left her thinking the worst for a while, so my work there was done.

We got a few slices of pizza and I got myself a large, large beer. It was American beer so it was really like water but I did find myself catching a small buzz. I guess there was an upside to not eating that much all day. I did get to thinking about things at that point. There I was sitting in wet underwear at Fantasy Island. Never in my dreams could I have foreseen of myself turning 40, being in wet underwear at Fantasy Island. Then I really thought about it, I think that I always envisioned that 40 would be spent with wet underwear, I just did not know it would be from the log ride or what the mystery liquid would be. The Fantasy Island? I never saw that coming.

The bottom line, though, is that my son got to enjoy something that I enjoyed when I was younger, so it was a great day for me. I mean I was, and am, alive, and given the alternative, it is the way to be. Sorry, I said no lessons, no hugging, so forget that I wrote that bottom line crap. Gotta run, ciao for now!

April Fools

I am back. Do you like how I begin all posts with that? I know it is redundant to write because the very fact that there is a post is proof that I was back, but I still feel the need to let you all know that I am back. I should give you all more credit but it is like the old Groucho Marx joke about not wanting to belong to any club that would have him for a member. I live that joke. It is from that I figure that if you are foolish enough to be reading this then I HAVE to explicitly tell you that I am back.

How was that for stream of consciousness? I could go on but when I think about it, this has become the Seinfeld posting. It is about nothing. No hugs! No lessons!

I am thinking that after yesterdays "downer" posting I should lighten things up. I tried beaten egg whites but I just created a mess when I tried to ram the meringue into my computer. Lesson, though I said no lessons, learned whipped egg whites are not to put into the CD-RW slot. Now, I have to get that crap cleaned out of this machine. I am betting I will need a new CD drive. Oh well.

Let's see what do I really have to say today? I think the truth is "not much". I wonder when the city starts to pick up yard waste? How is that for an exciting topic of conversation? Not so good, huh? I guess you really do not want me to write everything that comes to my mind at a given moment. Sorry for that tidbit of banality.

Is "banality" actually a word? I know "banal" but banality? I am too damn lazy to check a dictionary to thesaurus so if it is not a word, I proclaim that it is now. You can see I am going nowhere right now so I will not waste no more of your time. I am presuming that I am wasting your time, as if I know, but I am done for now so ciao.