Shit SB Says

Fuck you. Stop laughing. I'm old now. I drink Metamucil. One day, you'll be old, too, and you won't be able to crap. If I'm still alive, I'm going to laugh at you.

This One Is for Ms. Moon and Owen

I think of them every time I hear this song. I wish I had written it. It would have been a perfect gift to welcome Owen to the world.

The writer/singer is Shawn Mullins, and he is such a beautiful artist. I am so in awe of his voice and the way in which he sees the world.

True love it is a rock. Owen was born to shimmer. He was born to shine. Ms. Moon, you already do. I love your way.

This song is for you guys. Mary, I expect you to hold Owen and dance to it. Laugh. Somebody had better take a picture of that shit, too.

My Favorite Singer of this Song Since Bobby Darin

And that shit's saying something. This really knocks me out.

A Message from the President I Am Very Proud to Have Voted For

Tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, Americans across the country will sit down together, count our blessings, and give thanks for our families and our loved ones.

American families reflect the diversity of this great nation. No two are exactly alike, but there is a common thread they each share.

Our families are bound together through times of joy and times of grief. They shape us, support us, instill the values that guide us as individuals, and make possible all that we achieve.

So tomorrow, I'll be giving thanks for my family -- for all the wisdom, support, and love they have brought into my life.

But tomorrow is also a day to remember those who cannot sit down to break bread with those they love. The soldier overseas holding down a lonely post and missing his kids. The sailor who left her home to serve a higher calling. The folks who must spend tomorrow apart from their families to work a second job, so they can keep food on the table or send a child to school.

We are grateful beyond words for the service and hard work of so many Americans who make our country great through their sacrifice. And this year, we know that far too many face a daily struggle that puts the comfort and security we all deserve painfully out of reach.

So when we gather tomorrow, let us also use the occasion to renew our commitment to building a more peaceful and prosperous future that every American family can enjoy.

It seems like a lifetime ago that a crowd met on a frigid February morning in Springfield, Illinois to set out on an improbable course to change our nation.

In the years since, Michelle and I have been blessed with the support and friendship of the millions of Americans who have come together to form this ongoing movement for change. You have been there through victories and setbacks. You have given of yourselves beyond measure. You have enabled all that we have accomplished -- and you have had the courage to dream yet bigger dreams for what we can still achieve.

So in this season of thanks giving, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude to you, and my anticipation of the brighter future we are creating together.

With warmest wishes for a happy holiday season from my family to yours,

President Barack Obama

Shit SB Says on the Day Before Thanksgiving

Would it be better to commit suicide or to stop by Kroger on the way home from work tonight? It's a toss up. All I have to do is pick up a few bottles of wine. If the lines are long, I'll grab an extra bottle and drink it while I'm waiting. I'll buy an extra cork-pull and a box of straws in case.

[Note for my UK friends: Kroger is our supermarket chain, like a Sainsbury's.]

A Helpful Rule from Shitmydadsays

"Everybody's broke, so here's the rule for Christmas this year; if you still shit your pants, you get a present. Otherwise tough shit."

Link to the good shit here: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

Here's Your Education for the Day

Hanging with Whores from the inimitable Slutever.

http://slutever.blogspot.com/2009/11/hanging-with-whores.html

Weird Wedding Photo

One word: Jaysus. Two more words: midgety violin?

Also a sentence: I wish Fabio, there, would button his shirt the fuck up.

Pass the Tomatoes, Motherfuckers

It's that time of year again, motherfuckers. My Indian blood is once again at war with my white-ass cracker blood. Only part of me can enjoy this time of year, because the other (Native American) part realizes that, despite the fact that my people helped whitey to survive in the New World, whitey turned around and fucked us in the ass by pillaging our land, raping our women, ravaging our tribes with disease, and basically shoving liquor and worthless land at us. As you can imagine, It's hard to enjoy the fucking turkey when this omnipresent second perspective is involved. Sometimes [Northern Exposure fans], I'd like to throw a tomato at my damnself.

[The Thanksgiving holiday and what whitey was ACTUALLY saying.] "Thank you for helping our cracker asses to survive in the New World. We couldn't have done it without you teaching us about how to grow corn and shit. In apology for building strip malls on the sacred land on which your elders are buried, here's some liquor and a reservation for you to enjoy. No--not a dinner reservation--an actual place called a reservation for your Tonto ass to call home. Oh, and should we find valuable minerals or oil on your land, we might appropriate that land, too, (our government gives us the right after all) and just move your inconvenient no-job alcoholic asses to a new reservation. But, thanks again for helping us make it here. We appreciate hell out of it. We really do."

I hope I can keep my turkey down this year. Pass the tomatoes, would you?

I Have a Special Love for this Man, and I Am Deeply Indebted to Him

I love Timothy Treadwell. There, I've said it publicly, and I feel a whole lot better, although I'm not entirely sure why. Recently, I've been watching (for the second time) Tim's extraordinary film footage of his camps in Alaska and his beloved bears and his foxes, and I am always ALWAYS moved to tears. Such a beautiful gift to all of us. Tim's life was a gift.

There is something so moving about Timothy's childlike innocence and grace and his love and apprectiation for his life and his "children." Tim was a good steward and a sweet and gentle soul. I would have given my right arm to have shared a campfire and a cup of coffee with him. I find him fascinating. I know that, like me, like many of us, Tim struggled with the darkness and drugs and drink before he found his true calling. I'm so glad his bears saved him.

I find the focus on Tim's death understandable, but unfortunate. I have to say that I don't think Tim was crazy, and I certainly don't think he was stupid, in doing what he did. What Tim actually did with his life, giving all of us such an important and miraculously close look into the world of bears and other wild creatures, was such a precious offering. I am in awe of Tim's life work. It was a short life, but a very good life. I know Tim felt that way. He said so many times, and he knew very well the risks involved. He was simply willing.

Thank you Tim Treadwell. I love you. I hope there are bears wherever you are.

More Shit SB Says

The people in your life will disappoint you six ways to Sunday, each and every one. The animals never will.

Shit SB Says (To the Moms)

If anything happens to me, you have to keep the family together. I repeat: the family must stay together! You are not allowed to give any of the cats or the asshole licker away. If you do, I shall be forced to haunt you. You have to do it. It's my dying wish.

[For once, the Moms was speechless, but with a look of abject horror.]

Unlimited Free Skittles

You know you've found a woman of substance when free Skittles would seal the deal.

Quote of the Day

The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.

--Hunter S. Thompson

Start Your Day with Sheep Fucker

Because nothing says good morning like a sheep fucker.

[Thanks to Tom for the photo! Hat tip, my brothah.]

This May Be My Favorite One Yet

From Shitmydadsays.

“We’re banned from the dog park. Well, I guess it’s okay to hump, and it’s okay to bark, but both at the same time freaks people out."

Another Kent State Tragedy

If you are from Ohio and of a certain age, the words Kent State inspire a sort of instantaneous and uncomfortable reaction, due to the student shootings that occurred there during Vietnam. For me, at least, the words evoke an immediate sense of heartbreak, much like the numbers 9/11.

The minute I saw the words Another Kent State Death this morning, I felt very sick. Much like the earlier deaths, this death is just plain senseless.

God bless Chris Kernich and his family.

http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/11/student_chris_kernich_beaten_t.php#more

Gagging on Behalf of David Foster Wallace

I'm sort of starting to get really annoyed and creeped out by the cult that has always existed, but seems to have exploded, since the late author David Foster Wallace committed suicide.

I regularly read a site dedicated to Wallace and his work, which of late has been covering a New York conference on Wallace and his writing. After reading the schedule and subject matter covered by the conference, it's strikes me that DFW has been so dissected and idolized that I wouldn't be surprised to encounter a lecture on his bowel habits. Maybe I should say "His bowel habits," because these folks have placed Foster Wallace in the holy firmament, somewhat akin to a God. Then again, maybe such a subject would not be covered in the conference, because maybe the die-harders think that Mr. Foster Wallace was too elevated to shit at all.

I think this idolatry has done DFW a very grave disservice, because his compassion and HUMANITY are precisely what made his work so great and so essentially his.

I have to honestly say (admittedly, not having known Mr. Wallace personally) that I don't believe DFW would be AT ALL happy to find his very private self so idolized and inspected. Nor do I believe he would enjoy having his work so over-analyzed and dissected.

At this point, I think some of these Wallace-philes ought to just start a David Foster Wallace Fan Club and wear badges and get it over with. Gag.

I also take the liberty to gag on behalf of Mr. Foster Wallace, because he can no longer do so himself.

[Important Note: I need to add that I do not, in any way, mean to belittle the fine work that Nick does over at The Howling Fantods!, a site I read nearly daily. I believe that Nick does all of the hard work of keeping and maintaining the site sheerly out of a love and appreciation for Wallace and his work. I am indebted.]

Parasites: The Ultimate Battle for Human Supremacy

Happy Monday, motherfuckers! I hope all of you had nice, relaxing weekends. SB had a nice weekend (it's always nice when I can be at home with my kitties and pup and my high-def TV), but it was decidedly NOT relaxing.

You should see my poor hands this morning! I have a blister in my right index finger from all the Lestoil mop water and from washing my hands literally hundreds of fucking times (UNTIL THEY FUCKING BLED) to keep flea transfer to a minimum. Also, there were the literally 30-some loads of wash I did. I went through two bottles of laundry detergent. If it wasn't nailed down, my ass washed it.

I hand-mopped all of the tile floors, and on Saturday, I ran up the road to the vet's office for a second can of the over-priced flea spray, JUST TO BE FUCKING SURE. I vacuumed each fucking room over and over and over and even went around the cocksucking baseboards. I spent about 10 hours on Saturday cleaning and at least 6 more on Sunday cleaning. Mr. Clean can kiss my fucking fat ass. I never want to see that smug grinning bald motherfucker's face AGAIN.

To top that motherfucking cocksucking shit off, I ran a brief errand Sunday afternoon, and when I got back, I found that Ginger the Diarrhetic Flea-Infested Wunderkind had gotten up and laid on the couch while I was gone. The same couch I had painstakingly swept (under cushions and in crevices and shit) multiple times earlier that day.

Normally, I put high school text books on the couch to dissuade that bony bitch from taking a nap there. Of course, I had forgotten in my hurry to leave the damn house to put the damn books on the cocksucking couch.

To say that my neighbours probably had their hands on the phone to call the PETA after the way I yelled at Ginger's dumb ass for said couch nap, would not be a stretch. YOU GODDAMN DODO MOTHERFUCKER! YOUR DAMN ASS HAD BETTER STAY OFF THE FUCKING COUCH, OR I WILL FUCKING GIVE YOU TO THE FIRST FUCKING PASSERBY! So there. Poor old flea infested bag of bones. And then I felt guilty after my little temper tantrum, of course. I will see you in hell--next to the bonfire--toasting marshmallows into perpetuity to feed to the good Christian folks in heaven who gave their retirement savings to PTL. There will be an extra chair if you want to help a bitch out.

If any of those parasitic motherfuckers are not dead or on their way to dead at this point, my ass will probably hang myself. I am only half joking.

The whole process wasn't as bad as cancer, obviously, but I think it ranks right under that. It was definitely one of the WORST FUCKING THINGS SB has ever been through in her pathetic life. I'd put it on par with my divorce. Seriously.

SB is the laziest motherfucker on Earth, and to clean like that, is just FUCKING TORTUROUS. It is soul-destroying. HAVE I BEEN DRAMATIC ENOUGH? Okay, enough already. You get it. I'll drop the pity party, but I must add that now, of course, I will have to go home after work each night this week and vacuum the entire house because I will feel itchy iffin I don't. Also, I don't know when I can safely stop vacuuming on a daily-fucking-basis, so it may be akin to that fucker in Greek mythology, holding the fucking rock into perpetuity. That is our word for the day, motherfuckers: PERPETUITY.

Thank Christ, it's a short week.

If You Think Animals Don't Feel Love, Fuck You

Below is a link to an extraordinary elephant birth. What an amazing mother!

Poor little fellow. Welcome to the world. Life is hard.

Link to video (very graphic, in case you are a squeamish pussy):

http://www.dumpert.nl/mediabase/656611/d1dfcfee/live_olifant_geboorte_tv.html

Badass Blogger Award

My good friend and fellow scooter gang member, Dish, presented SB with this here award, so I just thought I'd give a shout out to that ho (SHOUT OUT!), and say my ass appreciates that shit. It takes a Badass to know a Badass.

Actually, I know a lot of Badasses, but I'm not passing this shit on to anyone, because then the whole process gets too damn much like those idiotic chain e-mails you get that say if you are my fucking friend send this shit back to me and so on and so forth. The insanity stops here, my friends. Perhaps this is not very generous of SB, but fuck it. I could give a rat's fuck.

That being said, I love you, Dish! Thanks for the honor. I am so glad I virtually met you. You enrich my life, ho.

Craigslist May Not Be the Best Place to Try and Find a Date

hey whats up I saw you on craigslist

My name is Isaac, and I have a proposal for you. I just wanted to know if this is something that you would be open minded to do. It’s a complete shot in the dark but I thought I could ask anyways. what the hell you only live once.

I was wondering if you would be possibly open to rip farts on my head/face? I have a fetish where I actually get turned on hearing a guy or girl fart. It’s just a weird fetish that I’ve had my entire life. When i was a teenager i wrestled a lot, and my friends used to rip ass a lot and thats how it all started. My ex girl used to fart as well and that turned me on too.

I’m a real chill and down to earth guy. I’m only 25 years old, white.. I’m a pothead and stoner, completely harmless bro. im a real nice and honest guy. just trying to find someone who can fulfill my fetish.

I would be down to give you cash upfront if this is something you think you would be down to do. How much would you want? Do you fart a lot?

This isn’t anything sexual. . I just want your farts. im mostly str8, i dont talk or act gay, im one of those guys you can have a beer with. this is 100% serious and real. i just want to meet up and chill out.

i could easily get a hotel room near you, and we can chill out there, smoke, watch tv or a movie and whenever you gotta rip ass you just fart on my face thats it. its fn hard to find someone who farts a lot. i would be willing to do whatever it takes to make this happen. i want to make sure your comfortable as possible as well.

i know it would be weird at first but once you get to know i dont think you will have a problem at all. i wouldnt want you to feel uncomfortable im too nice of a guy.

Please let me know if are interested. I have a pic I can send you. If your offended or not interested, thats no problem dude. Like I said it was a short in the dark. But if you fart a lot and want to make some money then I think it’s something you should definately consider. and dude if you fart a lot then we can easily do this like 2-3 times a month so if you need some recurring incomes then this would be perfect for you.

im actually mostly straight, love women. i dont associate myself with even being gay, i dont talk or act gay or anything. im pretty much a regular guy. except for the fact i got a weird fetish and i can get turned on hearing a girl or guy fart. thats ;pretty much it.

please let me know if your down for this and i can send you some pics.

Peace bro!

Quick Post Today

Apologies blog family, but just time for a quick post today.

The REALLY AND TRULY FINAL deadline on my project is today, and I also have two more things that have cropped up here at work that I need to take care of by end of day. On top of that, we have a two-hour mandatory company-wide luncheon/meeting today, so I will be short two fucking hours to get everything done. Happy Friday!

On top of that, I found out last night that Ginger (my asshole-licking dog) has fucking fleas! I grew up with animals in the country, and never in my life have I had to deal with a flea infestation. The vet surmised that one of my new kittens may have brought them in. Yippee! And the maintenance medicine that the vet has Ginger on evidently makes her a magnet for fleas. Would have been nice if they had mentioned that earlier. Oddly, I had no trace of the fleas in my house and no bites on me. When I gave Ginger a bath last week, thinking she had some sort of skin rash, there weren't even any fleas in the damn bath water. I had no idea she was infested until the vet found them on her last night.

So much for a nice relaxing pre-Thanksgiving weekend. My ass was up to midnight last night, putting flea treatment on all the cats and washing bedding and shit and vacuuming every-fucking-goddamn-inch of the downstairs, including furniture. The forecast for SB is more of that shit tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. Plus the vet gave me some spray that I have to spray on the furniture and carpet. I called my sister in tears last night.

If any of you dear folks have dealt with fleas in the past and have any good tips, PLEASE, PLEASE, let me know. With 8 pets, I need to get rid of this shit and FAST! I will flea bomb if necessary, but am trying to avoid that, because of the mess I'm told it makes and because I have three kittens that I don't wish to poison with toxic fumes.

Have a good weekend all. I should be back to regular blogging (I hope) on Monday. Excuse my lack of comments on your blogs today. I don't think I'm going to have a lot of time for reading.

Love, SB.

The Infamous Uncle Gene

I do see a family resemblance. Definitely. It's the attitude, man.

[Thanks to Sheila and Jon for the photo. SB loves you guys!]

From Evil Bunny to Evel Knievel

This shit in the picture is sort of disappointing, especially if you are the age of myself or say, Johnny Depp. We both idolized Evel, growing up. All the kids did. In fact, Johnny once said he wanted to BE Evel when he grew up. You know why? Here's a lesson for you dumb young punks who idolize Paris Hilton and that crazy dumb ass, Lady Gaga--BECAUSE EVEL WAS COOL. He had balls the size of Canada. That fucker would jump over anything on his motorcycle, and motherfucker BROKE EVERY BONE IN HIS BODY in his lifetime. How's that for nads? [Or possibly stupidity. Nah--it was nads--I'm sticking with that.]

So you can sort of imagine my disappointment at running across the ad above. Frankly, I don't wish to remember Evel in this fashion.

SB is coveting Evel's scooter though. There's even a basket for a six-pack in the front! DAMN. The Pride Legend is clearly the Cadillac of scooters.

[Little Known Trivia: Did you know that Evel had a son named Stevel Knievel?

You can only finding exciting, but little-known, trivia like this at Sarcastic Bastard. NOWHERE ELSE.]