I'm thinking quartet of uptight pedophiles here. How about you?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
A Contender For Worst Album Cover of All Time
I still think the all-time worst album cover award goes to Joyce, but this Pepto Abysmal shit also ranks right up there. It also poses an important point. If the McDonald Sister on the left has got confidence wearing those fucking glasses, then what's your damn problem? Get out there and be confident, you low self-esteem motherfuckers!
I Just Like the Damn Photo, Okay?
There's nothing like a damn snow cone to unite a family. EVERYBODY LIKES SNOW CONES, and don't you forget it.
I Had an Unexpected Visitor in the Shower with Me this Morning
No, people, it was not Russell Crowe, goddammit. I was just lathering away, and I looked up momentarily, and there is a tiny black kitten (Bella) in the shower with me. I guess her dumb ass went to hop up on the bath tub ledge and just slid on in. I had to laugh. You should have seen the look on her face.
The other night, the Moms came over to watch the Georgia game with me, and we noticed that Bella was trying to get something behind the vacuum cleaner in the corner of the kitchen. I figured that the little mogster had lost a ball or a toy, so I grabbed the vacuum and lifted that shit up, and before I knew it, Bella had this twig-like thing in her mouth. And I started to reach down, thinking she's gotten a hold of an old plant branch or something and then, I notice the tiny little dangling feet. It was a damn mouse tail hanging out of Bella's mouth. Of all my five cats (four of which are grown and one of which lived outside for a time), the baby got a mouse.
Every time one of the grown cats would try to get in on the action, Bella would growl really loudly and deeply and that was that. It was her kill by fucking God.
Well, of course, Bella toyed with the poor rodent, and in between screaming, cursing, and climbing on a chair, because she would release the mouse, let it start to get away, and then cover it with her entire body, I managed to get her out of the house.
Once outside, I picked Bella up by her tail and her back legs and shook that cat like the bejeezus, and finally, Bella's ass dropped that poor mouse, and it scurried under the neighbor's front porch.
Never a dull moment around my place. Not with five cats and a mentally unhinged canine.
And, of course, Georgia won. Go dawgs!
The other night, the Moms came over to watch the Georgia game with me, and we noticed that Bella was trying to get something behind the vacuum cleaner in the corner of the kitchen. I figured that the little mogster had lost a ball or a toy, so I grabbed the vacuum and lifted that shit up, and before I knew it, Bella had this twig-like thing in her mouth. And I started to reach down, thinking she's gotten a hold of an old plant branch or something and then, I notice the tiny little dangling feet. It was a damn mouse tail hanging out of Bella's mouth. Of all my five cats (four of which are grown and one of which lived outside for a time), the baby got a mouse.
Every time one of the grown cats would try to get in on the action, Bella would growl really loudly and deeply and that was that. It was her kill by fucking God.
Well, of course, Bella toyed with the poor rodent, and in between screaming, cursing, and climbing on a chair, because she would release the mouse, let it start to get away, and then cover it with her entire body, I managed to get her out of the house.
Once outside, I picked Bella up by her tail and her back legs and shook that cat like the bejeezus, and finally, Bella's ass dropped that poor mouse, and it scurried under the neighbor's front porch.
Never a dull moment around my place. Not with five cats and a mentally unhinged canine.
And, of course, Georgia won. Go dawgs!
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Family Reunion Yesterday
Moms, Daddums, and my ass went to the family reunion yesterday, and my Great Aunt Merle, who is 90 years old, decided to bump herself up five more years, as if 90-goddamn-years-old is NOT DAMN OLD ENOUGH. When I told the Moms that Aunt Merle was 90, Aunt Merle said, "Actually I'm 95." The Moms mouthed (NINETY) to me, while standing behind Aunt Merle.
Fuck it, I say. If you're 90-damn-years-old, you may as well be 95 or 100. It's sort of immaterial and not like lying to stretch that shit a bit.
Aunt Merle crochets tiny little baby blankets for the infants who die, while trying to be born, at the hospital where her daughter works. Isn't that nice? She said that some people advise her that she is wasting her time, since the infants are dead anyway, and they don't know the difference between a cozy blanket and shinola, but I told Aunt Merle that I thought that was a bunch of damn bullshit. Merle said at her age (95), she doesn't really give a rat's ass what people think. Good for her!
One other cousin (I forget his name, because I don't much like him) has only one leg. He was in a motorcycle accident of some sort. He had a prosthesis, but never liked wearing it, so he had one of those motorized scooters. When he went to leave, he stowed the damn scooter in the back of his van and then hopped on one leg around to the driver's side. This cousin is nice enough, but sort of a damn blowhard, so I avoided him. I don't like to converse with loud types. They irritate piss out of me.
Another cousin, Butch, started telling me about how his daughter's were all sluts and only one daughter out of "the whole damn bunch" had married well. He even went on to lament that he had a little "nigger grandbaby" that he didn't even acknowledge. I wasn't brave like my friend Ms. Moon, and I didn't want to disrespect the damn pinhead, so I just acted like I was interested in some photos that my cousin Sue Lynn was passing around and moved the hell away from Butch's dumb ass.
My Uncle Doyle was there, too, but he had the oxygen on. He was a WWII vet, and he stopped at a McDonald's outside the park to pick a sandwich up. We had plenty of scratch-cooking food to eat, but his ass hadn't contributed to the meal, so he wasn't going to damn well mooch, by God.
The Moms said that Doyle's generation was just like that--they didn't mooch--and they always expected to contribute. This made me feel REALLY BAD about being a part of Generation X, because we are all a bunch of damn losers and slackers. Uncle Doyle's generation was THE GREATEST GENERATION, and my generation is THE LOSERIEST GENERATION. Also, we dress poorly.
We had only about 14 people total at the reunion. I was the only semi-young person there. There wasn't even one damn toddler or infant. That shit was depressing.
What the hell's wrong with young people (or even middle-aged people) that they don't want to know their extended family? [If you're a damn ignorant bonehead who doesn't attend family reunions, maybe you can tell us all why. We won't judge.]
Fuck it, I say. If you're 90-damn-years-old, you may as well be 95 or 100. It's sort of immaterial and not like lying to stretch that shit a bit.
Aunt Merle crochets tiny little baby blankets for the infants who die, while trying to be born, at the hospital where her daughter works. Isn't that nice? She said that some people advise her that she is wasting her time, since the infants are dead anyway, and they don't know the difference between a cozy blanket and shinola, but I told Aunt Merle that I thought that was a bunch of damn bullshit. Merle said at her age (95), she doesn't really give a rat's ass what people think. Good for her!
One other cousin (I forget his name, because I don't much like him) has only one leg. He was in a motorcycle accident of some sort. He had a prosthesis, but never liked wearing it, so he had one of those motorized scooters. When he went to leave, he stowed the damn scooter in the back of his van and then hopped on one leg around to the driver's side. This cousin is nice enough, but sort of a damn blowhard, so I avoided him. I don't like to converse with loud types. They irritate piss out of me.
Another cousin, Butch, started telling me about how his daughter's were all sluts and only one daughter out of "the whole damn bunch" had married well. He even went on to lament that he had a little "nigger grandbaby" that he didn't even acknowledge. I wasn't brave like my friend Ms. Moon, and I didn't want to disrespect the damn pinhead, so I just acted like I was interested in some photos that my cousin Sue Lynn was passing around and moved the hell away from Butch's dumb ass.
My Uncle Doyle was there, too, but he had the oxygen on. He was a WWII vet, and he stopped at a McDonald's outside the park to pick a sandwich up. We had plenty of scratch-cooking food to eat, but his ass hadn't contributed to the meal, so he wasn't going to damn well mooch, by God.
The Moms said that Doyle's generation was just like that--they didn't mooch--and they always expected to contribute. This made me feel REALLY BAD about being a part of Generation X, because we are all a bunch of damn losers and slackers. Uncle Doyle's generation was THE GREATEST GENERATION, and my generation is THE LOSERIEST GENERATION. Also, we dress poorly.
We had only about 14 people total at the reunion. I was the only semi-young person there. There wasn't even one damn toddler or infant. That shit was depressing.
What the hell's wrong with young people (or even middle-aged people) that they don't want to know their extended family? [If you're a damn ignorant bonehead who doesn't attend family reunions, maybe you can tell us all why. We won't judge.]
Friday, September 25, 2009
For Owen and Ms. Moon on His Birth
I wish I had written this, but it was written by Shawn Mullins. Everytime I hear this song (the last half), I think of my friend, Ms. Moon. Owen is born to shimmer. He's born to shine. Ms. Moon already does.
Sharing with us what he knows
shining eyes are big and blue
and all around him water flows
this world to him is new
this world to him is new
to touch a face
to kiss a smile
new eyes see no race
the essence of a child
the essence of a child
he's born to shimmer
he's born to shine
he's born to radiate
he's born to live
he's born to love
but we'll teach him not to hate
true love it is a rock
smoothed over by a stream
no ticking of a clock
truly measures what that means
truly measures what that means
and this thing they call our time
heard a brilliant woman say
she said you know it's crazy
how I want to capture mine
I think I love this woman's way
I think I love this woman's way
she shimmers, the way she shines
the way she radiates
the way she lives, the way she loves
the way she never hates
sometimes I think of all this that can surround me
I know it all as being mine
but she kisses me and and wraps herself around me
she gives me love, she gives me time
yeahh.... and I am fine
but time I cannot change
so here's to looking back
you know I drink a whole bottle
of my pride and I toast to change
to keep these demons off my back
to keep these demons off my back
cause I want to shimmer, i want to shine
I want to radiate
I want to live, I want to love
I want to try to learn not to hate
try not to hate
we're born to shimmer
we're born to shine
we're born to live, we're born to love
we're born to never hate
Sharing with us what he knows
shining eyes are big and blue
and all around him water flows
this world to him is new
this world to him is new
to touch a face
to kiss a smile
new eyes see no race
the essence of a child
the essence of a child
he's born to shimmer
he's born to shine
he's born to radiate
he's born to live
he's born to love
but we'll teach him not to hate
true love it is a rock
smoothed over by a stream
no ticking of a clock
truly measures what that means
truly measures what that means
and this thing they call our time
heard a brilliant woman say
she said you know it's crazy
how I want to capture mine
I think I love this woman's way
I think I love this woman's way
she shimmers, the way she shines
the way she radiates
the way she lives, the way she loves
the way she never hates
sometimes I think of all this that can surround me
I know it all as being mine
but she kisses me and and wraps herself around me
she gives me love, she gives me time
yeahh.... and I am fine
but time I cannot change
so here's to looking back
you know I drink a whole bottle
of my pride and I toast to change
to keep these demons off my back
to keep these demons off my back
cause I want to shimmer, i want to shine
I want to radiate
I want to live, I want to love
I want to try to learn not to hate
try not to hate
we're born to shimmer
we're born to shine
we're born to live, we're born to love
we're born to never hate
Not Waving But Drowning
Not Waving But Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
[In my college poetry class, we were asked to select a poem to read, and this is the one that SB chose. My ass loves larking too!]
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
[In my college poetry class, we were asked to select a poem to read, and this is the one that SB chose. My ass loves larking too!]
When Alvin Prescott Ate
[Alvin Prescott]
I recently read that when Elvis had his beloved cook, Mamie, make him peanut butter and nana sandwiches, Mamie used an ENTIRE LOAF OF WHITE BREAD! You people read that shit right. Elvis ate AN ENTIRE LOAF OF WHITE BREAD in one blow. [Note that Elvis ate WHITE BREAD, and not that shitty wheat crap, just like SB. I want Wonder Bread, goddammit! And so did the King.]
SB wishes her ass had a live-in cook (and a doctor on call to write prescriptions for me, but I digress), who I could call up AT ANY HOUR to appease my slightest gastronomical whim.
If he took a notion, Elvis could ring Mamie in her room at midnight and say, "Goddammit Mamie, I'd like a damn red velvet cake from scratch! Wake me up when it's ready." And that bitch would have to haul ass down to the kitchen and bake that damn cake in the middle of the night. Everybody should have a Mamie.
To me, Elvis is like family. I'm allowed to poke a little fun about his eating habits and weight, but goddammit, NOBODY ELSE HAD BETTER! Or it will be like:
What did you say about the King, motherfucker? WHAT DID YOUR DUMB ASS JUST SAY? ELVIS WAS A GOOD BOY, GODDAMMIT.
Growing up, I watched Elvis movies all the time. My favorite was Blue Hawaii. Every time I light a damn tiki torch, even today, I expect Elvis to magically appear, wearing a lei and holding a damn ukulele. It's kind of disappointing when he doesn't show.
My grandma used to say, "Alvin was a good boy. He never hurt anybody but himself, and he liked to make people happy by giving them Cadillacs. Alvin knew what it was to be poor." Grandma Peg was from Mississippi, and she took particular pride in Elvis, who also hailed from Mississippi, except that Grandma was a little hard of hearing and called him Alvin Prescott. We tried correcting her, but grandma was a tad stubborn and that shit didn't fly.NOTE: Grandma also thought my REALLY OBESE friend, Tina was named Tiny. She really fumed about that shit and said, "Her parents had some nerve naming that girl Tiny!"
Thursday, September 24, 2009
More Wendell Berry
The poem below has been a saving grace in my life. I've posted it before, and I'm posting it here again. I refer to it in times of uncertainty, darkness, and fear. It reminds me that there is beauty and goodness still in the world.
“When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be -- I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things, who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world and am free.”
“When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be -- I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things, who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world and am free.”
Wendell Berry For Ms. Moon
“We clasp the hands of those that go before us, And the hands of those who come after us. We enter the little circle of each other's arms And the larger circle of lovers, Whose hands are joined in a dance, And the larger circle of all creatures, Passing in and out of life, Who move also in a dance, To a music so subtle and vast that no ear hears it Except in fragments”"The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it."
Quote from President Carter
War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children. [Clearly, some Christians understand what Jesus taught.]
Did You Know There Are Three Races?
There are three races, Jews, Gentiles and the Church.
BibleNuggetLady [ButtNuggetLady]
BibleNuggetLady [ButtNuggetLady]
Dumb Ass Christians: Fair and Balanced
No need to watch the news, I've got a bible.
Hypothetical conversation between a friend and I: Hey, did you hear the news, asks the friend. Yeah, we talked about it yesterday in church, I reply. But, that's impossible, this just happened today! How could you have talked about this yesterday if it happened today, he exclaims. Well you see, it's all written right here in this bible, I answer with a smile.
Fair and balanced
brownbear
Hypothetical conversation between a friend and I: Hey, did you hear the news, asks the friend. Yeah, we talked about it yesterday in church, I reply. But, that's impossible, this just happened today! How could you have talked about this yesterday if it happened today, he exclaims. Well you see, it's all written right here in this bible, I answer with a smile.
Fair and balanced
brownbear
Dumb Ass Christians: Carl "Bright Boy" Everett
God created the sun, the stars, the heavens and the earth, and then made Adam and Eve. The Bible never says anything about dinosaurs. You can't say there were dinosaurs when you never saw them. Someone actually saw Adam and Eve. No one ever saw a Tyrannosaurus rex.
Carl Everett
Carl Everett
Daily Dumb Ass Christians: Englands Rose
id find it disrespectful if someone called me jewish so i cant imagine how insulted jesus and moses would feel if they were called jewish. i just dont think we should insult them like that when im sure they would rather be called christians. i just dont think it is right to call them jewish when they seem more like christians to me. someone once said you can tell who a christian is by their fruits. its probably blasfamous to call them jewish it is just rude. everyone thinks of them as christians no one ever thinks of jesus as jewish do they?
Englands Rose
[I'm glad this ho is English. One less prejudiced nutjob with wretched grammatical skills over here.]
Englands Rose
[I'm glad this ho is English. One less prejudiced nutjob with wretched grammatical skills over here.]
Naked Baristas Hocking Sexpresso Busted for Prostitution
Some Puritan motherfuckers want to ruin everybody else's fun.
Link to story at the fabulous True Crime Report: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/09/naked_baristas_hit_for_prostit.php
Link to story at the fabulous True Crime Report: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/09/naked_baristas_hit_for_prostit.php
Shit SB Says
"Here, have a Golden Oreo. If they're good enough for that jackass Donald Trump, they're good enough for you."
Gingermagnolia's Post for SB
Gingermagnolia was sweet enough to put up a post for yours truly, and I wanted to share it.
If you are interested (and goddammit, who wouldn't be), check that shit out here: http://gingermagnolia.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/the-pimp/
SB loves her some Gingermagnolia!
If you are interested (and goddammit, who wouldn't be), check that shit out here: http://gingermagnolia.wordpress.com/2009/09/23/the-pimp/
SB loves her some Gingermagnolia!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
SB Is Getting SO FUCKING FAT
SB is getting SO FUCKING FAT that I think the fabric in my pants is getting sucked up my ass. It happens, people. MORE OF ME TO LOVE!
Fat is the new thin.
Fat is the new thin.
Dumb Ass Christians on Natural Selection
If natural selection is a universal rule, molecules will find ways to live on the surface of the sun.
Mada
[Uhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm, okay. Clearly there is some sort of epic genius at work here that SB is not privy to.]
Mada
[Uhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm, okay. Clearly there is some sort of epic genius at work here that SB is not privy to.]
Dumb Ass Christians
The final dream of my life, I am raptured, taken away by God and joining a crowd of people in the sky where I had to search to find my Grandma. When I had this dream in 4th grade I was not a Christian and I did not knowing anything about the Rapture. God has given me the opportunity to write this post before this happens.
I believe that the only reason I am writing this is to let everyone know I was not taken by aliens. I think that the government and the world will tell you that all the missing children and the Christians who have the Holy Spirit that have suddenly dissapeared were taken by aliens or maybe they will say it was a solar flare. Do not be surprised if you see lots of black objects in the sky, they are not from another world. They are part of "the devil's plan to confuse you. Everything you need to know is in Revelations, in the Bible.
You will be able to become a Christian after the Rapture, I do not know if the Holy Spirit will be here though. Do not accept the mark of the beast. I believe the Rapture will occur in the next few days. I have been attacked by evil several times this week and I am grateful that I was able to post this message. I will not be posting another message. I have no private agenda associated with this post. I am a happy disabled person who is not trying to write a book or introduce you to a website. This message is of pure intentions and love and I wish no one to be afraid. I want you to be ready and know that Jesus died for you and does not want you to go to Hell. He created Hell for fallen angels not humans. You will be able to accept Christ during the next 7 years.
[Bless him, at least he wants no one to be afraid. Isn't that novel? I am glad I can accept Christ as a backup plan if I need to.]
dougl
I believe that the only reason I am writing this is to let everyone know I was not taken by aliens. I think that the government and the world will tell you that all the missing children and the Christians who have the Holy Spirit that have suddenly dissapeared were taken by aliens or maybe they will say it was a solar flare. Do not be surprised if you see lots of black objects in the sky, they are not from another world. They are part of "the devil's plan to confuse you. Everything you need to know is in Revelations, in the Bible.
You will be able to become a Christian after the Rapture, I do not know if the Holy Spirit will be here though. Do not accept the mark of the beast. I believe the Rapture will occur in the next few days. I have been attacked by evil several times this week and I am grateful that I was able to post this message. I will not be posting another message. I have no private agenda associated with this post. I am a happy disabled person who is not trying to write a book or introduce you to a website. This message is of pure intentions and love and I wish no one to be afraid. I want you to be ready and know that Jesus died for you and does not want you to go to Hell. He created Hell for fallen angels not humans. You will be able to accept Christ during the next 7 years.
[Bless him, at least he wants no one to be afraid. Isn't that novel? I am glad I can accept Christ as a backup plan if I need to.]
dougl
For Syd: Memaw's Unfortunate Choice of Shirt
Clearly, Memaw is headed to the disco after graduation to pick her up a white shoe, gold chain-wearing Pepaw.
[This post is dedicated to my dear friend Syd, who has the SADS. I am hoping I can cheer him up some.]
[This post is dedicated to my dear friend Syd, who has the SADS. I am hoping I can cheer him up some.]
It's Important to Remember How Lucky You Are
If your life is only partially or relatively shitty, then you are lucky. I point this out not just to you, my beloved readers, but also to remind myself, who tends to get depressed at the drop of a hat for sometimes no good reason, other than unfortunate physical wiring.
Last night, I found out that a dear friend's husband has cancer. I think he'll be fine, he's young and in good shape, but it's still damn scary. I love my friend, who has had a string of really bad luck, and it makes me mad and gives me the SADS all at the same time.
I have another good friend, who is currently struggling with lung cancer. Her prognosis is good, but that word sure is scary, don't you think? That word scares hell out of me, and I don't scare easily.
This morning, I found out, while talking round the coffeemaker, that another friend, who lost his young wife unexpectedly, and then shortly after his mother (who had been helping a lot with his young kids after his wife died), now has his dad in the hospital with lung cancer. Goddamn it makes me mad for him. He said he didn't sleep well last night because he had a lot on his mind. This is what led to the conversation about his father.
Then, before I got away from the coffee room, another co-worker told me that his Grandma, who was in the hospital and about to come home yesterday, was found in her room (before checking out of the hospital) and had had some sort of seizure. Looks like she won't be checking out after all.
Life is hard, and you are lucky if you don't have big troubles. The Moms points stuff like this out to me when I am feeling depressed, and it makes me angry in a way, that in order to feel better about living, I have to look at some poor unfortunate person who has it worse, but I know it's true and that I don't have much to piss and moan about compared to a lot of folks.
Life is hard, and I am damn lucky.
Last night, I found out that a dear friend's husband has cancer. I think he'll be fine, he's young and in good shape, but it's still damn scary. I love my friend, who has had a string of really bad luck, and it makes me mad and gives me the SADS all at the same time.
I have another good friend, who is currently struggling with lung cancer. Her prognosis is good, but that word sure is scary, don't you think? That word scares hell out of me, and I don't scare easily.
This morning, I found out, while talking round the coffeemaker, that another friend, who lost his young wife unexpectedly, and then shortly after his mother (who had been helping a lot with his young kids after his wife died), now has his dad in the hospital with lung cancer. Goddamn it makes me mad for him. He said he didn't sleep well last night because he had a lot on his mind. This is what led to the conversation about his father.
Then, before I got away from the coffee room, another co-worker told me that his Grandma, who was in the hospital and about to come home yesterday, was found in her room (before checking out of the hospital) and had had some sort of seizure. Looks like she won't be checking out after all.
Life is hard, and you are lucky if you don't have big troubles. The Moms points stuff like this out to me when I am feeling depressed, and it makes me angry in a way, that in order to feel better about living, I have to look at some poor unfortunate person who has it worse, but I know it's true and that I don't have much to piss and moan about compared to a lot of folks.
Life is hard, and I am damn lucky.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Stupid Republicans: Rick Santorum
"Isn't that the ultimate homeland security, standing up and defending marriage?"
-- Sen. Rick Santorum
-- Sen. Rick Santorum
Dumb-Ass Christians: Think of a Cloudly Day
Background: This is a question about the logic in light being created on the first day, but the sun being created on the fourth.
The sun isn't the only source of light you know? Think of a cloudly day, there's light coming from somewhere.
[And also the light shines out of my behind.]
fancier_rmv04
The sun isn't the only source of light you know? Think of a cloudly day, there's light coming from somewhere.
[And also the light shines out of my behind.]
fancier_rmv04
I Guess SB Qualifies as Conflicted
I just stopped at K-fart at lunch and bought a bottle of Slimquick, a pack of Golden Oreos, two cans of Easy Cheese, three bags of Dubble Bubble jumbo Halloween gum mix, and a large bottle of Pinot Grigio. [I honestly did.] And no, the checkout boy did NOT look at me strangely.
Do you think I have a problem? It's a rhetorical question, motherfuckers.
Do you think I have a problem? It's a rhetorical question, motherfuckers.
Shit SB Says to Daddums
[That's the daddums on the left and my brother, Lawnmower Injury Boy, in red next to him. This photo was taken at hunting camp, even though it looks like it could be a gay camp.]The daddum's ass doesn't even know how to copy and paste. Fucker is computer illiterate. I shit you not.
"Look motherfucker, your ass is retired. You have time to read up and learn how to do this shit. My ass works a J-O-B, and I don't have time to be teaching computer skills to challenged motherfuckers."
Stupid Republicans: Orrin Hatch
"Capital punishment is our way of demonstrating the sanctity of life."
-- Orrin Hatch
Does the entire party have two good brain cells to rub together?
-- Orrin Hatch
Does the entire party have two good brain cells to rub together?
I Am Praying For God To Break Your Spine
"I am going to pray for God to cripple you with a horrifically painful injury that will leave you hospitalized for many months. Although this may sound terrible, it will become the single greatest thing that has ever happened to you in your entire life, for it will teach you that God is real and after accepting Jesus Christ, you will be given the gift of everlasting life. I am going to pray for God to break your spine and leave you in a wheel chair for the rest of your life.
I am also going to ask every Christian who sees this video to make the same prayer once a day until your spine is crushed and you will never be able to walk again. The view count on this video will basically become a countdown to your injury. As the view count rises, that means more and more Christians are likely to have seen this video and have already started praying. If you decide you want to stop this from happening you must make a video proclaiming that you have accepted Jesus Christ into your heart and asking him to forgive you for your sins. After doing so I will immediately pull this video.
For those Christians who feel like this is too harsh, I believe that C0ct0pusPrime is too far gone to be able to reach salvation through rational discussion. Participating in this prayer may be our only hope of rescuing him from burning in agonizing pain for an eternity in the pits of hell."
[I am too fucking astounded to really comment on this one.]
ChampionOfElohim
I am also going to ask every Christian who sees this video to make the same prayer once a day until your spine is crushed and you will never be able to walk again. The view count on this video will basically become a countdown to your injury. As the view count rises, that means more and more Christians are likely to have seen this video and have already started praying. If you decide you want to stop this from happening you must make a video proclaiming that you have accepted Jesus Christ into your heart and asking him to forgive you for your sins. After doing so I will immediately pull this video.
For those Christians who feel like this is too harsh, I believe that C0ct0pusPrime is too far gone to be able to reach salvation through rational discussion. Participating in this prayer may be our only hope of rescuing him from burning in agonizing pain for an eternity in the pits of hell."
[I am too fucking astounded to really comment on this one.]
ChampionOfElohim
From Shit My Dad Says
"No, you can not borrow my t-shirt...How about instead of standing there looking shocked, you do your fucking laundry?"
Link to Shit My Dad Says: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Link to Shit My Dad Says: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Pig Fucking Tuesday
SB proclaims this shitting day Pig Fucking Tuesday. I don't know why, so don't ask me. It just is, because I damn well say so.The young man in the photo is getting a priceless education, and Mastercard can't buy that shit.
SB grew up in the country and this stuff happens. Hell, I thought the animals were just hugging as a kid. I didn't know. Whatever.
How is Pig Fucking Tuesday going for you all?
SB is still a grumpy motherfucker, due to the gray pigfucking weather, and I AM GOING TO SHANK A BITCH if I don't get some sun soon.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sorry Scientists--You Don't Qualify as Normal People
bats are birds because they fly and look like birds. that's how we define things: by looking at them.
(later) [obviously, this took so much brain power to compose, this guy had to take a break and come back and finish it later]
ostriches are birds because they look like birds. flight is not necessary, if they are enough similar to a bird.
i wouldn't call penguins birds because they look kinda weird. a little birdish, but not entirely birds. they are waterbirds.
i think it's foolish to say that an animal is a different kind of animal just because it is warmblooded or coldblooded, or if it lays eggs instead of children, because a normal person can't even notice if a creature has warm blood or not, only scientists can do that, so scientists can have their definitions and we normal people have our own
omicron7
(later) [obviously, this took so much brain power to compose, this guy had to take a break and come back and finish it later]
ostriches are birds because they look like birds. flight is not necessary, if they are enough similar to a bird.
i wouldn't call penguins birds because they look kinda weird. a little birdish, but not entirely birds. they are waterbirds.
i think it's foolish to say that an animal is a different kind of animal just because it is warmblooded or coldblooded, or if it lays eggs instead of children, because a normal person can't even notice if a creature has warm blood or not, only scientists can do that, so scientists can have their definitions and we normal people have our own
omicron7
People Will Probably Start Eating Fetuses
Eating fetuses is MURDER & CANNIBALISM.
This is one reason why abortion should be banned. People will probably eat fetuses when abortion is made legal.
Karl [Clearly, Karl won the Smartest title in high school.]
This is one reason why abortion should be banned. People will probably eat fetuses when abortion is made legal.
Karl [Clearly, Karl won the Smartest title in high school.]
Cookie the Christian
My son's daughter and I were riding down the road and the door locks started opening and locking by themselves.
At first I thought I had hit the button on the door, when I realized I didn't and it kept happening, I asked my son's girlfriend is it was her, she said no.
As it kept happening we both became alarmed, she said it must be a ghost. I said they're is no such thing, I said it could be an evil spirit. I asked her is she was messing with anything she shouldn't "weegie board, etc". (excuse my spelling, not sure how to spell that board) She said no.
As the door locking and unlocking continued the more alarmed we got. My son's girlfriend said what should I do "she was driving" I said to pull into the upcoming shopping center and told her we should pray. [BIG EYE ROLL]
In prayer I asked the Lord to take away what ever it was and asked for His protection. I had absolute faith that as a child of God He would answer our prayer. My son's girlfriend agreed in prayer.
After we prayed the locking and unlocking of doors stopped, completely stopped. What the heck was this?
I haven't been spiritually attacked in a LONG time. I feel very secure in my faith and relationship with the Lord, why this now?
Any input will be greatly appreciated! [Trust me, SB's input would not be appreciated by Cookie.]
Cookie
At first I thought I had hit the button on the door, when I realized I didn't and it kept happening, I asked my son's girlfriend is it was her, she said no.
As it kept happening we both became alarmed, she said it must be a ghost. I said they're is no such thing, I said it could be an evil spirit. I asked her is she was messing with anything she shouldn't "weegie board, etc". (excuse my spelling, not sure how to spell that board) She said no.
As the door locking and unlocking continued the more alarmed we got. My son's girlfriend said what should I do "she was driving" I said to pull into the upcoming shopping center and told her we should pray. [BIG EYE ROLL]
In prayer I asked the Lord to take away what ever it was and asked for His protection. I had absolute faith that as a child of God He would answer our prayer. My son's girlfriend agreed in prayer.
After we prayed the locking and unlocking of doors stopped, completely stopped. What the heck was this?
I haven't been spiritually attacked in a LONG time. I feel very secure in my faith and relationship with the Lord, why this now?
Any input will be greatly appreciated! [Trust me, SB's input would not be appreciated by Cookie.]
Cookie
Dumb Ass Christians: Beyond Idiocy
I was taking a walk with my next door neighbor this morning, passing through the adjacent neighborhood as we always do during our walks. My neighbor and I were having "lady talk", discussing current events, and, walking our dogs in addition. Suddenly, as I stopped to untwist the leash that had gotten caught under my dog's leg, I began to peer around a noticed a rather peculiar sight.....THE ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD WAS EMPTY!!!!!! And while I turned out to be incorrect, I thought for quite sometime that the rapture could have occurred without us even knowing it!!!! Alas , it was simply a false alarm, as I once again got excited over nothing, though it made me realize just how excited I am to experience it!!!!
KarenWaits4Him
KarenWaits4Him
Planned Parenthood Protestors
Planned Parenthood protestors - w4m
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Date: 2009-07-12, 1:48AM CDT
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I was having trouble finding the clinic Saturday morning, but then I saw you guys waving your signs around, and I knew exactly which exit to take.
I made it to my abortion with five minutes to spare. Keep up the good work!
Location: South Austin
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
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Date: 2009-07-12, 1:48AM CDT
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I was having trouble finding the clinic Saturday morning, but then I saw you guys waving your signs around, and I knew exactly which exit to take.
I made it to my abortion with five minutes to spare. Keep up the good work!
Location: South Austin
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Robbie Williams and SB Could Hang Out and Eat Pizza
I love Robbie Williams, bless his chubby little heart. He's a fucked up mess, but he's honest about it. Updated on Sunday, September 20, 2009, 17:25 IST London: Robbie Williams has finally explained how he ballooned after his decision to retire.
First he explained that he had burnt out and wanted to do something substantial."I had burnt out. I was completely burnt out. That was it. I decided, I`m retiring. I didn`t say it but I thought it. I thought, I'm going to go off and do something else,” the News of the World quoted him as saying."I thought it would present itself to me. It would be a proper job. It would be humanitarian,” he added.
However, the singer confessed that he sat and ate till his waistline started increasing rapidly.He said: "I just sat on my a*** and ate. I was waiting on the sofa for something to happen and I wasn`t very pro-active about searching for this other job."
But the ‘Lazy Days’ hitmaker is making a comeback.
"Nothing came along and then the album presented itself. I`d got enough sleep and I was ready to come back and go, `Hey what do you think of this?`” he said.
Robbie still loves food and plans to lay back once he is done with the new album. He added: "If the world was going to end in three months I would gorge myself. So many times women get the man of their dreams, they get the ring on and eats lots of food and get massive. “And I`m reversing the roles. That`s what I`m going to do when this album's over."
Lennon Quote
"Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink.... I don't know what will go first, rock 'n' roll or Christianity. We're more popular than Jesus now. Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me." - John Lennon March 5 1966, Interview London Evening Standard
The disciples ruin it for me, too, especially the current-day ones.
The disciples ruin it for me, too, especially the current-day ones.
I Feel the Same Damn Way
I feel the same way as my friend, Sheria, about the appalling current events in our nation. I am just sickened. I want to share her excellent post here (link below). I couldn't have said it any better.
And I'm not posting funny shit today, because my ass doesn't feel like being funny. I am a grump, but the Moms did call and invite me over for homemade spaghetti tonight. So there's that to look forward to at least. I'm 40 some now, and that's all it takes to cheer me up from the appalling state of the nation. Homemade fucking spaghetti.
Link to Sheria's post: http://theexaminedlife-sheria.blogspot.com/2009/09/exploding-dream-deferred.html
And I'm not posting funny shit today, because my ass doesn't feel like being funny. I am a grump, but the Moms did call and invite me over for homemade spaghetti tonight. So there's that to look forward to at least. I'm 40 some now, and that's all it takes to cheer me up from the appalling state of the nation. Homemade fucking spaghetti.
Link to Sheria's post: http://theexaminedlife-sheria.blogspot.com/2009/09/exploding-dream-deferred.html
Friday, September 18, 2009
Ronnie Wood Is Such a Charming Man
I shouldn't laugh about this, but I did. Evidently, Ronnie Wood and his new slag, I mean girlfriend, had a bit of a spat (when Ronnie talked about having dinner with his long-suffering estranged wife, Jo). The couple were heard yelling at each other in the street.
Ekaterina supposedly screamed, "I'm going to kill myself. You are going to find me dead."
To which Ronnie replied:
"Fuck off home you slut."
Ekaterina supposedly screamed, "I'm going to kill myself. You are going to find me dead."
To which Ronnie replied:
"Fuck off home you slut."
My Favorite Quote of All Time
Jesus is particularly stimulating to me, since he noticed what I can’t help noticing, that life is so hard most people are losers or feel like losers, so that a skill essential to most of us, if we are to retain some shred of dignity, is to show grace in defeat. That to me is the lesson he taught while up on the cross, whether he was God or not. And he was neither the first nor the last human being, if that is what he was, to teach that while in unbelievable agony.
As for the preaching of formal Christianity, I am all for it. What I can’t stand are sermons which say that to believe in the divinity of Jesus is a way to win.
--Kurt Vonnegut
As for the preaching of formal Christianity, I am all for it. What I can’t stand are sermons which say that to believe in the divinity of Jesus is a way to win.
--Kurt Vonnegut
Kurt Vonnegut's Last Interview
Kurt Vonnegut’s last interview
By Andrew Purcell ⋅ March 17, 2009
This article first appeared in the Sunday Herald, in March 2006
Kurt Vonnegut is dwelling on the apocalypse. It’s not that his omelette isn’t good. It’s not that his mood is downcast, but for the third time over lunch America’s funniest and most pessimistic novelist is explaining why he will welcome the end of the world. “I don’t like life very much for what it does to other people,” he says. This is by no means the most depressing statement he makes between starter and main course, but somehow, by the time we leave the restaurant I feel inspired and full of hope.
Taken at face value, Vonnegut’s worldview is appallingly bleak. He tells me that “all the other species are dying and so will we.” He argues that almost everybody is “humiliated, frustrated, terribly disappointed ” and compares life to an enforced spell in the army lasting eighty years instead of three. An hour in the company of such an acutely-aware Eeyore could be dispiriting, were it not for his belief in the redemptive power of creativity and his endless capacity for jokes. “I’m whistling as I walk past the graveyard,” he admits, “and I’m whistling as beautifully as I can.”
A Man Without A Country has been presented as Vonnegut’s final testament, eight years after he announced that he would never publish again. It contains many familiar themes, some old gags, and several passages lifted verbatim from previous essays and speeches, most of which first appeared in the left-wing magazine In These Times. He credits his publisher, Daniel Simon, with “doing for me what Jesus did for Lazarus.”
“I was so dead I stank,” he continues, “I’m as surprised as anyone to be back at the age of eighty-three and I’m embarrassed to have lived so long. I was in a house fire some years ago and it would have been much more tasteful to have died back then.”
For all the references to his advanced years, and his continued loyalty to unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes, Vonnegut is in remarkably good health. His wheezing laugh, the tar pit depths of his baritone and the occasional coughing fit testify to seventy years of smoking, but he doesn’t light up. In New York, even literary icons must keep their habit at home. A glass of wine is declined because “it hits me too hard these days”.
It has often been remarked that as he grows older, he increasingly resembles Mark Twain, one of his heroes. The curls are tighter and darker, the moustache less pronounced, and despite his frailty he looks younger than Twain in his declining years, even though Huckleberry Finn’s creator never saw seventy-five. The photograph on the front cover of the new book, taken by his wife Jill Krementz, is a good one. “It’s a good face, fer chrissakes,” he cackles.
Manners are important to him, and he regrets their passing. He is unfailingly courteous, and once wrote that if he dined with Nixon’s defence secretary, he would discuss global annihilation with a smile. If promoting a new book is a chore, it never shows. He tells the waitress “this place is great… I eat less than this on Thanksgiving.”
And so on.
Born in Indianapolis in 1922, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was encouraged to believe that once the Great Depression was over technological advances would ensure prosperity for all. His father, an architect, insisted that he should become a scientist like his brother. “What actually happened,” he recalls in his collected speeches, “was that we dropped scientific truth on Hiroshima. We killed everybody there.”
As he had recently experienced his mother’s suicide, fought in World War Two and witnessed the fire-bombing of Dresden as a captive of the German army, he decided, not unreasonably, that there was no longer much cause for optimism. “I predicted that everything would become worse,” he says, “and everything has become worse.”
In 1958 his sister Alice died of cancer the day after her husband John was killed in a train crash. Vonnegut and his wife adopted their three children. They already had three of their own.
“I try to be truthful,” he continues, “My God, after the Holocaust isn’t it time we gave up as a species? After the First World War wasn’t it time we gave up? We’re perfectly awful animals and we’re intelligent enough to know about it.”
This dim view of the world permeates Vonnegut’s fiction, without ever becoming corrosive, thanks to an endless parade of wild ideas, elegantly constructed comic set-pieces and cheap one-liners. Slaughterhouse Five, widely regarded as his definitive statement, views the horrors of Dresden through the eyes of a man who has become unstuck in time. Billy Pilgrim leaps from 50s America to the planet Tralfamadore and back to Dresden again, a device Vonnegut describes as “the equivalent of [Shakespeare] bringing on the clowns every so often to lighten things up.”
Writing it was a painful experience lasting more than twenty years, and by the end all he felt able to conclude was “I’ve finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt.”
The novel has been a staple of US high school reading lists for three decades now, but Vonnegut’s work remains under-appreciated next to his avant-garde peers Pynchon, Barth and Gaddis. For too long, critics and academics stacked all science-fiction with the trash, assuming that books thousands of teenagers were enjoying on their own time did not merit serious consideration.
That stigma has faded, but there is still a sense that Vonnegut is both too whimsical and too accessible for America’s literary custodians, an issue he has himself addressed, writing that “clarity looks a lot like laziness and ignorance and childishness and cheapness to them. Any idea which can be grasped immediately is for them, by definition, something they knew all the time.”
In A Man Without A Country, Vonnegut plays with this notion that he has been cheated of due recognition, claiming that he hasn’t been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature because he once ran a Saab dealership that went bust and consequently bad-mouthed the Swedes. “I think it was great that Pinter won,” he says “and it was a fine speech. Perhaps as a result of this book they’ll give me one too. I just need to make it to October and I get a million dollars.” He’s kidding, although his publisher points out that his work is always translated into Swedish, just to make sure it doesn’t slip past the committee.
If there is a lingering hunger for acceptance, Vonnegut hides it well. “I’m just the asshole who broke the bank at Monte Carlo,” he says, and if it’s a well-worn line, he seems ready enough to believe it.
“Listen, I have no idea how it happens,” he continues, “There are plenty of artists that have no idea how they did it. I don’t think any of us know what we are. I seem to have had a destiny, so I did it.
“Beethoven died shaking his fist at god because all this music was still pouring out of him. I don’t know how the hell I did it. What people say is they’re possessed, and I suspect that we’re more possessible than we realise. Something just takes over.”
Vonnegut has threatened to quit several times. Long before he formally declared that Timequake would be his last book, in 1997, he was fond of reminding people that of all the great writers only Tolstoy produced his best work after forty-five. Is there not some slim chance that he will be possessed again?
“I don’t care,” he answers, “I don’t think it would be particularly good news. I feel like I’ve fulfilled my destiny. I’m completely in print. I’ve been allowed to say everything I’ve wanted to say. I’ve said that this country needs another novel the way the world needs another Sistine Chapel or another Beethoven’s Ninth.”
As to what the country does need, Vonnegut is less sure. His last book, if it is his last, is an excoriating attack on modern American society in all its greed and stupidity, but there is no pay-off or conclusion. It ends not with a revolution but with a requiem.
Vonnegut’s contempt for George Bush and his government is expressed with great force and clarity in A Man Without A Country, but his feelings of alienation from his homeland are nothing new. In 1972 he covered the Republican Convention for Harper’s Magazine, describing Nixon as “the first President to hate American people and all they stand for.” It was there he concluded that the USA’s two party system is one of winners and losers, rather than Democrats and Republicans, and the winners win no matter who gets into office. This being so, surely there is some consolation in the fact that the current President is such a ripe satirical target?
“I suppose so,” he acknowledges, “but the country is terribly at risk, because his stupidities have terrible consequences, leading to deaths of many people, rotten schools, rotten healthcare. He should be protecting us not only from insurgents or terrorists but from disease and ignorance, and he’s not about to do either.
“Still, there’s not much difference. [John] Kerry said out of the side of his mouth at one point that he’s not for re-distributing wealth. He and George Bush belong to the same social class, went to the same university, belong to the same gentleman’s club. Can you believe that, in a country of 300 million people we have to choose between two members of skull and bones at Yale?”
Vonnegut votes Democrat, but describes himself as socialist, in the tradition of Carl Sandburg, Eugene Victor Debs and Powers Hapgood. Does he find it troubling that there is no socialist party of note in the US, that historians of the right can claim that the left has demonstrably failed?
“They have socialised medicine in Sweden and Canada, I wish to God we had it,” he says, “there are socialist experiments going on everywhere. In the Communist Manifesto what they demanded was free education and free healthcare. One of the most beneficial social experiments in this country was the GI Bill Of Rights – when we came home we could all go to college for free.”
This week George Bush used his annual State Of The Union address to declare that his government is meeting its responsibility to provide healthcare for the poor and the elderly and spearheading a global quest for peace. Vonnegut’s stump speech states the opposite. In the land of his internal exile corporate profiteers rule unchecked, extended families have been split into desperately vulnerable nuclear groups, “lethal injection and warfare are forms of entertainment” and Americans are “as feared and hated all over the world as the Nazis once were.”
When challenged about this last statement, Vonnegut repeats that Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney are “jut-jawed, like Nazis” and argues that the main difference is that the Germans were justly feared for their military prowess.
“We have no army,” he says, “What makes us the most powerful nation on earth is our willingness to kill people in their thousands with remote-controlled missiles, the fact that we’re prepared to set off nuclear explosions in the middle of unarmed people - men, women and children.
“Only one country has been crazy enough to set off a nuke in the middle of a civilian population. Did it twice, and that’s when members of my generation, soldiers, could see that ‘we’re not the good guys anymore’. We were very careful not to hurt civilians.”
In his rage and despair he invokes the true guardians of America’s soul, quoting from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address and Christ’s Sermon On The Mount. For a confirmed Humanist, he mentions the Beatitudes surprisingly often, arguing that the President’s fundamentalist friends have forgotten the meek, the merciful, and the peacemakers.
Vonnegut once observed that he was at his funniest two days after Martin Luther King was shot, because he was speaking to an audience “full of pain that they couldn’t do anything about… there was an enormous need to either laugh or cry”.
The punchline count is high in A Man Without A Country, as it has been in every one of his novels. On the very first page he explains that as the youngest child in a family of five, making jokes was the only way to get noticed in adult conversation. Reporting on the fall of Biafra in 1970, he noticed he still cracked wise as the Nigerian army approached, writing that “joking was my response to misery I couldn’t do anything about.”
Crucially, it has not been his only reflex. What elevates his work above gallows humour and exposes him as an idealist in pessimist’s clothing is his palpable compassion and the way in which he appeals to the better nature of his readers. “Practicing any art is a way to make your soul grow,” he writes, and it is clear that this has been his own salvation.
He raises a Virgin Mary: “To the Arts”
Later, when the food arrives, Vonnegut talks about the teacher who inspired him, James C. Bean, reminding us that “the Great Depression was going on, and there were no good jobs, so it was a wonderful break to get to be a teacher or a mailman. Some of the best and smartest people in Indianapolis were teaching in school.
“All it takes is one great teacher,” he continues, and though he would never be so conceited as to admit it, he has evidently been that teacher, for his seven children, for students at various American universities, and for three generations of science-fiction fans.
What he has consistently taught is that art alone can rescue his homeland, through a series of personal revolutions. This belief in the transformative power of creativity is expressed beautifully in the preface to Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons (Opinions). He writes: “I now believe that the only way in which Americans can rise above their ordinariness, can mature sufficiently to rescue themselves and to help rescue the planet, is through enthusiastic intimacy with works of their own imaginations.
“I am not especially satisfied with my own imaginative works, my fiction. I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth.”
At eighty-three years old, Vonnegut has been convinced by a publisher from his children’s generation that his last task is to tell the truth. He has decided that the proximity of environmental catastrophe will probably make him unfunny for the rest of his life. He is unrepentant in his pessimism, and he wishes he wasn’t a writer. He wishes, as he has always wished, that he was a musician.
“Music gives pleasure as we never can,” he reasons, “I’ve said that the purpose of the arts is to make people like life more than they had done before, and people ask me if I’ve seen this done and I say ‘yes, the Beatles did it’ – it was an amazing event .”
In Breakfast Of Champions, Vonnegut’s satirical take on the madness of consumer society, science-fiction writer Kilgore Trout longs to be seen as “a representative of all the thousands of artists who devoted their entire lives to a search for truth and beauty – and didn’t find doodley-squat.” It is his master’s voice. Vonnegut’s lifetime of searching has left him weary, and he is reluctant to claim much credit for the wonders he has unlocked for millions of readers. As he climbs into the back seat of the car he offers this parting shot: “Remember, I don’t know how I did it.”
By Andrew Purcell ⋅ March 17, 2009
This article first appeared in the Sunday Herald, in March 2006
Kurt Vonnegut is dwelling on the apocalypse. It’s not that his omelette isn’t good. It’s not that his mood is downcast, but for the third time over lunch America’s funniest and most pessimistic novelist is explaining why he will welcome the end of the world. “I don’t like life very much for what it does to other people,” he says. This is by no means the most depressing statement he makes between starter and main course, but somehow, by the time we leave the restaurant I feel inspired and full of hope.
Taken at face value, Vonnegut’s worldview is appallingly bleak. He tells me that “all the other species are dying and so will we.” He argues that almost everybody is “humiliated, frustrated, terribly disappointed ” and compares life to an enforced spell in the army lasting eighty years instead of three. An hour in the company of such an acutely-aware Eeyore could be dispiriting, were it not for his belief in the redemptive power of creativity and his endless capacity for jokes. “I’m whistling as I walk past the graveyard,” he admits, “and I’m whistling as beautifully as I can.”
A Man Without A Country has been presented as Vonnegut’s final testament, eight years after he announced that he would never publish again. It contains many familiar themes, some old gags, and several passages lifted verbatim from previous essays and speeches, most of which first appeared in the left-wing magazine In These Times. He credits his publisher, Daniel Simon, with “doing for me what Jesus did for Lazarus.”
“I was so dead I stank,” he continues, “I’m as surprised as anyone to be back at the age of eighty-three and I’m embarrassed to have lived so long. I was in a house fire some years ago and it would have been much more tasteful to have died back then.”
For all the references to his advanced years, and his continued loyalty to unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes, Vonnegut is in remarkably good health. His wheezing laugh, the tar pit depths of his baritone and the occasional coughing fit testify to seventy years of smoking, but he doesn’t light up. In New York, even literary icons must keep their habit at home. A glass of wine is declined because “it hits me too hard these days”.
It has often been remarked that as he grows older, he increasingly resembles Mark Twain, one of his heroes. The curls are tighter and darker, the moustache less pronounced, and despite his frailty he looks younger than Twain in his declining years, even though Huckleberry Finn’s creator never saw seventy-five. The photograph on the front cover of the new book, taken by his wife Jill Krementz, is a good one. “It’s a good face, fer chrissakes,” he cackles.
Manners are important to him, and he regrets their passing. He is unfailingly courteous, and once wrote that if he dined with Nixon’s defence secretary, he would discuss global annihilation with a smile. If promoting a new book is a chore, it never shows. He tells the waitress “this place is great… I eat less than this on Thanksgiving.”
And so on.
Born in Indianapolis in 1922, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was encouraged to believe that once the Great Depression was over technological advances would ensure prosperity for all. His father, an architect, insisted that he should become a scientist like his brother. “What actually happened,” he recalls in his collected speeches, “was that we dropped scientific truth on Hiroshima. We killed everybody there.”
As he had recently experienced his mother’s suicide, fought in World War Two and witnessed the fire-bombing of Dresden as a captive of the German army, he decided, not unreasonably, that there was no longer much cause for optimism. “I predicted that everything would become worse,” he says, “and everything has become worse.”
In 1958 his sister Alice died of cancer the day after her husband John was killed in a train crash. Vonnegut and his wife adopted their three children. They already had three of their own.
“I try to be truthful,” he continues, “My God, after the Holocaust isn’t it time we gave up as a species? After the First World War wasn’t it time we gave up? We’re perfectly awful animals and we’re intelligent enough to know about it.”
This dim view of the world permeates Vonnegut’s fiction, without ever becoming corrosive, thanks to an endless parade of wild ideas, elegantly constructed comic set-pieces and cheap one-liners. Slaughterhouse Five, widely regarded as his definitive statement, views the horrors of Dresden through the eyes of a man who has become unstuck in time. Billy Pilgrim leaps from 50s America to the planet Tralfamadore and back to Dresden again, a device Vonnegut describes as “the equivalent of [Shakespeare] bringing on the clowns every so often to lighten things up.”
Writing it was a painful experience lasting more than twenty years, and by the end all he felt able to conclude was “I’ve finished my war book now. The next one I write is going to be fun. This one is a failure, and had to be, since it was written by a pillar of salt.”
The novel has been a staple of US high school reading lists for three decades now, but Vonnegut’s work remains under-appreciated next to his avant-garde peers Pynchon, Barth and Gaddis. For too long, critics and academics stacked all science-fiction with the trash, assuming that books thousands of teenagers were enjoying on their own time did not merit serious consideration.
That stigma has faded, but there is still a sense that Vonnegut is both too whimsical and too accessible for America’s literary custodians, an issue he has himself addressed, writing that “clarity looks a lot like laziness and ignorance and childishness and cheapness to them. Any idea which can be grasped immediately is for them, by definition, something they knew all the time.”
In A Man Without A Country, Vonnegut plays with this notion that he has been cheated of due recognition, claiming that he hasn’t been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature because he once ran a Saab dealership that went bust and consequently bad-mouthed the Swedes. “I think it was great that Pinter won,” he says “and it was a fine speech. Perhaps as a result of this book they’ll give me one too. I just need to make it to October and I get a million dollars.” He’s kidding, although his publisher points out that his work is always translated into Swedish, just to make sure it doesn’t slip past the committee.
If there is a lingering hunger for acceptance, Vonnegut hides it well. “I’m just the asshole who broke the bank at Monte Carlo,” he says, and if it’s a well-worn line, he seems ready enough to believe it.
“Listen, I have no idea how it happens,” he continues, “There are plenty of artists that have no idea how they did it. I don’t think any of us know what we are. I seem to have had a destiny, so I did it.
“Beethoven died shaking his fist at god because all this music was still pouring out of him. I don’t know how the hell I did it. What people say is they’re possessed, and I suspect that we’re more possessible than we realise. Something just takes over.”
Vonnegut has threatened to quit several times. Long before he formally declared that Timequake would be his last book, in 1997, he was fond of reminding people that of all the great writers only Tolstoy produced his best work after forty-five. Is there not some slim chance that he will be possessed again?
“I don’t care,” he answers, “I don’t think it would be particularly good news. I feel like I’ve fulfilled my destiny. I’m completely in print. I’ve been allowed to say everything I’ve wanted to say. I’ve said that this country needs another novel the way the world needs another Sistine Chapel or another Beethoven’s Ninth.”
As to what the country does need, Vonnegut is less sure. His last book, if it is his last, is an excoriating attack on modern American society in all its greed and stupidity, but there is no pay-off or conclusion. It ends not with a revolution but with a requiem.
Vonnegut’s contempt for George Bush and his government is expressed with great force and clarity in A Man Without A Country, but his feelings of alienation from his homeland are nothing new. In 1972 he covered the Republican Convention for Harper’s Magazine, describing Nixon as “the first President to hate American people and all they stand for.” It was there he concluded that the USA’s two party system is one of winners and losers, rather than Democrats and Republicans, and the winners win no matter who gets into office. This being so, surely there is some consolation in the fact that the current President is such a ripe satirical target?
“I suppose so,” he acknowledges, “but the country is terribly at risk, because his stupidities have terrible consequences, leading to deaths of many people, rotten schools, rotten healthcare. He should be protecting us not only from insurgents or terrorists but from disease and ignorance, and he’s not about to do either.
“Still, there’s not much difference. [John] Kerry said out of the side of his mouth at one point that he’s not for re-distributing wealth. He and George Bush belong to the same social class, went to the same university, belong to the same gentleman’s club. Can you believe that, in a country of 300 million people we have to choose between two members of skull and bones at Yale?”
Vonnegut votes Democrat, but describes himself as socialist, in the tradition of Carl Sandburg, Eugene Victor Debs and Powers Hapgood. Does he find it troubling that there is no socialist party of note in the US, that historians of the right can claim that the left has demonstrably failed?
“They have socialised medicine in Sweden and Canada, I wish to God we had it,” he says, “there are socialist experiments going on everywhere. In the Communist Manifesto what they demanded was free education and free healthcare. One of the most beneficial social experiments in this country was the GI Bill Of Rights – when we came home we could all go to college for free.”
This week George Bush used his annual State Of The Union address to declare that his government is meeting its responsibility to provide healthcare for the poor and the elderly and spearheading a global quest for peace. Vonnegut’s stump speech states the opposite. In the land of his internal exile corporate profiteers rule unchecked, extended families have been split into desperately vulnerable nuclear groups, “lethal injection and warfare are forms of entertainment” and Americans are “as feared and hated all over the world as the Nazis once were.”
When challenged about this last statement, Vonnegut repeats that Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney are “jut-jawed, like Nazis” and argues that the main difference is that the Germans were justly feared for their military prowess.
“We have no army,” he says, “What makes us the most powerful nation on earth is our willingness to kill people in their thousands with remote-controlled missiles, the fact that we’re prepared to set off nuclear explosions in the middle of unarmed people - men, women and children.
“Only one country has been crazy enough to set off a nuke in the middle of a civilian population. Did it twice, and that’s when members of my generation, soldiers, could see that ‘we’re not the good guys anymore’. We were very careful not to hurt civilians.”
In his rage and despair he invokes the true guardians of America’s soul, quoting from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address and Christ’s Sermon On The Mount. For a confirmed Humanist, he mentions the Beatitudes surprisingly often, arguing that the President’s fundamentalist friends have forgotten the meek, the merciful, and the peacemakers.
Vonnegut once observed that he was at his funniest two days after Martin Luther King was shot, because he was speaking to an audience “full of pain that they couldn’t do anything about… there was an enormous need to either laugh or cry”.
The punchline count is high in A Man Without A Country, as it has been in every one of his novels. On the very first page he explains that as the youngest child in a family of five, making jokes was the only way to get noticed in adult conversation. Reporting on the fall of Biafra in 1970, he noticed he still cracked wise as the Nigerian army approached, writing that “joking was my response to misery I couldn’t do anything about.”
Crucially, it has not been his only reflex. What elevates his work above gallows humour and exposes him as an idealist in pessimist’s clothing is his palpable compassion and the way in which he appeals to the better nature of his readers. “Practicing any art is a way to make your soul grow,” he writes, and it is clear that this has been his own salvation.
He raises a Virgin Mary: “To the Arts”
Later, when the food arrives, Vonnegut talks about the teacher who inspired him, James C. Bean, reminding us that “the Great Depression was going on, and there were no good jobs, so it was a wonderful break to get to be a teacher or a mailman. Some of the best and smartest people in Indianapolis were teaching in school.
“All it takes is one great teacher,” he continues, and though he would never be so conceited as to admit it, he has evidently been that teacher, for his seven children, for students at various American universities, and for three generations of science-fiction fans.
What he has consistently taught is that art alone can rescue his homeland, through a series of personal revolutions. This belief in the transformative power of creativity is expressed beautifully in the preface to Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons (Opinions). He writes: “I now believe that the only way in which Americans can rise above their ordinariness, can mature sufficiently to rescue themselves and to help rescue the planet, is through enthusiastic intimacy with works of their own imaginations.
“I am not especially satisfied with my own imaginative works, my fiction. I am simply impressed by the unexpected insights which shower down on me when my job is to imagine, as contrasted with the woodenly familiar ideas which clutter my desk when my job is to tell the truth.”
At eighty-three years old, Vonnegut has been convinced by a publisher from his children’s generation that his last task is to tell the truth. He has decided that the proximity of environmental catastrophe will probably make him unfunny for the rest of his life. He is unrepentant in his pessimism, and he wishes he wasn’t a writer. He wishes, as he has always wished, that he was a musician.
“Music gives pleasure as we never can,” he reasons, “I’ve said that the purpose of the arts is to make people like life more than they had done before, and people ask me if I’ve seen this done and I say ‘yes, the Beatles did it’ – it was an amazing event .”
In Breakfast Of Champions, Vonnegut’s satirical take on the madness of consumer society, science-fiction writer Kilgore Trout longs to be seen as “a representative of all the thousands of artists who devoted their entire lives to a search for truth and beauty – and didn’t find doodley-squat.” It is his master’s voice. Vonnegut’s lifetime of searching has left him weary, and he is reluctant to claim much credit for the wonders he has unlocked for millions of readers. As he climbs into the back seat of the car he offers this parting shot: “Remember, I don’t know how I did it.”
Dumb Ass Christians: Atheistic Females
Before I speak, let us ask God to give us the wisdom to come to a rational decision. In the name of the Father, his only Son Jesus Christ and Holy Ghost, Amen!
I had an interesting talk with my pastor the other day. I showed him the posts of one "atheist female" from these boards and he was horrified to see that she is a mother. Hundreds of Christian women are unable to have children because Satan gives children to atheistic females. It's a also fact that atheistic females have a sexual contact with males outside the holy wedlock, for they are sinful and full of lust. They don't have right to carry children in their wombs. It is illegal and against the word of God. I don't want my child who is 9 years old to go to the same school with the child whose godfather is Satan. No, no! I shall not tolerate this any longer!
You atheists walk the earth only to blaspheme His Holy Name and His only Son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost! How dare you? Live your pathetic lives and only when you surrender your life to the Christ shall you proliferate by the blessing of the Church. God bless you all to find the way out of Satan and if not may he smite you if his vengeance for your filthy and life full of debauchery.
[There is a lot of damn smiting going on amongst Christians. I don't think Jesus would want us to go around smiting other folks. In general, I don't think a loving God is a pro-smiting God. Your thoughts?]
A. Palatini
I had an interesting talk with my pastor the other day. I showed him the posts of one "atheist female" from these boards and he was horrified to see that she is a mother. Hundreds of Christian women are unable to have children because Satan gives children to atheistic females. It's a also fact that atheistic females have a sexual contact with males outside the holy wedlock, for they are sinful and full of lust. They don't have right to carry children in their wombs. It is illegal and against the word of God. I don't want my child who is 9 years old to go to the same school with the child whose godfather is Satan. No, no! I shall not tolerate this any longer!
You atheists walk the earth only to blaspheme His Holy Name and His only Son Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost! How dare you? Live your pathetic lives and only when you surrender your life to the Christ shall you proliferate by the blessing of the Church. God bless you all to find the way out of Satan and if not may he smite you if his vengeance for your filthy and life full of debauchery.
[There is a lot of damn smiting going on amongst Christians. I don't think Jesus would want us to go around smiting other folks. In general, I don't think a loving God is a pro-smiting God. Your thoughts?]
A. Palatini
Easy Cheese, Breakfast of Champions!
Breakfast of champions and SB this morning. I call it aerosol cheese, and the cats love it. They eat it right from the nozzle. I let it string down. It also combines well with fine wines, like Boone's Farm strawberry. And it is an excellent source of calcium. It says so right on the top of the can. Easy Cheese also has so many preservatives in it that I'm hoping it will preserve my youthful beauty, since I can't afford a damn face lift. It may also save the Moms on embalming costs, should I die.What are y'all having for breakfast this morning?
NOTE: Good news for you folks up north, eh? I understand that Easy Cheese just became available in Canada.
Kurt Vonnegut: Accepting the Carl Sandburg Award
This is one of the best speeches I've ever read, hands down. I've printed it off and read it again from time to time. I e-mail it to whomever I think might actually read it. And I think it's important right now, when socialism is being bounced around town halls and the media like it's a dirty word.As I've said before I agree with almost everything that ever came out of Kurt Vonnegut's dear mouth. And Carl Sandburg? Who could forget that fog comes on little cat feet? It was kind of Mr. Sandburg to point that out to us. It is one of my favorite poems. It was even short enough, that my dumb ass could memorize it. Wasn't that kind of him? It saved my ass in English class a few times.
Let me state right here (and if SB ever runs for office, and I might, you have it here definitively) that I am a socialist. Some pinhead with a bullhorn yelled at all of us lined up to get into a Kerry/Edwards rally years ago, that we were all a bunch of damn communists. After being momentarily startled that anybody actually still considered communism a threat, I yelled back that he had it wrong and that I was actually a damned socialist.
I believe in universal healthcare. I believe that the wealthy should pay more taxes than the poor or middle class. I could go on and on, but Mr. Vonnegut put it all so much better than I ever could.
So, here you go: http://www.vonnegutweb.com/archives/arc_carlsandburgaward.html
Please read it. I don't ask for much, but I'm asking this of you. You won't regret it. I promise.
And God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut. Wherever you are.
Shit SB Says
Tip your damn waitstaff! They bust their asses to make you happy. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to eat out! Period. Also, if you have little kids, tip extra. Little fuckers make BIG messes. If you're a shitty tipper, then fuck you.
[This one is for my adopted sister, May, who is busting her ass waitressing and saying how a lot of people leave shitty tips.]
[This one is for my adopted sister, May, who is busting her ass waitressing and saying how a lot of people leave shitty tips.]
Shit SB Says
Bartending is the best job in the world. Everybody is always happy to see a bartender or a fireman. Bartenders are like Santa Clause. They bring you stuff you ask for. And if you drink enough, you don't even mind getting the damn bill.[SB bartended for a number of years. I miss it everyday of my life. I loved shooting the shit with people. And, no, I did not flip the bottles like that closeted dick, Tom Cruise. My ass is uncoordinated, and I would have been breaking bottles all over the fucking place and that would have gotten my clumsy ass fired. Instead, I gave away multitudes of free booze to friends, and that got me fired instead.]
See What I Mean About Lyrical Genius?
I was listening to this song on the way in this morning.
One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell
by Morrissey
Always be carefull
When you abuse the one you love
The hour or the day
No one can tell
But one day
Goodbye will be farewell, and
You will never see the one you love again
You will never see the one you love again
I have been thinking
What, with my final brain cell
How time grips you
Sliding in it's spell
And before you know
Goodbye will be farewell, and
You will never see the one you love again
And the smiling children, tell you that you smell
Well, just look at me
A savage beast
With nothing to sell
And when I die
I want to go to hell
And that's when
Goodbye should be farewell
One day goodbye will be farewell
So grab me while you still have the time
One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell
by Morrissey
Always be carefull
When you abuse the one you love
The hour or the day
No one can tell
But one day
Goodbye will be farewell, and
You will never see the one you love again
You will never see the one you love again
I have been thinking
What, with my final brain cell
How time grips you
Sliding in it's spell
And before you know
Goodbye will be farewell, and
You will never see the one you love again
And the smiling children, tell you that you smell
Well, just look at me
A savage beast
With nothing to sell
And when I die
I want to go to hell
And that's when
Goodbye should be farewell
One day goodbye will be farewell
So grab me while you still have the time
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Shit SB Says
If I hear Whitney Houston sing I Will Always Love You ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME, I'm going to shank a bitch.
[NOTE: Yes, I stole the idea from the Shit My Dad Says site, but it's my goddamn blog, and I'll do whatever the fuck I want.]
[NOTE: Yes, I stole the idea from the Shit My Dad Says site, but it's my goddamn blog, and I'll do whatever the fuck I want.]
Becks Meets Shakira
The following was in the English tabloid, The Sun, today:I BET VICTORIA BECKHAM won't be able to stop the green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head when she sees these pics of her hubby with SHAKIRA.
I met the She Wolf singer a few weeks ago and she is a fine looking woman.
Not that Posh has got anything to worry about.
Shakira is happily married and DAVID is always talking about how much he adores his missus.
Becks met up with the pop star at a fundraiser for CHOC Children's Hospital in California on Tuesday.
Looks like she was a big hit.
[SB had to comment. This is what I submitted.]
I met the She Wolf singer a few weeks ago and she is a fine looking woman.
Not that Posh has got anything to worry about.
Shakira is happily married and DAVID is always talking about how much he adores his missus.
Becks met up with the pop star at a fundraiser for CHOC Children's Hospital in California on Tuesday.
Looks like she was a big hit.
[SB had to comment. This is what I submitted.]
Of course Posh has something to worry about. She looks like a damn Preying Mantis.
Dumb Ass Christians: You All Sicken Danny Jung
[in response to: You all are intolerant asses. I wish you could all see that people are truly just people. So what if they love people of the same gender? You all sicken me.]
To Mary Boyd: intolerant? Looks like you're intolerant of homophobes. I'm going to call you Bitch okay? Bitch, there are many reasons as to why homosexuality is fucked up. Number 1, it's by choice. If it was genetic, hey, not their fault their genes are fucked up, but when a person willingly chooses to become gay that's when I get angry. Not only am I angry that Gay's even exist, i'm pissed that you consider Gays as people. These 'people' want special rights for them and THEM only. Since when has being a fag entitled you to having extra rights? You know what they did back in the biblical times? They killed gays. That's right, stoned their asses to death. You know why? Because God hates gays. By not hating gays, you're disobeying him, and you don't want to go to hell do you?
Danny Jung [SB would like to beat Danny Jung's dumb ass.]
To Mary Boyd: intolerant? Looks like you're intolerant of homophobes. I'm going to call you Bitch okay? Bitch, there are many reasons as to why homosexuality is fucked up. Number 1, it's by choice. If it was genetic, hey, not their fault their genes are fucked up, but when a person willingly chooses to become gay that's when I get angry. Not only am I angry that Gay's even exist, i'm pissed that you consider Gays as people. These 'people' want special rights for them and THEM only. Since when has being a fag entitled you to having extra rights? You know what they did back in the biblical times? They killed gays. That's right, stoned their asses to death. You know why? Because God hates gays. By not hating gays, you're disobeying him, and you don't want to go to hell do you?
Danny Jung [SB would like to beat Danny Jung's dumb ass.]
Dumb Ass Christians: Bad Church Women
The comments in brackets [ ] are obviously SB's.
BAD CHURCH WOMEN ON GOD’S HIT LIST
Stubborn women will use their own money to purchase clothes to get a man regardless if he or God is pleased with their choice of garments.
DUET 22:5 Women shall not wear that which pertains (has reference to or looks like mans), (lesbian pants suits, etc.), for all that do so are abomination (disgusting, hated and loathed) unto the lord “your” God. 1 PET 3:1
[What in Sam fuck are lesbian pants suits? Any lesbians who can help us out here? I like the way this pinhead feels it necessary to define abomination. Even he knows his average reader is mentally challenged.]
Likewise, you wives be in subjection to your own husbands (obey his orders without question); Most women choose to be damned before they will obey a simple command from God or man. [I know I do.]
To God women wearing pants have the look of a whore and if they continuing therein will burn in hellfire. Some wear pants so tight their vagina separates and slices their buttocks in half for men to be tempted and turn from God laws of holiness. [Obviously this grammar-challenged moron has been checking that shit out closely. If he would have used the word "camel-toe," he sure would have saved a lot of typing.] When women young or old are raped because of skimpy and revealing clothes, floss beach suits, etc. they ask for it. [Stone-aged cocksucker.]
Dr R M Hands [What is this guy doctor of? Fuckery? Does anyone else find this really scary? It's probably some sort of mail-order college of ministry. He found it while checking out the ads for floss underwear in the back of Rolling Stone.]
BAD CHURCH WOMEN ON GOD’S HIT LIST
Stubborn women will use their own money to purchase clothes to get a man regardless if he or God is pleased with their choice of garments.
DUET 22:5 Women shall not wear that which pertains (has reference to or looks like mans), (lesbian pants suits, etc.), for all that do so are abomination (disgusting, hated and loathed) unto the lord “your” God. 1 PET 3:1
[What in Sam fuck are lesbian pants suits? Any lesbians who can help us out here? I like the way this pinhead feels it necessary to define abomination. Even he knows his average reader is mentally challenged.]
Likewise, you wives be in subjection to your own husbands (obey his orders without question); Most women choose to be damned before they will obey a simple command from God or man. [I know I do.]
To God women wearing pants have the look of a whore and if they continuing therein will burn in hellfire. Some wear pants so tight their vagina separates and slices their buttocks in half for men to be tempted and turn from God laws of holiness. [Obviously this grammar-challenged moron has been checking that shit out closely. If he would have used the word "camel-toe," he sure would have saved a lot of typing.] When women young or old are raped because of skimpy and revealing clothes, floss beach suits, etc. they ask for it. [Stone-aged cocksucker.]
Dr R M Hands [What is this guy doctor of? Fuckery? Does anyone else find this really scary? It's probably some sort of mail-order college of ministry. He found it while checking out the ads for floss underwear in the back of Rolling Stone.]
David Foster Wallace: Thoughts on 9/11
Just Asking
Are some things still worth dying for?
Is the American idea one such thing?
Are you up for a thought experiment?
What if we chose to regard the 2,973 innocents killed in the atrocities of 9/11 not as victims but as democratic martyrs, “sacrifices on the altar of freedom”?
In other words, what if we decided that a certain baseline vulnerability to terrorism is part of the price of the American idea? And, thus, that ours is a generation of Americans called to make great sacrifices in order to preserve our democratic way of life—sacrifices not just of our soldiers and money but of our personal safety and comfort?
In still other words, what if we chose to accept the fact that every few years, despite all reasonable precautions, some hundreds or thousands of us may die in the sort of ghastly terrorist attack that a democratic republic cannot 100-percent protect itself from without subverting the very principles that make it worth protecting?
Is this thought experiment monstrous? Would it be monstrous to refer to the 40,000-plus domestic highway deaths we accept each year because the mobility and autonomy of the car are evidently worth that high price?
Is monstrousness why no serious public figure now will speak of the delusory trade-off of liberty for safety that Ben Franklin warned about more than 200 years ago? What exactly has changed between Franklin’s time and ours? Why now can we not have a serious national conversation about sacrifice, the inevitability of sacrifice—either of (a) some portion of safety or (b) some portion of the rights and protections that make the American idea so incalculably precious?
In the absence of such a conversation, can we trust our elected leaders to value and protect the American idea as they act to secure the homeland? What are the effects on the American idea of Guantánamo, Abu Ghraib, Patriot Acts I and II, warrantless surveillance, Executive Order 13233, corporate contractors performing military functions, the Military Commissions Act, NSPD 51, etc., etc.? Assume for a moment that some of these measures really have helped make our persons and property safer—are they worth it?
Where and when was the public debate on whether they’re worth it? Was there no such debate because we’re not capable of having or demanding one? Why not? Have we actually become so selfish and scared that we don’t even want to consider whether some things trump safety? What kind of future does that augur?
Are some things still worth dying for?
Is the American idea one such thing?
Are you up for a thought experiment?
What if we chose to regard the 2,973 innocents killed in the atrocities of 9/11 not as victims but as democratic martyrs, “sacrifices on the altar of freedom”?
In other words, what if we decided that a certain baseline vulnerability to terrorism is part of the price of the American idea? And, thus, that ours is a generation of Americans called to make great sacrifices in order to preserve our democratic way of life—sacrifices not just of our soldiers and money but of our personal safety and comfort?
In still other words, what if we chose to accept the fact that every few years, despite all reasonable precautions, some hundreds or thousands of us may die in the sort of ghastly terrorist attack that a democratic republic cannot 100-percent protect itself from without subverting the very principles that make it worth protecting?
Is this thought experiment monstrous? Would it be monstrous to refer to the 40,000-plus domestic highway deaths we accept each year because the mobility and autonomy of the car are evidently worth that high price?
Is monstrousness why no serious public figure now will speak of the delusory trade-off of liberty for safety that Ben Franklin warned about more than 200 years ago? What exactly has changed between Franklin’s time and ours? Why now can we not have a serious national conversation about sacrifice, the inevitability of sacrifice—either of (a) some portion of safety or (b) some portion of the rights and protections that make the American idea so incalculably precious?
In the absence of such a conversation, can we trust our elected leaders to value and protect the American idea as they act to secure the homeland? What are the effects on the American idea of Guantánamo, Abu Ghraib, Patriot Acts I and II, warrantless surveillance, Executive Order 13233, corporate contractors performing military functions, the Military Commissions Act, NSPD 51, etc., etc.? Assume for a moment that some of these measures really have helped make our persons and property safer—are they worth it?
Where and when was the public debate on whether they’re worth it? Was there no such debate because we’re not capable of having or demanding one? Why not? Have we actually become so selfish and scared that we don’t even want to consider whether some things trump safety? What kind of future does that augur?
Today Is a Melancholy Morrissey Day
[SB hates Iams, just like Morrissey. Iams is an Ohio company who tests on animals. Despite pressure from PETA, the assholes persist. They suck big dicks. Disclaimer: This is my opinion only, so don't ask me for scientific proof that Iams sucks big dicks.]I heard the school bus this morning and thought for a moment, "Oh shit, I've missed the damn bus." Instantly, my ears pick out that specific sound, and nearly 25 years later, I still feel like I should be getting on the damn bus. I still associate fall with returning to school or college. It makes me feel out of sorts and melancholy. So much of my life is behind me now.
The music suitable for melancholy moods is definitely Morrissey. I adore him. In fact, if I were on a deserted island, I would choose to take Morrissey and Rufus Wainwright as my sole/soul music. SB is a gay man trapped in a woman's body. What can I say?
I argue with a friend of mine about Morrissey. I insist that he's a lyrical genius. For me, he ranks right under Johnny Mercer.
Ironically, one of the songs I have is Morrissey singing Moon River by Mercer/Mancini. It's terrific. Of course, Morrissey fucks with the lyrics a little, and this would have pissed Johnny off, but he's dead. So fuck it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Dippin Dots Law of Attraction
Overheard at a Dayton Dragon's baseball game:
Did you get a load of all those fat asses in line for Dippin Dots? Who the fuck wants to eat dried ice cream anyway? Even the astronauts didn't want to eat that crap. They wanted good old Carvel or some shit.
There must be some sort of law of physics about fat motherfuckers and their attraction to Dippin Dots.
[Okay, I said it.]
Did you get a load of all those fat asses in line for Dippin Dots? Who the fuck wants to eat dried ice cream anyway? Even the astronauts didn't want to eat that crap. They wanted good old Carvel or some shit.
There must be some sort of law of physics about fat motherfuckers and their attraction to Dippin Dots.
[Okay, I said it.]
Grandma Peg Was No Fan of Cats
My Grandma Peg was not a fan of cats. I think it may have stemmed from the time the Moms (her daughter-in-law) brought her Siamese cat over to Grandma's house for a visit. The Moms, always a fan of Siamese, was showing off her latest feline acquisition.
At the time, Grandma's ass had been slaving away on an afghan blanket and found it only partially amusing when Fred (the feline) settled down for a cozy nap on her work (the afghan, in case I need to spell it out for you dumb fuckers).
After the Mom's and my visit, the Mom's went to retrieve napping Fred from the knitting basket, and Grandma decided to show Moms the progress she'd made on the blanket. The afghan was nearly done! Grandma could picture that shit on the back of her Regency davenport, which looked like it belonged in a damn French whore house. (We don't even want to discuss THE LAMP--this is how it is referred to in my family to this day--only as, THE LAMP--which had the tiny torsos of two naked blond whores, missing most of their arms, and perhaps meant to be miniature mastheads. ON A LAMP. But I digress.)
Anyhoo, when Grandma unfurled her formerly magnificent afghan, there were several gaping holes in it. IN THE MIDDLE. In fact, there were A WHOLE LOT OF HOLES. Fred had sucked holes in Grandma's masterwork. The Moms apologized and hussled Fred's nonplussed ass out, but I'm not sure Grandma EVER got over it. It was a BONE OF CONTENTION.
Grandma was not an animal lover, in general, and she once traumatized a cage-escaped hamster of my dad's by sitting on it and mashing it with the pressure of her petite ass. The unfortunate creature had somehow wedged itself between the cushions and the couch, perhaps seeking warmth. Grandma only found out later, when she was vacuuming underneath the sofa cushions. For some reason, there was not an odor.
The hamsters were not fans of Grandma, AND GRANDMA WAS NO FAN OF CATS.
At the time, Grandma's ass had been slaving away on an afghan blanket and found it only partially amusing when Fred (the feline) settled down for a cozy nap on her work (the afghan, in case I need to spell it out for you dumb fuckers).
After the Mom's and my visit, the Mom's went to retrieve napping Fred from the knitting basket, and Grandma decided to show Moms the progress she'd made on the blanket. The afghan was nearly done! Grandma could picture that shit on the back of her Regency davenport, which looked like it belonged in a damn French whore house. (We don't even want to discuss THE LAMP--this is how it is referred to in my family to this day--only as, THE LAMP--which had the tiny torsos of two naked blond whores, missing most of their arms, and perhaps meant to be miniature mastheads. ON A LAMP. But I digress.)
Anyhoo, when Grandma unfurled her formerly magnificent afghan, there were several gaping holes in it. IN THE MIDDLE. In fact, there were A WHOLE LOT OF HOLES. Fred had sucked holes in Grandma's masterwork. The Moms apologized and hussled Fred's nonplussed ass out, but I'm not sure Grandma EVER got over it. It was a BONE OF CONTENTION.
Grandma was not an animal lover, in general, and she once traumatized a cage-escaped hamster of my dad's by sitting on it and mashing it with the pressure of her petite ass. The unfortunate creature had somehow wedged itself between the cushions and the couch, perhaps seeking warmth. Grandma only found out later, when she was vacuuming underneath the sofa cushions. For some reason, there was not an odor.
The hamsters were not fans of Grandma, AND GRANDMA WAS NO FAN OF CATS.
God Has a Holy, Righteous Penis
No, God's Penis is not a biological organ. I never said God's Penis was the same as man's penis. Obviously it wouldn't be. That is why I pointed out God has a Holy, Righteous Penis. That is to say, it's not the same as man's corrupted, fleshy one.
As I said when this subject first came up, once again: Penises are not just for sex & peeing. It is only because man is evil that he thinks of penises exclusively in those terms.
Man is made in the image of God the Father. That is the primary reason why man has a penis.
You cannot insert your evil prejudicial ideas of man's penis onto God - which is exactly what you are doing. God's Penis is not equal to man's penis. It's really not hard to understand.
Navaros
[Jesus.]
As I said when this subject first came up, once again: Penises are not just for sex & peeing. It is only because man is evil that he thinks of penises exclusively in those terms.
Man is made in the image of God the Father. That is the primary reason why man has a penis.
You cannot insert your evil prejudicial ideas of man's penis onto God - which is exactly what you are doing. God's Penis is not equal to man's penis. It's really not hard to understand.
Navaros
[Jesus.]
New SB Feature! Dumb Ass Christians
That's the beauty of Heaven... we can leave our brains behind.
Lainy68
[I guess Heaven is a lot like Congress then.]
im christian
if we came from apes
how come were not hairy and have a big mouth
and did we end up looking like we do know
and besides
there isnt any serious proof of apes
they showd a video saying an ape was wondering around in the forest
that thing looked exactly like a costume that i had saw at a store
know one ever cought an ape
luv4cs
[I think this one speaks for itself.]
Note: The quotes I am featuring are actual comments from the Internet.
Lainy68
[I guess Heaven is a lot like Congress then.]
im christian
if we came from apes
how come were not hairy and have a big mouth
and did we end up looking like we do know
and besides
there isnt any serious proof of apes
they showd a video saying an ape was wondering around in the forest
that thing looked exactly like a costume that i had saw at a store
know one ever cought an ape
luv4cs
[I think this one speaks for itself.]
Note: The quotes I am featuring are actual comments from the Internet.
Stupid Republican of the Week
"The internet is not something you just dump something on. It's not a truck. It's a series of tubes. And if you don't understand, those tubes can be filled and if they are filled, when you put your message in, it gets in line and it's going to be delayed by anyone that puts into that tube enormous amounts of material, enormous amounts of material."
--Senate Commerce Committee Chairman Ted Steven (R-AK), explaining the workings of the Internet during a debate on net neutrality
--Senate Commerce Committee Chairman Ted Steven (R-AK), explaining the workings of the Internet during a debate on net neutrality
Wooly of the Month
Yeah, REAL manly. A poncho. Scoff. And BROWN no less. A used car guy once told my parents that they have trouble unloading brown and tan cars because they aren't sexy. Great color choice there, numb nuts.Doesn't the wool make this guy's pecker itch? My vag itches just thinking about it.
[Comments about my vag are unwelcome.]
Quote of the Day
"I'D rather have a rectal examination on live TV by a fellow with cold hands than have a Facebook page" -- George Clooney, while hawking "Up in the Air" at the Toronto Film Festival."
Substitute cell phone for Facebook page, and I would totally agree.
Substitute cell phone for Facebook page, and I would totally agree.
I Don't Have Dick to Impart Today
I don't have a dicking thing to impart today, so I just thought I'd take a moment and tell all of you, my regular motherfuckers and blogging family (and I do mean that--those are not just words), how much all of you mean to me. You light up my life, to quote a bad 70s song. You really do. I love you all so much and am so pleased to have virtually met you. My life is much richer for your presences. This blog has become a communal work between all of us. It's no longer soley mine, if it ever was.
I just want to say thank you.
I just want to say thank you.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
I Just Like the Damn Photo
This shit inspires SB to do this to my own moggys, except I'll need a fifth costume for Marley. Yes, he is named after Bob Marley. Maybe I'll stick him in dreads and velcro a spliff to his ass.
Today's Shit My Dad Says
"Happy birthday, I didn't get you a present...Oh, mom got you one? Well, that's from me then too, unless it's shitty."
Link to the whole damn mess: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Link to the whole damn mess: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Chatty Motherfucker in the Office
All of you know how MONUMENTALLY SB struggles in the morning. I basically don't want to talk to anybody until at least luncheon. Anyhoo, the chattiest motherfucker in the office NEVER FAILS to pop round to my cubicle in the morning to jaw at my grumpy ass. Despite the fact that I deliver my best DIE MOTHERFUCKER look, it WILL NOT take a damn hint.
It just walked away. You should see/hear it. IT DOES NOT TAKE A DAMN BREATH AT ALL. You cannot get a word in NO MATTER WHAT. FUCK ME.
Sartre was right. Hell REALLY is other people.
It just walked away. You should see/hear it. IT DOES NOT TAKE A DAMN BREATH AT ALL. You cannot get a word in NO MATTER WHAT. FUCK ME.
Sartre was right. Hell REALLY is other people.
David Foster Wallace Quotes
"No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. . . . It’s too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it’s as of now real. What’s real is the tube and Noxzema and pain. And this could be done just like the Old Cold Bird. He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn’t quite gotten this before now, how it wasn’t just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed."
To Charlie Rose on his early suck-cess.
"The problem was I started out, I think, wanting to be a writer and wanting to get some attention and I got it really quick and . . . realized it didn’t make me happy at all, in which case, “Hmm. Why am I writing?” You know, “What’s the purpose of this?” And I don’t think it’s substantively different from the sort of thing — you know, somebody who wants to be a really successful cost accountant, right, and be a partner of his accounting firm and achieves that at 50 and goes into something like a depression. “The brass ring I’ve been chasing does not make everything okay.” So that’s why I’m embarrassed to talk about it. It’s just not particularly interesting. It’s — what it is, is very, very average."
To Charlie Rose on his early suck-cess.
"The problem was I started out, I think, wanting to be a writer and wanting to get some attention and I got it really quick and . . . realized it didn’t make me happy at all, in which case, “Hmm. Why am I writing?” You know, “What’s the purpose of this?” And I don’t think it’s substantively different from the sort of thing — you know, somebody who wants to be a really successful cost accountant, right, and be a partner of his accounting firm and achieves that at 50 and goes into something like a depression. “The brass ring I’ve been chasing does not make everything okay.” So that’s why I’m embarrassed to talk about it. It’s just not particularly interesting. It’s — what it is, is very, very average."
David Foster Wallace: Shipping Out
Below is a link to one of my favorite essays by the late David Foster Wallace. If you haven't read it yet, I envy you getting to experience it for the first time now. It is extraordinarily smart and funny and heartbreaking and honest, much like DFW.Dave hung himself a year ago on September 12th. I wonder what he would have made of this mess the country is in right now? I miss his generous spirit and his humor nearly every day. God bless him.
http://www.harpers.org/media/pdf/dfw/HarpersMagazine-1996-01-0007859.pdf
SB Recommended Product: From Africa, To Africa.
From the Starbucks site:
This blend of beans from East Africa is balanced and complex, with delicate acidity and a flavorful interplay of exotic floral and citrus notes. Available: 1 lb bags of (STARBUCKS) RED whole bean coffee available at participating Starbucks stores in the U.S. and Canada and online in the U.S. (STARBUCKS) RED 12 oz ground coffee bags also available at Target! Price: 1 lb whole bean bag: $11.95 (US) with $1 (US) contribution and 12 oz. ground bag: $.075 (US) being contributed to help eliminate AIDS in Africa.
This is truly excellent coffee for an excellent cause. And no, SB is not making a cent to shill Starbucks (wish I was).
I have received a fair amount of compliments when I brew this coffee for company, and I, personally, love it. SB doesn't drink cheap shit, motherfuckers! Conceivably, my ass could be killed on the road on the way into work, and I don't want my last cup of coffee to have been shit coffee. Got me?
This coffee is a tad bit expensive, but pony up, motherfuckers. After all, Africa is the original cradle of mankind. It is all of our Motherland, and we all should care about its plight and the plight of its peoples.
Fork it over, bitches!
This blend of beans from East Africa is balanced and complex, with delicate acidity and a flavorful interplay of exotic floral and citrus notes. Available: 1 lb bags of (STARBUCKS) RED whole bean coffee available at participating Starbucks stores in the U.S. and Canada and online in the U.S. (STARBUCKS) RED 12 oz ground coffee bags also available at Target! Price: 1 lb whole bean bag: $11.95 (US) with $1 (US) contribution and 12 oz. ground bag: $.075 (US) being contributed to help eliminate AIDS in Africa.
This is truly excellent coffee for an excellent cause. And no, SB is not making a cent to shill Starbucks (wish I was).
I have received a fair amount of compliments when I brew this coffee for company, and I, personally, love it. SB doesn't drink cheap shit, motherfuckers! Conceivably, my ass could be killed on the road on the way into work, and I don't want my last cup of coffee to have been shit coffee. Got me?
This coffee is a tad bit expensive, but pony up, motherfuckers. After all, Africa is the original cradle of mankind. It is all of our Motherland, and we all should care about its plight and the plight of its peoples.
Fork it over, bitches!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Do You Remember this Shit?
Do you remember when your mom used to do shit like this and ruin your costume? Bitch done jacked Smokey's pants up and belted them, making Smokey look like a damn pepaw. Moms ruin all the fun, and you know it. They get off on that shit.SB BITTERLY remembers the year she dressed as an elegant Sleeping Beauty (the OFFICIAL DISNEY COSTUME, peeps!), and it was slightly cold, so the Moms gave me the choice to wear a coat UNDER the fucking princess costume and look like a damn fat-ass or OVER the costume of splendor and look like a dork. The Moms didn't want me to catch cold and miss school, because then she couldn't watch her soaps or eat her damn bon-bons in peace.
All you stay-at-home moms know that if the kiddies are home sick, then you can't eat the entire package of bon-bons or guzzle your morning bourbon. Just admit that shit right now! You bitches know who you are, AND SO DO WE, because you smell like a damn distillery at the PTA meetings.
[Tip for stay-at-home moms: switch to vodka, bitches.]
And You Know He's Right
David Johansen on his song, One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This.
"It's kind of a really bad Johansen translation of Virgil. But it's an aphorism that I think is apropos. You look at the newspaper and you say, "The world's going to hell in a hand-basket." But in five years, everybody's gonna be saying, "Those were the good old days."
"It's kind of a really bad Johansen translation of Virgil. But it's an aphorism that I think is apropos. You look at the newspaper and you say, "The world's going to hell in a hand-basket." But in five years, everybody's gonna be saying, "Those were the good old days."
David Foster Wallace: In Memoriam
I miss Dave for his humaness and his sweet honesty. I often have trouble winding up a conversation myself. Maybe I should try Dave's method. I don't care if some people come back anyway.
“In real life I always seem to have a hard time winding up a conversation or asking somebody to leave, and sometimes the moment becomes so delicate and fraught with social complexity that I’ll get overwhelmed trying to sort out all the different possible ways of saying it and all the different implications of each option and will just sort of blank out and do it totally straight—‘I want to terminate the conversation and not have you be in my apartment anymore’—which evidently makes me look either as if I’m very rude and abrupt or as if I’m semi-autistic and have no sense of how to wind up a conversation gracefully. Somehow, in other words, my reducing the statement to its bare propositional content ‘sends a message’ that is itself scanned, sifted, interpreted and judged by my auditor, who then sometimes never comes back. I’ve actually lost friends this way.”
“In real life I always seem to have a hard time winding up a conversation or asking somebody to leave, and sometimes the moment becomes so delicate and fraught with social complexity that I’ll get overwhelmed trying to sort out all the different possible ways of saying it and all the different implications of each option and will just sort of blank out and do it totally straight—‘I want to terminate the conversation and not have you be in my apartment anymore’—which evidently makes me look either as if I’m very rude and abrupt or as if I’m semi-autistic and have no sense of how to wind up a conversation gracefully. Somehow, in other words, my reducing the statement to its bare propositional content ‘sends a message’ that is itself scanned, sifted, interpreted and judged by my auditor, who then sometimes never comes back. I’ve actually lost friends this way.”
I Have Nothing Amusing to Impart Today
My ass is tired and grumpy. It's Monday. What else do I need to add?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Gerard Butler and Jennifer Aniston Meet Up
From the NY Post:
It looks like Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler can't stay away from each other. After wrapping "The Bounty" here, the co-stars, back in LA, met up for a quiet dinner Wednesday at Cliff's Edge restaurant. According to X17online, they "appeared incredibly affectionate with one another" and were "kissing, hugging and leaning in to talk to each other for over two hours."
If this is true, that fucker better run like hell. Jennifer Aniston is a love Jonah.
It looks like Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler can't stay away from each other. After wrapping "The Bounty" here, the co-stars, back in LA, met up for a quiet dinner Wednesday at Cliff's Edge restaurant. According to X17online, they "appeared incredibly affectionate with one another" and were "kissing, hugging and leaning in to talk to each other for over two hours."
If this is true, that fucker better run like hell. Jennifer Aniston is a love Jonah.
Santa Clause: THE REAL TRUTH
SB: Kids at school have been saying Santa Clause isn't real. I need you to tell me the truth RIGHT NOW. AND IF YOU DON'T TELL ME THE TRUTH, I WILL NEVER EVER BELIEVE ANOTHER WORD OUT OF YOUR MOUTH MY ENTIRE LIFE. NOT EVER. I'LL NEVER TRUST YOU AGAIN, AND ALL YOUR GREAT GRANDCHILDREN WILL KNOW THAT THEIR NANA IS A LIAR.
GRANDMA: Well, don't tell your parents I told you, but the kids at school are right. There is no Santa Clause.
This was a conversation (nearly word for word) between poor Grandma Peg and I, when SB was a little manipulative fucker. My ass was either a harsh negotiator or a valiant truthseeker. I'll go with valiant truthseeker.
GRANDMA: Well, don't tell your parents I told you, but the kids at school are right. There is no Santa Clause.
This was a conversation (nearly word for word) between poor Grandma Peg and I, when SB was a little manipulative fucker. My ass was either a harsh negotiator or a valiant truthseeker. I'll go with valiant truthseeker.
From Shit My Dad Says
I love this one. This guy is SB in a few more years. Okay. He's me now. Fuck you for thinking that.
[Link to Shit My Dad Says: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays]
"Why the fuck would I want to live to 100? I'm 73 and shit's starting to get boring. By the way, there's no money left when I go, just fyi."
SB is getting pretty damn bored with life too. Seriously. I really am getting to be a jaded motherfucker. I've seent it all. Maybe death will be something new, unless reincarnation is true, and I've already died hundreds (maybe thousands) of times. Then death will be boring as fuck too.
I saw my dead Grandma Peg in a dream once, and I asked her the question we all want to know, right? Grandma, what's being dead like? What's it like?
She said, "Well honey, it's pretty boring to tell the truth."
GREAT. More of the same.
[Link to Shit My Dad Says: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays]
"Why the fuck would I want to live to 100? I'm 73 and shit's starting to get boring. By the way, there's no money left when I go, just fyi."
SB is getting pretty damn bored with life too. Seriously. I really am getting to be a jaded motherfucker. I've seent it all. Maybe death will be something new, unless reincarnation is true, and I've already died hundreds (maybe thousands) of times. Then death will be boring as fuck too.
I saw my dead Grandma Peg in a dream once, and I asked her the question we all want to know, right? Grandma, what's being dead like? What's it like?
She said, "Well honey, it's pretty boring to tell the truth."
GREAT. More of the same.
Ms. Moon's Cat Is Feeling a Little Neglected
Ms. Moon's cat is feeling a little neglected, but him haz plan.
The Sound of Awesomeness
This one's for the nerds, because only nerds like Star Trek. Just admit that shit. Your ass probably watched it and loved it, while you sat in front of the TV with your pocket protector and taped up glasses, salivating over the black chick in the short skirt.SB did have a boss once, who in the interest of discretion shall be nameless (David Mazer), who had all the warmth of Mr. Spock. I remember he once said in a meeting that he would "have to see some data on that." I shit you not. He really did. You sort of had to be there. He said it with no inflection whatsoever. That shit was robotic.
After that, sometimes when Mr. SB and I argued, we'd say to each other: I don't know--I'd have to see some data on that. Then we'd both laugh uproariously, and then we'd bare our teeth and go back to ripping chunks out of each other emotionally. It broke the necrotic acid-leeching tension for about 10 seconds. So that's good, right?
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