Here’s a quirky look at the year that was…
January 22-Kobe Bryant pours in 81 points, the second highest single-game total in NBA history. When asked how he felt about Gilbert Arenas scoring 61 soon there after Bryant was quoted as saying, “The guy has no conscience.”
January 30-President George Bush delivers his annual State of the Union address to the nation. Sales of Dr. Seuss and Hooked on Phonics reach an all-time high.
February 5-The Pittsburgh Steelers win Super Bowl XL. In one of the most stunning retirement speeches ever Jerome Bettis announces plans to join the cast of La Cage aux Faux in March.
February 8-Kelly Clarkson wins two Grammy’s. The moon turned black as sack cloth, the rivers ran red with blood, the seas boiled, and the seventh seal opened harkening the End Days.
February 10-26-Bode Miller, the first American favored to win five gold medals in Olympic Games’ history went 0 for 5 in the men’s skiing events. When asked why he insisted on bringing and staying in his own RV Miller replied, “Turin?! Where the hell is Turin? I thought this was Aspen dude.”
February 11-Dick Cheney accidentally shoots hunting companion Harry Wittington. Apparently Mr. Wittington had donned the most cunningly authentic quail disguise ever.
March 5-At the Academy awards rap group 36 Mafia win for best original song. Host John Stewart said it best, “36 Mafia 1, Martin Scorsese zero.”
March 25-500,000 people take to the streets to protest U.S. policy on illegal immigration. Hundreds of police are on scene providing crowd control and rounding nary a single illegal immigrant.
April 18-Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise unleash their first collective demon spawn upon an unsuspecting world. The delicate tyke was named Suri, because all the other really bizarre names had been used by other Hollywood parents.
June 9-The FIFA World Cup begins in Germany. Italy won the final on July 9. In related news the English fans rioted, again, and the dozens of brothels set by German entrepreneurs were surprisingly quiet due to the French and Italian fans saving their Euros for that fine German lager.
June 19-Bill Gates announced plans to step down as head of Microsoft. His charitable foundation is worth $30 billion. As a result I’ve founded my own charitable organization, news of which has already been conveyed to the Gates Foundation.
June 19-The Carolina Hurricanes win the Stanley Cup. What, Carolina has a hockey team. Who knew the Carolinas were a hockey Mecca. Do they even know the epic amounts of product it takes to get Barry Melrose’s hair to do that?
June 20-The Miami Heat wins its first NBA championship. In the subsequent victory parade Heat coach Pat Riley danced to hip hop while Shaq touched his coach’s butt. Note to self: never watch another parade again, ever.
June 25-Warren Buffet donates $30 billion to the afore mentioned Gates foundation. On a tangential note, I’ve already formed my own charitable organization. Mr. Buffet has been notified also.
July 2-Mexico holds a presidential election. Official results weren’t confirmed until September 5. Seems everyone who could count that was Mexican was in southern California operating quaint grocery stores, restaurants, and house keeping agencies.
July 23-American Floyd Landis wins the Tour de France. He subsequently failed a blood doping test. Rumors of French officials drugging a sleeping Landis have yet to be confirmed.
July 28-Mel Gibson is arrested for a DUI, then proceeds on a profanity laced, anti-Semitic spiel. Gibson claimed his allergies and his sneezes were mistaken for racial epithets. Get it…AH-JEW!
August 10-London police make 21 arrests in relation to a wide-spread terrorist plot involving targets in the UK and US. Renowned inspector Sherlock Holmes said the plot involved hitting America where it hurts, every Starbucks along the east coast was targeted for annihilation.
August 23-In Austria, Natascha Kampusch escapes from eight years of captivity. Her kidnapper, Wolfgang Prikolpi locked the girl in his cellar. The alert Kampusch escaped when Prikolpi went inside while his car was being washed. Note to self #2: immediately chain my “house guest” to radiator.
September 3-Andre Agassi retires after 20 years in professional tennis. The mercurial Agassi quipped he was now going to work full time on serving & volleying with wife Steffi Graff.
September 15-The now infamous e-coli scare starts in the US. On a note nobody could have predicted…the outbreak stretched its tentacles even to Taco Bell where shockingly customers became ill ingesting that authentic faux Mexican food.
September 29-Representative Mark Foley (R-FL) resigns after it is discovered he sent lewd images and emails to under age male pages. My god man, at least Clinton had the sense to sexually harass female subordinates. Where’s your decency?
October-North Korea successfully tested several nuclear weapons. A giant sling shot was found in the back yard of Kim Jung Il’s presidential abode.
October 6-The founders of YouTube sold their creation to Google for $1.6 billion. Google has now announced plans to by the entire Internet and World Wide Web, all umpteen billion sites.
October 17-The US population reached 300,000,000. Texas prison officials are working feverishly to counter this population explosion by advocating for capital punishment for minors and the mentally retarded. Officials have stated that executing these inmates is cheaper as the chairs are smaller and take less electricity.
October 27-The St. Louis Cardinals win the World Series. Twenty three people tuned in for the festivities.
October 31-Bob Barker retires after 35 years as host of The Price Is Right. He retires after shagging 35 years of hostesses too, God bless him.
November 3- Rev. Ted Haggard resigns as head of the National Association of Evangelicals. In response to accusations he hired male prostitutes and bought crack cocaine Haggard astutely responded he made the purchases but never took part in such licentiousness. No one believed him.
November 5-Saddam Hussein is sentenced to death in an Iraqi court. Thousands of Iraqis were heard shouting, “Ohhhh, let me, please, I’ll string him up!”
November 7-In the national election the Democrats seized control of both the House and Senate. President Bush and his mystic Karl Rove were seen splattering goat blood on Nancy Pelossi’s door.
November 17-Comedian and former Seinfeld star Michael Richards launched his now famous “nigger” tirade. In response former Seinfeld costar Jerry Seinfeld said, “I’m disappointed in Michael, jigaboo or porch monkey are way funnier.”
December 2-Britney Spears is seen partying with Paris Hilton. The noteworthiness of this pairing and their tryst is the fact Spears was photographed without panties on. Sales of hand lotion and Kleenex quadrupled. Spears later said she found God and her panties. Note to self #3: I found God in those panties too, and dental floss. BTW, she shaves.
December 10-The Nobel Prizes are awarded in Stockholm and Oslo. Strange how the Peace Prize is named after the inventor of dynamite, go figure. On a side note, I hear Sweden and Norway are lovely in December.
December 26-The Iraqi appellate court announced that Saddam Hussein would be executed via hangman’s noose by the end of January 2007. Update: Saddam went swinging and twitching into his after life on December 30. With all the technology available you would think Iraqi officials could have shot better footage.
An awkward Christmas poem
It's crude but I tried...
Under tree are stacks of motorized cars on electric tracks, gifts for child
Candles made of wax illuminate the stacks, as young one dreams of Christmas morning wild
Snow flakes fall, garlands deck the walls, signs of magical season
Crowded shopping malls and tattered shawls accompany cold that defies reason
Twinkling lights and other Christmas sites take one back to when life made sense
Stupid fights and drunken nights lost in season’s innocence
Neighborhood tours and awe filled words as lights hypnotize
Wreaths don doors like the days of yore as on adults’ faces are etched beaming smiles
Youth lost and oft times tossed on scrap heaps of years gone by
Between the trappings that cost, tuning out what was once lost, we live and die
But we don’t truly live and to our youth give reason to reproach
Like a steel shiv a stab to where once lived drops boundless of joy & hope
So if you can look at the man staring back in the mirror
Bang spoons on pans, pretend you’re Peter Pan, and things will become clearer
If only one could ditch the vestiges of adulthood and stand in stupid awe
As we should, where we stood, and once again believe in Santa Clause
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!
Under tree are stacks of motorized cars on electric tracks, gifts for child
Candles made of wax illuminate the stacks, as young one dreams of Christmas morning wild
Snow flakes fall, garlands deck the walls, signs of magical season
Crowded shopping malls and tattered shawls accompany cold that defies reason
Twinkling lights and other Christmas sites take one back to when life made sense
Stupid fights and drunken nights lost in season’s innocence
Neighborhood tours and awe filled words as lights hypnotize
Wreaths don doors like the days of yore as on adults’ faces are etched beaming smiles
Youth lost and oft times tossed on scrap heaps of years gone by
Between the trappings that cost, tuning out what was once lost, we live and die
But we don’t truly live and to our youth give reason to reproach
Like a steel shiv a stab to where once lived drops boundless of joy & hope
So if you can look at the man staring back in the mirror
Bang spoons on pans, pretend you’re Peter Pan, and things will become clearer
If only one could ditch the vestiges of adulthood and stand in stupid awe
As we should, where we stood, and once again believe in Santa Clause
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!
Ah the joys of education
Seems a couple weeks back a teacher, quite a tasty morsel if you ask me, was busted for molesting a 17 year old male student. Why is this a crime. When the teacher is a certifiable hottie the male victim in question should recieve acolades, not therapy.
"Why did you shag your teacher?"
"Duh, look at her, she's freakin' hot!"
So, in my never ending quest for enlightenment I bring you a chronicle of the hottest teachers to ever defile the jouvenile of their choosing.
Pam Rogers Turner...and she's been naked on camera too.
Amber Jennings
Sandra Beth Geisel
Debra LaFave
Local hot teacher...mmmmmmm, yummy.
Maybe if I had teachers like these who show obvious concern for a young man's education, maybe, just maybe, I would've gone to class more.
"Why did you shag your teacher?"
"Duh, look at her, she's freakin' hot!"
So, in my never ending quest for enlightenment I bring you a chronicle of the hottest teachers to ever defile the jouvenile of their choosing.
Pam Rogers Turner...and she's been naked on camera too.
Amber Jennings
Sandra Beth Geisel
Debra LaFave
Local hot teacher...mmmmmmm, yummy.
Maybe if I had teachers like these who show obvious concern for a young man's education, maybe, just maybe, I would've gone to class more.
Let me know what you people think...
This is the beginning of a fantasy novel I'm formulating in my spare time. Give my writing a fair and honest critique, no bullshit or platitudes.
The Exile Chronicles
As the morning sun raises in the eastern sky a faint sparkle shown on the horizon. Such sights in the war torn land of Grundig were not unusual, many armies with gleaming shields and deadly spears had passed along this same road marching towards victory or doom. But this new force would irrevocably alter the landscape and forever change the balance of power.
The Exile had returned, and he traveled at the head of the massive army he’d assembled in compelled isolation, driven out by his own people for an offense he did not commit. How long ago was he ostracized? A millennia at least, over a thousand years spent stewing and plotting. What plan he carried in his conscious none knew, revenge, redemption, or reckoning was equally possible.
What was the purpose of his sudden return? Was he here to serve the Jade Council, the same counsel who had pronounced guilt and had banished the Exile to the blighted northern reaches of Grundig, and who now had the temerity to summon him in hopes of gaining his allegiance? Or was he here to destroy them?
No one knew, save only the Exile himself, for he served no master.
What was the Exile’s name? Few knew for his name hadn’t been spoken aloud in many circles for a thousand years. As part of the sentence passed down by the Counsel, the Exile’s name was to be stricken from the records and his name was strictly taboo. Only those who knew him and were still alive knew his proper name but none dare speak it aloud in public lest they be tried by the magistrate for treason. The mighty Jade Counsel ruled with an iron fist and did not tolerate sedition of any kind. And uttering the Exile’s name was an affront to the Counsel itself.
As the Exile’s army slowly advanced towards the small town of Spikiri the locals sat along side the road going about their daily rituals. Some swept their stoops, some tended to the vegetable fields and fed the livestock, and others stood on alert with brandished weapons, hoping that the latest travelers meant this sleepy hamlet no harm.
The glint of sun on spear tips gave way to a large cloud of dust and the faint rattle of metal and footsteps. It was hard to tell how many approached but the seasoned lookouts high in their towers could not see the end of the column as it passed beyond sight over the horizon. Quick arithmetic would surmise that the Grendal Road, the main highway that linked all of Grundig, could accommodate only twenty men walking abreast, and half that count of cavalry, and even fewer wagons. This army numbered ten thousand, maybe more.
The guards knew such a force would level the town in seconds, so they stole up the courage to dutifully let this army pass unheeded. As the rumble drew near the Elvin guards in the towers, using their supernatural eye sight, could now see the head of the column, and their faces turned ashen with fear. The humans gathered below saw the look of dread in their normally stoically valiant and stoic compatriots and panic welled up in their hearts. The townsfolk scattered, doors slammed, shutters were closed tight, the mood grew apprehensive.
The hooves of the horses at the head of the column grew to a nearly thunderous din as the tip of this war scythe drew within a mile of the town walls. The elves on guard could now clearly make out the stern yet ominously beautiful face of the leader of this cabal. Stories had been written about this wayfarer. Tales of his sword cutting swaths of destruction through his enemy were the stuff of legend. It was also said that this one, the Exile, was the most powerful elf in the long and tumultuous history of Grundig. Some legends even said his eyes burnt with the fires damnation and that his visage was so fearsome yet so fare that to gaze upon his angelic face was akin to looking into the eyes of Yah, the Creator, The Master of All Things.
The Exile and his closest lieutenants were now within 200 yards of the town walls. He raised his right hand and the entire formation stopped in unison.
“’Lo there, state your business.” An Elvin sentry manning the gate, obviously the one in charge, tried to be stern but his nerves shown through in his voice.
A voice boomed from the head of army, “We’re making way to Vorai.”
The sentries’ hearts leapt to their collective throats. This army meant business and would not be stopped by the two hundred men-at-arms in Spikiri. “What business do you have in Vorai?”
A decidedly more gentle voice, yet one with great command shouted, “My business is my own. But if you must, we’re here to see the Jade Counsel.” To hear the voice of the Exile was like listening to a soothing and wise sage, the wisdom of the ages was in that voice. “Now please, let us pass.”
And with that the sentry captain signaled and the gate was open.
The Exile Chronicles
As the morning sun raises in the eastern sky a faint sparkle shown on the horizon. Such sights in the war torn land of Grundig were not unusual, many armies with gleaming shields and deadly spears had passed along this same road marching towards victory or doom. But this new force would irrevocably alter the landscape and forever change the balance of power.
The Exile had returned, and he traveled at the head of the massive army he’d assembled in compelled isolation, driven out by his own people for an offense he did not commit. How long ago was he ostracized? A millennia at least, over a thousand years spent stewing and plotting. What plan he carried in his conscious none knew, revenge, redemption, or reckoning was equally possible.
What was the purpose of his sudden return? Was he here to serve the Jade Council, the same counsel who had pronounced guilt and had banished the Exile to the blighted northern reaches of Grundig, and who now had the temerity to summon him in hopes of gaining his allegiance? Or was he here to destroy them?
No one knew, save only the Exile himself, for he served no master.
What was the Exile’s name? Few knew for his name hadn’t been spoken aloud in many circles for a thousand years. As part of the sentence passed down by the Counsel, the Exile’s name was to be stricken from the records and his name was strictly taboo. Only those who knew him and were still alive knew his proper name but none dare speak it aloud in public lest they be tried by the magistrate for treason. The mighty Jade Counsel ruled with an iron fist and did not tolerate sedition of any kind. And uttering the Exile’s name was an affront to the Counsel itself.
As the Exile’s army slowly advanced towards the small town of Spikiri the locals sat along side the road going about their daily rituals. Some swept their stoops, some tended to the vegetable fields and fed the livestock, and others stood on alert with brandished weapons, hoping that the latest travelers meant this sleepy hamlet no harm.
The glint of sun on spear tips gave way to a large cloud of dust and the faint rattle of metal and footsteps. It was hard to tell how many approached but the seasoned lookouts high in their towers could not see the end of the column as it passed beyond sight over the horizon. Quick arithmetic would surmise that the Grendal Road, the main highway that linked all of Grundig, could accommodate only twenty men walking abreast, and half that count of cavalry, and even fewer wagons. This army numbered ten thousand, maybe more.
The guards knew such a force would level the town in seconds, so they stole up the courage to dutifully let this army pass unheeded. As the rumble drew near the Elvin guards in the towers, using their supernatural eye sight, could now see the head of the column, and their faces turned ashen with fear. The humans gathered below saw the look of dread in their normally stoically valiant and stoic compatriots and panic welled up in their hearts. The townsfolk scattered, doors slammed, shutters were closed tight, the mood grew apprehensive.
The hooves of the horses at the head of the column grew to a nearly thunderous din as the tip of this war scythe drew within a mile of the town walls. The elves on guard could now clearly make out the stern yet ominously beautiful face of the leader of this cabal. Stories had been written about this wayfarer. Tales of his sword cutting swaths of destruction through his enemy were the stuff of legend. It was also said that this one, the Exile, was the most powerful elf in the long and tumultuous history of Grundig. Some legends even said his eyes burnt with the fires damnation and that his visage was so fearsome yet so fare that to gaze upon his angelic face was akin to looking into the eyes of Yah, the Creator, The Master of All Things.
The Exile and his closest lieutenants were now within 200 yards of the town walls. He raised his right hand and the entire formation stopped in unison.
“’Lo there, state your business.” An Elvin sentry manning the gate, obviously the one in charge, tried to be stern but his nerves shown through in his voice.
A voice boomed from the head of army, “We’re making way to Vorai.”
The sentries’ hearts leapt to their collective throats. This army meant business and would not be stopped by the two hundred men-at-arms in Spikiri. “What business do you have in Vorai?”
A decidedly more gentle voice, yet one with great command shouted, “My business is my own. But if you must, we’re here to see the Jade Counsel.” To hear the voice of the Exile was like listening to a soothing and wise sage, the wisdom of the ages was in that voice. “Now please, let us pass.”
And with that the sentry captain signaled and the gate was open.
Tuesday night...shit it's cold
The mercury hath dipped to a paltry 10 degrees here in Denver. As I sit here on a Tuesday night I feel the urge to confess.
I’ve lusted many times but only truly loved once. Ahhh, Michelle, how you stole my heart with the first gaze upon your angelic face, your smile lit up a room and your soulful laugh made my soul sing. Wherever you are and wherever fate takes know this, I’ll never forget you.
I cannot begin to fathom the grief of mother Alleta Sullivan and father Thomas Sullivan, whose five sons perished aboard the USS Juneau off the shores of Guadalcanal in WWII. George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert all died when their ship was sunk by a Japanese torpedo. May you rest in peace young men, and may the stars be your playground.
Thoughts turn to nothing in particular as Al Green belts out the classic “Simply Beautiful”. I’m discovering the depth and beauty of music again, something I’d taken for granted. Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast.
I go in for surgery tomorrow, Wednesday, and I’ll admit, I’m a bit scared. The surgeon, a decent bloke, plans to affix a steel cage to my lower leg via a series of rods drilled into the bone. This will help fix the tendon contracture that currently makes my foot totally incompatible with any footwear. It is also hoped that the chronic sores that plague yours truly’s lower extremities will be a thing of the past should my foot and ankle return to a more neutral and natural position. Ah the joys of modern medicine. I hope the Dilauded flows freely.
I really need to get a hobby besides video games. Damn things waste more time than watching the NBA. I detest watching basketball anymore. Sure doesn’t resemble the Showtime era of the 80’s when both teams routinely scored 120 points a night. Where’s the Magic Man and Larry Bird when you need them. The trinity of Dwayne Wade, LaBron, and Melo may salvage some of the mystique of the NBA of yore but only if they win championships with reckless abandon.
Woohoo, the Jay Cutler era begins in Bronco land on Sunday.
Tata for now kids, wish me luck.
I’ve lusted many times but only truly loved once. Ahhh, Michelle, how you stole my heart with the first gaze upon your angelic face, your smile lit up a room and your soulful laugh made my soul sing. Wherever you are and wherever fate takes know this, I’ll never forget you.
I cannot begin to fathom the grief of mother Alleta Sullivan and father Thomas Sullivan, whose five sons perished aboard the USS Juneau off the shores of Guadalcanal in WWII. George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert all died when their ship was sunk by a Japanese torpedo. May you rest in peace young men, and may the stars be your playground.
Thoughts turn to nothing in particular as Al Green belts out the classic “Simply Beautiful”. I’m discovering the depth and beauty of music again, something I’d taken for granted. Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast.
I go in for surgery tomorrow, Wednesday, and I’ll admit, I’m a bit scared. The surgeon, a decent bloke, plans to affix a steel cage to my lower leg via a series of rods drilled into the bone. This will help fix the tendon contracture that currently makes my foot totally incompatible with any footwear. It is also hoped that the chronic sores that plague yours truly’s lower extremities will be a thing of the past should my foot and ankle return to a more neutral and natural position. Ah the joys of modern medicine. I hope the Dilauded flows freely.
I really need to get a hobby besides video games. Damn things waste more time than watching the NBA. I detest watching basketball anymore. Sure doesn’t resemble the Showtime era of the 80’s when both teams routinely scored 120 points a night. Where’s the Magic Man and Larry Bird when you need them. The trinity of Dwayne Wade, LaBron, and Melo may salvage some of the mystique of the NBA of yore but only if they win championships with reckless abandon.
Woohoo, the Jay Cutler era begins in Bronco land on Sunday.
Tata for now kids, wish me luck.
Bravo old folks
It’s a Thursday night and the air cools. Winter is around the corner and yours truly will miss the warmth. But let’s be honest, winters in Denver aren’t that bad. Yes the snow falls in buckets but it melts away in mere days. The sun destroys the blanket of white, revealing yellow grass and semi-frozen dog turds. Ah the majesty of nature.
My dear friend’s grandfather passed away Tuesday. I feel for her loss. She was tremendously close to her grandpa, as I was with mine. Grandparents are fascinating creatures. On one hand they’re quick to spoil the little ones. Then your parents regale one and all with stories of the tyrannical despots that now sit, masked as your beloved octogenarians and familial patriarchs & matriarchs. Don’t they look cute as they shuffle along on frail legs that have seen better days. Terrorizing pinchers of facial cheeks, givers of the pocket cash, keepers of our heritage.
In these grizzled bodies lay wisdom beyond comprehension. Technology has swum by those eyes at a dizzying pace. They gathered round the radio in the forgotten days of yore to listen to Seabiscuit beat Man o’ War, to hear the call as Jim Braddock bedeviled and defeated the dreaded Max Baer, and were scared out of their wits when Orson Wells played the biggest practical joke ever during the now infamous War of the Worlds broadcast.
They watched as the economy collapsed and the Great Depression seized the throat of this nation. Yet they endured.
Then they fought and destroyed the Third Reich and the dreams of Japanese imperialism. Over 600,000 men lost their lives yet still they endured.
They saw the country through the Korean and Viet Nam wars. They witnessed a divided country nearly tear itself asunder during years of mass protest and racial strife. Yet they still loved this nation, and endured.
They watched with pride as the United States put a man on the moon and watched with bated breath as NASA, in its finest hour of heroism, saved the astronauts of Apollo 13. They took a deep breath and endured.
Then the telecommunications revolution changed the face of technology. The Internet now made it possible to communicate with anyone on the planet and to find any nugget of information imaginable. And there they sit in awe and wonder, and endure.
Stop for a minute and think about this. Our elders, grandparents and great grandparents, were born anywhere from 1900-1930. Think about the world they were born into. Cars were scarce, television was nonexistent, computers weren’t even contemplated, telephones weren’t universal let alone cellular phones, and business was conducted on reams of paper. Radio and newspapers were the only form of mass media, children really did walk five miles to school, family farms were the dominant agriculture machine, houses were brick, horses provided the most reliable transportation, and election results weren’t known for weeks afterward.
Now fast forward to 2006. The Internet is the lynch pin of research tools, phones now don’t require wires and fit in your breast pocket, microwaves can boil water in seconds, cars go 100mph, planes go 500mph, one nuclear bomb can wipe out a city, there are televisions in 97% of all American households, every CD and DVD you own can now fit in a piece of hardware barely bigger than wallet, and satellites beam porn 24/7.
Our elders have lived through the largest and fastest technological explosion in human history, yet they just keep on trucking. When you stop and think about what they’ve seen it humbles those of us who grew up with all this glorious gadgetry.
So, as these impossibly wise and gentle souls pass through the winters of their collective lives let those of us who still can lend a helping hand…or a round of applause.
My dear friend’s grandfather passed away Tuesday. I feel for her loss. She was tremendously close to her grandpa, as I was with mine. Grandparents are fascinating creatures. On one hand they’re quick to spoil the little ones. Then your parents regale one and all with stories of the tyrannical despots that now sit, masked as your beloved octogenarians and familial patriarchs & matriarchs. Don’t they look cute as they shuffle along on frail legs that have seen better days. Terrorizing pinchers of facial cheeks, givers of the pocket cash, keepers of our heritage.
In these grizzled bodies lay wisdom beyond comprehension. Technology has swum by those eyes at a dizzying pace. They gathered round the radio in the forgotten days of yore to listen to Seabiscuit beat Man o’ War, to hear the call as Jim Braddock bedeviled and defeated the dreaded Max Baer, and were scared out of their wits when Orson Wells played the biggest practical joke ever during the now infamous War of the Worlds broadcast.
They watched as the economy collapsed and the Great Depression seized the throat of this nation. Yet they endured.
Then they fought and destroyed the Third Reich and the dreams of Japanese imperialism. Over 600,000 men lost their lives yet still they endured.
They saw the country through the Korean and Viet Nam wars. They witnessed a divided country nearly tear itself asunder during years of mass protest and racial strife. Yet they still loved this nation, and endured.
They watched with pride as the United States put a man on the moon and watched with bated breath as NASA, in its finest hour of heroism, saved the astronauts of Apollo 13. They took a deep breath and endured.
Then the telecommunications revolution changed the face of technology. The Internet now made it possible to communicate with anyone on the planet and to find any nugget of information imaginable. And there they sit in awe and wonder, and endure.
Stop for a minute and think about this. Our elders, grandparents and great grandparents, were born anywhere from 1900-1930. Think about the world they were born into. Cars were scarce, television was nonexistent, computers weren’t even contemplated, telephones weren’t universal let alone cellular phones, and business was conducted on reams of paper. Radio and newspapers were the only form of mass media, children really did walk five miles to school, family farms were the dominant agriculture machine, houses were brick, horses provided the most reliable transportation, and election results weren’t known for weeks afterward.
Now fast forward to 2006. The Internet is the lynch pin of research tools, phones now don’t require wires and fit in your breast pocket, microwaves can boil water in seconds, cars go 100mph, planes go 500mph, one nuclear bomb can wipe out a city, there are televisions in 97% of all American households, every CD and DVD you own can now fit in a piece of hardware barely bigger than wallet, and satellites beam porn 24/7.
Our elders have lived through the largest and fastest technological explosion in human history, yet they just keep on trucking. When you stop and think about what they’ve seen it humbles those of us who grew up with all this glorious gadgetry.
So, as these impossibly wise and gentle souls pass through the winters of their collective lives let those of us who still can lend a helping hand…or a round of applause.
Rejoice in thy youth oh young one
Snow falls on the window pane as Denver is plunged into the first snow storm of what is predicted to be a bitch of a winter. And here I sit, watching the flakes cascade down in winter’s curtain, which just happens to fall smack dab in the middle of autumn. Winter draws nigh and the air cools as the seasons fade and memories trip on holiday splendor. Or so they say.
Bring on All Hallows Eve, the night before All Saints Day, Halloween. Let the chocolate and other candy treats flow like water, let the little ones revel in their youth, and let us adults recapture that tantalizing spirit of those of the next generation. Be a kid, if but for five fucking minutes. Do not put away all the trappings of childhood, and for sanity’s sake don’t let die the fires of youth.
It was once said that the greatest of all tragedies is lost youth. I’ll go this one better. An even greater tragedy is youth squandered or surrendered. What fools we adults are, what capricious and arbitrary beings we become. Childhood grants everyone the inability to be disingenuous. The ability and desire to deceive are mutualities only to those whose youthful spirit has been compromised.
Yes children can be and oft times are demonic, evil things that seemingly delight in inflicting misery upon the closest target. But this impulse is created by observing us adults. Put two five year olds in a room with nothing but a cardboard box and a sheet and they will construct a castle that rivals the legendary Versailles Palace. And they’ll do this with stunning, implausible ease. And we adults see nothing but a sepulcher of culture that once housed a major appliance.
Wait, for now the castle is a spaceship, a grand battle cruiser replete with laser canons and English crewmen that wander aimlessly punching bright green buttons. But never the red one, that button is reserved for the captain, whom at the tender age of five commands a legion of troops and can destroy worlds with the red button.
Now the box becomes a cave. Not just any cave mind you, but a cave that houses the most fearsome beast the world has ever seen. So there our diminutive hero stands, armed with a magical spear only he can see. He lunges forth as the box shudders, and lo, the beast is slain, impaled upon the righteous spear that only the young can wield.
Now the cave morphs into a pirate ship. Our hero now stands on deck with his eye patch, wooden leg, parrot, and hook. He now captains the most feared pirate vessel in the Caribbean. There, off in the distance the captain spies a mast through his telescope. His arch enemy approaches, the infamous Black Beard. The ships move toward one another as the canons sound off salvo after salvo. Black Beard’s ship is mortally wounded and the rapscallion goes down with his ship.
The box is altered to resemble an amphibious assault boat, the kind used on D-Day in World War II. The intrepid five year old is now a grizzled old veteran of battles too numerous to count. He’s saved dozens of lives and single-handedly fought back the Third Reich. The boat lands and the pint-sized Audie Murphy storms a machine gun nest by himself, suffering a dozen horrific wounds before finally subduing the enemy. He succumbs to his injuries and dies in a spastic, exaggerated pratfall.
There he laid, the spirit of youth encapsulated in a tiny body, the only being alive who can stand on the shoulders of giants, ride unicorns, joust with mounted dragons, and save the world from utter destruction, all in a day’s time.
Therein lay the tantalizing beauty of the young. Those little buggers are full of energy, emotion, and vibrant imagination. Perhaps that’s the secret to rediscovering our youth. Maybe we should imagine more, trip on boulevard of dreams, engage in flights of fancy, and hold tight to that which makes us feel young again.
I love writing, not because I’m any good but because it makes me feel alive and, dare I say, youthful. The unhindered exuberance of spewing shit out on my blog helps me recapture the youthful spirit long thought dead. For on this page I can be anybody, anywhere, anytime, anyplace. I can magically transport myself and a few readers back to a time when the adult travails of life seem insignificant. That is why I blog.
Tonight I bed down with my favorite cozy blanket, and sleep. To sleep, per chance to dream. Maybe I’ll have that one where I’m a kid again riding my bike down some suicidal incline. Maybe, just maybe.
Bring on All Hallows Eve, the night before All Saints Day, Halloween. Let the chocolate and other candy treats flow like water, let the little ones revel in their youth, and let us adults recapture that tantalizing spirit of those of the next generation. Be a kid, if but for five fucking minutes. Do not put away all the trappings of childhood, and for sanity’s sake don’t let die the fires of youth.
It was once said that the greatest of all tragedies is lost youth. I’ll go this one better. An even greater tragedy is youth squandered or surrendered. What fools we adults are, what capricious and arbitrary beings we become. Childhood grants everyone the inability to be disingenuous. The ability and desire to deceive are mutualities only to those whose youthful spirit has been compromised.
Yes children can be and oft times are demonic, evil things that seemingly delight in inflicting misery upon the closest target. But this impulse is created by observing us adults. Put two five year olds in a room with nothing but a cardboard box and a sheet and they will construct a castle that rivals the legendary Versailles Palace. And they’ll do this with stunning, implausible ease. And we adults see nothing but a sepulcher of culture that once housed a major appliance.
Wait, for now the castle is a spaceship, a grand battle cruiser replete with laser canons and English crewmen that wander aimlessly punching bright green buttons. But never the red one, that button is reserved for the captain, whom at the tender age of five commands a legion of troops and can destroy worlds with the red button.
Now the box becomes a cave. Not just any cave mind you, but a cave that houses the most fearsome beast the world has ever seen. So there our diminutive hero stands, armed with a magical spear only he can see. He lunges forth as the box shudders, and lo, the beast is slain, impaled upon the righteous spear that only the young can wield.
Now the cave morphs into a pirate ship. Our hero now stands on deck with his eye patch, wooden leg, parrot, and hook. He now captains the most feared pirate vessel in the Caribbean. There, off in the distance the captain spies a mast through his telescope. His arch enemy approaches, the infamous Black Beard. The ships move toward one another as the canons sound off salvo after salvo. Black Beard’s ship is mortally wounded and the rapscallion goes down with his ship.
The box is altered to resemble an amphibious assault boat, the kind used on D-Day in World War II. The intrepid five year old is now a grizzled old veteran of battles too numerous to count. He’s saved dozens of lives and single-handedly fought back the Third Reich. The boat lands and the pint-sized Audie Murphy storms a machine gun nest by himself, suffering a dozen horrific wounds before finally subduing the enemy. He succumbs to his injuries and dies in a spastic, exaggerated pratfall.
There he laid, the spirit of youth encapsulated in a tiny body, the only being alive who can stand on the shoulders of giants, ride unicorns, joust with mounted dragons, and save the world from utter destruction, all in a day’s time.
Therein lay the tantalizing beauty of the young. Those little buggers are full of energy, emotion, and vibrant imagination. Perhaps that’s the secret to rediscovering our youth. Maybe we should imagine more, trip on boulevard of dreams, engage in flights of fancy, and hold tight to that which makes us feel young again.
I love writing, not because I’m any good but because it makes me feel alive and, dare I say, youthful. The unhindered exuberance of spewing shit out on my blog helps me recapture the youthful spirit long thought dead. For on this page I can be anybody, anywhere, anytime, anyplace. I can magically transport myself and a few readers back to a time when the adult travails of life seem insignificant. That is why I blog.
Tonight I bed down with my favorite cozy blanket, and sleep. To sleep, per chance to dream. Maybe I’ll have that one where I’m a kid again riding my bike down some suicidal incline. Maybe, just maybe.
Testicle Tuesday...new show hotties
I've found a great new show on NBC...Heroes. The plot is wickedly ecectic, the writing superb, the acting top notch, and a bevy of eye candy. So here are the girls of Heroes.
Ali Larter is a hottie who wreaks havoc without knowing it. She blacks out and awakens to devastation. Please Ali, devastate me.
This little starlet in waiting, Hayden Panettiere, plays a high school cheerleader who's gifted with the power to regenerate any physical damage, ala Wolverine from the X-Men. She's invulnerable, nubile, and deliciously gorgeous.
Ali Larter is a hottie who wreaks havoc without knowing it. She blacks out and awakens to devastation. Please Ali, devastate me.
This little starlet in waiting, Hayden Panettiere, plays a high school cheerleader who's gifted with the power to regenerate any physical damage, ala Wolverine from the X-Men. She's invulnerable, nubile, and deliciously gorgeous.
Meandering through a Thursday morning
As I sit here typing I find my thoughts pulled in a bazillion directions, you know, those quintessential moments when every synapse seems to be firing overtime and a collage of images swim before the mind’s eye. That’s me, right now, at this moment in time, the Shrubbery for once at a loss for words. Such is the nature of cognitive dissonance and the existential blues.
My mind trips down a plasticized boulevard while music chimes in ear, Strawberry Letter 23 by The Brothers Johnson. Groove tunes in the echo chamber that is thine cranium. Alas, the music switches, Hands of Time by Groove Armada, and thoughts meander yet again to some far off time and place that’s infinitely more appealing than the reality I marinate in on a daily basis.
Music switch…now Still Loving You by the Scorpions thunders from my computer system, speaking of the eclectic nature of my latest iTunes play list. It traverses the fine line between reality and fantasy, that far off place where dreams and fairies are created. This is the very place Winnie the Pooh resides, in that place atop the trees, where a boy and his bear will ALWAYS play.
And there I am, in my tree, looking for my beloved teddy bear. Music switches as Hey Jude by the legendary Beatles begins its soulful refrain. A fleeting glimpse of the bear of my youth, that tattered and worn yellow fuzzy bit of fur and stuffings. I remember the day I got him; it was Christmas morning, I was five, and the damn thing was bigger than me, and it was my favorite gift before or since. It was the perfect treat at the perfect stage in my life, truly a cosmic convergence.
As the sands of time sift through the hourglass that bear was always there. Through familial migrations, countless elbow drops from my dresser, drunken pratfalls after a night of massive alcohol consumption, there sat my bear, ever attentive, ever seeing, war torn and fuzzy. It was one of the constants of my life.
Music changes again…now 7 by Prince blares, with its harmony and R&B flavor coursing through the air. Mood changes also, now introspection replaces nostalgia.
How far do we travel the road inward? Who knows, for the road winds like serpentine cable strewn across a gymnasium floor. Only the perversely anal would trace the entire length of coax to its origins, the anal or those hungry for answers. Then you reach the point where the trail starts and you find a piece of audio equipment. Now what? Who the fuck cares, just crank up the music and relax, or dance, or whatever you do when the song of your choice is turned up to a righteous decibel level.
The iTunes now pumps out Doot Doot by Freur. The 80’s come crashing back into focus. Those carefree days when the upturned collar was vogue and pastels and fluorescents donned the cultural landscape. My God, I’ve never seen so much hairspray and eye shadow in my life. The shit was delivered in buckets to the humble abodes of those 80’s teen vixens, those tramps that stole hearts and bloodied the less fortunate.
Then my high school sweetheart dashes through my consciousness. Blonde hair, 5’8”, solid D-cup breasts, washboard abs, thick yet supple thighs, skin like a ribbon of silk. She was an enchantress, a succubus of the highest order. Then gone she was, faster than you can say her name. What the fuck happened? I still have no idea.
Ahhhhhhh, now The Fray streams from my speakers with their enormously popular ditty Cable Car. My mind’s eye focuses on the present, and my failure to pass the Colorado Bar Exam again. Shit. Three more months of constant study makes Shrubbery fucking grumpy. I begin pondering the future and whether or not law is in the picture. Yes, I spent an obscene amount of money on law school so the thought of giving up that dream is nauseating yet appealing. Too bad no one will pay me to play video games.
The baby blue sky floods through half drawn blinds. The day begins anew as does the train that is the current conscious. Down a new track it steams, belching smoke and fire, inexorably drawn to God only knows what or where. But relax, enjoy the ride, and let come what may come.
My mind trips down a plasticized boulevard while music chimes in ear, Strawberry Letter 23 by The Brothers Johnson. Groove tunes in the echo chamber that is thine cranium. Alas, the music switches, Hands of Time by Groove Armada, and thoughts meander yet again to some far off time and place that’s infinitely more appealing than the reality I marinate in on a daily basis.
Music switch…now Still Loving You by the Scorpions thunders from my computer system, speaking of the eclectic nature of my latest iTunes play list. It traverses the fine line between reality and fantasy, that far off place where dreams and fairies are created. This is the very place Winnie the Pooh resides, in that place atop the trees, where a boy and his bear will ALWAYS play.
And there I am, in my tree, looking for my beloved teddy bear. Music switches as Hey Jude by the legendary Beatles begins its soulful refrain. A fleeting glimpse of the bear of my youth, that tattered and worn yellow fuzzy bit of fur and stuffings. I remember the day I got him; it was Christmas morning, I was five, and the damn thing was bigger than me, and it was my favorite gift before or since. It was the perfect treat at the perfect stage in my life, truly a cosmic convergence.
As the sands of time sift through the hourglass that bear was always there. Through familial migrations, countless elbow drops from my dresser, drunken pratfalls after a night of massive alcohol consumption, there sat my bear, ever attentive, ever seeing, war torn and fuzzy. It was one of the constants of my life.
Music changes again…now 7 by Prince blares, with its harmony and R&B flavor coursing through the air. Mood changes also, now introspection replaces nostalgia.
How far do we travel the road inward? Who knows, for the road winds like serpentine cable strewn across a gymnasium floor. Only the perversely anal would trace the entire length of coax to its origins, the anal or those hungry for answers. Then you reach the point where the trail starts and you find a piece of audio equipment. Now what? Who the fuck cares, just crank up the music and relax, or dance, or whatever you do when the song of your choice is turned up to a righteous decibel level.
The iTunes now pumps out Doot Doot by Freur. The 80’s come crashing back into focus. Those carefree days when the upturned collar was vogue and pastels and fluorescents donned the cultural landscape. My God, I’ve never seen so much hairspray and eye shadow in my life. The shit was delivered in buckets to the humble abodes of those 80’s teen vixens, those tramps that stole hearts and bloodied the less fortunate.
Then my high school sweetheart dashes through my consciousness. Blonde hair, 5’8”, solid D-cup breasts, washboard abs, thick yet supple thighs, skin like a ribbon of silk. She was an enchantress, a succubus of the highest order. Then gone she was, faster than you can say her name. What the fuck happened? I still have no idea.
Ahhhhhhh, now The Fray streams from my speakers with their enormously popular ditty Cable Car. My mind’s eye focuses on the present, and my failure to pass the Colorado Bar Exam again. Shit. Three more months of constant study makes Shrubbery fucking grumpy. I begin pondering the future and whether or not law is in the picture. Yes, I spent an obscene amount of money on law school so the thought of giving up that dream is nauseating yet appealing. Too bad no one will pay me to play video games.
The baby blue sky floods through half drawn blinds. The day begins anew as does the train that is the current conscious. Down a new track it steams, belching smoke and fire, inexorably drawn to God only knows what or where. But relax, enjoy the ride, and let come what may come.
Testicle Tuesday, on a Wednesday...Road Rules hotties
My Road Rules obsession knows no bounds. So I made my own list of the hottest girls in the history of the show.
1. Our first hottie is Susie...mmmmmmmmmmmm, tasty.
2. This Cuban-American stunner is Veronica Portillo, and she's a spicy little tamale.
3. This dash of sweetness is Kendal.
4. Cara has adorned the pages of Playboy, God love her!
5. This hottie has also been naked in front of the camera, and Marybeth is unbelievably southern and smokin.
6. Mmmmmmmm, Kina.
7. And Jodi is yummy too.
Now you can fully appreciate my affinity for reality television.
1. Our first hottie is Susie...mmmmmmmmmmmm, tasty.
2. This Cuban-American stunner is Veronica Portillo, and she's a spicy little tamale.
3. This dash of sweetness is Kendal.
4. Cara has adorned the pages of Playboy, God love her!
5. This hottie has also been naked in front of the camera, and Marybeth is unbelievably southern and smokin.
6. Mmmmmmmm, Kina.
7. And Jodi is yummy too.
Now you can fully appreciate my affinity for reality television.
Wasup y'all
I'm back, though not in fighting/mid-season form. Got a GI bug and Montezuma's Revenge has me tied in knots. My appetite sucks and any food I ingest turns rapidly to watery brown poopy. My energy is lagging so my heart isn't in the whole blogging thing. Testicle Tuesday will wait 'till the morrow.
In case you were wondering...
The recent hietus in posting was due to a brief, 5-day stay at a local hospital due to a cellulitus infection in my foot. All is well and I'll be back tomorrow. Later...
It's official, I've totally abandoned my Democratic party
| You Are a "Don't Tread On Me" Libertarian |
 You distrust the government, are fiercely independent, and don't belong in either party. Religion and politics should never mix, in your opinion... and you feel opressed by both. You don't want the government to cramp your self made style. Or anyone else's for that matter. You're proud to say that you're pro-choice on absolutely everything! |
I'm shocked
| Slacker Kid |
 High school was a place you showed up occasionally, but you didn't really leave a mark. You hated rules, authority, and structure. In fact, you still do. |
A rant about God
Billiam the Conqueror wrote about why he believes in God last Friday. So, I was inspired to write the foregoing spiel about why we should develop a relationship with our Creator. Enjoy!
There are certain universal questions that we ask ourselves as human beings…Is there a God? Why are we here? The answer to these is as fleeting as a falling star and as difficult to grasp as eating Jell-o with chop sticks.
Here’s my take on the whole God & Creation thing…
The one mutuality we all share is the desire to know that our presence on this Earth has somehow effected and impacted those around us. But how do we measure the impact of our own existence? Simple, we don’t. The power is not ours and it will never be. We are no more capable of measuring the force of our life than the fish is capable of measuring how much water it displaces as it swims through the ocean. How do we measure the impact our lives have had on the human condition? We don’t, that power belongs only to our creator, to God.
Alfred Lord Tennyson once wrote, “I am a part of all that I have met.” We are all part of a collective and to assume otherwise is foolish. God put us on this Earth as a collective. Our mere presence in the world affects the rest of the world. This is the whole “a butterfly beats its wings in Africa and creates the hurricane that hits North America” philosophy.
To deny our role as curators of God’s museum, this very planet is to court disaster. We as a people need to honor God, we do this through faith. The concept of faith, in my opinion, has been perverted by years of religious angst. Faith is faith, not religion. Too many religious sects treat a relationship with God as an albatross around the neck, be they Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoism, etc. Faith is something to be celebrated, not denigrated. It doesn’t matter what faith you are, just that have faith.
Why do I bring up faith? Simple, we as human beings are made of three primary elements; mind, body, soul. And as such we were created by God, full of limitless potential. To truly honor God’s work we need to strengthen our being. We need to treat our bodies well by eating healthy and exercising. We need to tend to our brain pans by seeking out knowledge, educate ourselves, quit being stupid or wallowing in ignorance. And finally, we need to cultivate the soul.
Improving our bodies and minds is easy. But how do we develop our soul? The answer is not easy but I’ll do my amateurish best…
First off, we should do our best to introduce humility in our lives. His Holiness the Dalai Lama is one of the most influential men in the world but to hear him speak before 15,000 as he did this past Sunday here in Denver, you would swear you’re just chilling with someone’s grandpa. That’s humility.
Next, we must start treating members of our collective with understanding and grace. Too often we form a knee jerk reaction to that which annoys us. Don’t. Also, take it upon yourself to make someone smile.
Last, and most importantly, develop a relationship with God. The denomination or orthodoxy you choose is not important, a heart-felt union with God is vital. This is how we exercise our soul.
If we do not seek a relationship with God, be that deity Christ, Buddha, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah, Elohim, Jah, or whatever, we defile what He has created, we neglect our soul, and retard our spiritual development. Have no doubt, spirituality is part of the soul and a fantastically powerful tool.
Another facet of our soul is creativity. The singular pursuit of being human should be that of creation and imagination. To build cathedrals among the stars, to fly on the wings of passion and imagination, to dream what was once thought impossible; to feel, if but for one fleeting moment, that we have been touched by the finger of our Creator. This is how we honor God. Trace ribbons in the sky with your mind and your ass will follow.
Someone much wiser than I once wrote, “No journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.” (Lillian Smith) Maybe we should look inward in our search for God. Maybe, just maybe, the answer lies in our collective unconscious.
This introspective search is why I dissed my beloved Denver Broncos and made the pilgrimage to the Pepsi Center where His Holiness the Dalai Lama was speaking on Sunday. The experience was powerful. There sat one of the greatest leaders in the world, a man wanted by the Chinese government, being a wiseass and self-deprecating goofball. His humility shown through as completely genuine and his presence was both inspiring and calming. He didn’t elevate himself or his faith over anyone else’s. Hundreds of millions follow his teachings, including my dear friend Duditz, yet he wasn’t filled with piety or contradiction. He was just humble and down to Earth. He was at peace with himself and with God. We should all be so lucky.
Now before any of you smart asses start calling me Gimp Monk let me assuage your derision. I’m not a Buddhist; I’m just searching for answers, and ironically, creating more questions. Such is the nature of spirituality & faith. The journey is inward. Louise Bogan said, “The initial mystery that attends each journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?”
As I wind up this meandering tryst let me ask you to do something, for me and most of all for yourselves; keep the words of the Dalai Lama in mind, “This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.” So, tomorrow, as you stroll through your daily lives take it upon yourself to make at least one person smile. Whether it’s with a joke, a joyous “Hello”, picking up someone’s shit that they drop, or via a compliment, take it upon yourself to illicit a smile from someone you’ve never met. You’ll be shocked at how much better you feel and how much closer to God you become.
There are certain universal questions that we ask ourselves as human beings…Is there a God? Why are we here? The answer to these is as fleeting as a falling star and as difficult to grasp as eating Jell-o with chop sticks.
Here’s my take on the whole God & Creation thing…
The one mutuality we all share is the desire to know that our presence on this Earth has somehow effected and impacted those around us. But how do we measure the impact of our own existence? Simple, we don’t. The power is not ours and it will never be. We are no more capable of measuring the force of our life than the fish is capable of measuring how much water it displaces as it swims through the ocean. How do we measure the impact our lives have had on the human condition? We don’t, that power belongs only to our creator, to God.
Alfred Lord Tennyson once wrote, “I am a part of all that I have met.” We are all part of a collective and to assume otherwise is foolish. God put us on this Earth as a collective. Our mere presence in the world affects the rest of the world. This is the whole “a butterfly beats its wings in Africa and creates the hurricane that hits North America” philosophy.
To deny our role as curators of God’s museum, this very planet is to court disaster. We as a people need to honor God, we do this through faith. The concept of faith, in my opinion, has been perverted by years of religious angst. Faith is faith, not religion. Too many religious sects treat a relationship with God as an albatross around the neck, be they Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, Daoism, etc. Faith is something to be celebrated, not denigrated. It doesn’t matter what faith you are, just that have faith.
Why do I bring up faith? Simple, we as human beings are made of three primary elements; mind, body, soul. And as such we were created by God, full of limitless potential. To truly honor God’s work we need to strengthen our being. We need to treat our bodies well by eating healthy and exercising. We need to tend to our brain pans by seeking out knowledge, educate ourselves, quit being stupid or wallowing in ignorance. And finally, we need to cultivate the soul.
Improving our bodies and minds is easy. But how do we develop our soul? The answer is not easy but I’ll do my amateurish best…
First off, we should do our best to introduce humility in our lives. His Holiness the Dalai Lama is one of the most influential men in the world but to hear him speak before 15,000 as he did this past Sunday here in Denver, you would swear you’re just chilling with someone’s grandpa. That’s humility.
Next, we must start treating members of our collective with understanding and grace. Too often we form a knee jerk reaction to that which annoys us. Don’t. Also, take it upon yourself to make someone smile.
Last, and most importantly, develop a relationship with God. The denomination or orthodoxy you choose is not important, a heart-felt union with God is vital. This is how we exercise our soul.
If we do not seek a relationship with God, be that deity Christ, Buddha, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah, Elohim, Jah, or whatever, we defile what He has created, we neglect our soul, and retard our spiritual development. Have no doubt, spirituality is part of the soul and a fantastically powerful tool.
Another facet of our soul is creativity. The singular pursuit of being human should be that of creation and imagination. To build cathedrals among the stars, to fly on the wings of passion and imagination, to dream what was once thought impossible; to feel, if but for one fleeting moment, that we have been touched by the finger of our Creator. This is how we honor God. Trace ribbons in the sky with your mind and your ass will follow.
Someone much wiser than I once wrote, “No journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.” (Lillian Smith) Maybe we should look inward in our search for God. Maybe, just maybe, the answer lies in our collective unconscious.
This introspective search is why I dissed my beloved Denver Broncos and made the pilgrimage to the Pepsi Center where His Holiness the Dalai Lama was speaking on Sunday. The experience was powerful. There sat one of the greatest leaders in the world, a man wanted by the Chinese government, being a wiseass and self-deprecating goofball. His humility shown through as completely genuine and his presence was both inspiring and calming. He didn’t elevate himself or his faith over anyone else’s. Hundreds of millions follow his teachings, including my dear friend Duditz, yet he wasn’t filled with piety or contradiction. He was just humble and down to Earth. He was at peace with himself and with God. We should all be so lucky.
Now before any of you smart asses start calling me Gimp Monk let me assuage your derision. I’m not a Buddhist; I’m just searching for answers, and ironically, creating more questions. Such is the nature of spirituality & faith. The journey is inward. Louise Bogan said, “The initial mystery that attends each journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?”
As I wind up this meandering tryst let me ask you to do something, for me and most of all for yourselves; keep the words of the Dalai Lama in mind, “This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.” So, tomorrow, as you stroll through your daily lives take it upon yourself to make at least one person smile. Whether it’s with a joke, a joyous “Hello”, picking up someone’s shit that they drop, or via a compliment, take it upon yourself to illicit a smile from someone you’ve never met. You’ll be shocked at how much better you feel and how much closer to God you become.
Testicle Tuesday...Real World hotties
Anyone who know's me is privy to my obsession with MTV's The Real World. I've been watching these mindless sycophantic brats for a decade and a half. One of the primary drawing cards of an ordinarily annoying cast is the bevy of beauties MTV has paraded before the camera. So here is my contribution to the morass of pop culture, the definitive countdown of the hottest girls in Real World history.
1. In compiling these TT countdowns I've never had an easier choice of who to put as Hottie No.1. Mallory Snyder was on the Paris cast and has also adorned the pages of the Bible of maledom...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.
2. Jacinda Barrett was part of the London cast and has went on to star in Ladder 49 and other bit parts. She's anAussie so her accent will melt steel.
3. Johanna Abotta was featured in the Austin season and was on the recently concluded Fresh Meat Real World/Road Rules Challenge. She just looks sweet.
4. Jamie Chung was recently voted the hottest girl on reality television by Stuff Magazine...I might put the afore mentioned Mallory Snyder at #1 but I can't really argue too much with their choice, can you?
Just a quick segue to next week, the girls on Road Rules are even yummier. Grrrrrrr.
1. In compiling these TT countdowns I've never had an easier choice of who to put as Hottie No.1. Mallory Snyder was on the Paris cast and has also adorned the pages of the Bible of maledom...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.
2. Jacinda Barrett was part of the London cast and has went on to star in Ladder 49 and other bit parts. She's anAussie so her accent will melt steel.
3. Johanna Abotta was featured in the Austin season and was on the recently concluded Fresh Meat Real World/Road Rules Challenge. She just looks sweet.
4. Jamie Chung was recently voted the hottest girl on reality television by Stuff Magazine...I might put the afore mentioned Mallory Snyder at #1 but I can't really argue too much with their choice, can you?
Just a quick segue to next week, the girls on Road Rules are even yummier. Grrrrrrr.
Just had to share this...
Man, just when you thought the Tanya & Nancy saga was the most bizarre sports story ever...
At my alma mater where I got my undergrad degree the football team is embroiled in controversy. Seems the backup punter is accused of assaulting and stabbing the starting punter in his leg...the kicking leg...the leg that got him a scholarship. The bench warmer, who's been been booted from his dorm room and has no Greeley address, is now out on $30,000 bond and faces serious criminal charges. There's no time frame on the return of the starting punter.
HE'S A FREAKIN' KICKER, TRYING TO ICE ANOTHER KICKER!
Let me repeat...
HE'S A PUNTER, TRYING TO SIDELINE ANOTHER PUNTER!
For the love of Ray Guy and everything holy, WTF!
The University of Northern Colorado is a Div. IAA, they're not even on television. What's mystifying is how the backup couldn't win the job, the starter is averaging a paltry 37.6 yards a punt.
Trust me when I say there is very little incentive to stay in Greeley, Colorado. It's in the middle of hail alley, the swath of land tha is home to the most frequent and violent hail storms on Earth. It stands adjacent to a ConAgra meat packing plant, a plant that was at one point the largest such facility in the world, and let me tell you the stench from the bovine ejectus when the wind is right will bring tears to your eyes, not to mention the fumes from the rending house where they burn off the blood, organ, and tissue waste. At times these odiferous eminations with leave a film on your toungue.
If Colorado was given an enema the hose would go in Greeley.
This is the setting of a sordid melodrama that would make the ancient Greeks issue a collective, "Huh?"
A punter at a Div. IAA school that rarely plays on TV bumping off the starting punter who can only kick 37 yards at a time in a town that is a cultural and scholastic black hole.
Wrap your minds around this...I dare you.
At my alma mater where I got my undergrad degree the football team is embroiled in controversy. Seems the backup punter is accused of assaulting and stabbing the starting punter in his leg...the kicking leg...the leg that got him a scholarship. The bench warmer, who's been been booted from his dorm room and has no Greeley address, is now out on $30,000 bond and faces serious criminal charges. There's no time frame on the return of the starting punter.
HE'S A FREAKIN' KICKER, TRYING TO ICE ANOTHER KICKER!
Let me repeat...
HE'S A PUNTER, TRYING TO SIDELINE ANOTHER PUNTER!
For the love of Ray Guy and everything holy, WTF!
The University of Northern Colorado is a Div. IAA, they're not even on television. What's mystifying is how the backup couldn't win the job, the starter is averaging a paltry 37.6 yards a punt.
Trust me when I say there is very little incentive to stay in Greeley, Colorado. It's in the middle of hail alley, the swath of land tha is home to the most frequent and violent hail storms on Earth. It stands adjacent to a ConAgra meat packing plant, a plant that was at one point the largest such facility in the world, and let me tell you the stench from the bovine ejectus when the wind is right will bring tears to your eyes, not to mention the fumes from the rending house where they burn off the blood, organ, and tissue waste. At times these odiferous eminations with leave a film on your toungue.
If Colorado was given an enema the hose would go in Greeley.
This is the setting of a sordid melodrama that would make the ancient Greeks issue a collective, "Huh?"
A punter at a Div. IAA school that rarely plays on TV bumping off the starting punter who can only kick 37 yards at a time in a town that is a cultural and scholastic black hole.
Wrap your minds around this...I dare you.
Testicle Tuesday...sportin hotties
I love sports, so, naturally I thought it would be interesting to compile a list of the loveliest athletes in creation. And, eureka, here it is. Enjoy the luciousness of sporting femeninity...
1. Jennie Finch is a gold medal winning pitcher on the U.S. international softball squad and she's won numerous hot female athlete awards, and who am I to argue.
2. Many remember Jamie Sale as one half of the Canadian pairs figure skating duo that got jacked out of gold in the 2002 Winter Olympics because of the psycho French judge (a redunancy) but the Shrub remembers her for exuding hotness.
3. Regan Lauscher is the yummiest luger on Earth. She makes her sports living in skin-tight suits zooming down a bobsled track at 80mph.
4. Kati Wilhelm is a biathalon specialist. Now before you get any ideas about her sexual proclivities let me remind you the biathalon combines cross-country skiing with target shooting. She knows how to handle a rifle and she's German, so beware if she finds you annoying.
5. Amanda Beard was recently voted the sexiest female athlete in the world by FHM. Look at these pics and you'll understand why...
6. I chose Barrett Christy because she looks exactly like this girl I dated in high school who just happened to be the sweetest person I've ever known. Plus Barret can throw down on a snowboard, winning multiple Winter X-Games gold.
1. Jennie Finch is a gold medal winning pitcher on the U.S. international softball squad and she's won numerous hot female athlete awards, and who am I to argue.
2. Many remember Jamie Sale as one half of the Canadian pairs figure skating duo that got jacked out of gold in the 2002 Winter Olympics because of the psycho French judge (a redunancy) but the Shrub remembers her for exuding hotness.
3. Regan Lauscher is the yummiest luger on Earth. She makes her sports living in skin-tight suits zooming down a bobsled track at 80mph.
4. Kati Wilhelm is a biathalon specialist. Now before you get any ideas about her sexual proclivities let me remind you the biathalon combines cross-country skiing with target shooting. She knows how to handle a rifle and she's German, so beware if she finds you annoying.
5. Amanda Beard was recently voted the sexiest female athlete in the world by FHM. Look at these pics and you'll understand why...
6. I chose Barrett Christy because she looks exactly like this girl I dated in high school who just happened to be the sweetest person I've ever known. Plus Barret can throw down on a snowboard, winning multiple Winter X-Games gold.
WHAT'S THE WORLD COMING TO?
Paris Hilton, the ditsoid debutante heiress of the Hilton Hotel fortune got busted for a DUI. The fact she was driving after imbibing libations for hours is in no way shocking. We so saw this coming, like we saw the Jessica Simpson-Nick Lachey implosion from a mile away. I mean Ms. Hilton is a true Hollywood train wreck; B-list celebrity with alcoholic and narcissistic tendencies who's living off the fame of marginal hotness and the horrendously stupid and vapid reality show she did with now arch enemy Nicole "I'm not skinny enough" Ritchie. Her getting busted for a DUI is akin to Michael Jackson getting caught doing adolescent boys, we issue a collective "Duh" and move on.
What's appalling about this whole sordid story is the stunning lack of police corruption. The woman is cute and worth a bundle. The arresting officer couldn't think of more creative road-side jurisprudence. I'd demand a hotel, Ferrari, cruise, or gratuitous felatio. We all know Paris would comply with any of these simple requests. But nooooooo, the police pick this moment to be disturbingly noble and err on the side of law & order.
Where's the crooked/horny cop when you need one? Where's the compelled body cavity search? Where's the evasion of police procedure? Where's the stereotypical country pokie saying, "You sure got pertie lips"?
My world makes no sense anymore. I used to be able to wake in the morning and count on four things to center my universe; the French would be mind numbingly annoying, the Colorado Rockies would stink on ice, a national political figure would say or do something horribly stupid, and the police would continue to wallow in corruption.
There was a time when I could look upon my local constabulary and say with pride, "There goes the biggest bunch of criminal mother fuckers in the country." But the illusion is no more. And the Shakespearean irony is that of all people to walk the straight & narrow with it had to be when you pulled over the richest uber slut in California. Bravo.
What's appalling about this whole sordid story is the stunning lack of police corruption. The woman is cute and worth a bundle. The arresting officer couldn't think of more creative road-side jurisprudence. I'd demand a hotel, Ferrari, cruise, or gratuitous felatio. We all know Paris would comply with any of these simple requests. But nooooooo, the police pick this moment to be disturbingly noble and err on the side of law & order.
Where's the crooked/horny cop when you need one? Where's the compelled body cavity search? Where's the evasion of police procedure? Where's the stereotypical country pokie saying, "You sure got pertie lips"?
My world makes no sense anymore. I used to be able to wake in the morning and count on four things to center my universe; the French would be mind numbingly annoying, the Colorado Rockies would stink on ice, a national political figure would say or do something horribly stupid, and the police would continue to wallow in corruption.
There was a time when I could look upon my local constabulary and say with pride, "There goes the biggest bunch of criminal mother fuckers in the country." But the illusion is no more. And the Shakespearean irony is that of all people to walk the straight & narrow with it had to be when you pulled over the richest uber slut in California. Bravo.
Testicle Tuesday...Hot Heroines
Today's intstalment features the hottest estrogen infused super heroes/villians in cinamatic history, in order of hotness...
1. Tie--Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry...both of these scorching hot little kittens deserve their own coveted TT all to themselves. But, in the name of argumentation & debate, I thought I'd couple the two hottest versions of Cat Woman and just drink in the leather and whips...so who's hotter, Halle or Michelle...I can't decide.
2. Lost in the commercial success of Buffy the Vampire Slayer series was the fact Kristy Swanson was the original Buffy, and arguably more of a tasty treat.
3. Few starlets can match the raw sensuality Rebecca Romijn brings to the screen. Who will ever forget Becky all in blue playing the stunning and dastardly Mystique in the X-Men movies. God I love chicks who can carry off loud makeup and hair.
4. Many an hour of my pre-pubescent years was spent oggling Linda Carter's goodies as she pranced around as Wonder Woman. Tie me up with the lasoo of truth you little she-devil.
5. Batman & Robin was an utterly forgetable film. What was unforgetable was Alicia Silverstone scurrying about as Bat Girl in full body spandex. I love American cinema!
1. Tie--Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry...both of these scorching hot little kittens deserve their own coveted TT all to themselves. But, in the name of argumentation & debate, I thought I'd couple the two hottest versions of Cat Woman and just drink in the leather and whips...so who's hotter, Halle or Michelle...I can't decide.
2. Lost in the commercial success of Buffy the Vampire Slayer series was the fact Kristy Swanson was the original Buffy, and arguably more of a tasty treat.
3. Few starlets can match the raw sensuality Rebecca Romijn brings to the screen. Who will ever forget Becky all in blue playing the stunning and dastardly Mystique in the X-Men movies. God I love chicks who can carry off loud makeup and hair.
4. Many an hour of my pre-pubescent years was spent oggling Linda Carter's goodies as she pranced around as Wonder Woman. Tie me up with the lasoo of truth you little she-devil.
5. Batman & Robin was an utterly forgetable film. What was unforgetable was Alicia Silverstone scurrying about as Bat Girl in full body spandex. I love American cinema!
Great lawyer jokes
1. As the lawyer woke up from surgery, he asked, "Why are all the blinds drawn?" The nurse answered, "There's a big fire across the street, and we didn't want you to think you had died."
2. God decided to take the devil to court and settle their differences once and for all. Satan heard this, laughed and said, "And where do you think you're going to find a lawyer?"
More to come...
2. God decided to take the devil to court and settle their differences once and for all. Satan heard this, laughed and said, "And where do you think you're going to find a lawyer?"
More to come...
Testicle Tuesday...yeah yeah yeah, I know I'm late
As a reward for waiting an extra day to oggle hotness personafide I bring you the top five Hotties Flying Under the Radar...
You may recognize this sultry brunette from the Mercury commercials. Her Name is Jill Wagner and she is smokin hot, yummy, tasty, damn near perfect.
Jody Lyn O'Keefe is a bit player on several movies and the ill fated Nash Bridges. Go on, soak up her hotness...if you dare.
This saucy little tart hails from the Farheit commercial, her name is Jelena Abbou, and she is spankalicious.
The first time I saw the Overstock.com commercial I nearly molested my TV. This Euromynx was born in Germany and has the sexiest voice this side of Kathlene Turner & Demi Moore. Her name...Sabine Ehrenfeld.
Reno 911 is wicked funny and this stunning lass spices up the show occasionally. Mina Olivera is her name, hotness is her game.
Now I'm off to contemplate my takeover of the free world, one Tesicle Tuesday at a time.
You may recognize this sultry brunette from the Mercury commercials. Her Name is Jill Wagner and she is smokin hot, yummy, tasty, damn near perfect.
Jody Lyn O'Keefe is a bit player on several movies and the ill fated Nash Bridges. Go on, soak up her hotness...if you dare.
This saucy little tart hails from the Farheit commercial, her name is Jelena Abbou, and she is spankalicious.
The first time I saw the Overstock.com commercial I nearly molested my TV. This Euromynx was born in Germany and has the sexiest voice this side of Kathlene Turner & Demi Moore. Her name...Sabine Ehrenfeld.
Reno 911 is wicked funny and this stunning lass spices up the show occasionally. Mina Olivera is her name, hotness is her game.
Now I'm off to contemplate my takeover of the free world, one Tesicle Tuesday at a time.
Now you know
As a gimp, you know, a drooley/cripple/quadriplegic, people always ask me what it’s like to be disabled. So, I thought I’d expound upon the experience.
The first thing when explaining a foreign situation to someone is to put shit into perspective. Here’s the perspective…
The most profoundly tragic loss when I broke my neck was not the loss of independence, not the death of my athletic ability, or even the loss of control of basic body functions.
The truly most profound tragedy was the loss of the ability to masturbate.
Oh, you more sensitive types are rolling your eyes and saying “What does masturbation have to do with your disability?” Only two people would respond in this way; the hermaphrodites who can fuck themselves, and women.
Now let me expound upon the true tragedy of my plight. I’m a guy, and as such I require four basic necessities for daily survival; food, beer, oxygen, sexual release. That’s it, that’s the list. For the last sixteen years I’ve been cruelly deprived of a basic element of maledom, the ability to pleasure one’s self when the need arises. And arise it does…a lot.
There comes a point in every male’s life when you realize spanking your monkey is fun, and cathartic. The first time a guy rubs one out is a momentous occasion, the type of event that warrants a parade and fireworks. You feel ashamed at first, especially when you’re eventually caught by a parental unit. But after a few months you realize your completing the circle of life, partaking in a ritual that has been repeated for time in memoriam. I bet those cavemen were spanking fools.
The Catholics have it all wrong…masturbation should be exalted, not vilified. EVERY guy has done it, from the Pope right on down to the pubescent alter boy. I bet Christ Himself jerked a load. The man was knee deep sheppards’ daughters, not to mention that tramp Mary Magdalene. Can you imagine being buns up and receiving a frosty load from the King of Kings? I bet his spooge had healing properties, but alas, I digress.
Now picture the world of the future. A medium exists where every conceivable type of smut is available at your fingertips. In the early to mid 90’s a little communication device changed forever the way we males beat our meat. The Internet brought a universe of porn to our desks. It was Sharia, Nirvana, Moksha, Elysium, Asgard/Valhalla, and Utopia all wrapped into one well lubricated fist. The avenue to consumption of mass quantities of porn was finally open. I had achieved universal masturbatory consciousness.
I had dreams about this shit in high school. I would lay awake at night pondering an existence where I could view lesbians with strap-ons drilling the bejesus out of each other. And I could view it anytime I wanted in the privacy of a locked room. And it was free.
Imagine having your wildest dreams of childhood come to fruition. Your six and under the tree at Christmas was a mound of presents, every toy you’d ever thought of, and you want more than anything to open them, but you are fooled by a sadistic mirage. The tree stands barren as the last vestiges of your innocence are sucked into a black hole of despair.
Such was my plight on September 24, 1996. This was the day I was to get high-speed internet access. I was excited, just plain giddy with excitement. The cable guy couldn’t leave fast enough for me. I said my goodbyes and bellied up to my computer for hours of salacious entertainment. Then reality hit me in the face. I paused, looked down at the stick of driftwood that passes for my penis, and I wept. I had finally known deep sorrow, the kind few will know.
Now, every guy reading this, at least the ones in possession of a soul, are like, “Sorry man, that sucks”. You women are asking yourself, “What’s the big deal ya perv?”
Let me put this into perspective, channel the spirit of my foremothers, and let you catch a glimpse of my daily life.
Imagine you own a 100,000 square foot house. In it are thousands of rooms, more rooms than you could possibly visit in a lifetime. In these rooms are every conceivable type of shoe and chocolate ever devised. You have shoes from the Orient, ancient Egypt, and modern-day Hollywood, chocolates from Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and Hershey, Pennsylvania. You can lay in an alabaster tub full of Prada and Godiva chocolates. You’ve had fantasies about this very experience since you were a wee girl. The house is yours, you can visit whichever room you choose anytime you want, no one is watching, and it’s all free. Then you realize you have no mouth or feet.
Welcome to my world y’all. Who will weep for this little boy lost?
The first thing when explaining a foreign situation to someone is to put shit into perspective. Here’s the perspective…
The most profoundly tragic loss when I broke my neck was not the loss of independence, not the death of my athletic ability, or even the loss of control of basic body functions.
The truly most profound tragedy was the loss of the ability to masturbate.
Oh, you more sensitive types are rolling your eyes and saying “What does masturbation have to do with your disability?” Only two people would respond in this way; the hermaphrodites who can fuck themselves, and women.
Now let me expound upon the true tragedy of my plight. I’m a guy, and as such I require four basic necessities for daily survival; food, beer, oxygen, sexual release. That’s it, that’s the list. For the last sixteen years I’ve been cruelly deprived of a basic element of maledom, the ability to pleasure one’s self when the need arises. And arise it does…a lot.
There comes a point in every male’s life when you realize spanking your monkey is fun, and cathartic. The first time a guy rubs one out is a momentous occasion, the type of event that warrants a parade and fireworks. You feel ashamed at first, especially when you’re eventually caught by a parental unit. But after a few months you realize your completing the circle of life, partaking in a ritual that has been repeated for time in memoriam. I bet those cavemen were spanking fools.
The Catholics have it all wrong…masturbation should be exalted, not vilified. EVERY guy has done it, from the Pope right on down to the pubescent alter boy. I bet Christ Himself jerked a load. The man was knee deep sheppards’ daughters, not to mention that tramp Mary Magdalene. Can you imagine being buns up and receiving a frosty load from the King of Kings? I bet his spooge had healing properties, but alas, I digress.
Now picture the world of the future. A medium exists where every conceivable type of smut is available at your fingertips. In the early to mid 90’s a little communication device changed forever the way we males beat our meat. The Internet brought a universe of porn to our desks. It was Sharia, Nirvana, Moksha, Elysium, Asgard/Valhalla, and Utopia all wrapped into one well lubricated fist. The avenue to consumption of mass quantities of porn was finally open. I had achieved universal masturbatory consciousness.
I had dreams about this shit in high school. I would lay awake at night pondering an existence where I could view lesbians with strap-ons drilling the bejesus out of each other. And I could view it anytime I wanted in the privacy of a locked room. And it was free.
Imagine having your wildest dreams of childhood come to fruition. Your six and under the tree at Christmas was a mound of presents, every toy you’d ever thought of, and you want more than anything to open them, but you are fooled by a sadistic mirage. The tree stands barren as the last vestiges of your innocence are sucked into a black hole of despair.
Such was my plight on September 24, 1996. This was the day I was to get high-speed internet access. I was excited, just plain giddy with excitement. The cable guy couldn’t leave fast enough for me. I said my goodbyes and bellied up to my computer for hours of salacious entertainment. Then reality hit me in the face. I paused, looked down at the stick of driftwood that passes for my penis, and I wept. I had finally known deep sorrow, the kind few will know.
Now, every guy reading this, at least the ones in possession of a soul, are like, “Sorry man, that sucks”. You women are asking yourself, “What’s the big deal ya perv?”
Let me put this into perspective, channel the spirit of my foremothers, and let you catch a glimpse of my daily life.
Imagine you own a 100,000 square foot house. In it are thousands of rooms, more rooms than you could possibly visit in a lifetime. In these rooms are every conceivable type of shoe and chocolate ever devised. You have shoes from the Orient, ancient Egypt, and modern-day Hollywood, chocolates from Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and Hershey, Pennsylvania. You can lay in an alabaster tub full of Prada and Godiva chocolates. You’ve had fantasies about this very experience since you were a wee girl. The house is yours, you can visit whichever room you choose anytime you want, no one is watching, and it’s all free. Then you realize you have no mouth or feet.
Welcome to my world y’all. Who will weep for this little boy lost?
Testicle tuesday...Bond girls countdown
No other franchise in the history of cinema has given the public the bevy o' buxom beauties as the James Bond films. So, in order to educate my loyal readers about all that is yummy I bring you my Top Ten Bond Girls...
1. Honor Blackmon: Golfinger (Pussy Galore)
2. Izabella Scorupco: Goldeneye (Natalya)
3. Tanya Roberts: A View To A Kill (Stacy Sutton)
4. Jane Seymour: Live And Let Die (Solitaire)
5. Tania Mallet: Goldfinger (Tilly Masterson)
6. Ursala Andress: Dr. No (Honey Ryder)
7. Claudine Auger: Thunderball (Dominique Derval)
8. Barbara Bach: The Spy Who Loved Me (Anya Amasova)
9. Denise Richards: The World Is Not Enough (Dr. Christmas)
10. Teri Hatcher: Tomorrow Never Dies (Paris Carver)
p.s. I'm feeling much better...the ill effects of anemia have passed me by. Thanks for the well wishes.
1. Honor Blackmon: Golfinger (Pussy Galore)
2. Izabella Scorupco: Goldeneye (Natalya)
3. Tanya Roberts: A View To A Kill (Stacy Sutton)
4. Jane Seymour: Live And Let Die (Solitaire)
5. Tania Mallet: Goldfinger (Tilly Masterson)
6. Ursala Andress: Dr. No (Honey Ryder)
7. Claudine Auger: Thunderball (Dominique Derval)
8. Barbara Bach: The Spy Who Loved Me (Anya Amasova)
9. Denise Richards: The World Is Not Enough (Dr. Christmas)
10. Teri Hatcher: Tomorrow Never Dies (Paris Carver)
p.s. I'm feeling much better...the ill effects of anemia have passed me by. Thanks for the well wishes.
Shrub's illin'
Wasup y'all? Shrub here. My doctor informed me that I'm severely anemic. I've never been so tired and today I think I'm spiking a fever. So, I may have to take a sojourn at a local hospital for a brief stay to peruse the menu and channel surf through shitty TV. I'll keep you posted as to my state but if I don't post for a while you know why.
Just deserts
The following is a true story...
A Charlotte, North Carolina lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire, among other things.
Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company. In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires."
The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
The lawyer sued.. and WON! (Stay with me.) delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer "held a policy from the company which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire" and was obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars lost in the "fires".
NOW FOR THE BEST PART...After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine.
A Charlotte, North Carolina lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire, among other things.
Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company. In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires."
The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
The lawyer sued.. and WON! (Stay with me.) delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer "held a policy from the company which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire" and was obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars lost in the "fires".
NOW FOR THE BEST PART...After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine.
Thursday stream of conciousness posting
As I sit pondering the after life of the annoying terrier that resides next door who barks non stop from 5am-8am some random thoughts and observations are flowing through my cranium…
There’s a strip mall about a five minute walk from my front door. What’s quirky is the residents. In the corner is a Planned Parenthood clinic…and right next door…a liquor store. I’m not making this up, I’m not that clever.
I lived in Greeley a while back. Greeley is a town of 60,000 about 75 minutes north of Denver. Just north of Greeley was a little burg called Eaton, complete with its own liquor store. The name of the establishment, pray tell…Eaton Liquor. I’ll give you a moment to digest that nugget.
I’ve written on this before but felt the need to reiterate. Landry’s, one of the largest seafood restaurant chains in the country, has locations in the downtown aquariums in both Houston and Denver. Once again, I’m not making this up.
Holy shit! This guy has balls of steel! This guy’s nuts too!
This shit is wet-your-pants funny. So is this.
The most aptly named blog ever. Bravo Jamie R.
Auntie Morg, I want thank you for posting Brit Eklund’s magical posterior on the last TT. Her ass was spankerific.
A friend and I are trying to put together a comedy pilot/video. Think of the Dave Chappelle Show for gimps. Anyone with skit ideas or funny yet apropos names for the show just post in the comments or email me.
I’ve been doing the internet dating thing for a while and the sheer volume of crazy Russian chicks seeking visa is staggering. Russia must be a shit hole right now.
By for now kids.
There’s a strip mall about a five minute walk from my front door. What’s quirky is the residents. In the corner is a Planned Parenthood clinic…and right next door…a liquor store. I’m not making this up, I’m not that clever.
I lived in Greeley a while back. Greeley is a town of 60,000 about 75 minutes north of Denver. Just north of Greeley was a little burg called Eaton, complete with its own liquor store. The name of the establishment, pray tell…Eaton Liquor. I’ll give you a moment to digest that nugget.
I’ve written on this before but felt the need to reiterate. Landry’s, one of the largest seafood restaurant chains in the country, has locations in the downtown aquariums in both Houston and Denver. Once again, I’m not making this up.
Holy shit! This guy has balls of steel! This guy’s nuts too!
This shit is wet-your-pants funny. So is this.
The most aptly named blog ever. Bravo Jamie R.
Auntie Morg, I want thank you for posting Brit Eklund’s magical posterior on the last TT. Her ass was spankerific.
A friend and I are trying to put together a comedy pilot/video. Think of the Dave Chappelle Show for gimps. Anyone with skit ideas or funny yet apropos names for the show just post in the comments or email me.
I’ve been doing the internet dating thing for a while and the sheer volume of crazy Russian chicks seeking visa is staggering. Russia must be a shit hole right now.
By for now kids.
Testicle Tuesday...back after all these weeks...
As a video game junkie I love when those crafty techno geeks endow the, eh hem, well endowed with the duty of saving man kind. Two of my favorites, along with Angelina Jolie, are the two pictured here...
I defy anyone to find two hotter video game vixens turned big screen heroines than Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux and Mila Jovovich in both Resident Evil movies. Mmmmmmmmm, damn fine acting!
I defy anyone to find two hotter video game vixens turned big screen heroines than Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux and Mila Jovovich in both Resident Evil movies. Mmmmmmmmm, damn fine acting!
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