Rants from Graceland

To Blog, or Not To Blog...

2007-02-24T10:51:00.000-05:00

Alas, gentle reader, I have awaken to find the world still turns, unyielding to my attempts to slow its spin and stop that Mother of all Mistresses, Time. I have returned from the underground again, much like Lestat after growing weary of the times. Perhaps I shall take to the adornment of this webspace to reflect the new time here at Graceland, and perhaps I won’t.
I can’t say that much has changed from my last posts, thus the lack of activity here. The Spawn have grown larger and louder and picked up how so many more idiosyncrasies that betray the genes of origin. The hairs that remain on the scalp have been assimilated further by the gray collective it is becoming. The bones and joints creak a little louder. But – I survive! I eat, I cook, I drink, and that, in itself, is Good.

Let me not keep you, webcrawler, from your duly appointed Tube rounds by your pause here at the ‘Land. I feel a growing need inside to display that passing evil thought and feeling more commonly feared and expressed as Opinion, and let the wrath fall where it might from its release. As I’ve heard it said, “If they can’t take a joke, f*&k ‘em.”

Response

2006-05-10T16:59:00.000-04:00

Gotta love the kid.
This time, I refer not to my spawn as usual, but my original "kid" – the sis.
She has always been and will always be my kid sister, and today she worked her normal blog magic to wake this sleeping giant to post again.

Here was the deal: quoted from her site:
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.

2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.

3. I'll leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.

4. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.

5. If I do this for you, you must (please) post this on your journal so you can do the same for other people.

So here was the kid’s response:
1. Despite being a callous asshole at times, your love and support for chosen people is limitless.

2. "Come Sail Away" as sung by Cartman. That, and "Crying" by Roy Orbison.

3. People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built.
Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 - 1962), My Day

4. Dude... what was UP with that whole Harry-Krishna episode?

Allow me to answer her question.
I never had a “Hare-Krishna” episode, however I must admit to seriously turning my back to the Catholic Church. It’s amazing what happens when you open yourself to other thoughts and ideals, in that you may just begin to understand what or why other people do what they do. You may appreciate the finer things, or be disgusted at the vast majority of ignorance and apathy that surrounds us all.
In my case, I went on an exploration. I learned about who other folk pray to and why, or why they don’t at all. Never along this journey did I ever lose my personal conviction, faith, or dialogue with God.
Before this gets hairy, I must point out that you, gentle reader, must not confuse the terms faith and religion. Religion is a man-made set of rules. Faith is a personal understanding.
I don’t want or have to write a thesis here, but let it be said that my episode is not yet finished. I don’t fully agree with the doctrines of the Catholic Church. Our catechism is a fun bunch of rules du jour that can easily be changed with a cash-based indulgence system, without any real biblical basis. How many rules do we have to adopt from pagan religions to convert more to “our” side?
The basics are essentially real, though. One God and Father Almighty? Check. Lord King, Messiah and Savior JC? Check. We’re all waiting for JC’s big return for final judgment and Earthly cleanup? You betcha dupa.
So, kid – Hare Krishna? That dude’s a mess. Me? Yeah – I’m a mess, too, but dammit – I’m proud to be straight up callous about the stupid shit that gets us bent outta shape and diverts us from the real stuff that life should be made of.

Last note: Roy Orbison was teh kewl.

She's really Rosie...

2006-04-24T13:19:00.000-04:00

I believe it was Mr. Yasko that turned me on to the Illuminatus action. Within that work I discovered the crazy number theories of Discordia and all that, but mainly that the number five is something mystical and very very special.
Well – that all might be 23-skiddoo nutso, but I can concur that the number five has got some extra value in it today. Today marks the fifth birth anniversary of my second born, Delaney Rose.
The middle child is an interesting breed, as I’ve come to know, and Delaney is truly in a class all to herself. She finds her way to stand out, go beyond unique yet fit in with her brother and sister, and shine brighter than any star in the sky.
She captures anyone who glances into her blue gray eyes, and I truly fear for the hearts of men future, for they know not what lies behind those gates. Even I cannot stand against her gaze, as I find myself lost in those eyes and broken to her guile. It is too easy for me to take pause and simply watch her do the smallest of tasks, and the thought of her growing any older sends me to panic, my treasure is slipping away.
How she has grown! It is without doubt the most amazing thing of parenting, to suddenly notice the changes that day by day go without care, and by total have transformed a toddling thing into a little girl that has stolen her daddy’s heart.
From penguins to dancing to Care Bears to spaghetti and meatballs to Tinkerbell to drawing to suddenly tennis, today my ‘Laney gets whatever she likes, because it’s a special day. She’s Five.
Notice all the fives today, because they’ll stand out just like ‘Laney.
Happy Birthday, Delaney!

EDIT: There will be a pic appropriate later today to accompany the post. Check back later.

It's Roundup Time

2006-04-11T14:02:00.000-04:00

Will somebody PLEASE tell why we don’t have the fleets of Greyhounds ready to pack up and ship off most of the illegal immigrants, now that they’ve decided to pack themselves together at convenient locations? They’re bitching about the costs of doing the “radical” thing, where most of the cost is tracking down and finding them, but hey Mr. Law Enforcement – THERE THEY ARE.
These leeches are rallying and protesting all over this great nation for their rights. Whose rights? OUR rights – the Americans’ rights.
Here’s the guy who may just have the last bit of common sense to be able to get something printed in Big Media:

Peter Lanteri, director of New York's chapter of the Minutemen, a volunteer border watch group, said he thought it was "ridiculous" that illegal immigrants were protesting for their rights.
"Illegal is illegal, and they break our laws to come here," Lanteri said by telephone. "We want the illegal immigration stopped and the borders secured."

Damn, but that brings it home nice and simple – simple enough for maybe even hippie liberal tree hugging dem to understand. Call me a fascist if you want to – but only if you have the First Amendment rights to. If not – the year is 1984 – and you should officially be an unperson. But even then, this is only if you can read and understand English.

Happy St. Pat-Trek's Day

2006-03-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

I’ve been catching a few episodes of Star Trek:The Next Generation on one of the higher digital cable channels as of late, and the Trek stuff has been on the mind.
So, in honor of it being March 17th –
I wish everyone a Happy St. Pat-Trek’s Day!
Most of all – watch out for Leper-Khans!

NASCAR 2026

2006-03-16T14:28:00.000-05:00

Last year, while driving to the golf course, I had the opportunity to use one of my favorite comments concerning a growing threat in this country as Billiam and I were witnesses and almost victims of the mad driving skillz of a blue-haired bingo crazed card carrying member of the AARP. After hearing a stream of language usually reserved for sailors and inmates come from the seat next to me, I let loose with the phrase that we will be hearing more and more about those Gray Panthers :
“One foot in the grave, the other on the gas.”
Granted, along the way, they’ll have the left or right blinker going, a line of hats and tissue boxes across the rear window, and maybe even in a few years the windshields will be specially designed to be bifocaled – the bottom half for the street and the top half for the signs.
I was all about this article on MSN that gives some numbers behind the nation’s great threat. Absolute truth. The ancients are everywhere, especially in front of me, wherever I go, or more specifically where I WANT to go. Like – the freaking bread aisle in Shop-Rite, any McFastFoodPlace, any kid function be it CCD, Scouts, dance, bowling, weapons camp, or, heaven forbid, the pharmacy (this could spawn a whole new blog entry on the possibility of America’s pharmacies being in reality alien spawn points, where all these aliens take the form of senior citizens – it is more plausible after you think about it for a while).
If our government is truly the overlords we take them to be, these liver-spotted highway clotters may be doing us all a favor and be on a federal mission to enforce the speed limits. By sacrificing themselves as speed drones, they force the rest of the traffic to work with them, of course at this juncture since they are not recognized as helpful they are performing the ultimate sacrifice of causing accidents to prove the point. One can even take the point of calling them Freeway Terrorists.
Sorry dad, but you ARE one of them, and if it’s not because you’re driving too slowly, it’s the complete opposite, and it may be a good thing you’re already home before some schools let out. I give you less than a decade before 65 mph is considered light speed, and you join the rest of the Empire of the Old. Hell – all truth be told, the day that the Porq slows down is the day that my buds and I all settle out and join in on yelling at the kids to get off the lawn.

Tunes During Class

2006-03-13T22:03:00.000-05:00

2 trailer park girls go round the outside round the outside round the outside
guess who’s back? Back again
shady’s back
tell a friend

The brotherman and Billiam banged out some recent posts on what was up on their mp3 jukes. I’m currently sitting through one of my online courses, and I have my happy Real player cooking through my library of goodness.
Sure enough, the eminem came to represent. It was backed up by Guster’s What You Wish For.
Right after that came Pocket Full of Kryptonite from the Spin Doctors. I grabbed that piece for my Superman-themed playlist.
The shuffle kicked into high gear and brought me Cake with Love You Madly. Sweet.
Just when I thought I was getting into the class discussion, Taste The Pain was cooking from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yikes.
To give the speakers a break, my happy go lucky randomizer cued up Wheels by the String-A-Longs. It then snapped up a few decades with Bowie’s Blue Jean. Of course, the mood was getting too happy so it hit me with Lou Reed’s Dirty Boulevard after that.
It’s like the pc knew I was downing, so it blared the horns at me, straight from Perez Prado. Yeah – we’re talking about Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom. Cha cha cha…
My class session was drawing to a close, and with it came one of my favs – Nothing But Flowers by the Talking Heads.

So – that was my quick aside from normal ranting about nothing. I was reminded about the tunes blog right before class when I zipped onto the new myspace site put up by TMBG and they were playing a little from their Spine album (which I do have – sweet) as well as Ana Ng. That got me into the music mode and I fired up the realplayer. The first song I heard from it was really Cliff Richard’s We Don’t Talk Anymore. When eminem came on I had to keep track and let y’all know what may be a typical random in my world.

March 8th

2006-03-08T10:54:00.000-05:00

As all of my gentle readers would know by now, I am not one of a sentimental nature. It’s not that I can’t feel emotions, per se, but it has always been my style to be one of a stoic position.
With this freshly renewed in mind, let’s just say that the calendar is making a grand attempt to play upon my heart strings. It’s March 8th.
Big freaking deal. Caesar still lives. But wait – there’s a reason. Let me show an excerpt of something I’m working on:
“Whoever designed the fire alarm’s siren must have either done his research on what works or was a true sadist. It wasn’t so much a siren as a grating unforgiving buzz that has the frequency that resonates in your lower spine. This is the sound that clawed its way through my keg-induced coma and threw my zombie form into a crowded quad of brethren dorm-undead.
Somewhere upstairs my 300 pound roommate laid still sleeping. Not even the alarm sadist took into account the amount of alcohol needed to take a giant down, and no simple noise or shove short of a pimp slap from Jesus Himself was waking that guy. Truly not a hero, or at least not at that moment, I had declared that man “Duraflame” before my drilled sojourn into the night air.
That air was wet and cold, with the hint of spring just hiding, kept at bay by the early March wind. It proved just a shock enough to cause a few synapses to fire up again, and the first few thoughts or memories weren’t real, or at least I could make or place them to be. I certainly wasn’t in a Sultan’s harem chamber, and it was very unlikely that I crash drove the Popemobile into the campus dining hall. It was the memory flashes that came after that fueled the mental marathon that was to come.
I knew something had happened that night. Somewhere, some time amidst the innumerable trips to the keg(s), I met someone…”

Yeah – way back when on this calendar date – I officially met the gal who would turn out to be the Wife™. I seriously don’t think there are many stories like ours, so the next time you have anywhere from five to fifty minutes, I’ll give it to you as thick as you can handle it.
Not that I’m counting, but it’s fifteen years today.

I got a fever...

2006-03-07T23:25:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, you just NEED more cowbell.
In this case – you HAVE to go HERE.

Send in the JV team

2006-02-23T14:12:00.000-05:00

Welcome to today’s WTF from right here in sunny New Jersey, land of 1000 toxic waste sites.
I’m going to take a break from my recent rablings and grumblings about the personal relationships we’re all forming with the Islamofascists, and flip back over to my other biggest peeve – our uninvited guests.
I’m not a xenophobe – I don’t fear them. After all – they’re just people. Of course, these are people that are sucking our systems and fundings dry. We cater to this crowd, a lot like we do to the Islamos as the dhimmi we are, and it kills me.
And then, just when I think I’ve slammed enough Seagram’s product and Clydesdales to get past the reminders that the Brotherman posts, I stumble across this gem of an article.
I’m not going to badmouth Joe Vas. I’m no democrat, and I don’t live in Puerto Amboy, and I don’t recall ever having a conversation with him. But, if what the dude in the article said is true, the Vas Deferens is gonna have some explaining to do.
I will not accept any rational explanation to do this outside of the same logic used down in Tennessee to license the crack dealers. Essentially – the TN folk decided to hand out stamps to those that wanted to deal the crack. Here’s the instant tip-off to the law enforcement community of who is distributing (and absolutely dumb enough to do the lemming thing and get in line). If the Vas had this in mind to get the illegals to line up and try to get a license – if only for the purpose of rounding them up for immediate deportation to say, ANYWHERE ELSE – then maybe – MAYBE – I can cut him some slack.
But like I said, I’m not going to bad mouth JV here. I’ll paint the picture for you and let’s see if you come up with the same verdict I have. It doesn’t matter what office JV holds, the basic facts are this: he’s a politician in New Jersey. The politicians in New Jersey make the stereotypical politico seem noble. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be patting the Vas on the back for this action any time soon.

Sarandipity

2006-02-22T11:23:00.000-05:00

There is nothing in this world that can take the place of plastic wrap. I realize this piece of news may come as odd or surprising to the common folk, but indeed, this is pure wisdom as passed to me by my hero of youth, SandwichMan.
Where my fellow classmates would pull from brown bags and trademarked boxes their PBJs and bourgeois cheese slices between bread slices, I would shock and amaze the other gradeschoolers with edible constructs that redefined what should truly be a sandwich. This art of sandwich should come as no surprise, as I have writ this topic in the past. In this case, the sandwich is nothing more than a vehicle for the topic du jour.
How often have we given a gift to a young one, only to have the toy left idle and the tot immersed in the imaginative playland courtesy of the box or packaging the gift came in? The same principle applies to the wondrous sandwiches of my youth. Where the other lunchroom denizens released their fare from zip-locked baggies or garish Tupperware squares, I unpeeled my delicacies from the taut clear grasps of plastic wrap.
This just wasn’t any kind of plastic film, mind you. No, it wasn’t the gaudy colored variety we find in stores today, and it wasn’t the large industrial kitchen sized roll either. Most importantly – it wasn’t the brand name Saran. It was Shop-Rite plastic wrap.
In short, and affectionately called “plassic.”
Decades have come and gone, and I have used the great plassic for any and every kind of wrapping and sealing there is. All kinds of foodstuffs, including uses in the preparation of said foods, were subject to the plassic. And in all this time – the Shop-Rite brand reigned. Until now.
I have just recently come to use a different manufacturer’s roll of wrap, and I find it stronger, easier to rend sizable sheets from the roll, much more manipulative, and best of all – it clings better.
“Heresy! Blasphemy! How can you make such claims?” ah, but I am the Son of SandwichMan, and I know the secrets. And I say – this is a foretold sign of the end of times, as the brand that has beaten our champion is none other than A&P’s America’s Choice. The Four Horsemen ride, and their lunches were wrapped in America’s Choice plassic.
GASP
Indeed. I am a converted true believer in that which is plassic and now from A&P. Much like Paul had his personal revelation on the way to Rome, I have become enlightened with the ultimate Pravda in plassic. Try it yourself. Become one with the plassic. Do not use in cribs or as a toy for children under 3 years of age.

I'm not (un)dead... yet.

2006-02-20T14:37:00.000-05:00

Ok, it’s official. I spend a lot of time in front of a PC. Therefore, I’m staring if not clicking in some browser, bouncing around the interweb. I’m selling an email product, I take classes online, and I’m sucking at some online fantasy sports leagues.
But – in the spare moments when nobody’s looking – I kill zombies.
Yup – I stumbled on this low-tech, no real mission online role-playing game by the name of Urban Dead. I just started, and I got my bro Ed into it. Since we’re just starting, we may get a few others involved and try to defend our little virtual suburb of all zombie infestation.
Why? Because I for one do not welcome my new zombie overlords, and it’s a kick. Check the link to the right, sign up, and look for DCzski in the game. I might start posting updates to my character’s survival and progress. Wahoo!

se7en

2006-02-16T10:44:00.000-05:00

Man, that was quick. It’s amazing how fast seven years can go by. You see, seven years ago today, the Wife™ finally and after much effort and an extreme amount of controlled substances pushed out our first born, pictured above at present age.
It was, at very limited description, an amazing experience, even not doing the actual pushing or carrying or whatever the womynly terms are nowadays, but down at the Johnny Bench position – things were surreal.
The precious wisdom gained from this experience was doled out to others, and some may even attest to the greatness of that wisdom, such as – if and when the doctor says, “hey, take a look up there,” you decline that offer. Especially when your diet in the previous 24 hours consisted of coffee and M&M’s.
But I digress from the present, when I’m not holding a baby, MY baby for the very first time, but I’m with a little girl that I can converse and reason and laugh and joke and read and plot and play and learn with. She’s my walking talking experiment, as she represents every parental thing I’ve tried out for the first time (this may be argued, as not all kids are the same, stay tuned for another birthday type post in April where I know I’ll really delve into different) and can easily be called special. What first born isn’t? I know I am.
So the point here is that this kid has notched her seventh rotation around our middle sized star today. According to her, this is her day, and expects calls of congratulations and cheer, cakes and sweets, songs of praise, parties of honor, and generally big time attention. Cue spotlight, warm up the amps for the microphone, testing one, two, three.
Dara’s on stage today. She is everyday, but it’s like she has an excuse for doing it today, so like Prometheus unbound, she’s running amok full of fire.
So sit back and enjoy the show. Clink a glass and say it. HBD.

D-Man thought: today also marks seven years of the Wife™ and I playing parents. Not exactly surprising of a thought when you consider what the Wife™ brings to the table, but I have enough character witnesses that still show amazement if not fear that I am responsible for the care and upbringing of a child, nay THREE children. That I’ve kept this going somewhat well for SEVEN years – well, I know I’m surprised.

Mo' Better

2006-02-14T13:20:00.000-05:00

Kids – no lie, the good folks at Fark have beaten me to it. I’ve been brainstorming a good Prophet Mohammed comic thing, and what do I come across? A whole photoshop thread of hysterical instances of using Mohammed in a sitcom.
Not to say that this is stifling my comic strip idea – if anything it’s fueled it nicely. I think I may use PS or GIMP to make a South Park-type of image for the comic.
Check back soon and look to the right for new links. I will probably create a whole different blog site dedicated to the strip. I just need a catchy title, like “I’d Like Some Mo’ P-Mo!” or “Jihad To Be You.”

HBD

2006-02-09T12:52:00.000-05:00

My boy turns three today. Not even the Islamofascists can get me down. This little man is everything, and it’s his day today.
When I say everything – I mean it. He is single handedly a pirate (Cap’n Hook, but smaller), a train, a strongman, a Space Ranger, a cowboy, a dancin’ fool, a singer, an artist, a demolitionist, a Casanova, a brother, and a big momma’s boy.
I see myself living quite vicariously through him in the years to come. But for now – it’s just awesome like it is.
He’s three – and so am I.

Say it.
HBD

Mohammed - modern day Jester

2006-02-03T13:49:00.000-05:00

So the Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar. He glides up to the bartender, and proclaims in a grand voice, “Proprietor! I would like a Molotov Cocktail!”
The bartender looks all confused and a little worried, and responds, “And what in the Hell are you gonna do with that?”
So Mohammed jumps the bar and strangles the bartender. As the last breath escapes the man, Mohammed says, “I find your lack of faith disturbing…”

Ok, maybe it’s not so funny. But guess what? I don’t care. The joke is just about on level with the latest “outrage” by all those folks of the “Religion of Peace.” If I had the time I would have made my own Curious Mohammed comic strip, and that I can guarantee you would have been funnier than the Monkey Heist. Seriously, I am farking nuts over this. It is obviously the sign of the end of times, because I actually agreed with the French. No shit – fucking FRANCE has the right view on this one and has actually stopped eating cheese for the few seconds in time to stand up to the Islamofascism du jour.

Here’s another try:
The Prophet Mohammed walks into a bar with a frog on his head.
The bartender says, “What’s that?”
The frog quickly replies, “Well, it started as a wart on my ass and then THIS happened.”

I’m getting there. Meanwhile, because I’m posting outright blasphemous Mohammedisms, some head-wrapped nutjob is composing his latest death threat because of the above content. To which I have this reply:
“Hey Sandy – if you want your people to be treated as equals to and by the Western world, welcome to Free Speech 101. I’ll be your guide, if not your human alarm clock to wake you up after centuries of ignorance. It’s the 21st century, and we drive cars, not camels. You should know this of course, because most of our money goes to a few of your caliphs that own the land you hold so sacred yet dusty. Lastly, bad news: heaven has run out of virgins, so don’t bother with the bomb. Get a job. Rebuild the reception hall your brother just blew up.”

If it ain’t the illegals getting me crazy, it’s the Islamofascists. Grr.

Get Phil

2006-02-01T16:25:00.000-05:00

This one is for the Brotherman, because tomorrow is his most favorite holiday. I thought of creating the above pic since he has me all cranked up about our unwanted guests.
So here’s hoping that Phil doesn’t see his shadow, or at least escape the domo-kun.

EDIT: The 'hog (the TRUE 'hog, Paux Phil) saw his shadow. We've got six more weeks of the cold stuff. Happy Anniversary Col. Potter.

Divine Wrath (I hope)

2006-01-25T16:44:00.000-05:00

So the whole swampy state of New Jersey is sick. At least my corner of the hole is, anyway. I just finished my ‘script of antibiotics and I’m still swilling a bottle of tri-tussy syrup like some bowery wino. Oh yeah, I might feel better, but I still continue to cough the cough of a decade-long smoker, even though I don’t smoke – yet.
I was diagnosed with some form of a sinus infection last week. The drip got down into my chest and messed me up, gave me a fever and chills and sweats and faintness and all kinds of horrible things and actually got me to shell out a few petrodollars in the form of a primary physician’s visit copay. In my throes of illness, I think I managed to spread my pox upon my backup band (Dawn and the Spawn) because there isn’t one of them that hasn’t hacked, dripped or fevered since.
Now – I’m all about Old School Wrath of God. By all means, bring on the brimstone and destroy a city for me. Turn a river to blood. Shit, turn that bee-yotch into a pillar of salt ‘cuz she looked funny at ya. I’m down with that. But man, of all the tools that the Big Man has in his belt, I have gotta hate Plague the most. Sure – famine is WAY up there, but I live in a nice place where bacon is everywhere, and thanks to a few can-can sales, I ain’t worryin’ about the starvation thing quite yet. Sickness though – watch out. Being sick is the worst. Struck down by the invisible. Eaten away from the inside. Drowned in snot. Young, old, it don’t matter to a new strain of bug that has no antibody with its name on it.
“Hey, man, how are ya? I haven’t seen ya for a while, put ‘er there…” ZAP. You got it, and it’s that easy.
Now – I’m not going to go all Monk on you, because you know better of me. I’m just telling you that 95-99% of us are sick right now, or are about to be, and that is too high a number for it be outside of Divine Will. (and no – I said Will, not Wil) I mean, as cool as it is that Divine Wrath is upon us, I just can’t help my nature and complain that He didn’t choose someway else. Like maybe frogs.

Indians 1, Cowboys 1

2006-01-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

Right now, Tonto is laughing.
I’m not one for following any form of movie awards, like emmys, globes, Oscars, whatever. That overhyped drivel is nothing more than a statement to the world that we Americans have our heads completely up our asses with totally messed up priorities. Besides that obvious revelation, I couldn’t escape the media blitz on one of the recently aired Hollywood spectacles. Hearing the theme over and over again, I’m brought to a trans-generational institution of America – the cowboy.
Ok – get your mental picture of what a cowboy should be. Thanks to Big Media (which is an earthly subsidiary of Satan’s empire) we’re in serious danger of losing that image. C’mon, a cowboy is some open-ranged, bow legged tobacco spittin sun burned horse riding sonofabitch that loves only one girl and can keep that Marlboro lit even during a spring torrent. We’re talking about John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Slim Pickens, and even those other Hollywood cowpokes like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and dare I say it Clayton Moore (a.k.a. the Lone Ranger). Let’s get real and talk about the really bad asses like Jesse James, Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid, Wild Bill Hickock and whole Dalton Gang.
Those M-F’ers were cowboys.
Bad news, pardners. Welcome to the 21st century where we no longer are allowed to play “Cowboy and Indians.” Back when it was cool to do that, because you got the least favorite kid in the group to be the Injun and you ganged up on him and kicked his ass. It was American. Well, we boomers and gen X’ers grew up, we saw the Red Man crying on teevee with all those pollution commercials, and some of us went gay.
Yup – some of our generation looked a little too close inwards and fell in love. They went on to be people like everybody else, and closets everywhere got a real spring cleaning. Whatever. It don’t bother me.
But – as we all have noticed that Hollywood has nothing new in the ways of a conscious or a semblance of anew idea when it comes to material, those pesky film makers have tread upon an institution. We come to the crux of my dilemma – since when are gay cowboys cool?
I just don’t see the Outlaw Josey Wales holding back on his .45 to give a little nod and wink to yonder cowpoke. Slim Pickens rode an H-bomb, not a young Tom. I’m not gonna touch the Lone Ranger inferences, they’re just too easy. All those Hollywood cowboys from pre-1965 were by today’s standards a little weak on the testosterone.
But damn – the whole world is enthralled with this Humpback Mountain movie. I dare say even the Microsoft Assistant could have helped the viewer find a better movie.
“I see you want to watch a cowboy movie, do you need help?”
OR
“I see you want to watch a romance, do you need help?”
I see a few million of you should have clicked YES.
Cowboys plus romance equals the lead female dying at the end. Done. End of plot twist.
Am I too conservative here? It really doesn’t matter, because with the way the weather has been and the global political climate as of late, it’s probably the end of the world. No need to stock up on canned goods. TP, maybe.
/me shakes head in shame
What’s next? Gay pirates? Damn. Penzance.

King Day, epilogue

2006-01-10T09:31:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to this weekend’s Holiday of Holidays, I bring a small snippet of perhaps someone’s overreaction to a loyal King’s celebrants’ activities.
How apropos that both stab wounds and love figuratively and literally burn? It’s only too real for a couple down in Sydney.
Over the top? Oh yeah.
Here’s hoping that your King Day didn’t result in such disaster, but a grease-laden, soulful and rockin’ Sunday.

E-day Prep Mach II

2006-01-05T13:14:00.000-05:00

Update to the King’s B-Day preparations!
Thanks to the good folks at Fark.com, I have the ultimate in what every aspiring Elvis acolyte should be a part of:
The BOM, or Bacon of the Month Club. This is a dream come true to those of us who really have no self-value in terms of nutrition or general health, least of all gastro-intestinal.
Now that you’re hip, sign up now, or give the ultimate gift on the King’s day. Make it a E-Day that your personal Elvis will never forget, or at least be reminded of once a month for a year.

Stock up!

2006-01-03T16:42:00.000-05:00

Lessee. Gotta check the cupboards.
Peanut butter? Check.
Bacon? Check.
Butter? Check.
I mean, several pounds of butter? Mega check.
If you, gentle reader, aren’t following along, you had best check your calendars and look not too far ahead. This coming Sunday is a holiday. It’s almost like Christmas, as we will celebrate the birth of a King. The King.
Elvis Aaron Presley would have been 71 this Sunday. I figure if he hadn’t “bowl”ed over back in ’77 and he carried on even at half pace, he would be around 423 lbs. and blind and mostly deaf. Not a pretty picture, so it’s up to us as survivors to rejoice that we are still here rockin’ to kick it up like the King did.
So get out to the local food emporium and stock up on the essentials. Bacon, butter, bananas, butter, gravy, butter, peanut butter, bacon and burger! And don’t forget the biscuits!
Oh yeah – the King liked dessert, too.

CIA NJ

2005-12-13T15:58:00.000-05:00

The reports on CNN and such are absolutely true. There ARE secret CIA prisons, and they’re not just in Europe and Asia. They’re right here in the USA, as pointed out by the above pic. Now, I don’t have to go about telling you all about how I got this info, because if I do, then I’ll end up hunted and dead.
Just be aware.

Lest We Forget

2005-12-07T08:59:00.000-05:00

‘nuff said.

Ha! the Kid is OLD!

2005-12-01T09:06:00.000-05:00

So it’s my sis’s birthday today. As pictured, she’s getting old. Maybe not that old, as it would be that she is my little sister, and that would make me older than her. Drat.
Maybe I should send her a card or something like that. If I did, she would probably doubt its source, since I’m not a birthday kind of guy. I’m not a holiday kind of guy, period. I have something against most if not all Hallmark holidays, including but not limited to Valentine’s Day, Christmas, Mother’s and Father’s Day, Easter (only a little bit, because Easter is real, man), Thanksgiving, President’s Day and Dr. Martin Luther the King Day.
I prefer to commemorate days like Cinco de Mayo, Bastille Day, St. Patrick’s Day and December 7th (the official I Hate Japan Day). Hell, I’m even open to remembering that it’s Haggis Season.
But – I digress. It’s the Kid’s b-day, she’s old(er), and I love her, even though she has proven time and time again to be a royal pain in my ass. Happy happy!