Blessings On The Well-Heeled Hoof

Some day, when you are engaged to be married, perhaps for the 4th time, you should be praying that you have a friend like Killorn O'Neill.

Let's all get it on the dancefloor that Killorn can sometimes bring the kind of grace to a party that can only be described as "Full Contact," both in word and into-the-curio-cabinet-cross-check. Well that was on hold last night, as the dearest Kilo-G put on an engagement party for my fiancee Alicia and me. It was as moving as it was loving as it was bubbly. In attendance were some of my closest friends and their significant others.

Mike & Lucia. Tara & Cody (Cody can cook, wow, seriously, y'all missed out). Desi & Perryn. Kim. Ali. Geoff & Tasha.

Some of the smartest, funniest, most creative, most life-loving people I've ever met. And they are my friends.

And as glasses were raised to toast the next step of the relationship Alicia and I are always building, I sat in awe of the amount of care that had gone into the table setting, the lighting, the champagne purchase. (side note, we gotta lay off the champers for a while.) Our food was perfect. The conversations were lively. The wine flowed. We poured the "beer of champagnes," and eventually got to the High Life. I thank my lucky stars for them folks.

When pressed for a date, I can drum up when I met these people. But honestly, it feels like I've known them all along. I had the spaces in my life for them and they appeared. I am very blessed.

As Alicia has been welcomed into my family, and I into hers, I have begun to see how great marriage can be. It's a cornerstone, not an anchor. It is a pillar, not an obstruction. And I know it will take a lot of work at times, like when you spend your entire gorgeous Saturday making two trips to the rockery because somebody mis-measured for the walkway.

I am surrounded by some of the best people put on this earth, and I have the dulcet brain warmth of a champagne hangover to prove it.


ADDENDUM!
Monday night's "Girl's Night, Heeeeey!" party at the HQ here had the following items to share:
Almond Flavored Sparkling Wine
M&Ms
Salad Deluxe
Roasted Veggies
Skirt Steak, post 36-hour marinade
and the phrase...
"You mean the doctors like, go UP IN YOUR HOLE?!?!"
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To Come This Week!
The Engagement Story, a.k.a. Lord Of The Rings, With Cheese!
Comic's Trip: My Travelog
Recipes For Disaster: Something to Try Out At Work
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Fuelling My Anger

The reports are that oil prices could soon top $100 per barrell. That is 1,000% growth in about ten years. The oil, mind you, has not changed in quality. It's all about supply and demand. And I am outraged at the sins of our fathers!

...for not investing more in oil, what were they thinking?

Hindsight is always 10w-40.
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Headlong Into The Fan

Comedy Blog!

Last night I performed a gig out in a somewhat rural town in East King County. The joint wanted to host a comedy show. Apparently they did NOT want to advertise it. Zero pub, zero media on it. It was a microcosm of bar comedy, but the crowd... well, the 8 people in the room who weren't comedians... they were very nice.

On the way to the gig there were a few wrong turns and nearly-missed streets. We got there about 15min before show time. Did the show, it was what it was, like trying to do comedy in the lunchroom at a plant that makes boxes to hold other boxes. One lady stood at the bar the whole time. Eye-level comedy can be discomforting. I also felt as though I were auditioning for somebody booking a comic for their brother's probation party.

On the way home I nailed every turn, every road, and every green momo-fofo light. And I learned a lesson. I'd like to share it with you now.

When MapQuest is your guide, you may go a bit slower to make sure you find your way to your destination.
When The Knowledge That Your Destination Is A ShitPile is your guide, and said Pile is in your rearview, you can drive perfectly away with your eyes closed before the last cocktail glass hits the pavement, post-window toss.

Sloshing back and forth in the shit-bucket, sorry World, I'm all full up.
Save your lessons and nestle up to my man-flower. Not that you owe me, but for crying out loud, could you not cause ONE F*CKING TRUCK ROLL-OVER in that town after a guy's been out pounding beer in a Kroger parking lot? And not a high schooler this time. One of those burned out guys who tucks his t-shirt into his pleated cargo shorts, tube socks slunched around his ankles, just like his outlook on life after his SECOND mail-order bride left him. Because if that could happen right in the parking lot of that gig next time around, I would really, really think everything is in order and stop winging backhanded compliments at co-workers.
"Shane is a multi-tasker. He can both confuse and bore you in the same sentence."

Thanks for indulging me there. You know how you feel after a 20-min nap? Take an Old Testament-styled shit after that nap, and THAT is how I be feeling.

Thank you, I'll be here all night.
In your liquor cabinet.
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Oh, one more thing, hun.
I'll be posting more "Jokes That Barely Work," as well as a Cruise Journal, and the story of my engagement, from Ring Shopping to Proposal. Gonna be good times.

Thanks for reading. Love ya.
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Joke That Never Worked # 1: Gay Friends

The following material never does well on stage.

Is Gay The New Black?

For a while, people would say things like "I have a friend who's black," or "I work with a lot of
black people," like we were supposed to spread the word to the streets, or it would up their coolness.
Hey guys, guys? I heard that Matt over in Finance knows a black guy. Holler.
Right? Holler?

It's the Political Correctness movement, that's what did it to us. I have friends, some of whom were born with darker pigment. But they're all good guys, even the Mexicans.
It's not MexiCAN'T… it's MexiWON'T, that's what I've learned. MUY MACHO!

We have to include EVERYONE in EVERYTHING, or else we appear to be insensitive. And some of us aren't insensitive, we just usually spend our inner-city time buying drugs, not hugs.
But now, it's all changing. Everyone had the black friend, and now, everyone's getting a gay friend. They want the fashion tips, the grooming, the off-beat androgyny that stirs up emotions inside, so much that you just lay in bed stairing at the ceiling, confused, throbbing, listening to ABBA, wearing hotpants that were a gift from… well, none of your business MISTER MAN!

The women's gay male companion has been around for centuries, thank you Liza Minelli's husbands. But now straight guys, or "Heteros" as I call me, are getting street cred with the old fashionable "I have a black friend," but replace "black" with "gay," and "Friend" with "We were at the river in a canoe, and there was some gin, and well, nevermind! Until after this Cosmo." I don't drink Cosmos, but I have had a cosmo to drink. It did little more than kidney-punch me, when it wasn't busy making me look "open for business."

And I understand the grooming and the fashionable dress and the presenting one's self to society in a way that is classy and proper. But guys are shaving their arms now, and the eyebrow waxing... It's not manly. They look like the third henchman in that one Bruce Willis movie. And the arm shave, come on. No straight man should shave his arms, unless he was in a bad fondue accident, and if you're a guy who does the fondue, you're probably gay, so shave away. Wow, I came full circle on that one, which for $50 I will do at your party on Saturday.

People aren't novelties to be collected. Unless we're talking about Angelina Jolie's so called "adoptions." Why is Paris Hilton carrying around an ape born to a lab-chimp that was injected with crack... oh, that's Nicole Ritchie, sorry. She's not gay, I don't think.

People love to say they have a gay friend, though. It's all the rave. In fact, Gay is The New Black. As in Fashion, so in Friends. Ya work with 'em, ya love 'em.
(if you're offended by any of this material, please understand that there's a reason I don't do this on stage. It's not funny, as much as it is an observation of how people be talkin' and conductin' themselves. Don't call Jesse Jackson or Rosie O'Donnell, not yet.)
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The Beginning Of The Empire

The past weekend was a culmination of not only a few weeks of planning, but a few years of my life.
My girlfriend Alicia and I headed to Northern California's Wine Country, heretofore referred-to as "Napa" because it's shorter. The trip was Alicia's birthday gift from an adoring boyfriend, and I'm really happy he sprung for it. Napa is known for it's wineries, Mona Lisa-beautiful scenery, and white people. Any time we were not admiring scenery, it was for a very good reason: The winery did not have outdoor tastings.

While the wine, scenery, and grapey buzz of the weekend were all very nice, this blog isn't a travelblog (to follow). It's for a much more important reason. See, I did something to Alicia that I have never done to a woman before.

And I wouldn't suggest any man do what I did if that man is still "just kind of dating around," or is "not over that rogue 3rd-grade boner," or sees Casual Friday as "the other day of the week to wear sweatpants to work."

I asked Alicia to Marry Me.
AND SHE SAID YES!!!

I am engaged!
She is My Fianceé!

I am excited, happy, blessed, and fearless.
She is beautiful, wonderful, perfect for me, and amazing.

For now, this is all I can share.
Stay tuned for "How It Happened!"
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Imitation Immigrants

A friend of mine...
Well, "friend" to the extent that he doesn't drive me to start my five-day waiting period...

We were talking about the immigration hub-bub that's been clogging our streets and leaving our Mexican restaurants slower than usual as of late. We talked about the jobs they immigrants worked, where they lived, the money they made, and the Pros y Cons of the whole situation.

He said "well, we're all immigrants, except for the Native Americans."
To which I replied, "No, we're not all... okay, we're gonna have to move because I had some dairy product last night, sorry about that, wow, go go go..."

Then I re-started with, "No, we're not all immigrants. I'm not. I was born in America. I'm a Native American. I have single citizenship. I speak one language. I try to remember to vote but I just can't bear the thought that they don't have some bribes to get me to go in there. The Northern Europeans were here prior to Columbus, like 500 years earlier, and turned around because they thought the place blew. There were people here already, sure, but all of those first, say... 20 generations, assuming 25 years per generation... they're all dead. It's all new people now. Native American, Chinese, Japanese, African-American, Hispanic, Latin, Caucasian, Other, those are just check-boxes for you to fill-in so marketers know what kind of porn you dig, or what kind of person signs their name with a Winky Face ;^]
So NO, I don't buy that we're all immigrants. I didn't come from anywhere. And with the grace of God, I'm not going anywhere."

To which he replied, "Huh? I was MySpacing a sec there. Something something, Chinese porn?"

This is, of course, just how I see things. The Truth on this matter is subjectivo. Immigrants are working a lot of jobs that most Americans, i.e. White People, would say "don't pay me no f*ckin' money, not enough to finish this barbed wire arm-band tattoo, so I ain't gon' work it!" Then a racial epithet and PITOO with the tobacco spit.

You wanna work? Work. You don't? Fine. They're not all gems. Somedays all I want to do is mow lawns, rake bark, and actually see something get done. Fewer meetings, fewer mission statements, fewer re-orgs. But, after all, I have a degree in History. I'm underqualified for landscaping.


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Searing Gas Pain.

8 miles. 40 minutes.

That's the distance from my home to my work, and the time it took me to cover that in a car this morning. I left the house at 8:13. I swung into a parking spot at 8:53.

My clock clicked off 20 minutes in just the first 2.4 miles. I could have jogged it faster. I went through I was only at one stop-light prior the majority of the wait. I traveled 1.3 miles, then hit the slog. .5miles later I was at the back of a 1.1mile-long line to a stoplight near the on-ramp of Southbound I-405. 90% of the traffic at that light gets onto I-405. The rest of us who travel through, and don't work in Bellevue or, (gross) Factoria get to sit and wait, when we're not sitting.

Every now and then a few lead-footed commuters would fly by in the left-hand turn lane, using it for travel. This is dangerous because some folks use it for travel to the left-turn light, some are on-coming to turn left across the exodus line and into a business, and some use it to get past the exodus so they can drop their kids off a daycare.

So here's the dilemma. There's no carpool lane, so making friends isn't going to help at this point. The trip to the main release point of the exodus is as long as the rest of the trip, yet only 25% of the total travel distance. All roads out of the Juanita Beach area are clogged like this on a daily basis from 7:30 to 9:30... yeah, I'm sometimes late to work, even when I'm not hungover.

With gas prices what they are, my question is this:

Who is responsible for the career of Nickelback, and why aren't they being attacked with a sleeping bag-full of terribly upset pit vipers as we speak?

America is all about Having Options, and Waiting in Lines for Them. Then again, in other countries, I could have been stacked in with 90 other people on a flat-bed rail car hoping to get work 80miles away. Carpool lanes, only in America.

Please, Dolphin Army, attack! ATTACK NOW WHILE WE SLUMBER AT WORK! Because I needs me a day off.


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Jokes That Are Stage-Death: Pro-Logue

In my comedy act I have worked out quite a few bits that never seem to do as well as I believe they should. I speak not of the jokes that are guaranteed groaners, by which I mean "gross out material/potty humor,"and anything derivative of those genres. I'm talking about bits that, when I wrote them I knew they they had shed their cocoons and were ready to start beating their wings. Maybe they needed a little more time as a pupa.

I once took such a huge pupa I changed colors!
That was easier than your mom on a three-day weekend.

Psssh, it's CAKE, my friends... CAKE.

I can't say I believe whole-heartedly in everything I bring to the stage. But I work from the 80-20 rule when it comes to matieral. 80% of the audience will get it, while the other 20% will be broken up into 10% who REALLY get the joke, and 10% are only laughing because I stopped talking. That majority percentile, the 80%, which on an average night in Seattle is about 8 people... which is for another blog on why comedy isn't as hip as music in this city... that big group has to "go with me" from the get-go on a bit. And if you don't have attention early, you may as well be trying to get your money back from the hooker who could only muster a golden shower when you paid for a Rusty Trombone AND the... FOCUS, Lott...

Forthcoming will be a number of blogs that are the bits I wrote, best I can remember them. They will include, but not be limited to:
Gay Friends
Rubber Band Bracelets
Drugs Should Be Illegal
Sometimes, Death Means God Cares
Self-Deprecation

And Many More!
They appear, at first glance, hacky. But hey, these bits have developed over years of re-writing and untreated psychological abuse. You can expect the best.

More to cheese, please... Take care.

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Humor Strike Show TONIGHT!

About a month ago I got the idea to throw together a fundraiser in the guise of a Comedy Show to benefit BoomTown Cafe. After some hand-wringing and street-peeing (totally involuntary, officers), the show is upon us! It is called Humor Strike! I think that's because Killorn, the designer of the ads for it, likes the word STRIKE! She's very much a puncher.

BoomTown Cafe provides low-income citizens and families a place to eat that is like a diner, not a soup kitchen. In exchange for a hot meal in a clean and dignified setting, the diner themself must pay a small fee, or work 15-30min for their meal. Working for your keep can add a lot to a person's self-worth.

BoomTown is trying to re-open its doors, after losing most of their government funding in the past year the way that most non-profits have. Tax breaks, budget cuts, war chest, whatever it is, the need to help people never gets a break. We create our own. A lot of small waves create a large ocean. The same holds true for when I eat popcorn and then sleep in a tent with other people. Sorry guys.

Please check out their website at the address below. If you can, please give, and spread the word?

www.BoomTownCafe.org

Was it me, or was Azteca like EXTRA slow on Monday?

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Mario Williams ... Huh...

If you needed 4 different tools, and could get one tool that would do all the jobs, you'd buy that tool, right?

Now let's say you had one job, and one tool could probably do that job really well. But the job is going to be tougher than any other jobs it's been asked to accomplish. Tool 1 and Tool 2 do NOT perform the same functions, mind you. You can have one or the other.

I would go for Tool 1. In this case, it's Reggie Bush, Heisman Trophy Winner, stellar college running back out of the University of Southern California. He can run, catch, return, and fly with the best of them. He's a 4 Tool Machine. At 6-feet, and 200lbs of wrought-iron wrapped around mercury heated to a sizzling 1,000 degrees. 1,000 Degrees of Awesome, that is. Check out someof his highlights on-line. You'll see. He's been compared to Gale Sayers. If you're not sure who that is, go Here, Now.

Tool 2 on the board is Mario Williams, a Defensive End out of South Carolina. Monster-sized. 6'7", 290. And yoked. The guy's huge. And fast. Huge and Fast. And Muscular. Even if he went to college to be an All-America French Horn polisher, he'd still be Scary. The guy's got freakish talent, speed, strength, and attitude. This guy worked as a Subway Sandwich artist throughout college. Tell me that's not cool.

Now, the Houston Texans have already decided that they're going to suck for a long time. They chose Mario Williams with the first pick of the NFL Draft, which, as I write this, is about 5 Grey Goose away. This is the day that hundreds of college football players dream of: Being drafted, making millions, and seeing their lifelong dream of making their ex-girlfriends jealous come to fruition.

When you're the worst team in the NFL, record-wise, and by "record" I mean "Ability to do anything other than find the field," you get the first pick in the NFL draft. Everyone knew it was the Texans choice to pick Reggie Bush. Then they wanted to "keep it interesting" by talking up Mario Williams this past week. Well, when you need to fix a lot of things, you need a lot of tools.

Long story short, take a multi-talented, 1-in-100,000 team player whenever you can. And never, ever objectify people.

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Fossil Fuels

More later, of course, but let me say this.

The more I see the way the world is going, the more I wish I would have invested in oil a long time ago. Not only does it continuously rake in huge profits off of the everyday workin' person in America, but it makes the every-day person SO ANGRY! GRRRR!!!

The other day I saw a woman washing her car at a gas station with the squeege near the pump. This was after her tirade about how high gas prices had gone (up 4-cents a gallon just on Thursday), and how we should "blow up the whole 3rd World!"

Either she didn't get it that 3rd World countries really have f*ck-all to do with gas prices, or she wasn't fully aware of the implications on further generations by this era's fat, rich, old white guys, much like those who had divorced her numerous times, slowly finding a way to make gas unloveable... all while trying to drive the price of biodiesel through the roof.

OR she did understand the implications and was just a giant bigot when she wasn't busy being a ghoulish gasbag. For the sake of Monoxide, SHE WAS WASHING HER CAR WITH A SQUEEGE.
The topper was hearing her say "Well I am NOT using their car wash!"
Right on. Way to stick it to the man, and make the water dirtier for anybody else who wanted to wash their windows after waiting for you to finish detailing your Ford Five-Hundred for 8minutes... while their engine idled behind you in line.

Nothing would have made me happier than to have been able to say, with all honesty and truth, "Thanks for shopping."

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Smoke Out

As a recovering smoker (ten years), I'd have to say that Seattle's smoking ban has helped me immensely. I wanted to quit for quite some time. I rarely smoked at home, and went through MAYBE 2 packs a week, including sharing among friends. Smoking and Me went together like Booze and Me. Or so I thought. Not smoking is one of the best decisions I was ever forced into by the Dark Lizard Gentry of... okay... sorry guys...

I've said too much.

I still drink. But not as much. Maybe I'm mellowing out a bit. I'm 32 with a mortgage, which makes me better than your average renter. I have more to lose, financially, so I don’t spend all night sitting in a bar talking it up with people. It helps that so many people are catastrophically, not to mention anatomically, BORING, which births me back into the evening and right on home to catch my TiVo. I don't have TiVo. No smoking. Not as much (frequent) drinking. But plenty of opinion on the smoking ban.

A lot of people use that "I only smoke when I drink" line to throw you off the scent that they are smokers. If you smoke on a regular basis, even if it's just the weekends, you're a smoker. Also, I'd like to suggest you look into your binge-drinking. Anything, not "Everything," in moderation, you lushy whore drunken lip-locking lush. You don't have to do Heroin "In moderation" to know why it's called "Heaven's Handjob." Pick your poison and take it easy on your bod. Before you know it the holidays will be here and you'll need a little extra stash around. This is what they mean when they say "the addiction starts in the family."

When I smoked I didn't want to be judged by my habit, but I'm sure I was, and that is WRONG to do. People are so uneducated on how to properly judge others. Judging others on their behavior is a terrible thing to do. When I judge, I judge on the by-products of a person's behavior! You can run around and call me dirty names, go for it! But if the by-product of your behavior is that you do it audibly, and the words offend me, I'm going to mount your face with my just-finished-5 Rounds-of-KaBong Fuy Knee Strikes-ManAss. If your kid wants to walk around all night and try to break into my yard, hey, Kids Will Kids! But I am NOT paying to have your carpets cleaned when they come home with 1.5 feet, and I have .5 foot in one of my spring-traps. For every action there is an Equal but Opposite and Annoying Whiner taking it Personally.

Do as you will. There are consequences. Your consequences should really only affect you, but they don’t always do that, huh? That's where Road Rage comes from. That's where Rage comes from, now that you mention it while rubbing my exposed thigh. Smokers want to smoke. It's what smokers do. It's not illegal. They take the brunt of the physical damage. HOWEVER, when I smoked I knew I wasn't warming a ReNuzit; I was throwing some stink to the wind and that byproduct may offend people. If people get offended by smoking, for any reason, then they have as much right to react to it as the smoker has to put on their big-boy underwear and ACCEPT THE REACTION. Nobody is forcing you to smoke... except your need for nicotine fueled by a lifetime of commercial imagery being force-fed into your frontal cortex, your rebellious nature, and not knowing what else to do with $6. And Frank. When he says smoke, you f*ckin' burn one, pronto.

What I'm saying is that Opinions are Like Assholes: Everyone's got one, and everyone's saving it for marriage. BOOOOOOO!


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What Took Him So Long?

Hey everybody who's hoping to have President Bush impeached, take heed. Read and heed. Heed it up like you've never heeded anything, let alone "up"wardly. It's a whole PANTSLOAD of "heeding" up in this kiddie pool.

Neil Young - Canadian, I believe - has recorded a song that calls for the impeachment of President George W. Bush. Well that oughtta do it. The final lean-and-squeeze to extricate the metaphorical whitehead from the carbuncle of the American Presidential system.

I'm pretty sure that every President has been targeted for impeachment.
I'm pretty sure America has been at war since before "I Traveled 183 Days With Scurvy And All I Got Was This Lousy Undergarment!" nightshirts made it back to Europe over 300 years back. Officially, America is but 320 years old. But the destruction of the White man is forever! We have THAT to hold on to, eh?
So if every President's an asshole, and every year we get into a new war (including the ones that don't get the press coverage), why is this any different?

In my honest opinion, we feel more strongly about this stuff because The Public has demanded that the governing bodies be more up-front about the goings-on of the Nation. And they are telling us what's going on, in as truthful a manner as they can. And to quote Jack Nicholson in the movie "A Few Good Men;" I don't know what kind of Panama hump-hump bar you learned to speak English in, but sell crazy somewhere else. We're all full-up here.

Paraphrasing, obviously. But remember, Opinions Are Like Assholes. Everyone's got one, and everyone's saving it for Marriage.

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Bad side, good side:
America is kind of in the shitter: At least people are talking about politics
Talking about politics is as much fun as talking about rectal surgery: Rectal Surgery can save your life
Your rectum is broken/diseased/home to many a festering virus: But now, the diagnosis will help you live longer
You have to live longer... on Earth: Earth is quickly gaining popularity as "Most Liveable Planet For Humans"
Sometimes people "spin" a story to look better than it really is: You can use your deductive reasoning to figure it out for yourself
There are as many half-truths as there are cable channels: You don't have to pay attention to the negative propaganda
You will end up a crack-pot street-corner screaming wild-eyed wonk: You don't have to worry about a mortgage or bills
You lack the initiative to handle the life of a responsible adult: You are "chasing your dreams"
Your dreams died and you're dragging their corpses around: No dream dies if you believe in it
You're walking around with your eyes closed to reality: All you're missing is Life
You're missing Life: ... yeah, but in America, where it's kind of in the shitter.

Impeach all comics still doing Neil Young impressions!
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Don't give your child the middle name...

of "Ray."

It means they're going to end up dying in prison.

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It Is A Good Friday

Since it's Good Friday, this is a good time to share what I know about it. It's not much, but if you want more theology and Holy Day smarts, you've come to the wrong place. I'll happily prepare a report of it for you, however. My going rate is $500/hour, with a set-up fee of $500. Get on board NOW.

Good Friday is the Christian holy day that marks the day of the Crucifixion of Jesus at Calvary. Some people say "Cavalry," but that's a military horse brigade, and the coordination of a horse army crucifixion is a little too much to wrap my head around. If you've seen, or even heard of, "The Passion Of The Christ," which I haven't, you'll understand why people believe so strongly in this day. It ended a week of spiritual, physical, and mental preparation by Jesus. He was betrayed by a long-haired conspirator for 30 pieces of silver, a man who led the authorities to Jesus' quarters. That man… Ted Nugent.

NO! It was actually another hard-core metal act, Judas. It was this day on which Christ was crucified and buried in the tomb. Three days later (Easter Sunday) he had risen from death, having atoned for the Sins of Man and ascended to Heaven. Accepting Jesus as your soul's Savior, believing he was sent by God, and treating others with dignity and respect is your jumping-off point to a happier life.

I'll admit, it takes a lot of faith and looking at it from the proper angle to accept the story. Believe what you want. That's your call. But here's what I believe:

Treating others as you want to be treated is the pivot point for your entire life. You don't need religion of any kind to be a kind person. To give, to sacrifice of yourself from time to time costs nearly nothing. Do good. To believe that one man was sent here by God to teach us to care for each other, to care for our communities, to drive out the corrupt and pointless is to believe that EACH OF US were sent here for the same reason. We can care about each other, treat each other well, and believe that we're here for a purpose. No, it's not a "rough and tumble" way to live. Lots of people live "rough and tumble," never takin' shit off nobody. They look so happy.

Now let's say you get to the end of life, you never followed nobody's rules, man. You weren't gonna let no Jesus talk get in the way of you living life the way you wanted to live. You did what you wanted, when you wanted, how you wanted. If somebody didn't like it, well they could KISS YOUR ASS. Yeah, man. That's how you lived. And then you're dead. Yes, even you. But you did it your way, yeah. You stepped up and kicked ass and stomped on those smaller than yourself and never did nothing to better yourself, because hey, the world wasn't gonna give YOU a break, so why do the world a favor? Oh, you had chances, but you skipped them. Do for YOU, take care of YOU first. Yeah. The world can kiss your ass for ever. [holding aloft two middle fingers] And then ya die.

As people stand over a body in the casket, assuming you didn't die in custody, and a few of them will say "HOLY SHIT, I thought this was the buffet. How'd this get in here? Who is this guy? Go through his pockets."

Some of them will say "Well at least he's not talking anymore."

And many will say "Well, that's it. Man, what a life he led. He set his own rules. He didn’t go around rummaging through the pockets of his spirit to give back to nobody. He played it low-key and cool. He didn't give what he had, because he worked hard for that shit. He taught me a lot about how to act, and he probably didn't even know it...
Man, what a dick. Died owing me $200 for that coffee table he Jimi Hendrix'ed at my mom's birthday party last year. Go through his pockets. I'm gonna grab a beer and move on his sister, [middle finger in the face of the deceased], so laters."

Maybe it seems like I'm passing judgment. I'm not, mostly because this is, what science refers to as, "A fictional scenario." But if it struck a chord with you that made you angry, is that a bad thing? I know that I have plenty to work on in my life and how I treat people on a daily basis. I can't make anybody do anything, all I can say is this:

Don't die a dick.

God Bless You, and Have a Blessed Easter.


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NOTICE!

Last night my girlfriend's car was vandalized in the parking lot of our condo complex.

Somebody is going to get their asses handed to them.


That is all.
===========================
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Further Proof That America, And Not Its Government, Rules

Just finished watching another episode of Extreme Home Makeovers. If you're unfamiliar with it, the show is on ABC on Sunday nights.

What they do is accept submissions from families in need, from all over the country. The family usually is not just a "little sister's pregnant, mom's in the clink, dad's wearing mom's underpants" kind of "in need." We're talking people with serious illnesses or disabilities who don't have what they need to have their lives be made as normal as possible. Check it out Here.

I have watched probably 20 episodes over the past year, which makes at least 27 times that I've nearly cried. Once when the Seahawks won the NFC Championship, then three drunken and profanity-fueled times during the Super Bowl. Again when I was wishing I could have fully shared the Super Bowl with my dad. Then another time that involved some hard gas and a very stubborn bowl of oatmeal. I gave it 36 hours, then went in after it. ANYway...

I don't usually shill for things I get no recoupment from, but there is some poignancy to the subject matter of this posting. I've blathered long enough, so here you go.

FEMA needs to stop their operation and hand everything over to Ty Pennington. Funnel the money, the work, the hours, the goods and services all to ABC, let Ty take it on from there. It's as obvious as the now-unused trailers sitting in Louisiana and Mississippi that FEMA is incapable of doing simple things like watching the Weather Channel or Administrating the Management of Emergencies, Federally. The EH group gets a job, plans it, rolls in, and gets an entirely new house built and furnished. Them last two are done in ONE WEEK.

No magical debit cash cards that go to, surprise, people who LIE TO GET FREE MONEY! (gasp, I'm astounded, really? People lie? Who could've seen that coming? Oh right, it's FEMA.)
No trailers waiting around filling with hot and stink instead of people.
Putting volunteers and community-minded people to work for the good of their neighbors.
Making me cry.

Now think what they could do with TAXPAYER'S MONEY, and I don't mean the funds we've given to the coffers since Hurricane Katrina, 9-11, and everyone who accidentally watched more than 30 seconds of "Joey." Tragic.

FEMA:
F*cking Everyone Massively Affected
Forgetting Everything Marginally Affective
Forgetting Even Marginal Assignments
Funding Every Marginal Annoyance
Funneling Every Monetary Allotment
Funding Eternal Munificent Abscondence

I could go on for quite a while, but I won't, you're welcome. Besides, I had to go to the thesaurus for that last one, and a little pee was made.

We take care of each other better than Big Government does. Let's continue doing that. In the meantime...

Send Ty and the gang to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. ASAFP.


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My Blog About My Dad

From time to time...

I step back and look at my life and say...

I am very blessed.

For whatever reasons (family, friends, creativity, God), for however long, I am happy and blessed.

That's all. Thank you for stopping by. I am humbled and inspired that anybody reads this, and a hundred times-more that you would come back. I hope you enjoy reading even half as much as I enjoy writing.

Thank you.

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Yo, Dawg. Fo sho, you gotsta stay relevant!

Earlier today Marshall "Skittle" Mathers filed for divorce from his baby mama, Kim "Brown LipLiner" Whocares. They re-married three months ago.

Is it a calculated move by Reese's Piece to stay in the public eye, so that he doesn't get forgotten about while emerging rapping people like "The Contest!" and/or "T.O." step to the forefrizzle? Or is this really what it appears to be, a giant "and this effects anybody how?"

Because I sure as shit can't figure it out, with JellyBean being into black dudes.
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Five Months More

Tis now and for ten fortnights into current time
a season of bloom and forthward growing
as movement crawls and beards on chins sprout
and all the traffic processions are slowing
Baseball Season.
Five months more.

Take me to the ball game
So I may sit nearest nature's freak.
Asexual behemoth, bejerseyed and hot-dog killing
besmudged scorecard, cholesterol at a peak
Baseball Season.
Five months more.

Eighty-one to see, contested home
Contested away, eighty-one more
Pillar of the community. endorsing as a family man
To swing, to catch, then throw out of the hotel, a whore.
Baseball Season.
Five months more.

A time of year, bittersweet in weather fair
Fans in legion flood and swell the roads and bars
In cars, in jackets, in their sweatpants of class
Clogging traffic, take not transit but largest cars
Baseball Fans.
Five months more.

And now, the sun warms the green and clay
Line-up cards, pine tar, and tobacco spit
Out come the names and skills of training
For what it's worth, I give not a shit.
Baseball Fans.
Five months more.




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