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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Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
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.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, May 07, 2006
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
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?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday, April 29, 2006
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday, April 22, 2006
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."
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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."
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
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!
=========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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!
=========================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, April 17, 2006
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.
=========
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!
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
=========
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!
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Sunday, April 09, 2006
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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! (
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.
Take Me Home
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
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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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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, April 03, 2006
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
For The Record
Tonight I record my first Comedy CD.
Half of my brain is trying to get together this slick, tight set that has a perfect flow and no slow spots. Inside that half is more of my brain that wants to do nothing that may offend people.
The OTHER half of my circuits are telling me to just let it happen. I know where to start, and how to start the show tonight, and then let it kind of happen from there. That's when I do my best, anyway. And I'm not paying a professional crew to come tape me, so I may as well let it rip. I honestly doubt anybody will be offended. At least by me.
=========================
Oh.
My.
Gawd.
This work thing is killing me.
At my last job I wrote, sometimes at length, about the numerous co-workers who deserved to be shared with the world. Remember "No Makeup Sandie?" She had a breast reduction at some point. It was the one thing she could have done to make herself even LESS attractive. But she nailed it.
Her happiness and constant laughter inspired me, much like people are inspired when they're fired from the Post Office.
I wouldn't get violent in the work place. I don't have the temper nor the time management to properly plan it. But work, sheesh... I like my job, don't get me wrong.
What I don't like are a certain group of people. I call them, with sarcasm, "The Dynamo Club." The dead-eyed stare of somebody who not only doesn't realize that This Doesn't Matter, they barely know that they drove to work today. I wish they could take a second and see themselves I see them, and they will, if ever they find my sketchbook. (My favorite is "Brenda DuckWalk," she likes cableknits!)
It is a gift to put off any kind of Up energy to the world around you. Life has other ideas, sometimes. Diarrhea can put a stain on your day. Head aches are a pain in my ass. Hangovers make me wanna drink. Underage Drinking makes me miss Jr. High. So really, Life will always give you PLENTY of reasons to walk around looking like you're just running through the script for "Walk to Kitchen, Water In Cup, Drink" in your processor. I've been there. I got out.
This, again, is Perspective. It is how we know Black From White. Drunk From Sober. Flaccid From Semi-Flaccid. These people are necessary, and I don't know what I'd do without them.
Oh yes I do...
I'd be boring.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Half of my brain is trying to get together this slick, tight set that has a perfect flow and no slow spots. Inside that half is more of my brain that wants to do nothing that may offend people.
The OTHER half of my circuits are telling me to just let it happen. I know where to start, and how to start the show tonight, and then let it kind of happen from there. That's when I do my best, anyway. And I'm not paying a professional crew to come tape me, so I may as well let it rip. I honestly doubt anybody will be offended. At least by me.
=========================
Oh.
My.
Gawd.
This work thing is killing me.
At my last job I wrote, sometimes at length, about the numerous co-workers who deserved to be shared with the world. Remember "No Makeup Sandie?" She had a breast reduction at some point. It was the one thing she could have done to make herself even LESS attractive. But she nailed it.
Her happiness and constant laughter inspired me, much like people are inspired when they're fired from the Post Office.
I wouldn't get violent in the work place. I don't have the temper nor the time management to properly plan it. But work, sheesh... I like my job, don't get me wrong.
What I don't like are a certain group of people. I call them, with sarcasm, "The Dynamo Club." The dead-eyed stare of somebody who not only doesn't realize that This Doesn't Matter, they barely know that they drove to work today. I wish they could take a second and see themselves I see them, and they will, if ever they find my sketchbook. (My favorite is "Brenda DuckWalk," she likes cableknits!)
It is a gift to put off any kind of Up energy to the world around you. Life has other ideas, sometimes. Diarrhea can put a stain on your day. Head aches are a pain in my ass. Hangovers make me wanna drink. Underage Drinking makes me miss Jr. High. So really, Life will always give you PLENTY of reasons to walk around looking like you're just running through the script for "Walk to Kitchen, Water In Cup, Drink" in your processor. I've been there. I got out.
This, again, is Perspective. It is how we know Black From White. Drunk From Sober. Flaccid From Semi-Flaccid. These people are necessary, and I don't know what I'd do without them.
Oh yes I do...
I'd be boring.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, March 24, 2006
Brad Pitt Angelina Jolie Sex Nude Sexing
As we all know, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt had unprotected sex and now she’s carrying his baby. Apparently Brad couldn’t seed the Aniston fields while married. I can’t quite remember what the Pitt-Aniston disconnect was on the baby front, mostly because it’s none the dook of my business and it would probably make me feel dirty and horny at the same time, were I to sit and ponder those two gorgeous creatures engaged in a little Side-Saddle with a Reach-Around Bean-Fiddlin’. Anyway, Brad and Jen never got it together on the baby front. But everything happens for a reason. And that reason is about to be splorched-forth unto the Earth.
Angelina Jolie is hot. She’s not good-looking. She’s not attractive. Pretty is too minute for her. She’s incredible. Like if you tried to describe her, people who had never rotted their brain with a Hollywood product, be it movies or whatever Jonathan Antin puts in his forehead, would say “I deny that a person of such described beauty exists. But if they did, I would want to Feedbag them before a solid session of Wheelbarrowing.” I’ve seen her naked in a movie here or there. Truly a gorgeous woman. She’s the kind of hot that wouldn’t anger you if it were on your new couch, and she was passed out on it in her own urine and vomit. There would be no poo, because hotness that hot doesn’t poo, it expends every last calorie fueling the hot. And whatever style she wears her Hair Down-There in would be considered Fantastic, no matter if it stretched hip to baby-widened hip.
Brad Pitt is also hot. And I say this as a straight guy, Pitt is genetically blessed in the physicality department. He works out, sure, but he’s got good genetics, too. He’s also one of the better comedic actors who is often overlooked (see “13 Monkeys” or the subtleties of Tyler Durden) because, well, he is hot. Funny and hot rarely go together, although funny can make someone hot. Hot cannot make someone truly funny. He’s both. How hot is Pitt? Well, about 6 months ago he BARE-BONED ANGELINA JOLIE, if that’s any sort of indication. Then again, she blew Billy Bob Thornton, everyone’s favorite “High School Janitor-type.” But he couldn’t blow the kind of super-wad that it would take to match hotness to Jolie’s ova, which Pitt had packed away in a climate-controlled testicle-oid for just such an occasion.
Now we come to the baby situation. Jolie’s got a couple of adopted kids, a son and a daughter. Son Maddox is about 5, a Cambodian orphan. Daughter Zahara is about 2, born in Ethiopia, and orphaned after her parents died from AIDS. Africa is really in bad shape, people. So let’s band together and not go there. That’s what Bono is for. Digression! Apologies… So she’s got a couple of imports, showing not only that she has a heart for the world’s needy (see her long list of humanitarian efforts, like putting Thornton’s penis inside of her mouth), but also that she can out-accessorize anybody on the planet. So now she’s gone and trumped even herself by deciding to allow her uterus to carry the child of The Brad Pitt, which is NOT but could be a good nickname for her vagina, which is probably actually named Vagelina Jolie. Reaching, I know. Focus.
She HAS kids. She’s GOING TO have another one, which will officially be sent to Earth to destroy Kevin Federline’s son. But I have questions about it all.
For example, will the hotness amplify on the Jolie-Pitt child, but the child comes out with a professional athlete’s vocabulary? Or will it be the case of magnets with like-polarities, the child birthed as a gaze-averting abomination of nature, complete with a spiked tail, transparent skin, and red beak capable of breaking through a grown-man’s sternum… yet has a flawless mind that can solve every socio-economic problem known to humans long before it takes its first steps, granted that it is not whisked away at birth by the people at Weekly World News, sent by the parents of Jon-Benet Ramsey?
AND…
Will Angelina Jolie go through natural childbirth or go C-section and not risk blowing out her probably flawless and magnolia-scented Brad Pit?
I have to go with Natural, only because she’s a worldly woman. I mean natural as in drug-free, no make-up, hip-fracturing, squatting in a hut with an Aborigine woman chanting over the recently-dispersed amniotic fluid cupped in the hollowed-out shell of a turtle, 57 hours of labor, ass-ripping natural birthing of the Child Jolie-Pitt. Visceral. Animalistic. And somehow that would Up her hotness. She grapefruit-spooned her “Billy Bob” tattoo off, for the sake of Clooney, people!
As for the looks, I think the kid will be gorgeous, and probably go to Cambridge to study zymogenetics and hate everything about Hollywood. Or become a chef in a small Portugal fishing village, cooking meals and sharing the secret recipe of a magical healing pie that was never shown or taught to the child… they just somehow always knew it.
Yeah, so that’s what I was wondering.
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Angelina Jolie is hot. She’s not good-looking. She’s not attractive. Pretty is too minute for her. She’s incredible. Like if you tried to describe her, people who had never rotted their brain with a Hollywood product, be it movies or whatever Jonathan Antin puts in his forehead, would say “I deny that a person of such described beauty exists. But if they did, I would want to Feedbag them before a solid session of Wheelbarrowing.” I’ve seen her naked in a movie here or there. Truly a gorgeous woman. She’s the kind of hot that wouldn’t anger you if it were on your new couch, and she was passed out on it in her own urine and vomit. There would be no poo, because hotness that hot doesn’t poo, it expends every last calorie fueling the hot. And whatever style she wears her Hair Down-There in would be considered Fantastic, no matter if it stretched hip to baby-widened hip.
Brad Pitt is also hot. And I say this as a straight guy, Pitt is genetically blessed in the physicality department. He works out, sure, but he’s got good genetics, too. He’s also one of the better comedic actors who is often overlooked (see “13 Monkeys” or the subtleties of Tyler Durden) because, well, he is hot. Funny and hot rarely go together, although funny can make someone hot. Hot cannot make someone truly funny. He’s both. How hot is Pitt? Well, about 6 months ago he BARE-BONED ANGELINA JOLIE, if that’s any sort of indication. Then again, she blew Billy Bob Thornton, everyone’s favorite “High School Janitor-type.” But he couldn’t blow the kind of super-wad that it would take to match hotness to Jolie’s ova, which Pitt had packed away in a climate-controlled testicle-oid for just such an occasion.
Now we come to the baby situation. Jolie’s got a couple of adopted kids, a son and a daughter. Son Maddox is about 5, a Cambodian orphan. Daughter Zahara is about 2, born in Ethiopia, and orphaned after her parents died from AIDS. Africa is really in bad shape, people. So let’s band together and not go there. That’s what Bono is for. Digression! Apologies… So she’s got a couple of imports, showing not only that she has a heart for the world’s needy (see her long list of humanitarian efforts, like putting Thornton’s penis inside of her mouth), but also that she can out-accessorize anybody on the planet. So now she’s gone and trumped even herself by deciding to allow her uterus to carry the child of The Brad Pitt, which is NOT but could be a good nickname for her vagina, which is probably actually named Vagelina Jolie. Reaching, I know. Focus.
She HAS kids. She’s GOING TO have another one, which will officially be sent to Earth to destroy Kevin Federline’s son. But I have questions about it all.
For example, will the hotness amplify on the Jolie-Pitt child, but the child comes out with a professional athlete’s vocabulary? Or will it be the case of magnets with like-polarities, the child birthed as a gaze-averting abomination of nature, complete with a spiked tail, transparent skin, and red beak capable of breaking through a grown-man’s sternum… yet has a flawless mind that can solve every socio-economic problem known to humans long before it takes its first steps, granted that it is not whisked away at birth by the people at Weekly World News, sent by the parents of Jon-Benet Ramsey?
AND…
Will Angelina Jolie go through natural childbirth or go C-section and not risk blowing out her probably flawless and magnolia-scented Brad Pit?
I have to go with Natural, only because she’s a worldly woman. I mean natural as in drug-free, no make-up, hip-fracturing, squatting in a hut with an Aborigine woman chanting over the recently-dispersed amniotic fluid cupped in the hollowed-out shell of a turtle, 57 hours of labor, ass-ripping natural birthing of the Child Jolie-Pitt. Visceral. Animalistic. And somehow that would Up her hotness. She grapefruit-spooned her “Billy Bob” tattoo off, for the sake of Clooney, people!
As for the looks, I think the kid will be gorgeous, and probably go to Cambridge to study zymogenetics and hate everything about Hollywood. Or become a chef in a small Portugal fishing village, cooking meals and sharing the secret recipe of a magical healing pie that was never shown or taught to the child… they just somehow always knew it.
Yeah, so that’s what I was wondering.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Out Of Office
I'm stuck at my desk at work.
Stuck. On many levels. I don't think I can take it. I'm sober, which is a good thing for everyone involved. I need to get up and get away from this stuff, I can't geek out to any more queries, LEFT OUTER JOINS, or nerd speak.
I can't...
I won't.
I'm trying to look on the bright side of everything lately. I see a downer, and immediately go to the flip-side of it, which can be uplifting. Let's try it a bit.
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My Blog About My Dad
Stuck. On many levels. I don't think I can take it. I'm sober, which is a good thing for everyone involved. I need to get up and get away from this stuff, I can't geek out to any more queries, LEFT OUTER JOINS, or nerd speak.
I can't...
I won't.
I'm trying to look on the bright side of everything lately. I see a downer, and immediately go to the flip-side of it, which can be uplifting. Let's try it a bit.
- My job is boring. But, at least I have a job.
- I have to go to work five days a week to make money. But at least I'm making money.
- I work with a guy who looks like the human form of a fart. At least he's not farting.
- He's farting in meetings again. At least the meeting will be over soon.
- The meeting is running long because he won't shut up. But his experience may teach a lesson.
- He keeps trying to be funny and it's not funny. Funny is subjective, so let his humor roam.
- Why is he greeting people with "Wasssuuup?" His attempts at being hip are dated, but honest.
- I can't breathe, this is too much between his coffee breath and lactose intolerance. This will give you perspective to appreciate fresh air!
- Okay, that's it, I am now going to return fire. At least the stomach percolation will subside.
- Damn, I pushed too hard and now I'm touching cotton back here. I have given everyone a story to tell, AND the meeting is adjourned!
A pantsload to go with me, but at least I get to leave work! I can't believe it came to this but I needed SOMETHING. You can fake a seizure only so many times.
Look for my Cruise Diary in the coming weeks!
If anybody needs me I'll be in the can with a spatula.
==========Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, March 12, 2006
For My Grampa
My grandfather, William "Red" Rider, or "Bill" to his friends, and "Rider" to my gramma, his wife of 57 years, Sunny, has passed away. He went Home last Friday night following a stroke, his second, which occurred last Sunday evening. I was out of the country at the time, and didn't find out until late last night. I feel as though somebody has punched me in the gut. As usual, I hope to publish something here that when you're finished, you'll say "That was worth reading."
To see some pictures and read a bit more about him, please visit the MEM page for him Here.
==========
Poppy was one of the original Funny People in my life. He was a kidder, a teaser, and a giant of a man. He loved us grandkids just as big. He stood about 6'2" or so, lanky, and always giggling about something else that he thought was funny. He would ask me "Hey Geoffer, what's your favorite cartoon?" and I'd say "Super Heroes" or some such. His standard answer... "Nope, can't like it." Then he'd giggle about getting one over on me. Anything I liked, "nope, can't like it." It never stopped, and it is how I bond with people today: Humor.
I usually saw Gramma and Poppy in the Summer, as they would come out to visit for a couple of weeks. We always had fun, going to movies and toy stores, up to Mt. Rainier, into Seattle, and tons of other stuff I still do for fun from time to time. They lived in Michigan, where my mom grew up, and eventually brought my cousins out with them as they got older. Grams and Poppy were my conduit to the rest of my Michigan family.
Change jingled in his pocket when he strolled about; he never walked anywhere, he was always moseying. That change was fed into many video games by many of his grandchildren, 9 in all, plus 3 great-grandkids. Or as Poppy would say "I don't know what makes 'em so great, eh Heh heh heh." He always had a few quarters to keep us entertained.
He had a distinct smell, aftershave that I never smelled on anyone else as I was growing up. It wasn't until I was 13 that I found the bottle. Old Spice. To this moment and forever I will associate The Spice with Grampa Rider. He smelled good.
He was a stock car racer back before it was regulated, marketed, and commercial. He loved watching the races and taught me a little about what the drivers were actually doing, and going through, in a race. This was back before stock car racing became a punchline, and was pursued with a real passion. He loved cars and the auto industry, as anybody could see in his now epic collection of free t-shirts from auto parts stores, towing companies, and motor oil offers in the greater Kent County area.
As a Poppy, he was a teacher and a friend, keeping an eye on us and making sure we got along. He loved to kid us, called us "Looney Tunes," and was never cross with us unless we deserved it. I didn't see him nearly as much as I would like to have. His passing has given me another perspective of Living, of Family, and of Legacy.
Love ya, Poppy.
All love and prayers to my Gramma, Mom, Aunt Sandy, Aunt Sue, Sonya, Jenni, Amy, Brad, Katie (you owe me $10 from that one thing), Machelle, Chris, and Rich. Miss you guys.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
To see some pictures and read a bit more about him, please visit the MEM page for him Here.
==========
Poppy was one of the original Funny People in my life. He was a kidder, a teaser, and a giant of a man. He loved us grandkids just as big. He stood about 6'2" or so, lanky, and always giggling about something else that he thought was funny. He would ask me "Hey Geoffer, what's your favorite cartoon?" and I'd say "Super Heroes" or some such. His standard answer... "Nope, can't like it." Then he'd giggle about getting one over on me. Anything I liked, "nope, can't like it." It never stopped, and it is how I bond with people today: Humor.
I usually saw Gramma and Poppy in the Summer, as they would come out to visit for a couple of weeks. We always had fun, going to movies and toy stores, up to Mt. Rainier, into Seattle, and tons of other stuff I still do for fun from time to time. They lived in Michigan, where my mom grew up, and eventually brought my cousins out with them as they got older. Grams and Poppy were my conduit to the rest of my Michigan family.
Change jingled in his pocket when he strolled about; he never walked anywhere, he was always moseying. That change was fed into many video games by many of his grandchildren, 9 in all, plus 3 great-grandkids. Or as Poppy would say "I don't know what makes 'em so great, eh Heh heh heh." He always had a few quarters to keep us entertained.
He had a distinct smell, aftershave that I never smelled on anyone else as I was growing up. It wasn't until I was 13 that I found the bottle. Old Spice. To this moment and forever I will associate The Spice with Grampa Rider. He smelled good.
He was a stock car racer back before it was regulated, marketed, and commercial. He loved watching the races and taught me a little about what the drivers were actually doing, and going through, in a race. This was back before stock car racing became a punchline, and was pursued with a real passion. He loved cars and the auto industry, as anybody could see in his now epic collection of free t-shirts from auto parts stores, towing companies, and motor oil offers in the greater Kent County area.
As a Poppy, he was a teacher and a friend, keeping an eye on us and making sure we got along. He loved to kid us, called us "Looney Tunes," and was never cross with us unless we deserved it. I didn't see him nearly as much as I would like to have. His passing has given me another perspective of Living, of Family, and of Legacy.
Love ya, Poppy.
All love and prayers to my Gramma, Mom, Aunt Sandy, Aunt Sue, Sonya, Jenni, Amy, Brad, Katie (you owe me $10 from that one thing), Machelle, Chris, and Rich. Miss you guys.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, March 03, 2006
Cruisin'
This evening I embark on a vacation with my lovely A-list Girlfriend. We're heading to Miami, then on to a cruise ship, and then circling the Carribean for the next week or so! I'm pretty excited for a couple reasons.
First off, I got my ass waxed. I figured it would make me sleeker when trying to outswim the land excursion "guides" who will be trying to gyp me for an extra couple bucks in tips. I know, why swim away from the land guides? Because they are ON LAND, that's why.
Second, after the past few weeks of mundane blathering that has been my life (losing weight, exercising more, saving $) I am beyond ready to take the hell off. A-List and I both and each need a vacation. What better way to do that than get on a boat in the middle of the Carribean? For a week. Together. No where to, you know... go.
Third, I need a rush of someplace new. I believe that a person gets better when they force themselves into new places and experiences BEFORE Life does it to them... yes TO, not FOR. A-List was awarded this trip for her hard work last year, and I'm lucky to be her man, AND hotstacking that pleasure with being the guest she chose to take on the trip! She rules.
Fourth, my old place of employment can now download a picture of my ass and then eat that picture. That has nothing to do with the vacation, but it was fun.
Fifth, I have been coming across more and more passages and articles about the importance of Happiness in life. You can choose to be happy, because of, or in spite of, your circumstances. For too long I lived with the "I'll be happier when..." and that When never fills to the top. It just keeps wallowing between Content and Blah. So I am Happy. The rest of it I will create.
Sixth, some nerd-load at work today tried to be nice to me. First time he ever has done so. He usually barely recognizes my existence. Today he did so, in his "I'm gonna try to be nicer to people" way, by seeing me and saying "Well HEY Tom, I haven't seen you in a while!" Sidestepping the fact that I was sitting 2 chairs away from him 5 minutes earlier in a department meeting, MY NAME IS NOT TOM. I said "Hey CrapSock, it's Geoff." He said, "Oh why did I call you Tom?" I bit my tongue, then he tried to save the moment with "I guess you look like a Tom." Toms have a look?
Apparently... and where that look lacks minorly in SEXY, it makes up for in HUNKY and BRUTISH. I'm devastating.
Seventh, I've dropped 12 lard-bricks this year so far. 6lbs a month of useless fat. My BF% has dropped, I can see an Ab!, and I plan to get in good enough shape where people demand I take my shirt off, but not in a gay way, even if it is in the window of "Jack Banana's Leather Strap Rodeo Roadhouse." Just because, dammit, I'm looking better.
Eight, because I invented motherf*cking INWARD SINGING, that's why!
Ninth, because I'm apparently the only comic in Seattle who blogs. Nobody has anything to write? Well then, I guess I'm the mumbling, disinterested voice of our scene, then. You can't write ANYTHING? Famous isn't waiting for you, GET ON IT.
Tenth, and finally, I'm excited because I get to go with someone I love, who loves me, and because we're ready to get away from everything and just enjoy each other's company. I'll bring ya back some rum or something, because you drink a lot and show your boobies.
Adios, Muchachos. Adios.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
First off, I got my ass waxed. I figured it would make me sleeker when trying to outswim the land excursion "guides" who will be trying to gyp me for an extra couple bucks in tips. I know, why swim away from the land guides? Because they are ON LAND, that's why.
Second, after the past few weeks of mundane blathering that has been my life (losing weight, exercising more, saving $) I am beyond ready to take the hell off. A-List and I both and each need a vacation. What better way to do that than get on a boat in the middle of the Carribean? For a week. Together. No where to, you know... go.
Third, I need a rush of someplace new. I believe that a person gets better when they force themselves into new places and experiences BEFORE Life does it to them... yes TO, not FOR. A-List was awarded this trip for her hard work last year, and I'm lucky to be her man, AND hotstacking that pleasure with being the guest she chose to take on the trip! She rules.
Fourth, my old place of employment can now download a picture of my ass and then eat that picture. That has nothing to do with the vacation, but it was fun.
Fifth, I have been coming across more and more passages and articles about the importance of Happiness in life. You can choose to be happy, because of, or in spite of, your circumstances. For too long I lived with the "I'll be happier when..." and that When never fills to the top. It just keeps wallowing between Content and Blah. So I am Happy. The rest of it I will create.
Sixth, some nerd-load at work today tried to be nice to me. First time he ever has done so. He usually barely recognizes my existence. Today he did so, in his "I'm gonna try to be nicer to people" way, by seeing me and saying "Well HEY Tom, I haven't seen you in a while!" Sidestepping the fact that I was sitting 2 chairs away from him 5 minutes earlier in a department meeting, MY NAME IS NOT TOM. I said "Hey CrapSock, it's Geoff." He said, "Oh why did I call you Tom?" I bit my tongue, then he tried to save the moment with "I guess you look like a Tom." Toms have a look?
Apparently... and where that look lacks minorly in SEXY, it makes up for in HUNKY and BRUTISH. I'm devastating.
Seventh, I've dropped 12 lard-bricks this year so far. 6lbs a month of useless fat. My BF% has dropped, I can see an Ab!, and I plan to get in good enough shape where people demand I take my shirt off, but not in a gay way, even if it is in the window of "Jack Banana's Leather Strap Rodeo Roadhouse." Just because, dammit, I'm looking better.
Eight, because I invented motherf*cking INWARD SINGING, that's why!
Ninth, because I'm apparently the only comic in Seattle who blogs. Nobody has anything to write? Well then, I guess I'm the mumbling, disinterested voice of our scene, then. You can't write ANYTHING? Famous isn't waiting for you, GET ON IT.
Tenth, and finally, I'm excited because I get to go with someone I love, who loves me, and because we're ready to get away from everything and just enjoy each other's company. I'll bring ya back some rum or something, because you drink a lot and show your boobies.
Adios, Muchachos. Adios.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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