| Ethics and the obvious |
[Apr. 20th, 2008|06:28 pm] |
There comes a time in every persons life where you know you have crossed a moral barrier. Like cheating on your ethics exam.
There are times in life that state the obvious. For instance, when you are in the unemployment line, at least you will know why you are there.
And there are times in life when you become so philosophically profound; to yourself that logic seems to defy gravity. Especially when you don't know what you are talking about but make others feel like it is their fault.
Philosophy: A route of many roads leading from nowhere to nothing.
I’ll call these examples the Great G.W. Bush Philosophies.
I know our great president suffers from the moral and philosophical examples mentioned above and hopefully will experience the obvious example shortly.
Lets face it this man is a social moron. He thinks Relativity is a family get together at Christmas. I’m sure his assumptions on Black holes are: “what you get in black socks.”
“Hey Pope, awesome speech!” One of W’s more cleaver blurbs in public basically stamped his diploma on stupidity. I’m sure the Pope mumbled something to the effect of “ Paint makes more verbal sense than you.” Or perhaps; “Maybe I should re-evaluate my position on abortions.”
Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive
George continually stands on his head in public wearing torn pants. What an ass!
The Bush administration forecasting has made weather forecasters look good.
Remember “Shock and Awe. ” This is what Americans are saying when they pay their monthly bills.
The Bush administration theory on the economy: “Practice economy at any cost.”
What our good president has done is the job that he had set out to do. When he took office seven years ago gas prices were $1.56 per gallon and today it is hovering around or over $4.00 per gallon. Those good ole Texas oilmen know their crude and politicians. Or should I say they know their crude politicians.
Bad is never good until something worse happens. Remember William Jefferson Clinton? Things are never so bad they can't be made worse. Now, think George W.
With all of this said I have reached the crossing point of my own moral barrier. Voting. I really have no idea what to do. If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it. I’m trying but I can’t morally support any of the candidates proposed to the American public. Politicians have ruined my spirit.
How come we choose from just two people to run for president and 50 for Miss America?
Politicians and diapers have one thing in common. They should both be changed regularly, and for the same reason.
I believe there are more urgent and honorable occupations than the incomparable waste of time politicians incorporate in their Bullshit. Then again, I work for the media. Talk about moral injustice.
A man isn't poor if he can still laugh. |
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| Tools and gadgets |
[Apr. 17th, 2008|11:01 am] |
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I am such a tool and gadget guy. I think it has something to do with my DNA make up. If tools could procreate I’m sure I would be reincarnated as a toolbox.
Thank God for my wife. If I were single my wardrobe would consist of self-cleaning underwear and Nike sweats. Throw in a roll of duct tape and a hundred feet of 3/8” manila rope and I will become Master Handy Man. Doctoring, plumbing, electrical, fencing and carpentry work are my missions and expertise. It’s like a Wild West country doctor, cowboy thing.
So gifts for me on those special or not so special occasions are easy.
Buy me a label-maker and: socks, shorts, cups, saucers, doors, locks and sinks will be monogrammed within a week.
Cordless drills? I am like the bigamist of cordless drills. One is not enough. This is a gift I will always roll over like Rover for. Two for each room including bathrooms and three for each of my cars is mandatory.
Mention ratchet or socket to me and my shorts get tight.
Anything purchased from “Napa Auto Parts” even if it’s a starter motor for a Ford Fairlane 500 gets me warm and fuzzy. “I know I can use that for something. Don’t even think about throwing that out woman.”
I am not allowed to own a chain saw for obvious reasons. Sort of like the label maker syndrome.
Stepladders? Leave those for the women and children. No, I want extension ladders, I have ladder envy, the bigger the better. I want every male neighbor begging to use my extension every Saturday morning.
Home Depot? God lives here and I am one of his apostles. “I’ll roam the isles looking for poor lost souls needing my gadgetry guidance. Signs, walkway Lights, front doors, basement doors and toilets. It’s your choice.” : John 22: Isle# 15.
I window shop at Radio Shack, Circuit City and Best Buy. Sky Mall magazine provides one hour of in-flight kill time during air travel. I have never purchased anything from this catalogue (I don’t know anyone who has) but have threatened to do so on every flight.
I am not a cook but barbecuing and barbecues light my fire. Rare ... medium ... well done..... I’ve got all three types of burns on my hands from barbecuing.
I want one of those complete kitchen barbecues. You’ve seen them; they have four burners, a heating bin, refrigerator compartment and a hook up for a sink. I want mine with an industrial sized garbage disposal and toilet. This way I can dispose of my garbage and relieve myself and not miss a flip. Plus you never have enough bathrooms. Sort of like the cordless drill theory. There is nothing like downloading out doors.
Here is a tip for those who live in a rural area and have deer feeding off all your flowers and shrubbery. Go to your local super market and buy a case of beer. That’s right beer. Drink as many bottles or cans that it takes to tap the faucet, if you know what I mean.
Now go outside and urinate on all of your plants and shrubs. Not only will the deer refuse to go near your fertilizing but also you get a good excuse to piss off your neighbors. The deer will attack their yards and you get a good buzz on. I suggest that you do this procedure at night and please no singing. Try explaining that to sheriff Redneck with half a load on as he parades you to the back seat of his cruiser.
Never repress anything but your pants.
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| for Pete's sake |
[Apr. 14th, 2008|03:06 pm] |
I had known Pete for most of my life. We have been friends since childhood. We played ball together. We dated the same girls at different times. We even had pets that shared time between us.
The first pet was Shammy.  Shammy was a unique mix of an English Sheep dog and a Standard Poodle. When standing on his hind legs this dog stood over five and a half feet tall. Shammy weighed over one hundred twenty pounds. Not only did Shammy chase cars but he also chased trains.
Shammy also ate human food. The only thing Shammy could not digest were string beans. So of course we would always hide string beans in Shammy’s mashed potatoes. Then we would take bets, among our friends, on how long it took Shammy to barf those beans back up. Whoever was the farthest from accuracy, on his bet, would have to clean up Shammy’s mess. Hey, we were kids and this is how we amused ourselves.
The second pet we shared was Sally. Sally was a squirrel monkey, who would crap in her hand and toss it at people on command.
Sally was a nasty animal and screeched like a soiled baby whenever she was annoyed. She was annoyed often. Sally suffered from chronic PMS, which I always thought meant Primal Monkey Scream, until I met my first wife.
For amusement we would take Sally and lock ourselves in a bedroom with four or five of our friends. Then we would play our self-created game of “Shit Sally Shit.” After several tosses, Sally would get more and more excited jumping from dresser to bed back to the dresser. She would be reacting to six or seven of us diving all around the bedroom avoiding her deadly aim. It was truly amazing how much ammunition this four-pound primate could muster up.
The winner of “ Shit Sally Shit” was the last one tattooed with monkey mud. The loser was the first one pasted and they were in charge of cleanup duty (come on, you saw that one coming). The only real winner here was Sally. She would do back flips and yelp joyously every time she hit her intended target.
Pete and I shared a Shetland pony for a while named Jake. But all Jake could do was usual horse stuff. Stuff like eating enormous amounts of hay and producing enormous amounts of hay waste. So none of our friends wanted to get involved with our ambition to create a Jake game. We got bored and sold Jake to a horse farm.
Pete was a three star athlete throughout his high school career. He stared in Baseball, Football and Basketball. I played all three sports but that is where the similarity ended.
In his senior year of high school the New York Yankees, the New York Knickerbockers and the New York Jets had scouted Pete. Despite SAT scores that rivaled his batting average, Pete knew he could have a great future lined up in professional sports.
Pete was drafted into the military right out of high school and was trained as an MP. He was sent to Viet Nam. Two years later he was discharged and was never the same again. Something happened to Pete during those years as it did to many who served there. He was diagnosed with PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  This caused him to be withdrawn and paranoid. It cost him his marriage.
A Year ago Pete was diagnosed with lung cancer, which spread, to his brain.
Pete died recently and I pay tribute to him and all of our veterans who have served this country. Please just give a moments thought to energize the spirit of these departed and suffered heroes.
I will miss Pete. I hope that he is playing ball somewhere and fulfilling his dreams. I hope he is riding horses and watching Shammy chase down harmless trains. But most of all I hope he is laughing his ass off playing “Shit Sally Shit” with the Big Kahuna..
Duck Petey!
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