Thursday, June 30, 2005


Your IQ Is 130

Your Logical Intelligence is Genius
Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius
Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional
Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

A letter to President Bush: Precision Guided Humor Assignment

Dear President Bush,

I propose a new cabinet post be installed in the white house, and that this post be given a staff of highly trained, highly motivated personnel to handle asinine, irrelevent, or just plain stupid questions from the press.
This new position would be called the Secretary of Keepin’ it Real. His or her staff would consist mostly of ninjas, however, they would also have several other specialists to handle unique situations.
Below you will see some examples of where the Secretary of Keepin’ it Real’s job would be vital for not just national security, but also for the mental health of those who are forced to sit through countless interviews with media types who have agendas that run contrary to common sense.

Example 1:

Social Security is privatized, the conservatives won a great victory for the good of all citizens. The main stream media (MSM for short), are shocked, and are still trying to spin this in the liberals favor.

Reporter for the NYT,
“Mr. President, is it not true that by privatizing social security you have essentially yanked the rug out from under middle class citizens, forcing them to support the stock market when in fact it is the upper class who will benefit from these changes?”

Before the appointment of a Secretary of Keepin’ it Real, you Mr. President, would have had to answer this question yet again. You would of course try to remain polite because you have class, but when it came time to print, you would be portrayed as callous, and indifferent to the plight of middle class America.
With your new cabinet position in place, the scene plays out more like this.

“....upper class who will benefi...” The reporter stops mid sentence, a small dart sticking out his neck. His eyes roll up into his head, and his tongue swells until it cuts off his air supply, causing a slow, horrifying death.
The remaining MSM look around for the source of the NYT reporter’s distress, and see nothing but a flitting shadow at the exit to the room. They all know that somehow, you have silenced the moron, but they are not sure how, and start framing their questions in a more respectful, well thought out manner.

Example 2:

Osama Bin Laden is finally captured, and brought before a military tribunal. His crimes against our nation about to be reconciled. There have been allegations that your white house has had him hidden away somewhere until a politically convenient time to trot him forth.

MSNBC correspondent,
“Mr. President, isn’t it true that you have known the whereabouts of Mr. Bin Laden for almost two whole years, but decided not to act on this knowledge until now, hoping to use this surge in popularity to push through several key ultra-conservative judicial nominations?”

The correspondent suddenly lurches forward, a short straight bladed sword sticking from her chest. As everyone screams and panics, there is a flash and a puff of smoke, the SOKIR (secretary of keepin’ it real) stands on the podium, smirking smugly.

“There will be no further questions until we sort out what has happened here. This tragedy will not go uninvestigated, and this breach in security will be rooted out.”

For weeks, different news programs examine their taping of the event, and none can find any evidence of who or what stabbed the MSNBC correspondent. Her family starts raising speculations that the Bush “regime” is responsible, but they disappear soon afterward, victims of an apparent, unfortunate toaster accident.

Example 3:

Vice President Dick Cheney is making an appearance on Meet the Press, Tim Russert, always looking to belittle a conservative guest, has asked a series of questions that essentially ammount to the same thing.

“Is it not true though, that in the course of going to war, oil revenue from Iraq has been mentioned as one of the prime motivating factors? The money would be astounding.”

Cheney looks smugly at Russert,
“Are you threatening me Mr. Russert?”
He rises from his chair, and his hand makes a clawed shape as lightening streaks forth, striking the chunky pompous reporter.
The lightening stops suddenly, and Russert writhes, moaning.
“My friends in the media won;t let you get away with this.”
Cheney smiles sickly, as he pulls a black hood up over his head,
“I find your disrespectful attitude troubling Mr Russert. You will soon find that the media is mistaken about a great many things!”
Lightening again streaks forth from his fingers, the air is filled with the smell of ozone, and roasted pork. The smoldering remains of the host of Meet the Press lay at Dick Cheney’s feet. He addresses the camera,
“There seems to have been an unfortunate accident here, pray there are no further accidents.”
He turns on his heel and strides through the studio door. Interns, and camera people jumping out of his way. As he leaves, a man dressed in black from head to toe steps out from behind a potted plant in the studio. The sword sheath on his back gleams in the hot lights, he pulls out a small communication device.
“Man, I guess Dar..err..Mr. Cheney can handle his own stupid questions. I will have to report my failure to the SOKIR. I only hope he will find it in his heart to forgive me.”
Sitting in a darkened Oval Office, President Bush is meeting with several ninjas about the effectiveness of the newly appointed SOKIR.
“But Mr President, one question sir, If I may?”
Bush nods, and smiles to the man, calming his nerves.
“None of us has ever met our boss, the Secretary of Keepin’ It Real. We are all wondering who our boss is..really?”
Bush inhales as if to answer, and the door bursts open. Standing there, with a bright light behind him is none other than Chris Rock. He smiles at his men, and says simply,
“I keeps it real!”

Monday, June 27, 2005

Poetry...or so I think.

Take a walk in my version of death,
teach me to be the man...
Awake I sit all hours late,
waiting to be the man...
Alive I dream of futures past,
striving to be the man...
Memories fade, scars blur,
and why? To be the man...

Sunday, June 26, 2005

And the winner is.....


Thank you for your suggestion on tattoos, I got a tree of life tattoo yesterday. As soon as someone with a digital camera comes by, I will get a pic to upload.

On a serious note though, after I got finished getting my tat, I had this sick to my gut feeling. I was hurting emotionally, and when I got home there was an email from the source of my emotional pain. I figured out what was wrong, this is the first tat I have gotten without the prescence of my lovely ex-wife. I read the e-mail, nothing heavy, or anything, just asking me about a bill I have that someone keeps calling her about. I told her I would take care of it monday or tuesday....then I cried my eyes out for twenty minutes. I realized that I love her still, I don't want to be with her by any stretch of the imagination, that would be very unhealthy for me at this point, but I love her none-the-less. And knowing that she doesn't love me anymore kills a little piece of me everytime I realize it. I went so deeply into depression, that I felt like I did when I was suicidal, except I didn't want to hurt myself ( or anyone else). My heart hurts, yet I am at the same time happy. I am happy that I can feel emotions again. I can feel like anyone else, without blowing it into some life ending tragedy.

After my cry-baby fest, I drove (rode) to O'hare to pick up my baby sister flying in from Tacoma. I haven't seen her in ten years, and I have a TON of catching up to do. I just hope I don;t freak her out as she is somewhat introverted like her father, and I am quite the opposite.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

I just turned four...does this mean I can't enjoy naked women anymore?

There's a shadow just behind me, shrouding every step I take, making every promise empty, pointing every finger at me. Waiting like a stalking butler who upon the finger rests. Murder now the path called must we just before the son has come. Jesus, won't you fucking whistle something but the past and done? Why can't we not be sober? I just want to start this over. Why can't we drink forever. I just want to start things over. I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile. I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well. I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave, I will work to elevate you just enough to bring you down. Trust me. Mother Mary won't you whisper something but what's past and done. Trust me. I want what I want.

Another fine song by Tool that really hits home when I listen to it. Not only does it describe the way I used to be in a general way, it also came out during a fucked up time in my life.

Today, I have four years sober, and as is my custom, I am going to get a tattoo this weekend. I am not sure what I am getting yet, but you can bet it will have to do with rebirth, and/or the sun.

I don't know what to say about being clean for four years, I don't take a great deal of personal pride in it because I know that if I was the one calling the shots (so to speak) I would be drunk or dead. I am happy about it, I like not being controlled by a disease that I have seen destroy so much. Even while I was not drinking, drugging, or using people I fell victim to addiction. My marriage fell apart because of it ( and many other factors), but I can say in all honesty, that I am grateful to be an alcoholic today. I am grateful that experience has made me wiser, and a great deal stronger. Today, I can honestly say I like myself, and not only that, but that I have some clue as to who I am. I don't have to pretend to be something I am not just for the approval of others. I have hope now, I have aspirations, and above all...I have my faith. Without being an alcoholic, and without experiencing everything I have, I wouldn't have any of that. I can tell you now that I accept everything as it is, I may not like some things, but I can accept them, and move on.

I want to thank all of you who read this who have been there for me, and those of you, who unknowingly have saved my life.

One more thing before I go play some bass, and wrustle up some vittles...
I can't wait to see what this next year brings me!

Sunday, June 19, 2005

I loves me a good Yoda joke...this almost qualifies.
Looky Here!

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Songs like this are why I like Tool.


And the angel of the lord came unto me, snatching me up from my place of slumber. And took me on high, and higher still until we moved to the spaces betwixt the air itself. And he brought me into a vast farmlands of our own midwest. And as we descended, cries of impending doom rose from the soil. One thousand, nay a million voices full of fear. And terror possesed me then. And I begged, "Angel of the Lord, what are these tortured screams?" And the angel said unto me, "These are the cries of the carrots, the cries of the carrots! You see, Reverend Maynard, tomorrow is harvest day and to them it is the holocaust." And I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat like the tears of one million terrified brothers and roared, "Hear me now, I have seen the light! They have a consciousness, they have a life, they have a soul! Damn you! Let the rabbits wear glasses! Save our brothers!" Can I get an amen? Can I get a hallelujah? Thank you Jesus. Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on........ This is necessary. It was daylight when you woke up in your ditch. You looked up at your sky then. That made blue be your color. You had your knife there with you too. When you stood up there was goo all over your clothes. Your hands were sticky. You wiped them on your grass, so now your color was green. Oh Lord, why did everything always have to keep changing like this. You were already getting nervous again. Your head hurt and it rang when you stood up. Your head was almost empty. It always hurt you when you woke up like this. You crawled up out of your ditch onto your gravel road and began to walk, waiting for the rest of your mind to come back to you. You can see the car parked far down the road and you walked toward it. "If God is our Father," you thought, "then Satan must be our cousin." Why didn't anyone else understand these important things? You got to your car and tried all the doors. They were locked. It was a red car and it was new. There was an expensive leather camera case laying on the seat. Out across your field, you could see two tiny people walking by your woods. You began to walk towards them. Now red was your color and, of course, those little people out there were yours too.

Friday, June 17, 2005

The useless yearning for self-expression.

I want to write. I really really want to write.

Unfortunately, I have nothing interesting to write about today. Things are going pretty much on cruise control right now, no major hurdles, or unfortunate occurances. No emotional turmoil to vomit out into the blogosphere. I want to write, I want to express myself, but I just feel dull.

I haven't slept more than six hours in the last three days, and it isn't catching up to me yet. Or maybe it is in subtle ways, like my inability to articulate a funny thought, or to be witty.

So, I am proposing that anyone who reads this, gives me three suggestions for a topical short. The format will be of my choosing, but I need an exterior spark to reignite my pilot light. If you are like the fifth, or sixth commenter, remember that I can always use future topics for stuff to blog.

Thanks in advance.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

I bought myself an early birthday present!

I bought myself a new toy today! One week from thursday, I will have four years sober, and I always get a tattoo on my sober birthday. This year, I am getting my tattoo for a very reduced price, thanks to the fact that, one of the guys in my band is a tattoer on the side.

I rode with my brother to his chiropractic appointment today, and the office was right next to a local music shop. I decided to stop in and buy some strings for my bass guitar. While I was there, I browsed the basses and amplifiers they had in the showroom. Let me tell you, if I had 1200 spare dollars, I would own an eight string bass right now. As it stood however, I needed an amp, and I asked the salesman what he suggested for my needs.

He pointed out a few, and they were ridiculously powerful for my needs. (Read as damn expensive.) However, one of the last ones he showed me was this really cool 60 watt amp by a company called Behringer. It is crazy-level loud, and has the most beautiful tone, and a wide range of sounds it can produce. This amp would be mine if the price was right. I decided that since I was getting my tattoo cheap, I could afford to get something for myself that I not only wanted, but have an honest need for. (As I said I play in a basement band, and I have been borrowing a guitar rig that cannot handle my basses capabilities.)

It turns out that the model I was playing was damaged in shipping, and by damaged, I mean it has a SCRATCH on the case...on the back of the case to be exact. This caused him to knock fifty bucks of the price, from the top.

So, I got it. I now have the nicest sounding amp I have ever owned, and it only cost me $150.14 total.

This is friggin cool man, all told, I have purchased in the last two months, everything I need to play in a band again, and I got it all for about $250.

I am off to shake the house apart, I hope yall are having as much fun as me.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

I've been meme'ed, and I feel so dirty.

This is the first time I have been hit with one of these things, and unlike seemingly most of you out there, I don't mind. At least it gives me a reason to post something anyway!

Five things I miss from my childhood:

1. Sunday dinners with the family.
I fondly remember having spaghetti, steak, meatballs, chicken, and green pepper salad all at the same time. Everyone in the family would come to my parents house which isn't very big, and we would talk, eat, shoot the shit, and eat some more.

2. My agility.
At one time in my life, I was able to do flips, summersaults, etc., without effort. Now, my six-foot six three-hundred pound ass doesn't move like I want it to. I can however still do a cartwheel perfectly.

3. Living on the same block as my two best friends.
Graumagus, our buddy Jay, and myself grew up on the same block. We were like brothers growing up, and I miss the ability to just hang out everyday without any concern for the grown-up world.

4. Being "cute".
I was a blonde haired, doe eyed boy. There was nothing I could not get with the right ammount of smiling, pleading, and enthusiasm. Even my unfortunate "dutch-boy" haircut, and gigantic head could not stop the power of my cuteness. Somewhere around age twelve/thirteen, I lost cute, and gained scary.

5. Never getting sick.
My mother often tells me, "You were never sick when you were a kid."
I wish I still had that. I stayed home from school "sick" a few times growing up, but I always faked it so I could stay home and play. I had Scarlet Fever, when I was five, and don't think I was legitimately ill again until I was in the Navy.

Ok, now to pass it on.

The rules: Remove the #1 item from the following list, bump everyone up one place and add your blog’s name in the #5 spot. You have to link to all the blogs.
The Gun Line
Righty in a Lefty State
littlejoe's Soapbox

Hmmm...since the man who sent this to me has used all of my real-world friends as his tags for the meme, I shall randomly pick some blogs that I read and would like to see how they answer.


Remember that if you don't fill this out and pass it on, you will develop a boil on your butt or something.