25 years Uterine Free and Loving Every Minute Of It

I recently reached the 1/4 century mark and I find myself contemplating those mysteries in life more and more often. As of late, my topic of choice is trying to make sense of the female psyche, an exercise in futility, I know, but there it is. Most intriguing is the daily pre-sleep lavatorial ritual and its A.M. counterpart. Our cramped bathroom is littered with countless creams and scrubs, lotions, spritz bottles, compacts, cotton application accoutrement of numerous varieties, and a wide array of fiendish looking instruments one might expect to find in some hellish torture chamber.

I can't quite wrap my head around their uses either. One bottle is used to pre-clean the face. Next comes the actual cleansing of the face in order to remove remove the pre-cleanser. After the face is thoroughly clean, a lotion must be applied to counteract the drying effect of the industrial strength detergent now slowly eating away at the outermost layers of skin. Next comes the blemish spot treatment, wrinkle creams and a full five minutes of mirror scrutiny, during which the discovery of any noticeable marring is bound to lead to the lave-proverbial 'rinse and repeat'.

Everyday this accumulates to a collosal loss of time. In an effort to save my female readers this hassle, (or any metro-sexuals) I've devised a much quicker method, fool-proof as well as expedient. Three minutes spent 'exfoiliating' with 80 grit sandpaper attached to the blades of a personal fan and a healthy dose of Robitussin applied liberally to the entire face. Ladies, you're welcome. Check back for tips on how to save time on make-up application

:This is a song by a gay guy..."

Recently at work giant of a gay man started quoting Scripture. While I can't for the life of me recall the reference number, it had to do with showing love to others. This was a rebuttal for making an insensitive remark about homosexuals, to which I replied equally insensitive to with, "Then stop being gay". Anyway, the occurrence made me think of the recent coming out of the Christian music superstar Ray Boltz. I can't quite grasp the thought process. Here's a guy who makes a living by spreading the Gospel through song, (albeit badly written ones), with what I can only assume is an extensive knowledge of Scripture, who seems to have no problem embracing a homosexual life style. It's possible some things in the Bible are clouded in shades of gray but homosexuality is not one of them. For a long time I was mad. "How dare he?" I thought. He's just one more guy making Christianity a puching bag for the media. But after a while it dawned on me...I'm really no better than him, and may in fact be worse. I have a truly filthy mouth and a brain that may be lacking in a moral filter. I still periodically turn to substance abuse to cope with life's wondrous banality and the very thought of sharing my faith makes me uncomfortable to the point of inanity. Man am I weak...maybe Santa will bring me a pair of stones for Christmas...

In lieu of physical violence...

It has become apparent that all chefs, aspiring or otherwise, are complete asses. This in itself is not necessarily a bad thing. Motivation comes in many forms, one of the most effective being verbal abuse and intimidation. However, it does make many things exponentially more difficult. As part of my Monday-Wednesday Fine Dining class, we are expected to partner with a student chef from the Tuesday-Thursday class, (all of whom are hacks), conceptualize a menu and implement it for a week's worth of dinner service. Hence the dilemma: each of us our sure that our respective palates are superior. In an effort to avoid coming to loggerheads, I thought I might poll my humble audience on their preference. To keep thing fair, the courses will be presented blind; you won't know who crafted each dish. Shall we begin?


First Course
- Red cabbage and shaved fennel salad with grapefruit and dried cranberries. OR
- Root vegetable salad, (carrots, parsnips, rutabega) with an orange-maple dressing and candied pecans.

Second Course
-Pan seared scallops with linguine and a champagne grape butter sauce. (this dish will also be dusted with finely ground roasted almonds) OR
-Scallops with caramel and butterscotch reduction.

Third Course
-Braised duck thigh with roasted parsnips and a celeriac puree. OR
-Black Cod Rouillade stuffed with ricotta and marscapone cheese and covered with bechamel sauce. (bechamel is a cream sauce, similar to alfredo)

Dessert
Caramel Bread Pudding OR
Creme Brulee.

While voting is important, the final menu will most likely go to the one who bitches the most...or throws the first punch.

For the Sake of Clarity

I thought it best to head off the quips of all you jokesters before hand. The previous post was not intended as a jab at homosexuality. Had it been about pirates of the butt variety and not those noble maritime seamen, you would have been treated to various forms of words like 'booty' and 'plunder'. Also, references to 'crude oil' would have taken on a much different meaning.

p.s. Each successive holiday season brings with it more reasons for hatred. This year it is a holiday themed commercial touting a male enhancement drug. As if this was not reason enough for the gnashing of teeth, they actually used the phrase 'and to all a good night'. I contemplated choking myself to death on a strawberry Swiss cake roll.

To Peg-Leg Pete,,,An Homage

While the United States may be the penultimate nation of all time, when it comes to crime, we are the very definition of criminal hackery. Idiots attempt to rob banks with water-guns and thugs are thwarted mid-robbery by their obscenely baggy trousers. Whatever happened to taking pride in your craft?

Take Somalia, for instance. While their country may be in a state of ruin, they at least have the decency to carry on crime in a vigorous, swashbuckling manner. That's right, Somalia has pirates. On November 18, Somalian pirates made away with a Saudi oil-tanker worth upwards of $100 million in crude oil. More impressive still is the size of the tanker. At 1090 feet, the length of the Sirius Star is comparable to 3 1/2 football fields. I wonder how one becomes a pirate? Perhaps I'll try getting shanghaied...

Back in the kitchen, woman, or I'll kick your teeth in!

Sunday night my wife received a visit from Omaha's finest. Fortunately I was at work because it seems they were responding to a domestic disturbance call. (Thank you 30 tops) Shortly after moving into our current apartment building, I became aware of sporadic yelling, most of which was incomprehensible. And while sitting idly by was not my first choice, I refrained from reporting the incidents primarily because I could not determine from which unit it was coming from. As it turns out, neither can my neighbors...they told the officers it was coming from our third story single bedroom. Upon first hearing this news, I was rather unaffected. I know I don't beat my wife and so does she. Rarely do I ever even raise my voice to her. Yet it seems that others do, and that speaks volumes. I ask you this, my faithful few, do I look like a wife-beater?

Dradle, Dradle, Dradle

There's somethings acutely magical about winter. Daylight retreats faster, making my days infinitely more bearable. In the air is a crisp, almost metallic smell, not unlike the taste of blood in one's mouth. Ultimately snow will make it's appearance, delicate flakes hissing gently as they nestle in amongst their brothers. Unfortunately with winter comes the impending bastardization of Christmas. Even a lackluster economy can't slake the blood lust of Hallmark, the biggest perpetrator of poisonous, yule-tide prose. Perhaps I'll become a Jew...

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Today was a great day. Why? It's simple. I went the entire day without seeing the sun. I hate the sun...stupid obnoxious star, what with its cheer inducing rays and warming properties. Who does he think he is? Call it atmospheric induced schaddenfreuden but seeing others miserable on gloomy days puts me in the best of moods. Man, I can't wait for winter...

Feeling Stabby?

I'm several months into my first culinary gig, here's a sampling of the knowledge I've accrued.

1. Thin-skinned individuals don't stand a chance. A linecook will say anything regardless of its degree of offense. We recently hired an adolescent female dishwasher...I've seen her cry three times in two weeks.

2. Another cook's knives are off limits. Touching them may ultimately end in a stabbing. While not written in stone, the rule of thumb is, "Don't touch my dick, don't touch my knife."

3. Servers and cooks may work in the same establishment, and might sporadically act genial towards one another, (often with a motive carnal in nature), they are most certainly sworn enemies. As is to be expected, cooks are ultimately the dominant species. Accordingly, cooks may wander the dining room unmolested, while servers enter the kitchen at their own risk.

4. Sexual harrassment is a myth in the confines of the establishment...regardless of the government issued placards hanging pell mell about the walls. I've never been more excited to not have breasts.

More to come.

The shiver felt 'round the world

In an effort to make people hate them even more, PETA suggested that Ben and Jerry's might use breast milk to make their frozen deliciousness, as to opposed to cow's milk. There are literally not enough hot showers left in my lifetime.

Flight or Fight

The older I get, the less patient I seem to become with others of our species. So, in an attempt to avoid said creatures, I have taken to staying up all night and sleeping in the mornings. Unfortunately, this plan comes with downsides; late night tv makes one want to impale themselves on a blunt spoon fastened to the floor. One such program, "Destination Tomorrow" put out by NASA, has taken an interesting tact in encouraging people to fly. Not is it more likely you will die in a car crash, but there's a 98% chance the in-flight meal will kill you before a crash will. Luckily there wasn't already a stigma concerning airline food.

In sports news, a new fad is sweeping the globe. Chess boxing, a sport in which fighters alternate rounds of boxing and chess, brings the thrill of ass kicking together with making the opponent your intellectual bitch.

"Bah Bah...this is the sound of settling"

September 26 marks the release of Nights in Rodanthe, yet another romantic pseudo-comedy. The film industry being what it is, the hype has been swirling around like so many fiery leafs dancing in the autumn breeze. In fact, one critic touts it as being this years, "The Notebook".

I ask you this. How did films like the "The Notebook" become the litmus test for film excellence? Has LSD 25 made a comeback?

Dear Early Twenties Woman Sitting on the Porch With Her Friends...

Should I ever walk past your particular porch again, leftovers in tow, please resist the urge to ask me, "What did you bring me to eat?" If you do, I will most certainly spit in your hair.
Sincerely,
That Guy Who Walked Past You...Minding His Own Damn
Business.

Election years spark debate over a multitude of issues. Taxes, foreign policy, alternative energy and same sex marriage are only the tip of the proverbial hot-button iceberg. Education is one such issue. A lot has been saud about the supposed failure of the No Child Left Behind program implemented by the Bush regime. Fingers have been pointed towards the aforementioned house of peuce and cries for a revamp are heard from atop soapboxes country wide.

Is the government really to blame? I think not. While the current system could undoubtedly use a revamp, the blame for attrocious test scores lies solely on the youth of our nation. Kids are stupid...and just for once, video-games might just be the culprit.

Legend has it that after a rather rousing game of World of WarCraft, a hard-core gamer took it upon himself to talk trash towards his 'noob' opponent. In his haste, he mistakenly typed the word 'owned' as 'pwned'. Impressionable youth being what they are, a multitude of morons mistook the gaffe for a subliminal insult of the clever variety. And as a country, we take yet another step backwards, cementing our spot as a nation in academic peril. I repeat...children are mis-spelling words. strictly for the sake of miss -spelling words. Won't their moms be proud...

Note: An impending switch to digtal television has sparked a series of spots touting the advantages of digital TV. One of the hosts? A splitting image of Matt Damon, should he be 35 years older and a homosexual...creepy

The Sordid Eutanization of Martha

Children's programming has been in trouble since the advent of such Quaalude induced shows as the Teletubbies and Booh-Bah. But a recent discovery has me just a bit spooked. Due to an influx of talk shows in my afternoon programming schedule, I was herded into the realm of PBS. Here I found "Martha Speaks". This particular show features Martha, a canine in her everyday life...oh, and she speaks. Freaky, I know, but nothing compared with how she accrued her oratorical ability. Apparently Martha consumed a can of Alphabet Soup. On the way to her doggy stomach, it somehow got lost and found its way to her doggy brain. A veritable miracle of processed foods. I am currently in cahoots with a one "Arthur the Anteater", hatching a scheme involving Maggie and an undisclosed amount of chocolate. Details to follow.

Why yes...there is a monkey on my back...

Earlier this week, a woman asked me why I was a smoker, and I have to be honest, I wasn't sure how to answer her. After some thought, I've come up with the following conclusions.

1. Back in the 30's racers in the Tour de France often shared cigarettes mid-race. It was believed that smoking cigarettes aided in respiration

2. I thoroughly enjoy the leather tongue and stifling ass breath I awake with in the morning.

3. It makes me look wicked awesome and tough.

4. Being out of breath after climbing a flight of stairs has always been a personal goal of mine.

5. Without smokers, the government would have no choice but to go China on some babies' asses.

All solid answers, but mostly it's just because I am an idiot

(NOTE: When encouraging a friend and/or family member to quit smoking, it is not appropriate or safe to state, "You know those are bad for your, don't you?" While making the decision to start smoking in the first place undoubtedly shows a lack of intelligence, most of us are quite capable of reading the Surgeon's General warning printed right on the box.)

An inverted expression of masculine colloquialism

Its now 2:36 and a raucous party in the apartment building adjacent is in full swing. Luckily for me and my fellow residents, they have decided to move their booze-fueled fun fest out onto the balcony. From what I can ascertain using auditory faculties, the aforementioned shindig is comprised of primarily men. This fact by itself is disturbing in of itself. Couple it with the conversation I just overheard and things begin to get creepy. Briefly stated, I distinctly heard the phrase 'high school musical' and the word 'awesome' used within close proximity to one another.

By my count this makes the score:
- confusion of self-sexuality 1
- unabated machismo 0

Truly a proud moment for men everywhere. Way to make us proud.

Culture of Crudeness Two...electric boogaloo

Newest members of the "There by the Grace of God Go We" club. Rednecks who feel the need to dangle faux bovine testicles from the rear bumpers of their vehicles. Watch yourselves...this means you!

Could it be any easier...

Few things are funnier than people falling down. Kids, adults, the elderly, its always funny. Fortunately racism is always good for a laugh. Especially racism of the subliminal variety. Today I bought a box of Newport menthol cigarettes. (strategic comedic and judgemental pause) With my receipt, I received a coupon for Middleton's Black and Mild cigars. Awesome.

...In other news, Jack and Jill, the iconic vertigo stricken youngsters and hill climbing enthusiasts of fairy tale fame, have finally inspired a dating site. JackandJill.com. In a television spot, the words "catch a pail of love" were actually used. And....vomit.

OBAMARAMA

Nonsense attack ad season is upon us. Recently the McCain campaign has run a TV spot showcasing Senator Obama on the road giving speeches here and abroad. For a brief moment, pictures of Paris Hilton and Brittney Spears grace the screen. The gist of the ad is to paint the Senator as nothing more than a celebrity, capturing the votes of millions with nothing but that winsome smile and a flurry of media coverage. No dice! Until I see that head shaved, you're out of luck. No sordid sex tape, eh? Find your votes elsewhere. Back to the B-list you go...crafty little devil. I wonder if Hilary's got a sex tape?...

We get it...now put your shirt on...please?

My apologies for the last post, I was in a bad place. Now...back to business.

Our nation seems to be primarily composed of closet masochists. At least I'm assuming so. What other explanation could there be for allowing Matthew McConaughey to star in such cinematic atrocities? Fools Gold, Failure to Launch, Surfer Dude, The Wedding Planner, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, the list goes on, each film more painful than the last. Picture Woody Harrelson choking to death on a poorly written script.

What happened to the good old days when his castings were limited to such poignant roles as 2nd Guy and Rental Truck Guy? Maybe him and that DiCaprio fellow will shoot a film together, thus suffocating each other to death in fits of incorrigible megalomania. Here's to hoping.

(Note: Opinions expressed herein are the opinions of Bahil and him alone. All opinions are founded on movie trailers, and not whole films. Should he have actually watched any of the aforementioned films, the urge to fasten a plastic bag snugly on his head with an entire roll of duct tape while playing in the tub cradling a plugged in toaster would have been unbearable.)

A sales pitch for the Midwest

Come enjoy a mid-western summer! As close to feeling like a suffocating fish as you're likely to get!

I wish I had diarreah...

To say my parents had bad luck with automobiles would be a gross exaggeration. Car after car sustained either breakdowns of a biblical proportion or crippling car crashes. I distinctly recall one breakdown that occurred while in transit to California, the location of my fathers next church debacle. (Did you know that there are churches abroad that vehemently refuse to grow?) Somewhere in the barrens known simply as 'Arizona', the van containing a majority of our family, decided to call it quits. Without a cell-phone or the luxury of any other cars seeming to be on the road, there was nothing to do but pack all eight of us snugly into the cabin of a two passenger moving van...by the grace of God went we.

I offer up this insipidly dull anecdote as a warning. You see, the curse is apparently genetic and quite possibly contagious. Since graduating from high-school I have worked my way through the following: a white Ford Taurus, two vintage diesel Mercedes Benz, one an automatic the other a manual, an AMC Eagle, an Oldsmobile 98, a GMC pickup(rust blue), two Honda Accords, and currently an Oldsmobile Achieva. In the past two weeks I have taken my car to the shop to replace an ignition switch and my wifes car in to have the fan motor replaced, along with the driver's side window controls and a diverter plate, for a grand total of just over a thousand dollars. Within the same period of time, my buddy has taken his car in to the shop twice for a total of almost two thousand dollars. Today, in a rare fit of selflessness, I set out for my Grandpa's farm with the intention of assisting in the dessication of a tree. Before I reached Freemont, copious amounts of coolant began streaming from the heater core, sending the temperature gauge careening for the red zone. Luckily I am blessed with having an uncle well versed in the art of MacGuyver. A quick switching of hoses enabled him to by pass the core altogether, thus enabling me to drive dejectedly home. (Doing this apparently renders the heater useless and the replacement of the heater core will ultimately exceed the amount I originally paid for the car.)

All those consistently in contact with me or members of my immediate family would do well to cut all ties or better yet conduct a ritual euthanizing. Any sort of touching, sexual or otherwise, should be refrained from indefinitely. Is it possible I'm just a pawn in some poorly constructed terrorist plot?...

Not to alarm anyone, but its official...I am a maximum of 5 years away from complete and total senility. It came slow at first, misplacing my glasses, clumsily buttoning my shirt at least two buttons off. Now the 'crazy train' is roaring down the tracks, full speed, indiscriminately mowing down innocent children along the way. A few examples...

As I arrived at the wedding reception of an intimate friend, I frantically began searching for my phone. A quick search of the floorboards and front seat ended fruitlessly, as did the obscene groping of my own pockets. Just when I was about to give up hope, certain my wife or sister had absconded with it, I became aware I was white-knuckling a corporeal mass in my hand. Further investigation confirmed the inevitable...the prodigal phone had been found.

Act Two: Pumped full of adrenaline from seeing "The Dark Knight", i arrived home, emptied my bladder and positioned myself in front of the mirror in order to practice my Joker face. What proceeded was possibly the most frightening moment of my life. My loving wife had purchased me a Joker shirt depicting the face of the green haired clown beast, a grotesquely toothed grin, surrounded ubiquitously by the word HA!. As I looked into the mirror, the menacing HA! flipped itself over backwards to read AH!. As I mentally curled up into the fetal position, images of the Joker clutching a tongue depressor, poised to perform my next check-up burst into my brain. I simultaneously evacuated my bowels and vomited through my nose.

Rest assured, events like this are sure to escalate, so by all means stay tuned.

P.S. Did you know the plural of cul-de- sac is culs -de-sac?

What the ...?

To better facilitate my hate-mongering, I recently visited the website of the Ku Klux Klan. (Don't worry, I look horrible in a wife beater so I was automatically disqualified from membership.) To try and document the hilarity that ensued would be an injustice. Page after page of propaganda dribble, the highlight of which was a headline to beat all headlines. "The Ku Klux Klan does NOT support OBAMA for president." As if there was some confusion?

Frugal Aid Effort and You

As the flood waters around the Mid-west recede, residents all across these rain-soaked plains fight to regain some sense of normalcy. FEMA is most certainly doing all they can, along with the Red Cross and countless volunteers from all over. Not wanting to be left out, I feel I should do something, but have reached the classic impass. Giving money is out of the question as my wife is currently, (and really always has been) the primary breadwinner. Money she makes goes to buying pretty things for me...and bills of course. I lack the drive and passion to volunteer as a laborer and even the sight of disaster-relief food makes me gag so preparing food just isn't going to happen...

And then it hit me. What these people really need is a morale boost, a synchronized gesture of goodwill, an expression of solidarity a la haute coutuere. Tomorow, at 3:23 p.m. exactly, I am asking all of my readers to don a pair of high-water pants. Our ankles bared to the sun, the hems of trousers dry as British sit-com, we can make a difference. Won't you please give back?

(NOTE: Those of you so fashionably inept as to not own a pair of highwaters, the same effect can be reached by tight-rolling a stright legged pair of trousers; see 80's photo albums for the desired look. Also...ladies, capri pants, whatever the hell those are, do not count...they're stupid...not to mention ridiculous.)

While I don't necessarily consider myself a hater of fun, I do find that my mood is a bit more prickly around the holidays. While I am sure there are many reasons for this fun-time funk, its mostly because I have no idea why we celabrate holidays the way we do. Take the 4th of July for instance. How does the practice of setting off fireworks ( an invention of the chinese) in any way commemorate oour independence? Wouldn't it be more meaningful to harass the British about their teeth or poke fun at their attrocious taste in food? Maybe for Thanksgiving we could fly over a reservation and drop beads and as well as blankets soaked in 'fire water' and small pox. Presidents Day can be spent making promises and then breaking them and Columbus Day should be spent getting lost and renaming things. Halloween only serves as a catalyst for the rising childhood obesity rate and an excuse for the ladies to dress as women of questionable virtue. Groundhog's day is great. Each year we gather around a rodent, hoping for an early spring. No wonder so many countries hate us, we're idiots!

Not being Jewish, I have the privelege of ignoring Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, and Hannukkah. Valentines Day is strictly a way to make romantically inept asses like myself look bad and does anyone know who the hell Leif Erikson is?

Luckily we have Easter and Christmas to look foward to. What better way to celabrate the newly risen Christ than to hide eggs filled with candy? Or to max out credit cards and shower spoiled imps with gifts in honor of the Savior's birth?

Maybe if Obama is elected he'll tack another day onto February and christen it Holiday Hating Day. After all, we all need a little more change in our lives.

What the hell?

A lot of times my thought process scares me, as well as those few with whom I share it. An example...

My father commented in a sermon that sin is a cancer. A fairly benign statement don't you think? But this got me thinking that maybe sinning gives you cancer, and that different types of sin equal different types of cancer. For instance, did Lance Armstrong touch himself alot? It went on but I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say that I ended up wondering why adults don't have slumber parties.

SEE BOTTOM OF POST FOR DIRECTIONS

My wife has insisted that I enter a photo contest. Why I am not sure, especially since the grand prize is four tickets to ADVENTURELAND and I can't stand amusement parks. Anyways, I can't decide which pics to enter, so I'm allowing you, my avid readers, to put in your two cents worth. Thats right, take an extra 8 f&%*#(# seconds and post your damn choice in the comments area. Thanks a million. :) (I promise to institute a one month moritorium on cute-cutesy punctuation faces.)

Galaxy-sized Gas-X anyone?

An episode of the Simpsons today got me thinking about the Evolution vs. Creative design debate. Few things are garaunteed to spark arguments and this is one of them. (up there with politics...can anyone say irony?) I am not an overly bright hombre, I don't expect my invitation to MENSA anytime soon. But to believe that we were created by an omniscient and all-powerful God is much easier than to think that I am the by-product of an unequivocal cosmologic bowel movement, to think that we are all here by chance. Not being a statistician, i am not really sure on the odds but they have to be slim. Stupid Darwin...if only he would have chosen a cooler animal to descend from. You know, like the platypus, or the killer whale, maybe even the Liger. Yeah, the Liger...

A PENNY FOR MY THOUGHTS...$50.00 FOR MY PRAYERS

People will pay for anything. Pet psychics are popping up everywhere and apparently ass implants are available for those who crave a firmer bottom but lack time for toning exercises. I even saw an oxygen bar in the Vegas Airport(aren't layovers fun?) One would assume that paying for an item you breathe in all day for free would be the last straw, surely everything worth paying for has already been marketed...not so says the Wall Street Journal.

I recently read an article chronicling the tale of an eleven year old girl who died of untreated diabetes. Her parents, it seems, opted for intercessory prayer in lieu of medical treatment, resulting not only in a dead child but charges of second-degree reckless homicide as well. To deny a child access to medical attention God ultimately made possible seems a bit stupid to me but I understand one must back-up their convictions. What really got me was the end of the article...people are now paying for pray.

What pretentious, self-serving, religous-elitist bastard has the gall to charge for their prayers? How does that thought process even happen? And why the hell are christians letting these people get away with it? To think that your prayers are so powerful, so superior that you can charge for them takes a special kind of elitism indeed. Fifty bucks for a prayer...its only a matter of time before bush league, overly pious pastors institute the Sunday morning tip jar. Do me a favor. Should anyone try and charge you for their prayers, crash land your foot into their no-fly zone. Oh and don't forget to pray.

Monogamy Knows No Bounds-

Today I learned that my older brother is to be married. Taken by itself, this is a giant pill to swallow. Those of you who know my brother and his current situation will know that this is an entire bottle of opiate pain killers, chased with a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey to swallow. (No pun intended)

Things with my brother are complicated. The short story, he is a self proclaimed drug addict living with a recovering meth addict who greatly resembles Skeletor. The long story, she is the boyfriend of his ex-drug dealer (who has lupus) and claims to recieve messages from God. Not exactly two parts of an equation desting to culminate in a healthy marriage.

Sadly, as I age, I seem to be developing a moral compass. One part of me likes to think that marriage is an inevitable step towards good. Marriage forces a man to embrace responsibility, to take hold of that innate quality lying dormant in all men to provide for those whom we love. Already there have been changes. He works multiple jobs in order to care and support for the woman and genuinely seems to be happy. Having a meth addict around is also a sure fire way to garuntee to keep the house tidy. The other flames up in ire, threatening the beat the apparent hell out of his Ethiopianized body in a last ditch effort to beat some sense into his mescaline soaked brain.

As you can imagine, the parentals aren't really keen on the idea; Mom has a fever for three days and the old man has taken to disappearing for hours at a time. Their response was so cold that he in fact left the house weeping. Ultimately the decision lies in their hands. While family should invariably carry some weight in life changing decisions such as these, if there is one thing I have learned dealing with self-destructive behavior. Change will only come to those who want it. One can not force someone else to change, the desire to do so must be heartfelt, genuine, and voluntary. And lets face it; a man who agrees to dye his beard the same color as his beloved's hair(a hideous shade of magenta, for the record) and allow said fiance to sign her love bites is pretty much in it for the long haul. At least the wedding will be good for a few laughs...

EMBRACING MY INNER GREEN...and other politically incorrect fairy tales.

Do you spend hours a day dispensing pressurized hair product? Do you often allow your car to run for days at a time? Are you currently operating a commercial sized factory emitting toxins into the air? Me neither, though I am stockpiling CFC's though that is neither here nor there.
Never-ending assertions to reduce my carbon emissions, to cutback in my paper usage and countless idiots boycotting personal hygiene in an effort to conserve our most readily available natural resource be damned. "Green" can go to hell...minus Kermit the Frog of course.

Don't misunderstand, I love Al Gore just as much as the next guy, he invented the internet for crying out loud. But enough's enough. The Good Lord, my wife and my mother have the authority to dictate how I live. Hack politicians, B- list actors and self-important pseudo-scientists? Do yourselves a favor and consider having your fun buttons permanently disassembled.

The latter portion of this post will be dedicated to one of my sophomore brother's jackass teachers but while sitting down to write i saw a commercial that sent my bowels to quivering. Rachel Ray has sold her soul. Aside from being idolized by the Food Network as a phenom "home cook" and plastered all over books and magazines across the nation, she is now in cahoots with none other than Dunkin' Donuts. Why the breakfast pastry bad ass, known for donuts(gasp: its in the title) and great coffee, needs a sandwich is a conundrum best left to brighter minds than mine. Hopefully DD connoisseurs abroad will see through the sham and join me in a vigorous terse letter campaign.

Now down to business. It has come to my attention that my younger brother's history teacher deemed it necessary to call him a homosexual...though I believe he used the word gay. I'm fairly certain that he is in fact not gay, but that is neither here nor there. Being of strong Irish stock, the desire to seek recompense is overwhelming. But while I would like nothing better to storm into the morbidly obese bastard's class one day and punch a hole in his globe, I feel it lacks a certain panache. Therefore I am calling on you, my avid readers, to decide the fate of my newest nemesis. During several short brainstorming sessions, I have toyed with the idea of defacing his President's Of the United States placards and maybe giving him polio. Think quick...I don't know if there is a statute of limitations on these revenge ploys... (sorry, I'm not a box of cereal so there will be no prize)

Seeing as how I voluntarily chose to move back to Misourri, I try and refrain from poking fun of the residents herein. However, a myriad of painful anecdotes has recently come to my attention, making me wonder wether or not the practice of euthanization should become more commonplace.

The first incident is what can happen when idiots try and do home repair themselves. While running some electrical wiring from the inside of the house out, a man became terribly frustrated with his drill. Becoming incensed, he cast aside the drill and tried to punch a hole through the wall. Why he thought he could punch a hole through a wall the refused to yield a diamond sharpened drill bit is beyond me. As you can imagine, he broke his hand...but the story continues. Reaching peak rage, he ran to his truck, grabbed a shotgun and proceeded to blast a hole through the wall. His wife, waiting on the other side in order to feed the wires through, took the blow in the chest and is now dead. There are no words.

How can this get worse you might ask? Well it doesn't; only creepier. A gentle in possession of a copious amount of canines, apparently grew weary of their 'company' and hit the town. Breaking into a man's private kennel, the man the proceeded to sodomized and fornicate with several of the owners prized hunting dogs. Yucky...

How people like this are still alive is a testament to the resiliency of man, instilled by the creator. Had we all evolved from apes, these brainiacs would have died off in a week...or been murdered in the name of sanity preservation.

Moral of the story? Those purchasing fire arms should be required to pass a test in order to ascertain gross incompetence. Those lonely, desperate, or sexually frustrated enough to solicit animals for sex, either need to be schooled in the art of the stranger, or consider the possibility of getting spayed or neutered...our very existence depends on it.