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...