Obama Wants My Guns?

If you need an anti-aircraft gun, or just a practical AK-47, you had better buy it NOW. I was just at the gun show again (I know) and apparently, like Clinton before him, Barak Obama will not rest until he has rid this country of each and every firearm that a real, red blooded American would ever want to shove under his pillow at night. I remember the safety orange stickers that were stuck all over the AK-47 I purchased in the early nineties, warning the potential buyer that time was limited, and that Hillary Clinton had set a date to melt that weapon down, and would use the metal to sculpt a statue of a welfare Mom using your tax money to buy lottery tickets.

We didn't want that, so we all went out and bought weapons for reasons we could not begin to explain to our wives. Somewhere between Clinton and "thirty round clip" my wife just seemed to nod and smile politely. I find it all pretty funny now, and its great to watch all these young suckers fall for the same crap. Clinton never took my guns, and neither will Obama. Deep down, though, I did kind of want to see that sculpture.

Happy Birthday NASA!

It sucks to live in Florida, and hate NASA, but I do. 147 billion dollars, for what? Floating around. Well, there was that one major discovery they made...........oh, yeah, there wasn't. In my opinion, the whole program is and has always been a diversionary tactic. Keep looking at the sky, not around your neighborhood. The space shuttle is an intergalactic Uhaul truck, ready to break our lease on Earth, and move us in the middle of the night to some other planetary apartment that we can trash. 147 billion dollars. I don't believe we will ever do anything worth while with that shuttle, and furthermore, I don't believe we EVER went to the damned moon. People think I am crazy for saying that, but I think the joke is on them. My usual argument is based on the fact that in 69, a walkie-talkie weighed 10 pounds. 10 pounds? These guys went up there, landed, played some golf, did some donuts in a farging DUNE BUGGY, then jumped back in the capsule like it was a Chevy Monte Carlo, and returned safely to Earth. All the while, NEVER missing one communication with "Houston". I cant make a cell phone call in 2008 and fully expect the call not to drop. Don't be a sucker for this crap story. The lunar rover (aka dune buggy) was the size of a Buick Riviera. I don't care about all the people who demand an explanation for why they cant see the foot prints on the moon with a telescope. I just want to know where, in that tiny capsule (I have seen it at the Smithsonian) they stored that dune buggy? I know why they did what they did, and why they said what they said- to keep the Russians in check. But it has been like 40 years, so damn, let these people off the hook already. Today is the 50th anniversary of NASA. Happy Birthday NASA, you ol' bullshitter you.

Shakespeare Programmed my Cell Phone

I am a crappy text messenger. It takes me forever to get out one broken sentence, and by the time I do, I have been passed up by the entire conversation. I nearly wreck my truck, and most of the time just end up clearing the text, and making the call. I have noticed something about my phone, however, that really has me puzzled. Why is it that my Motorola Razor, when in text mode, knows words like "forsook" and "hitherto" but not simple words like "going" or "eating"? I have to tell it how to finish a four letter word (not a dirty word) but it can bust out with classical English? I am now intrigued, and want to know WHO programed my phone. Try this, because maybe it's just my Motorola- Try typing a simple sentence that you would likely say to a friend during the natural course of the day. Then type ANY line from the Old Testament. I bet you will have to finish more words for the simple, modern sentence than the Jesus said this, Moses said that, Abraham hit me with a wiffle-ball bat gobble-dee-gook. Let me know.

A Picture worth a Thousand Words?

High gas prices, blah blah blah. Just wanted you to see how bad it has really gotten. I will post more later, got to go trade semen for a quarter tank.

Free Fireworks Show!

It's nearly the "fourth" again, and I am so pleased to hear about all the festivities that are being planned (weather permitting) for the event. Every time I turn on the TV or the radio, I keep hearing the same announcement. "Free fireworks show at x location, at x time!" and so once again, I am left to play the asshole. How the hell do you charge money for a fireworks show anyway? I can see it now, "folks, if you paid your five bucks, then look up- you poor fuckers keep your eyes down on your cheap ass shoes". You have to pay the Baptist church to "look up" when there is a fireworks display being put on. You poor kids, try putting a pinch of glitter on your shoe. When you hear the boom of the display, just kick some of the glitter up off the shoe, and say "WOOOOOOOOO!!!!"- that aught to do it for you.

Piss on This

I have always had an eye for things that should mean nothing, but should mean something at the same time. I guess I'm what they (they?) call a conspiracist. I don't believe in one theory or another, but more in a constant, static channel of hidden order, continuously operating just below the surface of what we see as reality in our everyday lives. My awareness of this order causes me to pay very close attention to the things that we are NOT supposed to pay attention too. Most of which, I dismiss as a burned bearing, or a broken tooth in the gears of the universal mechanism. That being said, I have no idea why I went into this with you folks. Anyway, here is something that has always bugged me, and I want to see if you have ever noticed. The following are pictures of public (or residential) toilets. They are adorned with their brand or model names, and I just wonder how and why a group of marketing people, or just the owners of the patents on each units particular design, would have EVER decided that these were the best names available for such a device?

Church, and American Standard. We should piss on American Standards, and the House of God? Now, I don't walk to Sunday school with an American flag pin on my lapel, but, I know people who do. I cant believe the collective "they" ever got away with this.Anyway, I'm out of time, and I have to run over to Home Depot. I'm going to remodel my bathroom, and I need to go get one of those nice "family values" shitters.

Hot for Teacher

I remember when I was in high school, and even in middle school, there were always "those guy's". The kid that would come in on the first day of the new school year, and start shit with the new teacher right off the bat. She would go through the whole text book "control the situation" routine, and almost never win.

This would go on for the first month or two, and the kid would maybe even be kicked out for a while. Then, something magic would happen. Every time the kid did something stupid, or said something he would normally be killed for, the teacher just got this glassy-eyed look, and tried to fight a smile back in an attempt to seem authoritative. Every now and then, you might would catch her playing with his hair or some other form of physical contact as she walked by his desk during a test. Now, us all being really young, would all start in with the "teachers pet" type crap. As we got older though, that turned to flat-out asking the guy what the hell? He would then start telling us how he went to her house, got drunk with her, and well, you know the rest. We would all call bullshit, and laugh at him. Sometimes, the kid would persist in his wild tales for months, as the stories got more and more detailed. My point is, before I go all day with this, is that we have all learned now that that kid may have been telling the truth. This shit really happens, and I wonder how many of the classroom bad-boys I knew were taking "night classes" to keep those grades up for football?

We had bad GIRLS as well, but that old tired story is just too damned easy. It's always the P.E. coach. At least that's what the girls would tell us. There was always some urban legend about a coach, caught in the gear locker with two twin 15 year old Vietnamese girls. I think it was the coach that started that one though.