Truth iz truth

One Helluva Hiatus

2010-08-05T18:59:00.002-04:00

Whew! Let me tell you about the sabbatical I just now got back from! You wouldn’t believe it! I don’t know if you remember, but, I needed a break last June. Just a few days off. This blog, it don’t write itself. And it’s not as if one of you appreciate the effort that I put into it. Have one of you ever said “thanks”? Thanks for all your hard work? Thanks for running me back and forth to the mall? Thanks for washing our clothes? And all the food we stuff our faces with? Have you ever? EVER?!?!?

But, hey, I digress…

So my plan was for a short break, right? Well, the next thing I know I’m in Japan, high up in the Himalayans, studying to become a Buddhist monk. It was sorta like that movie with Brad Pitt. No not 12 Monkeys. Seven, it was Seven. I was there half a year or so…totally mastering their martial art ways, when I fell for the master Buddhist monk’s middle daughter. Oh, she couldn’t stand me, but I was totally into her. I followed her all over. That is until she got the restraining order. Then I followed her all over from more than 150 ft away.

i knew it had something to do with the number seven

One day, while I was shopping at the Himalayan Wal-mart, comparing the prices on long distance night vision goggles, a fan from my Dissertation Station days recognized me. We started rapping about how cool I was, and how great of an all around individual I truly am. It was embarrassing, really. But, who am I to stop someone when they’re gushing about me? He offered to buy me a drink, which I guess in hindsight, wasn’t a really good idea. Considering we we’re standing in the middle of Wal-mart.

I bet you can see into the future with those fuckers

On the way to this cat’s local pub (that’s a Bar for all my American readers out there), a silver mini van rolled up. That’s when I thought…”Shit! The kids found me!” But, I breathed a sigh of relief cause I remembered not one of them is old enough to drive. Let alone get the van into Japan. Then I thought…”Shit! I forgot to tell the kids I was leaving!”. That’s when the doors rolled open and a bunch of representatives from the Tattooed Granny Bikini Squad (TGBS) hauled me, viciously, into the van like I was the last man on Earth.

I ain’t saying it was her, but they all look like her...

It was horrible! The grannies…they tore at my clothes. Put their old granny hands on my young sweet flesh. The agony of it all. I’m still suffering from PTS! But, before those zombified, tattooed grannies could sink their teeth into me, the van came to a jolting halt! The grannies bounced around inside the van like a lead pipe on a baby seal. Suddenly, the van door was torn away. The darkness was filled with bright, cleansing sunlight. And you’ll never guess who walked into view holding the torn away van door. It was…awwww…who am I fukin? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.

you thought it was gonna be Superman, didn’t you?

Wanna know the real reason it’s taking me so long to get back in the saddle?

Hemorrhoids.

Believe you me, he won't be happy long once he finds out what a hemorrhoid really is. Or what that quack is gonna do to him.

i know. i know.

2009-06-06T07:28:00.000-04:00

it's been over a week. take a chill pill. i'm workin' on it!

hold onto yer panties

2009-05-21T22:46:00.001-04:00

new content's on it's way!

TMI

2009-05-07T22:35:00.002-04:00

How about that swine flu, huh? Actually, how about all that news coverage? Non-stop and incredibly accurate! No speculation or conjecture what so ever! Swine flu this, swine flu that. Pandemic this, pandemic that. End of days this, end of days that. Sheesh! It’s enough to make you want to plastic wrap your kids before they leave the house. If you let them leave the house, that is.

And make sure you don't eat any pig products, kids! Don't take any chances!!!

Here’s the thing, though. News is not entertainment. We might treat it as such, but it’s not. Whether it’s swine flu, bail-outs, or Miss California, news isn’t meant to be consumed continuously. Just because it’s on for 24 hours, doesn’t mean you have to watch it that much. You get your information and you get the hell out. We have to learn to walk away from this stuff. Seriously. Except for a small minority of folks, we don’t need to be in constant contact with the news. Your vigilance of H1N1 doesn’t make you more prepared. It only makes you more paranoid.

It’s all meant to scare the shit out of you. Because fear sells. Fear packs the asses in the seats. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the predictable news teaser that goes something like this: “What condiment in your refrigerator could be killing you?” Or: “The killer in your child’s toy box.” Then they go to commercial. It’s called a teaser for a reason you morons!!! It’s so you’ll sit there through the commercials about medications that you don’t need, like the lemmings you are. And the condiment that could be killing you? Turns out to be ketchup that’s been sitting in the fridge for 90 years that some moron decide to chug, choke on and die. And the killer in your kid’s toy box? Oh, that’s the legos you keep stepping on. The ones you keep yelling at your kids to pick up. The very same legos that caused your heart to seize ‘cause you were ranting like a lunatic again from all the stress you’re under. That’s the killer in your kids toy box. And the news does it night after night.

There’s a world of hurt right there

And look what ended up happening with the swine flu. The media pumped the hell out of it. We all watched every last second of the coverage. We we’re all sure that a pandemic was on our hands and, oh, wait a minute. Ummmm...it’s not as bad as we thought. Ummmm…everything’s ok now. Go about your business. Until we’re ready to scare you again, that is. Which will be in about 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

Are zombies attacking? Full story at 11

Now look, I’m not saying turn a blind eye or not be aware of the world around you. I’m just saying get your information, then go about your business. Turn the freakin’ TV off, for the love of the Christ! We can’t wait for the news to stop spreading paranoia. That’s their job. We’ve gotta walk away from it.

Now I’m gonna go check out CNN. I hear that baby seals have suddenly grown thumbs and they’re really pissed. The baby seals, not CNN.

What is a fine powder consisting of microgametophytes?

2009-05-03T22:31:00.005-04:00

Maybe you’ve noticed the lack of quality content around here, lately. And you’re probably wondering: “WTF!!!” Am I right? You’ve probably been wondering: “What’s up with this jackhole, anyway? Is Jman giving up already? It must be another woman.” Well, if that’s what you’re wondering, you couldn’t be more wrong. You want to know what’s up? You want to know what my damage is? It’s this:

It ain’t fucking sweet-tarts

No, it’s not swine flu. It’s pollen. Fucking pollen. Specifically this fucker:

Know thy enemy

Oak pollen. Stupid Oaks! I’ve got half a mind to rent a few chain saws and go on an oak tree massacre. I mean for the love of all that’s holy!!! The last two weeks or so have been MISERABLE! My brain hurts. My mind hurts. Ughhh! I can’t take it! You know what I’m talking about. The sneezing. The mucus congealing in your throat. The snot that just runs out of your nose and you don’t even know it, ‘til it’s hitting your lower lip. I’m sick of it!

Yea. That about sums it up

And that’s not even the worst part. If the zombies ever take over in early spring, I’m fucked. Because I’m sure some zombie-hunter will mistake me for a flesh-eater. No matter how much sleep I get, I feel like I haven’t slept a wink in days. God damn sinuses!!! If this tree-blooming season takes any longer, I’m gonna punch some holes into my sinus cavities. With a spoon!

And every year “they” say: “Oh! This is a bad year for pollen.” Saying shit like that is like when the weatherman starts yaking about the humidity on the world’s hottest day. If it’s hot...it’s fucking hot! Who gives a shit about the humidity! Or the wind chill factor in winter time. It’s fucking cold. Likewise, don’t sell me this shit that this is a bad year for pollen. EVERY FUCKING YEAR IS A BAD YEAR FOR POLLEN!

god i love the smell of pollen in the morning!

My question for you is...do you even know what pollen is? Yea, sure it’s the filth covering your car every morning. But, do you know what it really is?

How the fuck does this microscopic cell of emptiness cause so much misery?!?

Let me dumb it down a shade for you non-scientician types in the audience. Pollen is flower sperm. Yea, you read that right. SPERM!!! Could it possibly get any worse? Nah...don't answer that.

Just in case you need a visual

Just remember...it's supposed to be a bad year for pollen! Now, you'll excuse me, while I go hack up a tonsillolith.

Where's your Obama now???

2009-04-30T22:25:00.001-04:00

Huffington Post The Senate on Thursday rejected an effort to stave off home foreclosures by a vote of 51 to 45. It was an overwhelming defeat, with the bill's backers falling 15 votes short -- a quarter of the Democratic caucus -- of the 60 needed to cut off debate and move to a final vote.

The death of the bankruptcy reform measure -- which would have allowed a small number of homeowners who met strict conditions to renegotiate mortgages under bankruptcy protection -- is a major tactical win for the banking industry. But allowing the foreclosure crisis to continue unabated may end up being a failed strategy for the financial sector.

Let me ask you something...why is the banking industry getting a “major tactical win”? Didn’t we just give them a shitload of money? How do they get a say in anything? I don’t get it. No. That’s not true. I do get it. We’ve got mega-banks that have been bailed out to the tune of trillions of our tax dollars. Then, not only do they NOT lend said trillions, but they used that money to lobby the government to kill the foreclosure/bankruptcy bill. And the Congress went right along with it. Surprise!!!! So, the homeowner who’s in trouble keeps getting fucked, and the mega-banks laugh all the way to the, well, bank.

This is why change, real change, doesn’t come from the government. The government doesn’t give shit one about you or me. They only care about the dollars. And where they’re coming from. So, you might as well get used to the same players making more and more money. Because it doesn’t seem like there are enough people mad enough to make things change.

But, you know, there’s that whole swine flu thing you gotta know every last detail about...

Peapod

2009-04-27T22:14:00.004-04:00

Chicago Sun-Times...Chrysler's Peapod is the company's entry into an increasing amount of Neighborhood Electric Vehicles (NEVs) that are making their way to urban streets. The four-seat hipster carrier has a range of 30 miles and goes on sale today to mark Earth Day.

One perk of owning a Peapod is that your chances of getting a speeding ticket are markedly reduced due to the fact that it tops out at a paltry 25 mph. This also means you'll have a good excuse for avoiding the Eisenhower at all costs...

i don’t like the way that thing is lookin’ at me

I’ve got to hand it to Chrysler. This is a great idea. And guess what? It only took two years to create, from concept to production. Two things, though. Can’t they make these things cooler looking? Like more sports carish? Or, I don’t know. Less hippish? Can’t they put some badass graphics on it or something? And the name…c’mon! You want people to buy this right? Peapod. Yea, it's cute. But, baby seals are cute, too. Look what we do to them.

now that’s more like it!!!

And it only goes 25 mph. Now I know that’s the point. But, I live in a heavily traveled, lead footed, eat-or-be-eaten, suburb. This thing has got to be a smidge faster. Just imagine going down this road with that happy little thing.

not for the feint of heart.

Believe you me, you don’t want to fuck with the drivers on that road! And in all honesty, I probably wouldn’t even make it out of my driveway without being crushed to death in the Peapod. You should see the way the kids drive their coupe’s down my block!!!

kids are totally reckless in these things

Pitch a Bitch: Broadband

2009-04-22T20:33:00.002-04:00

Ahhhhh…one of my many pet peeves: The cost of internet access. I started ranting about this back here, when AT&T announced their “subsidized” netbook test program. Since then, there’s been a lot of talk in the news lately about broadband. Two weeks ago, the FCC announced it’s initiative to bring broadband to rural areas. Which, is great! Broadband for the masses! Make it low-cost broadband and I’ll be here to stay!

And now, we’ve got Time/Warner back-peddling off it’s announced test program of tiered internet access. The plan would’ve charged users by bandwidth usage. Depending which report you read, the uppermost tier paying $150/month for either unlimited downloads or a cap of 100 gigs. But, a few days ago Time/Warner started backing away from the plan. Nice! Between this and the FCC initiative, maybe we’ll finally see some low cost broadband!

Doubt it. Call me a pessimist, but not only is low cost broadband NOT gonna happen, I can guaren-damn-tee this tiered internet access IS gonna happen. Why? For the same reason the price of gas is gonna go up. Or the same reason banks charge ridiculous fees. The reason you ask? Simple. Because they can! We need them more than they need us. What are you gonna do? Not drive your car if gas is 5 bucks a gallon? Yea, right! Are you gonna stop using the ATM when they start charging 5 bucks per transaction. As if! Likewise, are you not gonna go on the internet anymore? Ha! Where are you gonna get your porn? After all these years of not going to the porn shops, you’re gonna go back? Shit! I know I ain’t!

i swore to Ma, I’d never go back!

I love, though, how Time/Warner justifies it’s need to increase it’s fees. Crying that the folks doing these massive downloads are clogging the internet pipelines. Oh, boo-hoo! Pul-lease. I wish they would just cut the crap and level with us. Just tell us you’re raising the rates because people are tired of paying out the arse for cable and now they’re going to the internet to watch their shows and you need to make up the difference in potentially lost revenue. Whew! Was that so hard? Because, look, no matter what excuses they use, no matter how they try and sweet talk us, we’re still gonna gag the second that nastiness hits the back of our collective throats.

Besides, I bet you can’t guess who’s standing in line to fight the FCC on it’s new initiative? Surprise!!! It’s Comcast, Time/Warner, AT&T and the rest of the lot of broadband providers. You don’t think they’re gonna let the government give us something at low cost that we’re paying them out the ass for now, do you???

So, get your checkbooks ready, and brace yourselves. Because no matter what they say, no matter how much they promise they won’t, sooner or later the broadband providers are gonna, um…well, blow their loads in our mouths.

thank you?!?!?

I just hope they don’t expect us to say “thank you” when they’re done.

Easter recap

2009-04-20T21:45:00.004-04:00

As I’m going to painfully remind you, Easter was a few weeks ago. The time of year when kids get all jimmied up on candy. I think that it used to be a religious holiday, but I’m not entirely sure. I can tell you, though, that I’m tired of these stupid holidays and how the retail outlets are making them into buying extravaganzas. WTF! It’s bad enough Santa gets all the credit for our hard work. But, the bunny too???? C’mon! I’m tired of doing all the leg work and the fucking lazy ass characters getting all the credit.

But, I digress…

On Easter Sunday, the kids get up ungodly early, even after warnings the night prior not to. And if you do, remain in your bed, unmoving. Or so help me, to the Christ, I’ll shoot that damn bunny. But, they don’t listen. The boys are up at the crack of dawn, raring to go. After a quick prayer to the big guy upstairs to give me the strength (and energy) to deal with my overeager children, it’s off to celebrate Easter! Wooooooo!!!!!

First, we have our traditional full-contact easter egg hunt. Which went really well this year. No broken limbs. And only a few minor scrums. I learned a hard lesson last year. When my oldest, Trixie, collected 39 out of the 41 Easter eggs the Easter bunny hid. Whew! Talk about ugly. I might have to take the bottom three to therapy in a few years, they are still so scarred from the routing. This year, though, I let Jericho and Jethro go a few seconds early, just a few seconds, to find a few easter eggs. After that, it was every man for themselves. I think I only saw Trixie push Jericho out of her way once, maybe twice, to get an egg. I’m pretty proud of myself!

After the egg hunt, it’s off to the kitchen to dig into the ton of candy the Easter bunny left. Because, believe you me, this easter bunny don’t leave presents. Fucketh thateth.

that’s the bunny’s true nature

As the kids were shoveling candy down their collective gullets like zombies devouring live human flesh, the conversation at the table turned to the contents and the quality of the Easter baskets.

mmmm....chocolate

“I’m glad the Easter bunny brought us hollow bunnies this year.” Trixie said, picking through her basket.

“Why?” I asked, sticking my nose in the air.

“Because. Hollow bunnies are better!” She exclaimed.

I raised my eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, dad.” Barbara chimed in, stuffing peeps in her face. “Hollow bunnies are the best.”

“Yea!” Jethro followed up, spitting particles of chocolate all over. Because, as usual, he standing on top of me. If he were any closer, he’d be on the other side of me.

“Do you have to eat in my ear!?!?” I said to Jethro, wiping the chocolate off my face. I pushily guided him to his chair. “Go sit down.” He happily grabbed his basket and moved over to his seat. “You,” I said pointing to each of them, “are sadly mistaken. Hollow bunnies are not better. They suck! The only way that a hollow bunny would be better is if it was stuff with more candy. Otherwise, you’re all out of your gourd.”

yea. That’s right. Easter Turducken!!!

“I like solid bunnies, Fadder!” Jericho finally chimed in, rivulets of chocolate streaming down his chin onto the table.

feast your eye on this one!!!

“Of course you do, Jericho.” I said, ruffling his blonde hair. “That’s why I love you the best.” Feeling something sticky, I looked at my fingers in his hair. For only the second time in five minutes I rolled my eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Still no extra patience from the big guy upstairs, though. I took a deep breath and questioned. “Please tell me that isn’t marshmallow peep in your hair...”

Thursday night teaser: There's something seriously wrong with my kids

2009-04-16T23:21:00.002-04:00

It's been one of the days, folks. I had the best of intentions of getting something up here tonight, but...ughhh. So, you're stuck with a teaser. Come back tomorrow for the whole thing. But, just not tomorrow...

As the kids were shoveling candy down their collective gullets like zombies devouring live human flesh, the conversation at the table turned to the contents and the quality of the Easter baskets.

“I’m glad the Easter bunny brought us hollow bunnies this year.” Trixie said, picking through her basket.

“Why?” I asked, sticking my nose in the air.

Adventures in Theater Going Pt IV

2009-04-14T22:28:00.001-04:00

Finally!!!! The end!!!

Pick up the story here, here and here.

I followed Jericho around as he climbed in and out of the Thrill 2 Kill arcade game.

“Sir?” A voice called out from behind me.

“Yes?” I quickly turned around.

“Your kids are fine.” The theater woman said, walking toward me. “I told them you were still out here and waiting for the ambulance. And I gave them some popcorn, too.”

“Great. Thank you!” I said. “Were they ok?”

The woman shrugged. “They didn’t seem too upset to me. They were watching the movie.”

“Ok.” I replied, struggling to keep an eye on the clearly feeling better Jericho. She obviously didn’t know my kids. There was no way Barbara and Jethro weren’t freaking out by now. I considered my possibilities. If I went back into the theater to check on them, it would be a real pain in the ass to leave them again. And with my luck, the medics would arrive while I was in the theater. Fuck! I checked the time on my phone. I’d only been gone about 10 minutes. What the fuck do I do?

Just as I went to pull Jericho out oof Thrill 2 Kill, I caught the theater manager striding up to me out of the corner of my eye. “The paramedics are here. Sir. The paramedics are here.” She said.

And sure enough, two men in dark blue uniforms, carrying all sorts of medical equipment, followed the theater manager in tow. Fuck! I felt my face turn all shades of red, as I held onto the pleading Jericho . “Dad! I want to play the video games! I want to play the video games!” He demanded.

“Alright. Alright, alright, alright.” I whispered in his ear. “After the medics check you out.”

The paramedics had stopped in the middle of the lobby. The shorter of the two began rifling through a bag he placed on the ground. “Hi.” I greeted them, stopping where they had dropped their things. My face even more flushed with chagrin.

i can’t believe I found a picture of the medics

“How can we help?” The taller medic asked. He pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket.

I turned Jericho to face the medics. The lump on his head didn’t look nearly as bad as it did a few minutes ago. I was really feeling like an idiot now. “He banged his head on one of the seats in the theater.” I said to them.

“I see.” The medic said, examining Jericho’s head. He motioned to the floor. “How about we get a better look at him?”

“Ok.” I replied. Kneeling down, I propped up Jericho, who wanted no parts of the experience, in front of the medics.

“Hi.” The shorter medic said to Jericho. “I’m Jim. What’s your name?”

“Jericho.” He replied, looking at every where but at the medic trying to examine him.

“Hi, Jericho. My name’s Frank.” The taller medic introduced himself. “I’m going to shine this light in your eyes, ok?” Jericho flinched, turning his whole body away as the medic tried to shine the light at him.

just look in the fucking light, kid!!!

“So what happened, buddy?” His partner asked.

“I banged my head.” Jericho replied shyly.

The taller medic ran a latex gloved finger over the bump on his head. “How do you feel now?” He asked.

“Fine”. Jericho replied.

Fine?!?!? You should’ve heard him 11 minutes ago.

“Good.” Getting up, the medics conferred for a moment.

“He seems ok.” The taller medic said, turning to me. “There isn’t much we can do here, though. We’d have to take him to the hospital to run any more tests.”

The hospital? Great. “What do you think?” I asked the two of them.

“He seems to be alright. His pupils aren’t dilated. And he’s responding to stimuli. Did you put ice on the bump?”

“Yea.”

“Like I said, there isn’t much more you can do for head trauma, besides going to the hospital.” He trailed off as Jericho broke away and was heading back to the arcade games.

I rolled my eyes, considering the options. The kid definitely was acting fine. “I think he’s ok, too.”

The medics shook their heads in agreement. The smaller medic picked up his bag. “Well, We’ll be in the area in case his condition worsens. But,” he nodded to Jericho climbing back into the cockpit of Thrill 2 Kill, “I think he’s ok.”

“Thanks.” I said, turning to get Jericho . “I appreciate you coming out.”

“Any time.” The taller medic said. Grabbing his things, they headed to the exit.

“Thanks again.” I called out. I grabbed Jericho. “C’mon. Let’s go see what your brother and sisters are up to.”

**
“Where have you been?” Barbara hissed stuffing her face with popcorn. I sat Jericho next to me in the theater.

“Yea! We didn’t think you were coming back.” Jethro chimed in.

“Are you kidding me?” I looked at the two of them. “I sent the theater worker in here to check on you guys. Didn’t you see her?”

“Yea. She came up here.” Barbara said. “She gave us this popcorn.”

“Well?”

“Well, we still didn’t think you were coming back.” Jethro followed up.

I rolled my eyes. “Are you two retarded? I would never leave you here by yourself. I would never leave you any where by yourselves. Besides, Trixie was here, too.”

“Well, she was watching the movie.”

“You should’ve heard them, Dad.” Trixie chimed in from down the row. “They were crying like little girls.”

these two are calm compared to Barbara and Jethro

“No we weren’t!” Barbara and Jethro said rather loudly.

Trixie wrinkled up her face. “Yes. You were.”

“I wasn’t crying.” Barbara said a bit louder.

“Me, neither!” Jethro followed up.

“Guys!” I hissed. “We’re in a theater!”

“We weren’t crying, though.” Barbara pleaded.

“Yes you were.” Trixie said, leaning back in her chair.

“Shut up, Trixie!” Barbara insisted.

I glanced up at the ceiling. No sign of the big guy upstairs. Or a long overdue present of patience. The three of them continued to bicker. Maybe it wasn’t too late for those medics to take me to the hospital...

I am so screwin' you tonight

2009-04-13T20:52:00.004-04:00

I know I teased the shit out of the final installment of Adventures in Theater Going on Facebook. But, I gotta tell you, the ol' Jman feels like shit tonight. I literally got an hour's worth of sleep last night. For no particular reason, either. Now, my head's pounding like a bunch of baby seals grew thumbs and are exacting revenge on my mind.

So, you're getting screwed. And you're not even getting a steak dinner out of it. Sorry. There isn't going to be a Part IV. At least for tonight. Instead, I'm pulling one from the archives. Hey! Don't give me any of your shit! I haven't run one from the archives in awhile. Besides, this one's a classic. You'll enjoy it. Trust me. Just check back tomorrow for Part IV of Adventures in Theater Going. Well, probably not tomorrow.

by the Juice
Originally published 10/05

So, the other day the Juice is foldin’ the laundry. I know. I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’: “The Juice, between workin’ all day for the man, then comin’ home and dealin’ with the kids, you even help out with the laundry? The Juice you are a true renaissance man.” I appreciate the sentiment, but the Juice is nothin’ of the sort. See, the Juice has picked up a thin' or two after bein’ married for so fuckin’ long. Now, I should seriously charge you for this lil nugget I’m about to share. I mean, this knowledge wasn’t just “jacked” into the ol’ noggin, like that douche bag in the Matrix.

The nugget of wisdom. As I was sayin', the Juice worked hard over the years figurin' it out. But, since I’m feelin’ generous tonight, I'm just handin' it over like I do with everythin' else in my life. I'm not even gonna make you scroll over the white space to get it. Nope! No work for you tonight. So, here it is (you may want to imagine a drumroll, it’ll add to the effect): Help out once in a while.

Now, I’m sure you’re doin’ a double take. “Help out once in a while?!?!?!?” Yea, that was written in English. See, the Juice has learned that if ya help out once in awhile, it keeps the “bitchers” off your back. And the Juice is all about keep the bitchers off his back. Unless, of course, you’re a glutton for punishment.

It makes sense if ya think about it. Ya do the laundry, clean the dishes, take out the trash. Shit, if ya do enough, maybe your missus will fuck ya. The Juice often wonders that if you were to do enough cleanin’ around the house, would that be enough for the missus to let ya fuck another chick? Does that point really exist? Or is it as mythical as bigfoot, the Odyssey, and the blow job party. My guess is that much like the Pentaquark, the cleanin/sex with another chick point doesn't really exist. In the name of science, the Juice would almost be tempted to try that risky experiment, but the Juice don’t have the stomach for all that cleanin'. I may help out once in awhile, but anymore than that is "work". And the Juice sure as shit does enough of that. It ain't like the Juice doesn’t do his fair share day in and day out at a job that I can’t stand. And then come home to a completely ungrateful family. Who just expects more and more from me. No, that ain’t me. It’s Pina Colada’s and glamour magazines all day, every day for the Juice.

But, back to the real reason were gathered here today, the Juice helpin’ out with the laundry. The missus was doin' a fair amount of bitchin’ one particular day. Some shit that I don’t do enough around the house. May be true, may be false, but she was bitchin’ nonetheless. So, just to shut her the hell up, I took my own advice. I got off the couch I'd been for the last four hours. I cut the lawn, took out the trash, and yes, did the laundry. Anythin’ that will help keep her trap shut for 5 seconds.

So, the Juice is foldin’ the clothes of the ungrateful. And after foldin’ a few shirts the only things that were socks. Ugghhhh!!!!! The one thing the Juice hates more than anythin' else, more than gettin’ hit in the face with monkey shit, is foldin’ socks. Dang, I hate foldin’ socks! I wish I had a trained midget to do it. How great would that be? Or better yet, an Automatic Sock Foldin’ machine.

Now, with that in mind, feast your eyes on this:

click to get a bigger view.

Oh, yea! How about that? Pretty fuckin’ ingenious, right? How about a few close ups of the machine?

outside view

inside view

I'm tellin' ya, these designs just might win the Juice the Nobel peace prize. Or science prize. I can't fuckin' keep track. But, as soon as the Juice gets a free moment, I’m gonna start workin’ on it. And don’t any of ya try and steal my idear! I’m already in the process of gettin’ it patented. ‘Cause, believe you me, I don’t trust a aingle one of ya's!!!

Newspaper are still useful...for the bottom of birdcages.

2009-04-10T21:16:00.008-04:00

Huffington Post - You blew it.

You've had 20 years since the start of the web, 15 years since the creation of the commercial browser and craigslist, a decade since the birth of blogs and Google to understand the changes in the media economy and the new behaviors of the next generation of - as you call them, Mr. Murdoch - net natives. You've had all that time to reinvent your products, services, and organizations for this new world, to take advantage of new opportunities and efficiencies, to retrain not only your staff but your readers and advertisers, to use the power of your megaphones while you still had it to build what would come next. But you didn't...

The only thing I have to say here is A-fucking-men! Ok. That’s not the only thing I have to say. For the love of the Christ, when don’t I have more on my mind? I’m worse than a lactose intolerant dude who an hour ago, chased a half gallon of ice cream with a gallon of chocolate milk.

you need one of these if you’re lactose intolerant. Porcelain just won’t do.

It looks to me that the newspaper industry is finally getting their wake-up call from Mickey. Day late and a dollar short, but a wake-up call nonetheless. And in typical lethargic corporate manner, they’ve just hung up the phone and went back to sleep. And who are they going to blame when they’re late for their character breakfast? “The internet! The internet! Boo hoo hoo.”

oh boy! Newspapers sure are fucked!

The information/entertainment industry has been screwing the public for years with overpriced, sub-par content. And now that the great unwashed masses aren’t paying for the content anymore, they’re losing revenue. Surprise! No one wants to pay for crap! And we all know, whether it’s music, movies or a newspaper articles, it’s all suck ass, mindless drivel. Most of it isn’t even worth stealing, let alone putting out your hard earned cash.

I’m not an economist, a futurist or a soothsayer. But, I have a feeling that newspapers will be around for a long time. They just might not be made of paper anymore. But that’s what the industry is using as a scare tactic. “Papers are going extinct! What are journalist going to do?” Papers aren’t going extinct. They’ve been extinct. They just haven’t noticed.

i see someone not getting laid in a really long time. Someone who writes stupid stuff for a really inane blog.

There’s no reason why newspapers can’t still exist on-line. The problem is that these corporate owned entities have not only been screwing the public with poor content, but advertisers as well. Charging ridiculous fees for a dwindling audience. If newspapers want to continue to exist, they may just need to be a bit more streamlined.

I’ve got a free idea for the newspaper crowd. Maybe they should team up with Amazon and the broadband carriers. Make a device that utilizes technology to have the content delivered to said device. Give the device away for “free” and have an al carte subscription rate. Kinda like what cable does now. You get a basic subscription to so many newspapers/magazines. For a few bucks more you get “premium” papers/magazines.

i have my newspaper reading device set to porn news channels

Ehhh...but what the fuck do I know? I can't even give my writings away.

The Glory of...Lactaid

2009-04-08T21:45:00.002-04:00

I’m not what you call a morning person. In fact, I’m not what you would call a “people” person, either. But, that’s a tale for another day. The irony of me not being a morning person is that I love breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day. I love breakfast foods. Eggs, pancakes, waffles. God! Do I love waffles! And breakfast meats? It’s like a smorgasbord of deliciousness. Bacon, Canadian bacon, sausage patties, sausage links and scrapple. Yea, even scrapple. Breakfast is God’s gift to mankind.

mmmmm...meaty. Err...piggy

Most of all, I love cereal. It’s the perfect food. You can eat it any time of day or night! So many varieties. So much deliciousness. By all rights, this should be the Glory of Cereal and maybe someday we’ll go there. But, today is not that day. Mostly cause I came up with this idear first.

yea...that about says it all

But, as much as I love cereal, I’m not a big fan of milk. There’s something inherently wrong with milk. We’re drinking another mammals bodily fluids. Doesn’t that creep you out? I mean who’s the first cat that looked at a cow’s udders and said: “Shit! I’m drinking me some of whatever comes out of that!”

gotta get my taste on!!!

Plus, because I love conspiracy theories, I’ve read some really disturbing things about milk over the years. Pus, antibiotics…ugh. It’s sort of soured my stomach on milk, as it were. All that and I’m becoming increasingly lactose intolerant. Stupid milk.

The problem is no other liquid supports your cereal quite like milk. And I’ve tried all of them. Water. Juice. Beer. And believe you me, all those assholes that tell you that beer is good in your cereal are just that…assholes.

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “What about Soy Milk. It’s got the consistency of milk. It even has the word “milk” in it’s name. So, it must be like milk.” First of all, if that’s what you’re thinking then marketing really works. You realize that Soy is a bean. So, really, you’re drinking soy Juice. But, hey…if they say it’s milk, it must be milk, right?!?!?

it’s fucking soy JUICE!!!!

But, I digress.

Yea. I’ve tried soy milk. It’s about as ungood as it gets. And before you start, I know that they have flavors of soy milk. Chocolate, Vanilla and probably even Snozzberry. It’s still taste like crap. Fake chocolate (or Vanilla or Snozzberry) flavored soy juice.

But, but, I stand here before you to regale you with the wonders of LACTAID!!!! Fucking Lactaid. YEA!!! And I ain’t talking about the pill, either. I’m talking, honest to goodness MILK!!! Sure, it cost 20 bucks a half gallon. And, yea, if I catch my non lactose intolerant boy Jethro using it in his cereal again, so help me I’ll put such a hurtin’ on him! But, other than that, it’s worth it. Fuck it’s worth it! Just lock it up away from the monsters like I do.

remember that scene in Braveheart when the English cats are torturin’ the shit out of William Wallace? Remember what he screams? MILLLLLKKKKKKKK!!!!

So...I say Fuck You Lactose! I AM enjoying milk again!!! Now those little turds of mine better not have finished all the Cap’n Crunch. And they better not be drinking my Lactaid. Or I’m bringing hell down on them!

Wi-Fi for the People!!!

2009-04-02T21:24:00.003-04:00

CNET Atlanta and Philadelphia residents can get discounted Netbooks with the purchase of AT&T's new "Internet at Home and On the Go" broadband services with a two-year contract.

The company announced the program earlier this week, and it will be immediately available in select stores.
With this program, customers can choose from a variety of Netbooks, including the Acer Aspire One, Dell Inspiron Mini 9 and Mini 12, and LG Xenia, with discounted prices ranging from $50 to $250....

Now look, I realize the future isn’t coming. Still, what bugs the hell out of me is why can’t we get internet access everywhere? I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Didn’t you read that article, idiot? You CAN get internet access everywhere!” First of all, there’s no need to call names. Secondly, I posted the article. So, yea, I read it. Duh. My point is did you see how much AT&T is charging for internet access? 60 bucks a month?!?!? What the fuck?!?!?

time to do some figurin’

Now, numbers aren’t my strong suit, but I’m paying 40 bucks for broadband at home. And now AT&T wants to me to pay an additional $60 on top of that? So I can have my internet on the go? Does AT&T think we’re all Rockefellers? Fuck! And the music, movie and newspaper industries wonder why no one wants to pay for content. Maybe it’s because we’re paying out the arse for internet service. When I get a magazine subscription, I don’t have to pay the post office a monthly fee of 40 bucks to deliver mail to me. In fact, not only is the magazine cheaper if I subscribe, but they often times pick up the cost of the delivery. Weird, ain’t it?

Think about it. I’m paying $40 for broadband, just to toss it “out there” for the taking. Yea, I’ve got my signal password protected, but it’s still going “out there”. And all my neighbors are doing the same. We’re all throwing our signal “out there”. So, why aren’t we sharing our signals? What’s stopping us from sticking our collective middle fingers up at Verizon, Comcast and AT&T, pooling our resources and setting up a community Wi-Fi that everyone in the neighborhood has access to? Think how much that would cost each person. A few bucks a month? WTF is wrong with us?

The thing is, that’s not good enough for me. I want internet access where ever I’m at, at all times. I want to be able to look at porn while I’m eating dinner at Friendly’s. I want to be able to get my smut while I’m cruisin’ down 95 in my mini-van. So, I’ve got an even better idea. Maybe we should take some of that stimulus money and set up a Wi-Fi network across the country. And sell the service as a utility. How about that?!?!? Fucking great idea, right?

Porn’s the only channel this van gets!

It’s not worth it though. Because we’d only eventually privatize the service like we did with electricity, and be back paying ridiculous rates. God! Isn’t corporate greed great!?!? Privatize the gains and socialize the losses!

Privatization. It's the cat’s meow!!!

My boy's first April Fool's Prank

2009-04-01T22:14:00.004-04:00

I’m not what you call a “morning” person. Truth be told, I’m not what you would call an “afternoon” or a “night” person, either. But, that’s a tale for another day. I give myself enough time in the morning to get ready and get the crüe up and running for the day. Besides, if I got up any earlier, I might as well not even go to bed. Maybe that’s why I’m not such a morning person.

Who the fuck does, Garfield?

Yesterday morning, I’m getting dressed for another day of laughs working for the man. My son, Jethro, is getting ready for school. Out of no where he asked me:

“Hey, Dad. What are you gonna have for breakfast?”

Immediately I look up at the ceiling, like by doing so the big guy upstairs will immediately send down the patience and strength needed for whatever the boy’s up to. He doesn't though. I take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Jethro. Why?”

“I just want to know. What are you gonna have?” He asked walking into my room.

Because I’m old, and I can’t eat anything anymore. I usually have oatmeal. But, I’ve been feeling crazy lately. I bought myself some Lactaid (again, cause I’m old and I can’t eat anything anymore) and have been eating cold cereal for breakfast. I figured the boy wants to pour my cereal. Already, I’m thinking of the impending disaster of him getting my breakfast together. So, before one word leaves my lips, I’m already backpedaling. I told you I wasn’t a morning person.

Yea. Don’t fuck with me in the morning!

“I guess some cereal. But, I don’t know if I’ve got the time.”

“What cereal, Dad?” he asked standing right next to me. Like he always does. Like standing right next to me will get my attention that much faster.

“I don’t know, Jethro.” I said, trying to contain my aggravation. Can’t I just get dressed in peace?!?!? Can’t I do anything in peace?!?!? He’s been up my ass since I opened my eyes this morning. “Life, I guess.”

“Okay.” He replied and scampered away. Before I could respond, another one of my little mindfuckers distracted me with some other pressing problem. Jericho, my 5 year old, was asking me again whether China was serious about pursuing a world standard in currency. I gave him some pat answer and finished getting ready.

***

By the time I finish getting ready for work, I’ve only got a few minutes to eat. Jethro’s already at the table, helping himself to a sixth bowl of Lucky Charms. I grab a box of Grape-nuts (because I’m old and I can’t eat a fucking thing anymore) out of the pantry and pull up a bowl at the table.

“Dad!”

“What, Jethro?” I asked a bit startled. I keep telling you I’m not a morning person.

“I thought you were going to have Life cereal”

What is up his ass?? “I am, Jethro. I’m just gonna jazz it up with some Grape-Nuts. Is that ok?”

“Oh. Ok.” He replied, turing back to his cereal.

Me and Grumpy here will totally kick your ass!

I probably would’ve wondered what was up his ass, but Jericho started in on his thesis why tax cuts would stimulate the economy. That kid is such a fucking Republican. Anyway, as the kid is ranting, I grab the box of Life cereal and start to pour way more than the recommended daily allowance. ‘Cause that’s just how I roll. As I go to add the Grape-Nuts for some spice, I look down at the bowl.

“WTF!?!?!?” I exclaimed.

Jethro nearly choked on this Lucky Charms he was laughing so hard. My cereal bowl was full of Fruity Pebbles. I look over at the giggling idiot, then at the box of Life. “I switched them, Dad.” Jethro said with a faux marshmallow grin.

“Ahhh...I see.” I said, smiling at him. That’s my boy! Already becoming a prankster. “You think of this by yourself?”
“Yup.” He said, proudly. “April Fool!!!”

“Joke’s on you, biotch.” I got up from my chair. “Today’s the 31st. Tomorrow’s April Fools Day.” I said as I grabbed his underwear and yanked them so hard, I think he’s still pulling the wedge out of his ass.

I told you I’m not a morning person.

Da fuck you lookin’ at?

This moment of complete randomness brought to you by: Rocky Balboa

2009-03-30T21:34:00.002-04:00

I’m flipping through the TV stations last night looking for any reason not to be productive. At some point, I come across Sylvester Stallone’s movie Rocky Balboa. In case you don’t remember, this movie was the SIXTH movie of the Rocky franchise. It was released in that happy go lucky year of 2006. And like most folks, I stuck my nose up at it like someone was telling me I had to change a fat man's Depends. Another fucking Rocky movie? We all know that series reached it’s peak with Rocky crushing that Russian superman in Rocky IV.

you think Nietzsche had this in mind?

By the time Rocky V came out, I had moved on to other more “worldly” pursuit (downloading porn). And during it’s theatrical release, I definitely didn’t even consider seeing Rocky Balboa. What can I say? I’m pretty fucking rash, judgmental and bitter. Once I make up my mind something isn’t good, you best believe not only is it not good, it should never be spoken of again. And Rocky Balboa fell right into that category.

Besides, I just assumed that this was another reason for Sylvester Stallone to milk a bit more money out of a beaten cash cow. Did I mention that I was also pretty fucking jaded?

So, with my finger itching the channel up button last night, I gave Rocky Balboa an extra second. The next thing I know, it’s 45 minutes later, and I’m on the edge of the bed, cheering the shit out of Rocky. ROCKY! ROCKY! ROCKY! I’m still fucking pumped from it. Almost makes me want to go out to the garage and throw some steel up. But, that would require some effort. And I’m in this 20-odd year lazy mode. I figure I’ll get motivated to do something productive within the decade. Well, the next decade definitely.

So, do me, yourself and Sylvester Stallone a favor and go rent Rocky Balboa. Believe you me, you’ll be cheering like the little school girl you are.

i’m saying that’s you after watching Rocky Balboa, not me

Of bank, bandits and bailouts

2009-03-26T22:27:00.004-04:00

I find I’m getting sort of addicted to this whole financial meltdown thing. I can’t get enough of it. Every day, there are new twists, new turns. It’s great! But one of the best side effects of this whole mess is that the focus of the media is finally off celebrities!!! Finally!!!!! It’s so much better seeing footage of Bernie Madoff being chased down, then vapid “stars” with nothing better to do than adopt kids. Not that there’s anything wrong with adopting kids. I just don’t think it’s news worthy anymore.

And I love all the exposure that the AIG bonuses are getting. But, I’m telling you, it’s all just a red herring. For what? Who the fuck knows? I’d wager dollars to donuts it’s all sleight of hand. “Oh, look at what happened with these bonuses. Whatever you do, though, pay no attention to that man behind the curtain”. Maybe it’s the one trillion dollars the Federal Reserve just printed out of no where. Maybe it’s the fact that AIG funneled billions of government dollars to other banks. Or maybe it’s the fact that the administration has decided to let hedge funds bail the economy out of this mess. Meaning, they’ll get richer or we’ll get poorer. Look, I’m not economist. I don’t even play one on TV. I don’t know finances. I can’t even reconcile my kids’ savings passport. But, I can tell you this, all the attention these bonuses are getting is a front.

i hate when the curtain does that!!!

And if you think I’m crazy (and I’m not saying I’m not), then you should check out this article. It’s probably one of the best articles on this whole financial meltdown. It’s written by Matt Taibbi and it’s over at Rolling Stone. Yea. I know. Rolling Stone?!?! WTF, right? It figures, though. Because it’s not like you’re going to get this kind of explanation from your financial outlets. If you want the truth, you have to go outside the source. Look at what Jon Stewart does. He can hold feet to the fire under the guise of being “funny”. Kings had court jesters for a reason.

But, I digress…

Must work for AIG, Citi AND Treasury

Be prepared, though. This article goes in depth, real in depth. Best get yourself some coffee and a donut, because you’ll be needing it. In fact, I read the article over the course of a few days. This whole financial meltdown is one long cluster fuck. The jargon and bullshit verbiage alone is impossible to follow. It’s almost beyond the reach of mortal man, done on purpose of course. I had to read a few of the paragraphs a number of times to follow what the hell was going on. And no fault to the author, either. What these Wall Street fat cats came up with, really bends all time and space. The kind of “instruments” these guys came up with, couldn’t even be found by the Hadron Collider.

doubles as the Wayback Machine AND finding crazy sounding derivatives!!!

Basically, a few well placed people have been using Wall Street as one big casino. I shit you not, either. Wall Street bankers even got legislation deeming what they were doing wasn’t gaming. If you’re getting legislation to say you’re not gaming, you’re fucking gaming. Which, is cool by me. I don’t give fuck one when people lose thousands of dollars at a roulette wheel. Likewise, we shouldn’t be giving folks who crippled the system any money, whether it’s in bonuses or in bailouts. If the likes of AIG, Citigroup, etc are “too big too fail”, then let’s do it the right way. The government should take them into receivership. Nationalize them. Call it what you want. Call it Uncle Joe’s Fuckaramama for all I care. Just do it. Get rid of the bad blood, as well as the bad assets, and then re-privatize them.

Let’s save the bailouts for the folks that really need it. The homeowner who’s in over his head. Not the one who bought the house to flip. The one that’s living in the only house they’ve got. Nah…why should we do that? That’s {begin eyeroll} socialism {end eyeroll}.

I love the outrage against the bonuses. I really do. Let’s keep our eyes on the ball here, though. Let’s not get fooled into thinking that’s where the outrage should lie…

The real reason for global warming

2009-03-23T21:55:00.004-04:00

I know who’s to blame for global warming. The answer may shock you. It may even scare you. Because it sure as shit (as it were) scares me. The reason for global warming? It’s my kids.

Okay. Technically, I guess it’s my fault because they ARE my kids, but I’ve tried to tell them. Over and over again. It’s no use, though. They don’t listen. And they’re not going to any time soon (because they are kids), so we might as well kiss the planet goodbye.

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “But how could four kids, who’ve only been on the planet collectively for 5.5 years be the reason for global warming? Can’t global warming be traced to at least to the mid-1800’s?” Well, smartass, I suppose it could. So, let me re-phrase then. My kids are the reason this planet is doomed. Happy now? I didn’t want to lay that much responsibility on my kids, but you forced me, too.

Still, you’re wondering “how?” And “why?” Well, let me tell you. Those four kids of mine go through so much freakin’ toilet paper, it’s incredible! I don’t get it. I don’t know what they’re doing with it. I swear to the Christ one over-sized roll last a day in my house. ONE DAY!!!! I’d be willing to wager dollars to donuts that the average family uses one roll of TP a month! Not my clan, though! We’ve got to go through it like a taco through a tourist vacationing in Mexico.

My guess is that the kids are just rolling the toilet paper in big wads for shits and giggles. Then they’re flushing it down the drain. Laughing all the way! “Hee! Hee! Look at Daddy’s hard earned money go down the toilet! Wheee!!!! It’s a shame he doesn’t carry cash! We could cut out the middle man and burn it for him!!!”

that’s probably one roll of TP right there

All that rampant destruction of the rainforest you read about? That’s because of all the TP my kids waste! It’s not like toilet paper grows on trees! Elves aren’t growing TP in their magical forests. Christ, I wish! If they were, I’d kidnap some and make them grow that magical toilet paper in my backyard. Magical toilet paper! Don’t be ridiculous!

and this is where the elves grow their toilet paper

I’ve tried to reason with my kids. In a recent family meeting on the subject, I said, “Look, we’re killing the planet here. We have to do what Sheryl Crowe suggests and use only one square. From now on, one square per kid per visit. Got it?” Know what they said? “Fuck Sheryl Crowe. And fuck the rainforest!” Ok. Maybe they didn’t exactly say that. But, I could tell by their blank stares that’s what they were all thinking. Probably because this was the 5th family meeting we’ve had on toilet paper abuse this year alone.

neither is toilet paper abuse!

I could fix their asses (as it were), though. How pissed would they be if I installed a bidet? Nah...it’s really not that clever of me. My water bill would go through the roof. They’d be using it as everything from a dog washer to filling up water balloons.

"cool dad! You installed a water fountain!"

That’s one of the many things they never teach you about in school. How much toilet paper kids waste. Maybe if I would've known that ahead of time, I wouldn't have had so many kids!

Good eats

2009-03-20T22:38:00.002-04:00

Behold! Deliciousness!!!

You see that image? I want you to take a good long look at it. Because those are the best flippin’ chips on the planet. I shit you not! The best!

Now, you can’t get these chips just anywhere. Here comes the “krinkle” in the whole thing. You can’t get them at your local Target or Walmart. You can only get them in the “natural” aisle of your local supermarket. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking. “All natural? Oh. That has got to be foul!” And, normally, I’d agree. Beause whenever I read something is “all natural”, my default reaction is rice cakes. Plain, ol’ rice cakes. Bleeeechhhh.

But these? These chips ain’t so bad. In fact, they’re down right...good. And let me tell you something else about me. I am NO fan of salt and pepper chips or salt and vinegar chips or any such combination. Uck! It’s like I’m participating in a salt lick or something. But, again, these chips not only defy expectation, they defy all reason.

So, do yourself a favor. Pick up a bag. In the meantime, check out their website.

And, no. They’re not a sponsor. And I’m not hawking my wares. They’re just fucking good chips!

Tough week for AIG

2009-03-19T21:24:00.001-04:00

The Salt Lake Tribune: For many Americans who could use a bailout just to balance their checkbooks and make it through the month, the thought of their tax dollars going to million-dollar bonuses for AIG executives is enough to make them furious.

What’s the big deal? So what if they handed out 165 million dollars in bonuses? Look, numbers aren’t my strong suit, but 165 million is less than 1% of the 185 billion that AIG got from the govern...er, us, that is. So, what’s the big fuck deal, right?

I’ll tell you what the big fuck deal is...the government can’t put a decent deal together to help save people who didn’t speculate in the housing market, but fuck! Take some money, AIG! Take as much as you want. Need a few billion? Fuck it! Take 185 billion.

looks like Scott’s got my money AND yours

People are so fucking worried that their neighbor might get something that they don’t. It’s socialism. Whine. Whine. Whine. They shouldn’t have bought that house if they couldn’t afford it. People need to take responsibility for their losses.” Meanwhile, 70 odd executives at AIG last week were given a million each in bonuses. WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with us? The best part? 11 of them don’t even work there any more. And they still get the bonuses. And we can’t help people re-finance their houses? I’m gonna ask it again...WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US?

And what’s the government gonna do? How are they gonna get that money back? Break the contracts? Post tax the bonuses? Uh-huh. Right. Good luck with that. We only expect blue-collar workers to break their contracts. Besides, there shouldn’t be any retro-collection of bonuses. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Let’s climb aboard the Wayback Machine, shall we? The year was 2008. Oil was well over $100 a barrel. The stock markets were starting to drop based on fears of a global recession and some clever folkels at AIG wrote some even more clever contracts in March of that year. Coincidently, we started handing money out to AIG in September 2008. Now, I’ll bet you a trip back to 2009 that those folks writing those bonus contracts in March, knew damn well the company was going under. I believe they call that fraud.

the wayback machine

So, instead of handing out billions of dollars, stipulation free, maybe the folks we voted into office should’ve had the fore-sight to check things out before hand. Maybe even say: “Hey! We’ll give you some money to save the company, but those bonuses? Nah.” Stipulations. Yea...that’s the key.

Now, the latest over at Yahoo! is that AIG CEO says employees starting to return bonuses. At least according to the headlines. And it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. I started writing this article on Monday. I’ve revised it each night due to new breaks in the story. I can’t take it any more! It’s nearly impossible to write pithy commentary when every second something else breaks! I’ve deleted some Class-A material because this story keeps evolving out of control. Like, now there’s this article over at CNN.com where Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner admits the Treasury asked for the loophole to allow these bonuses to go through.

Man! What a cluster fuck. But, guess what? It’s just the beginning...

Maybe we should just stay in the Wayback Machine and not come back to the present time for a few years.

we’d have to install a fridge

Belinda Carlisle update

2009-03-18T20:28:00.003-04:00

So, last night, Belinda Carlisle was voted off of Dancing with the Stars. What I want to know is...Belinda Carlisle was on Dancing with the Stars?!!? WTF!!! And none of you told me? What the hell is wrong with you people??? I just posted that article about how I had/have a crush on Belinda Carlisle. And not one of you can give me a heads up? I do this for nothin’ and you cats can’t let me know? God! You suck!

she can circle my sand every day of the week.

I blame myself, really. If you’re a normal person, and you don’t have a life, you make up for it by watching a lot of TV. Me? I don’t have a life, and I don’t get to watch much TV. I suppose that makes me a double loser.

Whatever...

I'm a Mac

2009-03-16T23:33:00.003-04:00

I’m a Mac user. That’s right. I’m part of the cult. I could easily shower you with reasons why Macs are so much better than PCs, but who cares, right? It’s the same ol’ song and dance. Coke v Pepsi (Pepsi, jackhole). Shower v bath (Eiwwww...you probably said bath). Creationism v Evolution (That’s an easy one. Creationism. Where you been the last eight years?).

I use Mac, though. I switched at the beginning of the millennium and never looked back. And truth be told, I’d rather you all stick to your PCs. I feel way superior when I tell people I’m a Mac user. The rest of you are so bourgeois, it’s almost embarrassing.

But, I digress...

One of the perks of being a Mac user is Mac Mall. It’s a Mac user’s wet dream. It’s Mac, Mac and more Mac. Oh, it’s down right righteous. Now, the website is a bit of a nightmare. It’s so non-intuitive, it’s almost as if a PC user set it up. Tee hee. Truth be told, the catalog is where it’s at. It’s probably one of the only times in 2009 that I defer to a catalog over a website. But, in this case you have to.

The Mac Mall catalog is like the old Sears Wishbook. Not the one they’ve been putting out in recent years. That’s an embarrassment. I’m talking the Wishbook from the mid 80’s. That fucker was bigger than a phone book! Now, the Mac Mall catalog isn’t nearly that big, but it’s the same feeling when it comes in the mail. You get that catalog, and you start circling shit that you want for Christmas. Even though, it’s mid-March. Mac Pros, iMac and Mac minis. Oh fucking my!

How I miss you, Wishbook...

So, I’m perusing the latest catalog over my bowl of Cheerios and something strikes me. Here. Let me show you:

You see that? Is Mac Mall selling laptops here or sex? Not that it matters. Cause either way, I’m buying. Look at that gal! Look how her shirt is provocatively bunched up. I mean, come on! What? Do they take me for an idiot? Whatever that broad is selling, I’m buying! In fact, it took me a double take to see that there was a laptop in front of her. For all I could tell, she could’ve been clubbing the hell out of a baby seal.

Oh, and lest you think it was a one off thing. Read ‘em and weep:

You’re right. She’s thinking about me.

Does Mac Mall have their hands on my sexual fantasy manual or what? I mean, I could go in so many directions with that. Is she my Boss? My Secretary? A Co-worker? Listen, if that broad was my co-worker, I’d be fired. No, I’d quit. I’d walk right into Human Resources with the Sexual Harassment manual and tell them it’s me or her, cause I’ve already violated every one of the rules in that manual in my mind (Now look. Before you get any ideas. I don’t condone sexual harassment. I’m speaking metaphorically here. Just like I don’t condone beating baby seals. Although some of them do have it coming to them. Cause believe you me, if those baby seals had thumbs, they’d be clubbing the hell out of us).

you know she’s listening to “Half the world”

Aren’t Macs sexy enough? Does Mac Mall have to stoop this low? I mean, I’m glad they did, but just the same. Ahhh...who am I fucking? They can stoop lower. Why don’t they just show the gals in bras and panties while gazing longingly at some Apple products. Just like in all the cool hot rod magazines. Hey! If you see Mac Mall stealing my idea, let me know. I want residuals!!!

Oh...my stuff is amped!

I’ll tell you what. Victoria Secret can go fuck themselves. Now I’ve got two reasons to use Mac Mall as crank material.

Weekend Special: Conversations with Bane

2009-03-13T21:09:00.003-04:00

Do ya ever seem to have one of those days where everyone's on your case from your teacher all the way down to your best girlfriend? Well, that's the last few weeks for yours truly. Tough weeks. But, I grit my teeth, put my head down, square my shoulders and plow on through. In the meantime, though, the content as suffered here a bit. No worries. There's quality stuff coming up. Just hang onto your britches. In the meantime, I've got the Weekend Special early this weekend. It's me writing under yet another alias. This one was known as Chuck. And the article is from one of my favorite series. Conversations with Bane

by Chuck
Originally published 7/2005

Conversations with Bane: Service

We were food shopping the other day at our local Mega mart. My wife, Samantha, the boys, myself and of course my Mother In Law, Bane. What a surprise really. My mother in law really has got to get a life. Anyway, we’ve got a grocery cart full of food and were heading to the check out. Bane grabs the front of the cart and pulls it toward the self check out.

I immediately stopped pushing the cart. “Hey. Where are you going mom? The registers are over here.” I motion to my left.

“Yea. I know. But, I love the self check out. It’s so much quicker! And look.” Bane waved her hands frantically “There’s no one in line.” I thought this was very strange. My mother in law is usually the last to embrace new technology. I'm sure she's using a piece of wood for a dildo. Oprah probably gave her the blessing to use the self checkout. Or Moses.

“That’s great, mom. But I’m not using self-check out.”

My mother in law gives me a look like I just told her that I’m George W Bush’s illegimate love child. “But, Chuck, it’s empty.” she said continuing to wave her hands frantically.

My wife, Samantha, slapped my arm. “Don’t start.” She said through gritted teeth.

I look at her then my mother in law. “Don’t start? I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying that I’m not using self checkout. I don’t care how empty the registers are.”

Samantha and Bane say in near unison, “Why?”

Why? That’s a good question. Well, I’m gonna tell you why. But I need to back track for a moment. I’m sure you’ve heard thousands of times, as I have, that America is a service culture. Let others build the ships, make the clothes. But us? We’ll just service each other. I’ll tell you, if service is our claim to fame, then we should be embarrassed. What kind of service are we providing? Any time you walk into a Home Depot, you can never find an employee. And if by chance you manage to unearth one, he’s usually surrounded by 3 or 4 other customers, waiting. And it isn’t like they’re waiting for a hot fudge sundae. These waiting people usually have less than happy looks on their faces.

What I love best, though, is that companies like Depot and Sears cry out to their employees “Customer Service. Customer Service!” Like a twisted Buddhist master, they repeat ad nauseum “The customer comes first. The customer comes first.” Yet, what is the first thing these companies due to save money? Cut employees. Does that make sense? I don’t get it. Or maybe I do. Sure, stores will sell you that they're all about customer service. What they don’t tell you on their slick, heavily rotated commercials is that they are all about customer SELF service.

“That maybe true, Chuck, but the self check out is still empty.” Bane repeats herself. She points over to the manned registers. “Look at those lines. They’ve got to be 5 people deep.”

She was right. The lines are out the whazoo on the manned registers. But, that’s why the stores do it. So you’ll have to check yourself out. It’s like they’re doing us the favor by providing the public with the convenience of self-check registers. But it’s the stores that created the situation on purpose. What kind of perk is that to the public? I’ll tell you. It isn’t! Like I don’t have enough to do in my life, I have to check myself out now?

But to prove to you it's less about the convenience for the public and more about companies making more money, let's do a little math, shall we? At any given store, they usually have 4 self checkout registers. And one cashier overlord (man, I would not want to be that cashier. Talk about a maddening job). We’ve got one employee working four registers. So now, the store doesn’t have to pay 3 cashiers all day. Now let’s suppose those 3 cashiers were making minimum wage, $5.45/hr. And let’s just say the store is open 12 hours. The store just saved itself $196.20/day not working to cover those registers. And I’m not even considering peripherals like medical benefits, vacations and such. Is any of that savings passed on to the consumer? Uhhhh…No. I would consider using those self-checkout registers if they gave you a percentage off your total for using them. An automatic discount off the total. Say even 5%. How nice would that be?

Besides, Have you tried using any of these registers yet? For those of us who never held a job as a cashier, or has been a while since we were, the self checkout register is a bit daunting. I would say that at some places, this might make sense. Perhaps at a gas station. But where it used the most, it makes the less sense. A supermarket? A hardware store? Half the items don’t even have UPC stickers on them. Oh, it’s maddening.

In the end, though, YOU are doing the work. What kind of customer service is that? So, not only are you helping yourself looking for the 12in PVC piping, but now you have to check yourself out. Brilliant!

But then my mother in law brings up this little nugget. “You pump your own gas, right? And you use the ATMs”

“That’s true. But, I’ve been conditioned to do these things. We all have. But, we have to ask ourselves, where does it end?” I ask pacing the tiled floor like a side show preacher. “Next, we'll be growing grains for Kellogg’s, processing it into cereal, boxing it for them, and finally buying it (at a self checkout, of course). Or we'll be processing our own gas from oil for Exxon/Mobile. I should keep my mouth shut, I’m probably giving people ideas.” I know it's a bit of a stretch, but surely YOU get my point.

My wife and mother in law both roll their eyes at me. "I know it’s crazy, but I still refused to use the self checkout. I'd rather use a register that's being manned by someone being paid to do the job." I plead

“Well, “ Bane speaks up. “I like it cause I don’t have to deal with the people at the register.” She scrunches up her face in disgust. “They touch all that dirty money all day. All those germs…” Bane trailed off.

This time it was me rolling the eyes. That whole germ thing is a whole ‘nuther Convesations with Bane. I pulled the cart away from them. “I’ll wait in line, then. You two can go sit in the car.”

They finally acquiesced. I heard my mother in law say as they were walking away, "I can't believe you married him." It would've been nice to hear my wife defend me with a "yea, but he's a great father" or "but, he's a really great lay". hell, i'd settle for a "he's a good provider". but, no. no defense of me. Just total agreement on my wife's part. Like, I'm the crazy one...

Science fiction has really let me down!

2009-03-10T22:35:00.002-04:00

I had a sad realization the other day while watching Back to the Future with my crüe over the weekend. Science fiction has seriously let me down. I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why? How? How could a movie made circa 1985 make you come to such a realization?” Well, let me tell you my uncanny mind-reading reader.

At the end of Back to the Future, Doc returns from 30 years in the future to collect Marty and his then girlfriend. Doc modified the Delorean with all sorts of technology from 30 years in the future. To the point where the Delorean transformed into a jet-type rocket and flew off into the end of the movie. As I watched the credits roll, I thought “God damn! The future is so cool! I can’t wait for the future.”

I wanna fly like an eagle. To the sea

But, then a more insidious thought crossed over my cerebral cortex. Doc went 30 years into the future. Thirty years from Marty’s present. Which was 1985. Because numbers aren’t my strong suit, I clamored through the kitchen’s junk drawer and pulled out the trusty old Texas Instrument. Thirty years from 1985 is...2015. That’s 6 years from now. SIX FUCKING YEARS FROM NOW, FOLKS! The future still ain’t here. And I have this sneaking suspicion it ain’t coming any time soon! What the fuck!?!?!?

Who says we haven’t advanced in 30 off years?

I grew up on Star Wars and Star Trek. (Yea, yea, yea. Technically Star Wars happened a long time ago. But, it was still pretty fucking future-ish, if you ask me). I remember as a kid watching the glory of the space shuttles rising majestically off the earth on TV. Weren’t the space shuttles supposed to herald in this new era of space travel? Weren’t we going vacation on grandiose space stations? And now that it’s almost thirty years later? We’re still on the same old boring planet. Where have all the cowboys gone?

The sad realizations is that, the “Future” ain’t coming. No flying Deloreans, no time traveling phone booths, and very limited space travel. The fact is humans aren’t meant for space travel. We’re just bags of water. So, unless we can find away to travel faster than the speed of light, interstellar travel isn’t in our future. Any time soon. And by any time soon, what I mean is at least hundreds of years. If not thousands.

Excellent!

I heard some boneheads on the radio getting all hot and bothered about the very distinct possibility that the new space telescope NASA tossed up the other day will find other Earth-like planets. Four years from now. Four fucking years from now! And what will happen if they confirm that there’s Earth-like planets four years from now? Oh, they’ll build another telescope to get better images of this far away planet. Are you with me here? Are you following the bouncing, red ball? What kind of time frame do you think were talking here? I’d say at least another four years on top of the four years it took just to confirm other Earth-like planets. So, in ten years we might, MIGHT have some grainy, pixelated images of a far-off planet.

WE ARE NEVER GETTING OFF THIS ROCK WERE SITTING ON!!!!

Who cares, right? Cause you know this in the kind of idiotic nonsense that’s waiting for us out in space

I guess the unintentional moral of this story is we should start taking better care of this planet of ours, ‘cause it’s looking like we’re stuck here. For a long, long time. But, as with all unintentional morals, we can just ignore it. Because we sure as shit ignore intentional ones!

I guess I really shouldn’t give up ALL hope. I mean, 2015 is still 6 years away. So, it’s possible the Back to the Future “Future” may happen, but it’s not looking to good. And the really sad part? Thirty years from 2015? Well, I’m afraid that the future is gonna look a lot like today. Just a bit more “future-ish.”

Ugh. It’s a good thing I don’t have a lightsaber. I might impale myself on it.

Pitch a Bitch: Eyeglasses

2009-03-06T20:21:00.002-05:00

I wear glasses. Well, I’m supposed to at least. I’m far too vain to wear them most times, though. I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why not just get that laser eye surgery?” Why? For the same reason I refuse to wear contacts. I don’t want anything touching my eyes. Got it? There’s something about the eyes that freaks me out. I mean, they’re just fragile orbs of goo that give us this amazing ability. Do you know that your eyes are extensions of your brain? Yea, that’s right. When the aliens come and rip out your spinal cord as you’re trying to run away in fear, they’ll be ripping out your brain AND your eyeballs, too.

does this give you the willies as much as it does me?

Besides, I don’t trust that whole “Laser-Assisted Sub-Epithelial Keratectomy” thing anyway. That’s that Lasek for all you morons out there. I don’t care how safe they claim it to be. Of course, they’re gonna tell you it’s safe! They’re probably descendants of the same folks that said radium was safe!

a hundred years from now, they’ll be telling you lasek is the worst thing you can do for your spleen

They want your friggin’ money! C’mon! You realize they’re shooting a laser at you, right? You’ve seen what lasers can do, right?

believe you me, laser vision isn’t nearly this cool.

But, I digress...

Vanity aside, I’ve taken to wearing my glasses. My eyes can’t take the strain of staring at porn for 12 hours a day. I’m getting old, what can I say? Beings that it’s been about 17 years since my last eye exam, I figure it’s about time. I’ve been a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, though. The last eye exam, didn’t go so well, considering I nearly passed out from the Glaucoma test. You know that test. It’s the one where they secure your head in that harness, clip your eye lids open and shoot that “puff” of air into your eyeball. How the fuck that test for Glaucoma, I’ll never know. I swear to the Christ, it’s a scam. The whole thing’s probably a ruse to give your eye doctor a chuckle. I don’t know for sure, though. I’m not a eye doctor, even though I play one on TV.

look at me! LOOK AT ME! and keep your fucking eyes open!

Now, my medical plan only covers the eye exam. Not the glasses. My insurance company “works” with some retail outfits to give you a “discount” on frames and lens. Which believe you me, ain’t much of a discount. But, as a wise man once said...something’s better than nothing.

And with that little bit of wisdom ping-ponging through my brain, I head to one of those insurance sanctioned retail outlets. In the store, I peruse all the frame displays. Apparently, all the frames are unisex these days. Some looked less unisex to me than, others. But, whatever. I picked up a few frames here and there, trying them on. I find a pair I like and ask one of the slaves working for the eye doctor man what the price was for the frames. They’re $300.00. THREE HUNDRED BUCKS! I’m not even going to abbreviate it. WHAT THE FUCK! Are you fucking me? Three hundred dollars for frames? You’ve got to be fucking me! And those were the cheap ones. I feel my mind snap as I pick up frame after frame and the slave for the eye doctor man rattles off prices like some sort of Rain Man. $300. $325. $415. $375. $500. Yea, that’s right. Half a grand!

I asked if they have any “reasonably” priced glasses. The slave points to the corner of the store where a bunch of old folks are huddled. Oh, fuck that. I ain’t wearing old people glasses. Nothing against old people. Some of my best friends are old people (not really), but I’m not wearing those type glasses. Remember, I’ve got that whole vanity thing going on.

What I don’t get is how come I can get a pair of sunglasses for 5 bucks, but frames for eyeglasses costing $300? That’s not even including the lens. I understand the lens costing $200. That’s the most important part. There’s working involved grinding the lens. But, frames? They sit on your fucking face! That’s it! WTFMMF?!?!? You realize what you’re paying for here, don’t you? And I ain’t referring to the brand name. You’re paying to get fucked!

The Glory of...Belinda Carlisle

2009-03-02T21:49:00.002-05:00

So, I was at a swanky soirée, the other day. Mixin’ and minglin’ with the beautiful people. It was great! Ahh…who my fucking? I was on one of those social networking sites, IM’ing some friends. During one of the conversations, I mentioned, randomly, that I still had a crush on Belinda Carlisle. Whew…did that raise some ire! I defended Ms.Carlisle’s honor. Very well, I might add. In doing so, the big guy upstairs sends me down the idear. It’s time to bring back “The Glory of…” And, thus, I bring you: The Glory of…Belinda Carlisle.

Can’t you tell she’s thinking about me?

I feel I have to qualify myself a bit here. I’m not saying I’ve got a crush on her today. No offense to Ms. Carlisle. I sure she’s still a very handsome women. I’m more talking back in her prime. Dang! What a piece of arse! Don’t believe me? Let’s climb aboard our Wayback machine and head back to the late 80’s.

The Wayback machine. It’s not as complicated as it looks.

The year is 1989. George Bush senior became the 41st president of the United States. The Exxon Valdez blew it’s load in Prince William Sound. And Belinda Carlisle was leaving a light on for me. Ok. Maybe Runaway Horses wasn’t that big of a hit, but Belinda sure was buttering my bread. Not literally, I was just a cheese, eating post high school douche. I meant it figuratively. She had it all. The hair. The smoldering look. That quiver in her voice. God, I still love that quiver.

oh baby...i’m mad about YOU!

I’m telling you, when that broad is singing: “...half your world is waiting, here for you.”? She’s singing it to me. Alright, she might not have known it consciously, but on some sub-conscious level? Oh, she’s singing it to me. Her soul’s singing it to me. I can feel it. I’ll prove it to you. Go find “Half the world” and give it a listen. Tell me she’s not wailing away for me. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Heaven is a place...in her eyes

Crap! I forgot. With all this talk of Belinda Carlisle, I forgot we were in our Wayback machine. And I’m quite sure you don’t have Belinda Carlisle on your iPod. You’re far to cool for that. {eye roll} I bet you’ve got Michael Jackson on there, though. Anyway…it’s probably time to head back into the Wayback machine and return home. This article is getting a bit stalker-ish. But, before we go, I’ll leave you with this:

Remember. Looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun.

Adventures in Theater Going Pt III

2009-03-01T21:21:00.001-05:00

If you haven’t already realized it, I can really drag a story out. So...welcome to part III! You can check out part II here.

Ok. Admittedly, I was in a bit of a panic. Especially when I hit the light of the lobby. The lump on Jericho’s head was not looking good. I quickly scanned the lobby looking for someone who worked there. It was the middle of the day. Of course it was empty! Figures. So, I head for the concession counter. Makes sense, right? Got to be someone standing there. The thing is, with these mega-theaters, the fucking counter is a mile long. And there was no one there. Fuck!

At this point, Jericho is screaming his head off. Finally, I spot someone at the far end of the concession counter. I think they were standing on mile marker 1111 on the highway to east Jabip.

hellooooooo???

“Excuse me!” I hollered, walking down the length of the counter. “Excuse me!”

“Yes?” The woman replied.

“My son banged his head on a seat in the theater.” I said catching my breath. I put Jericho on the counter.

The concession girl made her way to where we were standing. “Can I help…oh my!” She gasped.

“Yea.” I nodded acknowledging Jericho’s growing deformity. I continued to comfort him. “I need some help. Can you get me some ice? In a bag?”

“Ok. Yea.” The counter girl said, heading to the back room of the concession stand.

“Ok, Jericho. Ok.” I said, holding him to me. “Oh...and napkins or paper towels?!?!” I called after the counter girl.

She quickly came back with a bag of ice. As I wrapped the ice up in a towel, a crowd gather around us. A short blonde woman stepped up behind me.

“Hi.” She said quickly. “I’m the manager. Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m not sure.” I said, turning to her. “What more can I do besides ice?”

“Would you like me to call for an ambulance?”

I looked down at Jericho who was sobbing uncontrollably. What the fuck?!?! The paramedics! Great. I’m like a rich man shopping with his bored wife. Just watching the dollars fly by. The other kids were still in the theater, what the hell was I going to do with them? I could call my mom. What a cluster fuck! Was Jericho going to be permanently brain damaged? Was it possible that AIG could collapse by year’s end? “Yea...ok. Call for an ambulance.”

“I’ll be back.” She said, quickly running toward the courtesy desk.

Looking around the lobby, I picked Jericho up off the counter. “I’m going to take him by the wall over there.” I said to no one in particular, nodding to the corner of the theater.

“Is there anything else we can do?” The counter girl asked walking with me across the lobby.

“Yea.” I said, heaving Jericho onto my other arm. The kid weighed a ton! “I left my other kids in the theater. Three of them. They half way up. Their names are “H”, “Barbara” and “Jethro”. Could you just check on them for me. Let them know that I’m still out here?”

“Yea. Sure.” She turned and headed to the theater I had just walked out of a few moments ago.

Cradling Jericho, I slumped down, my back against the far wall. I began to notice that Jericho had stopped crying. I kept the ice pack on his head, which covered most of his face, mostly because I was afraid to look. I glanced around the lobby. Most of the workers had disappeared. Though the manager was making her way over to me.

“Dad?”

I abruptly looked down in my lap. “Jericho?” I questioned.

“Dad. Can I go and look at those video games?” Jericho asked pointing across the lobby to where a number of arcade machines blipped lights and made noises.

I gave him a quizzical look. Wasn’t he just screaming bloody murder? “No. I don’t think it’s a good idea right now, Jericho. Just sit here with me.”

“Sir?”

I looked up. The theater manager had crouched down to my eye level. “Here.” She said, handing me something. “These are complimentary passes. Five of them. You can use them at any time. Any theater.”

“Uh...thanks!” I said, surprised. Wow! Was I actually going to make out on this one?

I understand scienticians are using arcades to bring folks out of comas. For real!

“Dad?” Jericho said, sitting up in my lap. “I want to see those video games.”

The manager laughed. “The paramedics should be here any minute now.” She said, as Jericho stood up. “If you still need them, that is.”

I shrugged and shook my head as Jericho walked over to the tempting arcade games. I helplessly followed. “I’ll be over here.” I said to the theater manager. “When the medics arrive.”

Well folks, it looks like we’re staring down the barrel of Part IV...

The Rebuttal

2009-02-25T21:37:00.003-05:00

Well, you’ve heard or read everyone else’s opinion about the President’s address, you might as well read my admittedly ill-informed remarks on the Republican's rebuttal.

As a point of reference, I believe there’s very little difference between the Democrats and Republicans. We’re talking semantics here. Sure, sure. They have different “philosophies” on government. But, when all is said and done, we’re only talking a matter of degrees. They all bow before the same god…money.

That being said, I suppose I’m a tiny bit partial to the Democratic Party at this moment. A tiny bit. After eight years of ultra-conservative, backwards thinking Republican rule, I’m a bit sick of it already. Don’t be fooled. At this point, I’d be happy seeing Britney Spears running the country than any Republican.

Oh…but they try there best, don’t they? Those Republicans are trying so hard to win back our love. I’m watching Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana, rebut the president’s address the other day. First off, how clever is it that the Republican’s put up a minority figure to rebut the address. Sooooo…clever! Because, let’s fact it, if they put up another white man that looked like a banker, we might not here their “new” message. {eye roll}

NOT Bobby Jindal

Bobby Jindal spent the first 10 minutes of his speech giving us his life story. Hey, Bobby. I know you’re ethnic. I can see it. No offense, but no one gives shit one about your sob story of a life. It doesn’t matter how cleverly it ties into your message of the “new” Republican party. Spare me. At this point in the game, we all have a sob story. I don’t want to hear yours. Just tell me how the fuck you’re gonna fix the problems this country’s facing.

And as coincidence might have it, Bobby Jindal is Louisiana's governor, too. Let’s pull out our 7th grade geography text books for a second. I’ve got a pop quiz for you. Don’t worry. Don’t worry. It’s a take home quiz. Ready? Louisiana is home to which major city that had it’s dikes busted through by a level 4 hurricane a few years ago? That’s right! New Orleans. The very city, the very disaster that President Bush acknowledges as one of his biggest fuck ups! Now look, I’m not from that region of the country. And I certainly don’t speak for them, but for the love of the Christ, if I lived in that city and a Republican had the nerve to speak on my behalf, I’d be royally pissed. New Orleans survives and continues to fight, in spite of the Republican president/congress’s neglect. Certainly not because of them.

4 out of 5 seventh graders picked the red "X" for New Orleans

And I love the “new”/old message that the GOP is for small government. Yea. Yea. Yea. I heard Jindal acknowledge that government grew over the last eight years in his rebuttal. His acknowledgment doesn’t negate the fact, though. And how convenient that now that the power was stripped from them, the Republicans are preaching small government. That, and tax cuts. Whew! Those tax cuts sure are a great idea! I mean, hell, those 1.6 trillion dollars in tax cuts George Bush initiated back in 2001, worked wonders! You remember those, right? You don’t? Oh…no matter. We have the deficit to prove it. Because we financed those tax cuts by borrowing money. Yea, that’s right. We borrowed money for a tax cut, in “prosper” times. Small government, though.

Jindal had the audacity to say that he wasn’t going to take the money from the stimulus package. C’mon! I appreciate his principles. I do. There’s a time to stand on ceremony. And a time to know your role and shut the hell up (hint...now’s the time to know your role). If I were one of his constituents, I’d be knocking on that mansion door of his. How detrimental do these guys have to be? Know what? I think we should hold the smartass to his remarks. And there, my friends, there lies the problem. No one holds these guys accountable. For anything. Just ask a few of those bank CEOs.

I know it’s politics. I know it’s the same old thing. However, this isn’t the time. Politics be damned! I’m sick of the rhetoric. I’m tired of the sleight of hand. All the sudden the Republicans are looking out for us? They’re gonna be the watchdogs? Please. Spare me. How about for once the members of the Republican party do what they were elected to do? Serve the country. Help fix the fucking mess your party put this country in, or get the hell out of the way.

that’s almost how sick I am of the rhetoric. if it had more chunks in it, it’d be a tad closer to how sick I am

As for the Democrats…watch out. Time is clicking away.

An ugly, vicious circle

2009-02-23T21:37:00.001-05:00

Typically, I don’t write about celebrities. As a society, we are wayyyy too fixated on celebrity culture. Most celebrities are over-exposed prima donnas, who aren’t worth the press they get. Yea, I’m using a wide brush here, but come on. Instead of worshipping these over paid glory hounds, maybe we should spend a moment or two thanking the teacher that’s got to put up with that over crowded classroom. But, why should we? What kind of work do teachers do, anyway? They get weekends and the whole summer off, right?

{eye roll} whatever...

I find this whole thing about Rihanna and Chris Brown very disturbing. And just like any other celebrity controversy, the news of her beating is all over the place. She’s on the cover of every “news” rag in town. And now that haunting, leaked image of Rihanna’s beaten face is all over the internets. You can’t escape it.

Look, I don’t claim to know the whole story. In fact, I really don’t know any of the story. I really don’t have a vested interest. Musically, I can’t say I’m a big fan of hers. It’s mostly ear candy. But, the kid is cute. As for him, I wonder when this whole over-the-top rap/ faux R&B thing is going to go away. For the love of the Christ, even hair metal didn’t last this long. Where is rap’s Nirvana???

So, I ask the rhetorical question: Why would anyone beat up on her? Obviously she’s attractive, talented and popular. Even if she’s the biggest pain in the ass, even if she’s nagging your ass day in and day out to take out the fucking trash (which I’d be willing to wager dollars to donuts the two of them have enough money to pay someone to take out the trash) she still doesn’t deserve to be smacked around.

The way I see it, one of the biggest problems we have today, is that there’s no one to teach these boys how to be men. There’s no one to show these boys how to rise above their anger. Lashing out is the easiest, the simplest path to take. Rising above that rage, that’s what a man is. That’s what a man does.

But, what do these boys see instead? Money. Fame and notoriety. It’s every where. In the music, on TV. You can’t escape it. You’ve got MTV glorifying it on Cribs. Worse yet on that show My Super Sweet Sixteen. Kids who just want. And want. And want.

Who are the role models? The kid just getting out of high school with the multi-million dollar NBA contract? How the hell can he be expected to be a role model? Or how about the poor kid lucky enough to get a record deal because he can rap or sing? These kids are thrust into the spotlight, having no depth, no maturity, no wisdom. And no one to show them the way. Yet, they’re expected to be role models? Forget about being a role model. How can we expect them to be men?

And those are the lucky ones. For every kid that “makes” it, how many don’t? All we’re left with are angry, bitter youths who don’t give a shit about anything, let alone someone else. We’re left with frustrated boys who take it out on the girls. Because they don’t have real role models to show them how to rise above and be a man. It’s an ugly, vicious circle.

Unfortunately, until we start caring a bit more about each other, rather than how much money Joe and Jane Celebrity has, what we can expect more of, is this:

Weekend Special: Silly rabbit, Razors are for kids

2009-02-21T18:18:00.002-05:00

in getting what hopefully is the final installment of Adventures in Movie Theater Going together, i thought back on an incident i had with one of those Razor scooters. the scooter incident really had nothing to do with the movie theater incident, other than the fact that I was involved. the kids, too. but this time, i was the one getting hurt. and pain = funny. so..."

by the Juice
originally published August 2007

In case you hadn’t already known, the Juice is a bit of a tool. And by a bit, I mean certifiably tool-ish. Why? You might inquire. Well, let the Juice explain…

The other day, the Juice was playin’ with the kids. Yea, the Juice can have SOME fun with my kids once in awhile. It usually involves planets alignin’ or a blue moon risin’, but nonetheless, the kids and the Juice ain’t always at each others throats. The Juice bitches a good game, but we can have fun. Once in awhile. Besides, any reason for the Juice to act like an asshole, and embarrass the kids at the same time, is good fun in my book.

So, the Juice is ridin’ on one of the kids’ Razor scooters. Now, this is like walkin’ a tight rope without a net for the Juice. It just ain’t wise. It’s probably wiser ridin’ a cycle without a helmet, then for the Juice to ride a Razor scooter. Cause more than likely, the Juice is gonna damage something ridin’ this thin wheeled skull buster (hence the name “Razor”). But, the kids were laughin’ (probably at the Juice) and havin’ what seemed like a good time. So, what the hell, right?

Lil known fact about the Juice, I ain’t much of a shoe wearer. Sure, sure. I’ll wear ‘em to social functions, cause society says I should. I wear ‘em to places like McDonald’s or my local Slow n Stop. But, only cause it’s “the law”. No shirt, no shoes, no service kinda thing. Otherwise, I don’t wear footwear. It’s not cause the Juice don’t like shoes. Or the Juice has purtty feet. Neither are the case. I just don’t wear shoes. I know. I know. I know what yer thinkin’. Yer thinkin’: “the Juice, if you don’t wear shoes, don’t you step on things?” Yup. I sure do. Legos, Barbie accessories, dried play-doh. You name it, the Juice’s step in it. Includin’ poo, pee and throw up. The kids’ and the dog’s. Ya think the Juice would learn his lesson? Nah. And I gotta tell ya, pound for pound the worst thing to step on is a Lego piece. That’ll piss ya off more than any dang thing. But, I digress…

Razor scooters are equipped with a nice feature, a lever on the back wheel that ya press down on to slow the scooter down. It’s a brake, duh. The Juice is racin’ the neighborhood kids bare foot on the scooter. And, oh yea, the Juice is winnin’ every race. Stupid kids. They’re so slow. That’ll teach ‘em for havin’ short legs. Anyway, this one race in particular, the Juice was damn near approachin’ the speed of light, I’m goin so fast. Jethro and Barbara are seriously eatin’ my exhaust. I handedly win the race. I press down on the brake to do my victory lap around those lil turds and nearly fly off the scooter. The brake was so flippin’ hot, the Juice burned the pad of my bare foot.

Before ya call the Juice a sissy, which is your god given right, let me first defend myself here by sayin’ I’ve got a blister the size of a quarter on my foot. Now, go ahead. Make yer fun. Cause lord knows those brats of mine did. Sure, they were helpful with their advice AFTER I had a second degree burn on my foot.

“the Juice, are you alright?” Barbara asked, concerned.

A group of kids had form a circle around where the Juice was holdin’ his foot, cryin’. “No, the Juice is not alright. I’ve nearly burned my foot off. That brake sure gets hot!”

“Yea, ya shouldn’t ride those scooters without shoes on.” said the neighborhood blond doofus through a wad of gum the size of his rag tag 4 year old younger sister’s head.

“Gee…thanks, for the heads up, Freddie.” The Juice said, trying to get up. “Damn, that’s hurts.” The sole of the Juice’s foot continued to swell beyond the boundaries of what a normal foot should swell to.

“Ha! Ha!” the neighborhood kids, includin’ the Juice’s, laughed. “Look at yer foot.” The little bastards pointed. “It’s bigger than yer head almost.”

“Go ahead laugh,” the Juice hobbled to his house. “Yer day’s comin’. And when it does, believe you me the Juice’ll be right up in yer grill laughin’ harder then a blind man high on laughin’ gas.”

“Ha! Ha!” They continued to point and laughed. “Stupid the Juice! Ha! Ha!”

What's the moral of this tale? Just 'cause yer family don't mean if ya do something stupid, they ain't gonna laugh in yer face! Not what you expect the moral to be, huh????

Didja here the one about the toddler and the condom?

2009-02-19T23:00:00.007-05:00

Philly.com. Dad had gone out to get coffee and breakfast. Mom was helping their 4-year-old son on the toilet. Their 9-year-old daughter was playing Nintendo.
That was how the morning of Jan. 3 played out for the Wolfe family of Massachusetts inside Room 142 of the Homewood Suites in Mount Laurel, Burlington County. Soon, the Wolfes would pack up and finish their long drive home from Florida.
But, wait: The couple's 22-month-old son was supposed to be on the hotel's pull-out sofa, watching TV. Instead, according to a federal lawsuit filed this week in New Jersey, the toddler was choking on a used condom that had been left in their room before they checked in.
When Amy Wolfe heard her youngest child chewing and choking on the condom, she rushed over to help him and retrieved it from his mouth, but according to the lawsuit, the boy already had "ingested the contents."...

Now, I can’t claim credit here. I can’t claim credit for finding this story. I heard it being discussed on the radio the other day and had to look it up myself. But, let’s face it...you don’t come here for breaking news. You come here for the funny. At least in theory, you come here for the funny. Unfortunately, there ain’t much funny about this story. It kinda gives me the willies. And by the willies, I mean it makes my stomach turn. It makes my stomach turn so fucking much that I can’t even read the whole article.

But, for you, I’ll soldier on.

don’t be fooled. not good eats

Put yourself in that mother’s shoes for a moment. Look, I’ve got a hundred kids. I know where this woman’s at when she comes out of the bathroom after wiping that 4 year old’s ass. You see little Johnny choking on something by the couch. You panic a little. And as you make your way over to where the kid is choking you think: “What the fuck is he choking on.” You dig your fingers into that kid’s gullet (and let’s face it, it doesn’t matter if you washed your hands after you wiped that other kid’s ass, once figure out what he’s choking on) and you pull out...a what? Is that a condom?

it’s best to keep your toddlers away from this. dogs too.

Let me ask you? Do you puke on the spot? I probably would.
The worst part of this whole thing is that’s it’s “out there”. I mean it’s OUT THERE. Kinda like seeing your mom and dad fucking “out there”. It’s something you’re never gonna forget. Every time that family looks at that kid, somewhere in the back of their collective minds they’re thinking “ingested the contents”. You can’t get rid of it. No amount of therapy, bleach or high power magnets is going to ever make you forget “ingested the contents”. The day little Johnny gets married, he’ll be having his mother and son dance. Know what the mom’s going to be thinking? “What a lovely time (ingested the contents)! I’m so happy for Johnny (ingested the contents)! I wonder if he really did swallowed the contents of that condom (ingested the contents). Maybe he didn’t? It’s possible. Oh, Christ! Where are my pills!”

please lord. let me make it through this dance without thinking about "ingested the contents". fuck! i thought about it!

C’mon! Don’t get an attitude with me! You know I’m right. They might as well either put that kid up for adoption and move on the best they can or all get full frontal lobotomies. Because it’s always going to be “out there”.

The lawsuit claims the family has suffered “severe mental anguish”. You know what? I believe them. For the love of the Christ...I’m suffering severe mental anguish just reading about it. I wonder if they’d consider including me in their lawsuit. Cause I know there’s no way I’m gonna stop thinking about “ingested the contents” any time soon...

Emails 2/16

2009-02-16T22:24:00.002-05:00

Surprisingly enough, with only being “live” for less than two months, we’ve received a number of emails from some folks out there in the internetsland. Surprisingly coherent emails, I might add. But, don’t let me try and convince you, see for yourself...

Cameron from Tucson writes in:

Hey, Jesse. The other day I read your The Glory of... from the archives. I remember reading your The Glory of...from your Juice sayeth site. You’re not really considering bringing back that are you? Don’t you think it’s a bit sexist? Aren’t there enough sites out there that objectify women? I think you should leave it in the past.

Thanks for writing in, Cameron. I appreciate your input. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but happy to say, we’ll be returning to “The Glory of...” Now before you delete our bookmark, let me explain. I admit in the past, I was a bit sexist with “The Glory of…’ Believe you me, you’re not the only one who accused me of objectifying women. Whew...did I get a ton of emails about it.

so true. so fucking true...

But, those were the old days. It’s a new beginning here at Truth is Truth. That being said, I’m going to open up “The Glory of…” to all things I appreciate. Taking a cue from my article about Funnel cake, I’m going to use “The Glory of…” banner to talk up all things great in life. Anything and everything. Which, probably to your chagrin, will also include women.

Look at it this way. I don’t write as the Juice anymore. And the Juice was, well, angry. To say the least. But me? Not so much. I’m not here to objectify, rather appreciate. Appreciate the beauty in all things. A sunset. A 2010 Shelby Cobra. Cool Whip. And even a woman the likes of Belinda Carlisle (that’s what they call in the biz, foreshadowing). So, Cameron, I hope you’ll stick with us. Even if I might occasionally go on about a hot piece of arse...

Onward and upward.

Kathy from Ft. Myers threw us a line:

Like ur blog and all. But, Why so long to get to ur point? Why so many parts?

Well, Kathy. It’s like this...I’ve just got a lot to say. It’s not even that I’ve got a lot to say. I just tend to ramble. See, I like to keep my articles at around 750 words. Studies show that folks out in internetsland have a horribly small attention span. And if anything gets to wordy, their minds tend to bleed out their ears. Which, is bad.

Perfect example. In writing my article about Bernie Madoff and Ponzie schemes, I realized 3/4 of the way through I was at a mind bursting 800 words and hadn’t written a single word explaining what a Ponzi scheme was. I went back and added a short tap dance explaining it. That threw the article into an internets shattering 1100 words! I want people to read the shit, not just click through. So, I took out the explanation and left the article at 800+ words.

i don’t know. it just seemed to fit here...

But, now I have all the genius of explaining exactly how a Ponzi scheme works. You see my dilemma? What am I supposed to do with those 300 odd words explaining how the scheme works? Usually, it would mean 2 parts. But, I have something special planned for those 300 words. So, stay tuned.

Now you can see why these articles go two or three (mostly three) parts long. I’ve got to keep it short and sweet for all the idiots out there (not you Kathy). And keeping it short and sweet makes these articles drag out. Just look at where we’re at with Adventures in Movie Theater Going. Someday I’ll get to part 3. Someday.

So there you have it. Just some of the inner workings here at Truth is Truth. Keep those emails coming. Except for you fucking spammers. God! I hate spam!!!

Weekend Special: Powerball

2009-02-15T22:06:00.004-05:00

yea. yea. yea. i know. the weekend special is a bit late this weekend. it's Sunday night for the love of the Christ! what can i tell you? i'm a lazy, lazy man. but, pointing out my deficiencies isn't going to get this article up yesterday, now is it? i don't think so. so, let's put the past behind us, and laugh our collective arses off with this classic from the archives about how ungood it is to win the powerball...

by the Juice
originally published 10/05

I gotta tell ya, the Juice pities the poor bastard who wins the $320 million Powerball. Yea, you read that right. You can shove your peepers back into your noggin. I’ll give you a second to do so.

Now, on the surface that seems like a pretty fucking stupid statement. Even comin’ from the Juice, right? The Juice ain’t known for his high IQ, or high EQ for that matter. But, hear me out. The Powerball is at somethin’ like 6 billion dollars these days. Is that really necessary? Now the Juice don’t play the lottery. Ever. It’s a waste of time and money. Think about it. You got better odds of gettin' clubbed by a gang of blood thirsty, vengeful baby seals, then winnin’ the lottery. You’ve got better odds of bein’ abducted by aliens and bein’ used by said aliens for their weird sexual experiments, then winnin’ the lottery. Hell, you’ve got better odds of bein’ invited to one of the “blow job” parties Oprah’s always goin’ on about, then winnin’ the lottery. But, hey, don’t let the Juice stop ya. You just keep on wastin’ your money. And, hey, since you’re wastin’ your money, why not send that cash to a good cause? Like the Juice, for instance. Now, that gives me an idear. Perhaps the Juice should start his own lottery. I mean, the second you morons hear the word “lottery”, your wallets get all juicy.

Besides, did ya ever once really consider what would happen if ya really won all that money? Yea, I know. You’d do this, you’d buy that. You’d fuck her over there, then you’d fuck that one over here. You’d give so much for mommy to go away. You’d buy your brother 17 cars, but that’s it! No more after that! You’d even buy your neighbor a “happy ending.” But what happens after you spend all that dough? Or even half the dough? There’s only so many houses you can buy. Only so many cars you can trash. There’s a psychological difference between “earnin’” your money over time and have a safe drop on your head. And believe you me, there ain’t no way on the Christ’s blue planet that you’re psychologically ready for a windfall like that. What happens when everythin loses it’s meanin'? You know , like when you repeat a word too many times. Try it. Pick a word, any word, and keep on repeatin’ it. Try “vagina”. Repeat that several hundred times. It loses it meanin’ after awhile (or makes ya want to bang something).

Think the Juice has lost his marbles? Probably. One too many meat tenderizers to the ol noggin. But the Juice maintains that people don’t know what to do when they win all that cash. See for yourself: Check this out and this one. Then tell the Juice he’s K razy.

See, your puny mind can’t comprehend the repercussions of winnin’ 320 million dollars. For the rest of your days, you’ll be inundated with people beggin’ you for money. It’s like a PBS telethon all day, every day. And I ain’t talkin’ just about your insane relatives, either. Although, there’s no doubt they’ll be mind fuckin’ ya til ya die. No. I’m talkin’ about every charity and charity cases under the sun. Mailin’ ya letters, emailin’ ya, callin' all hours of the night, knockin’ at your door. Think the Juice is kiddin’? I ain’t. And that’s just the beggars. I won’t even mention the slightly less desirable elements. Actually, I will mention them: Thieves, scam artist and grifters. I know. I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’: “Whoa! Whoa! What’s that you say, the Juice? Thieves, scam artist and grifters? Oh my! Who said anything about thieves, scam artist and grifters? I thought my life would be roses and Tastykakes after I won the lottery!” You think that ‘cause you watch entirely too much TV. For the love of the Christ turn off the friggin TV for once. Believe you me, it’ll still be there tomorrow.

Just like that fuckin’ Genie said…Be careful what you wish for, it may come true! Real spooky, huh? I always hated the “morals” of those stupid stories. So dang preachy. Can’t they just leave us folk alone? Anyway…I’m outta here. I got 50 bucks worth of Powerball tickets to buy.

It's not called a "Potsie" scheme.

2009-02-12T22:42:00.004-05:00

How about that Bernie Madoff, huh? Wow! Where to begin. Where to begin. Let me tell you something, this cat is one lucky dude. Why? Because this “story” of him stealing BILLIONS of dollars is breaking at the best possible time for him. We’ve got the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression, a new president and a whole helluva lot of bickering going on how the government is going to stave off said economic crisis. Then there’s that whole Jessica Simpson weight thing. Ughhh...talk about getting wayyy too much attention.

The way I see it, Madoff should thank his lucky stars. Cause I’ll tell you, his story isn’t getting nearly the press it should, considering the magnitude and the ramifications of it. This guy screwed so many people so hard, there’s really nothing funny about it. But, if you’re like me, and I know that you aren’t, you’re too busy following Congress fucking up this stimulus package to even spare a second on any other news. Unless, of course, you’re one of the THOUSANDS of people who were ripped off by Madoff, this story probably isn’t even a blip on your radar. So, let me break this shit down for you...

Bernie Madoff is the dude with the royally screwing Ponzi scheme. I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Ponzi Scheme? What the fuck is a Ponzi scheme anyway? Wasn’t he the singing dork from Happy Days?” Let me tell you something, if that’s what you’re thinking you must be reading my mind. Cause it’s eerily similar to what's been going through my cerebral cortex. Seriously, what the fuck is a Ponzi scheme? Sure, everyone knows it’s a pyramid scheme. Where the creep at the top gets all the money, while everyone underneath ends up getting fucked. But, how’s that different than everyday life?

no, he’s not “Ponzi” Weber, doofus!

Because I care about the product here at Truth is Truth, I did a little research. Just a little, because believe you me, I’m not much into research. Who wants to be bothered with all those facts? As it turns out, though, a Ponzi scheme is named after another shyster named Tony Ponzi. Apparently, this guy took the pyramid scheme to a new level. He screwed so many people that “they” coined the term after him. But, none of this explains what the hell a Ponzi/pyramind scheme really is. And if I take the time to explain it here, this article’s going to end up running six or seven parts. And do we really want that right now??? Take it from me, a Ponzi scheme is a real fuck-fest. And not the good kind with lots of sexy hookers, either.

Anyway...as of right now, Madoff has the distinct honor of running the largest investment fraud, ie Ponzi Scheme, by a single person. Nice, huh? I say “as of right now”, because there’s no way on god’s blue marble this cat did this work on his own. The folks running the investigation of Madoff believe this scheme has been going on since the 70’s! No way this guy did it all himself. Someone else was involved. He’s covering. Who, though? His kids?

But, wait. I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. The guy stole some money, right? What’s the big deal, right? The government just tossed 350 billion at some banks last year. And is getting ready to throw some more to those fine institutions. What’s the big deal? I’ll tell you. It’s estimated that he’s stolen 50 BILLION DOLLARS. This guy stole from EVERYONE! Not only did he steal from us “ordinary” folk (not me pray tell. i don’t have two wooden nickels to my name), but he stole from the famous, too. Madoff even stole from his fucking lawyer! Nothing was off limits to this guy! Charities? Oh, he stole from them too! He stole from the very charities that he sat on Boards.

he’s the reason why i ain’t got no money. click the pic to read why

And they kept on stealing! It’s coming out now, that his wife yanked 15 million dollars out of her accounts the weeks leading up to his arrest. 15 million dollars. Oh, and let’s not forget about the million dollars worth of jewelry she was mailing out to relatives after their assets were frozen. Madoff even had 173 million dollars worth of checks made out that were to be sent to family and friends. Thankfully, the checks were found before they were sent. But, still. I ask. Who the fuck do these people think they are?

Now, it’s bad enough that he stole all that money. But someone killed themselves over this. One of his clients, a French dude that I don’t want to dis-respect fucking up his name, lost over a billion dollars investing with Madoff. Over a billion dollars!!! I get pissed when I leave 20 bucks in my pants pocket. Can you imagine having a billion dollars stolen from you???

But the part that really sticks in my crawl??? Madoff is currently under house arrest. Why? Because it was a “white collar” crime? Does that make it ok? Someone killed himself because of this clown. And he gets house arrest? He stole from charities, and this cat gets to sleep in the comfort of his own bed? There something seriously wrong with this situation. Until we start going after clowns like Madoff, Wall Street banks and bankers are going to keep on ripping us all off.

But, hey, I hear Jessica Simpson lost all that weight she put on 5 days ago...

Food! Glorious food!

2009-02-09T23:00:00.006-05:00

I had a whole different article scheduled for today. It was a blazing piece about Madoff and Ponzi schemes. But, as I’m sitting in the café at work today, inspiration struck me like a lightening bolt. Ok. Well, not really. Truth be told, I wasn’t quite finished the Ponzi scheme article. I’d be done by the time I wanted it done. But, I just wasn't feeling it. You know? However, I was sort of inspired by some tasty treats over the last few days. It just didn’t hit me like lightening. I was being dramatic. What do you want from me? I’m trying to sell newspapers here.

Anyway, during my mid-mid-afternoon break at work today, I partook in probably one of the best crumb cakes ever. Whereas I was being a bit dramatic earlier, I ain’t now. I’m serious as the day is long. It was the best crumb cake ever. And it wasn’t a fluke, either. No. You can purchase this little slice of heaven at your local Wawa. Yea. For real. No shit!

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: What is so great about this crumb cake that you have to pre-empt a very informative article about Ponzi schemes? Well, let me learn you all about it. I got this crumb cake for the first time a few weeks ago on a lark. Wawa has all sorts of delectable naughties on display. I’m usually pretty good about avoiding that donut case. But, this time, something caught my eye. A 4 x 4 square of powdery, crumby delight. I ignored it the best I could, but it was flaunting it’s deliciousness like a hooker with a black push up bra that’s a size to small. You know what I’m talking about. The kind of bra that pushes their boobs all out there in your face and makes you want to touch…uhhh. Well, never mind.

let me tell you, it’s not even close to what Wawa sells

I bought my sandwich that fateful day, successfully avoided that confectionary temptation and left Wawa. I’m halfway to my car when it's siren song hits me. The crumb cake, not the hooker. What do i do? I head right back into that store and buy the crumb cake. Yea. That’s right. I went back into Wawa and bought that crumb cake like the pathetic “John” I am. And it was worth every penny! So, long story short here, next time you’re in a Wawa do yourself, Wawa, and the economy a favor. Buy one of those crumb cakes.

And speaking of donuts, over the weekend I had probably one of the greatest donuts ever. Oh yea. These were donuts that the big guy upstairs eats. He doesn’t waste his time with Dunkin’. Oh no. He chows down on these globs o’ lard! So, how did a mere mortal such as myself come to partake in god’s donuts? Well, for months my brother, a connoisseur of all things delicious, was ranting and raving about these donuts he got from Shoprite. Using all sorts of unnecessary adjectives and superlatives (must run in the family). He was hyping the shit out of these things. Finally after months of yaking, the big man finally thinks of someone other than himself, and brings the donuts over. Believe you me, they were better than my brother, the King of Eats, could ever describe.

clearly this is NOT one of god’s dounts. he wouldn’t even make YOU eat it!

So what was so great about these donuts? Let me tell you, they were short on donut and long on cream. I realize after listening to those words in my head, that didn’t come out quite right. But, you get the point. They were all goodness where goodness counts. So, long story short, next time you’re in Shoprite do yourself, Shoprite and the economy a favor. Buy a baker’s dozen of those donuts

And speaking of donuts, I read a very depressing article today over at Yahoo. Turns out Moody’s Investment service is predicting Krispy Kreme to go out of business in 2009. WTF!!! It’s bad enough there isn’t a Krispy Kreme within three hundred miles of my house. When a few short years ago, there used to be three. Now the whole company may go belly up? Again, I ask WTF!!! Stupid upper management!!! Expanding the company too fast. If there’s ever a time when as a country we’re gonna need comfort foods, it’s now! Now is not the time for Krispy Kreme to go out of business. In fact, never is a time for them to go out of business.

stupid krispy kreme going out of business. wasting all that delicious goodness

Stupid Krispy Kreme. I pray to the Christ someone has got their secret donut recipe and plans to do something for the greater good with it after they close.

PS - Don't fret. I'll have the Ponzi scheme article all ready for you by Friday. You'll just have to keep your panties bunch-free until then.

Weekend Special: Body Removed from Sierra Glacier

2009-02-08T10:24:00.006-05:00

you could say this post was the precursor to Why Banks Suck Pt III: The commercial. just like everything else, i have no idea where the madness behind the below post came from, but just like everything else, it made me laugh...

by the Juice
originally published 11/2005

Body removed from Sierra glacier after decades encased in ice

Hol-lee shit! Have you seen this article? I can’t believe it! It’s…it’s….it’s…Captain Fuckin’ America!

I’m sure all your non – superhero fans don’t have idea one what the Juice is goin’ on about. I’m equally as sure that you don’t give shit one. If that be the case, you can always click here (if I were you, I’d make sure the sound volume was down before clickin’ that link. But, thank the maker, I ain’t you. So do whatever you please.)

Gettin’ back to Captain America…Cap’n was originally a WWII soldier known as Steve Rodgers. Steve was a scrawny lil piece of crap. Ya know, kinda like that douche bag who used to get the sand kick at him in those old Greg Atlas ads in the back of comic books. According to legend, the government gave Steve Rodgers a shot of “super-soldier” serum. More than likely that “super-soldier” serum was a placebo. The government was probably just fuckin’ with Steve, just to get him out of the service, the worthless piece of shit. Long story short, Steve Rodgers/Captain America gets the super-soldier shot, becomes a bad mother fucker, and starts kick ass. Believe you me, he wasn’t takin’ any names. Just kickin’ ass.

The good Captain was thought to have “died” takin’ down those friggin’ Nazi’s on some crazy ass mission. His sidekick, Bucky, did die, though. I’ll tell ya, ya couldn’t pay me enough to be a sidekick. All the pain, none of the glory. Ya either die, or ya gotta wear those lil Robin pants. And how gay is that (my apologies to my homosexual readers)?

Lucky for us, Captain America didn’t die. He was just frozen in a block of ice, which conveniently didn’t kill him. One day the Captain America ice cube comes floatin' ashore. The Avengers thaw him out and Waaa laaa! Fresh Captain America!

Now what does this comic book history lesson have anything to do with the way French women shave their backs? I’ll tell ya. I’d be willin’ to wager dollars to donuts, that what those scienticians are workin' on right now to unfreeze that WWII serviceman in the above article. Not for science of history or anything. Shit. WWII wasn’t that long ago. There’s still some soldiers around to tell them what the war was like. No. These scienticians are prayin’ to the Christ that once they thaw this guy out, he’s gonna be Captain America.

What's the matter with these scienticians? First it's clonin' dinosaurs, then it's tryin' to bring frozen soldiers back to life. Sheesh! Once they get Captain America up and runnin' again, what do they think he’s gonna do? Solve all our problems? Is the newly thawed Cap’n gonna be like: “Got bank robbers? No problem! Cap’n America will take care of that!” Or: “Got drug dealers? No problem! Cap’n America will take care of that!” Or: “Got money launderin’ politicians? Uhhhh…I guess Cap’n America can take care of that.” Or: “Got doctors performin’ abortions? Hmmmmmm…Cap’n America’s not real sure about that one.” Or: “Got soldiers dyin’ in Iraq? !?!?!?!? What the hell do ya want Cap’n America to do? What ever happened to the mad scienticians who wanted to take over the world? Whatever happened to the bad guys who wanted to destroy a city unless we paid them 2 million dollars? Where’s the Red Skull? I can’t stand this ambiguity.”

The Juice kinda pictures it goin down like this:

click to see larger

What? You think I got anything to say after that?

Adventures in Movie Theater Going. Pt II

2009-02-05T22:10:00.003-05:00

You can catch up here

There’s something weird about watching something ungood happen. It’s a sort of out of body experience. It’s like the camera angle switches from your eyes, to right above your head. At least that’s what it felt like, as I scooped Jericho’s unmoving form off the theater floor.

Expecting a bloody mess, I quickly flipped him over and scanned him. Except for a red knot between his eye, he looked ok. He wasn’t making a sound, though. In fact, he was pretty lifeless in my arms. I propped him up on my leg, brushed the hair off his face and tried talking to him. Nothing. The red knot on his head was clearly getting bigger, though. And at this point, I’m starting to panic.

The human mind, as opposed to the mind of a chinchilla is an amazing thing. The movie was incredibly loud. But, all I heard was silence. Silence from the contorted form in my arms. Then, as if the Big Guy upstairs sent down a bolt of lightening, Jericho let out an ear piercing scream.

sorta like this, only this kid needs a smackin’! carryin’ on like that!

Because I’m admittedly a bit dim-witted, the realization is slowly dawning on me. I’m in a bit of a pickle. Do I take the kids and leave the theater? Do I wait and see how Jericho pans out? But, as I was consoling him, the knot between his eyes was more of a lump. Yea...even in the dark I could tell it wasn’t good.

“Trixie!” I called out through gritted teeth to my oldest daughter.

“What?” She replied, clearly annoyed.

“I’m gonna take Jericho out to the lobby. You stay here with Barbara and Jethro. Ok?”

No answer.

“Trixie!” I said much louder this time.

“What???” She answered still watching the movie.

“Trixie! I’m gonna take....”

“Ok! Ok! Take him outside. Fine!” She interrupted me.

Twelve year olds!!!!

Of course the second I get up, Barbara and Jethro start wigging out.

“You’re leaving?” they cried together.

“No! I am not leaving you.” I insisted, Jericho still screaming in my arms. “I’m only taking Jericho to the lobby to see if he’s alright. Just watch the movie. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“But, we want to come with you!” Barbara pleaded.

“Please, Daddy!” Jethro chimed in.

God damn! They’re killing me here. “Look.” I said, getting down on one knee so I was on their level. “I’ll be right back. I just want to get some ice for Jericho’s head. I want to make sure he’s ok. You’ll be fine. Trixie’s here. Stay with her. I’ll be right back.”

“Dad! Don’t leave us.” They continued to plead.

sorta like this, only Santa wasn’t there. i'm tellin' ya, Santa's evil!

“I am NOT leaving either of you!” I said through gritted teeth. This was getting ridiculous! I can’t tell you how many times I had to take one of them to the bathroom, during a movie, and left the others with Trixie with no problems. But, now that Jericho’s growing another head, they’ve got issues?!?!? “I am NOT leaving ANY OF YOU!!! I’ll be back in a few minutes! Ok?!?!”

“Ok.” They begrudgingly accepted their fate.

“Ok. I’ll be right back.” I turned down the row.

“Dad???” Jethro called out.

I almost didn’t turn around. I took a deep breath. Keep in mind Jericho’s still screaming his lungs out here. “What????” I called back, glancing over my shoulder.

“Get more popcorn.”

Onto part III

Friday Teaser: Adventures in Movie Theater Going Pt II

2009-02-04T22:57:00.003-05:00

Whet your Friday appetite with...this:

“I am NOT leaving either of you!” I said through gritted teeth. This was getting ridiculous! I can’t tell you how many times I had to take one of them to the bathroom, during a movie, and left the others with Trixie with no problems. But, now that Jericho’s growing another head, they’ve got issues?!?!? “I am NOT leaving ANY OF YOU!!! I’ll be back in a few minutes! Ok?!?!”

Why Banks Suck Pt III: The commercial.

2009-02-03T21:47:00.004-05:00

Yea, yea, yea. I know it's late. Go complain to your local senator/congressman. See if I care!

click to embiggen

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Tuesday Teaser: Why Banks Suck Part III: The Commercial.

2009-02-01T11:34:00.005-05:00

Welcome to Our Re-education

2009-01-31T14:25:00.001-05:00

This financial/economic crisis we’re in isn’t eight years in the making. This is DECADES of neglect. And you and I, “Generation X”, we’re paying for the neglect. We’ve been sold a bad bag of goods, folks. The baby boomers, they let us down. We’ve been raised by TV and schooled to consume. Numbly consume. And we do it. Look around you. We do it well. And guess what? Not only are we consuming zombies, but, we’re teaching our children the same fucking thing.

In the end, I guess we really can’t blame the baby boomers. What do they know? What have they lived through? Only the most prosperous decades this country has ever seen. Sure, they’ll point to Vietnam and Watergate and the civil rights movement. Great. They lived through all those terrible times. Forty fucking years ago. I got news for you, folks. What we are facing right now, is going to make the late 60’s look like a fucking cake walk. And in the meantime, they’ve spent every fucking year since the end of the 60’s, consuming. Making money. To have more things. And for what????

These are the folks we’re letting handle this crisis. People who only care about money. They only know selfishness, greed and consumption. It doesn’t work any more. It won’t work ever again. Yet, we’re letting them make the decisions? I don’t want someone who’s studied the Great Depression to hand out billions of dollars. I want someone who’s been through it, to guide us through this nightmare. Someone who’s turned a trouble company around, maybe. Someone who’s qualified to handle a crisis. Where are these people? Where are today’s leaders???

They say the folks that lived thru WW I, survived the great depression and won WW II were the greatest generation. I say fuck that. WE can be the greatest generation. Us, the wrongly coined “Generation X”. WE have the tools, WE have the minds and the technology to change everything. WE can be the greatest generation. We only need to pull our heads out of our collective asses and get our priorities straight. Blu-ray discs, celebrity antics and reality television don’t matter any more. Rome is about to burn, Nero.

This is our opportunity. This crisis is our chance. We can let this country burn, or we can turn the tide. We can right this fucking ship. Either way, the road ahead of us is not a short one. I hate to say it, but it’s true...we have to unlearn what we’ve learned.

Welcome to our re-education, boys and girls. Make no mistake about it, we're in for a world full of hurt...

They're hawking what?????

2009-01-29T22:41:00.005-05:00

The other night, I was watching some of the fine programming on VH1. I believe it was the top million hard rock songs of all time. I don’t know what it is with these countdown shows, but I love the shit out of them. Seriously. I watch them all. All the time. Rap, metal, country, one hit wonders. I love it all. And the crazier the concept, the more I love it. I think the top ten video vixens from the 80’s is my favorite. Mmmmm…Bobby Brown. No, you moron. Not that Bobby Brown. This one:

Wait, hang on. Let me dip into my archives. I’ve got a better one. Here...

Kinda gets me thinking about bring back “The Glory of…”

But, I digress…

At some point, like they always do, a commercial came on. And as with all commercials, I ignored it as best I could. That was until I heard Slaughter’s “Up all night” come on. Now, I don’t know if you know this about me, but I grew up on hair bands. I know. I know. I know it’s not cool to admit that you like hair bands. Kinda like admitting you wore polyester leisure suits in the mid 70’s. But, I say it loud. And I say it proud. The Beastie’s fought for my right to party. Winger warned me about hot 17 year olds. And Poison taught me that I don’t need nothin’ but a good time. You gotta problem with that?

You can’t tell me this...

So, needless to say Marc Slaughter’s screaming vocals coming through my TV speakers, piqued my interest. I turned by attention back to the TV. That’s when I saw Bret Micheals from Poison standing around yakking at me surrounded by two good looking broads. Now, I'm a fan of good looking broads, so I decided to listen to what Bret had to say. After a second or two, I could tell something wasn't right, though. It was probably the growing knot in my stomach. And that’s when I hear the voice over dude announce, in a tough voice: “Time/Life presents The Hard Rock Collection.”

I’m not sure, but I think I dropped the scolding hot coffee that I was holding onto my bare foot.

As I recall, It wasn’t too long ago, that I was laughing my ass off at those old Time/Life commercials. You remember them. They used to hawk records (yes RECORDS) that collected hits from the 60’s. I remember hideous commercials about Drive-In’s, broads on roller skates and shit from Dion. Yea, go ahead. Ask me. Who the fuck is Dion?!?!? Exactly.

...is cooler than this!

But now? Now Time/Life is hawking metal? My metal??? For the love of the Christ! I think I’m gonna puke. Is there some snot nosed, cheese eating high school kid laughing at Bret Micheals? Well, it is kinda pathetic that he’s stooped this low. But, hey, everyone’s entitled to make a buck. The point is, (and yes there is a point) am I getting old?

Here, let me run by you an ancient Zen Koan. Maybe you can crack this little nugget. If in the 1980’s, Time/Life was selling music from the 1960’s, and my snot nosed, cheese eating high school self thought that people who remembered the 60’s (especially the early 60’s. I ain’t even talking Jimi Hendrix 60’s here) were old and pathetic, that doesn’t necessarily make me pathetic today now that Time/Life is offering up Hard n Heavy. Does it? No. No. No. No. Don’t try and answer it. It’s a Koan. They have no answers. See, I tricked you.

Alas, the sad part is, I know I’m getting old. I don’t need fucking Bret Micheals to remind me. Just for the fact that I know who Dion is, and that I know every fucking word to Runaround Sue...well, that pretty much confirms it, don’t it folks?

Stupid Time/Life...

And, seriously, what’s up with Bret Micheals hair? Dude, if your bald, it’s time to give it up. I’m just saying...

Snow day special: The Glory of...

2009-01-28T15:05:00.005-05:00

So, I'm working on Friday's article. In it, I reference a series I wrote as the Juice, called "The Glory of...". Probably my finest work. Well, maybe not, but the series always busted my gut writing them. The thing is, "The Glory of..." tended to be a bit sexist. Because mostly I'd be yakking on about how hot some celebrity was. To my defense, not all "The Glory of..."'s were about women. As is the case with the article here you're about to read. But, I'd say 95% of "The Glory of..." were about women.

The quandary I face, is that I was called out because I still have a crush on Belinda Carlisle. And, rightfully so. Ok, maybe I don't so much have a crush on 2009 Belinda Carlisle, but late 80's/early 90's? Whew...and that's when I got to thinking about reviving "The Glory of..."

My feeling is this, I'll let this article ride. See how much hate mail I get. If it ain't so, bad. You'll be reading about the wonders of Belinda Carlisle in the near future..."

by the Juice
originally published July 2005

We're gonna break from our short lived tradition, here. Today's edition of “The Glory of…” isn't so much about "who", than "what". I know the Juice usually uses this platform to speak of hot chicks. Today, though, is the exception. I’d like to speak on somethin' that is, in many cases, as fine as a sexy piece of ass in a bikini. And just as often as fleetin'. I am speakin' of…Funnel Cake!

Yes, fried dough! Three words: Pure Genius. I'd like to offer a hummer from the missus to the man who thought about applyin' the batter to hot oil. However, I don't believe I'm authorized to make such an offer. I usually don't do this this early in an article, but, I must digress.

I was watchin' television the other night. It was late, the missus was sleepin' on the sofa. A commercial for the International House of Pancakes (what the hell is that all about? who the hell thought that name up? International House of Pancakes? i guess it’s suppose to make the place sound more “classy”? i think I’d rather go to the International House of Ill Repute) came on. For a moment, I thought I was buggin'. Turns out, for once, I wasn't. This commercial featured a new “breakfast”. It was funnel cake with all sorts of weird and wonderful toppins! Not that I’m complain’ here or anything but the ol’ International House has got nerve passin' this little slice of heaven off as breakfast. They might as well bring you out a bowl full of chocolate chip cookies with milk and call that breakfast.

Anyway, I jumped on the couch to wake the missus up. “Look honey…IHOP has funnel cake!” After cursin' for a few seconds and pushin' me off the sofa, she realized the full implications of a funnel cake breakfast. The missus is a bigger funnel caker than I am. I would call her a funnel cake whore, but there’s a possibility she might read this. And I certainly don’t need another knock to the noggin with the meat tenderizer. Besides, I’m lookin’ to get laid sometime within 2005.

When we were at Disney World we spotted a place that sold funnel cake, to our surprise, in the Magic Kingdom. We were a little busy at the time(you know. the four kids reakin' their special kind of havoc on the place). I told the missus to remind me about the funnel cake later. I figured we’d go back and get some before we left the park . Well the missus did remind me. Two and a half fuck months later. Specifically right after the IHOP commercial came on. Dang! Again, if I wasn’t lookin' for some action I might’ve smacked her stupide (hey! i don’t advocate violence against women. that ain’t right! i’m just speakin’ metaphorically, here. i sometimes advocate violence against small dogs. small dogs named Snowflake. small dogs named Snowflake that have a penchant for whizzin’ all over your trailer. small dogs named Snowflake that not only whiz all over your trailer, but on your prized porno collection. i swear to the Christ, if i catch that dog whizzin’ again, i’m gonna BBQ him. don’t even think about it PETA. i’m just fuckin' around. i don’t even like hot dogs. i love funnel cake, though!)

now, i readily admit, that toppin' don't look quite right...

Although I could write for days how funnel cake is humanity’s only redeemin' quality, I’m gonna leave you with one final image. I’m not sure if it leaves me more hungry or more horny at the moment. See for yourself. And don’t be surprised if you find you're touchin' yourself…

Yes, I believe that’s orange creamsicle ice cream on that funnel cake. I'm definitely touchin' myself now...

Adventures in Movie Theater Going. Pt I

2009-01-26T19:32:00.004-05:00

Last week, I posted an article about bathrooms. In it, I mentioned the horror it is taking four kids to the movies. It got me thinking about an incident that happened last year when I took them to see the movie Iron Man. Believe you me, that was a bad idea. What’s worse, is that I should’ve known that it was a bad idea, because it took three attempts prior to that fateful visit, before we actually sat our arses down in the theater.

It started off innocently, as most tales do. I gathered the kids round for our pre-movie pep talk. I threatened them up good. I let them know that the theater closed all it’s bathrooms. That was for Jethro’s benefit. We held our negotiations on how much food and drinks I was gonna buy. Then I did a bit of ranting about bathroom visits, and how there will be none once we plant ass down. Once again for Jethro’s benefit. Probably all similar conversations you have with your children. {eye roll}

So, we pile into the ol’ minivan and head for the theater. We arrive timely, hit the bathroom, buy our tickets, hit the bathroom, buy our concessions and hit the bathroom. I gotta admit, I’m real hopeful at this point. Things are going well and everyone’s happy.

A small scuffle broke out when we got into the theater. Everyone wants to sit next to the ol’ man. What can I say? Maybe I’m not as much of a jerk as I come across?!?!? Probably not. Anyway…I’ve only got two sides, so it’s a fight amongst the four of them. Admittedly, I let this one go on for a bit. Sometimes, its kinda fun watching a little scrum. And don’t tell me it’s not. Why is hockey so frigging popular?

Yea...it sorta looked like that. I think I was even eating popcorn, too

I don’t let it go on too long, though. Once those little fists start flying, it’s time to end it. Besides, there were people around. I’m not that interested in getting arrested for bad parenting. Can’t say there’s much I’d be interested in getting arrested for. Maybe for getting it on outside with a hot broad. But, that’s a post for another day.

So, it ends up with Jethro to my left and Jericho to my right. And here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

But, I digress…

The small scrum aside, things were continuing to go swimmingly. Everyone has settled down, munching on snacks and having an all around good time. Holy shit! Are my kids actually getting old enough where we can actually do things together? I know. I know. I shouldn’t have let the thought cross my cerebral cortex. I was young and fool hardy. What can I say?

Five minutes into the movie and all’s well. No calls for the bathroom. No fights over soda. I’m optimistic.

Ten minutes…all’s well.

Fifteen minutes…fuck yea!!! We’ve got our movie ON!!! I grab some popcorn, take a deep breath and buckle in for the rest of the ride.

“Dad?” Jethro whispered to me.

“Yea?” I replied leaning over toward him.

“Dad.” Jethro whispered again. “Is Pi really divisible through infinity?”

“Right.” Yea, I just blew him off. I was watching the movie for the sake of the Christ!

“Daddy!!!” Jericho’s turn.

I leaned over to him, my eye still on the screen. “What’s the matter, Jericho ?”

“I spilled my Skittles.”

Sure, enough, he spread the rainbow all over him, the seat and the floor. “Ok. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” I whispered to him, picking the Skittles off his lap.

“Dad?” Jethro again.

My back was to him, so I completely ignored him. I was still helping Jericho gather up his rebellious candies.

“Dad?” Jethro said, tapping my shoulder.

“What??????” I exclaimed in a loud whisper over my shoulder.

“Dad. What’s holding up the peace process in the Middle East? People really don’t expect the Sunni’s and the Shiites to come together? Dad?” At least that’s what it sounded like he was asking me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jericho picking candy out between his legs on the edge of his seat. “I don’t know, Jethro.” I replied. No sooner are the words past my lips when I see Jericho ’s seat flip up. I watched in helpless horror as Jericho’s face planted in the seat in front of him, the bridge of his nose slamming against the hard plastic edge…

I’m not saying it look that bad...

Onto part II

Weekend special: God Bless the Foo Fighters

2009-01-24T09:55:00.004-05:00

Over the last week or so, the Foo Fighters have been all over the music channels. The live show at the Garden and the live show at Wembly. All this Foo Fighter goodness reminded me of a post from the “archives”. So without further ado...

by Jesse
originally published 11/05

Let me just start off by saying thank god for the Foo Fighters. Honestly. Let’s face facts here. If it weren’t for the Foo Fighters, we’d be suffering through some serious garbage. Have you turned on the radio lately? Where’s the rock music? If I have to hear one more whiney singer/songwriter whining about the weather, I just might puke.

Let me clarify something, so you understand where I’m coming from. Just because radio stations continue to play the Who, by no means that rock is on the radio. If I never heard from the Who, the Stones, Hendrix and Van Halen again, I’d be a happy man for the rest of my days. Seriously. How many more times can we possibly hear the same old songs?

stupid hippies!!!

I gotta tell you, the only thing I can’t stand more than people prattling on more about their money, are folks that prattle on about the 60’s. “Oh, the 60’s were about change, man. The music, blah, blah, blah.” Fuck you. Sure, you hippie’s may have started a cultural revolution in the 60’s, but obviously you fuckers never heard of follow thru. How about finishing it? You same hippie bastards, are the one’s who let the country turn into the shape it’s in today. Gee…thanks. Crappy music, crappy TV, McDonald’s and Starbucks on every corner, deficit out the arse, yet another unwinnable war. Great!

And speaking of that war, why would you former hippies allow the country to get itself back into a mess like this? Aren’t you cats suppose to be these great leaders? Remember the protests in the fabulous sixties? Remember Vietnam? Hmmmm. Probably not. All that jingling from all those coins in your pockets must have done something to your memory. I guess that’s what happens when you sell your soul to the stock market.

And don’t get me started about all the "great" music from the 60's. Because everyone knows that all musical innovation began and ended in the 60’s. {eye roll} Know why music sucks today? Because all you hear on the friggin’ radio are the same friggin’ bands from thirty years ago. Why have the Stones put out another cd? Why? Why? No one cares! Oh...that's right! Mick Jagger must have another alimony payment due.

My ol’ man and I would get into arguments all the time. And by arguments I mean him screaming at me how stupid I was. He would go on about how worthless my generation was. How much our music sucked. How lazy we were. Know how I countered him? You former hippies sold us out. You made us this way. Instead of keeping up the revolution, you made money more important. Make money. Make money. Do I gotta remind you of the yuppie phenomena?

So, I respectfully say: Fuck the 60’s

But, I digress…

Which brings me back to the Foo Fighters. These cats are putting out quality music day in and day out. Yea, Nirvana may have birthed a musical genre (however sucky Grunge may have been, it’s still fucking popular. Which is totally beyond my grasp. I guess I must have left all my teenage angst at the door), but the Foo Fighters, well, just fucking rock.

you'd be smilin' to if you had an eighth of the cash in his pocket

In fact, I’ve even have gone out on a limb and named Everlong as my favorite song. Ever. For real. Whenever I get asked what my favorite song is, I say Everlong. Go ahead. Ask. I’ll tell you. It's Everlong.

But, as great as Everlong is, mostly every song by the Foo’s is quality. I know. I know. I know that sounds like a lot of ball licking, but it’s true. Here. I’ll pick out a song at random and you can see for yourself. How about “One”:

You’re not the one
But you’re the only one
Who makes me feel like this.
You’re not the one
But you’re the only one
Who makes me feel like shit.

I mean, c’mon! It’s pure genius!!!

aruba, jamaica. oooo i wanna take you

So, god bless the Foo Fighters. May they keep on rocking. Until they shouldn’t. And end up putting out songs like “Kokomo”.

Why banks suck. Pt 2

2009-01-21T21:08:00.009-05:00

If you didn’t read the first part, you should probably click here first.

So, the very helpful BNC representative transferred me to the Administering of Fees up Your Arse Without Consent Department. I was greeted by a lovely fellow named Scott.

“BNC. This is Scott speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi. Scott. I was wondering if you could help me with some overdraft fees that I was charged with.”

“Ok.” He murmered. I could hear him pecking away at his keyboard. “Can I get your account info?”

I gave him my numbers (like I’m gonna tell you that info. I may be dumb, but I ain’t stupid). After a moment or two, Scott was reviewing my account activity. “It looks like check #978 caused the initial overdraft, Mr. Gormley. Then you had several purchases that we’re applied afterward that caused the other overdrafts.”

“Yes. I know that. But, those purchases we’re made before that check was processed. Why were they applied after the check?” I asked. Yea. I was getting a bit testy with this fellow.

“We can’t control when a vendor processes a payment, Mr. Gormley.” Now, look. This guy was beginning to be a bit too condescending for my liking.

not scott

“I understand that. I just find it unusual that 6 purchases were processed after the check was applied. How does something like that happen? How do you decide what payment gets applied first?”

“The largest amount gets applied first.” Scott replied. “And that was check #978, which didn’t have the funds to cover it.”

“At the time, it didn’t. Yes. However, the funds WERE in the account to cover the purchases I made.”

“But, that’s not how we process transactions, sir.”

“The thing I don’t understand, is that check #978 was cleared the same day it was received. Any other time, it takes a day or two for the check to clear. If that would’ve happened, everything would’ve cleared.”

“All transactions are updated overnight, Mr. Gormley. We don’t control what transactions are updated overnight.”

It seems to me there’s a lot of non-control going on at this place. And if this motherfucker calls me “Mr. Gormley” one more time! “Ok. Well…is there anyway you can help me out with these fees?”

“I don’t know.” Scott said. “You’re gonna have to give me something to hang my hat on, here.”

Look. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m prone to exaggeration. But, believe you me, I ain’t lying here. The motherfucker actually said that. He actually had the nerve to say “you’re gonna have to give me something to hang my hat on here.”

At this point, I was so pissed I didn’t know what to say. And truthfully, what was I gonna say? Threaten to withdraw my massive fortune? Ha! What a pain in the ass. And they know it, too. I gotta spend hours closing out the account. Then go to another bank to open up a new account. Change my direct deposit. All so I can get arse fucked by another bank.

Was I going to report him to his boss? Like anything would happen that way. I’ve worked retail long enough to know, they don’t give shit one about customers. “Customer is always right?” That was invented by lofty upper management types who are so fucking clueless, they don’t know right from rain. Whatever the fuck that means! Besides, 7 NSF fees? Him and his boss were to busy high fivin’ each other over my fuck up.

that’s MY money that fucker’s holdin’

Nah…this guy had me. He was an asshole. Plain and simple. He knew. And he knew there was nothing I could do about it.

“You know, Scott. I think you’ve done enough, asshole.” And I hung up. I suppose I get the last laugh, though. Cause I haven’t had an overdraft since. Of course, I had to sell my body a bit to make that happen, but at least I didn’t have to pay Scott and PN, er….BNC and more money. So, to my buddy Scott…FUCK YOU!!!

I thought I was done here, but I got a part three. Stay tuned…

What are you DOING spending all your time in the BATHROOM...

2009-01-19T21:12:00.004-05:00

My third kid, Jethro, has a serious and very disturbing issue. He’s got some sort of bathroom fetish. No matter where we go, no matter where we’re at, this kid has to visit the facilities. I ask you…WTF?!?!?

Because you’re smarter than me, you’ve probably got less than 4 kids. So, you couldn’t possibly understand the logistical nightmare it is having four kids, and one of them has to go to the bathroom. Well, it’s not so much a problem at home, unless two or more have to go at the same time. Then it gets a bit ugly. No, I’m more talking about when we go out, like to a store. And it’s usually at the point when we're the furthest away from the bathroom, that something like this goes down:

”Dad?”

“Yes, son?” Wait for it.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

I look down at the shopping cart, filled to the brim. It slowly dawns on me we’re so far from the fucking bathroom, we might as well be on Tatooine. I look up at the ceiling of the store, as if to see the big guy upstairs openly laughing at me, shake my head and reply: “Of course you do, son. Of course you do.”

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Maybe you should make him go to the bathroom before you leave the house.” What? Am I stupid? Am I new here? Of course I make him go before we leave! What kind of fucking suggestion is that? The kid holds a little bit in, I swear it! I know he does. Just so he can check out the ol’ can.

does this look like a playground to you?

But, you know what’s worse than Jethro needing to use the bathroom at the store? Nah…don’t bother. You’ll never guess it. The movie theater. Yea…that’s worse. To convince Jethro not “go” during a movie, I’ve done it all. I’ve told him before we step foot one out of the house, there’s no bathroom at the movie theater. Go now. I’ve banned drinking beverages at the movie theater. I’ve even banned drinking beverages a full day before going to the movie theater! Okay, maybe I didn’t go that far. But the thought has crossed my mind. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The kid still has to go.

Of course, the other three get all wiggy, when I tell them I gotta take Jethro to the bathroom. They get all teary eyed and frightened. For the love of the Christ, give me a fucking break! Like I’m gonna leave them in the theater. What? Am I a bad parent? Sheesh! Alright, I have considered it, but believe you me, if I’m leaving, none of them are coming with me!

C’mon! I’m kidding! Really. I am!

The whole thing kinda reminds me of Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein. I swear to the Christ, I can just hear Jethro saying this years from now: “It's moments like these, I remember what my old dad used to say to me. - Oh yes? What did he say? - What are you DOING spending all your time in the BATHROOM for!! Why don't you give someone else a go!”.

what hump???

Weekend special: Greeting cards in Review

2009-01-17T10:22:00.002-05:00

another piece from the archives. once again, me writing as "the Juice". look for more of this type of hilarity to be ensuing in our very near future
- j

by the Juice
originally published 6/2005

In honor of Father’s Day (or as my kids call it Fadder’s Day) and due to the impressive feedback I got back from my post, The Snockerin’ of you by Hallmark (and by impressive feedback I mean how much I laughed when I re-read it), I’m startin’ a new feature here at Dissertation Station. I’m gonna’ review greetin’ cards. How the hell does this tie into Fadder’s Day? Well, the first three cards we’re startin’ with are for Fadder’s Day. How’s that for synergy?

I picked a small assortment of cards from Wal-Mart. And let me tell you, this small assortment cost me almost $10 bucks! That’s just friggin’ ridiculous. I’m making this cost effective, though. One of these cards I’m gonna give to my ol’ man. Can you guess which one? The answer will be at the end.

Our first card up is a standard “serious” Father’s Day card. I can guaren-damn-tee that no son is buyin’ this card for his father.

It’s got some terrible sentiment on the front. Here’s what the front SHOULD have on it

And on the inside, it’s worse. It says some shit like…”Whether you were having me help with a certain chore or gently coaching me with schoolwork or sports…” I gotta stop right there. Now I don’t know about your ol’ man. But my pop’s way of me helpin’ him with a certain chore was him tellin’ me (and I ain’t paraphrasin’ here) “Ya wanna help? Stay the hell outta the way.”

I wonder if by the “gently coachin’ me with…” bit Hallmark meant screamin' in your face until you got the times tables right. Or swingin’ the ol’ Louisville slugger until it was nearly midnight with him screamin' at ya. “You swing like a friggin’ girl. Let me get your sister. I bet she could hit a ball better than you.” But, whatever…

The text goes on in the card “…I learned so many valuable ways of thinking that have shaped my life…” Yea that I’ll never be better than the Velcro tester that I’m destined to be. “You shared the benefits of your experience, allowed me to express my own ideas and, yes, even let me make my own mistakes.” That last part is a laugh fuck riot. Probably the best part of the whole card. Make a mistake? Oh, you better not make a mistake. Unless you wanna be shamed of your existence for the next week or so. You might as walk through school naked, then make a mistake in front of dear ol’ dad.

I’m really in love this next card. It practically called out to me from it’s spot next to the rest of the loser cards. This one is for all you out there with the (key dramatic music) STEP FATHER. Here’s the front of the card.

Here’s what the front should say…

Here’s what the inside of the card says:

Here’s what I think it should say:

And finally here’s the last card.

And the inside

Nothing more needs to be said. This card says it all.

So can you guess which card I’m givin’ my ol’ man? It’s the first one. Yes, I’m givin’ my dad a serious card. DON’T BE SO STUPID! (dang, I even sound like my pop). Of course I'm not givin' him the first one. Have you read any of this? Why would I give my dad a serious card? It ain't for real. Like I said. No one feels that way about anyone. "Cept mayber a hooker. C'mon! It’s the last one you moron. That’s the card I’m givin' my father. And a box of smokes. He likes Kool.

It's back! Pitch a Bitch!

2009-01-15T18:55:00.001-05:00

There’s a million rip-offs in the world, right? Buyer beware and all. But, let me tell you something. There are two that seriously piss me off. One? Filing cabinets. Don’t believe me? Oh, you will. The day will come when you need a filling cabinet. And when you walk down the aisle of your local office supply superstore, make sure you’ve got the available credit. Cause those fuckers ain’t cheap.

But, since I’m not purchasing filing cabinets on a regular basis, it’s more of an “audacity” thing. Like, the gall of these people to charge so friggin’ much for a glorified metal box!

The biggest rip-off, though, the one that really burns my bacon? Razor blades cartridges. Razor blades are so highly thought of as a rip off, “they’ve” coined a whole theory of economics behind it: Razor Blade economics. Also known as the ol’ “bait and hook”, it goes a little something like this: The razor blade manufacture gives you the handle for very little cost to you. I won’t go as far as saying “free”, cause ain’t nothing free. But, the cost is minimal. The manufacture makes money on those sweet razor blade cartridges. Fuckers.

Sound familiar? If you have a printer, it should. I’m not sure who thought of it first, the printer making peeps or razor blade makers. Either way, they both can go to hell.

But, I digress…

And it’s not like you can even use the “store brand” razors, either. Why? Cause you can never find them. Anywhere! People ain’t stupid! Well, I’m not so sure about that one. Maybe when it comes to razor blades, they’re not so dumb. Any time I go into my local Walmart or Target, the pegs for the store brand razors are empty. Come to think of it, I don’t think that Target even sells store brand cartridges, anymore. Why should they when they can make more money on those 17 blade razors???

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why not just buy an electric razor?” Because electric razors suck! I don’t care what you say, they suck. Oh, then there’s the whole month long honeymoon with your electric razor. That’s the time “they” suggest you give your skin to adapt to your razor. WTF?!?!? Shaving is a pain in the ass, as it is, I’m gonna spend a month raking my skin with some sort of torture device? And we’re not talking the skin on your ass here folks, this is your god damn face! I need my face looking as good as possible. For the ladies and all…

imagine using this fucker on your face!

For once, I actually have a solution. Save a Blade. Yea, that’s right. Save a Blade. Go ahead. Laugh. Laugh yourselves stupid. We’ll see who laughs last. Especially when I’m struttin’ my stuff, pockets full of coin from all the money I’m saving from NOT buying those fucking cartridges. Yeah…me!

the savior of my dollars!!!

Now, if I can just figure out how this stupid Save a Blade works…

what does it take to get some peace 'round here??

2009-01-13T21:59:00.001-05:00

One of the things they never teach you in school is how kids love to pester you at the most inopportune times. In fact, nothing they teach you after 6th grade really prepares you for life. But, that’s a post for another day…

So…let’s see. Where was I? Oh, that’s right. I was talking about me. See, everything I do in my life is for my kids. Day in day out. Just about every action I take directly (or indirectly) is for my kids. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be tending bar at some beach resort in the Caribbean. Ahhh…who am I fucking? I’d be sitting in front of the computer, surfing porn and eating Cheetos.

But, I digress…

There’s a standing rule in my house: If I’m in the bathroom, leave me alone! It’s five god damn minutes! I can’t be left alone for 5 minutes???? I tell my kids all the time, unless you’re on fire or missing a limb, when the bathroom door is shut, just leave me alone.

Do they listen? Hell no!!!

Take this past weekend for example. I made breakfast on Sunday morning, around 10:30. The Sunday morning special, I call it. This week I was serving up chocolate chip pancakes. Now, beings that it’s 10:30 in the morning and my kids have the metabolism of hummingbirds, they’ve already scarfed down a bowl or three of cereal. No matter how I explain it, the kids just don’t get the concept of “brunch”. But, whatever. So by 11 am, the little turds have eaten twice already.

Let’s all climb aboard our wayback machine and fast forward a few hours to 3:15 pm that afternoon. The kids have been playing over their friends' house most of the afternoon. I’ve just spent the last three hours taking down that fucking Xmas tree. I’m tired, and looking for to a hot, peaceful shower. Since the place is quiet, I bee-line it to the bathroom. I turn the shower on blazin’ hot, get all nude (Yeaaaa….that’s right. For all you ladies out there, I shower nekkid! Wink. Wink.) and get in. Whew! Slice of heaven, right there! Next to grilled cheese, bacon and hummers (and I don’t mean the trucks, either) is there anything better in the world than a hot shower???

copyright wet dudes in underwear
i wasn't lying about taking showers nekkid, girls. that not me. i'm much larger

I wouldn’t know. I’m in the shower less than a minute, when there’s a knock at the bathroom door. Where the fuck did they come from? Do they just materialize out of thin air or what? I look up at the ceiling, sigh and shake my head. I know what’s coming. I can feel it in my bones. “Dad???” A voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door. Bingo!!!!

I drop my head, rather dramatically I might add. “Yes, son?”

“Dad?” Cause my son, Jethro, feels the need to repeat my name at least twice in every sentence. “Can we have lunch?”

“Jethro. I’m in the shower.” I called out.

“When you’re done?”

“Jethro. We’re going to have dinner in an hour. Can’t you wait?”

“But, I’m starvin’ Dad.”

“Jethro. I’m in the shower.” I calmly (barely) reminded him. Fortunately, he took the hint and left me alone. That is until I step out of the bathroom. Cause, that’s where Barbara, Jethro and Jericho were gathered around waiting for me, looking like hungry orphans. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?” I asked, the water still dripping off me from the shower I didn't really enjoy.

copyright orphans r us

“We’re hungry.” Barbara pleaded like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Dude.” Yea. I called her “dude”. “We’re gonna eat in an hour. Can’t you wait?”

“We’re starviiinnnnnnn.” Jethro whined.

I shook my head in disbelief. Although, I’m not sure what there was to disbelieve at this point. This is nothing new. “Lunch is at 12. Maybe 1. Not at 3:30.”

“Daddddddd” They whined in unison.

“Forget it.” I said turning away. “We’re having dinner in an hour. Go have a snack or something.”

And let me tell you something. Those three sassafrassed me for a good 15 minutes afterward. I went downstairs after getting dressed. Those three were still cursing me, with a huge buffet of snacks in front of them. I helplessly shook my head, rolled my eyes and walked away.

Weekend special: Escape!

2009-01-10T08:36:00.001-05:00

I used to write for a few different blogs along the way to Truth is Truth. Some my own, some for others. I've written so much stuff, I can't keep track of it all. So, I figured on the weekends, I'd "feature" a classic cut, to borrow a phrase from radio.

For a very long time, I wrote as "the Juice". A really sarcastic, bitter side of me. But, I'll let you be the judge of that...

Originally published 10/04

The Juice admits it, I don’t know much about music. In fact, unless Lawrence Welk (god rest his soul!) is involved, it might as well be that high pitched, annoyin’ Indian shit. But, the Juice can tell you that “Escape” by Rupert Murdock (or Holmes, whatever) is the worst fuckin’ song, EVER! I know, I know. I know what you thinkin'. You’re thinkin’: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that song, the Juice.” Well, I’m here to tell you, you have. It’s that stupid Pina Colada song.

Not only does the song bite Hyena wang (real hyena wang, by the way. not that pseudo phallus the female spotted hyena has. which is really her clitoris. now, don’t you feel more complete knowin’ that??), it has got to be one of the most far-fetched songs ever. Don’t believe the Juice? See for yourself (and here’s hopin’ this tune will be pingin’ your brain for the next day and a half):

I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.And in the personals column, there was this letter I read:

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."
I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean.But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine.So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad.And though I'm nobody's poet, I thought it wasn't half-bad.
"Yes, I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape.At a bar called O'Malley's, where we'll plan our escape."
So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place.I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face.It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew"..
"That you liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."
"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

Now you tell the Juice, is there somethin' seriously wrong with this song, or what? The Juice don’t know where to begin, really. But, ya gotta start somewhere, so…

The dude and his ol’ lady can’t stand each other. And the dude’s singin’ a fuckin’ song about it? I mean, really. I don’t know who’s to blame more here, him or her. I’ll tell ya, if I’m at O’Malley's and my ol’ lady walks in, you best believe there’s gonna be some hell to pay.

Here's the part the Juice don't get. If she’s tired of him, why the fuck is she sneakin' around on him? Can’t she be upfront with him? And the Juice finds it hard to believe that this was the first personal ad this broad took out. C’mon! What are the odds of that? And, really, what are the odds of the dude findin', readin', and respondin' to his ol’ lady’s personal ad that she took out in secret? I mean we’re talkin' gettin' eaten by piranhas odds. The Juice is a bettin' man. There ain't a bet I've never taken. But, believe you me, even the Juice ain't taken the bet on any of it!

And what’s with Pina Coladas anyway? I know the song was written in the seventies. Back when they did all those fruity things like wife swappin', had pet rocks and, apparently, drank Pina Coladas. Have you ever had one? Probably not. Cause they suck. If I’m a dude (which, I am. Don’t make me pull out the ol’ rig to prove it to you) I ain’t ever gonna admit I like Pina Coladas, even if I did. Which I don’t. I’m just supposin' here. That’s the kinda thing you do when no one, NO FUCKIN’ ONE, is around. Or, at least, gonna be around for a couple of hours, maybe even days. Admittin’ you drink Pina Coladas is the kinda thing that you do hidden in your closet. You pull out your Peggy Lee records, drink Pina Coladas and read cheap romance novels. Not that the Juice’s ever done that. No sir! All man, here. All man! I’ll pull it out to prove it!

But I digress…

And I can guaren-damn-tee that this moment would NEVER happen:

It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."And we laughed for a moment,

Believe you me, If I’m at O’Malley’s and the ol’ lady walks in, I ain’t sayin’ “Oh, it’s you...” It’d probably go down somethin' more like this:

“What da fuck you doin’ here? I thought you were crochetin' with Martha down at the rec center.” I’d say putting down my 8th beer.

“Me? What are you doin' here?” she’ll ask accusingly.

I’ll look around blankly. “Ummmm…nothin'. Just havin’ a beer”

“Yea, right.” She'll say sarcastically picking at her teeth.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“It means ‘yea, right’. Are you stupid or somethin'?” she’ll lovingly respond.

“Are you callin’ me stupid?” I’ll say trying to grit my teeth. But, I’ve probably drank so much damn beer that I have to piss more than anythin' at this point.

“If the boot fits…”

“What? Was that?” I’ll say getting up from my chair. Of course, I’ll be stumble while getting up. Knocking the bowl of beef jerky off the table.

“I said, ‘if the boot fits’”

I’ll try to push the chair aside menacingly. But, it’ll just end up getting under my feet, practically knocking me onto my face. After I regain my composure I would say. “You’re havin' an affair, aren’t you?”

“I am not!” the ol’ lady will respond, acting all innocent.

“Is it Billy Joe?”

“Absolutely not”

“Bobby John?”

“No!”

“Billy bob?”

“No!”

“Bobby Joe?”

“No!”

“Johnnie Joe?”

“He’s five years old, for Pete’s sake Bruce!”

“Hmmmm….whatever. I know you wrote that personal ad.” I'll slur.

“What?” she’ll take a step back, caught her off guard. “What personal ad?”

“This one!” I'll say as I dig around in my pocket. I'll pull out an old Wal-Mar receipt. “No. this one!!” I'll say triumphantly again. This time it’ll be a K-Mart receipt for the live bait the Juice bought the day prior. “Shit.” I’ll rummage around in the my pockets for another minute or two. Then I’ll find it. “This one!”

The ol’ lady would take another step back in shock. “How…how do you know?”

I’ll point to the ad below. “Cause I wrote this one. Ya stupid bitch.” Uh-oh. I don’t know which is gonna get me in more trouble. Admittin' I responded or the bitch comment. My ol’ lady would hate it when you call her a bitch.

She'll stand there speechless for awhile. I’ll mutter some “nothin’s”. Cause I'm drunk and about to piss myself. Finally she’ll speak up. “Brewster Ian Brockman (that ain’t my middle name. so don’t even try to think about fckin' with me about it, ya here?) how dare you!” At this point she’ll probably pick up a glass and toss it at my head. And dependin' how drunk I really was, I would either duck or just stand there like an idiot. And blah, blah, blah. You get the point.

See? No “I never knew you like Pina Coladas…” bullshit. Although, I have to admit my version would be pretty dang hard to sing.

It's none of your business what we do with your money!!!

2009-01-08T22:41:00.002-05:00

Where'd the bailout money go? Shhhh, it's a secret

Now, before I start here, let me just tell you this ain’t “Why I hate banks Pt II. No. This is something completely different. This is a less personal story. More of a...oh I don’t know. Just another reason not to like banks. =)

So...wow! What I want to know is, who the fuck are these people? I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “What people, Jesse? What people are you talking about?” And if that’s what you’re thinking, it’s a good question. Cause, this story is chock full of people brimming with unmitigated gall.

Let’s start with our friend, Thomas Kelly from JP Morgan. I believe he’s quoted as saying "We have not disclosed that to the public. We're declining to." when questioned about what exactly JP Morgan is doing with our $25 billion dollars. Cause, oh yes, it’s our money. Yours and mine.

See, the problem here is multi-leveled. The Treasury department, our Treasury department, just handed out cash to whatever bank needed it. No strings attached. No provisions. No liabilities. No accounting measures. Fuck it, right?!?!? We must stabilize the economy!!!! {eye roll}

Not only did they just hand the fucking money out, but, they handed it out to the same pompous, arrogant folks that put the economy in this position in the first place. Make sense, right? Why add a stipulation or two? Why say “Ok, well give you some money, but your CEO, Harry Asshole, has to go. While we’re at it, so does the Board. Oh, and we’ve got a few more things you have to do. The least of which is HAND THE FUCKING MONEY OUT!!!”

Cause I can tell you what the banks aren’t doing with the money. They ain’t lending it out. The fucking Congress, our Congress, has to “implore” bank executives to start handing out the money. The thing is, there’s no stipulation that they have to lend it. So, they’re just sitting on it. Nice!!!!! Gotta shore up balance sheets!!!

Here’s another fav of mine from the article. “We're choosing not to disclose that”. That jem was from Kevin Heine, a spokesman for Bank of New York Mellon. It’s kind of a magical quote, isn’t it? Imagine saying that to the cop that pulls you over for drunk driving. “Officer, I’m choosing not to disclose whether I was drinking” How fast would your ass be in jail?

But, a banking institution? Oh, no. Carte blanche. Here sirs, have a few more billion. No need to worry about accounting for it. There’s plenty more where that came from!!!!

So, it’s bad enough we handed out billions of dollars to these fucking banks, but the one industry that actually produces something for this country, we hem and haw? WTFMFF? Believe you me, I have no love for GM or Chrysler. Ford? Well, they did put out that sweet Mustang update. Have you seen that Shelby Cobra. C’mon! I’ll give Ford a pass because of it.

But, I digress…

The auto industry PRODUCES something. Something viable. Something tangible. What the fuck does the banking industry do? Besides fuck 99% of us in the arse, without the steak dinner or the lube?

I’ll leave you with this parting thought:

“We're not sharing any other details. We're just not at this time,”

Ummm…fuck you.

Why banks suck. Pt 1.

2009-01-05T21:37:00.003-05:00

I hate banks. I really do. Yea, I know. I know. They’re a necessary evil. Blah, blah, blah. Ok. If that’s the case, then let’s drop the charade, shall we? Let’s stop with the nice commercials about how banks care about us and our communities. And how banks do this and that for us….ughhhh. Like banks are benevolent institutions. My dog is full of less shit, than these banks!

I especially can’t stand when the overpaid CEO pretends he gives shit one about anything other than increasing his already large pocketbook. “Oh, look at us. We’re a bank. We’re not some evil conglomerate with the CEO making 40 times more than the cat slavin’ away as your local teller. We care. We donate .00001 of every dollar to the Stop Beatin’ Baby Seals foundation.“ Pul-lease! Every time I see one of those commercials, I feel the throw up creep up the back of my mouf.

True story: Not long ago, I was having some money “issues”. Doing a little bit of that robbing Peter to pay Mary Magdalena (or however that story goes). I timed my mortgage payment (and a few other things) just so it would “hit” when my work paycheck would be directed deposited into my checking account. Or at least I cleverly thought it would. Turns out I was wrong on that one. Waaaayyyy wrong. Long story short, I got hit with 7, yes SEVEN, NSFs. That’s Non-Sufficent Funds, to you and me. At $36 a pop, that was a hefty price to pay for “timing” the mortgage payment badly.

But, wait. There’s more. Seeing +$250 missing from your account does something to a person. So, I called the bank up. Now let’s get something straight here. The fees the bank administers are completely voluntary. Meaning, the bank charges it because they damn well feel like it. Oh, I’m sure there’s some sort of internal “transactional” cost the bank occurs. But, $36?!?!? I’ve got three words for you: Fuck you!

Anyway, I’m on the phone with a customer service rep from my bank. Which, for sake of my story, I’m gonna call, say… BNC bank.

“Look, I’m a total fuck up. I’m addicted to crack cocaine and I’ve got four kids. Could you help me out with these fees???” I asked the bank rep I was on the phone with.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gormley. But you were overdrawn and the bank paid for your overdrafts.”

I rolled my eyes. Like the bank was doing me a favor. A favor that was costing me $252. “I understand. But 7 NSF fees seems kinda, I don’t know, over the top.”

The representative listed all the transactions I fcked up, maybe to rub it in I don’t know, and how they were processed. “That’s why you were charged with 7 fees.” She said, a bit too condescending for my liking.

“I understand why I have 7 fees. I was wondering if some of those fees could be removed.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gormley. But, I do not have the authority to make that decision.”

At this point, I’m getting pissed. So, I really turn up the syrup. “Can I speak to someone who does have that authority?”

“I can put you through to the fee department…” She trailed off, like it was some sort of horrifying last resort.

“That’d be nice.”

And this is where the real fun begins. You’ll just have to wait til next time. Or you can click here

Down with the fat man!!!!

2008-12-25T12:26:00.002-05:00

Ahhhh…Christmastime! The time of year when we all seem to shat all sense of reason right out of our preverbal buttholes. That special time of year when semi-functional adults are reduced to out of control (from buyin’), blood thirsty, zombies. I tell you, it’s the most wonderful time of the yeeaaarrrrr!

Ughhhh…whatever. So, a few years ago I instituted a new policy toward Christmas giving. I bucked tradition and started giving my kids a gift from me, their ol’ man. The gift was usually something I was hopped up on goofballs about, something that I really wanted them to have. It was so sweet of a present, that I wanted all the credit for it. I wanted some of Santa’s spotlight, god damn it! Why the fuck should he get all the credit for my brilliance in finding the perfect gift?

It's time, though, to step into our wayback machine. Instead of going into the past, though, let’s fast forward to this year’s holiday madness (cause even though it’s called the wayback machine, it moves forward in time, too. I’m just clever like that). This year, I got each kid a few things that were super, extra cool. I had a hard time deciding what gift was gonna be from me, the ol’ man, and what was gonna be from Santa. So, as I was going through all the crap I bought, I got to thinking. Know what I was thinking? Of course not, why the hell would you be here if you did? I’ll save you the trouble. I was thinking: WTFMFF!!!! You (and me) as adults, work our asses off. Day in and day out, slavin’ away for the man. Right? Can I get an Amen?!?! No? Ok…

And every year, every friggin’ year, we take time out of our busy schedules to buy our loved ones all these gifts, which, I think we can all agree is a major pain in the arse. But, that’s not enough. Noooooo…then we’ve got to spend 17 hours wrapping all those suckers. And for what? So some imaginary, red velvet wearin’ fat man gets all the credit? Fucketh thateth! What on the Christ’s blue marble is wrong with us? Why are we perpetrating this lie?

Now, before you start accusin’ me that I’m a “Scrooge”, or just plain ol’ bitter (which I ain’t denyin’), let’s get the facts straight. I “love” Christmas as much as the next dude. But, c’mon!!! What are we doin’ here?!?! We’re lyin’ to our kids. And for what? So, when they turn 7, some smartass schmuck they go to school with can break their little hearts? As parents, isn’t that our job????

Ok. Let’s be honest with each other here. Tell me what do you remember better: The day you lost your virginity or the day you found out there isn’t any Santa Claus? I’d wager dollars to donuts you can name the exact time and place when the Santa farce finally came crashin’ down. It probably even happened something like this:

“Hey, Johnny (or Suzy). Guess what?”

“What, 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear?” Johnny (or Suzy) said.

“There ain’t no Santa Claus.”

Johnny (or Suzy) looked at the prick, dumbfounded. “What?”

“That’s right.” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear said smugly. “There ain’t no such thing as Santa Clause.”

“First of all. I know you’re lyin’.” Johnny (or Suzy) said. “’Cause that’s twice you used the double negative.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but I outta kick your ass.” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear threatened grabbing Johnny’s (or Suzy’s) shirt. “I’m tellin’ you, there ain’t no Santa.”

Johnny’s (or Suzy) eyes begin to well up. “No! You’re wrong!”

“No I’m not!” 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear laughed. “You’re stupid! You’re a stupid kid!”

Johnny (or Suzy) freed himself (or herself) from 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear death grip. “I hate you, 10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear.” Johnny (or Suzy) screamed running across the school yard. “I hate you!!!!”

10-year-old-asshat-that-ruined-all-the-beliefs-that-your-seven-year-old-heart-held-dear laugh echoed through the playground. “Not as much as your mommy and daddy hate you for lyin’ to you!!!”

Hmmmmm…at least that’s how I found out there was no Santa. Sorta.

But, I digress…

So, how about this? How about for 2009, we all agree to drop the charade? Any new children being born in 2009 will not be told there’s a Santa. We can let the children already existing keep their beliefs. We’ll let nature run it’s course on them. But, any new kids get told the truth. Santa Clause is a coat tail ridin’, spotlight hoggin’, so and so!!!

I’m tellin’ you, it’s the way to go!!!