Friday, June 30, 2006

Man, I'm so out of it. This cold is kicking my ass. I decided yesterday that I would be all better, so I cleaned, shopped, and came home deciding that death could not be as bad as my headache and fever. I took some cold medicine which had the opposite of it's intended effect in that I got all hyper instead of drowsy.

I finally got to watch Crash. I borrowed it from my sister-in-law who loved it. I don't exactly know what to say about it. It was a pretty simple premise: We are all evil bastards, but we usually come through for each other in a pinch. At any rate, I didn't come away from it wanting to sell myself into slavery for being white. Surely that is an improvement from past racially themed movies. But if Crash won the academy award, Brokeback Mountain must have sucked harder than cowboys in a pup-tent.

And speaking of sucking, I think I sprained my tongue during an act of fellatio. Jethro and I had agreed to have some sex, but got into a mild argument over illegal immigration. Mid-discussion, Jethro complained that he could not have sex and talk about illegal immigration at the same time, and it was all my fault for bringing it up in the first place. Resisting the urge to place the blame on him for putting on Fox News as background for the lovemaking, I decided to offer up a little oral encouragement so he would just shut the fuck up and get it done. In my enthusiasm, my tongue went in the opposite direction of my head. I gagged a little, but the mission had been accomplished. He shut the fuck up.

Monday, June 26, 2006

I am now completely in favor of drug legalization. Any drug, and all drugs.

I just came back from my local Kroger and they wouldn't sell me a box of Advil Cold and Sinus because I didn't have my i.d. on me. I am quite obviously sick as evidenced by the greenish liquid streaming copiously from my nasal cavaties, I only want one fucking box, but clearly I am running an eeeeeeeeeeeevil meth lab and all that stands between me and the downward spiral of thousands of hapless innocents into the muck and mire of drug addiction are the brave little soldiers at the Kroger pharmacy.

So fuck everyone. If you want to pump yourself full of toxins and remove your skanky ass from the gene pool early, be my fucking guest. I don't care.

But the government has to forget about paying for rehabilitation. In order for drug legalization to work, we must allow addicts to kill themselves as quickly as possible. That will reduce everything from drug related traffic accidents to prison spending. Basically, it's a self-inflicted abortion. You had a chance at life, you couldn't hack it, and now you are aborted. It's tidy, and no one else is responsible.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

A Night Out

Jen, Vince and I went out last night. I won't go into the mental and social labyrinth I had to negotiate in order to get 2 sisters to a date at the ice-skating rink, another sister to blow off two friends in order to babysit Gwennie, Emma and Jen and Vince's daughters, and then loading 6 people into a very cluttered Honda Accord, but suffice it to say the combined efforts of Superman, King Solomon, and Atilla the Hun would have gotten them nowhere.

Jethro had gone fishing, or to be more precise, "flounder gigging," which is what you call it when you hunt flounder with a spear. Or your dick as Jethro claims. Personally I have my doubts. Regardless, he was not around to play a part.

So Jen, Vince, and I scooted around town stopping at three bars. I remember when three bars was a slow, slow night. I had started drinking red wine earlier in the day at a wedding, and I saw no reason to stop. This is what happens when you are preoccupied with the logistics of getting out. You stop thinking. Red wine makes for a nice buzz, but a terrible hangover.

But while we were out we heard the worst pick-up line ever, drove right through the gay pride parade, and saw a transvestite prostitute and a man running after him. In that order.

The worst pick-up line ever was delivered to two girls at the first bar we were at. They were probably about 21 and pretty cute. The deliverer was about 45, hapless, yet under the delusion that if he spoke loud and fast enough, no one would notice that he was old, desperate, and probably not very good in bed. He came over and introduced himself to the girls and asked if he could buy them a drink. They politely declined to which he said, "But how can I take advantage of you if I can't get you drunk?"

We left shortly after. It was too painful.

We decided to hit another bar and ended up driving through a very colorful, sparkly, but utterly disorganized Gay Pride parade. Jen and I tried to talk Vince into rolling down his window and catcalling some very pretty young men in blue glittery hot pants, but he refused. He's an Irish boy through and through.

The transvestite prostitute was kind of tame after the gay pride parade and not exactly an uncommon site in Houston's Montrose/Midtown area, but I've usually been too drunk to notice them. As I mentioned to Jen and Vince, if you're gonna pay for it, you'd think you'd go for the real thing as opposed to the sure thing. And as Jen said, it's really the difference between Dr. Pepper and Dr. Thunder.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Afternoon Delite

We got a little on Jethro's lunch break. It was 1 1/2 hours long but for some reason he waited until the last 15 minutes to proposition me. Nothing like urgency to carry you through.

All the rain has been driving me batty. But when I stop to think about it, I should just shut up and enjoy it. When it's raining, the temperature is bearable and the mosquitoes don't fly. The humidity is so bad in Houston that you are damp even if it isn't raining, so what's a little water when compared with the moist human soup created by sweat, oil and heat?

I want to move back to Callicoon, NY where I grew up. I know I've bitched about my childhood, but if I show you these pictures, you'll bitch-slap me for complaining. No one could have asked for a more beautiful place to grow up.

One of the many houses my parents rented.

The view from that house. I woke up to this each day.

The view from down the road.

The "hideout." We actually had a stick war with some other kids over it.

The playhouse. I married a lot of boys and planned on setting up housekeeping here with all of them.

Main Street

The Water Hole. Spent many happy summer hours here and rescued a younger sister from drowning just off the right bank

The Delaware River and the Catskill Mountains

St. Mary's. Just one of many churches my family frequented.

The view upon entering the town. Quaint, huh?

Monday, June 19, 2006

Floods and Stuff

Nothing much to report here except some flooding in the Houston area. I must say it's fun watching the government monkeys dance and make promises and look on the bright side of things. It's the weather. We live in a basin. Shit happens - especially when you drive through standing water. But we are determined to hold someone accoutable.

For the rain....

I'm in the middle of scrubbing out my kitchen. It's no barrel of monkeys, but it must be done. Secretly I've always wondered what it would be like to just let nature and the sugar ants take their course, but then I think, "Bad hippie. BAD." And I slap myself hard across the face. It doesn't make me that much more hygenic, but it keeps me from going too long without a shower.

Friday, June 16, 2006

Soybeans and Soybean Accessories

What I thought was a terrible case of food poisoning from undercooked edemame last year, turns out to be vicious and thorough intestinal rejection of soy.

I discovered this a couple of weeks ago when we went to dinner with our friends Jen and Vince. I ordered the vegetarian dinner just for laughs and it came with this huge hunk of fried tofu. Very healthful. I ate most of it, but just couldn't quite see my way to finishing it, which is highly unusual for me. Not half an hour later, I was vaguely uncomfortable. An hour later, I was rushing into our other friends' apartment to take care of emergent business.

Now I ask you. Who can't tolerate soy? Soy is what they give people who can't tolerate normal food. It's like having an intolerance to gruel. I suppose it's just one other way that I don't play by the rules. I'm such a rebel.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Peace Offering for the Last Post

I remembered this from when I was a kid. I never thought I'd see it again.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

For Kristin (and not for anyone under 18 or with functional ocular capabilities)

I've changed my mind. I have seen the error of my clothed ways and I am now a liberal.

It's the only way he can see his penis these days. Thank God for digital technology and zoom lenses.

I'm a girl and even I think that looks painful. But maybe that's his thing.

I know pot is supposed to stunt your growth, but DAMN!

It doesn't seem to be talking. Perhaps it's preoccupied with the gay porn audition.

Yeah. From her backfat. Let's drop her on the hajis.

He's convinced me.

Hat tip and major thanks to Zombie. If there were a civilian equivalent of a purple heart, he'd deserve it.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

War Blog

I'm back and in the mood to blog some war.

When I found out Abu Musab al Zarquawi had been killed by U.S. troops (which was 2:00am Western on June 8), I was as elated as I have been since Saddam's capture. Probably more because the fucker is dead. It has now been revealed that he lived for 52 minutes after the bomb blasts and died of massive internal injuries. I sincerely hope they were the most brutal, painful, torturous 52 minutes that could ever be experienced by a human being. It isn't enough, but it's a start.

In a baffling attempt to mitigate this victory, it has been circulated through our stunningly honest and accurate media that our soldiers may have beaten the fatally injured Zarquawi. I've stated this around the blogosphere, but I will repeat it here since I will never be swayed from this position.


Zarquawi beheaded innocent people while they screamed and begged for mercy. He enjoyed doing it. He videotaped himself doing it. Those stupid islamofucks should be thanking Allah it was the troops who found him and not me. Because if I had my way, the cocksucker would have had his eyeballs replaced with his testicles and his severed dick wrapped in bacon, dipped in menstrual blood (which I would happily provide), and shoved down his no-longer-ululating throat. After it had been rammed up his hairy fucking ass.

And as for our marines in Haditha, they are innocent until proven guilty. And if the death penalty pansies can apply that to the point of absurdity to any child-molesting, grandmother-raping, flesh-eating murderer, surely they can find it within themselves to apply it to our marines.

I'm going to go eat a steak and scratch my balls.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Nothing indicates a blissful marriage like cum on your wedding band. Cleaning it off is such a satisfactory chore.


We are leaving in about 5 minutes for CA. We hope to see Jeanette and possibly Gooch while we're there. We'll be back Monday. Have a great week/weekend.

Monday, June 05, 2006

TV Rots Your Brains

Television is so stupid. It is so stupid it's hard to believe just how stupid it is. I just saw an advertisement for a "provacative" program about America's drug use through the decades. It's entitled, America: The Drug Years - as if they're over.

Usually when the word "provacative" is used to describe a controversial topic, you can be reasonably sure that if it's a good thing like pet adoption, it's going to be criticized, or if it's a bad thing like drugs, the drug addicts who haven't died a horrible death covered in their own excrement are going to wax nostalgic and glossy eyed over the time they spent near death covered in their own excrement. Party on Wayne. Their smug little grins tell me they feel as if they have cheated both Death and The Man. Well congratu-fucking-lations. You're a goddam idiot. Party on Garth.

And MTV is such a cesspool and yet I know every bit of mental sludge they pawn off on an increaslingly addled public. I honestly don't know how since I rarely watch MTV. I caught one episode of that program where they showcase the Sweet 16 parties of Paris Hilton wannabes.

Now I'll be honest. I rarely envy anyone their money. Whether it's earned, or inherited, I simply don't care. If you spend it on things that you truly love, more power to you. And yet. Somehow, I want to rip every strand of hair out of these children's heads along with the still-beating hearts out of their parents' bodies. And as I am wont to do, I overanalyze my reasonings. I think it's because they have such bad manners. I abhor bad manners, especially in children. And I particularly abhor parents who excuse their little monsters and declare their weakness when it comes to denying them things for which they have absolutely no need.

But I wonder if these children realize how close they're going to come to having their throats slit. Not that I'd ever approve of that, but if you insist upon taunting other children whose lack of self-esteem may have rendered them a temporarily unstable, you are putting yourself at risk.

And that brings me to another point. Children who care so much about those who are popular that they would shoot someone over a few petty insults. Once you take out your anger in a bloody way upon someone, everything they've done is null and void, and you are too damaged to enter society. Harsh? Probably. But that's the way it is. Now by bloody violence, I'm not talking about a fist fight, which I actually think there should be more of. No. I am talking about violence that puts someone's life in danger. No excuse for that.

And I guess I'm done with this rant. I had so much more to say, but I'm spent. And I need to pack.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Sorry for not posting for awhile. We've been a little preoccupied with Jethro's family. For anyone who hasn't read Jethro's last post, his grandmother passed away two days ago. It was as easy a death as anyone can expect. It was peaceful and in her sleep and I am sure she is in a better place. We will be going to CA next Wednesday for the funeral in Santa Ana. I am not looking forward to spending the money, but I would like to pay my respects.

Resisting the urge to wax maudlin on the subject, as I became very fond of her over the past month, I won't say anymore about it.


And since I have very little to write about at this moment, I'll leave everyone with a bit of maritime erotica.

I always wondered how they did that. Thanks Boris for your insights.