Scottish Nationalists...

... ahh... the evenings... sitting here chatting.... as you do, you know, after a long day at the office.... Wife reclining on the suede blog-couch with a glass of vino in hand.. me listening intently from the blog-chair to her highly detailed debunking of the day.... when, without warning, a glorious nugget is dropped... a little piece of information that is truly worthy of blogdom...

... you guys remember when I turned jackass, and let my passport expire, right?.... well, ole Wifey told me exactly what to do... "get over there as quick as you can, but I ain't waiting"... now, other men might have been taken aback by such language from their beloveds.... I, on the other hand, thought was great... I mean, just re-read her statement.... "ain't" is not normally in her vocabulary... so, it was uplifting to see her embracing her newly found Hillbilly culture... validation, people.... validation... soon, she will be tipping cows....

... anyway, to cut a long story short, she left without me... yep.... that's right, children... she had an EXTRA week in Ecosse... a full week longer than I enjoyed.... what mischief did she get into while I was across the sea?... what tale of a strange brew did she just divulge whilst draped seductively across my brown suede blog-couch?...

... well, not much, really.... but still, worth commenting about...

... her dear, Sainted Momma had given sizeable donation to the campaign to get Alex Salmond back in SNP politics.... being lefties and Nationalists, they tend to enjoy giving money to Socialists and Hippies... a strange idea, I know... but hey, it's their money.... I have tried to shade them many a time... and suffered the beatdowns that came from it... they are truly entrenched, friends... besides, there is just simply not enough support for the lone evil conservative in that household... still, I always soldier on.... but as the story goes, ole Alex sent a personal letter to the Straight White Mother-in-Law... it read s something like..

... "oh, thank you thank you thank you.... Since you have donated your left kidney a sizeable sum to get me re-elected, we will give you a special gift as a grand, socialist thank-you.... Please choose which SNP member you would like to have personally autograph a bottle of Scotland's finest nectar... Parliament Whisky.. after all, it feels so much better to vote for us after you've had a few..... sure, we make some money on it, but you have to admit.. what a GREAT gimmick, comrade.... "

... well, as if that wasn't bad enough... guess who is on the list, children?... this is so damn depressing, I really don't want to even type it.... Sean friggin Connery... yep.. the Momma-in-Law now has an autographed bottle of booze from The Man....

... so many thoughts are crashing down right now.. so many ideals... I am honestly without recourse... I am crushed... hell, after a few more drinks, I will be inconsolable.... Sean... you magnificent bastard... how could you do this to me?.. and on so MANY different levels... I'll never drink a martini.. nor don a tux without sobbing silently to myself first..

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Chapter Two...

.. as all of you munchkins know, I have been drafted... kicking and screaming, mind you..... into the ranks of Christina's Blog Novella Army.... Chapter One of which, is right here.... Chapter Two, after much thrashing about, has been birthed... and let me tell you, it was not pretty.... so, knowing that he who hesitates is lost... but, while lost, might be doing himself a favor in hesitating... I therefore.. tentatively give you.... The Blog Novella - Chapter Two...

James stared hard at the page. He was shaking. It had been so long since he had read this novel that he had forgotten about its effect on him. "The Man out of Time", by Alistair McFarland. He had begun to read the acclaimed piece of fiction back in High School, but had always become distracted. Football or Baseball had always called him away. Sometimes, it was chasing cheerleaders. But, he always laid the book aside.

He had picked it up again at the base exchange in Kuwait City last year. His deployment with the 8th Engineers was just beginning, and in a few short weeks, he found himself distracted again. But now, he has nothing but time. Sitting in the amputee ward of the Alvin C. York Memorial Veteran's Hospital in Murfreesboro, he had decided to read it again. This time, he will have no distractions.

When James had last read that fateful, questioning line, his world had exploded. "This IS my Destiny", now held a new meaning. At the time, he felt very much like the character portrayed by the author. A Man out of Time, indeed - a dusty corpsman riding home from a patrol near Fallujah tired and bloodied, but with the blood of others, not his own. A man unable to affect the world around him, and who instead could only patch wounds.

His memory of that day was perfect. Crystalline. Every detail, every color, and every smell was impressed into him. The branding iron of life had scored its mark into his soul that day, and the savior had become the saved.

He laid the book aside, as the tears came, and rang for the nurse. She arrived quickly, and winked at him as she strode up to his bedside. A clean white dress with curly brown hair laid its hand on his forehead to check for a fever, and he tried to sit up. He couldn't raise himself, and she noticed. She saw his book, and asked if he wanted his bed adjusted. He nodded, and asked her for his writing gear that was stowed away in the neat, white, government footlocker.

When it was brought to him, he opened it and began to read. Words that he had written in the days before his disaster. Words written for him, to him, to ensure he would never forget. That is what he had told himself. But, it was a lie. His words were meant for someone else. He knew, deep down, he would never forget.

The white skirt left the room after handing the dusty journal to James. The small book was bent and twisted from being carried in the field for so long. It too, appeared scarred. Sand and dirt tinged every page. He was thankful for being asked no questions by those tender brown curls. He began to read.

... 0945...
... well, here I am again... scribbling.... I just finished looking at those words again.... I couldn't help thinking to myself that I have BEEN there... every damn day, Hell, I AM there now..... my eyes always seem to keep falling onto that last line... "THIS is my destiny"..... yeah... too damn right... my destiny is to patch these guys up, and then watch them die another day... you know, the last time I read that line, I actually said.... "yes", I said it out loud... "this destiny... we share it, friend"... how crazy is that?... pretty damn psycho, I guess... I just do my job... what else is there?...

... this is hard to explain... it's strange... like feeling that you are just a piece in a machine.... just another statistic in a thousand year war... sooner or later, you figure it out... you are at the whim of fate.... forever... you have no choice.. do your duty... continue to fight and bleed... be here, and help... I love my Marines though... we are a damn good unit...

... I should have died a hundred times by now... but, I keep on living.... if I wasn't here, I'd be in the ER in Memphis... doing the same goddamn thing.... The grunts are the ones making the sacrifices... me, I'm just the Doc.... my job is to save the wounded... but my goal is universal... I don't want to change the world... I just want to stay the fuck alive...

... ahh, Hell.... I didn't mean to get all philosophical... who cares about all that shit anyway... all I really know is this... this is my world now, and here I will stay until the End... hell, in half an hour our patrol will be over, and we'll be back home... Mississippi State is playing Auburn tonight... and I've got 50 bucks on Mississippi... probably not the smartest thing I've done since getting in-country... but, when you see insane people every day, I guess it rubs off on you... in any case, Auburn can kiss my dirty ass....

... 1530...
... alright... I am back now... lousy motherfuckers... we were hit again... no mortars this time at least.. two more Marines down... one going home with a fairly nasty chest wound... the other dead when he hit the floor of the APC.... God damn it... what the fuck am I supposed to do?...

He laid the journal down onto his chest. Remembering those two Marines - Jackson and Griffin - brought back their faces to him. The vacant look Jackson showed as he hit the deck dead, and then the look of confidence in Griffin's eyes. They would both remain with him forever. He knew that. Tending to Griffin's lung, punctured in an instant by a fragment of the 50 caliber round that had slammed into the APC, his hands had worked on autopilot. He had saved his life in those moments. Griffin had never doubted him, but neither had Jackson.

Here again, his hands seemed to move of their own volition. Without even realizing it, he found his fingers pressing the button to release another dose of morphine. He slid himself higher in the bed, and surveyed his body. His leg was still gone. He should have been killed, but here he is. A sudden panic spread through him. He felt his heart race. Slowly, he turned his head and stared out the window. Yes, there was movement. The wind in the trees was evident, and the autumn clouds were blowing across the sky. For a moment, he had imagined he was not a part of this place. That perhaps he was dead. Like the character in his unfinished book, he was strangely confused. The world around him seemed alien somehow.

The morphine was traveling now. He could feel it slide up his arm, and warm his chest. Soon, he would be asleep. He was not out of time. He was here, and alive. So were many thankful Marines. Many others were dead. It was they who were out of time. He looked back at the journal resting on his chest, and his eyes filled with tears. The only words that filled his mind were spoken to himself in a hushed tone.

"I am sorry, men", he said, and he rang for the nurse.

She arrived, just as before, knowing what he wanted. He held the journal out to her, and she gently took it. She pressed it between the palms of her hands, and looked at him.

"You know," she began, "you did a very brave thing in rescuing that young Marine that day. We all know what you did, James. Some people are calling you a hero."

He adjusted his body, and turned away from the white dress with the soft brown curls. He wasn't a hero, he was just doing his job. The men he had left behind were the heroes, and he missed them.

"Just put it away, please, I want to get some rest."

The nurse stood for a minute, and watched him. Then she did as she was asked, and walked away. The morphine had started to work by then, and he was gone. He tossed a few times, and he was dreaming again.

.. he put his worn journal away.... looked at the torn cover of the Old Book, and began reading anew... at that very moment, the afternoon was ignited again... but this time, it was closer contact.. heavy machinegun fire slammed into the side of the APC... denting the inch thick armor.... knocking splinters of torn iron loose from the inside of the vehicle... shrapnel tore into flesh... screams.... and then, he was in action... quickly, he slid the faded paperback into the breast pocket of his fatigues..... safely behind his flak jacket.... and he turned to working his art...

.... the plea of "Corpsman UP" was late in coming.... he had seen the wound as it happened... The red mist of a high velocity wound was horrifically visible in the dusty air, even from a distance, and he was there by the side of the fallen Marine just as his friend called for assistance....

.... what he saw what not unexpected.... a punctured lung..... sucking chest wound. he has been here, in this very place, a thousand times before... the young Corpsman ripped the flak jacket off the twisting Marine.... and placed a MRE wrapper over the bubbling hole in his chest.... "Hold this while I tape it up!" he barked at the dirty-faced child who had called for him earlier.... He obeyed immediately.... searching the face of his friend as his hands held the makeshift bandage..... a dirty-faced child, all 17 years of him, and a U.S. Marine...... He obeyed..... "keep him on his side till we get to Dogwood... nothing else I can do here."..... The young Marine nodded, and held onto his squad mate....... the breathing of the wounded man was slowing, but still strong... the morphine was taking hold.....

.. the APC bounced harder as the driver picked up speed. just a few hundred yards more, and we will be out of range.....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(11) | SWG Stories
» Mirthful Ones links with: Linky Love
» Gut Rumbles links with: blog novella
» Random Fate links with: I was expecting this...
» Velociworld links with: The Novella Proceeds Apace
» Random Fate links with: Blog-novella: Chapter 4
» Velociworld links with: Chapter Five
» Parkway Rest Stop links with: The Blog Novella Kicks Ass.
» Fistful of Fortnights links with: A Bow To Feisty

Going Commando...

... it's a time honored tradition.. hell, it's even enjoyable.... the Israelis, however, have freaked right the Hell out... I mean, c'mon people... a tradition is a tradition... cut your Special Forces some slack... I mean, 6 buck naked Commandos standing in the snow on the Golan Heights... damn, just imagine what the Palestinians thought.. you might even call that psychological warfare...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | Psycho Rants
» Mirthful Ones links with: Linky Love

Ray Troll....

... if creativity were gold dust, Ray would be sitting on the Mother lode... that's all I'm saying...

... art and life intertwined... joined... inseparable... I absolutely love it..... what's even better is that they will put it on a tee shirt...

.. behold the symmetry, children...

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Electric Youth...

... kids these days... you know, I once entertained the thought of actually buying a taser... I mean, an armed response is not always necessary.. but this story is just wrong on so many levels....

"Police in Lincoln Park had to use a Taser gun -- twice -- to subdue a kicking and screaming 14-year-old boy who wouldn't stop playing his Nintendo Game Boy during class."

... twice?... at 14 years old?... either that is one tough kid, or he was REALLY close to finishing that level of Super Mario... then again... if it takes two shots from a friggin taser to take him down... what the Hell does his Mother use to control him?... oh, nevermind... that probably doesn't happen...

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Elegancia..

.... what's happening tonight?... not a damn thing, that's what.... you see, the Wife is working... mheh.. 9 to 9... the poor, sweet darling... so, I've got Stevie screaming... I'm sampling an exquisite 1992 Macallan Elegancia... and the guys are coming over for pool in two hours... I be set.... do I feel guilty?... not one little bit... I was born to do this....

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Heh...

... ebb and flow... ebb and flow... the dripping faucet that is Sitemeter just told me that I have finally trickled past 100K visits... this momentous occasion has just been celebrated by the consuming of a double-bacon cheeseburger and an amber bock... yeah, I know.. but hey, we are fresh out of champagne... and, it isn't Scotchtime yet... chill out..

... anyway, while checking my referrals, I just happened to notice who the infamous 100,000th visitor was... I know that you rubberneckers are positively riveted with the suspense of it all... so, here is a blow-by-blow of the final cherry popping...

..visitor 99,996 - Overactive Imagination
..visitor 99,997 - On The Patio
..visitor 99,998 - Velociworld
..visitor 99,999 - Large Regular
.. and finally...
.. visitor 100,000 - Boi from Troy..

... other honorable mentions for the day were..
.. good ole Bob Baird... at 99,989... and the Grouchy Old Cripple coming in at 99,984

... thanks to you all for hanging around... I appreciate it... I really do... but, it shall be recorded that my 100,001th visitor was a googler from Germany... and, you will all be proud to note that SWG is numero fucking uno on German google for "guy urination"... I am pretty damn proud, let me tell ya...

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Art...

... I am struggling here, children... truly... hammer and tongs have deserted me... well, actually, I threw those bastards out into the street in a fit of rage... and, it is all Christina's fault, God love her...

.. but still, in my attempt to beat her second chapter into submission, I have busted every single finger upon this damn anvil of "writing"....

... fuck it... I need a new angle... maybe I should just throw in some Peirre Woodman DVDs, and recharge...

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Quote of the Day...

... last night's grubfest was wonderous... great steaming heaps of chow were everywhere... ham.. turkey... sausages... vegetables of all shapes and colors.. desserts loaded so thick that tables nearly collapsed.. it was grand....

... but, as is our hillbilly custom, the men congregated after the meal in a quiet place... leaving the womenfolk to their own devices... and spoke of all things manly.. to wit, my Uncle Mickey is a bear hunter... he is a woodsman of the highest caliber... a man who is comfortable with danger and adventure... he often holds the floor during these story-telling sessions...

... well, last night, in his slow drawl, he told of Aunt Frances buying a new mattress... his description of it still leaves me in awe of his mind's working...

... "Frances showed up last week with a new mattress.. she said the old one was just too soft... after a few days, I finally just told her... this damn mattress has got to go, it's as hard as a brick... she said that she liked it that way... crazy woman... but, I'll tell you.. that matterss is so damn hard... if your head slides off your pillow in the middle of the night, you'd bust your nose"...

.. now, children... THAT is a hard mattress...

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An Experimental Martini...

... after meeting that crazy Zurich babe at the airport bar in Newark... I started to do some thinking... most specifically, about her interesting order of a "Bloody Caesar"... a Bloody Mary with a dash of clam juice... I'd never heard of it before, and I must admit... I was a little more than intrigued... clam juice, indeed... what a crazy idea... obviously babes from Zurich are out there, man...

... but still, with my mind working overtime, what did I happen upon in Scotland?... olives, baby... olives stuffed with anchovy paste... well, I simply could not pass them up.... I bought them...

... I know what you are thinking... what does one naturally think of when looking at a brand new, fresh jar of olives?.. ahhh... I'm sure you already know the answer...

... that's right.... "show me the way to the vodka"..

... exactly...

... so.. now that my drink has been created... and sampled... I need a name for it.. that is, of course, if someone else hasn't already attempted a dirty Martini with anchovy & olive... if you have, let me know what this drink is called... otherwise, give me an idea for a name...

... so far, I have been luckless... all that the brave tasters have given me so far is... Damn Nasty Martini... a Vodka Caesar (in keeping with the Bloody Mary theme) ... and a Kitty-tini... yeah... our cats are mysteriously drawn to anyone who drinks this drink....

... and remember... even though this drink sounds bad.. it's actually pretty good... besides, after two of them, you don't care WHAT those olives are stuffed with....

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Thanksgiving....

... yeah, yeah... I am thankful... no, really... I AM... quit looking at me that way... and, yes.. since you asked, that IS a Southern White Rhino over there... infinitely more appealing than me shaving, no?...

... anyway... quickly to the point... today promises to be a day of monumental gluttony and sloth... I am truly stoked, children... damn, I love Thanksgiving...

.. check it... Mr. Helpful has a recipe for Thanksgiving that will ensure that your day is filled with joy, a hearty meal, and FUN.. I have everything except the hammer... but, I'm working on it..

... what new news of my bud, the Bitterman on this festive day?... Hell, even HE is sifting through the rubble of a misspent youth to find some things to be thankful for...

... and, in a strange turn of events, we find that even the denizens of the Velocihovel are giving thanks....

... sally forth, people... enjoy your Thanksgiving...

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Morning Memory...

... the weather here today is atrocious... not really cold, but a steady rain is falling... dismal, people... as I was getting ready to head out the door for work, I started searching for a fleece to wear.... a little protection from the damp day.... I grabbed one from the hall closet, and slipped it on in the dark... sitting here now, I notice that it is my old Aleutian Search & Rescue fleece... The North Face's finest from back in the day... emblazoned with a glorious logo, too... "Aleutian SAR Team"... complete with a Bald Eagle surveying the ground from high above... crossed snowshoes... a first aid symbol.... an ice axe... and, of course, a perfectly conical snowcapped Volcano...

... I've had this fleece since 1991... a zipper down the front.... dark gray with black trim... it's kept me warm on many a day... even when soaked with sweat or rain... or both.... I am proud of this fleece... but, with that said, I have a confession... during my two years on the SAR team, we never found a single lost soul alive... how's that for a record?... greasy spots in the tundra after the Spring thaw was the norm... pitiful, really... still, we tried every time... zodiac landings on arctic shores... trudging over mountain ranges following the snow-cats... days of tired slogging through knee-deep snow... stopping to search every SAR Rescue Barrel... rescue dogs failing to find a scent in the chilled air... then, returning... knowing we had lost...

... we always tried... for backbreaking days, we'd search... every time... we had all of the resources... but we never found anyone alive... the weather was just too bad... the victims were just too unprepared.. or ill-trained... and, the snow just fell too fast and deep...

... what is the moral of this little tale?.... Hell, I don't know.... but sometimes, children, you just can't win... that doesn't mean you quit trying though... then again, maybe the moral is this... don't get lost in a snow-squall in the Aleutians... especially if I am around... you choose...

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Phelps Rocks....

.. I swear to God, people... The Everlasting Phelps has it going on....

.. if we aren't related, even distantly, then we should just get together and shoot our AR-15s and drink some scotch coffee.. or, we could go and beat some hippies.... either would be fine.... just let me know...

.. in short, Phelpsy, you rock...

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Murder...

... I am not one to advocate murder... but, we live in truly trying times, people... we really do.... in these wild-eyed days of hunters being gunned down in the wilds of Wisconsin by an immigrant with a SKS.... a dipshit named Scott Peterson brutally disposing of his beautiful wife and child.... and terrorists busily lopping the heads of any victim they capture... well, it is truly a depressing state of affairs.... but, in my view, this madness needs to be more focused..

... listen, children... Hell, hark even... why is it that the evil bastards who NEED a good killin', never seem to get their desserts?...

... hey, he may have his heart in the right place... but, I'm just sayin'....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(6) | Psycho Rants
» Ellis Island links with: We Need Queenie!

Scotland 100 - Japan 8

.. more of the continued travelogue.. if you are interested...

... Montrose, Scotland... Sunday.. Nov 14th... 7am...
... one of the misunderstood benefits of jetlag is the slam-dunking it performs on your bodyclock... for most people, it is a drawback... that being said, I am up early today.... well before anyone else.... and, the jetlag is showing a more pleasant side.... the Sun is just coming up, and the seagulls are riding the chilled breeze outside... the coldness of the sky penetrates into the room.. a mixture of sapphire blue and silver... the gulls are having a hard go of things, too... this temperature and the wind makes for a hard flight for them... and it is making me want build a fire in the grate...

... but, with my second cup of coffee down me, the silver is being replaced with the gold of sunrise.... warming light is just starting to flow into the glass-clad walls of the conservatory... it is good to be here again....

... after my arrival last night, the wine was flowing... Scotch, too, abounded... 12 year old Bowmore, to be precise... my favorite.... and after much conversation and dinner, a break was taken from the pleasure of the women's presence... Duncan and I went through to the front room to watch the Rugby... Scotland absolutely massacred Japan... 100 to 8... in Perth, no less... the first time in Scottish Rugby Union's history that a triple digit score was achieved by Scotland in an international match.. it was the perfect cap to a fine day...

... right now, as I am writing this, a song is buzzing in my mind... it has been here since before I decided to start writing this morning.... in a way, it is a distraction... then again, maybe it just wants onto this page for some reason....

... "the wino and I know the joy of the ocean... like a boy knows the joy of his milkshake in motion"...

... heh... strange lyrics from the mind of Mr. Buffett... although, I do happen to share feeling... check this out...

... "coffee as strong as the Cafe Du Monde.. doughnuts that are too hot to touch... but, just like a fool... when those sweet goodies cool, I eat till I eat way too much.... 'cause I'm living on things that excite me.. be they beignets, lobster, or love..." ....

... ahhh.. time for more coffee...

.. today's plan has promise, people... what is on the agenda?... creative loafing at it's finest... Duncan is scheduled to be out at a small country church this morning while the house here sleeps.... the church at Farnell, I think... they have been without a musician for a while now, and although agnostic, Duncan bravely stepped into the breach... anyway, upon his arrival back, lunch shall be had at The Links Hotel... Sunday brunch shows off their "Carvery"... a very civilized affair, indeed... roast port, beef, and lamb... sliced off the bone by Frank the French Chef.... heh... damn, children.... sometimes my life is just so hard....

... still, it is good to be back.. even if just for a little while... everyone will be up soon... and the day will begin...

... "strange situation... wild occupation... living my life like a song... " ...

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Mini-me?...

... I can, of course, neither confirm nor deny that this handsome fellow is myself at an earlier age... however, his demeanor seems just about perfect....

... anyway, it seems fitting that since we have seen the infamous AcidFinger AND VelociFinger... my time may have come too...

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A Tribute...

.... first and foremost, I would like to extend a hearty thanks to Sadie and Velociman for duly posting, as requested, every day in my absence... you two rock.. and I owe you a deep debt of gratitude... and, of course, payback.... but in any case, thanks....

... moving onward however, my latest little jaunt to Scotland was a real surprise... it turned out to be full of wonder... it was a true gift.... to be quite honest, I hadn't expected the trip to be so filled with small pleasures... and yet, it was...

... I managed to write a wee bit while waiting for planes... or waiting for the waitresses at various esteemed drinking establishments.. but since Sadie's wonderfully satiric post, I feel a bit hesitant to share.... then again... fuck it.... this IS why you are here, right?... if not, bite me....

... so, without further ado.. behold the latest (well, the one-and-only) SWG travelogue...

... Knoxville, Tennessee... Nov 12th.. 2pm..
.. finally... leaving for Scotland... traveling in style, people... a dripping fresh knife-wound... a pocket full of Franklins.. and a one-way ticket to Amsterdam... I be set to jet... oh, and did I mention that Luuka is still in tow?... yep, that's right.... she's coming on this journey too... I will use the old Royal Mail to send her hairy tush over to Rocket Ted in Virginia... due to passport difficulties, I hadn't the chance to get her packed before the flight.. so, this is the way it happens....

... anyway, here I am... and as I sip this first of MANY double Macallans, I have to say this... airports totally rock... not only are they prime models of how anally we can ram structure, organization, and the fleecing of one's wallet onto the unsuspecting masses... they are also the providers of the absolute best venue for entreating your voyeuristic tendencies... here we have all kinds of people... all colors, shapes, and sizes.... all ages... some angry, some happy... some even seem nervous.... then, of course, some are like me... just sitting here... watching the world roll on by... cradling a drink... and waiting for a flight....

... just after leaving Newark, New Jersey.. somewhere over the Atlantic... Nov 12th.. 8pm... I just finished talking with a very strange liberal cutie named Gizzy... a film-maker.. quite a dish... but alas, her skills at ordering a drink are woefully lacking... one never asks a bartender the following question... especially if the asker is a nubile young blonde....

".. I'll have a Bloody Mary... oh, wait... what is that Bloody Mary they make that has fish juice poured into it?"....

... the large African bartender took immediate notice... but, seemed both excited and confused... I'm not 100% sure if he thought she was being serious... or, if she wanted to meet him later for some hot groping action..... but regardless...I, minding my own business with my double Johnnie Walker, sat mystified..... until aforesaid bartender exclaimed as if struck by lightning..

.. "AH HA!... you mean CLAM juice!!"....

... well, in the aftershock of this sudden realization, I spewed half-swallowed Scotch all over my appetizer.... anyway, after the looks from the rest of the bar had subsided, I wiped the scotch from my chin... just in time to hear that this drink is called a "Bloody Caesar"... not, as the young Zurich babe had claimed was a "Bloody Mary with Fish Juice"....

... anyway, you learn something new every day.... Hell, I even paid her tab as she left.. she had, after all, been the most entertainment I'd seen in hours... and that little memory was worth the twenty bucks...

... just as she was departing, an elderly Native American showed up... complete with red checkered scarf.. and of course, a medicine rattle hidden in a Nike gym bag... he sidled up and ordered a beer and a shot of tequila... a man after my own heart, I thought.... but as I said, I was minding my own business... sipping my Walker... when, he suddenly broke into conversation... you know, that sudden form of conversation.... the way where you can just TELL that he has not yet been thoroughly educated in the ways of world-travel-induced apathy...

.. "Hi, my name is Earl", says he... producing a large, well-tanned hand out to shake...

.. "Howdy, Earl... a pleasure to meet you... so, where are YOU from"....

.."Phoenix, friend.... I am on the way to speak at the Hague... I am on the International Indigenous Human Rights Committee...."

... well, normally this would have shut me right the Hell up... never having been a great friend of the Hague-crowd.... but he was obviously wanting to talk... and it was still 30 minutes before my flight... so, we continued to talk...

.. "I am a Pima Indian, and the mining companies are polluting the waters of my people" he began...

... now, I know what a lot of you are thinking... yeah, yeah... evil mining companies... poor Pima Indians... and, hey... you are right... if a company was polluting my water, they'd get shot at on a daily basis until they ceased, or, well... until I was locked up... but, the plight of his people was not the first thing that caught my attention.... I mean, here I was... sitting in an airport bar in NEWARK... and I was talking with a PIMA INDIAN!!... hot damn, children.... so, without letting him finish his story about the Great Injustice, I broke in upon him...

... "So, you are a Pima Indian?... Holy Shit, man... the only other Pima I have ever heard of was the Marine who helped raise the flag over Mt. Suribachi on Iwo Jima.. Ira Hayes..."

... "oh, yeah... Ira was my Uncle.... his brother Harold was my Father... "

... you could have knocked me over with a feather, children... some of you might not understand.. but, for a Marine, meeting this old Indian was an incredible treat... I bought him another beer and a shot as I was leaving the bar.... I wished him all the best in Belgium... and then, I headed for my flight... Ira fucking Hayes.... I met his Nephew.. in Newark of all places..

... anyway... the rest of the notes from my week away will have to wait till tomorrow... I am tired now... and, I want to go listen to some Johnny Cash.... In particular, The Ballad of Ira Hayes...

... all in all, I had an incredible holiday.... not long enough, of course, but they never ever are....

Read the Bullshit »

by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5)
» Tammi's World links with: Straight White Guy's Travels

Kid Rock IS entertaining...

.. well, people... I am back... Holy Shit.... you should all be totally fucking ashamed of yourselves... there I was enjoying the gentle and sweet debaucheries of the Olde Country... relaxing... peaceful, even... and all the while, you guys were over here gazing wistfully at the appetizers surrounding Tiger's lunchbox... hell, I am impressed..

... still, part of me is mesmerized by the swaying hips of the hulababes... they almost remind me of that Incredibly Sexy Momma from my youth... Mrs. Jetson... I always got a little excited when I imagined her straddling that rocket as she headed out to the grocery.... housewives ARE tigresses.... then again, I am hammered flat right now from 23 hours of jetting... so, it might just be a hallucination...

... anyway, before I go forth and steal back my keys from sexy Sadie, and Crème-filled Kim... I just want to report that Kid Rock was on my flight from London to Detroit... that fucker is a lot taller in person than you'd expect... although, a moment of sublime clarity was witnessed as we passed through Immigration.. being just behind Mr. Rock in line... I overheard the skeptical, passport-holding INS agent inquire... only to be told, in no uncertain terms by Herr Rock...

... "yeah, man... that IS my name"...

... that was a truly beautiful moment...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(12) | Psycho Rants
» Tammi's World links with: Straight White Guy's Travels

I Coulda Been A Contenda

So I guess now I can't run for public office....now that I've been outed....well shit. Maybe now Instapundit will stop ignoring my emails. Hah!

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Mrs. Woods

For those of you who wonder why Tiger's lost his edge, allow me to freshify the situation:


I'm a bit incensed, however. I thought the carpet matched the drapes on all those Scando women! Whaddup with that?!? And does she need a trim, or is that a vestigial penis? Rankin' Rob thinks it might possibly be a tiny turd. We are collecting theories.

And, hey. Thanks for the pic, man. You are a great American.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(14)

Where's My Bolt Gun?

Is it just me or does Linda Ronstadt look just like a clean-shaven Michael Moore?


Skank.

H/T Slings and Arrows, and Art of Politics.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(8)

A Few Clarifications

Heh...the hula girls, as you may have noticed, have miraculously appeared in the sidebar. Oh how I wish that I could claim credit for that, but 'twas a little birdie who helped us out on that one. Thanks!

So don't VelociUncle and myself make the strangest pair? Kinda like Regis and Kelly....he's kinda cranky and very cynical, but he thrives on the fanfare of it all. She, of course, looks all mirthful and sunny....but, damn, you know she just has to be a tiger in the sack.

Yeah you know it....this time next year you'll find that we have blogsponsors...his being Aspercreme arthritis creme, and mine being Pantene Pro-V shampoo.

Or maybe not, but hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

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Judgment Day

It is time to don the Velocimask and assume my regal throne:


Justice must be rendered, and protocol demands all the appurtenances of my high station.

I have been accused of slathering the VelociDNA around the blogosphere in a most promiscuous manner, and I must retort.

Guilty. Not guilty. Guilty, with an alibi. Not guilty, but I certainly wish I were.

Sweet. It seems self-judgment agrees with me. And plausible deniability in a Velociczar is not without its bennies. Later: I sit in judgment of the Mirthful Sadie.

Oh, my punishment? You're reading it.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(7)

This is SO Wrong

Uhm. This is too damn funny to not post, despite the virtual humilation....but I think this quiz somehow switched mine and and Velocistud's results:

Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameSleep Apnea Woman
Super PowerAbility To Breathe Underwater
EnemyCircus Clowns
Mode Of TransportVolkswagen Beetle
WeaponVinyl Records
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameMullet Man
Super PowerGhetto Booty
EnemyClear Channel
Mode Of TransportScooter
WeaponBeer Bottle
Quiz created with MemeGen!

And for some reciprocal teasing:
Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameThe Scotsman
Super PowerCan Cry On Command
EnemyThe Cheating Boyfriend
Mode Of TransportationMotorcycle
WeaponCondoms
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameThe Bankruptcy Lawyer
Super PowerGhetto Booty
EnemyMichael Jackson
Mode Of TransportationShopping Cart
WeaponTampons
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameManic-Depressive Man
Super PowerCan See Into The Future
EnemyCircus Clowns
Mode Of TransportationUnicycle
WeaponCheese Cutter
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Your Superhero Persona by couplandesque
Your Name
Superhero NameThe Nerd
Super PowerMind-Reading
EnemyMichael Jackson
Mode Of TransportationMotorcycle
WeaponFrying Pan
Quiz created with MemeGen!

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by | Permalink | Bullshit(8)
» The LLama Butchers links with: What's your super hero identity?
» The Universal Church of Cosmic Uncertainty links with: 10 Funny.

Every Exit Is An Entrance To Somewhere

Icky title...but 'tis one of those "universal truths," which no matter how one tries to avoid them, they generally always come true. Some of these are incredibly annoying, and have been used so much that they cease to explain anything, such as "the grass is always greener on the neighbor's lawn," and "you don't know what you got until it's gone." These tired truths usually make very bad pop music, which of course we deny ever listening to a decade later.

Another thought--Try and make a universal truth up all by yourself. Once you do so, this will make you feel oh-so-clever. Then you'll inevitably find out someone already came up with what you thought was an original idea [yet another universal truth]. So Sadie decided to take that quote from Swingers, "Everything is derivative," and apply it to an already existing cliche. This of course won't make me feel original at all, so i won't be upset when i do a google search later and find out it already exists. This one is derived from that old cliche, "the pen is mightier than the sword"....

The pen is mightier than the sword, and the keyboard is mightier than the pen, but the atomic bomb will kick everybody's ass.

Heh heh. Since I started blogging in April, for some unknown reason I've taken note of these particular universal truths that have punted her in the proverbial ass in regards to dating and relationships. Let me know what you think of them.

One: It is always the small shit that gets you in the end.

Two: The more you know, the more you realize how little you know.

Three: Nice guys always finish last because they know it's not a race.

Four: Every problem contains its own solution. Fundamental understanding of the problem alone can reveal it.

Five: No man can ever know both what a woman is thinking, and how she will act on this, at the same time.

Factoid: That last one is from The Uncertainty Principle of Romance, developed by celebrated German sexologist Dave Heisenberg in the early 1920s. (Later adapted by his brother Werner for use in quantum mechanics.)

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Pharmaceutical Wiseacres

I have great respect for pharmaceutical companies, especially their R&D divisions. I can appreciate both the proper and outlaw uses of finely calibrated drugs. What I cannot stand are the glib little shits in the marketing departments, with their cutesy names for their drugs. I give you:

Cialas: Right. See Alice moan after Big Daddy lays the pipe to her after popping that little party pill. Damned near maudlin.

Flonase: Oh, yes. The old nasal corridors will be flowing after a few of these. So cheesy I am repulsed.

Viagra: Like Niagara, see? The mighty unleashing of seminal fluids, writ on a gargantuan scale! Only with vigah. Or vitriol, if the spouse has been too tendentious about the lack of erections around the domicile.

Celebrex: A puzzler, actually. What are we celebrating? The brexing of the bones as yet another Rascal jockey attempts to tie her shoes?

Viracept: Here's an HIV drug we can all appreciate. I would only suggest the best way to intercept that virus is at the back door.

Vioxx: As vibrant as an oxx you are, until you have what Merck humorously refers to as a "cardiovascular event". Shelved.

The list goes on. These are only the most egregious examples I can recall.

Please note also that Velocispumin is completing clinical trials, and you can draw your own allusions as to that name.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(4)

Return of the Hula Girls

2hulagirls.gifThese little tramps really should be in the sidebar....hmmm....Eric does like to please his audience. What do derelicts think? And why does Acidman not like Sadie? He is of the male species, correct? That's some crazy shit...

Anyhoo, to the delight of Velocigasmic, methinks it proper to name the blue hula girl Tiffani-Amber. Shhh. Don't tell him that she really isn't hot enough to be a hula girl anymore...you know...since Beverly Hills 90210 ended...it would crush his wee little heart. As to the red hula girl, the jury's still out on her identity. It might be Christina, though I'm not sure that Eric would let his blogdaughter out of the house in that outfit...

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A State of Graceland

I post this with a Havana Artigas wedged between the Velocidigits, and an Elvis shotglass full of my DNA on the desktop. I was going to offer it to Sadie as a token of my esteem, then thought I'd try my luck on Ebay. What the market will bear, you know. But hell. There's certainly more where that came from.

The shotglass did get me to pondering on Graceland, though, and all the other gimcracks and geegaws I've purchased there. The mansion itself is no great shakes, of course, and the neighborhood absolutely sucks. I was never impressed with the Fat Elvis jumpsuits, either, but that little gold record of Hound Dog is priceless.

I never cared for Graceland during the January birthday week, preferring to visit during Tribute Week Dead Elvis Week in August. The true believers really crawl out of the woodwork then. You can sit on a bench across the street at the geegaw shops and see all manner of afflicted persons. Female Elvis impersonators, flat-busted addlepated hitchhikers, lardy country folk with tears streaming down their faces. I always liked to tour the Lisa Marie, and tell the tourists on the plane "Elvis bonked Priscilla right there on that settee."

Crumbled icons are humbling experiences, unless you can find the humour in the situation, and Graceland has them in spades.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(7)

SWG Blogging Manifesto

It should be recorded for posterity... that, I, Eric the Straight White Guy, am the intrepid soul behind the blog...and as such bestowed my blessing upon Sadie to write whatever...in any style...even hacking some of my verbiage and adopting the SWG mode of speak...all for the sake of a satiric manifesto...ah yes, the Adventurous Wench...but relax rubberneckers..you might learn a thing or two...and don't say I didn't warn you...

One: ...It must be said...that one must never enter the Blogroom unarmed...that said, it must be well stocked with Scotch...make that a large tumbler of Scotch, cigarettes, strong, black coffee, cigars, thesaurus, babes-in-swimsuit calendar...always open to the beauts of summer...

Two: ...Blog writing is many things, children, but it is not fucking academia...it is succinct, and to the point, and with a little bit of humor...not some blowhard pontificating about his fucking mensa membership or media bias..no thanks...if I wanted that shit, I'd watch the fucking Discovery channel...

Three: ...When in doubt on what or whether to write...grab life by the collar, and shake it into submission...that bitch will let go...but the quickening of her heart...oh mercy...once unleashed...the mistress of the mind hath unspeakable passion and fury...

Four: ...Never forsake a moment of nature for writing...watching the sun coming up.. leaves changing colors in autumn... hiking in the snow... sitting on my deck naked...get out there and start enjoying it... carpe diem, and all that shit.. just get your ass outside....

Five: ...Rubberneckers beware...this may be my blog...but since you insist on coming here to see if I got my ass kicked at pool...certain enumerated rights are bestowed...such as the right to leave rude, perverted, alcohol-induced comments...send me naked photos of women who have big tits exude inner beauty...post major linkage to SWG on your blog....or whatever else you must do to fill the black, aching void in your bitter, needy souls....

Six: ...Varmint of any type are not welcomed in the solitude of the Blogroom...mothdeadsky meatsky...now, mind you...no mercy shall be shown..any retarded moth-like creature stands no chance against the mighty SWG's Hand-O-Death...to smite, or not to smite...

Seven: ...Alright, people... never sing praise about these insiduous things...the goddam Lifetime Movie Network or any movie with Geena Davis or Linda Hamilton...or for that matter...any chick flicks...evil is truly among us now, children...these must be abolished...they must cease to exist...whoever the no-good sonofabitch who invents these things...I want THEM to fucking SUFFER...

Eight: When all else fails, dick around with your sidebar picture...sure, it's childish... I know that... but you'll be better for it...a renewed outlook manifested in the aesthetic details... hey... what do you expect from me?... works of literature?...insights into the depth of humanity?... hell, no... you rubberneckers expect to come here and see me tweaking the aesthetic details...

Nine: ...Never expect perfection...in writing and in life...things often crap on us... whether the intrusion is good or bad... the key is to roll with the punches... tread the waters of cool... deal with the unpleasantness...look the sonofabitch in the eyes and just maintain, man...if done well, the after effects are very interesting... sometimes, it seems, calmness can be viewed as indifference...

Ten:...Goals are subject to revision...after all...blogtoberfest was but a twinkle in the eye...when I hatched the plan...plain and simple...to harvest the VelociDNA...but alas...best laid plans are foiled...rather than the rehearsed "Operation Incisors" on the banks of the Chatahoochie...oh but the rascal Aubrey bit me first...forcing my hunger to be culled...this shall have to simmer like white bacon till the next fight over Apple Brandy...

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by | Permalink | Bullshit(8) | Psycho Rants
» Mirthful Ones links with: Yeesh.

God Bless America

and the National Football League:


For those of you who keep asking, these are buttercutters. True 'cutters must reveal at least an inch of buttock, and these qualify. Resoundingly. Who won? Who cares? I won. In overtime.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(5)
» Velociworld links with: Notes From Jaguar Nation

Shameless Question of the Day

So who is the hunkiest of them all....Instapundit, VodkaPundit, or Velociman?

C'mon people. Perverted minds want to know....and Miss Tiffani-Amber Theissen, you've already voted enough times in the past week, so don't bother. Oh...and I think you know my answer....

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Eric Strokes His Date


She's a good goat. She really is. Doesn't talk out of school, either, if you know what I mean. Don't tell Eric "she" has horns, however. He's in love.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(7)

Sex With Linda Hunt

Just daydreaming, peeps.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(3)

Dammit.

2hulagirls.gifkitty.gifSo that fucker can't remember to renew his passport...yet he makes sure that Sadie cannot change his template. So here 'tis...eventually this will include a Cabana Boy Eric as well.

Personally, if I were Eric...I wouldn't want my real photo up while away on vacation. After all, someone is liable to post Hello Kitty next to the photo of his grinning, drunken ass.

The mirthful slutwritters will pay me back in spades for this, I'm sure

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by | Permalink | Bullshit(5)
» Velociworld links with: I Can't Hang

That Sucked

Now ALL of my posts are from Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. But perhaps that's a good thing. Nonetheless, I shall fix it.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(0)

A Little Help

Where can I get a dildo of the Velocicock crafted from the original casting from the infamous Soho Sculpting Sessions? I'm just crazy about that boy!

Posted by guest blogger Tiffani-Amber Thiessen

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(0)
» Mirthful Ones links with: Twisted.

Can I be Frank?

I always loved the song Little Green Bag, but I had no idea that Oaxacan harlot was going to give me my very own. Just damn!

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(4)
» Mirthful Ones links with: Twisted.

This Place is a Mess

Who slaughtered the pig in the kitchen? What, you say? That's Eric's blood? I shan't touch it, then. Just mop it up. Like people have been doing after Marines for years. Think Iwo Jima.

I'm really embarrassed Sadie has been doing the heavy lifting here, but I have an excuse. I'm lazy! And slothful. But enough of my deadly sins recap.

Did you know there are 43 bones in the human hand? And I think I broke all of them. But hey. You should see the other wall. It won't be dancing for a week.

In other news, I tried an ill-advised experiment and slathered progesterone cream on my wiggy. Not much physical difference in Girth Vader, but he's getting awfully temperamental: "Why don't you shave the lads more often?" "Where's the emollient?" That sort of thing.

What, fuckers? You want meaningful discourse? Read the Sadie posts. I'm trying to cook chili here, and I'm no multitasker.

Posted by guest blogger Instapundit.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(2)
» Mirthful Ones links with: My, My, My

So Enough Of My Bullshit...

How the hell are you people doing???

When Eric decided to have his favorite slut and the disease-ridden Velociman pinch hit for his vacationing self, hot damn, if I didn't expect a livelier crowd 'round here. Sheesh...Eric makes armpit noises and you children, as he says, go bonkers. Furthermore, where are the usual suspects? This elusive Acidman, so where the fuck is he?

So go ahead, amuse me...don't let Eric come back to stories of how passively lame his readers are....surely you people have recently had sex, or something vaguely intriguing has happened to you....?

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by | Permalink | Bullshit(10)
» Mirthful Ones links with: My, My, My

Cocktails And Chimay: Tales From The Bar Scene

Myth: The bar scene is full of booze-filled, drooling, slobbering fools that only want to sleep with you. They will slip roofies into your drink or do anything else to get you in bed with them that night, and the establishment itself is all smoky and grimy. Men will grab women's asses of their own volition. It is highly likely that someone will throw up on or in front of you. High probability that you too will leave throwing up, and most certainly smoky and grimy as well.

Oh soothsayer, what bars are you going to? Obviously the ones for those newly minted drinkers. Those places that are named after bodies of water, the Yucatan, and various derivatives of the word palm, snail, fox, desert, or a combination of the words bad, four, girls, and play. No doubt many tasteful drinking establishments exist in your city, especially if they exist where Sadie lives. Pick a decent place in a good neighborhood, and keep your wits about you. Take a friend or two for safety, keep an eye on your drink, and use your intuition and common sense. And do it for a change of pace, if only for an evening. Then come home and comment on Straight White Guy, of course:-)

Sadie's Hypothesis: The bar scene isn't so bad since all the freaks got tired of it and logged online.

Proof 1: What you see is what you get.

No one in a bar can really lie about hair color, height, weight, or resemblance to Jimmy Fallon. In a bar, you don't waste weeks chatting with some allegedly ideal man, to find out that he is forty-two rather than the thirty-five year old claim. No worries of meeting and then seeing the obvious signs of a poorly-hidden marriage. In the bar, such clues are easily spotted, and this is long before you form the sacred mental connection that has been known to happen online. Most importantly, say it with me, physical chemistry.

Proof 2: Just because you're drunk doesn't make you an idiot. One can have fun with one's intellect.
Perhaps Sadie was the only person who recently sipped Peroni while leafing through Loose Cannons, Red Herrings, and Other Lost Metaphors and scrutinizing the etymology of the word "moonshine" while my friend Irony, decided just now to tell me he hated that nickname and wanted something different. [Sadie had no idea, hence the name Irony. No one looked at me oddly, and I did what I felt comfortable doing. One can loosen up and talk straight in the ambiance. Conversation abounds with a friend or two, and you will be surprised how the time passes so quickly. It is also true being intelligent tends to attract intelligence. Take the Book of Questions, so you and your friends can have an absolute blast with these frivolous mindbenders. You just might attract a few people you'd like to get to know.

Proof 3: Observations Only Lead to Learning.

If you truly want to find a mate, you can watch other people's attempts. Depending on whether they sink or swim, adapt your method. It will make your cyberself more well-rounded and balanced. And as a writer, real and tangible situations happening before my eyes are splendidly, strangely erotically pleasing to me. These people are full of life and mystery, so much fodder for thought. Why is the ditzy waitress [hereinafter Kirstin Dunced] wearing red cowboy boots this week instead of last week's red sneakers? Why does an intelligent man such as Irony appear to lose a few IQ points during the duration when Ms. Dunced stops by to check on our drink status? Sadie will find out.

Proof 4: Supplication and Civilization are Underrated.

Irony, who apparently has no bladder, once went to the bathroom four times within a period of three or so hours of revelry. Three out of those four times, Sadie was approached by men. Not once did anyone ask me to show my tits, nor did they inquire if I wanted to screw. Nope. Two men offered to buy me a drink after introducing themselves. One stopped by to compliment my hair and smile. This is so much nicer than being complimented online, where every guy I chat with only mention the sinfully awesome bod. No one online compliments my face or hair, and no one met from online has done so either. To them, it has been all about the bod, baby. When you are eye-to-eye with someone, it's so much easier to get a nice compliment other than one blatantly tit-or-ass oriented. Hiding behind a computer screen, people will give the strangest compliments because [1] They feel a lot braver, and [2] They for some reason think this flatters you. Who cares if in-person compliments are more polite due to societal convention? It is damned nice anyway.

Proof 5: Chimay is a way fucking better drink than that piece-of-crap you make at home in the blender.

Indeed, that Belgian beer is hella good. Nuff said.

P.S. Props for one of my sexy feature writers at the House of Mirth for writing another very provocative must-read essay.

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by | Permalink | Bullshit(3) | Drinking
» Mirthful Ones links with: Mentions of the Morn

For our Veterans...

... "In the big war companies, 250 strong, you could find every sort of man.. from every sort of calling... There were Northwesterners with straw-colored hair that looked white against their tanned skins.... and delicately spoken chaps with the stramp of eastern universities on them.... There were large-boned fellows from Pacific-coast lumber camps... and tall, lean Southerners who swore amazingly in gentle drawling voices....

.... There were husky farmers from the corn-belt... and youngsters who had sprung, as it were, to arms from the necktie counter... And there were also a number of diverse people who ran curiously to type, with drilled shoulders, and bone-deep sunburn... and a tolerant scorn for everything on earth....

... Their speech was flavored with navy words... and the words culled from all the folk who live on the seas and the ports where our warships go.... In easy hours, their talk ran from the Tatar Wall beyond Peking to the Southern Islands, down under Manila; from Portsmouth Navy Yard - New Hampshire and very cold - to obscure bushwhackings in the West Indies, where Cacao Chiefs, whimsically sanguinary... barefoot generals with names like Charlemagne and Christophe, waged war according to the precepts of the French Revolution and the Cult of the Snake... They drank their eau de vie of Haute-Marne... reminisced on saki, and vino, and Bacardi Rum - Strange drinks in strange cantinas at the far ends of the earth; and they spoke fondly of Milwaukee beer.

... Rifles were high and holy things to them, and they knew five-inch broadside guns.... They talked patronizingly of the war, and were concerned about rations.... They were the Leathernecks, the Old Timers: collected from the ship's guard and shore stations all over the earth to form the 4th Brigade of Marines... the two rifle regiments, detached from the Navy by order of the President for service with the American regulars... regarding the service as home and war as an occupation; and they transmitted their temper and character and view-point to the high-hearted volunteer mass which filled the ranks of the Marine Brigade.."

... quoted from "Fix Bayonets"... by Col. John W. Thompson , Jr. 1926

... God, bless our Veterans..

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Most Excellent.

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Irony On The Beat

Ahem. Let me start off by saying that police officers and I generally get along. Several officers and sheriff's deputies are professional contacts of mine, and obviously whenever I work at the courthouse they're really handy to have around. Never ever again though, will I ever date an officer.

It goes without saying that you need huge balls to be a cop. After all, when one deals with unsavory types on a constant basis, it is necessary to raise the voice at a minimum, progressing to yelling, restraining, cuffing, or even hand-to-hand combat in a bad situation. In addition, society condones these things subject to violations of the Fourth Amendment, and it grants officers the authority to carry firearms on their person. So yes, I'm sure they're perfectly justified in feeling like badasses.

The problem is turning the authoritarian persona off when leaving work, and say, going out on a date with a very pretty lady. So yeah, I'm getting to the good stuff...this cop was an excellent kisser, and in the few weeks that we dated, damn I felt really protected. By the end of the first week though, I discovered this habit he had of yelling "New Rule!!!" whenever he didn't agree with something. Each time he did this, I made my own rule. First time, no more political talk was my rule. Second time, learn to take virtually everything he said as extreme sarcasm. Third time, hang up the phone and never talk to him again...evidently "Call me at 3:00 pm, because I'll have slept off the graveyard shift really means the exact opposite, which is that he'll call when he awakens." So yes, I heard him yell New Rule!!! after picking up the phone and he began to continue, "New Rule!!! Never call before 4pm after I work graveya---" Click.

Never again did either of us contact each other after that time. That was in February, and well damn, perhaps my car was buzzing along a wee bit over the speed limit last night. Yeah I got pulled over, and yeah I thanked the orgasm gods that my legs were peeking out of a short skirt...and fuck me if I didn't roll down the window and see that kissable officer.

"Oh hello there...haven't seen you in awhile..." said Sadie with the most charming smile she could muster up.

Did he give me a ticket? Nooooooo. Just a warning, but as I rolled up my window and he was walking away, I heard him yell.

"New Rule!!! Don't speed anymore!" Fuuuuuuuck.

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Philly to Fallujah...

... last year, the mood was different... and I wrote this brief history of my beloved Corps' conception...

... today, as I sit here typing this, Fallujah is being stormed... today, I feel even more deeply... the pride of knowing my Brothers and Sisters are doing their jobs... they are in harms way on our behalf.... as they always have been...

... Happy Birthday, Marines... may you all stay safe... and, may your enemies quake with fear before you... Semper Fidelis...

Update: Mike is chiming in...

Update: Blackfive has the CG of 2 MEF's message .. and, Daniel has the face of battle in Fallujah...

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Something old, something new...

Er...no. Wrong formula...let me try again, darlings...

Something expected:

Couple drives for twenty-four hours, only stopping to fill up their gasoline tank three times, completely without sense of orientation. So why didn't they stop to look at a map or ask for directions?

Violet wanted to stop for help but she says her husband didn't.

Three guesses who didn't get laid that evening....

Violet says if it hadn't been for [a] stranger stopping them, she thinks they would still be lost. She says she's going to buy a cell phone in case they get lost again.

Good idea, lady. Join the damn technological revolution...at least then your relatives won't report you missing when you disappeared between a wedding and its reception...

Something Unexpected: Apparently Florida did experience a huge election error, but it isn't what you'd expect....more like an election erection.

The reporters of the Florida Times-Union Newspaper were so busy manning the obvious hotspots, like polling places and perhaps the beach, that they forgot to proofread the front page of the Election Day newspaper:

A toll-free number to a non-partisan organization tracking the election turned out to be painfully wrong. Instead, the wrong number referred callers to a sex talk service.

So there was a problem with hanging chads after all...

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Shack-Shakers, indeed....

... I am impressed... I drop in here after a night of drunken revelry, and I am shocked... the house is shaking, but nothing is broken yet... you guys rock...

.. by the way, have I mentioned lately that I'm on vacation?... heh... that being said, I feel I should provide a brief glimpse of what we're listening to at the Straight White House right now... and, yes... it's ok to dance, children...

...I said little Honey-bunny, tell me what's your 20?... I got my rabbit ears on, and I wanna get chummy-chummy... "

... The Legendary Shack-Shakers, people... more than likely the long lost relatives of Sadie and Velociman..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(3) | Drinking
» Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room links with: Ah, Wednesday.

Hero or Zero?

Damn, oh damn...I cannot make up my mind about this story...

This sort of thing doesn't exactly make me proud of Oklahoma, but apparently we have a larger prostitution problem than most people realize in this armpit of the bible belt. One fellow, fed up with what he views as apathy towards "a plague of immorality," has been running his own Cops style sting actually gathering film evidence of prostitutes on the job.

Can you imagine? Spending your evenings running around with a handheld video camera, looking for public sex between prostitutes and their clientele.....calling the cops and performing a citizen's arrest each time you find them doing the nasty? Dunno...but this guy seems to enjoy it...even has a signature battle cry for the occasions:

"You're busted, buddy -- I hope you're not married!"

Most of the fornicators caught plead guilty instantly in the face of such incriminating evidence on film. He calls himself a vigilante. A local spokesperson has referred to him as a stalker. Heh. This makes me wonder about the spokesperson's leisurely pursuits....

Overall, I just can't decide...is this guy insane? a religious zealout with huge balls? or just an enterprising pervert?

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Tellico Plains Drifter

We need movie cameras at the next blogfest. We should create a nice cinema verité film. Then we can have the next blogfest in Sundance.

I submit a reworking of High Plains Drifter, just as Fistful of Dollars is Yojimbo. Eric, of course, is the Man With No Game.

Hear me out: Crude drunkards ride into town intent on mayhem. Bullwhips are involved. There is a midget. Women are taken by force. The town is painted red.

Starting to catch my drift?

I have Acidman, Catfish, and Recondo32 cast as the Bridges gang. Aubrey is Mordecai. Zonker is the preacher. The rest will flesh itself out as we work through the rewrites.

I see great potential, so long as no one climbs the lighthouse and screams "The new sheriff is a n****r! Oh. Sorry. Wrong film.

At any rate, as my father used to say when we went out in the boat, "A place for everybody, and everybody in their place!" Of course, he also used to make us "cast off fore and aft" a 17 foot boat.

My point is, we will need key grips, best boys, soundmen, catering, wardrobe, beastmasters, tobacconists, and bail money.

I think we can do this, folks. Do be a freaking Doo Bee, okay?

Oh, me? I'm running the casting couch, nimrods. What were you thinking?

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(17)
» Mirthful Ones links with: Not the Average Morning Tour

What It Means To Be A Man?

So I was browsing the odd news sites, like Eric does, since he always seems to find the most bizarre stories....and it was all gloom-and-doom on a certain topic...

Two sides of celebrity masculinity were oh-so-graphically detailed in today's news...both equally repulsive...yet fairly laughable:

Tommy Lee has written (yeah sure) his own autobiography, misappropriately called Tommyland. Not sure that any of you were aware of this smokin' hot title, because lemme tell ya...I most certainly did not pop into my local bookstore on New Release Tuesday looking for it. Anyhoo, he reportedly has dedicated an entire chapter to discussing his penis.

So what woman wants to be with a fella whose picture pops up under the dictionary definition of venereal disease? Apparently money talks, baby. Elsewise, why would his (idiot) fiance enjoy being serenaded with the following lyrics:

"My baloney has a first name, it's p-e-n-i-s"

Not only that, but he couldn't even remember the damn lyrics...his assistant had to write them down for him...talk about chutzpah...

So just when I was feeling very badly about the male species, ya know, thinking of going to the other side...it got worse.

That master of the power ballad, Meat Loaf has a very expansive collection of stuffed teddy bears...and he truly believes that teddy bears have feelings...

All is not lost though. Meat Loaf draws the line at A.A. Milne characters:

"I think about Winnie the Pooh a lot. But I never relate to Pooh because I'm not crazy about bees and honey and all that stuff.

Is it just me girls, or is the male gene pool just digressing by leaps and bounds? Heh. Dunno, but the V-Man is looking awfully sexy compared to these guys....

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The Obligatory Question....

Who's Your Fucking Daddy?

You are Bettie Page!
You're Bettie Page!


What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Betcha five smackers that my co-host won't take this quiz....

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Poor Eric Indeed

Aww. C'mon Velociman, moron is such a strong word to use. This implies that Eric is a very stupid person, or at a minimum, a mildly mentally retarded person. Nah.

This is just a case of selective memory...somehow Eric felt the need to stick around a bit longer...men often "forget" things as a defense mechanism.

You just know that he is sweating leaving his blog in the hands of such a devious pair, no matter what he says...so let's be nice to him, shall we? When the cat goes away, then the mice shall play...oh yes, we shall.

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Poor Eric

I'm dropping in to warm things up a bit, even though Eric will likely be around a few more days, since he moron let his passport expire. I feel his moron pain, because no one bothers to check out those sorts of things, right? I mean, when does your driver's license expire? I have no idea. I had to check my own passport after this, because I didn't know any more than Eric moron did.

Sorry, man. I know how badly you moron want to get shaking on your vacation, and I know how badly you moron hate sending the bonnie lassie off on her own.

Of course, this could be a clever ploy by Eric to drag his heels in order to play with pretty ladies genius, but somehow I think this is just pure oversight.

Sorry, Eric. I love you like a moron brother, hoss. If I can be of any assistance in expediting this you know I'm there for you.

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by Velociman | Permalink | Bullshit(2)

Relaxation Therapy....

... after my horrifying realization this morning... and, of course, after the Wife wandered off to work shaking her head... I was feeling kind of blue... so, I did what I often do during times of duress.... I took rifle in hand and headed out into the woods...

... I'm just freshly back... and let me tell you something, children... what a beautiful day... a crisp, sunny afternoon... the smell of the fallen leaves... bliss... and there are few things more relaxing, under such circumstances, as blasting small, furry woodland creatures out of trees with a scoped rifle... I'd recommend it to anyone...

... as I have said many times.. I am a simple man...

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Guess What?...

... I won't be at The Corner House pub in Montrose on Wednesday... damn damn DAMN....

... while packing our bags for tomorrow morning's flight, The Wife just noticed that my fucking passport has expired... after a few phone calls, it seems that it will take 3-5 days to get a new one... yes, people... I am an idiot...

... after great gnashing of teeth, tearing of raiment's, and self-flagellation, a call was made to the In-Laws... Duncan's advice was golden, children...

... "well, it happens to everyone... no sense crying over spilt milk... you come on, Fiona.. and, tell Eric to get here as quick as he can"...

... that is the spirit... the Spirit of Adventure..... with every downturn, there is a bright side... this little setback started us thinking... and, you know what?... this is a better way of traveling anyway... Hell, I have always wanted to do something like this...

... I mean, just imagine it for a moment... waiting for the FedEx driver.. immediately rushing to the airport with a hastily packed case... dash up to the ticket counter with my shades on... and say in my best Jack Nicholson accent... "Gimme a ticket on the first flight out of the county... "

... all the while, glancing behind me... and, of course, paying the fare in hundred dollar bills... then heading to the bar to await departure...

... in a way, this is the chance of a lifetime... besides... I AM on vacation.... and there is always a bright side...

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Bitter Birthday...

... The Bitterman just turned 40, and he's looking back... hey, man... Happy Birthday... and as a present, I busted two squirrels yesterday with my .22 mag in your honor... I'll send you the photos when I get back from vacation....

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SWG Interviewed....

... Sadie has finished it... she has delved into the deepest recesses of the Straight White Soul... yes, people... Adventurous Wench that she is.... and she survived to tell the tale.... the long-awaited Interview is up.... so, head on over to The House of Mirth... there, you will find everything you ever wanted to know about ole Eric... and more...

... actually, wait... damn... on second thought.... don't go over there... it's much too scary... just stay here... nope, nothing to read over there... just stay here and scroll down till you find something interesting...

(.. just kidding, Sadie... you did an excellent job..)

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Luuka in Helen...

.... Alright... here are the last of my Helen photos... well, the last of the ones I'm going to show YOU people... heh... so, the Lynndie'd victim shall remain a closely guarded secret...

... anyway, as some of you know, Luuka the Everyday Bear graced us with her presence during Blogtoberfest... and, true to form, she was all over the place... a party animal among party animals... Friday night saw her really making the rounds... meeting Rob, Kim, Jim, Ken, Dennis, Geoffrey, Gordon, and Dax (no photographic evidence of that)... but, let me tell you, people.. she was in heaven.... so many men, so little time... still, she gave it the old college girl effort....

... by the time Saturday rolled around, she was ready for more action... but, when Key and Kelley showed up, she seemed a bit miffed... competition does not suit the Everyday Bear... and, jealousy reared it's ugly head.... thus, halfway through the half-rubber competition, she left our melee in search of fresh meat... after that, I don't know what happened... she staggered back to our room at the Kristy in the wee hours of Sunday morning... smelling vaguely of gin, cigarette smoke, bubble gum, and gun oil....

... but, I have to say.... Luuka does have sensitive side... and, the Wife and I have very much enjoyed having her around these past weeks... she's a real treat... but, since I am leaving for Scotland on Monday, we have to part ways.... So, Helen?... what new adventure lays in store for our girl?... which direction should she go from here?... I could, after all, bring her to Scotland, and ship her back to you from there next week.... or, you could come up and pick her up in person... your call, ma'am....

... anyway, back to the photos... check these out, children... oh, the shame of it all....

luuka_helen.jpg

... this is a wonderfully pensive shot of Luuka gazing longingly towards the mountains from the dashboard of the Audi...

luuka_acidman.jpg

... Acidman and Luuka hit it off... she's a real sucker for musicians...

luuka_and_the_yanks.jpg

... this is Geoffrey and Gordon plying Luuka with alcohol...

luuka_goc_bach.jpg

... Denny the Grouchy Old Cripple used a different approach... wooing Luuka with the soulful strains of Bach coming from a finely played guitar...

luuka_ravishing_ken.jpg

... and, here we see the beginning of Luuka's first three-way of the evening... Ken the bodyguard being seductively mauled by Luuka... Velociman assisting, of course...

... sadly, these are all of the photos she's allowing me to post.. a girl must have her secrets, after all, and Luuka is all girrrrrl... so, the remaining photos listed below are just of the general fracas that took place... my head hurts just looking at those pictures... and, these scenes were pre-moonshine and redheaded sluts... oh, and apple brandy...

river_bank.jpg

... here, we see, from left to right.. Recondo32, Bodyguard Ken, Jimbo of the Parkway, and Laughing Wolf...

sword_vs_guitar.jpg

... here is a great shot of Acidman laughing his ass off at Velociman... who, by the way, is playing air-guitar sword-guitar... quite an insane picture, really..

three_pickers.jpg

... here are the entertainers in action... Rob, Jim, and Denny....

three_pickers_2.jpg

... here's another angle...

toes_of_velocibride.jpg

... and, no blogmeet after-action report would be complete without a photo of "The Toes of Velocibride".... painted, of course, for the occasion...

bodyguards_tattoo.jpg

... surprisingly, quite a few veterans were in attendance too.... after a few shots of vodka, Ken started showing off his bodyart... and, before you ask, no... no one showed any piercings... at least, not that I know of...

... so, there you have it... the last of the Blogtoberfest photographs... which, in a way, is kinda sad... but, have no fear... April and New Orleans are just around the corner..... right, Christina?....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(11) | Psycho Rants
» Gut Rumbles links with: Pictures
» Parkway Rest Stop links with: More Blogtoberfest Pictures.
» suburban blight links with: Blogdreams
» Key Issues links with: Blogworld Dreams and Orgy Wishes
» Thunder And Roses links with: Now it's MY turn to release scandalous photos...
» Velociworld links with: I Can't Buy a Break

The Corner House....

... for those of you seedy European-types who might read this blog... here is an announcement.... I will be at The Corner House pub... in Montrose, Scotland.... on November 10th.... between 1700Z and 1900Z.... raising a few glasses to the health of the United States Marine Corps... afterwards, friends and I will form ranks... and march across the street to The Indian Cottage where I shall eat curry... and, of course, drink Tiger Beer....

.. so, if anyone wants to make the trip to beat me, meet me, eat me, or treat me, now is your chance.... this is a one shot deal, children.... make the best of it.... you may never get this chance again.... after all, I shall be totally unarmed.... and, anyway.... Aruba is already beckoning for a visit from Eric next year....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | Drinking
» Fistful Of Fortnights: Interviews & Essays links with: The Straight White Guy Interview

Pasties & a G-string...

... this morning has dawned dark and dreary.... a steady downpour of slow rain from gray clouds.... the Witch of November is here, people... and, she's not a happy camper.... luckily, I still have the fiery glow of last night's Social Club gathering to keep me warm....

... with that said, here are a few quick notes of the occasion.... our first FEMALE billiards-bandit was present last night... a hard shootin', hard drinkin' broad, she was..... she fit in perfectly.... but, as a guest of Biker Steve, they conspired to gang up on me at Cutthroat... cheating bastards..... they crushed me... so, after I quickly surrendered, I mixed them an Ingrid... heh... payback is a bitch.... and an Ingrid is a beast....

... anyway, after we retired to the den, lively conversation was achieved... having our first fairer-sex visitor certainly changed the tone of the gathering... it sure was fun.... mixed company, people... it sure as Hell lowers the tone... well, mixed company and shots of moonshine....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(4) | Drinking
» Fistful Of Fortnights: Interviews & Essays links with: The Straight White Guy Interview

Animal Testing...

... has anyone seen those weird Mexican-esque Campbell's soups?... holy shit, children... what were those people thinking...

... if you haven't tried one... don't bother... I had a meal prepared for me last night... in it, the Mexican soup was used as a gravy/sauce type thing... poured over chicken breasts, and baked..... dayum.... but, that's not all... in this experimental dish, carrots, mushrooms, onions, and red peppers were chopped in a blender.... added to this Mexican shit soup.... and poured over two defenseless, mild-mannered chicken breasts... THEN, the concoction was baked to INFUSE that shit flavor into the chicken flesh.... add to this, a side order of Spanish rice... yellow corn... and a salad... quite a plate full...

... well, I ate it like a good boy... but, damn... we need to find the culinary middle ground... whatever happened to baking a chicken breast with a little butter, garlic, and sage?.... this hit or miss stuff is killing me.... I mean, I'm totally down with experimental cooking... but I'm also for animal testing FIRST...

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Evil Government...

... I've heard of some cruel and repressive regimes... but, this is a bit over the top....

"WARSAW (Reuters) - A Polish taxpayer died from a heart attack after a demand for immediate payment in full of 80,000 zlotys ($23,560) following a mistake by the tax office."

... what a way to go... death and taxes, hand in hand...

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The Election...

.. departing from the norm here... here is a taste of live-blogging.... some random thoughts on this fine Election Night.... Scotch in hand, you shall now see why I don't do politics on my website.... still, have no fear... this post will self-destruct in the morning....

.... so.. first up....

... Terry McAuliffe is a cocksucker....

..secondly...

... Larry King has been dead for at LEAST 6 months, and nobody told his suspenders.... I mean, just LOOK at that dried up husk of a man... looks like a damn soul-sucker has had hold of him... I'd guess his whole bony frame is held together with old nicotine stains, and ace bandages....

... hey, what did you expect?.... so far, that is all I've got... go watch CNN, and laugh at Blitzer's hairdo... I SWEAR his hair will stand up more as the night goes on... ahhh... fuck it... I'm tuning in to Fox News.... CNN makes me want to strangle someone.... more later...

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Puking Ravioli...

... my Cousin, Big Daddy C, was recounting today, a tale of glorious Fatherhood... he told me... over lunch... how his second son puked freshly consumed ravioli out of his SUV's window in the Walmart parking lot yesterday... and as usual, that got my old mind working....

... I too, have puked ravioli... I now have a bond with my toddler 2nd Cousin... and, it is truly a beautiful feeling...

... once upon a time, Nike ran a commercial of some long-distance runner... standing.. bent at the hips... at the finish line... a trail of snot, puke, and vileness trailing from his scrawny lips... all the way to the ground.... Just Do It, baby... Nike had the right attitude... run till you puke, then run some more... I have done that... as a matter of fact, it was 3 days before being de-mobbed from the Corps... my final physical fitness test...

... I had worked the midwatch... got off work around 0715... arrived back at my barracks... popped a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli... and ate it cold from the can as I walked out for my run.... hell, I was starving, and I'd been up all night... anyway, we formed up... the roll was called... I did my sit-ups... did my pull-ups... then began stretching for the 3 mile run... all was well at this point....

... after 2.5 miles of churning up that ravioli, I was beginning to feel the effects of my strange breakfast.... about then, my mates ran up beside me.. urging me to sprint to the finish.. they wanted us all to hit the finish line together.. after all, this was my last time... but, 1/2 a mile... well, to a young Jarhead who had just eaten a half-pint of cold ravioli, a 1/2 mile seemed a bridge too far... but, I couldn't let them down.... and, it started.... we picked up speed... faster... faster... as fast as we could go...

... now, I feel that I must give you some background... our running course started in front of our Company HQ... it also ended there... a big loop of asphalt, and we arrived where we started... 3 miles.... across the street from the HQ... well, as fate would have it... the base chowhall sat.... oh, and I have to tell you this too.. our PT gear consisted of a white tee-shirt with USMC emblazoned in big red letters.. and green nylon running shorts.. white socks, and running shoes..

... anyway, back to the story... about 50 yards from the finish line, my gut could handle no more... so, while in full sprint... just as I passed in front of the chowhall, I turned my head to the right... and projectile vomited half chewed ravioli over my right shoulder... charming picture, right?.... but, I have to add, we never let up... we never broke stride..... we kept going... and that, children, is what it is ALL about...

... at the finish line, there was much rejoicing.. Marines all, celebrated in my demonstration of Will... looking back now, it was my last run... and, I'll always remember it...

... sitting here writing this, I can remember three distinct things about that little episode.. for one... I remember how proud I felt... knowing that I had done what was asked of me from my comrades... regardless of the consequences... or, how much my body ached... I finished the race along side of my Brothers...

... number two, I remember three Seabees sympathy-vomiting their breakfasts as they left the chowhall across the street... evidently, the sight of me spewing bright, crimson-red chunks, AND failing to let up on my run... well, it was a bit too much for the little darlings.... and, lastly... I remember how hard it really, really is to get congealed ravioli vomit out of your favorite white cotton tee-shirt.... oh, and I still have that shirt, by the way....

... our memories, people... they keep us real...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(8) | SWG Stories
» Mirthful Ones links with: Loose Ends
» Fistful Of Fortnights: Interviews & Essays links with: The Straight White Guy Interview

I was wrong...

... having never met an actual Romanian, I had imagined them as dry, cold, humorless people... armed with surplus AK-47s and old Warsaw Pact nukes.... but, this article just goes to prove that I was wrong... as it turns out, they have a highly developed sense of humor....

"So we decided to do anything to get to the hospital as fast as we could. I managed to fix my car and was doing 90km/ph when my boy arrived. I will call him Speedy Gonzales."

... you go, Daddy.... but, it is still a sad, sad thing when you see what years of communism has done to those poor Romanians.... the evil of the Commies knows no bounds... Speedy Gonzales, indeed...

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