I'm so going to Hell

Thing Christ might have said during his last moments on earth…

"Pontius Pilat is an asshole! If I ever get down from here and after my hands heal I'm gonna beat that dego’s ass!"

"Shit that whip stings!"

"Could somebody help me carry this damn thing?!'

"That Jesus Barrabas is a lucky bastard. Mother fucker better go buy a lottery ticket while his luck holds."

"What does a Roman tire do when it goes flat? Wap wap wap."

"Hey you down there, with the spear, I've got this itch here on my rib...YEEOUCH! Dumbass!"

"Man those crows are gonna dig your eyes out. Me? I'm not worried, being the son of God and all."

"Boy, one gust of wind on my loin cloth and those in the front row will get a glimpse of little Jesus and his two disciples."

“If only I’d hooked up with Mary Magdaline when I had the chance.”

“Times like this when I wish my father wasn’t such a big shot.”

“This crown itches something fierce.”

“What’s a stigmata?”

“Boy, you think the King of Kings would get a little more respect.”

“I sure hope you bloodthirsty savages know how to tread water. Can you say deluge?”

“Why was I born in a barn? Because Mary & Joseph had Medicare.”

“Shit, not another nail.”

“Judas, you Benedict Arnold!”

“Hey you, two travelers, how do you get to Jerusalem?”

“I was framed! It was the man on the grassy knoll.”

“Boy, you Romans are sure gonna get it. It’ll take a while but you are so going down.”

“How’s this for irony, I’m Jewish and my people don’t even believe in me. What’s a messiah to do?”

"It'll be weeks before I can eat M&M's again."

A rainbow of colors

I went sailing the other day and was marooned for a time on a strange island. It had white sand beaches, green palm trees, the whole smack. Then I happened upon a village where the people were rather hostile.

“There goes the boy with no color in his name!” The natives shouted. Suddenly I was surrounded by Red Foxx, Jack Black, Scarlett Johansen, Jennifer Gray, Lorne Green, Tom Green, Tiffani Amber Thiessen, Spalding Gray, Sidney Greenstreet, Whoopi Goldberg, Sienna Miller, Goldie Hawn, Ruby Dee, and their president Mr. Green Jeans. There were White Castles as far as the eye could see and everyone was munching on those delicious burgers as well as Green Giant and Bluebird frozen vegetables, Red Devil deviled ham, bread with Blue Bonnet margerine, and they were washing it all down with Orange Crush.

“Death to the boy with no color in his name!” They continued to yell.

Then from their immaculate athletic dorms came Reggie White, Vita Blue, Chad Brown, Darrell Green, Randy White, Red Aurbach, Jim Brown, Red Grange, Pete Rose, Joe Greene, “The Golden Boy” Paul Horning, and team owner Red McCombs. They started chanting, “Death to the boy with no color in his name!”

So I took my case to their Supreme Court where sat Byron White, Hugo Black, and Horace Gray. They asked, “Do you have a color in your name?”

“No”, I replied.

“Stone him! He has no color in his name!”

So they secluded me somewhere I could not pollute their colorfulness. They provided me with reading materials, Where the Red Fern Grows, Old Yeller, Red Badge of Courage, and a collection of fables like Little Red Riding Hood and Little Boy Blue. I was given a DVD player with titles to watch like The Green Mile, A Clockwork Orange, Blue Velvet, Red Dawn, The Color Purple, Black Rain, Red Planet. I also had a stereo that played Black Sabbath, Clint Black, Cream, Roger Greenaway, Deep Purple, James Brown, Barry White, Maroon 5, and Greenday.

I devised to escape and as I was tunneling out I was caught by William Golding who was writing a book about flies, or something like that. With him was T.H. White, who was writing an ode to Kate Moss (OK, that one may have been a stretch).

“Death to the boy with no color in his name!”

Then I saw Red Buttons, Seth Green, Graham Green, Lou Diamond Phillips (OK, another stretch), Ron Silver, Karen Black, Eva Green, Zena Grey, Betty White, and they were all laughing at James Black’s jokes. Then they saw me and chanted, “death to the boy with no color in his name.”

So I ran until my face turned blue. I ran to the Yellow Brick Road and followed it to the Blue Lagoon where I made my escape in a Yellow Submarine.

I traveled for hours and found another island where I was greeted by Michael J. Fox and Peter Coyote. They yelled, “You have no animal in your name!”

After that it just got weird.

I respond

Joel pens an interesting and thought provoking response on my piece about my grandfather…

I came across this blog and this tribute to your grandfather and in many ways, his was a life similar to that of my own father. right down to the fighting on Pacific islands in WW II and working for the USPS after retiring. The thing is, your writing and capturing the spirit and fortitude of the man is beyond measure, far far better than any writing that I could put together to honor my father.Part of my problem is, he bottled all of his war expieriences up, did not convey to us the horrors and death that he witnessed and yet still stood by the government that put him into that situation. I do not want to in any way spoil your tribute by raising the following question and apoligize in advance if it offends you-The magnitude of hurt, injury and death that has been foisted upon young American soldiers, sailors and airmen in the wars from world war one on as shown in your tribute- Has it been worth it for what our Nation has recieved? What I ask is this- has our way of life been improved because of these conflicts? I realize that each war had its own cause and supposed justification. Whole books have been written on the past wars. As the war in Iraq continues on, we, as a people need to have an open, honest discusion as to if we really want our young servicemen/women to suffer as our elders have?

This raises some legit questions. BTW, thanks Joel for the kind words. This piece was written as a tribute to my grandfather and not as a glorification of war. He served with distinction and I’m proud of his record as a soldier and a person.

Were our past military conflicts worth the blood spilled?

In the last 100 years we as a nation have fought in my estimation only two truly justifiable wars. As you might suspect the two biggies, WWI & WWII, are those. In WWI our involvement was spawned by the interception of the Zimmerman Telegram and the sinking of the Lusitania. Keep in mind the Germans were conspiring, by their own admission, with Mexico to form an alliance wherein Mexico would attack Arizona, California, and New Mexico, territory they desperately wanted back, and the Germans would provide arms and cash. With the specter, all be it remote, of a southern invasion supported by Germany we could not sit idly by as those who would destroy our nation set in motion plans to do so. And we all know what a megalomaniacal murdering douche bag Hitler turned out to be, the Nazi shit head.

This leaves at least eight limited and full scale military conflicts this country has entered into without sufficient justification since 1900. Off the top of my head they are: Korea, Vietnam, the shadow war in Nicaragua and El Salvador, Grenada, Panama, the air war in the Balkans, both wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Haiti, not to mention the deployment of troops in 175 countries. Since 1900, the U.S. has lost about 429,000 service men & women in combat, of which approximately 345,000 were fully warranted. Since WWII this country has not fought a single reasonable war. That means, in my opinion, roughly 84,000 of our bravest have perished for a cause that was unjust.

Had we held firm to our isolationist roots in WWI and WWII it’s conceivable that the world would be a dramatically different place today. Imagine the dire consequences had Kaiser Wilhelm II or Adolph Hitler been able to realize their goals of European dominance and capitulation. Had they been allowed to draw upon Europe’s massive man power and cache of natural resources their reigns could have been potentially infinite. And in the case of Hitler, the so-called Final solution may have been realized, the utter annihilation of the Jewish race. Yes WWI made possible the genocide in Armenia, the eventual ascendancy of the communist regimes in Russia, Romania, and elsewhere. And yes, had not Germany’s economy been crippled by war reparations from WWI this proud nation would likely never have embraced the certifiably loony Hitler. And yes, Lenin and Stalin might have never seen the throne in Russia. But it’s hard to imagine the resulting millions killed in dozens of incidents of genocide and war could have possibly been worse than the hell that Wilhelm & Hitler would’ve undoubtedly unleashed on the world. With perhaps very few exceptions these two were the vilest international figures of the 20th century. So in this sense, it was worth every drop of blood spilled to prevent these guys from holding sway over the globe.

The same cannot be said for any military conflict this nation has participated in the last 60 years. Korea and Vietnam were fought to slow the spread of communism with little to no effect. The shadow war in Central America was for the same ill conceived purpose. Panama, Afghanistan, and both Iraq wars were fought to depose leaders we had propped up and supported. The air war over the former Yugoslavia was a function of our planes being assigned to do what the rest of Europe had neither the balls nor stomach for, and those couple hundred students trapped in Grenada needed rescuing. The strategically vital Haiti was and always will be a den of political unrest. What did these wars net…84,000 dead American soldiers; international resentment; the somewhat justified label of the US Imperial Dynasty; billions spent to house over one million soldiers on bases in 175 countries, many of which don’t want us there; and the self-anointed duty of being the moral compass for the entire planet.

Our track record of supporting and turning a blind eye to genocidal regimes is long and inglorious. We didn’t lift a finger to prevent the genocides in Rwanda, currently in Darfur, Uganda, Armenia, the Congo, Croatia, Namibia, Bangladesh, Cambodia (the infamous Killing Fields), Iraq, East Timor, and Tibet. This doesn’t mean that we as a nation are to blame, far from it in fact. It just means our claim at being the arbiters of morality in the world is wholly without credibility.

Having seen the effect that WWII had on my grandfather and others, and knowing literally dozens who’ve served or are currently serving their country I have developed a deep respect and affection for those who make such a sacrifice. Throwing yourself in harms way to protect one’s country is the most inherently noble gesture that one can ever make, and our leaders in DC have been far to aggressive and thoughtless in committing our most precious resource. These impossibly brave youths make it possible for me to sit in blissful comfort in my den typing this piece of convoluted drivel. And for that I give my profound thanks.

In closing I offer up Joel's sentiments as food for thought..."As the war in Iraq continues on, we, as a people need to have an open, honest discusion as to if we really want our young servicemen/women to suffer as our elders have?"

Rest in Pieces

Betty Friedan’s obituary…She was hatched in a sterile, hermetically sealed environment on February 4, 1921. That day the moon turned black as sack cloth and the rivers ran red with blood. She started squawking at the age of 27 minutes. Her first words were, “Susan B. Anthony is my idol”. Graduated suma kum who cares from the infamous Smith College. Married Carl Friedan in ’47 and popped out three demon spawn before, shocker, divorcing her hubby in 69. In 1963, her book, The Satanic Verses, also known as The Feminine Mystique, was published. Her other works include How to Marry Despite Being Frightfully Ugly, Your Vagina & You: An Easy Maintenance Guide to Reproduction, and Men Suck. Co-founded the Church of Satan, also known as NOW, in 66, and helped found the Fetal Dismemberment Society, a.k.a. NARAL. She recently passed away in her crypt on February 4, 2006. Rumors about a wooden stake found plunged in her heart are as yet unsubstantiated. Friedan is survived by three hatchlings.

Anti-discrimination rant

In my ongoing effort to spread enlightenment throughout the world I decided not to discriminate and hold everyone in equal contempt, especially if you’re a nigger, spick, chink, slope, towel head, camal jockey, porch monkey, Uncle Tom, oreo, twinkee, fag, peter puffer, bitch, ho, lawn jockey, beener, wetback, jungle bunny, pollock, wap, kraut, jap, fairy, cunt, sambo, veggie picker, gimp, cripple, tard, retard, mutant, mute, deaf, blind, stupid, ignorant, ugly, smelly, fat, ahhh-jew, Alabama porch monkey, albino, alligator bait, A-rab, Aunt Jemima, bagel dog, bagel roller, Bean nigger, blaxican, boogie, border jumber, brownie, Buckwheat, chicano, chigger, coon, cracker, dago, diaper head, dim-som, ese, Eurofag, garlic eater, goat roper, goober, gook, greasy wop, guinea, haggis muncher, hay seed, hebe, hick, hillbilly, holy roller, inbred, injun, jabonee, jabronee, jack Mormon, jigajew, jew, jewgaboo, jigger, kike, kyke, limey, macaroni nigger, mandingo, mexijew, mojado, monkey, moolie, negro, niggress, osama, pedro, potato eater, prairie nigger, raghead, redneck, redskin, rice picker, rug maker, sand monkey, shiksa, shit kicker, shylock, slant eye, spear chucker, taco nigger, tar baby, towelhead, vanilla bean, vegemite, WASP, wagon burner, wigger, wiglet, zebra, zipperhead. It’s much better if you don’t discriminate.

Stop it right now!

As America recovers from a lack-luster Super Bowl the innevitable second guessing and caterwalling has begun.

Skip Bayless says the Seahawks were robbed.

So does Michael Smith.

Kevin Hench thinks so.

CBS Sportsline has a nice assembly of ref bashing.

Now normally I give a lot of deference to most sports reporters, except for Skip Bayless and Jim Rome who are the two most overrated and clueless sports guys out there, but this is ri-God-damn-diculous.

The fact Seattle lost by double digits has nothing to do with Hasselbeck's two huge interceptions as the Seahawks were driving deep into Steelers' territory. Their loss also can't be pinned on losing their starting safety, cornerback, and defensive tackle to injury; or that Alezander had a grand total of only twenty carries (the dude ran for 1,880 yards so if he doesn't get the rock 25-30 times something's amiss); or Jeremy Stevens' three drops; or Alan Faneca planting Lamar Hill on Parker's 75 yd touchdown; or Holmgren's piss poor clock management; or Tom Rouen's inability to keep the ball in play when he had three chances to pin Pittsburgh deep; or the Seahewks' trouble finishing off drives that were deep in the Steelers' end. Nope, it's all about the refs.

This is like hearing the Patriots' faithful bitch when they lost to Denver four weeks ago. That loss had nothing to do with the five turnovers committed by the vaunted Patriots. Nope, it was all about the refs.

Quick primer for all those whiners who blame officials when their teams loose...SHUT THE *BLEEP* UP! F'ING CRY BABIES!

The Super Bowl Halftime Show We ALL Wanna See

Let's team Justin Timberlake with Lindsay Lohan for another wardrobe malfunction! Or JT and Britney Spears, or Jessica Alba, or Jessica Simpson, or Kate Beckinsale, or Salma Hayek, or Neve Campbell, or Rebbeca Romijn, or Angelina Jolie, or Halle Berry. Long live the wardrobe malfunction!

Let me know what y'all think

This is the first four pages of a book I'm toying with writing. It's about a group of guys who share unforgettable times until tragedy rips them apart. It's an experiment, my first foray into the world of literature. Critiques are welcome.

Chapter One

Chapter 1
A Plan Forms


DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

“All right”, I yelled.

Christ! Ten o’clock and these dumbasses are standing on the damn bell.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

“Just a fuckin’ minute”, I screamed. The sound of my own bellowing nearly dropped me on the spot. ‘As soon as I throw up and get dressed, these bastards are dead’ I thought.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

Had it only been four hours since I got home? ‘Man, I need more sleep or less persistent friends’ I thought. Undoubtedly Jess and Jian were at the door waking the living dead known as Brian Halblade, me, in the flesh. And boy
I felt like shit. “Eleven long island ice teas will do that”, I muttered to myself. This was arguably one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had. My stomach would not stop gurgling and my head felt like earthmovers were hard at work inside my skull. I could still smell the stale beer and cigarette odor from the night/morning before and the alcohol sweating its way out my pores. This is the type of hangover that could be smelled by others the second you got within sniffing distance, hell, the second you walked in the room. The type of hangover where your first thought is, ‘my God, I’m never drinking again.’ When in this condition the body’s first desire is to rehydrate but this can’t be accomplished until you shave the previous evening’s residual festivities off your tongue.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

‘My God, are these sheets made out of lead?’ It took seemingly fifteen minutes to accomplish a two second procedure. The covers came slowly off to reveal the corpse called Brian. It was at this point I noticed that my clothes were still on from the night before. Complete with rum & cola stain on the left leg of my favorite khaki cargo shorts and makeup smudge/painting on the chest of a white shirt that had withstood the revelry from the party I apparently went to. Honestly, I was having difficulty remembering my own name at this point, let alone a series of activities I’d engaged in earlier this morning. Alcohol consumption can be a deadly thing.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

‘I’m going to fucking kill them. But not before I stop the room from spinning.’

This last manifestation of my body trying to detoxify was the trigger my ailing
stomach needed and quite frankly the only thing that could’ve pried my sorry ass out of bed at that point. I jumped up knowing that Old Faithful was about
to blow. As I rounded the corner and hit the stairs of my basement bedroom
my stomach issued the first grumble. Time was of the essence. I knew I had maybe three to four seconds before the air would be cut by a torrent of most assuredly brown and red vomit. I bolted up the stairs with a speed I thought I was utterly incapable of at that point. My legs took the staircase two steps at a time. As I hit the landing just outside the bathroom door my stomach fire off a test salvo. Warm acidic bile hit the back of my throat. ‘Please God let the toilet seat be up’ I thought. The doorknob turned in my shaky yet desperate hand and I threw the door open revealing my newfound best friend, the Halblade family
throne. ‘Sweet Jesus the lid is up!’ I barely had time to aim. ‘I was right, brown and red’. I had puked into this very commode dozens of times but this was perhaps the most satisfying and urgent. ‘If this thing backs up I’m telling mom to sell the house’. After about a dozen or so heaves my stomach emptied of its
contents.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

I had to resign myself to defeat. Jess and Jian would not be denied. Besides I was only a fifteen-foot walk from the front door they so desperately wanted answered. A simple drunken stumble through the living room of my mother’s town house would do the trick. Only if the damn room stopped spinning! A seemingly easy task made near impossible by the crippling effects of the mother of all hangovers. Thankfully for my hyper sensitive eyes the blinds were drawn and closed. If they had happened to be open the blinding effects of the sunlight cascading through the front window would have reduced my stumble to a pitiful mole-like crawl, complete with blind mammal trying to find the entrance to his home.

DING DONG…DING DONG…DING DONG

A simple ninety-degree turn to the right as you exit the downstairs bathroom puts the front door of our townhouse into full view. My stomach tamed and my faculties returning, somewhat, the trek across the living room began. ‘The door looks so far though’. Just a two second stroll across camel colored carpet and passed walls adorned with wallpaper that resembled the inside of a grass thatch hut and two white, round futons with blue frames roughly four feet in diameter. ‘I hate that fucking wallpaper’. My mom often refereed to the futons as papazon chairs. I had no idea. I just knew they didn’t go with the beige two-seater love seat in the opposite corner. Eclectic suburban jungle is what I thought the motif should be called.

My still shaky hand finally grasped the knob of the front door. ‘Shit it’s dead bolted’. The fact I had remembered to lock the door in and of itself was a miracle. My other hand slowly reached up and turned the seemingly impregnable latch on the dead bolt. CLICK. Casa de Halblade was open for business but beware, the owner is near death and in no mood for anyone’s shit. The light flooded in as the door swung open. To those on the outside it would appear as if the door had opened by itself, eerily similar to the invitation one receives when entering a haunted house or mausoleum. This was necessary because I knew the flood of light would’ve blinded me so I purposely hid myself like a vampire avoiding the sunlight. And believe me, I felt like a minion of the undead.

“Hally”, shouted Jian, “get your shit ready and let’s go”. Everything that
came out of his mouth was at a shout but I loved the kid anyway. Hally was
a little knick name I had received months before. I didn’t like it that
much but hey, it sounded cool.

In walked two of my best friends and one forth of the group that formed my inner sanctum that year. These were two of the eight I considered my surrogate
brothers, my circle of friends. Oh sure, there those of us who took more than our fair share of abuse. That’s inevitable. But there existed among us an unspoken bond, a kinship of sorts that tied us together and kept us bound to this grand experiment known as friendship.

Jess was a lanky shit with a quiet air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. He could be a slippery little bastard who always seemed to land on his feet. He was tall, about 6’ with long brown hair that he kept impeccably groomed. Of the group he was the one most concerned about his appearance and the one we all turned to for fashion critique. Jess could be cold and aloof but you always knew where you stood with him. I respected that about him. He was a man of few words and often times fewer morals. He put himself number one and we all knew it. It’s hard to explain why I like him but I knew I did. He always could make me laugh and he was the first one I called if I needed something or got in a jam and he seldom if ever let me down. He bailed me out of more shit than anyone. When the nine of us were assembled Jess usually kept fairly quiet and
kicked back and took it all in. I got the impression he was constantly scrutinizing and sizing up weaknesses. An interesting and loyal guy and
one of my favorites.

Jian couldn’t be more different. He was about my height, 5’11”, and had what a
girl told me once were model type good looks. I didn’t see it but what did I know. Hey, I was a guy after all. Jian was the most outgoing of all of us and was at times obnoxious. He wore his self-confidence on his sleeve. Some perceived it as overt cockiness but I knew it was a mask hiding deep-seeded insecurity. He may have been the most sensitive of us but you would never guess it judging from his outward demeanor. Jian was a deeply emotional guy who had a hair trigger temper and the highest pain threshold I’ve ever seen. I saw him get his nose broke once and laugh off the pain. A complete hot head that adored the attention of girls and sought the group’s approval often times at the expense of his own dignity and credibility. I never understood why he insisted on spinning such outrageous tales for our benefit. We all liked him for who he was.

I was tired, crabby, hung over, smelly (massive alcohol consumption does that),
still half blind, thirsty, slightly queasy, and I was still wearing my clothes from the night before. Even with all this I was still elated to see my comrades, even though they did wake me out of a sound slumber. Had these two been lesser friends or strangers I undoubtedly would have shot them on sight just for general principle. It was almost impossible to stay mad at these guys. They had that power over me, damn them. We seldom if ever remained angry at each other for long.

“C’mon Halblade”, Jess cajoled, “we’ve gotta go. The fireworks are waiting”.

“Gimme a minute”, I begged. “I need a shower”.

“We can tell”, responded Jess. The stench of my obvious hangover had hit these
two.

“Hurry up Hally!” Jian was apparently eager to make our previously planned
drive to Cheyenne, Wyoming to buy fireworks. This trip had been in the making for weeks and was our only opportunity to purchase ammunition for our first annual pop bottle rocket war that was to take place this very evening. nfortunately for us, fireworks of this type were illegal in Colorado so we had to drive about a hundred miles north to the Wyoming-Colorado border to procure our pyrotechnics.

Denver was where we all called home. The southwestern suburbs of Lakewood and Littleton and unincorporated Jefferson County to be more precise. None of the nine of us lived more than a ten-minute drive from Red Rocks Amphitheatre, one of the most famous outdoor concert venues in the world. All in all it was a pretty sweet place to grow up and the setting for most of my childhood. We had all lived in this area for years. I had moved to Lakewood when I was twelve and the rest had grown up here. It was home.

I stumbled my way up the stairs to the shower and closed the door behind me. A nice luke warm bathing sounded really nice. My still shaky hand reached over and turned the faucet to the appropriate setting. The water immediately sprayed out of the nozzle in a fine cone shaped streaming type mist. My oh my did it look inviting. I sat in a sleep-deprived haze on the nearby toilet waiting for the water to regulate temperature. A few cautious temperature checks with my left hand and subsequent adjustments ensured a comfortable setting. The all too important water check done I began pealing off my clothes and then stepped under the luxurious stream of now temped water. I could feel my humanity returning along with desperately needed bodily energy. The once stunning effects of my hangover were now starting to slip away. Amazing how a hangover that would kill the average thirty year old is dealt with and negated in a fairly miniscule amount of time by the body of a nineteen year old. The system of the young human form is an amazing thing. A shower was all it took to fully restore my faculties and I could feel my appetite returning. My sleep deprivation was another matter. I was still tired and would be so all day. The only cure would be more rest but this would have to wait. I had plans. I finished my daily shower, wrapped a towel around my waste and headed for my room.

As I hit the landing on the main floor I saw that Jian and Jess had migrated from the living room to the deck off the dining room at the back of the townhouse. They were talking and laughing about something. I headed down to the basement where my room, the laundry facilities, and my clothes were. I could still faintly smell the undeniable odor of alcohol and cigarettes. The stink had permeated through my clothes and had been absorbed in the air. A charming thought to say the least. I grabbed a pair of off white cargo shorts and a coral colored tee shirt. My shoes were AWOL so I went barefoot. After getting dressed I made my way upstairs and brushed my hair in the previously mentioned downstairs bathroom. I was ready to go.

“All right gentlemen,” I called out.

“Finally”, Jian joked. He knew how important the day after shower was and so did Jess. Neither one of them gave me the ration of shit I so richly deserved and had anticipated. Were they taking pity on me? Were they pissed at the delay? Or were they just glad to do something off the beaten path for a change?

I collected my keys and wallet, the later of which was significantly lighter after last night’s travails, and headed out the door with Jian & Jess. The sun hit my face like a frying pan and I immediately donned my Ray Bans. ‘Thank god for sunglasses’. A look across the parking lot showed me that Jian had managed to finagle his mother’s Ford Tempo for the day. She evidently didn’t know about our little trip. Oh well. No harm no foul. Jess immediately called ‘shotgun’ as we exited my townhouse. This was a little tradition we had wherein the first to say the magic word owned the right to occupy the front passenger seat for the duration of the trip. This privilege evaporated when we would arrive at our
destination and the clamoring for front seat rights would begin all over again. Stupid maybe but what else do you expect from nineteen year old guys. We made our way to the car and I was actually glad that I would have the back seat all to myself. I could nap on the way to Cheyenne. Normally I detested being relegated to back seat duty because it was more difficult to hear the conversation and the coveted car stereo controls were well out of reach. If you wanted to risk a thump to the back of the head you could lunge over the seat and attempt to control the stereo but with two equally controlling guys in the front one was liable to get only a face full of palm or a middle knuckle burrowed into your skull. Usually the risk wasn’t worth it. To be honest I had neither the energy nor the desire to even sit upright let alone controlling a stereo through a gauntlet of Jian and Jess’ flying appendages. I was perfectly ok with sprawling out across the back and the only thing I hoped for was a smooth and uneventful ride. Jian drove, Jess grabbed the front passenger seat, and I literally crawled into the back seat. We were off.

After barely five minutes Jian pulled into a 7Eleven. We all desperately needed caffeine.

Flag this you towel head

Now Hamas is demanding that Isreal change its flag.

Hames leader Mahmoud Zahar said, "Israel must remove the two blue stripes from its national flag...The stripes on the flag are symbols of occupation. They signify Israel's borders stretching from the River Euphrates to the River Nile."

Here's an idea for a new Isreali flag...how about a giant middle finger with a slogan that reads "Eat shit!"

Balad of a dead soldier

The following is a tribute to a true patriot…this is the ballad of a dead soldier.

When my grandfather was born on January 6, 1922, the coyotes were howling and the moon was full. Such was life in rural North Dakota. Born to dirt poor farmers he knew how rough life was in the upper Midwest. The winters were brutal and the work back breaking. This setting was the backdrop for grandpa’s formative years. It was a harsh environment that hardened the earth and oft times the heart.

My grandfather’s parents were decent people and raised five kids, four daughters and my grandpa. They were stern and uncompromising but North Dakota required such rigidity. The children were disciplined harshly and worked ceaselessly. Food as well as other essentials many long considered a birth right, were not easy to come by. There were times my grandpa had to go to his best friend’s house to eat. Times were tough but so were the people.

As a teen my grandfather joined FDR’s “Tree Army”, the now famous Civilian Conservation Corps. My grandmother once told me how grandpa took her up to the mountains to a monument outside Genesee, Colorado. His chest swelled with pride as he exclaimed, “I helped build this.” He was seventeen when he helped plant countless trees throughout the Colorado Rockies and he earned roughly $30 a month. All tolled the CCC would build 3,470 fire towers, 97,000 miles of fire road, and devote 4,235,000 man hours to fighting fires[1]

His North Dakota National Guard unit was called up in February 1941 and shipped to Louisiana for training. In December of that year Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and my grandfather was called to action. The 164th Infantry Regiment was part of the larger 34th Infantry Division that was dispatched to Melbourne, Australia in March of 1942. The 164th was initially sent to New Caledonia to protect naval bases and shipping from Japanese attack.

Then on October 13 they landed on Guadalcanal. During the first five days 117 men from the 164th were killed. The battle for Henderson Field saw 1,700 Japanese lose their lives while the 164th lost 26 dead and 57 wounded. The unit was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation and was dubbed by the civilian press as “jungle fighters”. After the fight for Henderson field the 164th ceaselessly patrolled Guadalcanal through February, 1943 and fought numerous skirmishes with the Japanese. The 164th was eventually sent to Bougainville in the Solomon Islands where they remained until November of ’44. After all was said and done those that were part of the 164th saw 600 days of action, suffered over 1,400 casualties including 357 dead, and was the first Army unit to see offensive action in WWII. The men of the 164th would earn over 2,000 Purple Hearts, 199 Bronze Stars, 89 Silver Stars, and six Distinguished Service Crosses. My grandfather himself was awarded a Silver Star, Bronze Star, and two Purple Hearts.

I once interviewed my grandpa for a paper in junior high. I asked him what his proudest accomplishment was in WWII. I assumed he’d cite his medals or saving the life of one of his men but he answered very matter-of-factly, “making it out alive”. He then told me that the average life expectancy for an infantryman in the Pacific theatre was six months. My grandfather served for over a year and a half.

Later on when I was in high school I had the privilege of picking my grandpa’s head about WWII. As we talked tears welled up in his eyes as he told me how he saw his best friends killed before his very eyes, including the same kid who fed my grandpa on a number of different occasions. These were the best friends of his youth and it was then I realized that the war had left this rock of a man deeply scarred and it had stripped away his youth far too early.

My grandpa made the rank of sergeant at least three different times and was demoted every time for insubordination and striking a superior officer. Seems he would’ve rather suffered the indignity of losing a stripe than losing another man because some wet behind the ears lieutenant fresh out of college was spouting off orders from a military field manual. A dear family friend who we’ll call John told me once, through tear filled eyes, that he and many others in the 164th owed their lives to my grandpa. On patrols my grandfather would always take point, not out of bravado or hubris but out of a paternalistic protective instinct. After seeing many of his closest friends killed my grandpa became so withdrawn that some of the men in his unit referred to him as almost ghost like. Months of constant war fare took its toll on all.

After serving in the Pacific my grandpa was stationed at a rehab hospital for a bit to mend his bullet riddled left shoulder as well as his shattered psyche. Many of the boys he had grown up with never made it home and this haunted my grandfather.

In 1946 he met then married my grandmother. Together they had four children, my mother, two aunts, and the youngest, my uncle. They struggled to make ends meet in Bismarck, North Dakota so in the early 50’s they folded up their tent flaps and moved to Denver. Work and money were hard to come by so my grandfather worked odd jobs and eked out a meager living. Eventually he would find work as a construction foreman around Denver. When I was a kid he’d drive me around and point out the structures that he helped build. And it would surface again, that indomitable pride that my grandmother noticed in the mountains that day and that was unmistakable when he gloated over “his buildings”.

After toiling away in construction my grandpa found a job with the United States Postal Service. He worked primarily at the annex in downtown Denver, which he proudly proclaimed was the seventh busiest annex in the postal system.

He and my grandmother retired in 1986.

After their retirement they traveled a bit, once to Hawaii, Mexico, countless road trips to Montana where my granny’s sister & brother lived, and a number of other sojourns. Always the craftsman my grandpa settled in his garage, collected a vast array of power tools, and kept himself busy.

Then in 1990 the unthinkable happened. On July 3 one of his beloved grandchildren, yours truly, broke his neck in a car accident. That was the first time I ever saw the man cry was when he was bent over my hospital bed stroking my forehead trying to bring a little comfort to a scared nineteen year old. This impossibly stern and rugged man was reduced to tears and for that I will never forgive myself. After my accident he became increasingly more emotional and he would often cry at commercials on TV.

Once again his world was shaken as he was diagnosed with cancer in 1991. To be perfectly honest it rocked the foundations of our entire family. Our patriarch, our rock, our war hero was in the battle of his life against the most relentless foe he’d ever confronted. And it was a war he couldn’t win. In the early morning hours of Jan 18, 1993 my grandfather passed away, his wife of 47 years by his side. He had survived poverty, hunger, the largest military conflict the world had ever seen, and he had raised a family but he couldn’t beat cancer.

If you met him once you’d never forget him. That’s the kind of man he was. Always ready with a smile and a handshake but a stern task master. He expected a lot from people but he gave in kind. He would frequent the same restaurants over and over and over. He was known by name at his favorite Mexican food place as well as the Chinese restaurant across the street. He would even go in the kitchens, talk to the cooks, and take their knives home to sharpen them. He was a regular visitor to a nearby pawn shop where he was treated like family. My grandpa built a number of their shelves and did odd maintenance there for years. He was so highly regarded by the owner that when I tried to pawn some stuff one day they refused my business, saying, “we don’t do business with family.”

After he died my mom quipped, “It says something about a man when the biggest flower arrangements at the funeral were from restaurants and pawn shops.”

I miss him dearly. That corny sense of humor, those rough hands, that smile, the fierce glare, that appetite, the wind chimes he made, the way he doted over his grandchildren, that was my grandpa. If I were to use one word to describe this man it would be PRIDE. So here I sit paying tribute to the closest thing I had to a father and paying homage to the bravest man I ever met. I know he’s up there in Heaven cutting up with his friends and looking in on his family and doing his best to protect us. As I cast my eyes to the sky I say, “I know you’re up there old man! I hope I can make you proud, half as proud as am to call you grandpa.”

Rest in peace old man, rest in peace.
[1] http://www.cccalumni.org/history1.html

Idiot

Now it seems Hollywood is joining the anti-porn crusade. This is outrageous! In the words of Patrick Henry, "Give me porn or give me death!"

Charlton Heston said it best, "From my cold dead hands!"

If this dipshit Stephen Baldwin tries to take my porn away I'll make him wish he'd never been born.

Feminism redux

As a rule I’m not opposed to feminism but recent dialogue on another blog has peeked my interest in this influential movement. So I did my normal three and a half minutes of research and discovered there are actually different branches of feminism…and there’s a lot…twenty five recognized disciplines within one movement. And since, as a rule, I feel free to mock all who deserve mockery here’s a comprehensive list of the different types of feminism along with a brief description. Hope you enjoy!

Amazon Feminism-six foot tall blondes with big boobs standing around quoting Margeret Sanger.
Anarcha- Feminism-screw the rules and give me what I want…I’m PMSing so don’t mess with me boy!
Anti Racist Feminism-even the spicks, slopes, sand-niggers, jigaboos, whaps, and other ethnically diverse women are all equal.
Cultural Feminism-bitching about men with Mozart playing in the back ground.
Eco Feminism-let’s hug a tree, rub our crystals, and bitch about men.
Equity Feminism-gimme my shit monkey boy!
Existential Feminism-huh?
French Feminism-can the French get any more feminine?
Gender Feminism-seems a bit redundant if you ask me.
Individualist Feminism-I am woman, hear me roar, or screech, or whine, or complain, you get the picture.
Lesbian Feminism-once again, redundant.
Liberal Feminism-we’ll elect the most hideously deformed troglodyte we can find.
Male Feminism-the Tony Awards!
Marxist Feminism-your vagina is now property of the state.
Material Feminism-I want nice stuff for all women.
Pop Feminism-Madonna is the Godess!
Post colonial Feminism-ah those kooky French & British. Those lovable little scamps just occupied half the globe’s surface, enslaving millions. Who cares when we can watch Desperate Housewives.
Post modern Feminism-now lesbian porn in one window and Gloria Steinem’s Revolution Within in another. The Internet’s a beautiful thing.
Pro sex Feminism-hey, I’m pro sex too. Bring all them ho’s on!
Psychoanalytical Feminism-lie down on this comfy couch and we’ll tell you how perky your breasts are and how you’re a wonderful person.
Radical Feminism-bitches all!
Separatist Feminism-give us our own island…it’ll be call Titty Tonka.
Socialist Feminism-healthcare for all women…the men can go screw themselves.
Spiritual Feminism-my soul is mine…fuck off!
Standpoint Feminism-I have no opinion on this one.
Third-world Feminism-bitch about men while sweeping my dirt floor, because, after all, my hut must be as tidy as my vagina.
Transnational Feminism-we can cuss men out in multiple languages and dialects.
Trans Feminism-is this the same as trans fatty acids, I hear they’re really unhealthy.

2005 Awards

Movie of the year-this was a bad year for movies so if I’m forced to choose one I’ll go with March of the Penguins. Morgan Freeman’s narration lent a touch class to a compelling documentary about emperor penguins in Antarctica. I was cold just watching it.

TV moment of the year-never before has reality TV witnessed the unmitigated carnage seen on The Apprentice in week seven. Four people were canned as Donald Trump executed the first quadruple beheading in reality TV history. It was diabolical.

Biggest bonehead-a man in Seattle entered into a challenge with a friend to see who could dangle from a highway overpass the longest. But our intrepid adventurer was apparently too fatigued from his endurance trial too climb back up the bridge. He fell to his death on the busy highway below. Unfortunately the diesel barreling down the highway at 60mph broke his fall. A very close second goes to a man in Zimbabwe who tried to deter elephants from trampling his maize by absconding with some unexploded landmines found in a nearby field. The unstable mines predictably exploded killing the man instantly. The man was later buried in a shoebox.

Self aggrandizing moment of the year-why would Terrell Owens, or anyone else for that matter, hold an impromptu workout in his driveway? Oh, that’s right, to grovel for his job back. Life went from the sublime to the surreal as T.O. whisked off his shirt and did sit ups for the press throng gathered at his humble abode. And as we all know it’s common for professional athletes to workout in their driveways. Drew Rosenhaus was never far from Owens’ side as a public apology was issued for Terrell’s nature of being the biggest pain-in-the-ass in sports.

Slimey moment-the afore mentioned Drew Rosenhaus’ performance in said driveway. Rosenhaus had the nerve to claim that Owens was an unwitting victim of an autocratic Philadelphia Eagles regime. The look on Owens’ face was priceless. His expression was saying, “Even I couldn’t make this stuff up.” Drew Rosenhaus spins stuff so much his tongue could open a wine bottle.

Too late-University of Colorado for letting Gary Barnett hang on as head football coach eighteen months longer than was necessary or even proper. Barnett took a once glorious football program and turned it into a laughing stock. Watching the Buffs under Barnett’s expert leadership was like watching a fraternity intramural flag football team well into its second keg of Fat Tire. And we won’t even mention the allegations of sexual impropriety, recruiting violations, and mishandled money.

Game of the year-Notre Dame vs. Southern Cal…Brady Quinn had just led the Irish down the field to go up 31-28. The Irish faithful were going nuts. Things looked bleak for the defending national champs. Then Matt Lienart took over. After converting a forth & sixteen, a catch that went 61 yards to Wayne Jarrett, the Trojans had a chance. A sweep to Lienart around the left side was halted by the Irish D, the clock seemingly ran out, and the fans stormed the field. But wait! The ball popped out and the refs put three agonizing seconds back on the clock. The setting…ball on the one, three seconds left, undefeated season on the line…what do you do? Simple, run a sneak with Leinart, let Reggie Bush push him across the goal line, game over.

Stupid injury- Colorado Rockies shortstop and Rookie of the Year candidate Clint Barmes, who was hitting .325 with 34 RBI’s and eight home runs, was walking up a flight of stairs with groceries in tow when he fell and broke his collar bone. It was later divulged that he was hauling deer meat up to his apartment when gravity intervened and turned Barmes from the front runner for ROY to a punch line.

Comeback of the year-on Septmber 15, 2001 race car driver Alex Zanardi was involved in a gruesome accident in a race at Germany’s Lausiztring Euro Speedway near Brandenburg. Zanardi’s career was over as both his legs were severed above the knee. But Zanardi never gave up. Fitted with prosthetic legs Zanardi rehabbed and made his return to racing in 2004. In 2005 he won his first race since losing his legs in ’01.

Sexiest woman-hmmmmmm, where to begin. Jennifer Garner was deliciously delectable in 2005 but she loses points for hanging out with that tool Ben Affleck. Jennifer Anniston turned into a whiney pain. Angelina Jolie is a freak. So this award goes to the incomparable, the sultry, the sublime Jessica Alba. Watching her in a skin tight super hero outfit in The Fantastic Four was like looking at fine art. Honorable mention goes to: Selma Hayek, Naomi Watts, Teri Hatcher, Eva Mendes, and Nicole Kidman.

Sexiest newscaster-I did a countdown of the sexiest newscasters back in May. My numero uno was Trich Regan with CNN and I see no reason to change my mind now. There are several others worth mentioning…Heather Nauert FOX, Laurie Dhue FOX, Brooke Anderson CNN, Megyn Kendal FOX, Melissa Stark MSNBC, Kiran Chetry FOX.

Ewwwwwwwww-a man near Seattle was charged in the death of another who allegedly trespassed on his farm to have sex with his horses. The trespasser died as a result of injuries from intercourse with the unsuspecting equine quadruped.

Evil personafide-a little league baseball coach was arrested after he instructed one of his players to deliberately injure a retarded kid on the same team. Seems the coach was tired of watching the disabled kid fumble around on the field so he told another boy to hit the kid with a bat. This guy’s destiny is sealed…see you in hell.

This has been the best & worst of 2005. Hope you enjoyed your stay.

Best wishes to all

Merry Christmas!!

Those we lost in '05

2005 saw some true giants in their fields pass. So here’s a melancholy farewell to some of our best & brightest.

Pope John Paul II-the most charismatic and accessible pope maybe ever led life on his own terms and devoted 60+ years to the Catholic church.

Richard Pryor-was recently voted by Comedy Central as the greatest comedian of all time. Arguably the most influential comic ever his caustic style paved the way for future greats like Robin Williams, Eddie Murphy, and a whole host of others.

Johnny Carson-as host of the Tonight Show for over two decades he became a true American icon and one of the most beloved television personalities ever.

George Mikan-the first superstar big man in basketball led the Minneapolis Lakers to five championships and is regarded as the NBA’s first great center.

Max Schmelling-gained world wide fame as a pawn of Hitler’s Nazi party when he defeated Jo Louis in 1936. Louis would eventually regain his heavyweight title in 1938 on a first round knockout. After their legendary clashes the two warriors became fast friends until Louis’ death in 1981.

Rosa Parks-her act of defiance in 1955 sparked the civil rights revolution in America. Parks, an unknown seamstress, refused to give up her seat on the front of a Montgomery, Alabama bus for a white man. With this seemingly innocuous gesture Parks became one of the most important figures of 20th century America.

William Rehnquist-chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court from 1986 to 2005 he served as one of the arbiters of conservative constitutional interpretation for decades. His 33 years of service on the Court is one of the longest tenures in history.

Others who passed in ’05-Peter Jennings, Terri Schiavo, Eddie Albert, William Mora, Hank Stramm, General William Westmoreland, Luther Vandross, Ossie Davis, Arthur Miller, Anne Bancroft, Johnnie Cochran, Hunter S. Thompson.

This just burns my ass

If there was ever a doubt about how far this president will stretch the Constitution we now have our answer.

Jr. sits in his ivory tower wiping his ass with the very document meant to protect us from gestapo like action of our government. Bush and his entire administration should be brought up on impeachment charges.

Greatest battle scenes

As a dyed in the wool movie buff I love coming up with lists. So here's my latest contribution...the best battle scenes of all time are profiled.

Lord of the Rings Return of the King-the assault on Minis Tirith was mesmerizing in the book but the movie version takes this epic battle and feeds it a few steroids. The catapult duals were unreal. When Theoden shows up with his Rohirim and cuts through the orc army like a sickle through grass every hair on my neck stood on end. Then the Haradrim show up with their monstrous mumakil, giant and fearsome elephants, and go at it with the Rohirim while Theoden gets tossed by a Nazgul. Aragorn shows up with the army of dead and carries the day, a plot variation from the book but it worked. This encounter was utterly gripping and losses were not so much witnessed as they were felt. Dizzying special effects combine with emotional pull to make this the best battle sequence ever put to film.

Apocalypse Now-many critics and lay persons contend that the part where the Huey helicopters attack the Vietnamese village to be the greatest action sequence ever. I’d be hard pressed to disagree. The formation of helicopters flies in out of the rising sun. About a mile out Robert Duval gives the now legendary command, “Put on psy war ops, and make it loud!” Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries blares and the village is reduced to rubble in a blurring sequence of buzzing helicopters, firing machine guns, and explosions galore. After the village is captured Duval utters yet another unforgettable line, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning…smells like victory.”

Empire Strikes Back-the ice planet of Hoth sets the stage for the coolest battle space has ever seen. The ominous sight of the Imperial AT-AT walkers punctuates the plight of the fledgling rebellion. Luke Skywalker does his Jedi bit and single-handedly brings down a walker but not before the rebel base is in ruin from the relentless onslaught of Darth Vader and his army. Great stuff!

Braveheart-Mel Gibson may not have directed the best battle scenes ever but they are probably the goriest. Multiple decapitations, dismemberments, and disembowelments abound. Then there’s Mel’s/William Wallace’s speech before the battle at Falkirk (sp?), “They may take our lives but they’ll never take our freedom!” When both sides charged then went careening into each other a pit formed in your throat and stomach as nervous tension gripped you in anticipation of non-stop blood letting.

Gladiator-the thing I liked about the opening sequence was its intensity. Ridley Scott really captures the frenetic energy that must have been ancient warfare. There’s blood spots and mud on the camera lenses, the fire catapults were deadly, and cold ruthlessness of the Roman war machine shone bright. Russell Crowe was gritty and dirty and wholly believable as a veteran general who’s just burnt out on the conquering thing.

The Matrix Revolutions-I had a hard time watching this movie because frankly it stunk. But the final battle where the sentinels attack Zion and the fight between Keanu Reeves and the deliciously evil Hugo Weaving as Mr. Smith were worth the price of admission. The numbers of squid-like machines were seemingly infinite while the humans countered with war walkers equipped with hellacious machine guns and two man rocket crews that eliminated the giant drills. Meanwhile, Neo is going toe to toe with Mr. Smith in Machine City in a realm where the laws of physics don’t apply. The special effects rival even the more celebrated Return of the King.

Kingdom of Heaven-Ridley Scott makes another appearance on this little countdown. The climactic battle lasts nearly thirty minutes and features a stirring catapult exchange, masses of tightly bunched fighters, and daring yet effective cinematography. Much like Revolutions this movie was mostly quite tedious but Ridley Scott knows how to get the blood pumping.

Saving Private Ryan-this movie grabs you by the balls and doesn’t let go. The opening D-Day scene is furiously intense and had me ducking for cover. World War II is depicted in raw and graphic realism. The film is grainy, the camera angles stark, and the mood throughout was somber. The cut sequences that show how confusing the fog of war can be were brilliant along with Tom Hanks’ gripping performance all lend to a truly gut wrenching experience.

Jason and the Argonauts-based on the ancient tale of the search for the Golden Fleece this movie has what for my money is the coolest battle outside Empire Strikes Back. When Jason and his merry band are confronted by denizens of living skeletons all hell breaks lose. The battle rages on as the skeletons pop up out of the ground. The imagery and effects are classic and timeless.

13th Warrior-yes Antonio Banderas as an Arab exiled for shagging the wrong girl is far fetched but hear me out. The set up for the last battle was great as the devout Muslim, Banderas, actually recites an ancient Norse prayer. As Ibn utters the closing line, “In the halls of Valhalla, where the brave will live forever”, the flesh eating enemy swarms down upon the Vikings and the lone Arab. The charismatic Buliwyf kills the leader of the blood-thirsty Bendo but succumbs to a previous wound. Far from the most artistic battle scene ever this one makes up ground with its heart.

Honorable mention-Gettysburg (the cannon barrages were stunning), Ben Hur, Platoon, Aliens

The wonders of modern pharmichology

Seems there's a new drug out there that makes one a skosh loopy. So in my continuing efforts to enlighten the masses I've come up with a few names for this new marvel of modern chemistry.

Cheetosaregoodafil

Rastatussin

Cannibicarbide

Marijuanafil

Marijuanacin

Maryjaneacin

Stickyminifin

Munchiesacin

Timeisallf'dupacin

Bobmarleyrulesafil

Doritocondroitin

MnMafil

Neverland comes to Dubai

So, the king of pop gets busted for using the ladies room?

Now he wants to buy property in the Middle East?

The walking freak show known as Michael Jackson just keeps on rollin'.

I give the over/under about six months before the United Arab Emirates deport or jail Jacko's pasty butt. Either that or they'll put Jackson's likeness on their currency.

The moving blues

I’m just now getting settled from moving into a new house and let me tell you these damn boxes aren’t getting unpacked until spring. I once read somewhere that on a psychological trauma scale of 1-100 moving rates about 95. When I originally read this article I scoffed at what I envisioned that those surveyed and the shrinks writing this tripe were a bunch of anal retentive weenies who were deathly afraid of change…hehehehe…not anymore. Those guys were sooo right. Here’s my list of things I’d rather do than subject myself to the horror of having to fold up the old tent flaps and relocate.

I’d rather masturbate with a cheese grater than move again.

I’d rather juggle chain saws than move again.

I’d rather see a proctologist named Dr. Hook than move again.

I’ll let Jehovah’s witnesses in before moving again.

I’d rather get circumcised with a chainsaw than move again.

A molten lead enema would be preferable to moving again.

I’d rather spend an evening with my ex-girlfriend than move again…oh how I hate her.

I’d rather surf the River Styx than move again.

I’d rather attend a mime convention than move again.

I’ll let Terrell Owens workout in my driveway before I’ll pack and move again.

I’d rather watch Gigli all day, every day for a week than move again.

I’d rather see the Back Street Boys and N’SYNC do a reunion tour than move again.

I’d rather listen to Fran Drescher and Arnold Schwarzenegger play Romeo and Juliet than move again.

Anna Nicole Smith will do linear algebra before I move again.

Drew Rosenhaus will study the canon of ethics before I move again.

I’d rather have George Bush as president for another four years than move again…wait a tick, I may have to rethink this one.

I’d rather receive an acupuncture treatment with a crossbow than move again.

I’d rather let a pregnant yak give birth on my bed than move again.

I’ll let Rosie O’Donnell sit on my face before I’ll move again.

I’d rather perform oral sex on a basset hound than move again.

I’d rather slam my head in a sliding glass door than move again.