If only Frankie were here...

He'd sing my new balad inspired by a certain student at the University of Florida...ladies and gentlemen, I give you TASERS IN THE NIGHT

Tasers in the night
Delivering ‘lectric shocks
Wondering who the hell in the night
Oh it was the UF cops

Something in your hand was so frightening
Something in your hand made me ride the lightning
Something in your hand
Dropped my ass to the floor

Tasers in the night, two metal prongs
We felt the tasers in the night
At that moment
When the security grabbed me
I knew the feel of electricity
Jail was just a glance away
As a jolt made me wanna pee

Ever since that morning not too long ago
When I pled, “Don’t tase me bro”
It turned out not right
With that taser in the night

Monday hilarity

I’d like to be able to jam a stick up the neighbor dog’s ass and use that yapping little bastard as a dust mop.

I’d like to use a cat as a chamois when my van gets waxed.

I wish someone would pay me to look up porn…I’d be a freakin’ billionaire.

The Dachshund, Chihuahua, Pug, Pomeranian, Whippet, and the Hairless Terrier are all the product of dog breeding experiments gone awry. Can a dachshund climb the stairs with an erection? If you plant a Chihuahua in the ground eight weeks later a Great Dane pops up. If you kick a Pug in the nuts his eyes will shoot out of its skull. If you get a Pomeranian wet it will disappear. I had a friend who got pulled over by the police because her Whippet was causing an obstructed view…you could hang that thing from the mirror. The Hairless Terrier looks like a poodle dipped in Nair. If

Two gimps, both quadriplegic, one girl and one guy, are in bed together. The girl looks at the guy and asks, “Was it good for you?” The guy replies, “How the fuck would I know!”

What do you call a quadriplegic in a bath tub? Stu
In a pool? Bob
On a horse? Buck
Behind a speed boat? Skip
On a hill? Cliff
On a pile of leaves? Russell
In a hole? Phil.
In a mail box? Bill
On the wall? Art
In front of a door? Matt.
In a church? Neal
In a strip club? Barrett
At a cemetery? Barry
In a lettuce patch? Caesar
On a beach? Sandy
In a wheel barrow? Carrie
At a poker Table? Chance
More to come…

Rumor has it the lights of the Wal-Mart signs contain mind altering gamma rays that render millions helpless against the lure of shitty products sold by bitter people suffering through the acrimony of minimum wage and pigeon English.

Ever stop and think what it would have been like to look up and see Wonder Woman flying across the sky in her clear jet? Her weapon was the Lasso of Truth. Had yours truly been tied up by that lasso I would have gleefully admitted, “Yes, I love looking at your boobs! And I masturbate frequently to your picture. I’d eat the corn out of your excrement and gargle with your bath water. I’ll douche you with my saliva. Please spank me, I’m a naughty boy.” With her red leather boots and tasteful attire you get where the hookers of the world got the idea for clear heals and skimpy clothes.

Deconstructing the war in Iraq

As a patriot and staunch supporter of our troops I can no longer sit idly by as the current President and Congress of the United States continues to put those young men & women in harm’s way.

Now, since we invaded Iraq over four years ago debating the rationale for the war is somewhat a moot point. But what’s not moot is the wisdom of keeping the troops there. A recent opinion poll in Iraq showed that 85-87% of Iraqis want us to pull out our armed forces in a year and 47% want us gone now. According to a March 2007 poll of 2000 Iraqis conducted by the BBC , 51% of the population consider attacks on coalition forces "acceptable," up from 17% in 2004 and 35% in 2006; 64% described their family's economic situation as being somewhat or very bad, up from 30% in 2005; 88% described the availability of electricity as being either somewhat or very bad, up from 65% in 2004; 69% described the availability of clean water as somewhat or very bad, up from 48% in 2004; 88% described the availability of fuel for cooking and driving as being somewhat or very bad; 58% described reconstruction efforts in the area in which they live as either somewhat or very ineffective, and 9% described them as being totally nonexistent. So I ask, why are we still maintaining a military presence in Iraq?

When the so-called escalation/surge reaches its goal fully 180,000 troops will be stationed in Iraq, a country of 437,000 square miles, roughly the size of Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico combined. During the Vietnam War, our largest troop commitment was 1.2 million in a country with 362,000 square miles, roughly the size of Montana and Wyoming combined. Only 189,000 are deployed now in the combat zones of Iraq and Afghanistan. Even the post-surge troop levels will be inadequate. In 1998 U.S. Marine General Anthony Zinni estimated a full-scale invasion of Iraq would require 400,000 soldiers and Army Chief Of Staff General Eric Shinseki stated before a Senate Armed Services Committee in February of 2003 that an invasion force should number “several hundred thousand.” Our leaders in Washington are trying a nation building experiment on two fronts with a skeleton crew.

Historically nation building is successful barely 25% of the time and never if the U.S. is making the attempt, and prolonged occupation has an even more dismal track record. Even Rudyard Kipling warned of the dangers of such a practice in his poem “The White Man’s Burden”. This is the French concept of “Noblesse Obglige”, literally means nobility obligates. Via such a theory our station as a civilized and affluent nation obliges us to help the impoverished nations. It is the whole Spider Manesque, “with great power comes great responsibility” thing.

To this I say, “Bullshit!” It is neither this nation’s duty nor its responsibility to install democracy around the globe. Nor is it our duty to wade into a humanitarian nightmare like a knight on a white horse and save humanity. We are not the arbiters of morality for the entire globe. If this were the case we’d be occupying Sudan/Darfur, the same country that incidentally/allegedly sold uranium to Iraq.

Now, there are those on both sides of the isle that would have us prolong our military presence in Iraq indefinitely. Some on the left contend it is our moral obligation to stay since we were dumb enough to invade in the first place. Some on the right, especially Bush’s supporters, contend that the power vacuum created by our departure would create chaos and lead to the slaughter of innocents as well as open the door for a terrorist regime or other occupying force.

They’re both wrong.

Our primary moral obligation lay in protecting our sovereignty as a nation. And since Iraq and the surrounding nations pose little threat to our nation status our troops need not be there. So far our government has spent over $400 billion on the war with $50 billion more coming from Congress. This in addition to the potentially $600 billion tab to rehabilitate the wounded. The total cost from four years of occupation is potentially $1,000,000,000,000 with 3,700 dead and 8,100 wounded. This exorbitant cost with little to show in the way of accomplished objectives (I know Sadam Hussein is now in our custody) seems to be prohibitively steep, especially when you consider the zero level threat Iraq poses to our sovereignty.

By far the most numerous and vociferous supporters of a continuation of the War in Iraq are from the Republican Party and their supporters, most of whom fancy themselves right wingers. One of their theories in support of the U.S. staying to prevent a power vacuum is the parallel analogy of our departure from Vietnam and the subsequent genocide in Cambodia as a direct consequence of a “cut and run” policy. This analogy is specious. The Khmer Rouge rose to power in the late 1960’s, due in no small part to Richard Nixon’s decision to suspend economic aid to Cambodia in 1973 and the flawed bombing campaign between 1965-73 that targeted rural areas and fostered resentment among the peasants who constituted the bulk of Khmer Rouge membership. Additionally, the Cambodian Civil War started in 1967 and contributed greatly to the ascendancy of Pol Pot and his Khmer Empire. The seeds for the Killing Fields were planted well before our withdrawal from Vietnam in 1975 and to suggest otherwise is a display of historical ignorance.

The war supporters from the right also contend that withdrawal from Iraq will lead to the ascendancy of a terrorist state the likes of which has never been seen. This contention is plausible but unlikely. The most likely scenario following our troop withdrawal would be years of civil war between the Sunnis, Shiites, and Kurds. Iran would undoubtedly stoke the fires of acrimony and possibly install a puppet regime after the fog of war lifted, thus taking advantage of their economic superiority and military strength. Iran would then become the dominant force in the Middle East. But this scenario hardly portends to the destruction of our nation. Yes, terrorism in this country would escalate but not at the expense of our independence. Even if Iraq were to become a haven for terrorists that dry parcel would still not be the den of evil that Indonesia, Pakistan, China, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Chile, Libya, and Russia have become. We ally ourselves with Pakistan, the very nation who sold nuclear technology to North Korea and ignore their long established dalliances in state sponsored terror, we turn a blind eye to China’s subjugation of its own people and Tibet, we conveniently forget that the 9/11 conspirators were all Saudi nationals, and we continue relations with Russia despite their interference in foreign elections and Putin’s dissolution of Russian Parliament. But somehow in the eyes of many Iraq still constitutes now and forever the clearest and most present danger to our nation status.

I cannot in clear conscience support a doomed foreign policy and a flawed war effort. The troops on the ground in Iraq are impossibly brave men and women fighting a war that their leaders in Washington seem utterly incapable of planning for or executing properly. If you leave our best and bravest their for the foreseeable future give them the resources necessary to be successful; escalate our troop count in the region by at least 250,000, finish the job in Iraq before even contemplating war with Iran, give the soldiers the proper equipment and logistical support necessary, and stop trying to fight the war from half a globe away. If those in Washington aren’t prepared to do all those things then we need to bring our troops home…now.

The tangled webs we weave...

As a purveyor of the ridiculous I naturally gravitate towards researching various conspiracy theories, just for shits & giggles. So, in my journey through the Internet I stumbled upon some choice wing nuts, you know, those guys that believed the movie Signs was a documentary.

One such loon was David Icke. This Twinkie has forwarded some truly mind boggling theories.

Among his theories is a belief in the Illuminati. This theory states that there are approximately 300 individuals who run global dealings, the hand that rocks the throne. These enterprising few are descendent from an Enlightenment group from late 18th Century Bavaria and may be direct heirs of Charlemagne. Their organization, the so-called “New World Order” rules global political and economic affairs from a western hemisphere headquarters six stories beneath Denver International Airport and an unknown eastern headquarters. I guess the trippy ass murals at DIA are the hallmark of the NOW, along with the “All Seeing Eye” on the American $1 bill. Apparently this organization is planning to install one global government through a series of tactical assassinations and political, military, and economic shit storms.

Wait, this gets better. Somewhere around 1990 Icke had a medium, some loon named Betty Shine, tell him he was sent to heal the world. His experience was so far out even the Green Party disavowed their association with Icke. Then in 1991 Icke stated, “I am a channel for the Christ spirit. The title was given to me very recently by the Godhead.” He later claimed to be the son of God, not in the literal sense but in the part of a collective fashion. His qualifier came too late as his reputation was inalterably tarnished.

Oh yes, the story is far from over. After his ignominious fall from grace Icke began forwarding yet another theory. His Illuminati theory was to get even loopier. According to Icke some members of the Global Elite are actually sentient lizard people from the constellation Draco. These “Prison Warders” can assume human form because their DNA allows them to shape shift and they’ve cross bred with humans, and if they consume human blood they can freely walk amongst us. Lizard folk include Hillary Clinton, George H. W. Bush, Queen Elizabeth, Tony Blair, Kris Kristofferson, and Boxcar Willie. Who knew the 1980’s mini-series V was a documentary.

Then there’s the equally outlandish theories of Milton William Cooper. According to Cooper a race of aliens made a treaty with the governments of earth to help squelch knowledge of and witnesses to alien activity here on our planet, the omnipotent alien “His Highness Krill” teleported here to earth to negotiate the treaty. This event spawned the Cold War because the aliens violated the treaty thus forcing the U.S. and U.S.S.R. to collaborate and arm themselves to the teeth to dissuade the pesky aliens from attacking.

Other conspiracy theories forwarded by individuals like Alex Jones hypothesize that the Bilderberg Group, the Tri-lateral Commission, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, Black Helicopters, Skull & Bones, Scroll & Key, Area 51, TWA Flight 800, Bohemian Grove, and a host of other historical schemes portend the existence of a vast shadow network of tyrannical despots bent on global domination.

Now, I’m not dismissive of the more tenable theories like TWA Flight 800 and the assassination of John F. Kennedy but the premise that a close knit inner sanctum of global elites are running the global show is just cuckoo. By right, in order to pull off such an intricate and vast conspiracy one must endow the perpetrators with super-human intelligence and talent. Hence the lizard alien constructs. Even the Icke’s of this world know that humans are neither smart nor discrete enough to execute and conceal such a plan for centuries. That’s why the Jews don’t rule the world nor do the heirs of Charlemagne, the Knights Templar, the Free Masons, or the Catholic Church. If I’m wrong and one or more of these groups is truly the world’s puppet masters then I say, “Good show!”, because they’ve managed to do what nearly every human has wanted to do…control the world.

I must go now…the Omnipotent Krill is calling.

Week 1 pick 'em results

Denver over Buffalo-w
New England over the Jets-w
Philly over Green Bay-l
Jacksonville over Tennessee-l
Texans over KC-w
Rams over Carolina-l
Washington over Miami-w
Vikings over Falcons-w
Steelers over Browns-w
Lions over Raiders-w
Seattle over Tampa-w
Chargers over da Bears-w
Cowboys over Giants-w
Cincy over Baltimore...maybe-w
49ers over Arizona-w

Record--12-3...bwahahahahaha...bow infidels

Now this week's predictions...
Pittsburgh over Buffalo
Jacksonville over Atlanta
Colts big over Tennessee
Packers over Giants
Carolina over Texans
Rams over 49ers
Cincy big over Cleveland
Saints over Bucs
Dallas huge over Miami
Detroit over Minnesota
Seattle over Arizona
Chicago over KC
Baltimore over the Jets
Denver big over Oakland
Philly over Washington
GAME OF THE WEEK...Patriots in a squeeker over San Diego

Now, if you want to challenge yours truly just post your picks in the comments.

Don't talk to me...

THE NFL SEASON IS ABOUT TO START!

GO BRONCOS!!!

Now, as a public service to my peeps I, your insufferable host, will be engaging in a weekly pick 'em ecercise each week. My Week 1 picks are...

Denver over Buffalo
New England over the Jets
Philly over Green Bay
Jacksonville over Tennessee
Texans over KC
Rams over Carolina
Washington over Miami
Vikings over Falcons
Steelers over Browns
Lions over Raiders
Seattle over Tampa
Chargers over da Bears
Cowboys over Giants
Cincy over Baltimore...maybe
49ers over Arizona

I will post my picks on Tuesday or Wednesday every week. Feel free to post your own picks in the comments. I'll tally the results each week and the winner at the end of the year gets coveted bragging rights over yours truly.

Testicle Tuesday...All-Time top 20

An impromptu roast on a Monday night

As yours truly returns to mid-season form I thought the time would be appropriate to roast a few friends. Buckle up…

Duditz…what can we say about Duditz…bitch is ugly. He looks like the spawn of Gollum and Rosie O’Donnell. He’s the only Buddhist gnome in history. Now I’m not calling him short but traveling with him would be a breeze as he fits in most overhead compartments. Then there’s his many beer binges…he walks around aimlessly when he’s drunk, it’s like watching a windup Hellen Keller doll. Duditz is so mellow I saw his boss walk up and kick him in the balls…he fell asleep. When you die you’re gonna be reincarnated as a sloth. Then there’s his pasty complexion and newly shorn head…I guess the Holocaust survivor motif is alive and well.

Speaking of ugly and bald, hello PB. Dude looks like a young Jason Voorhees on a BAD hair day. Hey PB, comb your scalp over, it’ll look fuller. Last time he got sex was the Clinton administration. Call him Moses because when he shows up the girls part like the Red Sea. PB is a bit of a nerd…he masturbates to a picture of William Shatner. He thinks clip-on sunglasses are cool.

JAP, you freakin’ bastard. The guy has bigger boobs than Pamela Anderson, he makes her look like Paris Hilton. I saw JAP run once and had an uncontrollable urge to iron all the clothes in my closet, last time I saw skin bounce like that was the opening credits of Bay Watch.

Swanny, do you own a clock? Swanny was always a tender lover though, he always spat on his pecker before insertion. He was also conscientious enough to walk through the field and tag the sheep that kick. You should have seen the look in his eye when I got him those gloves with the Velcro palms. Once when we went to a Wyoming sheep ranch the owner was showing us around…we came upon a dewey little sheep with its head stuck in the fence bleeting pitifully, “Bah, bah.” The rancher pulled out his love rod and stuck it in the sheep’s mouth. Swanny said, “Can I get some?” “Sure” the rancher replied. Swanny then walked around stuck his head in the fence and went, “Bah, bah.”

Ekim, where you at. Oh there, I can hear your shirt. This guy’s wardrobe is so loud it comes with its own generator. But it matches his voice…Ekim’s voice is so loud when he speaks a herd of elk by Grand Junction say, “Dear Christ, what the fuck was that?” Ekim is a staunch liberal, he has a picture of Al Gore and Howard Dean in his wallet. He thinks Ted Kennedy makes sense. His secret fantasy is to cover Hillary Clinton in honey and lick it off.

Roberto’s here. He was the first Hispanic I ever knew who was gainfully employed. But Roberto is a heckuva nice guy, he shaves PB’s back twice a week. Roberto is hairy too, like Cheech hooked up with Jamie Farr.

Emi, you little tart. First thing I noticed about Emi were her enormous tits, I couldn’t help it, they entered the room five minutes before she did. When she lays on her back they pierce the troposphere. Last time her husband climbed those things he needed a Sherpa. They’re so big you’d need a gondola to reach the peak. Rumor has it she has an insatiable sexual appetite…her husband has a protein deficiency…they’ve been married two weeks. Then there’s her Catholic faith…the only organized religion where Michael Jackson is eligible for canonization as a saint. What’s it like to enter the confessional booth and say, “You first?”

I’m not saying I’m anything but pathetic…I’m a quadriplegic double amputee with an abnormally small penis who remains single and lives with his mother. My life’s a fucking festival. Last time I had sex was papa Bush’s administration and mullets were still ok. Last time I saw my own dick Britney Spears still wore underwear. Last time I had a date Kirk Cobain still had a face. I failed the bar exam more times than JFK Jr.

Truly though, you guys are the best. You’ve been a constant in my life for half a decade. I kid because I love. Take care guys.

*raises his glass to the sky*

The movies to see before you die

I've seen several publications do these lists, so I thought I'd throw in my two cents on the movies that make us proud to be part of the collective known as man kind...

Crime/mystery…
The Usual Suspects, The Godfather II, Casino, Goodfellas, Se7en, Snatch, Scarface

Action…
Blade, Die Hard, Road Warrior, Heat, 300, all three Bourne movies

War…
Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, All Quiet on the Western Front (1933), Glory

Drama…
Schindler’s List, Das Boot, Crash, Say Anything, Gladiator, Stand By Me, Philadelphia, Finding Neverland

Sci-fi…
Aliens, original Star Wars Trilogy, Alien 3, Stargate

Horror…
The Exorcist, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, 28 Days Later, Wrong Turn, The Shining

Western…
Pale Rider, Tombstone, The Unforgiven

Foreign…
Zatoichi, Brotherhood of the Wolf, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Hero, Heaven and Earth, Yellow River

Comedy…
Young Frankenstein, History of the World, The Holy Grail, Kingpin

All of these movies represent those few moments when the stars and planets align to usher in something truly great. I've been witness to very few instances where perfection was achieved and these movies constitute the bulk of those experiences.

*Update...

Here's the Stupidly Forgotten list, movies I should have NEVER ommitted...
All three Lord of the Rings movies (thanks Waterboy), The Killing Fields, Fandango, The Departed, Clerks, A Clockwork Orange

Yeah, whatever

This straight from the category of SHUT THE FUCK UP!

**Update: I'll respond to this tripe later.

Back and in full effect...

Yes, yours truly, your Shrubalicious host, has been writing feverishly in a vain attempt to pen my literary opus, my contribution to the fantasy genre. Here's a lil' snippet of my teeny tiney lil' story/book. Please, critique at will, the comment link is there for a reason.

At last the Exile reached the citadel of Tair, the last resting place of the ancient Grundian kings. Legend said the Aquafer of Iya, the water that breathed life into this world was protected by The Citadel. It was here that the kings of yore were entombed in the hopes that the cistern would resurrect the beloved founders and stewards of earliest Grundig. And it was here the Exile brought the body of his brother Barabas.
The Exile had explored the Citadel on numerous occasions in his youth for it was his father who had been entrusted the guardianship of this hallowed place. So revered was Tair’s Citadel none dared live within its walls and few ventured through the imposing iron gates. A sect of ancient priests was charged with guarding this holy sepulcher to which they built Cadus a Iya, Castle of Iya. The fortress was built at the summit of Mount Tair, the mountain that overlooked the Citadel from the east. The castle could only be reached by a narrow stair, dubbed Iada i Iena, the Walk to Heaven. Climbing this ancient stair was for many a deeply religious experience. The priests would make the trek down then back up the Iada to symbolize the journey from mortality to the afterlife. As a child the Exile and his family had lived in the castle and these stairs were a place of wonder and a place to frolic for the boys. Even Barabas had bounded up and down the stair with youthful exuberance and it was in this valley and the Citadel that he told his twin brother he wanted to be buried.
And the Exile meant to abide by his brother’s wish. Even after Barabas had ravaged his former native land, after the damage and pain he had inflicted upon the Exile and all of Grundig, even after his malevolence had wreaked untold devastation on all who crossed his path, the Exile still meant to bury him in his boyhood playground. When the twins were children they often explored the Citadel, admiring the tombs of the ancients, running through darkened hallways, and forever using this sacred place as an endless playground. Oft times the priests would chase them, informing them that the kings’ resting place was not to be disturbed. But the priests also knew these two had indomitable wills, and truth be told, they suspected the kings rather enjoyed the magical laughter of the two.
The Exile’s wagon stopped at the gate. No one had opened the Citadel in over a thousand years and the gates were rusty with disrepair. The Exile used his medallion, the one he had inherited from his father, to unlock the massive mechanism at the gate’s center. With a loud metallic snap the gate unlocked itself, shuttered and groaned, and finally raised up into the rampart that surrounded it. Dust and dirt billowed from the open gateway washing the Exile in granulated muck. This cloud was greeted by fits of coughing from the Exile and the fervent attempt to shoo away the dust. To no avail as sediment settled in the Exile’s eyes, mouth, and nose.
After the cloud cleared the Exile, with great attentiveness, cleared the dust and dirt from Barabas’ face and clothes. This gesture finally drove the Exile mad with grief. There before him lay the last of his family of old. The site of the brother who, even in his wickedness, had exuded strength and vitality now lying utterly void of life deeply disturbed the normally reserved elven warrior and filled his heart with sadness. And it was in this moment, when Barabas’ face was not contorted with anger and hatred, that his beauty shown through. And it was this face on which the tears of the Exile now fell. Even the death of his parents and beloved wife had not affected him so; even his daughters’ weddings did not elicit such naked emotion. These were things he took with legendary stoicism. The Exile’s hand drifted unconsciously to his sword hilt. How easy it would be to cut the head from this monster and destroy him once and for all. His body would burst into flame as his mortal coil would eviscerate. But he purged this thought from his head, how he did so love his brother.
After the Exile collected his emotions he grabbed the reigns of the draft horse and led it and the wagon through the gate.
Across a huge courtyard the Exile led his burden, across to the outer cloister of the Citadel. The outer door opened with a groan and blackness assaulted the senses. This blackness had not been disturbed in millennia and did not suffer daylight easily. Sunlight illuminated barely three feet of the cold stone floor and the darkness was seemingly impenetrable. The Exile removed his sword from its sheath. Green flame would have to guide the way. Dagotai glowed green for a brief moment, then intense flames licked the blade, illuminating almost the entire entry. Even this pitch black could not withstand magic.

Testicle Tuesday...the triumphant return

This week's TT was inspired by Waterboy (not the movie you heretics). And let's just say Moore is better...


First up is a woman who has stayed at or near the top of the pantheon of hotness for over 20 years...I give you the incomperable and timeless Demi Moore...


Mandy Moore is half Demi's age but is second to none when it comes to natural beauty...


Julianne Moore is a tasty red head and a four-time Oscar nominee...


Or next uber wench has been steaming up the music scene for nearly ten years...Alicia Beth Moore, better known by the singularly sassy Pink...


Any of you pervs have any ideas for future TT installments, let me know, otherwise STFU if you have any criticism of my discriminating eye for feminine perfection.

Patton Oswalt at his finest

Give it a while to load.

A golfer after my own heart

Screw Tiger Woods, gimme Maurice Flitcroft.

Prelude to a Tuesday

Since I've vowed anew to resurect Testicle Tuesday, due largely to popular demand, I thought I'd throw out a cyber suggestion box as to whom or what theme y'all would like to grace the coveted TT spot. So just throw in your two cents via the comments and I'll peruse your pearls of wisdom and decide upon TT fodder.

Of mirrors & me

Sorry y'all, feeling a bit mopey. This spiel hit my brain so I had to exorcise the demon within.

Aside from my mother’s quadrant there are no mirrors in my house.

You are probably asking yourself, “Why?”

The answer is simple…I don’t like my reflection.

The reason I abhor my own image being shown back to me is two fold. One, the broken body that now houses my soul is such a departure from how I used to feel. That youthful exuberance has not left, only grown stronger. The trappings of youth adorn my psyche but my fairly dependent condition prevents most of the simple acts that made me young…riding a bike, roller blading, snowball fights, our annual pop-bottle rocket war, walking a flight of steps to get to a girl’s apartment, all these acts made me whole, made me feel true joy. Second, that joy died when I broke my neck. I’ve not felt truly happy in 17 years, and it is that unhappy visage that I shirk, spurning it like one would a rotten banana.

So how do I know true joy again? I don’t know.

When I was 19 I hardly respected anything or anyone. This attitude doomed me to a certain extent. Girls sensed it, my friends sensed it, so did my numerous bosses, my grandparents, my family, and most painfully of all, my mother. This irreverence cost me dearly. Because most of all I had no appreciation for my own mortality. Big mistake. This mistake and foolhardy attitude would eventually cost me my independence & freedom. I constantly threw others and myself into harm’s way seemingly with little to no regard for personal or societal safety. I drove drunk, I got in fights, I stole, I slept around, and I generally spat in the faces of those that cared for me. Dumbass.

Nothing is quite as tragic as lost youth. An even greater tragedy is youth squandered. Because of my idiocy, I missed out on what should’ve been the best and worst times of my life—the age between 19 & 25. This is the stage in life when we typically discover binge drinking, road trips, and fraternity life, among other time honored American traditions. During these years we’re also developing life tracks, job possibilities, and hopefully finding the one person who will share the rest of our lives with us. With the exception of the binge drinking and a fraternity membership (Sigma Chi all the way…In Hoc), I never got a chance to fully experience this period of self-discovery. I spent most of this time in & out of hospitals and rehabbing my broken body and damaged psyche.

I’m still working on the later. I cry myself to sleep more often than I’m comfortable with. I immerse myself into fantasy worlds and recollections of what was or what could’ve been. I find this easier than dealing with reality and the day-to-day bullshit.

My everyday existence is peppered with constant fear and misgiving. I question nearly every decision too critically. I’m constantly afraid of being alone for the rest of my life. My own mortality is also an all-encompassing thought.

The only time when I’m not painfully aware of my condition is when I’m asleep. Maybe tonight I’ll have one of those dreams where I’m just riding my bike. Soon I will be going to bed. To sleep, per chance to dream. Dreams are an escape, the playground for the subconscious soul. Dreams are when we have the ability to fly, and the only times when I feel just like everyone else. Only then will I dare to gaze in a mirror again.

Happy Friday the 13th...

Ah yes, it’s Friday the 13th, and in my own unique fashion I celebrated this dreaded calendar date by walking under a ladder, breaking a mirror, letting a black cat cross my path, hung a horseshoe on the wall up side down, spilled some salt, opened an umbrella indoors, killed a ladybug, went sailing and shot an albatross (damn hard to do in Colorado…I’m not allowed in the Denver Zoo any longer), said “Candy Man” and “Bloody Mary” in front of a mirror, picked a three-leaf clover, and killed a spider.

So far nothing bad has happened…yet.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA (evil laugh)

Tomorrow I’ll deal with these horrible festering pustules that have suddenly risen all over my skin.

Halle-freakin'-luiah!!!

One of my wildest dreams just came true.

But first, a little background...

In my life there have been a few of those watershed moments; puberty and my subsequent discovery of frequent and fervent masturbation, getting a high speed Internet hookup to facilitate thusly, seeing Salma Hayek for the first time, and playing Halo for the first time.

So, as the years coursed slowly by and Halo 2 and Halo 3 were released for stand alone video game platforms, Microsoft, in thier infinite fucking wisdom, witheld the release of Halo 2 for the PC until recently. But as the gods would cruely dictate Halo 2 was a Vista only game. Now an enterprising lot has introduced a patch that makes H2 playable on Windows XP.

Now the wait begins for the $50 ticket price to fall, then it'll be on you Covenent beeyatches!

Damn it's hot

Gonna be 100 tomorrow here in Denver.

What a long strange trip it's been...

This spiel will make you weep and laugh at the poetic irony that has befallen yours truly.

I just now got home from a little unexpected vacation. Where was his Shrubbiness taken pray tell? You guessed it, my favorite local hospital for treatment on an infected right leg. What did the battery of docs recommend…amputation. Woo hoo, I’m now but two arms away from becoming the dreaded Black Night. All you Monty Python fans are issuing a collective guffaw. Those who don’t get the reference just watch The Holy Grail.

Holy shit, now I’m feverishly scoping out my arms for the slightest blemish.

Just when I thought that I had heard every amputation joke contrived about having one leg I now must acclimate to two stump humor.

Now, my top ten moments from my most recent hospital stay…

10. Three hours in the ER waiting room followed by eight hours in my trauma room then followed by a bumpy ride to my cozy room on the ward where the welcome site of IV dilauded on tap filled me with warm fuzziness.

9. Watching the booty on every damn nurse in the ER…that is one collection of fine women.

8. The look on the anesthesiologists face when I quipped right before my latest amputation, “You got anything stronger dude?”

7. The look on my orthopedist’s face when I quipped right after my surgery, “Are my arms still attached?”

6. Everything about rapping with Al. The guy is a national treasure.

5. Watching the looks on the nurses’ faces as I planned a party to celebrate my amputation that featured turkey legs, chicken drumsticks, and frog legs. Alas, no one delivers frog legs.

4. Arguing for three straight days with the residents that my oral pain meds were about as effective as cleaning up a radio active landfill with oven mits…the shit didn’t work. At one point I was literally crying in front of a doctor who showed all the compassion of Ed Gein over a pot of soup.

3. Finally getting my necessary IV pain meds…God love those chemists.

2. Watching shitty television with that stupid little speaker by your head.

1. Getting the fuck out of that place…two out of the last three visits resulted in a limb getting lopped off, so you’ll understand if I bid your facility a not-so-fond fairwell.