Holy shit man! pull your head out of the sand and breathe for the love of barbie dolls in Afghanistan, what in the fuck have you been doing with yourself?

Well, I can assure all of you, that I have finally succumbed to the ridiculous nature that is my own ruin. Yes, yes... I have finally cracked, covered myself in fat free chocolate pudding, and lit my love seat on fire just to save some poor child from Ethiopia with a hair--erm... cleft pallet.

Yesterday I received a flier in the mail notifying me I could save one of those unfortunate children for a beyond reasonable rate of 24$ a month, and then I turned the thing over and damn near screamed. Have you seen this flier? Its like a poster for the rejected cast members of The Hills Have Eyes. How do these people sleep at night? I have an eight year old boy that delivers my mail to me, imagine the nightmares I would have to correct if that article of soul selling reached his eyes? He may never want to buy those wax teeth ever again!

If anything good were to come out of flooding, it would be highly marketable, and soon enough, everyone I know will own one of these awesome t-shirts.

#1... A three day old, half eaten donut with the filling squeezed out.
To me this says: Hey beautiful, even though life has encrusted you with a hardened shell and pulled the goodness from within you... I'd still eat you.

#2... A neon green, plastic ring adorned with some sort of rock candy.
To me this says: I dug deep into my pockets to buy you this wonderful gift that's as cheap and tacky as you are, and even after I've chewed up the sweetness about you, you're still colorful.

#3... A small crystal glass that used to be a candle holder.
To me this says: Now that our flame has vanished into the air you appear to be empty inside, but at least you still smell good.

#4... A three foot, hand crafted, pink macaroni heart.
To me this says: Even though we're broke because you won't stop buying shoes... I still love you. Put this in water for 20 minutes and we'll have a fine, romantic dinner for two.

#5... The MEGA Rock Ballads cassette.
To me this says: You may be old fashioned with your warped body, latex pant-suits, and your 30 inch bangs of ratted Rave... but I love you for the loose play back you give to me time and time again.

#6... A 13 foot, inflatable cupid to stake in the front yard.
To me this says: Even though a subtle hint of wind can knock us down, and the neighbors can see just how fast I go limp when the lights go off... my love still grows for you every time you turn me on.

1. Admitting when you're wrong.
No, that's not what this is about...
I'm making a conscience effort to reply to my comments. Some of those comments are fucking hilarious, some of them are better than my post and if they are better than my post...
watch your stupid little fingers cause someone might glue them together in your sleep. Or something. Never mind. Hey!! who wants coffee?!?!?!?!?

2. Be thankful for others.
Yeah, don't let that bitch take advantage of you like that... she needs to know when she..
umm... I put a link over in the navigational pane (right---->) and it says "flash me." And no, it isn't an up link for topless photos, but if you're interested in doing that... you can reach me via email. It's actually a link to some of my own personal flash. Bitching and complaining about completing my portfolio is getting me nowhere... so if you have ideas, comments or suggestions ...please feel free to post them over there.

3. Let go of the past.
Santa's a dick anyways... and I think he's the reason my feeds keep getting resent! I recently did the feedburner/google switch and everything was great. But then the next day came along and it keeps re-feeding? my posts. SO I'M SORRY!!!! Alright!! I didn't mean it... just fuckin' let go of it already.

Orion: Hello?

A-me: Can you pick up the boys tonight?

Orion: Sure, why?

A-me: I have to work late, and then I need to swing by the grocery store to get bread.

Orion: Why can't we just do that at home?

A-me: Do what at home?

Orion: Get bred.

A-me: We're almost out, I have to get some.

Orion: I can give you some...

A-me: oh-my-god (sigh) so you'll get the boys tonight?

Orion: only if I can have the girls.

A-me: ---

Orion: ...hello?

I am sick to fucking death of Obama, and he's only been "president" for just over 24 hours. I am politically retarded. I don't care. My political party is indifferent, in case you didn't understand me the first 12 times I told you, I just don't care. The world is turning to a heaping cesspool of shit with or without my vote, I'd rather play the ignorance card.

I sat here quietly and held my tongue while I was harassed with unwelcome verbal lecturing about how my vote really can change the (SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!)
It was made very clear who our president elect was going to be, which was just fine with me. Yes! Indifferent... not stupid. There isn't a chance in hell I would have voted for a man who couldn't keep his tongue in check. Pecker-head Clinton is one thing, the panting presidential hopeless was another. Plus, his bitch was a bitch, and not much smarter than a can of Fresca. Sure, Palin had her moments of sheer brilliance, like when her fucking mouth was closed. Other than that... the dynamic duo sucked major dick.

I understand yesterday was a huge movement in history, but did we seriously need to spend that kind of money on that many profligate balls?

Last night I turned the TV on to watch something other than infomercials and I was blasted by CNN, MSNBC, and every other fucking network broadcasting Obama's balls... ENOUGH ALREADY! I've seen enough, it's bad enough his face is everywhere, but keep the man's balls private!

I'm going to touch on the subject of P.E.H.S., also more commonly known as “Product Evoking Horn-dog Syndrome." I was diagnosed recently with the help of a friend, and I would like to share some of the details of my demise. (By the way, P.E.H.S. is a great article, if you feel at all lost, take a moment to laugh your ass off at Angie's place.)

Test: Divide and conquer strategies through the eyes of P.E.H.S. victim.
Application: Conversation
Data: All lies, well... maybe not completely fabricated.

statement = Will you give me a back rub?
response = 90% of all back rubs lead to sex...
result = smirk, eye roll.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I missed that appointment.
response = That's okay, I can examine you here.
result = sigh, eye roll.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I have to get that cavity filled tomorrow.
response = Why wait, I'll fill it for you now..
result = smirk, sigh.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I don't feel good.
response = Let me be the judge of that.
result = head shake, eye roll.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I have a headache...
response = You know what's me-dick-ally proven to cure headaches, don't you?
result = eye roll.
conclusion = fail.

statement = There's nothing to watch on TV tonight...
response = So shut if off, and you can watch me on you tonight.
result = head shake.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I'm bored...
response = I've got something to entertain you with.
result = eye roll, sigh.
conclusion = fail.

statement = I don't know what to make for dinner.
response = Tube steak, smothered in...
result = "Shut up!"
conclusion = fail.

statement = It's hot in here!
response = Take your clothes off...
result = sigh, eye roll.
conclusion = fail.

statement = What kind of meat are you going to need?
response = Sweater meat.
result = "Shut up!, How come you just can't be serious for once?"
conclusion = fail.

Final Analysis of divide and conquer:
Conversation with the enemy = 100% fail rate

For more information about this serious illness, please click this link. Donations are also accepted in forms of cash or advice.

New years resolutions? Fuck that. I'd like to say that any normal person with hopes beyond their wildest ambitions is a solid strike on the idiot list. I've never put together a resolutions list, never figured there to be any point to it what so ever, fate is fate, and your destiny lies there in... right? Are the people that put a resolutions list together more ambitious than I? Are they more likely to reach their goals, is their perseverance greater than mine, or are they just full of piss and shit like everyone else?

Well... fuck you list making fools, I want in on the action too... (whatever it may be.)

1. Top of the list... the wishful thinking and damn near unattainable goal. I would put something down that attributes my physic, but what's the point? I don't really give two shits if I lose 20 pounds, I just pray I'm smart enough to not gain 20 pounds. So my number one, completely asinine goal of 2009 is to have sex more than once a month. Sounds easy enough, right?

2. Actually, I think if I could just focus on goal number one I'd be completely satisfied, but.. a list isn't a list without a few numbers. My secondary goal for 2009 is to move. Out of this piece of shit house... I'm moving. So-long to the flooding basement, the fucked up thermostat, and the pretty princess pink and purple kitchen.

3. Prior to moving I'd like to formally introduce myself to the doomsday neighbor by placing a large pile of flaming cow shit on their front steps. I'm not finding this out of line, or even significantly unattainable, especially since the red headed beast is a cunt that wields an electric snow-blower.

4. Finish my portfolio. Finding the motivation has been rather easy, it's just finding the ambition. It's not like I can just walk into a studio without credentials, so here's to finding the time and will power to draw as many pages of flash as humanly possible until my fingers bleed and/or my eyes fall out.

5. This is going to be my ace in the hole. My one feel good check mark on my huge ass list of 5 resolutions. I would have made it something completely worthwhile like watch more porn, or masturbate more often, but then I would squash my inner carnage for standing resolute with number 1. So, my easy-peasy goal of 2009 is going to be consuming more alcohol. After my New Years eve festivities the signs of binge drinking have faded away from my personality. I'm almost to the point of finding a game of Uno more attractive than a night out with A-me. It's time to get my priorities straight, plus getting a few drinks down shouldn't hurt my chances for attaining the number 1 goal.

So... I decided to man up and actually claim to have some sort of blogging adventurous streak. You know, actually partake in the camaraderie of well... writing for the fun of writing.

Last night, after my 2 day hiatus from healthy living I finally got around to checking my emails. I could say I was a little flabbergasted. I could say I was a little confused, why? Because my swap parter was the queen BEE herself. The orchestrator. The mastermind. The ingenious little shit that planned the whole ordeal of offering Saint Nick a one way ticket to Fuckitsville.

Is the pressure on? Like running a 30 mile marathon with a blasting fire hose rammed up my ass...


I put a lot of thought into this, well... obviously not a whole lot, since I'm on a deadline to complete this today and I just figured out how this whole set up worked this morning. So my chances of impressing the queen Bee with my worker drone capabilities are pretty fucking slim at this point. My only hope is to probably throw in a few more curse words than usual in hopes to make it more appealing. ASSBAG!

At first blush, I considered giving Bee a set of screaming pickles. You know... the ones that are terrified that their little lives are about to end as they drown in a bowl of ice cream.
[*Note to self: Insert funny little photo of screaming pickles here. Hey!! Get out of this little segment, this is for authors only!]

But then I revised my thought process and remembered Bee said some people correlate this craving with pregnancy. And I'm definitely not a licensed Gynecologist, but I'll still take a look.

Well that was awkward, now wasn't it. Okay, okay, no more pick up lines.

So you'll be happy to know that I've done a little digging on Miss Bee, and I've run across something that could possibly fulfill her destiny of living the "dream." I'm just not sure if Bee is up to the challenge of chasing after an alligator snapping turtle for the next 60 to 80 years. I mean seriously? She already complains about the dogs' breath and their unbearable criticism, how is she going to manage with the eye watering sensations of a turtle fart?

So, I began to focus on her work. I really don't know what it is that Bee is supposed to be doing, but I know that she hangs out in an office environment with an occasional hiccup or two about the right and wrong ways to wipe. And I also know that some days her coworkers are irritating like hemorrhoids.

I think I've finally got something here, the perfect gift. Something ass related, work related, and it appears to be handy as hell.

So there it is, the "butt station desktop set" available for purchase at stupid.com. He comes in a variety of colors.. umm...

He is available for purchase in a variety of colors.

I believe you have to stuff the orifices full all by yourself... but this should make riding that desk a little more fun.

Merry Christmas Bee!!

A love affair has started... deep within my heart.
I have butterflies in my tummy; I hope that was just a fart.

You open my eyes... to a wide-open embrace.
I can feel passion brewing, as the color leaves my face.

My quivering haunches... burn with desire.
You have opened a gate, a waterfall of fire.

My dearest toilet... this is no ordinary crush.
You consume every ounce of me, before I can think to flush.

Your fascinating figure... more captivating than any girl.
It's your shapely physique, I desire to hold as I hurl.

Your clammy touch... keeps me near your side.
You feel cool and refreshing, a reminder I have died.

My love is ever deepening... I cannot leave you be.
But I'm afraid someone is jealous, I'm sure they've poisoned me.

My stomach heaves in waves... I try to crawl away.
But I can feel your grip on me, forcing me to stay.

All I want... is to be alone in my bed.
But I can’t even walk; guess I’ll stay here instead.



Gastroenteritis... the greatest gift I ever received for my birthday. Thank you, Mr. 4 and Mr. 7, I can tell you really love me!!

Well, did you pass through phase one unscathed? Did you make it through Thanksgiving? Can you still feel your legs.. or more importantly... can you still see your legs?

Welcome to phase two, the Holiday Scramble.

If you're fully aware of all your limbs then most likely you've made your gift list, checked it twice, even checked it a third time for the naughty and nice. You've set price caps on everyone's gift, and you don't even feel guilty about it. You've even removed the bad gift-givers, but there is still no other way to get the damn list smaller. This year, just like every year, no matter how hard you try, or how few you buy for, you'll still wind up in debt.

You will buy gifts the size of Manhattan, and don't tell me you haven't. Everyone buys one of those retarded gifts that comes in an awkward 4 pound box the size of a worn out queen sized mattress, and you'll sit there staring at it wondering.. "Do I have enough wrapping paper for this? How in the fuck do I get this in my car?"

Some gifts will be as shiny and expensive as Vegas. Their cheap and tawdry design will break before you can even seal the gift wrap. And just like a sleazy Vegas hooker that cheap piece of shit will be tossed to the curb before the gift exchange is through. Least, but not last, remember those other gifts... the gifts that you've put absolutely no caring thought into, those will most definitely be indecisive, inexpensive, last minute, "I found this at the dollar store!" type of presents.

You will become a shopping machine, looking for that quick "in and out" route for each store, determining a customer to square footage ratio and computing a negative answer every time. The odds, are NOT in your favor, but you will strive ahead for that bargain dollar gift... that "Oh my God! She'll just love it!" present. You will out corner, out pace and out shop any fool in your way... and for what? those nifty hand knit socks? that lovely sweater from Macy's that will shrink the first wash never to be worn again?

Look forward to spending countless hours hunting for that "close to the door" parking spot, when instead you could have walked your lazy ass to the doors and been out already. The time for giving has arrived.. and you'll give the finger.. your two cents.. and a fistful of anger to any one that is jeopardizing your holiday.

Think you can leave all that behind you at the store? Think again because you will become obsessed with those annoying flyer's that arrive in the mail. Each one now containing juicy morsels of information for your Christmas catering quest. Here's a tip: Get a gift card!! save yourself the trouble!!!! Gift cards don't shrink, only their value!!

If you can make it through the merry madness your energy will most definitely be rewarded with those Hanes underwear you've always wanted... congratulations! Wait... didn't you buy these last year for uncle Dickhead?

It's the holiday season.
Gentle voices descant the lords birth, the idea of Saint Nick sparkles within the eyes of every child, and meddling family members fuck up any idea you had of a peaceful holiday.

Phase One. Thanksgiving.

This is the initial test, sort of like dangling your toes in the water before you jump into the frozen emotional wave that becomes your family. Other than the over emotional family running on a tank full of the year's drama you'll find an over sized meat product taking over your oven. The home will be filled with the sickening sweet scent of a fattening demise. Occupants slave over pie crusts, boiling potatoes, and thickening gravy. As the kitchen has simmered down to a slower pace of anticipation you can bet your ass you'll find a family member crying out in desperation and angst because somebody forgot something.

So you, being the helpful little angel you are, pack yourself into a vehicle that hasn't been started for 2 days. You try desperately to adjust the temperature knob from blistering cold to pretty damn cold, but you fail miserably on account of the 300 layers of clothing you've crammed yourself into... and if it wasn't so damned cold in the first place you wouldn't have to adjust the fucking thermostat.. you could just go! Then again, you wouldn't have to be going if it wouldn't have been for that good for nothin' son a bitch that forgot the fucking cranberries!

You finally regain feeling in your fingertips as you embark on the desolate parking lot of the nearest grocery store. Getting through the aisles has never been easier, finding what you need has never been quicker, and checking out has never gone smoother. Until you find yourself in the lane of one disgruntled cashier pissed off at the world because she's not thankful she doesn't have to cook a fucking turkey this year on account of her miserable fucking job.
Cry me a river bitch, I just want the cranberries.

On return from the store, you decide to take a moment to prepare yourself once again for the smothering flood of fucking idiots warm welcoming from your family. With the car idling in the drive, you huddle over the precious can in your hands, eyeballing the large family room window, and you watch shadows flinging laughter and fists into the air.

You peer down towards the can asking yourself if you're really up for this challenge, you breathe heavily on your hands, and ask yourself "why do I keep coming here?!"

You give the car keys a final twist and, with regret that you didn't drive that piece of shit Ford through the front fucking door and slaughter everyone in your holiday rampage, you let out a giant SIGH.

Your frozen fingers fumble over placing the frigid keys in your pocket as everyone declines to give you praise for your outgoings. Instead they bicker about how long it took you to pick up a single can of cranberries... "Oh, for Christ's sake!"

After another grueling hour of listening to how uncle Dickhead made VIP at the annual golf outing, you scramble into the dining area to dish several sample sized servings onto your festively huge plate. The sheer excitement to stuff yourself into a coma of blissful sleep overcomes your holiday rage, and for the moment you enjoy the company of gaping mouths, smacking lips, and clattering silverware.

If you're lucky... you will pull away from Thanksgiving with a few minor scratches, some light bruising, and a severe case of lassitude.

I can't wait for Christmas, really.

...and if I did not have you at hello, I'll sure as fuck have you with a title like that. Life is sickly sweet like that, something that draws your attention is usually something you absolutely hate, such as my title, or my face. How often is it that you actually notice something that makes you happy, spending days telling all your friends about it in school girl gossip mode, how long has it been?

I couldn't tell you, and honestly enough, I'm not sure I want too...
because you'll just point and laugh at me, make fun of the way I think, and the things I actually enjoy in life. They are not funny. They are not ironic, or sickly sweet.
Would I do this because I was asked to participate by receiving an award? ...Yeah, actually, and that's my only good reason to... so here by request from Debbie Does Drivel are six random things, in no particular order what so ever, that would or do make me happy.

#1. Genocide.
...I'm not saying I want the action of the Holocaust to come forth and crush the dreams of man by stuffing himself down a blazing inferno just to save his soon to be mutilated offspring , no... no... no... nothing quite that dramatic. I am simply referring to an intellectual level of substance. The gene pool is becoming more, and more shallow everyday... it's time to start defining who exactly can procreate before man's next generation of offspring become abominable cement mixing rednecks with 3 good teeth.
Fuck. Never mind... we are already at that stage. As if to say "bring on the Holocaust", I will now smash my face into my desk, repeatedly...

#2. Sex.
...at any hour of the day, whenever I feel like it. End of discussion.

#3. A bathroom sink that does NOT clog.
...there's just something very inelegant about watching your toothpaste-backwash-phlegm-wad of bubbles floating around the granite for 3 long -holy shit! I'm gonna be late for work- minutes before you can usher that disgusting blob of foam down the drain with a blast of hot water.

On a side note... I think *Drano will be my next "angry consumer" plug.

#4. Comments.
...comments make me happy. It's like the at home version of Jeopardy you can actually win, and feel good about. I don't like my readers to upstage my mundane writing, which they always do, but at least that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling of happiness to know "someone", other than me, is reading this shit. I'm becoming an addict... Now comment on my stuff, Jerks!

#5. A ranch dressing "easy squeezy" bottle that actually works.
...and don't fucking act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know the one! The bottle that's 3/4's full, but for some miscalculation of air pressure multiplied by weight of the product you now get that fervent explosion of white tangy goodness when you squeeze it.

The same bottle that you know is going to explode on your plate like some mutant with an intense gastrointestinal problem that will evacuate the entire contents of the bottle right there. So you just barely squeeze the bottle, and nothing happens. You repeat this several times before finally giving in to the hunger boiling within you for whatever happens to be sitting on your plate, and you grip that damn bottle with both hands.

PFFFFHFHFHFHTHT. yeah... THAT bottle.

#6. Legos.
...Yes!! the little blocks that stick together, the ones you have to pry apart with your teeth, or rip your fingernails away to separate. The same little blocks that were driven to extinction back in 89' because of the Hoover administrative campaign for a clean home.

Yeah, I like to lay on the floor and play with those things for hours after Mr. 4 and Mr. 7 have gone to bed. It brings me great joy to see their faces light up when I have built a firehouse or hospital for them to play with for 8 minutes. It brings me even more joy to see them rip apart my hard work to just throw the fucking things in a box and stuff it in the closet.
Love it!! Love those damn blocks... they take me to my childhood, not that I ever left, but that's where I go.


I'd like to thank Debbie for the "KREATIVE AWARD"...
I'd also like to throw a "shout-out" to Just A Girl for the "I *heart* YOUR BLOG" award I received ages ago... and have been WAYYYYY to lazy to do anything about...

Thanks ladies..

I would like to review the genocidal values of birth control and how promoting the use of such simple constructs can eliminate a myriad of fucking problems... oh! and other things too... like comedic value associated with possible conversations.

There are many forms of birth control out there, but half of them are worthless. For example, the idealism behind chastity and "chastity belts" ... it's not that chastity belts don't count as a form of birth control, but in this day and age that sort of thing is unheard of, unless you consider people's faces part of the ensemble. Even then, if she's terribly ugly and you can't stand looking at her repulsive face, you can
A. put a Wal-Mart smiley bag over her head.
B. drink plenty of alcohol.
C. participate in "doggy-style" or anal sex.

Another "old-timer" is celibacy, Merriam Webster should consider a serious revision as Sell-a-Bessy... as pimp's are the usual participants of this event. Morals and willpower will only take you so far in life before greed and the other deadly sins come home to play.

I can't help but to think that birth control usage has hit an all time low as I look at the populous surrounding me. I stand here on the outside looking in on the "nuclear" family... and all that comes to mind is "HO-LY-SHIT!"

We have 15 year old girls giving birth for the second time, and if her father wasn't fathering the first one, chances are he could be the next line for the 3rd one. The "illegals" down the street from me just had their 7th child here in America... one more thing for me to pay taxes on, and one less job opportunity for that 15 year old slut mentioned above. Things are fucked up. Genocide is inevitable... if not God himself, then the reincarnate of Hitler.

Onto a less serious matter... Latex...
Vulcanize your pecker for strength boys, the rubber has been unveiled.
Condoms have become something excessively scientific... not even a pubic shrubbery can deter these wind resistant cock socks from performing astronomical abilities. Each individually wrapped package contains a fucking souvenir shop jammed full of possible memoirs for every man. Prepackaged and lubed, scented, powdered, ribbed... fucking Easter egg speckled! The assortment is phenomenal. The only fathomable way to make these stretchy bundles of joy any better is to include the woman.

Speaking of a woman prepackaged in latex that brings me to my next point... Spandex.

Seriously... where in the flying fuck did this shit come from? Aeronautical space monkeys from a future Beverly Hills aerobics institute?? Armor yourself in spandex and rub your limbs together vigorously for lengthy periods of time... and because of the non-breathable material I suspect there are endless outcomes here.
A. the heat and sweat chafed all living skin within moments.
B. the snug fit gyrates the outer body fat, giving the wearer a false sense of achievement.
C. the heavy friction in the groin area created a small detonation between heat and pubic hair.

There is no real reasoning behind spandex, other than to ward off the sexually hounding male. Spandex does nothing for a woman that I, personally, can find attractive. Camel toes, moose knuckles, and cottage cheese vision are not qualities that I find arousing... not even an overdose of Viagra can assist me with that. The only possible way to make spandex a better form of birth control is to include the woman/(God forbid)man.

Personally... I feel no matter how advanced our technology in condoms becomes, nothing will ward off a man's little swimmers better than spandex.

Now, BITCH! cook me some eggs.

I have seen thousands of blog posts simply titled "something men will never understand" or "something beautiful." Tempted with intrigue I must go and look at it... yes, yes... curiosity killed the dumb guy. Cat, 2nd grader, guy... same same... now follow me for a minute.

I intuitively know that clicking this link is about to lead me into something quite ordinary that I don't give two shits about, hence my lack of understanding? But curiosity kills. So I must click the stupid link.

One of two things is guaranteed to happen.

Exhibit 1: The link is broken and I immediately get frustrated that some asshole out there in cyberspace could not COPY AND PASTE correctly... This is something that aggravates me to no end, even more so when I just had to click the stupid link out of curiosity.

Exhibit 2: The link is functioning just fine but inevitably I will still be disappointed to find something like this:



Perfect! Now that I have this miraculous object of unfathomable intelligence numbing my damn eyes I can once again stereotype the usual black 'n white photo of some random movie star as "something I just can't understand."

Bullshit. I understand completely and no... i'm not gay. What I understand on the opposing side of the spectrum is this...

You have a hormone complex, raging little flutters in your mind that speak to you in sexual waves, and it takes every last inch of you to keep yourself regulated in the common public from becoming one of those celebrity stalkers.

I also understand this:

Now... I'd like to pick a part some differences. Notice the color. You don't find many black and white pictures of sexy women... but you do of men. Why is this? Skin tones. Flesh turns a man on... How many black or white Betty-blow-up dolls have you seen? Yeah, I haven't either. If you have no color you're not as life like, so you don't appeal to me. I can fuck an air filled vinyl sheet shaped like a woman any day of the week, but only if it's skin tone. Neon green pocket-pussy? What?!?!? was she radioactive?!?!?! What a turn off!

Ladies on the other hand find the black and white to pull the finest details out.. adding to the charismatic appeal of the man. It doesn't matter if their skin is purple, and if it is... "woo pretty". How many different shades of passion can you find in the assortment of dildos available on the market??

I'm willing to bet the rest of my sex life on the following statement:

If I walked into the dimmed lights of the bedroom.. unzipped my pants and out flopped a blue tinted, glow in the dark, dolphin shaped pecker... that girl would scream her fucking head off and pull a gun on me.


Maybe you're right. Maybe this is something I will never understand. Fuck! My eyes hurt. Give me Novocaine!!

It is now August, 91 degrees, and uncomfortably muggy, but here I sit; at my desk wearing my fleece zip up Hoodie. I could go on and on about the temperature difference between indoors and outdoors, and the various ideas in my head pertaining to why I constantly feel I’m fighting off a cold… and NO! It has nothing to do with the fact that I smoke. Yeah, fine… maybe it does, but that’s not the point! The point is I am at work, refusing to work and freezing my ass off!

My topic of conversation actually has nothing to do with me being sick, or maybe it does… just not physically sick. I can definitely relate to being mentally sick… and I believe that 9 out of 10 good friends would concur that I am usually the one dictating just how far into the proverbial gutter our conversations go, but can a person be emotionally sick? Is there such a thing?

Seriously now... on to topic, I promise. In spite of the fact that I should be working, I sit here at my desk filtering through blogs, Wikipedia, and many other sites that feed my curiosity for learning outside of the classroom. I discuss with myself where I want to go in life… what kind of goals I have for the future… and how my needs are changing… I become selfish with desire, and wish to forfeit all the responsibilities I have gathered over the years of teetering on “adulthood”. What brand is my toaster anyways? It has 4 slots, and while I’m here I think of mostly random things. That same random thinking is beginning to carry on with me outside of the work place. I will be the first to admit I have ADD, why do you think I like toasters?! Cause they’re shiny dammit! What? Oh yeah, some days I feel as though I cannot complete an entire thought process. It doesn’t seem to matter if I began thinking about the toaster and how I like the little dimple in the side that’s excessively shiny, because I will end my thought with something like tan lines, and in the middle of that same thought I will have crossed education, Roth IRA’s, Mt. Dew, the cost of refrigerants and how to dispose of them, and Stride gum.

On the backside of Stride I have noticed this little highlighted section that reads:
PHENYLKETONURICS: CONTAINS PHENYLALANINE
...and what the hell does that mean?! Exactly, gum is making people retarded! Seriously, PHENYLALANINE consumption after long periods of time will cause people to become retarded if they cannot process it into an amino acid. It’s in their DNA, stupid gene pools ….Can someone change the filter?! I wonder when I changed the pool filter last, damn! We could be swimming in mustard algae if I don’t get that changed.

I think I’ll send myself a sympathy card…
“Sorry your mind won’t stop Orion, please don’t put this in the toaster.”

This sort of topic usually isn't my style... i hate to be looked at as if I'm "informative" or... "intellectual"...
so please don't stop rendering me as a jackass on account of this ONE post...
but I found it undeniably interesting... and scary, in a sense.

the publisher's website http://realitycheck.typepad.com

"Jul 20, 2008
Death of Free Internet is Imminent- Canada Will Be Test Case

In the last 15 years or so, as a society we have had access to more information than ever before in modern history because of the Internet. There are approximately 1 billion Internet users in the world and any one of these users can theoretically communicate in real time with any other on the planet.

The Internet has been the greatest technological achievement of the 20th century by far, and has been recognized as such by the global community. The free transfer of information, uncensored, unlimited and untainted, still seems to be a dream when you think about it. Whatever field that is mentioned- education, commerce, government, news, entertainment, politics and countless other areas- have been radically affected by the introduction of the Internet.

And mostly, it's good news, except when poor judgements are made and people are taken advantage of. Scrutiny and oversight are needed, especially where children are involved. However, when there are potential profits open to a corporation, the needs of society don't count.

Take the recent case in Canada with the behemoths, Telus and Rogers rolling out a charge for text messaging without any warning to the public. It was an arrogant and risky move for the telecommunications giants because it backfired. People actually used Internet technology to deliver a loud and clear message to these companies and that was to scrap the extra charge. The people used the power of the Internet against the big boys and the little guys won.

However, the issue of text messaging is just a tiny blip on the radar screens of Telus and another company, Bell Canada, the two largest Internet Service Providers (ISP'S) in Canada. Our country is being used as a test case to drastically change the delivery of Internet service forever. The change will be so radical that it has the potential to send us back to the horse and buggy days of information sharing and access.

In the upcoming weeks watch for a report in Time Magazine that will attempt to smooth over the rough edges of a diabolical plot by Bell Canada and Telus, to begin charging per site fees on most Internet sites. The plan is to convert the Internet into a cable-like system, where customers sign up for specific web sites, and then pay to visit sites beyond a cutoff point.

From my browsing (on the currently free Internet) I have discovered that the 'demise' of the free Internet is slated for 2010 in Canada, and two years later around the world. Canada is seen a good choice to implement such shameful and sinister changes, since Canadians are viewed as being laissez fair, politically uninformed and an easy target.

The corporate marauders will iron out the wrinkles in Canada and then spring the new, castrated version of the Internet on the rest of the world, probably with little fanfare, except for some dire warnings about the 'evil' of the Internet (free) and the CEO's spouting about 'safety and security'. These buzzwords usually work pretty well.

What will the Internet look like in Canada in 2010? I suspect that the ISP's will provide a "package" program as companies like Cogeco currently do. Customers will pay for a series of websites as they do now for their television stations. Television stations will be available on-line as part of these packages, which will make the networks happy since they have lost much of the younger market which are surfing and chatting on their computers in the evening. However, as is the case with cable television now, if you choose something that is not part of the package, you know what happens. You pay extra.

And this is where the Internet (free) as we know it will suffer almost immediate, economic strangulation. Thousands and thousands of Internet sites will not be part of the package so users will have to pay extra to visit those sites! In just an hour or two it is possible to easily visit 20-30 sites or more while looking for information. Just imagine how high these costs will be.

At present, the world condemns China because that country restricts certain websites. "They are undemocratic; they are removing people's freedom; they don't respect individual rights; they are censoring information,” are some of the comments we hear. But what Bell Canada and Telus have planned for Canadians is much worse than that. They are planning the death of the Internet (free) as we know it, and I expect they'll be hardly a whimper from Canadians.

It's all part of the corporate plan for a New World Order and virtually a masterstroke that will lead to the creation of billions and billions of dollars of corporate profit at the expense of the working and middle classes. There are so many other implications as a result of these changes, far too many to elaborate on here.

Be aware that we will all lose our privacy because all websites will be tracked as part of the billing procedure, and we will be literally cut off from 90% of the information that we can access today. The little guys on the Net will fall likes flies; Bloggers and small website operators will die a quick death because people will not pay to go to their sites and read their pages. Ironically, the only medium that can save us is the one we are trying to save- the Internet (free).

This article will be posted on my Blog, www.realitycheck.typepad.com and I encourage people and groups to learn more about this issue. Canadians can keep the Internet free just as they kept text messaging free. Don't wait for the federal politicians. They will do nothing to help us.

I would welcome a letter to the editor of the Standard Freeholder from a spokesperson from Bell Canada or Telus telling me that I am absolutely wrong in what I have written, and that no such changes to the Internet are being planned, and that access to Internet sites will remain FREE in the years to come. In the meantime, I encourage all of you to write to the media, ask questions, phone the radio station, phone a friend, or think of something else to prevent what appears to me to be inevitable.

Maintaining Internet (free) access is the only way we have a chance at combatting the global corporate takeover, the North American Union, and a long list of other deadly deeds that the elite in society have planned for us. Yesterday was too late in trying to protect our rights and freedoms. We must now redouble our efforts in order to give our children and grandchildren a fighting chance in the future."

Over the past, lets say... 10 years, I've learned that my body will not function properly without an abundant dose of caffeine. My taste buds have rejected any and all coffees, so I have a severe addiction to Mt. Dew... And yes, by "severe addiction" I do mean suffering from psychotic episodes of withdrawals without it. My dentist has recommended I quit drinking Mt. Dew. Something about my teeth falling out of my head if I don't... I couldn't really hear her over that drilling noise. Stupid cavities.

Perhaps... I could go as far as calling it an affliction.


Let me paint you a picture... I'll be using pastel watercolors, and a number 4-fan brush.
(Did you ever do that as a kid...err... even now?? Sit with a few friends, get completely bowled out with whatever "Shwag" weed you could find for less than 20 bucks, and watch Bob Ross until the munchies forced your heard of laughing hyenas into the kitchen? ...ahh yes, the good ...what??! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NO!! Dude, HAHAHAHAHAHA ...he said "stroke" HAHAHAHAHAHA)

A few months ago when we first noticed I was beginning to look like I should be entering my second trimester, I dove into education of healthier eating and weight loss. I came to the conclusion that I should "wean" myself off of soda pop. It seemed like the perfect solution at the time, I would drop that water weight, and it could actually help me kick-off a healthier physical routine. And, yes... by "physical" I mean something other than the extra effort and grunting when the dishwasher is over loaded with pots and pans, making it more difficult to move.

Day 1: Urge to grab Mt. Dew from fridge was overwhelming. Try again tomorrow.

Day 2: "Hey! Who put this padlock on the fridge?!?!?!" Give puppy eyes. Roll eyes and storm off. Wear sunglasses to work, even though the sun has yet to rise. Stop at the gas station before arrival, purchase 1.2 gallons of gasoline and 2 bottles of Mt. Dew for 10$. Try again tomorrow.

Day 3: Wear sunglasses to work again. Discover credit cards, check cards, and checkbooks are missing. Begin shaking with anger. Go to work. Stop shaking with anger. Notice onset of what seems to be a migraine. Dig through desk looking for change. Beg, borrow, plead, sell car title and receive an additional 35 cents. Purchase Mt. Dew. Feel guilty. Consume Mt. Dew. Feel better.

Day 4: Cry uncontrollably until the locks are taken off of the fridge. Explain why the family heirlooms were pawned. Feel guilty. Consume Mt. Dew. Feel better.

...Lesson learned.