Dear Liberty "Movement",
Why did I put movement in quotes? Because the first thing I think of when those words come out of my mouth (or off of my keyboard) is bowel movement. Right or wrong, all of this shit has left a very bad taste in my mouth and I do not believe any of us are accomplishing what we want (and I wonder what some of "us" actually want to accomplish...).
All too often I see or hear Libertarians, Truthers, Anarchists, Voluntaryists, etc etc calling people "stupid", "sheep", "sheeple", on and on. I hear them telling people they are not educated and they are brainwashed, yada yada. All you people do is run around pretending like you have all the answers. Why? Because you read the Internet?? The tool given to us by social engineers and controlled by social engineers. You spend hours each day reading infowars.com and arguing with others on facebook (probably while sitting in your mom's basement)... Get a life! Those people you call stupid sheeple actually have a better idea than you do about enjoying life. You are proof that those in power are winning when you spend your entire existence fighting them (and each other) instead of living the one life you were given (or, at least, will remember)!!
You are dogmatic like the Christian who wants to save the immortal soul, or the atheist who wants to free people from religious constraints. You want to "save" people by insulting them. You expect them to listen to you, fighting against the "elite" while you, yourself, are behaving far more elitist than anyone they have ever met in their lives. While people are watching American Idol, you are insulting them for celebrity worship, while at the same time, you are worshiping your own subset of celebrities (I like to call them quasi-celebrities). You stand in line to get books signed, shake hands and get pictures that you frame and put on your mantle. You brag on Facebook about meeting some guy that 95% of the population has never even heard of. You flock to their youtube pages and blogtalk radio shows to listen to them preach about "thinking for yourself", and afterwards you spew their talking points to others, insisting YOU are right.
"Big L" Libertarians play the politics game like any neocon or Deomocrat, without any of the same power or funding. Anarchists chastise Minarchists for being "uneducated statists". Ron Paul supporters alienate 911 Truthers for having the balls to stand up and demand the truth because it "hurts" their political game. Truthers berate LIHOPers for not being "awake". Alex Jones listeners hang on his every word and think because he says to "go check it our for yourself" that they don't have to. The Paytriots want you to fund their lives as "full time activists", like Liberty Welfare. People in the Ron Paul and other "Liberty" campaigns work behind the scenes to gain power and control, destroying anyone who dares get in their way...
All the while, we ALL profess to be working toward the goal of freedom for humanity. Why do those in power keep winning? Because they are unified in their agenda of control, global domination (Pinky: Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight? The Brain: Same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world.), social engineering and depopulation. They have a common goal, and they don't argue about it. They do it, and they do it right in front of our fucking faces. So while you all are arguing about whether 911 was an inside job or if Gary Johnson is better than Ron Paul, you are being controlled, manipulated and brainwashed just like everyone else, except at least those people are living their lives in ignorant bliss.
You guys can keep your cliques, your cult of personality and your dogma. You are all equally as manipulative and shitty as any other body of power. You are all equally as controlled as Republicans, Democrats and the apathetic. I'm not above it either, no one is. We have lost our humility (if we ever had any) and turned into exactly what we are trying to fight against, and I think a lot of people enjoy it. It's their way of gaining power and fame when they are not good enough to do so in the "real world".
I hope we can all find peace within ourselves, despite the other things going on in the world. I hope we can all never stop searching for truth and being open-minded, that we don't become the dogmatics we rail against. I hope we can all gain a scrap of humility and realize we are not perfect, nor do we have all the answers. Above all else, I hope that you can all learn to work together for freedom, instead of fighting each other insisting that your version of it is the "right" one. After all, freedom is the ability for each of us to do as we please, as long as we hurt no one else.
With as much love as I can muster,
Trbo
Friday, September 16, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
How To Successfully Be A Redneck
I'm not sure why I chose this title... Because the more I think about it, the more I realize I actually kinda failed at being a redneck. See, you'd think being a redneck would be pretty simple since it doesn't involve money, fashion sense, basic hygiene or a firm grasp of the English language (or any other language for that matter) - perhaps these things were my downfall. I have come to the realization that it takes equal part skill and bad genetics to be a successful redneck and I am evidently seriously lacking in both.
The weather this weekend in da 'Burgh was immensely torrid and, because I a. don't have cooling system that is centrally located which distributes sweet relief throughout my entire home and b. didn't have a swimsuit that would be appropriate for a genteel young lady such as myself to wear in public, Awesome Boyfriend and I were stuck brainstorming ways to cool ourselves off in the midst of the Worst Heatwave EVER. Since I have children and quite frequently make use of their toys and gadgets for my own enjoyment, it seemed perfectly natural to use their inflatable water containment device for my own personal comfort. Unfortunately, by the time I got done blowing up the pool and filling it with water (which I forgot to turn off causing it to overflow and creating a small mudpit in the backyard) it began to storm and by the time ABF got there, I was in the midst of a hormonally induced psychotic meltdown, so while swimming in lightning seemed like a completely rational idea to me at the time, I was once again saved by the unending rational and non-impulsive mind of my male better half.
The next day however, proved to be equally as sweltering and hyperthermia inducing. Swimming (and I use that term lightly, only because water and semi-submerged bodies are involved, it was more like "lounging") in the kiddie pool commenced. We sat in the "pool", drank beer and watch Redheaded Bitch and Chinashop Bull (dogs, people... dogs - their names have been changed to protect their inherent canine right to privacy) make one another's acquaintance for the first time. This involved Bitch attempting to hump Bull from behind... When that didn't work, she went straight for the full facial. This seemed to be more gender appropriate and socially acceptable to Bull, and he allowed it. It was almost as good as watching a cockfight or horse race or some other illegal gambling activity involving animals. Just imagine a 47lbs Husky attempting to hump a 100lbs Rottweiler and getting away with it.
Now you might be thinking that, so far, we are totally winning at being rednecks... You would be right, except that we were drinking craft beer instead of Old Milwaukee and we were sitting outside a 3 bedroom house with a basement instead of a doublewide on cinder blocks. There was also no trace of old tires, rusted out truckbed caps or half-naked filthy children running around the yard in saggy diapers nor was any country music being blared from a pickup truck with the doors left open to better hear the tunes. I even exchange my white-trashy, too-small-topped swimsuit which was showing more of my boobs than it was covering for a fancy number from Victoria's Secret (specifically designed for the mammarily "gifted") that had just come in the mail. Rednecks don't wear $100 swimsuits. Rednecks don't own anything that costs over $20, unless it's a shotgun and even those are usually passed down from their great great grandpa who was only somewhat affected by redneck genes yet still managed to put in his hours coal-mining or digging trenches or something that made him some sort of sustainable income.
We completed our adventure in backwoods hillbilly bliss by going to dinner at the Texas Roadhouse. What we lacked earlier in auditory resemblance to redneckedness we surely made up for in this place. "I lost my truck and my dawg and my pickup 'cause that woman done left me and now I gotta drown my sorrows in a pitcher of Coors in a bar with a sawdust floor" was blaring from what seemed like the very building itself. Delectable cuts of bovine were prominently displayed behind a glass (probably plexiglass or just plain old plastic) display case where you could choose your own dinner, peanut shells were strewn across the floor throughout the entire place (I think this may have been staged - you know, to make it look more redneck than it really was, cause there weren't any in the bathroom and surely rednecks would definitely eat peanuts in the shitter) and the drink specials were pitchers of cheap beer and different "sweet tea" flavor cordials mixed with things like Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort.
To add to this authentic Texas experience, we were seated directly next to a table full of Mexicans and our waiter seemed a little... "slow". Maybe he was just nervous to be in the presence of the extreme awesomeness of the Dynamic Duo... or maybe a little of both. When I asked about a drink on the menu, he told me that the people who just left his other table had 3 of them. I looked at him very seriously and told him that he should not have served them so much alcohol and then permitted them to drive home. He looked very nervous and stated, "Oh, haha, no, they had three altogether, each of them had one." How each of them ordering only one each demonstrated that said drinks were so fantastic was entirely beyond me, so he either really believed that I was someone from the Liquor Control Board or he was just not the sharpest tool in the shed. "A" for effort, sweetheart, "A" for effort.
Despite being a little slow, quite talkative and a bit socially awkward, he was a good waiter. That is why I chose to express my concerns to him about the rest of the "staff" there. It was beyond me how anyone working in redneck heaven could seemingly hate their job as much as most of the adolescent girls there... When it came time for someone to have a birthday (which invariably happens if you choose to dine at one of these mid-range franchise restaurants on a weekend), the saddle on wheels was rolled out, a little girl was lifted onto it by a reasonably enthusiastic young male member of the staff, an announcement was made and the birthday singing began. Sadly, the girls singing weren't even a micro-fraction as enthusiastic as the young man, otherwise, I would not have been torn between being completely embarrassed at the pathetic performance and fighting the urge to stand up and give that poor little girl the birthday song she deserved.
Not being paid minimum wage to do so, I successfully resisted the latter, but my righteous indignation at the former caused me to have a little chat with our waiter when he came over. I told him that the poor little girl sitting there should have been sung to with some gusto and he should tell those girls that work-ethic is very important in America, as is customer service, and that they should be ashamed of themselves for ruining that poor little girl's birthday. Now she'll probably grow up to be a welfare bum because they'd set a bad example and her crushed faith in humanity will probably cause her to become addicted to heroin (ok, I didn't tell him all this, but this was the point I was trying to get across to him). To my surprise, he came back and said he told the non-singing girls what I said. Awesome BF just kinda glared at me and was all "Great, now we're going to be eating spit". To which Waiter replied "Oh no, they'd never do that! They'd get fired if they did that!"... Evidently, though they tolerate staff that sings to small children less than half-assed, the Texas Roadhouse has a very strict "no spitting in customers' food policy" that is vigilantly monitored and promptly punished by termination. Good to know.
The weather this weekend in da 'Burgh was immensely torrid and, because I a. don't have cooling system that is centrally located which distributes sweet relief throughout my entire home and b. didn't have a swimsuit that would be appropriate for a genteel young lady such as myself to wear in public, Awesome Boyfriend and I were stuck brainstorming ways to cool ourselves off in the midst of the Worst Heatwave EVER. Since I have children and quite frequently make use of their toys and gadgets for my own enjoyment, it seemed perfectly natural to use their inflatable water containment device for my own personal comfort. Unfortunately, by the time I got done blowing up the pool and filling it with water (which I forgot to turn off causing it to overflow and creating a small mudpit in the backyard) it began to storm and by the time ABF got there, I was in the midst of a hormonally induced psychotic meltdown, so while swimming in lightning seemed like a completely rational idea to me at the time, I was once again saved by the unending rational and non-impulsive mind of my male better half.
The next day however, proved to be equally as sweltering and hyperthermia inducing. Swimming (and I use that term lightly, only because water and semi-submerged bodies are involved, it was more like "lounging") in the kiddie pool commenced. We sat in the "pool", drank beer and watch Redheaded Bitch and Chinashop Bull (dogs, people... dogs - their names have been changed to protect their inherent canine right to privacy) make one another's acquaintance for the first time. This involved Bitch attempting to hump Bull from behind... When that didn't work, she went straight for the full facial. This seemed to be more gender appropriate and socially acceptable to Bull, and he allowed it. It was almost as good as watching a cockfight or horse race or some other illegal gambling activity involving animals. Just imagine a 47lbs Husky attempting to hump a 100lbs Rottweiler and getting away with it.
Now you might be thinking that, so far, we are totally winning at being rednecks... You would be right, except that we were drinking craft beer instead of Old Milwaukee and we were sitting outside a 3 bedroom house with a basement instead of a doublewide on cinder blocks. There was also no trace of old tires, rusted out truckbed caps or half-naked filthy children running around the yard in saggy diapers nor was any country music being blared from a pickup truck with the doors left open to better hear the tunes. I even exchange my white-trashy, too-small-topped swimsuit which was showing more of my boobs than it was covering for a fancy number from Victoria's Secret (specifically designed for the mammarily "gifted") that had just come in the mail. Rednecks don't wear $100 swimsuits. Rednecks don't own anything that costs over $20, unless it's a shotgun and even those are usually passed down from their great great grandpa who was only somewhat affected by redneck genes yet still managed to put in his hours coal-mining or digging trenches or something that made him some sort of sustainable income.
We completed our adventure in backwoods hillbilly bliss by going to dinner at the Texas Roadhouse. What we lacked earlier in auditory resemblance to redneckedness we surely made up for in this place. "I lost my truck and my dawg and my pickup 'cause that woman done left me and now I gotta drown my sorrows in a pitcher of Coors in a bar with a sawdust floor" was blaring from what seemed like the very building itself. Delectable cuts of bovine were prominently displayed behind a glass (probably plexiglass or just plain old plastic) display case where you could choose your own dinner, peanut shells were strewn across the floor throughout the entire place (I think this may have been staged - you know, to make it look more redneck than it really was, cause there weren't any in the bathroom and surely rednecks would definitely eat peanuts in the shitter) and the drink specials were pitchers of cheap beer and different "sweet tea" flavor cordials mixed with things like Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort.
To add to this authentic Texas experience, we were seated directly next to a table full of Mexicans and our waiter seemed a little... "slow". Maybe he was just nervous to be in the presence of the extreme awesomeness of the Dynamic Duo... or maybe a little of both. When I asked about a drink on the menu, he told me that the people who just left his other table had 3 of them. I looked at him very seriously and told him that he should not have served them so much alcohol and then permitted them to drive home. He looked very nervous and stated, "Oh, haha, no, they had three altogether, each of them had one." How each of them ordering only one each demonstrated that said drinks were so fantastic was entirely beyond me, so he either really believed that I was someone from the Liquor Control Board or he was just not the sharpest tool in the shed. "A" for effort, sweetheart, "A" for effort.
Despite being a little slow, quite talkative and a bit socially awkward, he was a good waiter. That is why I chose to express my concerns to him about the rest of the "staff" there. It was beyond me how anyone working in redneck heaven could seemingly hate their job as much as most of the adolescent girls there... When it came time for someone to have a birthday (which invariably happens if you choose to dine at one of these mid-range franchise restaurants on a weekend), the saddle on wheels was rolled out, a little girl was lifted onto it by a reasonably enthusiastic young male member of the staff, an announcement was made and the birthday singing began. Sadly, the girls singing weren't even a micro-fraction as enthusiastic as the young man, otherwise, I would not have been torn between being completely embarrassed at the pathetic performance and fighting the urge to stand up and give that poor little girl the birthday song she deserved.
Not being paid minimum wage to do so, I successfully resisted the latter, but my righteous indignation at the former caused me to have a little chat with our waiter when he came over. I told him that the poor little girl sitting there should have been sung to with some gusto and he should tell those girls that work-ethic is very important in America, as is customer service, and that they should be ashamed of themselves for ruining that poor little girl's birthday. Now she'll probably grow up to be a welfare bum because they'd set a bad example and her crushed faith in humanity will probably cause her to become addicted to heroin (ok, I didn't tell him all this, but this was the point I was trying to get across to him). To my surprise, he came back and said he told the non-singing girls what I said. Awesome BF just kinda glared at me and was all "Great, now we're going to be eating spit". To which Waiter replied "Oh no, they'd never do that! They'd get fired if they did that!"... Evidently, though they tolerate staff that sings to small children less than half-assed, the Texas Roadhouse has a very strict "no spitting in customers' food policy" that is vigilantly monitored and promptly punished by termination. Good to know.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Gross People
Let's talk about gross people. When I say gross people, I don't mean fat, ugly, stinky, hairy people who eat their boogers and wear spandex (we'll talk about them later)... I mean couples who make you want to vomit in your drink because, when they are out in public, no one else seems to exist in their world but the two of them. They're all hand-holding, face-sucking, snooky-wookying, OMFG-would-you-two-get-a-fucking-room and it pisses me off. No, I'm not jealous, I just think if you're going to be all over each other and ignore everyone else and the fact that they are trying in vain to hold down their lunch in your presence, you should just stay home and have sex til you can't stand to look at each other any more.
Seriously, no one needs or wants to hear your "I love yoooou" "I love you moooorrrre" "I love you the mostessst" waste of oxygen dialog. We get it, you love each other... Get over it, move on and talk about something meaningful you fucking kitten licking unicorn humpers. You can't eat love... and while the both of you were sitting there drooling all over each other, I ate your $50 filet mignon that you were going to share. Fortunately for me, you didn't notice; even though the only thing either of you has eaten for the past week is each other's face.
And why is everything "ours"? Why do you speak as if the two of you are one entity? Yeah, yeah, I get the whole "two become one" blah blah bullshit, but seriously... "we had to pop a nasty zit on our back before we got here, sorry we're late" is not only completely disgusting, it's entirely inaccurate. It's not your collective back... He has a back and you have a back. ONE of your backs was infested with said zit and ONE of you popped it. For fuck's sake!
My favorite is "we're on our period"... Ummmm, last time I checked, men don't have uteri and cannot bleed from their nether regions once a month (well, technically, I guess they could, but far from being the normal course of things, I'd say that would be a pretty significant cause for concern). Besides all of that, any man who would even want to own something like that has quite evidently been pussy-whipped into a state of complete patheticness and is an utter humiliation to the entire male species.
That shit gets old... It was already old for everyone else the first time they saw you together, it'll be old for you two soon enough. It will go from "My darling pookie-poo" to "you god damn asshat motherfucker!!" in no time. We'd all appreciate if you'd just stay home and boink each other's brains out until you at least get to the just calling each other "babe" part and spare the rest of us your disgusting, vomit-inducing, brain curdling infatuation fest. We all know you're going to be having knock-down, drag-outs over the color of the curtains and how often you no longer have sex in a few weeks.
In an effort to avoid this with the object of my affection, I solemnly vow to boink his brains out on a semi-daily basis for the next year or so. You're welcome.
Seriously, no one needs or wants to hear your "I love yoooou" "I love you moooorrrre" "I love you the mostessst" waste of oxygen dialog. We get it, you love each other... Get over it, move on and talk about something meaningful you fucking kitten licking unicorn humpers. You can't eat love... and while the both of you were sitting there drooling all over each other, I ate your $50 filet mignon that you were going to share. Fortunately for me, you didn't notice; even though the only thing either of you has eaten for the past week is each other's face.
And why is everything "ours"? Why do you speak as if the two of you are one entity? Yeah, yeah, I get the whole "two become one" blah blah bullshit, but seriously... "we had to pop a nasty zit on our back before we got here, sorry we're late" is not only completely disgusting, it's entirely inaccurate. It's not your collective back... He has a back and you have a back. ONE of your backs was infested with said zit and ONE of you popped it. For fuck's sake!
My favorite is "we're on our period"... Ummmm, last time I checked, men don't have uteri and cannot bleed from their nether regions once a month (well, technically, I guess they could, but far from being the normal course of things, I'd say that would be a pretty significant cause for concern). Besides all of that, any man who would even want to own something like that has quite evidently been pussy-whipped into a state of complete patheticness and is an utter humiliation to the entire male species.
That shit gets old... It was already old for everyone else the first time they saw you together, it'll be old for you two soon enough. It will go from "My darling pookie-poo" to "you god damn asshat motherfucker!!" in no time. We'd all appreciate if you'd just stay home and boink each other's brains out until you at least get to the just calling each other "babe" part and spare the rest of us your disgusting, vomit-inducing, brain curdling infatuation fest. We all know you're going to be having knock-down, drag-outs over the color of the curtains and how often you no longer have sex in a few weeks.
In an effort to avoid this with the object of my affection, I solemnly vow to boink his brains out on a semi-daily basis for the next year or so. You're welcome.
Monday, June 13, 2011
It's All Just Ambiguous Expendable Bullshit
Ever have a life situation where it's like you're playing a game and the game is fun, then one day you're thinking "wait a minute, this game is getting old, it's not fun anymore!"? The game ceases to be fun when there is no end, when there is no WINNING. At the same time, when you can't define what winning is, you're forced to continue playing a frustrating game. Then you think to yourself, "fine, I'll just stop playing." But, doesn't that mean you lose? And what is worse? Losing or playing a game you can't win? Yeah, I'm gonna go with losing on this one.
I'm hoping that putting a couple of $5 words in the title makes up for the rambling pity-fest you're about to read. I probably shouldn't even be writing about this... Maybe it's just yet another overreaction. Seems I have been assuming something for the past year that evidently wasn't true. I'm not talking something trivial like assuming that everyone loves bacon, I'm talking something that makes me think of the cliche "assume makes an ass of u and me", except this time I'm kinda the only one who has been made an ass of. It's not the first time, it won't be the last - it's certainly not hard to make me look stupid and naive (even if I am neither), especially if you have a penis and a few choice, suave words (I'm a sucker for an ego stroking).
As it turns out, just because you are sleeping together on a regular basis, talking on the phone a few times a week and showering together occasionally doesn't mean that you are an actual couple. In fact, you're probably nothing more than glorified fuck buddies and no matter how much you want to believe differently, when nothing is being said it's just a stupid stupid move on your part to assume you are anything more. He might tell that Mexican dude in the bar that you are his girlfriend, but that's just so the other dude doesn't try to take you home with him (as if you would go home with that dude, anyway). See, if it's been like a year and his friends aren't really sure what to call you and just end up assuming you're "special friends" then he obviously doesn't think highly enough of you to present you, unambiguously, as his "girlfriend", "lady", "partner" or even "better half".
The best part of all of this is finding out from someone else. Enjoying some good music (that you busted your ass to get home in time to see your "special friend" play) and basically having the bomb dropped on you. It's not as if it's anything more than confirming what you already knew deep down, but after this long, it would be nice to hear it from the source. Then you have to spend the rest of the evening smiling and pretending like nothing is wrong while you're sitting there working all of this information out in your head and it begins dawning on you that, yeah, you knew this - but that still doesn't make it any less difficult to swallow. You feel like a vibrator that's seen too many sets of D batteries - your battery door is held on with duct tape and the only setting that still works is supersonic jackhammer. You don't get much use any more and you're rotting away in a drawer. That was a stupid analogy but you get the point.
The best part of this all is... (Wait, I had a "best part" already, yeah well I guess it just keeps getting better!!!) ...When the realization of being had comes one day before the semi-official one year mark (consummation if you will) of this ambiguous union. I'm probably supposed to be angry. Most people would probably agree that I would have every right to be downright livid. Thing is, I chose to make assumptions based on equivocal, at best, information and subtleties instead of growing some fucking balls and asking that things be made 100% clear.
Today, I feel like someone has played the cruelest possible joke on me... The worst part of this feeling is the realization that I've been playing the joke on myself. I've been warned from every possible angle and I chose to ignore it either because I am naive or because I believe in things greater than myself, in giving the benefit of the doubt. I'm a fucking SUCKER, either way.
I'm hoping that putting a couple of $5 words in the title makes up for the rambling pity-fest you're about to read. I probably shouldn't even be writing about this... Maybe it's just yet another overreaction. Seems I have been assuming something for the past year that evidently wasn't true. I'm not talking something trivial like assuming that everyone loves bacon, I'm talking something that makes me think of the cliche "assume makes an ass of u and me", except this time I'm kinda the only one who has been made an ass of. It's not the first time, it won't be the last - it's certainly not hard to make me look stupid and naive (even if I am neither), especially if you have a penis and a few choice, suave words (I'm a sucker for an ego stroking).
As it turns out, just because you are sleeping together on a regular basis, talking on the phone a few times a week and showering together occasionally doesn't mean that you are an actual couple. In fact, you're probably nothing more than glorified fuck buddies and no matter how much you want to believe differently, when nothing is being said it's just a stupid stupid move on your part to assume you are anything more. He might tell that Mexican dude in the bar that you are his girlfriend, but that's just so the other dude doesn't try to take you home with him (as if you would go home with that dude, anyway). See, if it's been like a year and his friends aren't really sure what to call you and just end up assuming you're "special friends" then he obviously doesn't think highly enough of you to present you, unambiguously, as his "girlfriend", "lady", "partner" or even "better half".
The best part of all of this is finding out from someone else. Enjoying some good music (that you busted your ass to get home in time to see your "special friend" play) and basically having the bomb dropped on you. It's not as if it's anything more than confirming what you already knew deep down, but after this long, it would be nice to hear it from the source. Then you have to spend the rest of the evening smiling and pretending like nothing is wrong while you're sitting there working all of this information out in your head and it begins dawning on you that, yeah, you knew this - but that still doesn't make it any less difficult to swallow. You feel like a vibrator that's seen too many sets of D batteries - your battery door is held on with duct tape and the only setting that still works is supersonic jackhammer. You don't get much use any more and you're rotting away in a drawer. That was a stupid analogy but you get the point.
The best part of this all is... (Wait, I had a "best part" already, yeah well I guess it just keeps getting better!!!) ...When the realization of being had comes one day before the semi-official one year mark (consummation if you will) of this ambiguous union. I'm probably supposed to be angry. Most people would probably agree that I would have every right to be downright livid. Thing is, I chose to make assumptions based on equivocal, at best, information and subtleties instead of growing some fucking balls and asking that things be made 100% clear.
Today, I feel like someone has played the cruelest possible joke on me... The worst part of this feeling is the realization that I've been playing the joke on myself. I've been warned from every possible angle and I chose to ignore it either because I am naive or because I believe in things greater than myself, in giving the benefit of the doubt. I'm a fucking SUCKER, either way.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Actual Run-in With a Cop (I didn't make this one up and I have the ticket to prove it)
As most of you know, I recently picked up 2 other Freedom Fighters in the TrboMobile and traveled to Washington DC to stand with other activists at the Thomas Jefferson Monument in protest of the ridiculous ruling that we cannot dance with or in honor of our favorite Founding Father.
I drug myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5:00am, a time I rarely see unless it's in a drunken stupor following an all-nighter (preferably with my legs thrown over the shoulders of a HBG). I couldn't leave until 7:00 and I had to drive North first to grab my first passenger. We then stopped in the uh, quaint little village of Morgantown, WV to pick up another lovely lady. About 2 hours into the trip a fascist swine in the beautiful state of Maryland decided to harass me for harming no one. The official charge is "Exceeding maximum speed: 100 MPH in a posted 65 MPH zone". They are extorting $290 from me, presumably to pay for donuts and coffee. I was simply doing my patriotic duty in an attempt to make it into DC in time for the festivities which were to begin at 12:00 sharp.
My original plan was to make the 2 hour drive down to Maryland to fight the ticket, this would require me to take a day off of work (that I could otherwise take and spend doing productive things like sunning myself and getting drunk) and spend another $50 in gas (more donut taxes). My fear was that I would end up with 4 points on my driver's license (and how awful would it be if I couldn't drive???). However, after speaking with my insurance agent today, and sharing stories of getting pulled over for speeding, I was informed that out of state tickets do not put points on my license and they do not make my insurance go up. That being said, I would still normally fight the ticket, but the added hassle and expense of taking an entire day off, finding a babysitter and driving down there to probably lose the case anyway (and probably piss of the judge and the fascist swine and get thrown in jail in bum fuck Maryland) has made me determine that the best thing for me to do is pay the ticket.
Friends suggested that I start a chip in to get help with this. It's not normally something I would do (my awesomeness prevents me from asking for help, even when I need it), but I have to pay this ticket in 30 days or face a warrant for my arrest and suspension of my license. This is where you come in, fellow cohort in World Domination: if all of my friends can chip in even $1, I'll be saved from rotting in a cell with a metal toilet and urine stained cot, getting molested by toothless lesbian convicts.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Not the End of the World, Just the Rapture
So did you guys hear that the rapture took place today? I know what you're thinking... "Everyone's still here, this is bullshit". My friends, this is NOT bullshit, Jesus really did come to Earth today and take those who are "worthy" according to the bible. No really, I'm super serial.
Let's start at the beginning: Some holy man, whose "organization" has received about $80 million in donations since 2005, has used his divine critical thinking skills to kindly inform us of when the bible tells us the world will end. By some very creative interpretation, we get that the the flood that took place back in 4990 BC (and I can in no way verify that the GoodFairytale Book actually gives this date) will actually take place again in 7000 years because the man upstairs was actually relaying a message to the future people, knowing that his book would survive many thousands of years perfectly intact and accurately interpreted and translated (since he decided at one point all people couldn't speak the same language because then they would become more powerful than him). So when he said the rain would begin in 7 days, what he actually meant was 7 thousand years. That god, he's such an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, deep fried in riddles!
So anyway, when you do the math (look at the link I don't have time for such brain work!), it turns out that today is the day. Yeah, Jesus came today, and since you're reading this, I'm sorry you missed him! Don't feel bad, I was hoping he'd come save me from having to cut my 3ft high grass *sadface*. So I did some of that praying, and I asked Mr. Omnipotent Being why everyone was still here. He told me that the following excludes people from being included in the rapture:
1. Those who don't love thy neighbor, banging his wife does not count as love even if you DID mow their lawn.
2. Those who don't honor thy mother and father. Which nursing home did you send them to again? Oh, and remember that time in high school? That thing you said to them? Yep, you.
3. Those who have had sex during "that time of the month". You know you're guilty. In fact, if you've even sat on something that she just sat on, you're guilty.
4. Sodomy. Yep, you again... Thought that would be a clever way of getting around the blood thing? Guilty! Doesn't matter if you used a condom.
5. Ever said "Jesus christ!" or "god dammit!" in a fit of rage? No? Think you're safe? Nice try fucker... even "piss" makes you... GUILTY! (Fuck and any variation thereof that does not include the words "Lord", "god", "Jesus" or "piss" is ok, god fucking dammit!)
6. Ever cut your grass, exercise, clean or go to work on Sunday? GUILTY!
7. Ever tell you mom the cat broke her favorite Betty Boop knick knack? Or maybe that your belly hurt when it really didn't and you just wanted to get out of going to school? LIAR! No rapture rescue for you!
8. Ever tell your hubby the steamy gossip about the lady next door cheating on her dying husband? Not only is Jesus not coming to save her, he's not gonna come get you either! BAM!
9. Ever eat shrimp, lobster, bacon or locust? (You ate the locust, didn't you???) You lose.
10. Not going to church on Sundays? Oh you do? GOOD! Are you giving God his 10%?? Are you? God's not the IRS there are no exemptions! He doesn't care if you needed your oil changed and your kids live off ramen noodles... CHEATER!
He told me a bunch of other stuff, but I asked him to stop because it was all making sense now. I asked him if Jesus took anyone. God told me that 3 people made the cut: one was in a coma since birth and the other two were solitary, celibate monks who lived off of nothing but spring water and took vows of silence.
It's ok though, we only have to put up with hell on Earth until October. I imagine that means it's not going to stop raining (flood maybe), it will be 95 degrees in Pittsburgh every single day and my air conditioner will die. He's also planning to blast Justin Bieber and Katy Perry music from the trumpets of heaven for all to hear. Oh, and spandex will make a come back.
Let's start at the beginning: Some holy man, whose "organization" has received about $80 million in donations since 2005, has used his divine critical thinking skills to kindly inform us of when the bible tells us the world will end. By some very creative interpretation, we get that the the flood that took place back in 4990 BC (and I can in no way verify that the Good
So anyway, when you do the math (look at the link I don't have time for such brain work!), it turns out that today is the day. Yeah, Jesus came today, and since you're reading this, I'm sorry you missed him! Don't feel bad, I was hoping he'd come save me from having to cut my 3ft high grass *sadface*. So I did some of that praying, and I asked Mr. Omnipotent Being why everyone was still here. He told me that the following excludes people from being included in the rapture:
1. Those who don't love thy neighbor, banging his wife does not count as love even if you DID mow their lawn.
2. Those who don't honor thy mother and father. Which nursing home did you send them to again? Oh, and remember that time in high school? That thing you said to them? Yep, you.
3. Those who have had sex during "that time of the month". You know you're guilty. In fact, if you've even sat on something that she just sat on, you're guilty.
4. Sodomy. Yep, you again... Thought that would be a clever way of getting around the blood thing? Guilty! Doesn't matter if you used a condom.
5. Ever said "Jesus christ!" or "god dammit!" in a fit of rage? No? Think you're safe? Nice try fucker... even "piss" makes you... GUILTY! (Fuck and any variation thereof that does not include the words "Lord", "god", "Jesus" or "piss" is ok, god fucking dammit!)
6. Ever cut your grass, exercise, clean or go to work on Sunday? GUILTY!
7. Ever tell you mom the cat broke her favorite Betty Boop knick knack? Or maybe that your belly hurt when it really didn't and you just wanted to get out of going to school? LIAR! No rapture rescue for you!
8. Ever tell your hubby the steamy gossip about the lady next door cheating on her dying husband? Not only is Jesus not coming to save her, he's not gonna come get you either! BAM!
9. Ever eat shrimp, lobster, bacon or locust? (You ate the locust, didn't you???) You lose.
10. Not going to church on Sundays? Oh you do? GOOD! Are you giving God his 10%?? Are you? God's not the IRS there are no exemptions! He doesn't care if you needed your oil changed and your kids live off ramen noodles... CHEATER!
He told me a bunch of other stuff, but I asked him to stop because it was all making sense now. I asked him if Jesus took anyone. God told me that 3 people made the cut: one was in a coma since birth and the other two were solitary, celibate monks who lived off of nothing but spring water and took vows of silence.
It's ok though, we only have to put up with hell on Earth until October. I imagine that means it's not going to stop raining (flood maybe), it will be 95 degrees in Pittsburgh every single day and my air conditioner will die. He's also planning to blast Justin Bieber and Katy Perry music from the trumpets of heaven for all to hear. Oh, and spandex will make a come back.
Pimp Daddy Jesus... He's coming to give you some gospel. That is not a crucifix in his robe, he's just happy to see you.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Osama Bin Dyin'
So we finally killed Osama Bin Laden.... Again. Yes, you heard me. This isn't the first time Mr. Tim Osman has kicked the bucket. This guy's got more lives than a Hindi cat channeling Jesus. Considering he's died like 15 times, THREE times in 2002 alone, I'd recommend that Der Fürher Obama (Barack, not Osama, no overt allusions here *cough* Faux News *cough cough*) not start hoisting the "Mission Accomplished" banner just yet. Seems that Mr. Bin Laden is channeling Bowser (or King Koopa, that thing's name seems to have changed from the days when I played Mario Bros.), no matter how many times you make it through the castle and kill him, he's always waiting at the next one, still hiding the princess.
Next is the question of WHICH Bin Laden has been killed this time... See, it seems this guy has at least one other "twin" who really doesn't even look like him. We've got the traditional grey bearded Osama and the more metro-sexual black beard (Just For Men FTW!). Then we've got the fat nosed and the skinny nosed... of course, I'm sure it's the same guy who just got punched in the face by a bad-ass American Marine, who didn't bother capturing or killing him then. Or maybe that happened one of the times they "killed" him but he was then resurrected by Mohammad, who couldn't be bothered with making him look the same... I mean, that works out in their favor right? Cause you know, those dumb Americans will believe anything and they will be so busy calling the people who actually pay attention "crazy conspiracy theorists" that they totally won't notice that the new Bin Laden is right-handed even though he is listed as left handed.
Conveniently, after not even 24 hours, we couldn't find anyone who would bury Bin Laden (I mean, what respectable, America-hating Mosque would want to bury a the Martyr who single-handedly abolished Western infidel freedoms in their backyard!), so we decided to just dump his body in the ocean. This will surely not spark outrage amongst the evil terrorists, considering they are fanatical Muslims, but would be totally ok with their leader not being given a proper burial. There surely won't be any blowback from this! In fact, they'll be thanking us, those sand-dwellers, for giving him an awesome funeral. I've always wanted to be buried at sea, haven't you? And it's also saving them tons of money on funeral costs... It's not cheap to die these days. Damn, we're just a bunch of fucking stand-up guys, aren't we?
So we're all happy this guy is dead, right? I mean, why not? He was responsible for 911, even if the FBI's Most Wanted listing of him makes no mention of this. I mean, he's only responsible for the biggest act of terrorism in the history of the US, I don't really see any need to mention that in his fugitive credentials, do you? Now we can all cheer because we've spent about $1.2 Trillion dollars, killed hundreds of thousands of people and "showed those fucking camel jockies that you don't mess with the US!"
Remember, this is a never ending war, much like the War onInanimate Objects Drugs, until we get rid of ALL the drugs, we haven't won. Don't forget, these people hate our freedom. The government was kind enough to pass the Patriot Act. That's the one where they store our freedom in a locker (much like they did with our retirements in the form of Social Security) to keep it safe for us so the terrorists can't steal it. Don't worry, you'll get your First, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Fourteenth Amendment Rights back just as soon as we rid the world of Jihadists.
This also means that terrorism has ended, right? And we can all come home now...? No? Well of course not, you idiot! Now all the terrorists are REALLY mad at us and if we don't kill them ALL, they will come here and rape our babies and eat our women! So while it may be a time for celebration, singing National Anthems and chanting "USA USA USA!!" like a bunch of brainwashed drones, we still have to send other people's kids to die fighting wars on transient verbs. It's ok though, because you can still play Facebook General and watch the blowing up of innocent sub-humans on your TV while you drink your piss-water, fluoridated beer and eat your GMO corn chips. Don't forget to wave your flag and yell "God bless the USA!! Turn that sand into glass!!" (because God, of course, blesses those who kill other people to steal their natural resources).
Conveniently, after not even 24 hours, we couldn't find anyone who would bury Bin Laden (I mean, what respectable, America-hating Mosque would want to bury a the Martyr who single-handedly abolished Western infidel freedoms in their backyard!), so we decided to just dump his body in the ocean. This will surely not spark outrage amongst the evil terrorists, considering they are fanatical Muslims, but would be totally ok with their leader not being given a proper burial. There surely won't be any blowback from this! In fact, they'll be thanking us, those sand-dwellers, for giving him an awesome funeral. I've always wanted to be buried at sea, haven't you? And it's also saving them tons of money on funeral costs... It's not cheap to die these days. Damn, we're just a bunch of fucking stand-up guys, aren't we?
So we're all happy this guy is dead, right? I mean, why not? He was responsible for 911, even if the FBI's Most Wanted listing of him makes no mention of this. I mean, he's only responsible for the biggest act of terrorism in the history of the US, I don't really see any need to mention that in his fugitive credentials, do you? Now we can all cheer because we've spent about $1.2 Trillion dollars, killed hundreds of thousands of people and "showed those fucking camel jockies that you don't mess with the US!"
Remember, this is a never ending war, much like the War on
This also means that terrorism has ended, right? And we can all come home now...? No? Well of course not, you idiot! Now all the terrorists are REALLY mad at us and if we don't kill them ALL, they will come here and rape our babies and eat our women! So while it may be a time for celebration, singing National Anthems and chanting "USA USA USA!!" like a bunch of brainwashed drones, we still have to send other people's kids to die fighting wars on transient verbs. It's ok though, because you can still play Facebook General and watch the blowing up of innocent sub-humans on your TV while you drink your piss-water, fluoridated beer and eat your GMO corn chips. Don't forget to wave your flag and yell "God bless the USA!! Turn that sand into glass!!" (because God, of course, blesses those who kill other people to steal their natural resources).
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