29 June 2007

23 June 2007

Who knew?

Online Dating
This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:
* death (5x)
* fucking (2x)
* shit (2x)
* crap (1x)
* ass (1x)


My blog is rated R??? I honestly thought I'd look up my rating, post a squeaky clean G rating. Of course my goal would be to hit NC-17 within a week or so. Fucking, death, and ass (not necessarily in that order) did me in however. Well, at least I still have a bit of work to do — it's high time I get the rating I so deserve.

This makes me wonder... when a director fetches a measly PG-13 (the of box office death rating) on a movie, will s/he be driven to make their next movie a firm R rating? Or perhaps NC-17 before being forced to delete scenes? I would.

A few quick bloggy examples: Curly Giants moved swiftly from PG-13 to R. UDreamOfJanie started with an R and jumped up to NC-17 in no time. Some wanker (and kind fellow I'm sure) at a blog called Hot Dogs, Pretzels, and Perplexing Questions hit the NC-17 right out of the gate. Anyway, enough of that for now. Go fetch your rating! It's fun, and everybody's doing it. Discontinue use of ratings system if any of the following occurs: Itching, vertigo, dizziness, tingling in extremities, loss of balance or coordination, slurred speech, temporary blindness, profuse sweating, or heart palpitations. Some studies have shown an increase in lascivious behavior may also eliminate side-effects. In all cases, if your blog or ratings box begins to smoke, get away immediately. Seek shelter
and cover head.


Until next time, write all the cursin' and swearin' lewdest, crudest and awfulest things you can think up in my comments. It won't help my score any, but I'll sure enjoy it.



P.S. That fucking shit filled wank bag, std spewing, sex deprived son of a fucktard whore bag needs to get his shit together and fix the poor-ass pimp-slap job he's done.

Update 9:23 AM, 23 June: Got it! I feel much much better now.
Online Dating
* death (8x)
* shit (3x)
* ass (2x)
* hell (1x)

22 June 2007

Death of a Bartender

The always charming UDreamOfJanie is hosting a poetry contest this month. The selected subject (a poem from the dying lover’s point of view) is far too intriguing for me to pass up. Almost immediately I had a few ideas in mind, each looking for an orifice from which to make their escape.

Below is the first I've tapped to screen. Pending time and energy over the next day or two I'll expel the rest. And of course, once done I'll submit either the best or worst/crudest/shocking/shameful.


Death of a Bartender
I swear,
I knew not his bullet would pierce my spleen.
I thought my hand quicker.


I fear,
We'll not meet amongst the burnt gardens I'll soon walk.
Your garden is sure to be light as the sun above.

I cry,
That I will pleasure you no more.
It is this that pleased me most.

I regret,
Dueling a man o'er spilt ale.
The git spilt not one, but two!

Please dear husband,
Pour the bourbon, that my liver takes me 'fore this breaking
heart.
It is a pain I cannot bear.



In posting the following selection (real poetry) I know I'm essentially wrapping my so-called poem above in deer skinned camouflage. But I can't help myself. Of Shakespeare's sonnets this has long remained one of my favorites; it also came to mind when I read UDoJ's given subject.

This particular sonnet, #130, is a unique take on a lover's attributes with an ever classic, "I'm just kiddinnnng!" at the end. Or at least an "I love you anyway, babe." Shakespeare being the genius s/he is however, does not write about the poet's subsequent grisly death. It's easily assumed however the mister (poet) was quickly dispatched by his mistress.


SONNET 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; 

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.


20 June 2007

a shameful regression

I've been an on and off vegetarian pretty much as long as I've been conscious of the world around me. For a time as a kid my choice not to eat meat was simply that — a choice with little reason. I didn't crave it so why eat it. Once in a while my parents would BBQ some burgers or grill some chicken with garlic and hickory salt and I'd latch on to some of it. Some of the times I'd break down and eat meat just-the-one-time, others for a couple months at a time, and I think once for at least a year, maybe more. At some point though, the meat would lose its enticing whatever it was, and I'd stop eating it without hesitation or regret.

As I got older I found the conflict of killing an animal to feed myself at the forefront of my decision. I suppose I always felt this in some way, but finally it had become the reason I would be a vegetarian. Much to the chagrin of my parents and relatives that I visited. "No no, I'll be just fine with these green beans and buttered bread. Really, I don't want any [insert meat product here]." Heck, I didn't want anyone's help for anything, let alone some creature giving up it's life for me.

Some years ago I found myself divorced, alone and living as I do naturally in a single person's habitat without that in-home influence. It was easy to once again become a vegetarian, and I became a staunch one at that. This time I cut meat, milk, eggs and other products that I no longer craved or wanted. I don't think I'm cut out to be a vegan though and I found some of these cuts harder to make than others. In particular cheese. There is just no substitute. I've found some soy products that are starting to taste a bit like cheese, but not close enough! And, at the point soy starts to look like cheese I wonder what mishmash of processing has been needed to make it so. I was fine and dandy with keeping cheese as my single vice.

Enter the regression. About a year ago, early April, I took a business trip to Reno. I was there with a business cohort and knew many people there from around the country but a few of the nights it was nice to head out on my own. Problem being, the hotel (the Reno Hilton - it's huuuge!) is an oasis of it's own. Sure there were ten some restaurants to choose from surrounding the game floor, but the seclusion left little for recreation or variety. I took thrilling walks around the interior of the hotel and to the farthest reaches of the parking lot. That said, this vegetarian didn't have much food from which to choose. I had walked past all the restaurants this one evening at least three times trying to find and fill my craving. Finally it hit. The hamburgers and fries at Johnny Rockets caught my attention. Five minutes of hesitation and pacing finally landed me at one of their red sparkly booths ordering a greasy mushroom-swiss burger, fries and a milk shake. Hey, if I'm going do it, I'm going to do it right!

Gut bomb!!! My stomach didn't know what to do with the stuff, but it finally worked through everything in the following days.

Since April, I've had spots of meat, nothing grand until one fine day, a very hungry, energy draining, athletic sort of day I needed to have, had to have, craved, wanted and lusted for meat. A quick trip to a local BBQ house and a set of baby back ribs later I was satisfied. Damn, it was good! That set of ribs left me wanting for more and I've ended up eating more meat in the last four months than I've had all total in the decade preceeding my regression. Now, I still eat much less meat than most people I know, but for me, it's a lot. Someday, I'll probably push meat from my diet once again, but for now... I'm enjoying it far too much. Fish is tops on my list. Tasty little swimmers.

Tonight's dinner: BBQ'd beef baby back ribs. This time on my grill.


Gut bombs in Reno look like this...
The documented remains of my breaking point.

14 June 2007

We're Doomed! An Arms Race With the Sun

Since the dawn of time man has longed to destroy the sun.

In a little known essay by an omnipotent professor the final cataclysm of the sun and solar system has been deemed inevitable. As flame wrapped gaseous tendrils flare out from our seemingly distant star reach out to touch us, the atmosphere will burn brighter than human eyes could ever have imagined. Those who gaze into the sky to see its approach will see nothing further. The barrage continuing, bursts of light will lick at the dark side of the planet turning night to day as the sun's gaseous magma reaches beyond our little mud ball we call Earth into the rest of the solar system.

Two flares, maybe three will wipe the whole of mankind from the face of the Earth — excepting those protected for a few short days in bunkers deep within the Earth's crust. In kind, the trees, the atmosphere and nearly all plant and animal life as we know it will cease to exist. But who will thrive? Someone, something, must surly benefit, if even for a short time from this change in climate. Lo, deep in the ocean, amongst white hot gaps of colliding tectonic plates wee microbial organisms that call this climate home will thrive. The ocean will heat to boiling temperatures and at long last the little guys will feel at ease drifting amongst the torrid worldwide currents where all other life has ceased to exist. But this too will be short-lived, for their aquatic atmosphere will soon burn away as ours did previously. Atop the scorched landscape the ever-present cockroach will scurry from beneath rocks (in cooler moments) devouring the scorched remains of Earth's inhabitants. They too will thrive for a short time more. Human waste, both nuclear and municipal, will no longer be of issue. Carbon emissions no longer a concern. And green house theory will give way to sun-torching reality. Assuredly some will scream this is not to be so even as their flesh blasts from their bones.

Back to my initial point, 'what the hell does this have to do with mankind wanting to destroy the sun?' It has everything to do with mankind! First we were the physical center of the universe, which the surly sun didn't much care for I might add. Then we signed a treaty of sorts with the sun (treaty finally acknowledged by our Catholic friends in 1992) and moved Earth aside by a few miles to orbit the sun; with the caveat we would remain the industrial and intellectual center of the universe. The sun is still not quite settled on the debate, and neither are we apparently.

Further provoking the sun, a few select humans have traveled beyond our blue island to the pervasive sea of black lorded by the sun — this in clear disregard of the territorial framework laid out in the aforementioned treaty. Man's rockets have discarded their crap towards the fiery mouth of Mr. Sun and our "scientists" are even contemplating starting an arms war with the ol' curmudgeon! As if a few "test fires" of our piddly rockets into the moon will actually scare the sun into thinking we can trump him in such a war. At the first hint of attack the sun will surely tisk-tisk us shaking his fiery head, yawn for a moment, and with a reach of his mighty arm our oceans will boil.

Mankind's eternal campaign to destroy the sun has gone too far. It's time we step back, stop the bickering and face up to the fact we are not the center of the universe. Your urban hummers will not protect you, people! Please write your local congresswoman/man now and demand we cease any and all association or involvement with the worldwide anti-sun campaign (you'll find them here and here).

13 June 2007

vrai [noun]

I've found out something about myself today... I think the definition is rather appropriate.


vrai --

[noun]:

A brand of soylent green breakfast cereal



'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com