Just Blogging Around

In between dealing with problems with our webservers and debugging some script files I've just been sort of blogging around, looking for who else lives and blogs in or around Memphis and then adding the more interesting ones to my Blogroll.



Along the way I discovered that author Patricia Pearson's blog seems to have disappeared. She's got 2 new books out, so that may have something to do with it. I used to email her and call her an animal abusing anarchist from time to time. Sometimes she'd email me back, calling me various highly creative names in return.



A really talented writer can come up with the most hillarious names anyone could ever think to call you. Not that I'm advising anyone to email an author and just start off with, "hey shithead" in hopes that they'll get a funny reply.



One time she referred me to her editor and advised me to submit some articles. She said I was funny in a way that she particularly liked. So I submitted, but was rejected. When I sent her a copy of the first rejected article she read it and said, "take the anger out." It was good advice, but the article never did fly.



Apparently articles about rednecks, mullets, and Camaros just don't click with Canadian papers.



It didn't fly when I sent it around to tiny Memphis-area papers, either. And of that I must say there are some really stupid articles being printed around here, articles that I wouldn't even bother to wipe my ass with. But anyway, I'll just keep practicing and maybe one of these days ... I'll start my own magazine again, like I did in college, and just print whatever the hell I want.



THAT'LL SHOW'EM!



Anyway, My Employer has recently blocked all access to internet email accounts, so out of shear desperation I emailed Patricia from my work account. I never, ever use my work email account to email people outside. I don't know why I just had to today. All I wanted to say was, "hey Chairman Mao, where is your blog?"



How urgent is this? Yet for some reason I couldn't wait until I got home.



I'm stressing over work. I can't figure out if My Boss is just busy or if he's setting me up for a surprise lay-off or some alternate screw-job in mid January or what. I've had a lot of bad things happen to me in January over the years, so when it gets close I start to worry.



I may take up smoking just to try and break into his clique.



I'm removing several of my work-related posts just to CMA. You never know when your boss my take an interest in reading your blog and then decide to get rid of you over it.



Well, I have to look back at the script files before I go home. My Coworker will be in tomorrow and I will be on vacation, so he won't have any idea what I've changed. I need to make sure it's working before I go. Or else make it all so confusing that he won't know what it means until after I get back.

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Who's a Jackass?

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Loonies on the Path - part V - the Roads Are Poop

I had to go back to work this morning, after being sent home in an ice storm Wednesday, frozen in on Thursday, and officially on vacation Friday and the following Monday. I hadn't even tried to drive my truck on the roads until today. I had hoped the roads would all be cleared by now. They weren't.

Every road I take to work is considered a 'back road.' And on all of these roads anywhere that there is shade there is also ice. And of course all the bridges are frozen, too. I did pretty well considering my truck is a one-wheel-wonder. But I did give a woman a heart-attack after she and three other people apparently slid off the road midway on a frozen hill. I was coming up the hill when I saw all 4 of their cars scattered on both sides of the road. A woman had gotten out of her car and was apparently intending to cross the road on foot when she looked at me coming up the hill. Just as I came close to her I hit ice and started to fishtail.

"Ah ha, this is probably how they all ended up in the ditch" I thought to myself ingeniously. The woman immediately leaped behind her car and appeared to squat and pee. But I managed to straighten it out and keep on going up the hill without joining them in the ditches or peeing myself.

Later, on the most dangerous part of my daily drive, a curvy hill that is slick even when dry, I got behind a woman in a black Nissan Maxima. Much like the woman in the gray minivan this woman did all the wrong things for icy roads. She stopped at the bottom of the icy-covered hill and then began trying to climb it at about 2 miles per hour. This, of course, forced all the rest of us to stop at the bottom of the hill, too. And unlike her, I do not have front-wheel-drive, so I cannot climb the hill at 2 mph. I had to wait for her to get mostly up and then begin the climb at my own, somewhat faster speed. I caught her at the top, at which point she began down the other side, entered an icy curve, and hit her brakes about midway through it. I did not hit my brakes, not wishing to slide across the oncoming lane or wind up in a ditch, so I began to gain on her. I nearly rear-ended her, which I would have done rather than choosing to skid out of control, but miraculously I was able to slow enough by using my clutch not to squash her any.

At this point I became aware of the fact that I was cursing her in an unusually polite manner under my breath. Everything I said to myself about her driving skills was far too nice, with nothing that might truly be considered obscene ever leaving my mouth. I then realized that she had a Christian fish on the back of her car, which I had apparently noticed before.

You might be thinking, "So what? Call her a fuckhead just like you would anyone else." But no, I was not going to do that, and I'll tell you why.

When I was a freshman in college I was driving to physics lab in a rainstorm in my pristine 1971 Monte Carlo. I got stuck behind a man who must have been over 100 years old and drove accordingly. I had my radio on and was listening to it more than worrying about the slow old man or the driving rain. I finally decided to pass him, being careful because of the rain.

Just as I was moving around him in the right lane the DJ said something relating to the then-recent scandal involving Reverend Jimmy Swaggart and a hooker he had employed. Of course the DJs were making fun of him. I joined in without really thinking about it.

"Jimmy Swaggart is a jackass," I said aloud.

As soon as the words had left my mouth the backend of my Monte Carlo kicked out and I spun 3 times completely around, passing the old man while going backwards. Just as I was regaining control by using my gas pedal as a thruster the way we used to do in the old Asteroids game, a woman driving a stationwagon going the opposite way clipped my rear end, not even trying to avoid me, and ripped a huge hole in the rear of my car. This sent me back out of control and straight off the road at a giant tree. As I began to realize that I was definitely going to hit the tree I threw up my hands and said, "Oh come ON, God!"

This qualifies as a prayer. I am Baptist and I know these things.

The next thing I knew I was parked in an unhappy man's yard next to his tree. I had somehow not hit the tree even though I had no control at all and was absolutely, most definitely going to hit it. I couldn't possibly have avoided it. I have no idea how I missed it. As I said, I was on my way to physics and physically it was impossible for me to miss.

I studied engineering and computer science, and minored in math. The probability of winning the Powerball lottery is higher than of me missing that tree. Trust me.

By the way, if engineers bank a curve so that it slopes downward toward the outer edge instead of upward like it is supposed to the curve does not have 'negative velocity.' My dynamics professor was all too glad to inform me of this while the rest of the class laughed at me. The university, despite being an engineering school, mysteriously banked a sharp curve on campus the wrong way and naturally I asked about it. Now that I am older I realize that they did this not because they were illogical, but because they were cheap-assed bastards.

Anyway, getting back to my crash, my Monte Carlo was ripped open, stuck in this man's yard, and totalled. The man took the time to come out and tell me that I had better not have hurt his tree and had also better not trench his yard when I drove off his lawn. He was totally unconcerned about my state of health. The woman who had hit me didn't even get out of her car after she stopped. She just sat and looked at me. So needless to say I was late to physics lab and never called Jimmy Swaggart any names again.

And I also don't use the standard library of curse words when dealing with poor drivers who have a Christian fish on their car.

So there you have it.

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On the road from Memphis to Alabama - Christmas day

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Cold Frozen Memphis Street

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OK, I'm Cold Now. Open The Door!

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Even Cats Don't Like Being Farted On At Christmas

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Merry Christmas

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Frozen Christmas Eve

It's still colder than cold here and the ice has not melted much. My Wife and I walked the neighborhood again today, like we did yesterday. There were fewer 4-wheelers out skidding around on the icy roads than yesterday for some reason. But down at The Park there was an enormous number of kids sledding the only real hill in This Small Town.



It is the perfect weather for sledding, with several inches of solid ice covering everything and about one inch of snow on top of that. You could hear the kids' screaming before you even saw them on the hill. It looked as if the entire neighborhood had gathered there, with sleds of all sorts and a few hubcaps and carboard boxes to ride. The sled trains were my favorite to watch, with kids holding onto the sled behind them, intending to go straight down in an orderly line-up, but always getting spun around and ending up backwards and on top of each other by the time they reached the bottom. They always ended up laughing no matter how it turned out.



Despite the ACLU's fanatical hate-motivated attacks on Christmas all across the country, an apparently fearless man in my neighborhood has erected a very large sign reading, "Merry Christmas" on a small hill in his back yard, which can be clearly seen from the main road. We're all waiting for the ACLU's Gestapo agents to invade, but we're also waiting for the Justice Department to finally do its' job and charge the ACLU with racketeering for it's criminal harassment of Americans' First Amendment rights through endless malicious lawsuits. Maybe Hell will freeze over this year and the Justice Department will finally get off its' ass? That would be one hell of a Christmas miracle.



Can you say 'hell' and 'Christmas' in the same sentence or is that a sin? I'm not actually sure.



Anyway, I will confess to sledding the hill in this man's yard with nothing other than my denim-covered ass to ride on. Even though my butt was really cold for the rest of the walk it was still worth it. I had a blast and My Wife had a good laugh, watching me slide all the way across the street behind his yard and into The Park where all the kids were.



A lot of spots that yesterday were safely covered with a layer of snow have since smoothed out and only the ice is showing now. I fell on the sidewalk, landing flat on my back. Of course, I was kicking a block of ice along like a soccer ball when it happened, so I can't really claim total victimhood. Soccer and ice weren't really meant to go together. That's what hockey is for.



Somehow, walking on the ice along our usual route took us 2 hours. Perhaps because after the sun went down we found ourselves practically skating to get home? My Wife said her fingers were feeling really frostbitten and so I put an extra pair of gloves that I had in my pockets over the gloves she was already wearing. She said it wasn't enough. Her hands were hurting really badly. And somehow her hiking boots made a gash in the back of her ankle on one foot, leaving a bloody spot on her sock. Neither of us could figure that one out since nothing sharp was showing in the boot.



All the cold weather and hard sidewalk landings were quickly erased from her mind when we got home. We made hot chocolate and sat on the couch drinking it while watching Christmas movies on DVD. Ralphie got his Red Ryder BB gun again this year and My Wife got to curl up under a blanket with hot chocolate and our never-shy black cat on her lap.



Everything was perfect and tranquil until I farted on the cat. She usually doesn't react at all, but I guess this time it must have really burned her nose because her eyes went totally black and she jerked her head back as far as it would go. Then she flicked her tail and jumped down, hiding beneath the glass table in front of the couch as if she were mortally wounded. I tried to apologize, as best as you can to a cat, but My Wife's violent laughter made it seem somewhat insincere.



Cats know when you're laughing at them, in case you didn't know.



So anyway, all of us, except perhaps our cat, Eliza, had a great Christmas Eve. And now everyone is snug in their beds except me. Because I'm an idiot and I stay up all night typing on my Blog for no real reason. And it's really cold in the house right now. Although it's no colder than it was, so that just means I'm really tired and should go to bed.

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White Christmas Fun

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Memphis Ice Storm 2004

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Annual Ice Storm - Memphis' White Christmas

It's time for our annual Memphis ice storm, and as usual it's a good one. I skidded home at around 4:00 this afternoon in a steady falling sleet, after having driven for an hour behind a woman in a minivan who seemed to enjoy piling up cars behind her in the ice and snow so that she could hit her brakes in every turn and on every downhill. You know, the times in which hitting your brakes on ice is generally the worst possible thing to do and forces everyone behind you to either hit theirs, too, or hit you. I was all for the hitting her part, but unfortunately I was 2 cars back and flying along at 10 mph.



I did notice, as I finally got to pass her at that brief 4 lane section of Forest Hill Irene, that she sped up faster than she had driven the entire time, reaching perhaps 30 mph, in an effort to block out all the cars trying to get the hell away from her. Three of us escaped before the road returned to being only one lane each direction. Then she quickly slowed down again, using her brakes, I'm sure, and went back to tormenting the hundreds of freezing cold people piling up behind her in the slick ice.



I don't know where Ass Rider Boy went to, but I think this woman must be his mother. I know she is someone's mother. She reminds me of my own mother. She is a real mother, that's for sure.



Can you say 'passive aggressive?' I knew you could.



There is definitely something about a sudden freeze that makes people irritable and cranky. Even my cats were beating the hell out of each other when I got home.



Anyway, as I was driving in the slick ice and bad traffic My Boss called me on my cell phone. Yes, not just once but 3 times. I answered the first time, skidding around with only one hand on the wheel and now diverted concentration, but when he didn't actually have a reason for calling I decided that perhaps he wanted to see if he could hear a live car crash through his cell phone and just maybe I should let him call someone else instead of me. I let it ring from then on and kept my focus on the icy road.



I'd also like to mention the fabulous Memphis radio stations, not one of which was offering any sort of traffic report during this massive storm. Oh, there was plenty of talking, but nothing about the many, many accidents and blocked intersections that freezing travelers might want to avoid. Not a single, solitary one.



After I had been home awhile I called My Boss to ask him about The Culmination of My Project and the way he seemed to take every single bit of the credit and give none to me. He assured me that everyone up the chain was fully aware of what a great job I'd done and that there would be some sort of reward down the line.



Here's the dilemma: do I believe him and ignore my gut feeling that I'm getting screwed or do I try to take matters into my own hands as I've already tried unsuccessfully to do thus far? Or do I try to find someone I can trust at The Bank and consult with them about this?



Trust is a very hard thing to find in a large company, as I learned the hardest possible way after dealing with the Most Evil Living Being I've Ever Met In My Life when I worked at The Large Memphis Express Shipping Company. Yes, I got 'Robbied' there and I have no intention of ever allowing such a thing to happen to me again.



I already tried briefly consulting with The Very Important Female Executive Vice President about my desire to make the most of my recent success, but I got a definite impression that she had already made something of an alliance with My Boss and thus worried that I might be somehow maneuvering around him. So I took what advice I could get and moved on.



I later talked to My Executive Vice President about my desire to take my victory and spring to something more. He couldn't offer me much, he said. I later learned that he has been promoted to the number 3 spot in the company and thus has quite a lot on his mind which I'm sure is more important to him than my career concerns. He moved to Birmingham today, house, family and everything. I was lucky to have gotten in to see him at all. Perhaps he'll at least remember my name? Maybe one day he will remember what I'd said and give me a chance? Who knows?



Anyway, it's presently 21 degrees in Memphis and the ground is frozen and white. Snow is predicted to cover the ice tomorrow. The roads are probably not going to be passable. My Boss already said that I should not anticipate coming in to work. Nothing is predicted to thaw until after Christmas, which is probably about the time that the mother in the minivan will finally arrive home.



Oh by the way, unlike Ass Rider Boy I see this same woman in traffic every single day. She's always like this.

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Oh @#*&!!!!!

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The Wrong Damned File

For 3 days I've been modifying a script file, in between solving system problems and generally saving the day like the Lone Ranger while My Coworker takes his much needed vacation. Today I've discovered that the script file The Vendor copied over, at My Coworker's request, is the wrong file. I've been slaving away making changes to the wrong damned file. Now I have to find the right one and start over.



Oh @#*&!!!!!

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Cold Titties

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Colder Than A Witch's Titty

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Sweet Baboo

After watching "Charlie Brown Christmas" on TV I turned to My Wife and said, "You're my sweet baboo."



Without looking up she said to me, "They have funny butts."



There was a long, confused silence and then I said, "what?"



"They have funny butts."



Another long, confused silence.



"The Peanuts characters have funny butts?'"



"What?"



"You said 'they have funny butts' after I said you were my sweet baboo."



"Oh, I thought you said something else! Ah ha ha ha!"



And she laughed and laughed.



What?

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WSJ, Rutgers University, and Microinequities - Part II: Response

Ms. Lublin responds, "No one at the conference talked about this disparity. I am going to forward your letter to ms. Moynahan, who led the workshop, for her reactions."



I appreciate the time and the effort. I genuinely do. I hope Ms. Monynahan responds. Perhaps this will lead somewhere, if not today then maybe sometime in the future?



Sometimes when confronting blatant discrimination against males I find that the only people willing to do anything about it are women. The men often sit silent, afraid to even breathe. This might seem odd, but I know many of the reasons, or at least I think I do.



I once emailed the Department of Women's Health asking about the existence of a Department of Men's Health, which I know good and well does not exist. To my surprise they responded that they feel there should be a corresponding department for males and encouraged me to lobby my representatives in Congress about this ridiculous disparity.



You never know who your friends might be until you engage.



Anyway, for now I'll just have to wait and see if anything more comes of this.

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Congratulations!

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The Culmination of My Project - Part III

The project is done. We are a success. My presumed rival has had her delivery date slipped 3 months.



A torrent of emails have come pouring in from the highest levels of upper management,

CONGRATULATIONS!

Thank you. Thank you all very much. It was nothing, really. As long as I have your attention let's talk about you giving me my own team to lead on a permanent basis and some stock options.



More on this, I guarantee.

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Ditched Again

Once again, just like the other day, My Boss and My Coworker waited until I went to the bathroom before racing downstairs to smoke and do lunch without me. I feel like I'm in elementary school again with this shit.

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Chopped Liver When She's Around

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I'm Chopped Liver

I went to work sick today. I had a very important meeting that I couldn't afford to miss.



After the meeting My Boss and I went downstairs to work on a problem with a Super Secure Vital Application. Then he mentioned an important lunch meeting he had and we both went back upstairs. I quickly got the impression that he was trying to ditch me.



After I went back to my cubical I heard My Attractive Female Coworker asking My Coworker, who sits in the cube next to me, where My Boss was. She was his 'very important lunch meeting.' She half-heartedly invited My Coworker to come along to lunch with them. He hemmed and hawed and very wisely declined, clearly knowing that My Boss did not want any other company for this particular lunch date.



By this time I was standing right behind her. She did not ask me if I wanted to go. I suspect Rutger's Women's Leadership Institute might consider this to be one of their 'microinequities' that feminist leaders are encouraged to get upset about, but of course only when it happens to women. Anyway, it was just as well that she was snubbing me, as I was preparing to send out an email informing My Team that I was going home sick.



If I hadn't felt crummy enough before I certainly did by then.



And it reenforces what I already knew. The first time I went to lunch with My Attractive Female Coworker she made a point of inviting My Former Boss to come, too. All the women love him and aren't shy about making it known (One girl tried to climb him in the elevator.) I could easily tell she really only wanted him to come, not me at all even though I was the one needing to talk to her about work. I had only asked her to lunch for that specific purpose and never asked again.



Each time I've had lunch with her it has only been because My Boss, former or current, was along. She'll only come for them.



Add to all this the fact that My Boss has formed a tight clique with my two coworkers who smoke with him, growing more and more distant from me and My Bitter Female Coworker who also doesn't smoke, and I'm just chopped liver in a cubical, shit on a stick, gum on his shoe, an updated resume on Monster.com.



Several times since becoming My Boss, he and My Coworker have begun playing a game where at lunchtime they'll wait for me to leave for the bathroom or the printer or most any reason, just for a moment, and then they'll race to lunch without me. If I go downstairs and see them there My Boss will make this stupid face at me, as if I'm the one who ditched him.



Kiss my ass!



Too bad there are no good IT jobs in the United States anymore. I'd like to find something more worthwhile, preferably far away from Memphis.

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WSJ, Rutgers University, and Microinequities

A woman writing for the Wall Street Journal recently did a piece about something she learned at a Women's Leadership Conference sponsored by Rutgers University's Women's Leadership Institute. She learned that women who want to be leaders should be constantly on the lookout for microinequities. It seems that anything at all that causes a woman to feel less than ideal should be considered a slight and dealt with immediately. This, apparently, is what true femine leadership should be all about.



I emailed the author, Joann Lublin, and asked her if anyone at the conference thought it an inequity that Rutgers University even has a Women's Leadership Institute while maintaining no corresponding Men's Leadership Institute or that it paid for a female-only conference lasting 6 days while having never held anything even remotely similar for males?



So far she has not responded.

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Did Ass Boy drive by my house or am I delusional?

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Ass Rider Boy Sighting?

It's been nearly a full week since I last encountered Ass Rider Boy and his Green Chevy Assmobile. But last night, while I was changing the oil in My Wife's car I thought I saw him drive by the house. It is hard to be sure since there were no other cars around for him to tailgate or otherwise harass. I did not get a chance to read his license plate. And I did not get to check the back hatch for the yellow ribbon he has stuck there. The driver did not flick me off or scream "fuck you." This makes it difficult for me to say for sure. There are certainly plenty of hunter green Chevy Blazers on the road and they can't all be driven by Ass Rider Boy. Perhaps I've enjoyed his crazy antics a little more than I should and now I'm hoping to see him again? After all, psychotic dickhead though he may be, he does make rush hour a little less boring.

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Ass Rider Boy waves "hello"

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Driving in Memphis (Ass Rider Boy) - Part IV

Driving home from work I came upon a line of cars jammed up because of an accident. I let in 4 cars ahead of me as we all pulled into a single file line. Suddenly a hunter green Chevy Blazer came flying up and tried to jam his way in front of me. There was no room. He immediately cussed at me out his window and shot a bird. This, of course, did nothing to make more room for him. He was going to have to actually wait a second for a space to open up like the rest of us.



After I pulled past the accident the Angry Boy in the Hunter Green Chevy Blazer came flying past me. He passed the woman in the white Pontiac ahead of me, too. Then he jerked over in front of her and locked up his brakes. He stuck his hand out the window and started shooting the bird over and over. He'd speed up, then lock up his brakes, again and again. I'm sure the woman he was doing it to was as mystified as I was as to what he was mad at her for. He just seemed mad in general and determined to take it out on the whole world.



He continued doing this to the woman all the way down the road until we came to a 4 way stop. Then he stopped short and just sat there. I waiting awhile and then decided to honk at him because he is an idiot and that's what horns were created for. He started to go and then stopped again. Then he started to go and stopped again. He wasn't even looking to see if it was clear. He was just being an ass. The woman he was doing it to did not appear to react. After we had all turned onto the next street he drove 10 mph, shooting the bird randomly as he drove. At the first connecting street the woman in the white Pontiac pulled off, apparently fed up with the Little Asshole in the Green Chevy. He continued driving 10 mph and shooting birds out the window, now at me. Then he started flicking his hand around, as if he were pretending to fly with his hand the way children do while riding in cars.



We drove all the way to the next intersection at which point he ended up in the lane to go straight, where he stopped short again. I went around him into the turning lane, briefly considered swerving into the huge open spot directly in front of him that he had created by stopping short, but then decided not to bother with him. I needed to turn, not go straight. He wasn't worth my time.



He honked, presumably to get my attention, although with him it is hard to know for sure who he is focusing on. I had seen his tiny finger already and wasn't impressed so I didn't look over. I just continued waiting on the light. I didn't even shoot him a bird. Some people are just too worthless for a reaction. Little Asshole Boy was clearly one of those people.



The light turned green and as we went our separate ways I recognized the Little Asshole as the same Asshole from yesterday. Apparently in this person's case his incredibly bad driving has nothing to do with the weather or lack of sleep or anything. He's like this all the time.



I also realized that he hadn't meant to go straight at the light. Yesterday he was all the way into My Little Redneck Town before he passed me to tailgate a Toyota. Where he went straight just leads into a large neighborhood that loops around and around, but never takes you anywhere. He had needed to turn left.



I'm pretty sure I'll be writing more about Green Chevy Blazer Asshole in the future. Since we both take the same route home each day I should end up with plenty more stories to tell about The Adventures of Green Chevy Asshole Boy.

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$$$ Rollover $$$

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Driving in Memphis (Loonies on the Path) - Part III

Today was exceptionally strange. Last night during the hours normally reserved for sleeping the temperature hovered at the perfect level between warm and cool. If you moved around or breathed too heavily it was too hot. If you totally relaxed and fell asleep it was too cold. I can't explain how this works. I just know what last night was like. Perhaps it was the humidity?

So this morning in traffic people seemed odd and edgy. There was no middle ground. There were slow drivers blocking the flow. There were fast drivers riding bumpers. And there were no drivers in the middle.

Actually, you could be a driver in the middle, but if you were then someone was glued to your bumper, making it appear as if you were a slow driver blocking the flow of traffic. Mostly though, the slow drivers were truly slow, driving well below the speed limit on every road, as if in a daze.

On the drive home after work, traffic was not simply the same, but worse than this morning. The slow drivers were there aplenty, never exceeding 40 mph and rarely even reaching that before their minds wandered and they coasted back down to 30 or even 20 mph. The fast drivers seemed even more impatient than they were this morning, having perhaps drank a lot of coffee and failed to go pee during the workday. I'm only guessing, obviously.

I was stuck in the middle of an odd traffic situation, with a slow white Honda crawling in front of me and a Hunter green Chevy Blazer SUV riding hard on my bumper as if trying to push us all along faster. I had previously been behind the SUV, but he seemingly fell asleep at a green light and I passed him. It was at an odd intersection, still under construction, and people often pass slow drivers and narcoleptics when making a right turn there. I did so to him when he suddenly decided to pull halfway to the side and zone out.

And as soon as I had passed him he suddenly woke up in a rage and floored his gas pedal after me. He nearly hit me from behind he came up so fast. It was annoying and made no sense. I did what I always do when dealing with a seemingly insane or retarded driver on my ass, I flicked my mirror to the side so that he could view his own headlights at whatever level he chose to set them and I could see nothing of him at all.

Ignorance is bliss and when someone is on my ass I prefer ignorance to a good brake pedal, especially considering how much it hurts to get rear-ended when you're driving a minitruck. Believe me, it hurts a lot.

So there I am, crawling behind a slow white Honda, with the woman driving deeply interested in something or someone in her backseat, far more so than on the road ahead. She is doing about 30 mph and has accumulated a line of cars which includes me. I am simultaneously stuck behind her and being aggressively tailgated by High School Boy in his momma's SUV behind me.

At an intersection which briefly becomes 4 lanes I am rid of High School Boy along with several other SUVs that have been piling up in the line behind Slow White Honda Girl. At this point I expected High School Boy to break free and run happily away, now content that he was no longer behind either me or Slow White Honda Girl. But no, he did not exactly do that. What he did was to jump onto the ass of a very fast SUV that passed us both before him.

I drive as fast as anyone when I get the chance. It's pretty rare for anyone to ride my ass or pass me because I'm too slow. Some days I drive faster than others, but on most any day I'm a pretty good judge of speed. The SUV that first passed us all by in the 4 lane section was moving fast. If I had gotten behind him he would have left me behind even after I sped up to the speed I normally drive. But High School Boy wasn't happy. He was like Matthew Shepherd, determined to ride someone's ass whether they liked it or not. It didn't matter who was in front of him or how fast they went.

And speeding along right behind High School Ass Rider Boy was another SUV, riding his ass just as aggressively.

I eventually lost Slow White Honda Girl. The rest of the drive home was much the same, with everyone either driving very slowly, or very quickly and with extreme impatience. I did manage to get home without anyone else attaching to my ass, but that was only because the rest of the drive involved 4 lane roads with room to pass.

I don't know that everyone in this area slept poorly or was otherwise affected by the temperature last night, but they sure drove like it today.

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The Evangelical ACLU

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Atlanta, the ACLU, and Evolution

The ACLU is suing Cobb County schools in Atlanta for violating separation of church and state by promoting religion.



The schools put a sticker on their biology books which says, "Evolution is a theory, not a fact, regarding the origin of living things. This material should be approached with an open mind."



You might read this statement and say, "but evolution is a theory and not a fact. And approaching science with an open mind is generally a good idea."



If this was your reaction then congratulations, you are a normal, non-ACLU sort of person. But apparently the ACLU, in true separation of church and state fashion, considers any questioning of evolution to be blasphemy and heresy punishable by excommunication from the Church of the Prehistoric Atheists. Nevermind that the statement is entirely true. Truth is not important where a socialist lawyer is concerned. All that matters is dogma.



Don't question the dogma.



The judge in the case, Clarence Cooper, asked this interesting question: "Why put a sticker on the book when that's already in the book?"



So this statement about evolution is already in the book? And yet the ACLU is suing anyway? On what grounds?



If I put a sticker on my sociology 101 textbook that says, "socialism has killed more people than all the world's religions combined" do you think the ACLU will come after me? After all, the statement is true. And my sticker would be much closer to actually mentioning God than the evolution thing. And it would certainly step all over the religious beliefs of the ACLU and it's militant army of socialist lawyers.



I think perhaps this is a case of the ACLU's religion being questioned in a state that the arrogant elitists consider poor enough and ignorant enough that they can just trample all over their rights. After all, they've done it many times before and gotten away with it. Why should this time be any different?

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Strange Changes

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Strange Changes

I remember in college 2 girls I hung out with who were radical socialist feminists. One night as we were driving along, all 3 of us packed into the front seat making fun of a Guns'N'Roses song on the radio, the Future ACLU Lawyer who was driving turned to me and said, "You know, you'd be the perfect man ... if you'd just give up everything you believe in and everything you stand for."



The other girl agreed. And they each seemed to feel satisfied that they'd done me a great favor by telling me this.



"So what you're saying is that you like me, but you'd like me better if I'd change every single thing about myself, everything that makes me who I am," I asked, somewhat rhetorically.



"Yeah," they both said in unison.



"So then you don't really like me at all. You like what I could be if I were you, only male."



I understood what I was hearing. If I'd just tell them pretty lies about myself they'd love me so much more.



That's just how it is sometimes, you know? Many people don't care that you are lying to them. They just like the way it feels to hear it and they'll reward you for that feeling. President Clinton's loyal feminist following during the sexual harassment revelations springs to mind.



I have recently found myself at a strange new place in life. I still fight for everything I believe in. But I do it quietly, behind the scenes more and more, talking only to those with the influence or potential to make things happen. I find that I'm less willing to speak up for The Truth to most people, even when I know it's very important. It's not that I don't care, or at least I think it's not that. It's just that I no longer believe that people really want to know The Truth.



Yes, I realize that this is old news. Don't speak Truth to Power, they always shoot the messenger, no good deed goes unpunished, your ass does not look fat in those jeans. No one really wants to hear the truth, especially when it interferes with their favorite self-deceptions.



"Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies, tell me lies."



But somewhere deep inside is this belief that ordinary people want to know The Truth because it is so important. You can't solve your problems if you don't know The Truth. All you can do is wander in the dark, allowing the problems to continue. Or worse, you can make the problems increase and grow until they destroy you. It seems logical that people would want to know what The Truth is, doesn't it?



But they don't. What is logical is not what is true when it comes to people. Look at all the TV commercials for self-deception and self-destruction: "You DESERVE to be rich. You're ENTITLED to have everything you want. Don't you FEEL that you should have everything given to you at someone else's expense? Of course you do. And I'll help you get it if you'll just join my political group/send me money/divorce your husband/drown your children/buy this crap/watch my show."



More and more I find myself sitting silently while people around me parrot falsehoods that they just heard on television or read in the local paper. Lies that I already know a great deal about and could easily explain if I wanted to, or thought anyone really cared. Lies that I know will hurt them if they follow them to their conclusion.



"What do I have to do to get you in a new car TODAY?"



"Driven by a little old lady, only on Sundays."



Yesterday our Benefits rep was explaining to us our new Health Care options. They suck and they cost a whole lot more for a whole lot less. A black woman was especially infuriated, realizing that she could barely afford it. "This is Bush's fault! We need government Health Care. We need Universal Health Care right now!"



Who was it that the Trial Lawyers Association supported? Do you even know why this matters or how it relates?



People are quick to blame the President when they don't understand things. Bush is the latest whipping boy. And yes, Clinton was blamed for things he had nothing to do with before that. On and on it goes.



And if you think it sucks now, just wait. We'll most likely get our Universal Health Care soon enough. And then maybe you'll see things in a new light.



"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away ... "



My Coworker blames the rise in gas prices and building materials on Bush, too. I started to explain to him about China's rapidly expanding economy and the unexpected affect that sending many of our best jobs to a nation of over 1 billion has had on the cost of basic supplies, but then I thought better of it. Why bother? He doesn't want an explanation. He wants to rant. And if I explain then he'll take it as a defense of Bush and ignore everything I've said. That's what he did last time I tried to dispell a political myth. He hears what he wants to hear. He just wants to slam Bush. Get out of the way.



Have you ever watched someone do something incredibly stupid that you knew would hurt them and yet you just sat and waited, perhaps with your video camera running so you could laugh at them over and over again? And you said nothing to warn them?



"Hey ya'll, watch this!"



I used to be the guy who jumped out of his car and tried to help injured people at car accidents. Working at the Baptist Student Union on Friday and Saturday nights and driving home at 2 a.m. I was the first person on the scene at many serious car accidents. I tried to help. I got involved.



I don't know what I'd do now.



I remember the Baptist Campus Minister talking about how to tell people about Jesus and how to get their attention when they weren't interested. It occurred to me that Jesus never bothered with people who weren't interested. He never chased someone down, repeatedly trying to change their minds. Why should I? And I said so out loud.



Oops.



I won't give up my friends to defend a politician. But I won't give up my beliefs for anyone, no matter who they are. I may not bother to tell them about my beliefs, especially if I sense that they are not willing to listen. I won't try to explain what I know about China's economic impact on the United States. I won't talk about the origins of the very concept of civil rights to those who call themselves civil rights activists, yet seem bent on eliminating the very rights they claim to defend. I won't tell an ACLU feminist attorney what I know she wants to hear just so she'll be my friend or perhaps even sleep with me. I won't bother to debate her for her entertainment. I won't fight with people who just like to fight.



Run silent. Run deep.



I'm tired of talking. I can't save the world. Neither can you.

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Angry Political People

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Politics and Angry People

I've just read an article about angry people in San Francisco who are planning to boycott all states in which Bush received the majority of votes. They say they are angry and have no tolerance for diversity of beliefs when it comes to politics or religion. They want to hurt the people in the states that didn't vote exactly like they did. They want civil war. They want blood.



Many of my friends are angry, too. They want to abolish the Electoral College, bring back Bill Clinton, and rage against the Republicans. They don't think jokes about anything political are funny, at least for now. They are mad at me because I'm not upset enough, because I haven't said who I supported, if anyone, or perhaps they are just mad. They had a conversation I should have stayed far away from, but didn't. Fool that I am.



I hate politics. I hate the way our two top political parties only want to offer up neutered, uninspiring candidates for the White House so they can better control them from behind the scenes. I hate 'triangulation.' I hate the way the boys and girls of the press want to spin all the stories based on how they feel about the candidates and issues rather than reporting the facts and letting us voting adults decide for ourselves. I hate all the annoying commercials invading my home through the TV explaining why 'my opponent is a poo-poo head.' I hate the massive amounts of mail I get from the political parties and a few independents asking for my money, but never asking for my views. I hate the dirty way this game is played, how much it costs us all, and how vicious it has become.



I'm not going to give up my friends for some stupid, arrogant, billionaire politicians. God knows the politicians wouldn't give up anything for me. This is just a game for them. I'm not going to stop being friends with people I've known since high school for George Bush, John Kerry, Michael Badnarik, Michael Moore, Michael Douglas, Michael Jackson, or the entire nation of France.



It's not that I'm not paying attention. It's not that I don't vote. It's just that I don't believe my vote is being counted as important by either side when I do. If it were they would make some effort to ask what matters to me. But they don't. They're all too busy playing the game. Meanwhile, I'm left standing in line at the polls for an hour and a half, dreaming of a ballot that includes the option of voting for an actual leader.



I hate the fact that Niccolo Machiavelli was right.

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Campaign 2004

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Daddy's gonna get you!

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Halloween Night and A&E is Scary

It's Halloween night. While sitting and waiting for the kids to come "trick or treat" at my door I've got the TV on. A&E has just run an ad for a show they are airing while I sit. It's called "Fatal Fathers" and is promoting the religious belief that fathers are the number one cause of death of pregnant women.



I've heard this story many times and I've checked it out many times. The number one cause of death of pregnant women is automobile accidents. "Partners" which includes lesbian lovers, are way down on the list of causes of death for pregnant women and women in general. But the show is arguing that there is an epidemic of murder of pregnant women by the father of the child they carry. So since it isn't true, what's the real story here?



In the early 1970s Marxist lesbian feminists in London began a campaign based on the belief that the heterosexual two parent family was a form of slavery for women and that in order to "liberate" women they must first destroy the heterosexual family. This has been written about in several women's studies books as well as books on Marxism which you can read for yourself, if you have the urge.



Anyway, as a part of this mission they created the lie that fathers are the number one cause of death of pregnant women. They pulled it out of thin air. Every time their anti-family claim was researched by non-feminists it was found to be completely false. But religion and politics has a special life of its' own. Truth and facts don't stand a chance when confronted with emotional lies and self-deception. So this and many other anti-male, anti-family lies live on in magazines, newspapers, television programs, and Julia Roberts movies. Researchers who point out that it is a lie are attacked for blasphemy, like the first men who declared that the world is not flat, and are subsequently punished for their heresy.



Plus, the marketing folks have found that woman-as-martyr/man as Satan sells really, really well.



So to hell with the truth. Let's spread some extremely destructive lies and sell a lot of shampoo! We'll get rich and anyone dumb enough to listen will get an ugly divorce and spend the rest of their lives in bitter isolation.



See? It's win-win.

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So Much Fun I Could Just Puke

Still here. Yep, still at work on a f---ing Sunday morning at 2:40 a.m. while Abercrombie (?) pretends to be looking into the problem of his patch script that doesn't work. I called My Coworker, the expert on this system. He didn't answer his cell phone. So I called My Boss. He said to call My Coworker. I finally got him on the line. He said he'd get online and look into it. 10 minutes later he called me up.



"Hello?" I answered.

He said nothing.

I said it again, "Hello?"

He said, "What?"

I asked him, "Did you look into it?"

He responded, "Did you call me?"

"No."

Long silence. "I called you?"

"Yes, you called me."

"Oh. I didn't mean to."

Shit. I think he's still laying in his bed asleep.



Abercrombie, the Vendor's rep, should have called me back 30 minutes ago, but God only knows what he's doing. This is going to be another long, wasted f---ing night at work. And I know The Boss will expect me in Monday at the usual time, as if I didn't work a whole damned day on Saturday into Sunday.



I am so tired.

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So Much Fun I'm Having

It's 1:50 a.m. and I'm at work, struggling with a software patch that should have worked seamlessly, but of course did not. I've just been on the telephone with Abercrombie and I think we've got it fixed, but I can't test it because the Unix Admins have the database down. So here I sit, half asleep and cold. I need some coffee and a warm pillow. I'm so tired.

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Eliza battles a mouse

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A Little Roughage Never Hurt Anybody

My Wife and I were sitting on the back porch reading when my black cat, Eliza, came over and sat down next to the rose bush. I glanced at her and noticed she’d dropped a rodent and was looking at it suspiciously.



“Hey, wha’d you catch there?” I asked her for some odd reason.



“What, did she catch something? Is it a mole,” My Wife asked hopefully.



The neighborhood mole has been terrorizing the entire street for years. We recently discovered that my genius of a cat has been catching it, carrying it around until it gets boring, and then dropping it still fully alive into our gardens. The mole happily buries itself and then proceeds to kill all sorts of expensive plants. The cat is enthralled. We had begun to suspect her of being a vegetarian, the traitor.



“No, I think it’s a mouse,” I responded with disappointment.



We looked it over, agreed that it was a mouse and then gave it back to her before returning to reading. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Eliza flipping the mouse into the air and pretending to catch it again and again. It was her favorite new toy. Finally, she brought it up onto the porch and just sat and licked it.



And then she started to bite at it.



And then suddenly I noticed that there was no sign of any mouse at all, not blood or hair or a tail or anything.



“Did you eat that? Did you eat the bones and everything?! Did you eat the whole thing without chewing,” I began to demand of my cat. My other cat was just watching her silently throughout the entire thing.



“What? Did she eat the mouse? Oh hell, now she’s going to fart all night. She’s been doing that all week. No wonder she smells so bad,” My Wife informed me.



I have virtually no sense of smell. I had no idea our Little Girl had been tooting and stanking up the place. I wasn’t really concerned about it anyway. But I guess I didn’t know that when cats eat mice they just lick them, then nibble them, then swallow the whole damned thing like a vitamin. My male cat used to chew them up and then drop the ass and tail on the doormat so I’d know what he’d done. God only knows how many mice the girl cat has killed. There could have been a Mouse Holocaust with her and no one would ever know except My Wife who detects the murders through the smell of the cat’s farts.



“I especially hate when they eat chipmunks,” she told me. “Those farts are the worst.”

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Conspiracy Time!

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Think!

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A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

Discussing politics with my coworkers is like swimming in mud. They don't actually argue a point. They just insult you if you disagree. Here's an example:



Are you pro-choice or anti-choice?



This is a not-so-subtle way of saying "do you agree with me or are you an idiot?" 'Pro-choice' and 'anti-choice', as if the topic of abortion is as simple as that.



Pardon me for pulling a Bill Clinton here, but define "choice." Any woman who has consensual sex*, not knowing that it can cause pregnancy, did not make a choice (But she's unusually stupid.) Otherwise you could argue that both consenting adults made their choice when they decided to have sex, which is the standard that the law currently applies to the father already. He doesn't get a "choice" beyond that. You want total equality? Fine, then either he gets to have equal say in the decision to abort or not, or else they both made their decision when they chose to have sex. Why should he be accountable like an adult and she be unaccountable like a child?



Not ready to argue that point? Then think before you bombard me with bumpersticker slogans.



And no, I'm not saying this is my position. I never got to finish explaining my position before my highly intelligent, but politically naive coworker fired off with this mentally retarded gem:



"I think anyone who wants to stop a woman from having an abortion should be forced to raise the kid. Ha Ha HA!!! EVERYONE would be pro-choice if they did THAT!"



No they wouldn't.



This is like saying anyone who wants to limit private citizens access to firearms should be shot. Is this how good laws are made?



Do you actually have an argument or do you simply have nothing to offer and so you resort to insulting everyone who disagrees with you? Why not just call me a 'poo-poo head' and get it over with?



This whole argument started over a discussion about the states' use of child seat laws and seat belt laws to raise revenue in a bad economy. Seriously. And I held the same position on abortion that I held on child seats and seat belt laws. It's none of the Federal Government's business and not their right to decide for us. We, the People, must make these decisions in our respective states through our votes. Also, the Supreme Court has already and repeatedly ruled that there exists a right of parents to decide how to raise their own children without government interference. So even the states do not necessarily have the authority to force your child into a plastic seat if you, the parent, don't think it's necessary.



My coworkers started off well enough, disgusted with Big Mother pulling people over to check their seatbelts and see if any kids are in the car, properly boxed and bound according to Federal guidelines. But when one of them raised the specter of abortion they both retreated reflexively into the Politically Correct fascism debate mode.



Agree 100% or be personally attacked.



Poo-poo head!



I'm not even sure either of them heard a single word I said because nothing they said in response had anything to do with my comments. It was as if they were arguing with an invisible militant Catholic nun and I wasn't there at all. They heard what they wanted to hear instead of what I said. I talked about the Supreme Court's role in deciding Constitutional issues and the limits on what cases it is permitted to decide, and they responded with derogatory comments about pro-lifers and the Bible. Who said anything about the Bible? Who said I was on either side? If I have my own views do I HAVE to join the other side?



You see, with PC Nazis you are either on their side or the WRONG side. You can't be somewhere else. And the problem is, I'm somewhere else. I'm not going to be labeled as one or the other when my own concerns and issues don't fit neatly with either of the media-defined, sign carrying, piss throwing, spitting, shouting sides. I want the courts to do their jobs. And I want them to stay out of issues that aren't part of their jobs. I want my say as a voter in issues that are not specifically under the jurisdiction of those courts. That's how our system was set up and that's the only way it works. Abortion is the best example I can think of. When the voters had "choice" it was legal to get an abortion in every state in which the voters "chose" to make it legal**. And that was most of the states, if not all of them, back in the 1960s. But the voters had a say and could outlaw things that they thought were ridiculous, such as late term abortion. And there were no massive protests or riots.



Most voters, over 70%, have indicated their opposition to late term abortion. Most women oppose it. They say by that point the woman clearly knows she is pregnant, has known for a long time, and has made the "choice" not to do anything about it. Decision made. End of discussion. Most voters also feel that if the woman's life is in danger and she wants to abort, even late term, that is also fine. Reasonable limits for reasonable people. No throwing piss, no burning churches or clinics, no screaming lunatics, no cops or judges.



But there is nothing reasonable about arrogant federal judges who answer to no one and consider themselves above the Law and the People. There is also nothing reasonable about the PC Nazis and their personal attacks. If you don't have a decent argument, shut the fuck up. You don't have to express an opinion about everything. Sometimes you just don't have one. Sometimes, no matter how important the issue to some, you just don't care. But if all you have to offer is a personal insult to anyone who thinks differently than you then you are an asshole. And that is all you're really trying to be. Sooner or later you're going to find yourself on the "other side" too.



That is, unless you never, EVER think for yourself.





* We never got to the topic of rape. This was a 15 minute lunch. Go do your own blog if it means that much to you.



** There is no state in which polls indicate a voting majority wanting to eliminate abortion altogether (No, not even Mississippi.) There is similarly no state in which polls indicate a voting majority wanting to prohibit any and all restrictions on abortions, including late-term abortions.

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Got To Keep The Loonies On The Path - Part II

So yesterday everyone was a lunatic in morning rush hour traffic, right? (Yes, you aren't supposed to start a sentence with 'so.' Get over it.) How about today?

Today was just as cold, if not colder, than yesterday. But the sun was shining and it was bright and clear. Everyone in my own house slept well last night, unlike the night before. I assume other households in the area may have had similar experiences, although obviously I can't measure that.

No one in a minivan tried to bulldoze me through the school zone. No one tried to play chicken at the intersection where we were both turning. No one passed on the shoulder. No one did anything at all which I noticed or considered unusually obnoxious. It was a mellow drive to work this morning.

So, is it a quantifiable fact that everyone was better in traffic today than yesterday or was it merely my perception?

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Driving in Memphis

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Got To Keep The Loonies On The Path

It's a crazy day in Memphis today. Everyone is driving like an enraged lunatic in traffic. The passive/aggressives are moving extra slow. The young and the restless are driving extra fast and close on the asses of everyone. The fat women in their Saturns with no tag are sitting stopped at green lights just to make the line of people behind them angry. The young punks are passing on the shoulders. People are cutting each other off. We need to pray for the eternal souls of everyone at 4-way stops.

So what is different about today? It's turned colder, for one thing. And it's very dark and cloudy this morning. Yesterday was colder than the day before and today feels colder still. Everyone in my house was extra tired last night. But none of us slept all that well. This morning was as dark as night. Changes in temperature, changes in seasons, incoming fronts, thunderstorms, snow, full moons, all of these sometimes seem to coincide with a day of crazy motherfuckers in traffic.

Yes, I know. This is an unproven theory. It has been studied using the scientific method and so far no one has been able to conclusively prove one way or the other what effect, if any, all the things I've mentioned have on human beings. All I know is what I've experienced in rush hour traffic over the years.

If one person seems like an asshole then it is probably just that one person. If I have conflicts with several people, but no one else seems to have a problem, then I am the asshole. If almost everyone in traffic seems to be experiencing some sort of odd problem then it is something else and I am going to be extra cautious.

I passed the fat woman in the Saturn who drove 30 mph and then sat at the green light while she rummaged around in her car. But I passed her legitimately during a brief 4-lane section of the road. A foreign-looking guy in an MR2 challenged me to play chicken as we both turned at an intersection. There was no reason for it other than piss and vinegar. A woman in a minivan rode my ass like a new bumpersticker while I was driving through a school zone where the yellow light was flashing for us to slow to 15 mph. I went 25. She wanted more and was trying to push me along. Generally you would expect a woman in a minivan to want people to respect the school zone speed limits, especially while school kids are arriving, but on this day and in this case she wanted me to run the little bastards down.

Once in the parking lot at work I thought I was safe, but no. As I got out of my truck a black woman in a Chrysler pulled up behind me, looked at the space across from me and the space next to me, and decided she wanted the space next to me. So she tried to run over me to get in it. She didn't pause even half a second for me to walk past even though I was already out of my truck when she pulled up. She wasn't going to wait for anyone. And it wasn't as if another car was coming to take either of the spaces she had to choose from. It was just her and me and I had already parked and gotten out. She was just impatient to the point of murder.

"There are two spaces, bitch. You could take either one without killing me," I mumbled to her bumper.

OK, so if the weather affects everyone in traffic then how did I drive today? Maybe it's just me. I did the same speed I usually do. As soon as I notice multiple drivers acting unusually obnoxious I check my speed and try to see if I'm aggravating the situation. This is the sort of day where you are most likely to get in a wreck and I don't want to. If there was something I did to encourage any of this, including the parking lot killer who was willing to run me down then I don't know what it was. All I know is this morning was rough and if you are driving in Memphis you should watch out.

Hopefully things will be better in traffic this afternoon when things have warmed up a little. But it remains to be seen.

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You don't know who I am!

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Silver and White Fireman's Gang

I recently noticed that The Fireman who lives up the street owns nothing but silver and white trucks. And all his children and cousins except one own the same. Every car and every truck is either silver or white. This is interesting to me because in psychology I learned that people often choose silver or gold vehicles in a subconcious attempt at communicating to the world their view of themselves as Superior Upstanding Individuals. And people often choose white vehicles because they view themselves as always being "The Good Guy."

My Fireman neighbor has 2 sons who drive pickups and who have run My Wife and I off the road many, many times for their own personal entertainment. One of them tried to run me down in the parking lot at Kroger while I was walking across the pavement on crutches. It was no accident. He knew exactly who I was and I knew exactly who he was in his dirty Ford monster truck.

The Fireman's sons have several friends who have not only run my wife and I off the road, but have tried to run us over as we walked down the street beside the curb. I had a confrontation with 2 of the "good old boys" the very same month I first moved to this town, after they ran us off the road while driving a white truck that they had borrowed from The Fireman. The driver shouted at me as we stood face-to-face in the street, "you fucked up when you messed with me. You don't know who I am."

I didn't know who he was, but I recognized him as the same driver who tried to hit my wife and me while we walked down the street the previous week. His bumper missed me as I leapt up into someone's yard by about an inch. And there was absolutely no reason for it other than the evil inside of him. We were just walking along minding our own business when he swerved straight at us and actually tried to run us over.

But what he actually meant by his comment that I didn't know who he was is that I didn't know who his friend's daddy is. If I had then I would have known that he is immune to The Law and can do anything he damn well pleases to anyone in This Little Redneck Town so long as he then runs to The Fireman and has The Fireman protect him from The Law. What he meant by "messing with" him was a reference to the fact that I had taken down his tag number after he ran us off the road for the 10th time in a row and then tried to drive home to call The Police. He had then whipped the truck and trailer around, run us down, and then he and his accomplice leaped out and tried to attack my wife and me.

Yes, because we got his tag number.

What stopped the Little Country Darlings from "whoopin' up" on me and my wife? A handgun on my hip. The driver charged at me without speaking a word. I even took a second to cuss at him in an attempt to get him to stop charging and start talking. He had no interest in talking. But then he saw the gun and nearly fell on his face as he attempted to stop dead in his tracks before I stopped him permanently. The passenger was silently charging for my wife until he saw the driver stop. Then he, too, stopped, if only to see why his Hot-Tempered Buddy had stopped. Only then did either of them discover that they had something to say to me, and it was all about how important they were and how I had "fucked up" when I crossed their Very Important Paths. They made a big production out of reading off my tag number as a sort of "so there." Keep in mind I could still have legally shot and killed both of them and they knew it. But they were far too proud to stop trying to run over me, even if they had to risk death to do it.

I found out that they were right, though. They can do anything they please to anyone in This Little Redneck Town and certain members of the local police department will protect them, even to the point of fighting with each other over it right in front of me.

I have a friend in the U.S. Secret Service whom I contacted about The Fireman, This Little Redneck Town's police, and the Demolition Derby Rednecks who attacked us. He looked into the police report and the city itself and said that This Little Redneck Town's police are either corrupt or incompetent. He said this whole area has a long history of corruption in high places and that I should watch out.

I find it ironic that the most dishonest and evil people almost always view themselves as being superior to everyone else. And how appropriate that they advertise it by wrapping themselves in lily white or shiny silver pickup trucks before using those trucks to ram church signs, mailboxes, pedestrians, and other drivers' cars.

The Fireman's sons are Little Rebels. Instead of white or silver like their father and family, they have choosen to drive black or red trucks. The oldest wrecked his brand new black Ford F150 truck the very week he got it. "Someone" apparently used the rear bumper to ram the Church of Christ sign down 1/2 mile from our neighborhood late in the night. The brick sign was smashed to pieces and the very next day The Fireman's son had a newly smashed rear bumper. That same night the unidentified Little Rebel rammed a telephone box and a privacy fence, both on the main road, not 100 yards from The Fireman's house. The tire tracks left behind on the lawns were all exactly the same. That's a lot of abuse for one thin chromed bumper to take in a single night. He had to replace it.

"Yeehaw! Hey ya'll, watch this!"

The Rebel's younger brother, who looks almost exactly like my assailant, was given a new bright red Chevy truck. He immediately put the rebel flag on the front bumper to announce to the world that it isn't just the truck that is red.

The Fireman has several family members living in my neighborhood, some just a few houses down from his house and others several streets over. His daughter appears to be a nurse and lives 2 blocks over from me. The Punk who attacked my wife and I after we took down his tag number, named Jeremy, lives in a house his parents own just a few streets from my house. He used to drive a silver Chevy pickup with the word "REDNECK" formed out of a Confederate flag stuck up in his back window, but something happened to that truck and he had to get a new one. The Good Old Boy that was with him, the one who charged at my wife after they both jumped out of The Fireman's truck, has family members living right on my street, just 4 or 5 houses up. He himself was living 3 miles away at his parents' house just 3 blocks down from Jeremy and his parents.

After the 2 Criminal Friends Of The Fireman's Sons had tried to attack my wife and I, and after the Officer In Charge showed them where I lived, defended them, and left, the other officers told me that I should have shot and killed both of The Bastards. That way the Officer In Charge and The Fireman couldn't do anything to cover for them. It would have been a clear-cut case of self-defense. My friend in the Secret Service said the same thing after I sent him the police report.

"Next time kill the fuckers."

After this incident all the vandalism of my cars began, including the shooting of my rear window, the draining of my brakes (twice), the cutting of my gas line, and the removal of my throttle return spring. It has continued for all the years we have lived here. I can't prove that they and their Gang of Kissing Cousins are the ones doing it. It could be someone else I know. What I know for certain is that it began the same night we had a run-in, the same night that Jeremy called every Redneck in town and had them surround the house and try to break in after The Police had left. At midnight I heard my hood slam shut and I ran outside just in time to see one of them riding as fast as he could on a shiny bicycle straight up the road to The Fireman's house. The next day the car would not start. The distributor had been vandalized.

How ironic. I drive a black truck. Supposedly, had I chosen the color on purpose like The Fireman's oldest son did, that would mean to psychologists that I wanted people to think of me as The Bad Guy. I could have killed both of The Trailer Park Punks if I had wanted to. They would never have bothered me or my wife again. The Police said it would have been justified. Yet because I let them live I have had only regret.

I supposed the moral of this story is "never pass up a chance to kill a redneck?"

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Bookstore Nazi

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Bookstore Fascists and Farting

For some reason bookstores have always made me fart a lot. I have no idea why this is. All I know is that whenever I enter a bookstore and begin to browse I always end up needing to fart several times while I'm there. This does not seem to happen in any other kind of store.

I used to be embarrassed by my bookstore 'condition.' Bookstores are usually fairly quiet places and farts can ring out rather loudly. It's hard to be discrete about a fart when the whole store is dead silent until the sound of my bottom ripping a 132 decibel blast echoes off the rafters. And then there are the stares, typically from overly serious people with no social lives who are most often found hanging out in bookstores.

I had at some point noticed that bookstores have an unusually large number of lesbians in them. Perhaps this is because they have an entire section of books devoted entirely to female supremacist fascism, which they call the Women's Studies section, whereas nothing even remotely similar exists in any form or fashion for males.

No, the "entire rest of the store" is not just for males and isn't similar anyway.

Whatever the reason, I first noticed the bookstore lesbians when a very small crew-cut wearing person, dressed in 1980s style state trooper sunglasses, a denim sleaveless jacket over a tank top with denim jeans and work boots, began very aggressively hitting on my wife.

Some people say 'sexually molesting', I say 'hitting on.'

This Village People wannabe wedged herself between my wife and myself and tried as hard as she could to pretend that I was not there. When my wife spoke State Trooper Butch acknowledged it enthusiastically. When I spoke she pretended not to hear. She claimed to be an architect and insisted that she had built many houses in the area and wished to build one for my wife (but not for me, apparently.) She was lying, as she quickly demonstrated her lack of knowledge while conversing with her intended victim, but she was willing to say most anything to keep the conversation going.

"What? You like Star Wars? I was in that movie. I played Luke. Yep, that was me."

I was not enjoying the femo-nazi "experience" of having her attempt to climb my wife in the bookstore and was considering how I might render her unconcious without being caught on camera when I suddenly and unexpectedly released a fairly potent gaseous expulsion from my ass. As the sexual predator was practically standing on top of me when this occurred it was quite unavoidable that she inhaled a good bit of it.

For what it's worth, I myself have virtually no sense of smell whatever, but I am told that females generally have a highly acute sense of smell, even if those females wish to portray themselves as males. I cannot say if this is true or not, but I can say that the immediate response of the diminutive lesbian Village People state trooper architect rapist was to instantly remove herself from my presence. She made a rapid excuse to my wife, still not acknowledging my existence, and fled.

Oh happy day when I discovered the joy of flatulence!

Since that day I have found that my condition, while apparently incurable, can at least have its' uses. After accidently wandering into the Women's Studies section (Womyn's Studies in some bookstores) I decided to make this my designated release area. Any time I find anyone in this section of the bookstore it has always been either a very angry looking woman who communicates to me in various ways that I am not welcomed there, or else it is some guy who appears to be lost. Either way, I browse the latest editions of the hate and the lies while waiting for the gases to release themselves so that I might return to where I had been before.

Oh, there are those who criticize me for this, saying I am committing some sort of hate crime against man-hating womyn, but I beg to differ. I have used this time to enlighten myself with the progressive writings of such authors as Catherine MacKinnon, Andrea Dworkin, Susan Faludi, Patricia Ireland, Gloria Steinem, and Marilyn French. I have even taken notes, particularly of their insistence that the purpose of the women's movement is not equal rights, but "the destruction of white, European males, capitalism, and the Christian Church." I have noted the blind faith in Marxism and Maoism. But most of all I have noted the hatred, the blind, spewing hatred.

I can't help it if I fart uncontrollably in bookstores. If I could I wouldn't do it. But seeing as I have been afflicted with this condition I might as well use it to expose those who would embrace murderous hatred to the stench of their own religion. Perhaps somewhere in their brains a connection will form, a connection between the blind hatred of one entire gender and the smell of my ass? I can't really say. But I can hope.

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Hurricane Ivan

According to the news Hurricane Ivan is going to hit directly on my
hometown in North Alabama. I am so worried. I keep praying to
God, "Please God, make it hit Birmingham. Please, please, make it hit
Birmingham."

Is this a sin?

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House Party

The Thong Trick

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Yellow and Purple Home

Last weekend My Wife and I went to my old home town to visit with some old high school friends. We followed my MapQuest map out into the middle of nowhere until we came to a large house sitting all alone at the top of a hill. The house was bright yellow with purple window frames, sitting on 10 acres of land. This had to be the place.

We pulled up the long driveway and parked in back. There were already a large number of cars and trucks and vans there. As soon as I got out I spotted several people I recognized from years ago. People slowly acknowledged that they had seen me and waved. "Hi!"

Pretty soon we were drinking beer, burping and farting, and making jokes about pretty much the same things we made jokes about in high school.

"BUUUUUURRPP!" Kelly can burp like nobody's business. And she's barely 5' tall. Where does it come from?

Sam showed us around her house. It is fantastic, 3100 square feet of lived in real life home. While we were upstairs viewing the bedrooms her littlest girl was in the hallway playing a video game on the TV. Suddenly the girl let out a loud, "MOOOOOMMMMMMIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" I looked out to see what she was screaming for. There was a man on the TV screen stroking what appeared to be a 15 inch long penis.

"Uh, you might want to see this," I said to Sam. At first she didn't seem to be sure if I was serious, but she finally came out to check. By the time she got out into the hall the TV had flicked back to the video game.

"What?" she asked.

"I swear there was a porn movie playing," I said, confused. So Sam hit the EJECT button on the VCR and out popped a lovely porno movie.

"Where did THIS come from?" Sam said genuinely shocked.

As we went down the stairs she turned to me and said, "I am SO disappointed in my little girl's reaction to a naked man and his huge penis." Then she smiled a familiar devilish smile that I hadn't seen in 20 years. I laughed.

This is such a fun place!

The search for the owner of the video ended with a surprise. Don, Sam's husband, said "That's ours. I was going to throw it away because it's worn out. I must have left it on the table down here somewhere." Sam blushed and nothing more was said about the video. With Don and Sam's sense of humor there is no telling if he was being serious or not.

At some point a bunch of us ended up sitting in the living room. Lisa sat in the middle of the room. Her husband was outside somewhere. Kevin sat to the left of me near the windows. Kelly, his wife, sat to the right side of the room, right next to Lisa. Everyone was talking about their kids. Kelly burped and it echoed off the high, smooth ceiling to make a lovely sound. We all applauded because, you must understand, there is absolutely no one in the world who can burp like Kelly. It is a gift from God.

Sam came in and sat down next to Kelly. They told stories of various wild adventures they'd had together in the years since I last saw them. Apparently the surest way to start trouble is to leave Kelly and Sam alone together. Sam's husband, Don, came in and stood behind her. He seemed to agree that leaving Sam and Kelly alone together was dangerous. We all talked and laughed for a long time.

Eventually we ended up in the huge den with Sam and Kelly battling each other in "You Don't Know Jack" on the computer. Diane told us how she prefered to walk around nude at home when she was single. After Diane married Ian she said his sons had one by one accidently walked in on her naked. At that point she figured they'd all seen her naked and so it didn't matter if they saw her again. So it was back to walking around naked. As she was telling us this all the little kids had climbed into the hand made pine entertainment center and closed the doors. A wave of giggles flowed out from within.

Diane put "Rocky Horror Picture Show" in the VCR and we watched it while talking and remembering people from high school. The kids became confused by the men dressed in women's clothes and slowly left the room to play elsewhere. Somewhere along the way we drifted into a conversation about how old Susan Sarandon was when she made the film.

At some point Kelly tackled Sam and tickled her until her face turned purple. We all laughed. As it began to get late my friends slowly headed toward the door. One couple at a time they gathered up their kids and loaded their cars. Melissa and I started to go when the last couple was leaving. But Sam said we should stay and talk. We hadn't seen each other in the longest time.

Sam's son came driving up the driveway as we stood there outside still talking. He is a football star. His girlfriend, who was with him, is a cheerleader. He was just voted Most Popular. Sam joked about being the anti-jock girl in high school and now having a teenage son who is Mr. Football.

We went back inside and talked for several more hours, until Sam finally fell asleep on the couch. We said goodbye to her husband and her sister. Sam was worn out. My wife and I slowly drove away. I was sad to leave. That had been more than just a reunion at someone's house. That house was a real home. And it was filled with some of the best friends I ever had.

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