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

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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So the governor of New Jersey is resigning. And he says it is because he is a "gay-American."

When did "gay-American" become a new hyphenated category? This caught me by surprise. I was unaware that it was necessary to add "-American" to "gay" when identifying oneself as such.

More important than that, really, is the question of who gets to decide what these hyphenated categories are and who is in them?

I mean, when do I get to decide what everyone else should identify me as? When do I get to create a new category of hyphenated entitlement for myself?

A little history here: I am technically a straight-male-Scottish-Irish-Welsh-Native-American. Other identifiers shall be added as I achieve "greater consciousness" of them. But that isn't really how I want to be identified. I mean, for crying out loud, it's just too freakin' long. And most of those labels aren't even included in government documents for me to check off anyway. Only "Native-American" offers me any hope of getting free tax-money and government contracts after I start up my own "minority-owned" business. But for that I have to be able to prove that I am somehow connected to my tribe or a reservation, which I am not.

I want something that REALLY identifies me. I want something that says, "this is who I am under the surface, on weekends when I get to relax, scratch myself, and fart."

I want to be known as an independent thinking, bullshit detecting, write-in ballot voting, soccer playing, muscle car driving, gun shooting, computer programming, underpaid, overworked, book reading, internet addicted, God-fearing, Southern male American.

And whenever I get caught doing something wrong, like blackmailing my brother-in-law while stealing from the state of New Jersey and making illegal real estate deals then I want to be able to pull this label out and use it as a shield, saying "if you prosecute me it means you are an irrational religious bigot who hates all independent thinking, bullshit detecting, write-in ballot voting, soccer playing, muscle car driving, gun shooting, computer programming, underpaid, overworked, book reading, internet addicted, God-fearing, Southern male Americans, and you should be ashamed!

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