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?"


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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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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