Indiana University Sexually Harasses Its' Male Students

Misandric College Posts Sex-Assault Ads in Men's Urinals Wed Aug 31, 8:10 AM ET

BLOOMINGTON, Ind. - Indiana University is taking a feminist anti-male message of hate about sexual assault to the men's restrooms.

Members of the lesbian-dominated Hating All Testicle Entities, or HATE, have recently copied other female-supremacist hate groups at Ivy League colleges by placing 600 red drain guards in urinals in Indiana dorm rooms with a message of anti-male hatred urging students to stop sexual assault by hating men.

"We're reaching people we wouldn't reach otherwise," spewed member Keira Berg, a highly unattractive junior. "Because typically when we have our school-funded male-bashing hate sessions the males don't come. That's probably because males aren't allowed, but that's all their fault too."

For years, colleges have tried to prevent sexual assault by teaching students that God is dead, marriage is a form of slavery for women, homosexuality is preferable to heterosexuality, males are inferior to females, Christians are evil and subhuman, any limitation on sex is a form of irrational religious oppression, and 'Amerika' is the Great Satan.

That approach may produce plenty of new socialist second-rate college professors, but it doesn't get at the root of the problem, said Karol McEichmann, assistant dean of womyn's affairs. The root of the problem is that men are all evil and should be driven from the education system entirely.

"We have almost succeeded," McEichmann said, " we have already altered the student population in the past 20 years from 70 percent male to just under 40 percent male and still dropping. Pretty soon we'll have driven males out of society entirely with this kind of overt school-sponsored, government-funded bigotry."

"It's far more effective for men to say to other men, 'I don't accept this as a way to deal with women,'" she said without explaining what she meant or ever stating what the red urinal guards would actually say. "Let's just say the actual messages express how we in the Womyn's Affairs Department feel about all males in general and leave it at that."

Male students have since been encouraged to file complaints and lawsuits against Indiana University for sexual harassment by an internet blogger named Nude Memphis Steve.

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Tomato Wednesday

Well, New Orleans and all of the Gulf area is a giant mess. They are evacuating the entire city of New Orleans now.

I have a meeting in 1 minute and I don't feel good. But at least our home isn't underwater. Haven't even tried the coffee yet this morning.

Got an interesting email from a Memphis independent filmmaker who wants to talk to me. More if this develops into anything.

Talked to a MyLittleRedneckTown detective. I asked him to take over the case, but apparently the detective it was assigned to is going to hang onto it. They said there are several drug informants they are asking for information as to who is trying to murder me and My Wife. I believe I know who it is and I don't think drug informants are going to have the answers. But maybe I'll get lucky and be wrong about that? It would be nice to see Mr. "You Don't Know Who I Am" going to prison. I happen to have a lot of friends throughout law enforcement, from the Secret Service all the way down to the Shelby County Prison guards. Yep, I know people in the prison Mr. Redneck would be going to. And I hope to introduce them to one another real soon.

Robin in Gainesville is very worried about her family. Many of them are in or around the areas that Hurricane Katrina hit, including New Orleans. If you pray, please pray for her and her family. She's very stressed waiting to hear from them. I know how this feels. When the Twin Towers were attacked a family member was supposed to be working at his desk in Tower II on the 72nd floor. We couldn't get through to New York for what seemed like eternity. We had no idea if he was alive or dead. Eventually we found out that a miracle had saved his life and he was in Albany at the time the terrorists attacked.

About stocks, I just told someone to buy Harrah's. Hurricane Katrina tore up several of their casinos down in Mississippi and now they are hurting. So if you see the stock dropping, that's why.

Time for the meeting. Gotta run.

By the way, I am still getting massive hits every single day looking for "julia louise dreyfuss nude." Seriously, what is up with that? Why Julia Louise Dreyfuss? Why not Jennifer Love Hewitt Nude or Courtney Cox Nude or even Stiffler's Mom Nude? Why her exactly?

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Soggy Tired Tuesday

We're all a little damp here today. One of My Wife's enormous butterfly bushes has uprooted itself and fallen over. My neighbor's lovely pine trees bombed our roof and yard with the usual assortment of pine shit. The power went on and off all night long. Each time it did the telephone next to my head went CLICK-BEEEEEEP, the ceiling fan cut on and off with a barely audible buzz, the air-conditioning cut on and off with a loud hum, and there was a huge flash of bright light and associated BZZZZZZZZZZZ coming from somewhere up the street where a transformer was frying like grease at McDonald's.

In short, I slept like a straight man in prison with a big gay cellmate last night.

My Wife, meanwhile, said she was unaware of any of this. She slept like a rock. Or so she thinks. She was cranky and tired this morning and didn't hear half of what I said to her. Then she yelled at me that I must not have said it loud enough because obviously there is nothing wrong with her and she would have remembered me saying it unless I did something wrong somehow.

Yeah, I don't think she slept as well as she thinks she did.

So today I have a programming problem that I have been wrestling with for quite awhile. It requires a lot of concentration, and yet I'm dog tired. Yes, that's DOG tired, for those of you in the Northern and Western states, as well as Canada and the Greater West. I would include the East, but Retarius was the only person I know of from the East reading my blog and he's gone now. So, if I have unnecessarily excluded someone, say perhaps some beautiful blonde Australian woman, please let me know (American men love blonde Australian women, in case you have been under a rock lately and didn't know.)

Anyway, the point is, DOG tired is a Southern way of saying that a person is damned tired, but without saying 'damned' and thus getting whacked in the head by your daddy.

Getting back to the programming problem, apparently these applications I am now supporting involve a certain high level of visibility. I say 'now supporting' because I have changed to a new team and now work with the Fantasty Art Comic Book Looking Woman who makes me nervous and causes dopamine to dump into my brain. Anyway, my immediate boss currently is a VP. But his boss, a Senior VP, is fully aware of everything we are working on and keeps up with our deadlines and progress. When things go wrong a man so high I don't even know his title emails or calls, wanting to know the status. It's enough to make a man sweat without the benefit of exercise, sex, or coffee. So I badly need my mental powers of concentration today.

Unfortunately, I am tired and struggling to focus. And it's raining outside, which is making me sleepier still. The women who run the coffee black market here yell at me when they catch me spiking the pot with 3 or 4 extra scoops. But I need the kick. I need it. I need it real bad.

I wonder if I could create some sort of diversion to distract them just long enough for me to load up a fresh pot and fill my cup before they realize something is up?

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Katrina Monday

Manic Monday

It's yet another Monday. I'm about as tired as I was on Friday, which is not good. One of my coworkers is out sick. I once described her to you as the Fantasy Comic Book Art Looking woman because she has a physique that looks like something a comic book artist would draw, but no real human could ever be like. In short, she's rather attractive. Anyway, I hope I'm not sick.

Hurricane Katrina is blasting New Orleans, which would be fine if it just washed the city clean, but it has apparently flooded the town and forced families to flee to the Superdome. The Superdome has since broken open due to the flood waters and now water is rushing inside, along with the rain now pouring down on the people inside it.

I don't care what you think about New Orleans, this is a bad thing. Where are the Saints gonna play football?

OK, I didn't really mean that. I do like the Saints somewhat, but it's the people I'm concerned about. What a nightmare!

You know who could use something like this? Dallas. Or rather, Irving. Yeah, as much as I want to go to a Cowboys game in their original stadium the fact is that they need a new place to play pretty badly. Remember that game against the Eagles when it was 107 outside and closer to 130 to 140 down on the field? I sure do, because Dallas lost. The Eagles players were instructed to drink pickle juice before the game and people said this was why they handled the extreme heat better. Then people argued that this was ridiculous. And back and forth it went. All I know is, nobody wants to play in a stadium where it gets to be 130 and higher down on the field with absolutely no air circulation whatever.

See, the original plan for the stadium called for a complete dome, with air conditioning. But for some reason they never put the lid on it, so there is no airflow whatever and that place gets rank in the summertime.

Oh, and gas went up to over $70 per barrel today. Have you gotten gas yet? Better hurry. It hasn't hit the pumps, but it's gonna real soon. And with the hurricane hitting the Gulf it may bust those oil pipelines down there again and send oil prices even higher. Did you know about that? One of the U.S.' major oil supplies is down there and the hurricanes sometimes bust the pipelines. When that happens we have a supply problem until they get it fixed. As if we need that right now.

So, it's raining on me here. I'm betting it's raining on all of you down in Florida. It's probably raining on you bloggers in Georgia. And I know last time I talked to Stephanie it was raining on all you Texas bloggers, too. Hey, how come I don't have anyone blogrolled from Louisianna or Mississippi? Well, I expect anyone I know down in Louisianna is probably pretty busy right about now and not inclined to blog so much.

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WTF - Drooling Cats and Carpet Stains

Have you ever heard of cat drool staining a carpet? I hadn't. Not until today, at least. My cats have this special spot where they both love to sleep. It's right in front of the glass doors in back. They'll lie there all day long, looking outside, thinking about all the birds they see and plan to kill, and sleeping.

The problem is with my girl cat. She drools when she sleeps. I guess she's dreaming about eating the birds. Who can say? Anyway, I was cleaning the carpet just now when I found a bunch of little yellow stains in the midst of the huge piles of cat hair over there. It's her drool.

WTF?

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Stupid Google Man Doesn't Know What He's Doing

Since I've already thrilled you all with fabulous tales of my great investing skills I'll let you in on this great decision.

I didn't want to sell Google. I was going to hang on for the long haul. It's a young company with young visionary founders who are still very much in charge. This is what makes a great company that can stomp on older, more experienced competitors. I sold Google via automatic STOP order which I had set at the very seemingly reasonable price of $275. Google went from over $300 down to just below $275 before moving upward again. So it kicked off my STOP order and sold all my Google stock. This same thing happened back when I listened to all the experts who said Redhat was gold. The difference there was that Redhat was a turd and when I fell out I didn't want back in. With Google I didn't want out and I do want back in.

So, I broke several rules today, many of which I can only vaguely remember. But I also did a few things right.

1) I rebought Google today, at a higher price than I sold it for. This Dumb Memphis Mistake requires no explanation. It's just throwing money away.
2) I bought it on a Friday. Can't remember why this is usually a mistake. But in my defense, I waited until after 3 p.m. Eastern time so I could get some idea of the direction the stock was going with the 'real' investors. This requires more explanation then I care to give right now.
3) I bought it in late August, when the market is in the toilet and looking to stay there throughout September, and with oil prices going higher and higher. Who's to say that Google isn't about to turn around and dive like a Penguin after a fish come Monday, dropping way below the price I just paid?
4) I bought it on the fly, without much thought. I just made up my mind that I hadn't wanted out in the first place and jumped back in as quickly as possible to minimize the time between the automated sale and idiotic repurchase. "Without much thought" is the key phrase here.
5) I see insider trading reports showing that Mutual Fund Managers are buying Google up like mad. This can be good, if they are going to hold onto it long term, or it can be bad, as they are driving the price up artificially and will send it into the toilet if they should change their mind come December and begin dumping. Yes, Christmas is a common time for big stock dumps among the New York Wall Street elites. Still, I don't see a major dumping of Google any time this year unless something big goes wrong, like someone at the top dies or starts making speeches about using all the profits for global socialist evangelism like Steve Case, President of AOL, did right before he took AOL down the toilet.

So anyway, I'm an idiot and I've told you so. There are two big arguments about using STOP orders and I don't know which side I'm on. Right now I'm using them, but I just got burned by this one. The last time I sold because of one it was a good thing. And the time before that it was good, too. So it's open for debate as far as I'm concerned.

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What is your major malfunction?!

Lines? What lines?


If this car were any smaller it would be a riding mower, sooooo ... ???!

Soooooo, I had to work late last night with a problem. I ran by Lowes on the way home to grab some drawer runners. I got home at 8:30 and ran over to the house where the repairman is staying. He said he'd come over and we'd start putting the kitchen together. "Sorry I'm so late. Had a problem at work."

Soooooo, at 9:45 he came over. The tracks I bought, which were the length he specified, were too short.

Sooooooo, I had to stop by Lowes this morning on the way to work. I had to return the 20" tracks and buy 22" tracks. I needed 6 pairs. But Lowes has a 'just in time' inventory control system that leaves them with only 4 pairs of tracks of any size.

Sooooooo, I had to buy 4 pair of heavy duty tracks and 2 pair of medium duty tracks, which is not what I needed.

Yes, this is just fascinating and doesn't really relate to the photos above. I fully realize this. I had thought about writing something relating to the photos, but then I decided to just let them speak for themselves. Maybe I should set up a poll like Cendrine did on her site.

If you think they are fuckwads, vote 'A.'
Honest mistake by a well-meaning, but mentally handicapped individual, vote 'B.'

Something like that, eh? But no. There is no time. I have work to do and a meeting in a few minutes. I am really tired and there is a lot to do.

Soooooo, Porkchop Sarah tells me my blogsite is blocked where she works so she can't visit me. And Rachel Queen of Slackers is sad, which makes me sad because she's soooooo cute and I hate for her to be unhappy. Isn't that strange? And the Bee got a pea stuck in his nose and Artful Laura had to take him to the doctor. Stacy the Peanut Queen is swamped under with work. Lovely Stephanie has an infestation of white trash trailer truck boys harassing her. Lasher Joy Blake deleted her blog and disappeared suddenly. And Aughra the Bad News Blonde is emailing nearly-nude photos of herself to anyone who will buy her a gift.

Sooooooo, I'm looking for a gift to buy her. :) Woo woo!!!!

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Lucky Bastard

Mr. Hefner, his 3 hot girlfriends, and a spare.
Some people hate Bill Gates because he's rich
I hate Hugh Hefner because he's a million years old and doing 3 girls at once.
And all 3 of them are hot as hell.
And so is the spare.

You lucky wrinkled old motherfucker!

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Toilet Advice For Men

Things a man should never do while peeing in the toilet:

1. Never adjust your badge
2. Never answer your cell phone
3. Never count your change
4. Never take out your keys to make sure you have them all
5. Never pull out your wallet and check the expiration on your driver's license
6. Never remove your college/wedding ring
7. Never check emails on your Blackberry
8. If you have false teeth, never adjust or remove them
9. Never take off your glasses or sunglasses
10. Never remove your watch to adjust the time or date
    

Each and every one of these seemingly normal items becomes irresistably magnatized to the toilet water the moment you pee into it. They will leap from your person into the yellow water and sink straight to the bottom, leaving you to decide whether to fish or flush.



This has been a public service message brought to you by Nude Memphis Steve. You're welcome.

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Coffee Cup Hostage Crisis 2005

ABC News Reporting
Coffee Cup Hostage Crisis 2005

To: PC Tech Support.Gina@TheBigBank.com
From: Steven.Jones@TheBigBank.com

Subject: Don't You Want me?


Don't, don't you want me?
You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me
Don't, don't you want me?
You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me
It's much too late to find
You think you've changed your mind
You'd better change it back or we will both be sorry
Don't you want me baby? Don't you want me oh
Don't you want me baby? Don't you want me oh

Love,
Your Coffee Cup

See photo below

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Coffee Cup Ransom

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Google, Verisign, and Various Money Related

Since I blogged about buying stock in Google a few months ago I might as well blog the follow-up. Google went sky high, up over $300 per share. I didn't feel like riding it all the way back down again, just in case it should ever start to fall back to Earth, so I put a Stop order under it. I placed a limit of $275 per share on my Google stock, figuring if it falls back that far then I want out.

Yesterday Google fell below $275 and my Stop order kicked off the sale automatically. By the time the sale was done it had briefly climbed back above $275, so I got a few pennies per share more, but the difference was negligible. The point is, I bought Google for about $200 per share and sold it all for $275. There are a lot of people who made a whole lot more money off this company than I just did, but I can only do what I can do. They'll probably make more off Google in the future, too, just by hanging on for the long term and riding this thing out.

Anyway, a few months ago another stock, a turd I bought in 1999 called Verisign, hit its' Stop limit order and sold, too. I lost almost as much on Verisign as I just made on Google, so it's a wash for tax purposes. I made nothing and I lost nothing.

Thanks Verisign. You suck.

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Ransom Revision

To: PC Tech Support.Gina@TheBigBank.com

From: Steven.Jones@TheBigBank.com

Subject: Ransom Note - Revised


Dearest Gina,


OK, one of the women I confide in (Leesa) asked me to revise the ransom demands. So now it's 100 shiny pennies in a brown paper sack, and a box of chocolate Zingers.

Don't mess with us on this or the cup gets it!

And no dye packs. It would make the Zingers taste like crap.


Your Friend,

The Kidnappers

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You Left Your Cup In My Cube

To: PC Tech Support.Gina@TheBigBank.com

From: Steven.Jones@TheBigBank.com

Subject: Ransom for Redbow


Gina,

I have your blue cup. I don't want to hurt him, but I will if I have to. I am a desperate man.

Here is what you must do:

Place 100 shiny pennies in a brown paper sack downstairs near the stamp machine in the lunchroom area on Wednesday at exactly 12:00 p.m. Then and only then will you get your cup back unharmed and with your cold coffee still in it.

And remember, NO COPS or the cup dies.


Your Friend,
Anonymous Kidnapper

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Hot Girl

I saw her again today in Home Depot. I was just standing there with a $269 edger in my cart minding my own business. She appeared all of a sudden. She just looked at me with this expression on her face like, "what are you looking at?!"

And I had no expression on my face at all because I was busy thinking, "isn't that the hot girl from the car show? Yeah, I've got no shot here."

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Full Service

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Seven Things

Seven things you plan to do before you die:

1. Have kids. Yes, for many of you this is just ridiculous. After all, you have several of them and you like to joke that you’d trade them for something else. Well, I’ll take that trade.
2. Fly an airplane. If lessons weren’t so danged expensive I’d be flying now.
3. Fly a helicopter. If lessons weren't so UNGODLY expensive I’d be flying now.
4. Make a phenomenally long and high jump on a dirt bike. So far I’ve just had to jump whatever was available. My last jump I came down so hard the muffler came off. I had to ride home with it in my lap. It was very hot. I was unhappy, but the jump itself went well.
5. Run my Chevelle down a quarter mile track and see what times I can get with me behind the wheel. I already know what the previous owner did, but the car can do a lot better if the rear is set up right.
6. Make several million dollars. Since the economy isn’t cooperating I guess I’m going to have to follow the crowd and find a way into the real estate market.
7. Catch the people who have been trying to murder my wife and me and put them in prison. They’ve earned it.

Seven things you can do:

1. Run fast. I’m not as fast as I used to be, but I still seem to be faster than most people I meet. But since I’m quitting soccer I won’t have many opportunities to judge this anymore.
2. Remember almost every word of a conversation, including who said what. Even several years later.
3. Swap engines. I don’t plan on using this skill any time soon, but it does come in handy sometimes.
4. See through bullshit and marketing to the real intent behind the smokescreen. Unfortunately, it really doesn’t matter what is. It just matters what people think is. I see this more and more every day. And I hate it.
5. I can squeeze my tiny truck into parking spaces next to stupid and/or obnoxious people who took up 2 spaces. I fit anyway. Sorry if you can’t get in your badly parked car anymore, jackass.
6. I used to play the guitar. I don’t anymore. I know I still could, but I can’t remember any of the songs I used to play. I remember there was a lot of Judas Priest and Iron Maiden and Styx. But beyond that I’d just be sitting there holding the guitar and trying to remember.
7. Write for hours about absolutely nothing. Somehow this entertains me.

Seven things you can't do:

1. Be gay. I hear women friends of mine all the time saying they could be a lesbian if the right girl came along, such as Angelina Jolie. But from my perspective I can’t imagine any guy that could inspire me to want to be gay. I do believe that any one of us, given the right motivation, can change sexual orientation if needed, but it would take some serious motivation for me to switch. There are just too many hot women and not a single man’s butt that I desire.
2. Witness a bad car wreck without getting out and seeing if everyone is alive.
3. Watch Rosie O’Donnell making an impassioned speech about much of anything. I’m so sick of guilt-plagued filthy rich entertainers spewing their new-found religion all over their audience, only to turn around and vomit their hatred of religious people in the next breath.
4. Throw a good fast-ball. I used to have a good rising sidearm pitch, but it was no fastball. And my curveball was ok, last time I threw one. But that’s about all.
5. Stand Memphis for one more year. We gotta get outta this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do.
6. Drive around with a political bumpersticker on my car. If I ever feel the need for any more hassles in traffic I’ll just start flicking people off. I don’t need a sticker to inspire random acts of shitheadedness.
7. Listen to Hillary Clinton making a speech without rolling my eyes.

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex:

1. Boobs. They don’t have to be big. Quality is the thing. From Almost A to DD and anything in between, it’s the quality that counts.
2. Butt – nice and firm like a runner.
3. Tiny Waist, or as my black coworker calls it, an onion. “she got a onion. Look at that tiny waist and that big old round butt. Oh YEAH!” I don’t need the whole onion, although I’ll take it. But I love a tiny waist.
4. Long beautiful hair. Don’t cut that hair, Stacy!
5. Sense of humor. If she can’t laugh then what are we gonna talk about the REST of the time?
6. Heart of gold - what good are looks if the heart is black and cold?
7. Friendly smile and eyes that don’t look ‘through’ me. Hard-to-get doesn’t get got by me. If I don’t think you are interested then I won’t hang around. I did enough of that when I was young and stupid. No more.

Seven things you say the most:

1. Oh FUCK! (My computer hears this one a lot.)
2. Let me get some coffee first and then we’ll get started. (at work)
3. Oooooh DAMMIT! (Again, my computer is often on the receiving end of this.)
4. Kitty kitty kitty (if I whisper it over and over Booger Bear will start beating his tail on the carpet and eventually turn around to see what I want.)
5. I love you
6. Hey cutie
7. Hey girlie (I have no idea when I started saying this or where I got it from.)

Seven celebrity crushes: (difficult to just pick seven!)

1 Heather Graham
2 Heather Locklear
3 Jenny McCarthy
4 Debbie Dunning (Pamela Anderson’s replacement on “Tool Time”)
5 Pamela Anderson (Pre-implants, pre-Tommy)
6 Kristy Swanson (the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
7 Elizabeth Hurley

Seven people you want to see to take this quiz:

1. Elisabeth
2. Mr Wandering Mind
3. Artful Laura
4. Stephanie D.
5. Mama Duck
6. Porkchop
7. Queen of Slackers

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Weird Dreams and a Morning Crunch

We are under a heat advisory. And the lawn is unhappy about that. It's a full moon every night and the cats are turning into werewolves. And I, I had weird dreams last night.

I was running.

I have no idea where I was. It was just some neighborhood that I've never seen before. And I apparently lived there. I was out jogging. Behind me were some police. They were jogging too. Jogging along behind me, running after me, only not, if you know what I mean.

You know how when you're out running and someone is behind you it makes you feel tense, like you need to outrun them? Yeah, well, I was running at a good pace and slowly pulling away from them.

Ahead of me were some military people. A trainer and a man and a woman, and they were Army. He was yelling at them and they were all running along.

And I was catching them.

I caught up with them as we all ran up onto a sidewalk next to some building, probably a school. The trainer stopped and was having them do pushups. Just then he started to cough. I stopped for some reason and he turned to me and started to ask me about joining the Army.

"You're in pretty good shape," he said, in between coughing.

Just then he laid down on the sidewalk because he was coughing so hard and couldn't catch his breath. Then he started to cough up pieces of his lungs.

I said to him, "You need to see a doctor. This is not good."

"No," cough cough "I'll be alright," he said. "This happens all the time."

Finally he got up on his feet again, holding pieces of his lungs in his outstretched hands.

And then I woke up.

It was time to get up so I got out of bed. When I stood up I noticed that my ankle hurt. It hurt a lot. And I had to limp around the house all morning. It still hurts now. As if I'd been running. Which I haven't.

WTF?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This morning as I pulled into the parking lot and parked my wee little truck I heard a sound behind me. It sounded like a car running over a big piece of plywood. I knew I hadn't seen anything lying in the parking lot behind me so I turned to look at what the heck had made that sound.

A black woman had nailed the living crap out of a parked car. I have no idea what she was doing. Maybe her hand slipped off the steering wheel as she parked? I'm just guessing. But she nailed this parked car in the rear driver's side fender and bumper and then just sat there for the longest time. Maybe she was on the phone? I couldn't see well, but it appeared that she was.

We are under a heat advisory and an ozone alert today. Gas is $2.69 for 89 Octane regular. Our utility bill is sky high and thanks to the lack of rain, so is our water bill. But at least it's Friday. And I'm not coughing up bits of my lungs. And I haven't T-boned anyone in the parking lot.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go poop

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CrackPot Nude Memphis Theories - part I - Mate Matching Quiz

This is just my personal observation. And then I read an article that supported it. So now I'm an expert. See how this works?

OK, so I've noticed that almost all the blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls I ever pursued and of course failed to get, no matter who they dated, ended up marrying blonde-haired, blue-eyed guys.

And all the green-eyed girls, they married guys with either green or blue eyes.

And the brown-eyed, brown-haired girls, they mostly all married brown-eyed, brown-haired guys.

And then I looked at me and my wife and we fit this perfectly. And I ran into a couple and I wasn't listening to what they were saying for some reason, so while they were talking I noticed they were both blonde and blue-eyed.

Researchers actually said there is some evidence to support the belief that people have a "DNA Matching" desire, which most of us are unconcious of, which influences us to seek out mates with DNA that matches in certain areas. Eye color is a trait that apparently is important, especially with women who are ready to marry and have kids. Or so they say.

So I want to ask all of you who are married, what is your eye-color and natural hair-color and what is the eye-color and natural hair-color of the person you married?

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Crazy Ass Bitch Beats Boyfriend With His Wooden Leg

Woman beat boyfriend in head with his wooden leg

By Tinuola Awopetu, Court TV
Loosely Translated By Memphis Steve, Nude Memphis

(Court TV) — Although Greg Gale attempted to escape his girlfriend's fury on two legs, he was hindered by a third, his "woodie."

The woman, Tammy Jo Johnson, attacked Gale with one of his two prosthetic legs during a domestic dispute on August 3.

The couple was drinking beer in Gale's living room when they began to argue about an incident that occurred four years ago, according to Capt. John Oswald of the Midland Police Department in Michigan.

Police officers placed bets on who started it, as men don't usually start fights over things that occurred four years ago. Officer Campbell is said to have won $500, as it not only turned out to be her who started the fight, but it was also the exact period in her monthly cycle that Campbell guessed it was.

Tammy Jo allegedly grabbed Gale's older wooden prosthetic and beat him several times around the head. Gale who was wearing the second leg, a titanium model, retreated towards the front yard while Johnson pursued and continued to club him.

The woman fled the scene with the leg after Gale fell in the front yard and yelled for help. A witness riding by on a bike contacted police. Gale was bleeding when police arrived, Oswald said.

Johnson was arrested and charged with larceny and assault with a dangerous weapon, but oddly not domestic violence. Gale's wooden leg has yet to be recovered.

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Madonna Falls From Grace

Madonna Suffers Broken Bones in Accident
Horse escapes cruel bondage, emancipates self

NEW YORK - Madonna's 47th birthday celebration was marred when she suffered several broken bones in a horse riding accident at her country home outside London, her publicist told The Associated Press on Tuesday.

"Basically, the bitch can't ride worth a shit, being a whore from Brooklyn and no English riding princess," an unnamed stablehand said.

The superego was hospitalized with three cracked ribs, a broken collarbone and a broken hand, according to Liz Rosenberg, her spokesman based in New York.

The accident occurred Tuesday at Ashcombe house, her ridiculously expensive estate outside of London.

Madonna and an 'assistant' were riding horses, when Madonna, on a new horse she wasn't accustomed to riding, fell on her ass. Her badly named children, Rocco and Lourdes, were at the home but were not with their mother at the time, Rosenberg said.

"The whole family was out in the country, celebrating her birthday," Rosenberg said.

Her husband, director Guy Ritchie, took Madonna to an undisclosed animal hospital, where she was given a flea bath and fresh rabies shots. Rosenberg said the entertainer was expected to be released later in the evening with a shiny new doggie tag and collar.

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Looking Like A Good Day

Today is looking like it's going to be a good day.

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Redneck Revelry

Yeeha! - Redneck fun

In My Little Redneck Town, where the worst criminals are almost all white rednecks, if you catch a redneck in the act of committing a crime, or worse, if you call the police on them, you will be arrested and charged with their crime. Consequently, people who know the rules around here don't call the police much.

It makes perfect sense. See, little Billy Joe, or Billie Joe, depending on whether it's a boy or a girl and you care enough to ask, is the son or daughter, niece or nephew, neighbor or underage lover, of all of the higher-ups in the Little Redneck Town Police Department, Fire Department, and offices of all the city officials. They are closer than a tic on a cow's butt. Closer than Michael Jackson to the boys in his bed. Closer than Paula Poundstone to her local Girl Scout troop. Blood is thicker than water. Inbreeding breeds corruption.

In short, you ain't from 'round here and they is, so you jes' better shut up about what you saw 'n what they done did.

And if they 'done did' it to you and you call the police, well, you'll be sorry. If you stopped them in the act you'll be arrested and charged with assaulting them, especially of they assaulted you. And if you saw them, but can't identify them then the crime will be blamed on some loser who can barely form a sentence, let alone supply an alibi for the time in question, and nothing will ever be done. No investigation will occur and no detectives will ever come out to talk to anyone about anything. They already know who did it and they are working overtime to cover their bright red, rebel flag covered asses. And so it will happen again. And again. And again.

I don't mean to paint a bad picture of the cops on the beat in My Little Redneck Town. Morale among the lower ranks is understandably quite low. They take the report and genuinely intend to see something done about the crimes committed. It's when the Officer In Charge shows up that the trouble starts. It's when anyone who is "in" with the higher ups and on the "right" track comes along to take charge of the investigation that the problems begin. Because their job is not to solve anything. Their job is to cover up the whole thing and make sure that if anything has to be reported, if anything at all is going to be heard by any county, state, or federal law enforcement agency, that SOMEONE is blamed and that someone must not be the person or persons truly responsible, because that's Bubba's boy or girl, and Bubba is a close friend and/or relative.

This means that a lot of innocent people are charged with crimes, usually some sort of felony to really shake them and shut them up. Then, at the last minute and only moments before trial, they are offered a plea bargain.

'Yeah, you say you did it and we'll say all you did was some misdemeanor. See, we're not bad people. We just want to help you.

And cover our asses.'

You'll never see any of those "no deals" bumperstickers in My Little Redneck Town. The "deals" are for the truly innocent, usually the real victims. They make the victims feel as if they dodged a bullet and sometimes they'll even be grateful to the assholes without thinking about the fact that they should never have been charged in the first place. Meanwhile, the Redneck Town reports to the Feds that we are tough on crime and handling everything just fine, thanks, with no need for any sort of Federal oversight or assistance. Please don't come any closer or you might see what is going on here.

So, once again the pickup trucks are on the warpath. This hardly qualifies as a massive crime-spree. No one even notices anymore. This happens in an almost seasonal pattern here. Bubba and Bubbette get drunk and go out in their brand new Ford F-series monster truck or jacked up Chevy 4x4 Suburban, and they just smash the living shit out of whatever they can find, which has included lots and lots of mailboxes, several telephone boxes, brick church signs, wooden privacy fences, and brick neighborhood signs. They also use their trucks to run people off the road, even if they have to drive the wrong way down the highway in order to do it. And they WILL hit you head-on if you don't turn off into the ditch to avoid them because they know that should you collide some magic will occur and the police report will indicate that it was YOU who was at fault, even though you were on the correct side of the road and in your own lane. Yes, magic happens with police reports in Redneckville and all laws, like our Constitution over the past 50 years or so, is just part of a "living" document, subject to change at any given time depending on who is involved and whose good buddy they are. It's all "relative" here.

In My Little Redneck Town any sign that says "I don't dial 911" has a totally different meaning than most people think. It means "I don't bother because I know better than to trust the police."

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Paris Says "Hello"

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Memphis Woman Murders Boyfriend With iPod

Woman Used iPod in Homicide

MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE - A Memphis woman was arrested and charged with first-degree murder after she bludgeoned her boyfriend to death with an iPod.

Arleen Mathers, 23, was arrested Thursday morning after she called Memphis Police and said she had killed her boyfriend, according to a Sheriff’s Department report.

When deputies arrived at Mathers’ apartment at 528 Poplar Avenue, Mathers led them to the body of her boyfriend, Brad Pulaski, 27.

Brad Pulaski had died of blunt trauma to the head after being repeatedly bludgeoned with an iPod, a popular MP3 player produced by Apple.

Police said no motive has been confirmed, although evidence suggested the murder was the result of a domestic dispute after Pulaski erased the contents of Mathers’ iPod.

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The Island of Misfit Toys

When My Wife and I first moved into our house we found that the previous owners has abandoned a few things up in the attic. Among these few things were big wooden Christmas cutouts that are made to stand out in the front yard, some similar wooden Halloween ones, and a bag of sex toys.

Yes, up in the steaming hot attic, we found a bag of used sex toys. Among the sex toys was a strap-on. Yes, a big plastic dick that you strap on to your waist so you can ram all the livelong day without running out of, er, rigidity.

I have no idea why that had a strap-on. I wasn't going to call them and ask. But I did manage to enjoy getting rid of them, as sex toys aren't like dishes, you know, you don't just wash and reuse other people's old discarded sex toys.

They were in a big paper sack, so I just took the sack to the curb and left it there, along with the rest of the trash. As it happened I was working in the garage when the trashmen came by.

I watched as they went over to the trash and began loading it up.

I watched as they looked into the sack as they were grasping it by the little handles.

I watched as they looked twice into the sack and then up the driveway at me, who was by now smiling a big old "hey there, big boy" smile.

They looked back into the sack again and then began discussing it with one another.

Eventually they threw it into the truck and drove on.

To this day the trashmen have never made eye contact with me again.

Buying your first house: $$$$
Finding used old sex toys in a sack in the attic: FREE
Watching the reaction of the trashmen as they discover the sack of sex toys: Priceless!

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Nude Memphis Wisdom - part II

If you are going to put a cotton swab in your ear always look at it first to make certain there is cotton on both ends and not just a bare pointy stick. OUCH!

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Nude Memphis Wisdom - part I

Yes, it's true. What can I say? This makes it official.

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The Bees Knees

I asked. Stacy the Peanut Queen answered. Here it is:

What is the origin of "the bee's knees"?(Phrase origins)

The exact origin of "bee's knees" remains a topic of debate, but there is wide-spread agreement that the phrase first appeared in North America during the 1920s. Some interesting theories are listed below.

1. Bees carry pollen back to the hive in sacs on their legs. The allusion is to the concentrated goodness to be found around the bee's knee. (extract from the Phrase Finder).

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2. The expression was coined in the 1920s by an American cartoonist named Tad Dorgan, who also graced the language with such corny superlatives as "the cat's pajamas" and less durable ones such as the "the flea's eyebrows" and - a real clunker - "the canary's tusks." Dorgan also came up with: "Yes, we have no bananas." I've long been puzzled why, to this day, the bee's knees expression has maintained a certain currency in Britain, something it has not had for decades in the United States. The thought occurs that perhaps, more than half a century on, it's a still lingering cultural artifact from the American occupation of the south of England in the lead-up to D-Day. (extract from the Guardian's Notes and Queries site, article by Dave Todd)

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3. It's one of a set of nonsense catchphrases that originated in North America in the 1920s, the period of the flappers, nearly all of which compared some thing of excellent quality to a part of an animal. (extract from Michael Quinon's World Wide Words).

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4. I think the idea is that on a bee, knees are strictly a luxury. The phrase originated in 1920s U.S. slang, which had a whole slue of such phrases: "the eel's ankle", "the flea's eyebrows", "the clam's garter", "the snake's hips", "the elephant's instep", "the kipper's knickers", "the cat's pyjamas", "the canary's tusks", "the sardine's whiskers". The fact that "the bee's knees" rhymes may have assisted its survival. (extract from the aue archives, article by Mark Israel)original article

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5. The bee's knees is actually a development from something that was originally stated as "The be all and the end all of everything." this being rather long, was shortened to "the B's and E's" which eventually became "the bee's knees" (extract from the Guardian's Notes and Queries site, article by "Ogins")

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6. My _Dictionary of American Slang_ says "bee's knees" was a fad started c1924. Like some Chinese menus, pick one from column A and one from column B... (extract from the aue archives, article by Robert Keller)original article

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7. ...[the] _bee's knees_ may be a humorous pronunciation of _business_. I have seen this offered as a genuine derivation and it seems as plausible as the current favourite for _OK_. (from the aue archives, article by S. Z. Hanley)original article

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Not Much

Not much to say this morning. My Wife's car is still giving us problems. I went to the gym last night after looking at the car and putting the battery on the charger. No one at the gym but us guys until a girl showed up late and flirted around with one of the guys working there. Today I'm sore and have a ton of work to do. So I'm heading over to a coworker's cube and getting to work.

Random shit:

Stephanie, jealous friends make poor friends, so watch out.

My butt hurts. It's just lunch time and I've already pooped twice today. What is up with that?

Everybody's blood makes the same color stain on the sidewalk.

People who can't drive, talk on the cell phone, and use their blinkers at the same time shouldn't have a cell phone. I don't care who you're talking to. If you've got the phone in the hand you use to flip on your blinker you've still got a shoulder to squeeze it with while you make the miniscule effort to tell us what the hell you're doing, Asstwit!

If you paint your car pink or screaming purple don't bitch to me when you can't sell the damned thing.

The water in My Little Redneck Town has some kind of corrosive mineral in it that eats copper pipes. They say we have the best water in all of Shitty - I mean - Shelby County. If it's so great why does it keep eating pinhole leaks in my damned pipes? And why does it make us sick every time we have a torrential downpour? And what are these copper-eating minerals doing to our bladders? Inquiring minds want to know before we sue your crooked, redneck ass.

My new coworker has had a persistent cough for almost 3 months. He has no idea why. No, he doesn't smoke.

I can't believe the Space Shuttle hit a bird. And it was photographed by a million different cameras. Crazy, man, crazy.

Do bees have knees? They used to say "that's the bee's knees" so I'm just curious, where did this come from?

Were people as out-of-control in the 1920s as we are now? I mean, did flapper-girls in Model T's flash their tits at truck drivers and shit? Is there a "Girls Gone Wild" on silent black and white film floating around somewhere?

Why is the media showing photos of Britney Spears pregnant, as if to say "ha, she's fat!" Of course she is. She's pregnant. Are the grrlz of our media so out of touch now that they don't know you get fatter while you're pregnant? I mean, give the girl a freakin' break.

OK, that's all I got right now. I got a lot of work to do.

Oh, and Stephanie, I'm sorry about drive-by IMing you and then running. I only had like 2 seconds and then I had to go.

Can you tell I'm just "stream of conciousness" blogging here today?

I knew you could.

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Clearing the Air

A few days ago I posted a joke about man who received a gift of a personal trainer for his 40th birthday. This has apparently resulted in the rumor that I myself am a 40 year old man. So, I just want to say for the record:

I am NOT a 40 year old man!


Thank you. That is all.

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A Few Thoughts On God, Crutches, and Death

She was somebody's daughter
She was only 18
She was a week away from graduation

I have tried to post small things about my current thoughts on God. I actually have a much longer post about God in my head, but I've been reluctant to put it down and publish it. So I'll just touch on it a little bit.

On the subject of faith, with most of my friends who have trouble just letting go and having faith it is usually the most intellectual ones, the ones who have outstanding problem-solving mental abilities or who have a near or total photographic memory and can absorb all sorts of knowledge easily. They are accustomed to always being able to handle whatever comes for themselves. They have never had to rely on anyone else and thus never really learned how to do so. Some of them have actually cried in frustration that they can't let go and trust God because they have just never learned to do that with anyone. Not ever.

Some people who hate Christians and Jews and most anyone who believes in God say it is a crutch to believe in him. They say this as an insult, but in some ways it's true. And you know what? There is a reason for crutches. People need them sometimes. And when you need a crutch you'd better have one. What's wrong with that? When you're down you need a way to get up again and a way to keep on keeping on when you can't walk on your own. I ran track. I played soccer. I've had 2 knee surgeries. I'm very familiar with crutches. I'm even pretty good with a wheelchair. I have always been able to run faster than most people when I'm healthy. But when I need a crutch I'm not going to be ashamed of an injury.

There are people put on this Earth who are poorly equipped to make it through life. They are not smart, not rich, not good-looking, not inspiring of pity or charity, and barely making it, if they make it at all. Where can they turn if not to God? Who is going to help them if no one feels compelled to do so? And who has the right to mock them in their desperation if they turn to God and beg for help? Surely not those who have never been and will never be down and out.

Christians were instructed by Jesus to help those who are down because God expects it of them in exchange for his own grace in forgiving them their sins. Socialists are instructed to help only certain groups who are down because it makes you feel good about yourself. Thus, it is all about you.

I think God equips us all differently. I find it odd that my friends who seem the best equipped to make it through life on their own are also the ones most frustrated by their inability to trust God. They also frequently have the most control issues, as the world is perpetually beyond their control and no matter how much power or wealth they gain it is never as much as this life requires for them to do it entirely on their own. See: Hillary Clinton

I'm no great theologian. I'm not able to give some great analogy or mind-blowing theology. I'm just blogging what I've seen or read or experienced. You may be exceptionally smart. You may be unusually gifted. Even as you look at God and wonder how people can lean so much on him, seemingly flying by the seat of their pants, others may be looking at you and envying how you can stand so strong on your own, never seeming to struggle or suffer.

We each have to take what God gave us and work with it. I know I can't say magic words that answer everything. I can't save anyone's soul with my fabulous written wisdom. Lately I can't even have a conversation about it with anyone other than myself. I have new questions, questions they never discussed in Sunday School because, as one deacon explained, they felt it was 'too deep' for most of us. But for me, after a lifetime in church, it's time they talk about the deeper issues or else I have to leave and dig for the answers myself. But maybe that's just me.

Here are some things to think about if you're wondering what's going on in my head or else if you're just into this sort of thing:

Both the Jewish Torah and the Christian Bible assign a very definite and clear gender to God, despite the availability of the neuter gender in the Aramaic language that the New Testament was originally written in. God is named Jehovah, which is God the Father, a very male god. And he cannot be God the Mother or God the genderless and confused relative. In order to be the God of the Jews and the Christians God's name must be Jehovah and he must be a he.

The world God created is a patriarchy. As such it has a specific order and assigned roles. Satan is said to thrive on chaos, and thus would certainly seek to blur the roles and reverse the order as much as possible. The Bible says that a man in a household is responsible for leading and guiding his wife in her relationship to God. He is her connection and is required to fill his role whether he likes it or not. When Satan chose Eve to commit the first sin he tempted her with control. If she sinned it was without any input from Adam. It offered her power and control over her own destiny. Eve could go directly to a higher power, namely Satan. When Adam sinned he followed Eve to do so. The order was reversed, with Satan using Eve as Adam's connection to him. Whatever God establishes, Satan always tries to imitate it in reverse. Always.

Allah is not the same as Jehovah, just as Michael Jackson cannot be confused by anyone who knows him with Michael Jordan.

God is not here. Neither is Jesus. God is in Heaven. Jesus, following the resurrection and ascension to Heaven, is said very clearly in the Bible to be off preparing a new Heaven and a new Earth. Following Jesus' ascension God sent the Holy Spirit as "a comforter" available to all who believe. So, how can God allow so much suffering and death? Well, for one thing, because he isn't here, but the devil is. He left when Adam and Eve chose to sin, giving possession of the world to the god they chose when they sinned, which is Satan. And the Bible and the Torah both say that already. You can pray to God in Heaven if you have a relationship with him and he will hear you. But he may leave your message on the machine and not call you back, leaving you to accept on faith that he heard you. He will not walk into your room and fix your life. He will not tell you what lottery numbers to choose or what stock to buy. He will not give you a Ferrarri if you chant "I claim this Ferrari in the name of Jesus." He may leave you to suffer. He may leave you to die. He may allow your child to suffer and die. He may allow a million children to be murdered by evil, hateful people who then live a long and prosperous life before dying rich and fat. This world belongs to the devil. And there is no justice here. And there is no peace. And evil will always seek to corrupt and control good people and good organizations. Always. This is why Christians are required to use judgment and discernment in deciding whether someone or something is doing evil. "Do not judge" means that Christians can't know if the person is evil down to their core and beyond any possible redemption. Only God knows. But Christians are required to judge whether what the person or persons do is good or evil.

This is the God that I think I know, as much as I can know. And I guess I'm always learning more about it every day. So if you ask me again tomorrow, well ...

But since you brought it up.

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Another Monday Morning

It's Monday morning again and I'm dragging. I dreamed about Harry Potter's spiders and Hermione Granger half the night. The 2nd movie was on last night so I guess it make an impression? I don't know. I just know the girl who plays Hermione Granger, named Emma Watson, is about 15 years old so dreaming about her is kind of weird. And no, I'm not putting her on my "IDH" list. Not until she's older anyway.

I was awakened at 4 a.m. by my little black female cat. She was sitting in the hall meowing. "I wanna go outside!" That's what she was saying, in case you don't speak cat.

"Shut the hell up, it's 4 a.m.!" That's what I said in reply, in case you don't speak 'spank your butt.'

At 5 a.m. I was awakened again by the unmistakable sound of a beetle trapped in a plastic bag. I listened for awhile, having been just dreaming about a forest filled with giant spiders and a girl much too young, until I felt I had properly guaged the approximate size and location of this beetle. It was not a beetle, I surmised, but a giant Florida flying super roach. I got up, got a shoe and a handgun, and went over to where the sound was. There was a plastic bag on the floor next to the trash can. It was quiet now. I stood leaning over it until it began to move again. Sure enough, it was in the bag. I moved several objects aside to make room for the deadly battle that was about to ensue and then picked up the bag.

A giant Florida mother-fucking Godzilla cockroach leaped out of the bag and onto the floor.

"WHAM!" (And I don't mean WHAM UK, for those of you who remember that splinter group back in the days when Mtv was young and played music instead of whatever the hell it plays now.)

I walloped him. He kept moving. WHAM WHAM WHAM! I pounded him like a nail. I glanced over at my wife. She was sound asleep still. Good, because she freaks out whenever these bastards find their way into the house. I got some tissue and 'escorted' his big, flattened ass to our toilet. I threw him in and watched in amazement as this freshly pounded monster began to swim and kick and fight for his life despite all of my efforts to crush him. Then I flushed him down and went back to bed.

If there were any loonies on the path on the way to work this morning I couldn't tell you. I was in a daze, driving along listening to the radio and picturing Mick Jagger doing his chicken dance as he sang the song that was playing.

Apparently school has started back. On every corner there were unhappy little faces awaiting the Yellow Ship of Despair to carry them back to their cells. I checked to make sure I had my badge with me and drove on, pretty certain that I was going to be late or close to it by the time I arrived at work.

It's a sunny day. I have a lot of work to do and I'm dead tired. In the process of searching the internet for the proper spelling of 'Hermione Granger' I've discovered that there are endless websites dedicated to her. I think this is fairly predictable, yet still somewhat disturbing considering most of the photos I see are of her as a very young child. Oh well, so much to do. So little energy.

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Lost

I'm so lost. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I can't keep doing this over and over again. No hope, no light, no love, no nothing. You go wherever it is you think you need to go. I'm going my own way and if you don't want to come I'm not going to wait for you to change your mind. As soon as that gate drops I'm going full throttle down that track and away from here. And I'm not going to look back to see if you're coming with me.

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One Week At The Gym

Dear Diary:

For my 40th birthday this year, my wife (the dear)
purchased a week of personal training at the local
health club for me. Although I am still in great
shape since playing on my college football team 25
years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to give
it a try. I called the Club and made my reservatiion
with a personal trainer named Belinda, who identified
herslf as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor and model
for athletic clothing & swimwear. My wife seemed
pleased with my enthusiasm to get started!
The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my
progress.

MONDAY:

Started my day at 6:00 a.m.

Tough to get out of bed but it was well worth it when
I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting
for me. She was something of a Greek goddess -- blonde
hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile.
WooHoo!!!

She took my pulse after 5 minutes on the treadmill.
She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I
attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra
aerobics outfit. I enjoyed the skillful way in which
she conducted her aerobics class after my workout
today. Very inspiring, Belinda was encourageing as I
did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching
from holding it in the whole time she was around.
This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!


TUESDAY:

I drank a whole pot of coffee but finally made it out
the door.

Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron
bar into the air, and then she put weights on it! My
legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made
the full mile. Belinda's rewarding smile made it all
worthwhile. I feel GREAT!! It's a whole new life for
me.


WEDNESDAY:

The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the
toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and
forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both
pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to
steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club
parking lot. Belinda was impatient with me,
insisting my screams bothered other club members.

Her voice is a little too perky for early in the
morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally
whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got
on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the stair
monster.

Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to
simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?
Belinda told me it would help me get in shape and
enjoy life.

She said some other shit, too.


THURSDAY:

Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth
exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a
full snarl. I couldn't help being
half an hour late; it took me that long to tie my
shoes. Belinda took me to workout with dumbbells.
When she was not looking, I ran and hid in the
men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as
punishment, put me on the rowing machine - which I
sank.


FRIDAY:

I hate that bitch Belinda more than any human being
has ever hated any other human being in the history of
the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic little cheerleading
bitch. If there were a part of my body I could move
without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it.
Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have
any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor,
don't hand me the @*$%!* barbells or anything else
that weighs more than a sandwich.

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health
and nutrition teacher.

Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the
drama coach or the choir director?


SATURDAY:

Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her
grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up
today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the
machine with my planner. However, I lacked the
strength to even use the TV remote and ended up
catching 11 straight hours of the Weather Channel.


SUNDAY:

I'm having the Church van pick me up for services
today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is
over. I will also pray that next year, my wife (the
bitch) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like a
root canal or a vasectomy.

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Day Three and Four in Birmingham

I couldn't get on the only working PC at this crummy hotel yesterday. Since only one is working it is a bit crowded and hard to get to, so I couldn't post. No matter, there wasn't all that much to say. A giant roach the size of a small dog has been in my room for the first 2 days. I managed to kill it last night. It took several attempts as it is highly resistant to being crushed. They should make American cars like they do roaches. We'd all be safer.

As I write this the spyware is just whirring along, popping up ads all over the place. I can barely type two words before it takes control away and highlights other windows I never asked for. There are also viruses on this machine. How lovely. Oh, and every time someone tries to get on the other machine it kicks me off the internet, but they can't get on.

Today we cover the last bit of material. Soon I'll be heading home again. Last weekend while I was IMing one of you Jeremy the Midnight Mechanic and his boyz paid a visit to my driveway. I think I mentioned this before. Rooster appeared to have seen what they did. I may try to talk to him, for whatever that's worth. The police always blame Rooster. If he can testify to having seen Jeremy and his bitches then we can put his ass in prison finally. We'll see.

Someone is trying to get on the other machine. They're going to kill my process. I have to go. Yeeha.

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Birmingham Day Two - Training

Outside my window
It's our second day here in Birmingham. Yesterday was all spent travelling and getting situated in the hotel. Today was training all morning and all afternoon. And tonight we went out to eat with some of the members of the group we have joined. I'm the newest member. I made a concerted effort to remember everyone's names, but I swear they threw me a curve. They introduced a girl as Debra. I swear they did. And she was memorable, so I didn't have any trouble locking her name into my mind. But after dinner, they called her Kim. So now I am confused. Is Debra the other girl? I only drank one beer. It can't be that I was drunk. What happened?

For the ride back to the hotel I bummed a ride in my boss' Porsche. Yeeha!


By the way, I still can't view any blogs from here, including my own. I can post, but once it's out there I can't even edit it. So I'm sorry, but I can't see what you guys are up to and I can't read your comments until I get home. Why they block blogs in general here I couldn't guess, but they do.

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One more lovely note

Get this, the software on this hotel computer, in between bombing me with filthy ads, is prohibiting me from viewing my own blog! I can post a new entry, but I cannot view it. I cannot go back and edit it again once I've posted it. It says 'blocked: this computer prohibits the viewing of any adult/mature/pornographic sites.' So which category does my blog fall into? I'm just curious.

I wonder if I can find someone with a laptop who is willing to let me do my work without being harassed by ads and software which blocks me from average, ordinary blogs? I'll bet all you bloggers had no idea that you're a bunch of pornographers, did you?

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Day One - Arrival in Birmingham

On the Road Again

First of all, let me just point out the obvious. I have obtained access to the internet despite the obstacle of not being in Memphis and not having a laptop.

OK, now that this is out of the way, let me get on with it.

Oh, the excitement never ends. 4 1/2 hours to Birmingham in the wrong SUV. Yes, Enterprise Rental Cars in Cordova (or was it Bartlett) does not often give you the car you reserved. No, they try to substitute whatever is in the lot. Did you reserve a Town Car? No problem, we have a Dodge Neon available.

Yeah, fuck you, too. There is no leg room in this truck and we reserved a damned Ford Expedition FOR A GOOD REASON.

So we're here at last. Apparently the road between Memphis and Birmingham will never be finished. For some reason they want everyone rerouted through major metropolises like Jasper and Carbon Hill for all eternity. Either that or some 'favored' company took the state money for building the new road and then high-tailed it out of the country. Either scenario is equally likely.

OK, but I'm here at the hotel anyway. It doesn't really matter which hotel, so I'm not telling you. (Yeah, take that you damned internet psycho stalkers!)

My room is wrong. One king bed does not equal 2 double beds, but they apparently didn't think I would notice the difference. Perhaps they are accustomed to only having stupid customers? Also, the ice machine and elevators are just outside my door. Lovely. I'm so happy. How convenient for me!

And my neighbor, the one whose TV backs up to my wall behind my bed, likes to listen to it loud.

Do you really not care that I know you're watching THAT? Those movies don't even have scripts most of the time.

And to top off my evening, I've discovered in route that none of us have any idea when we are supposed to be at the office tomorrow, exactly where we are supposed to be in the office, and what we are here to do. Also, the new boss was yelling at us over the telephone right before we headed out to come here. I'm not sure why.

Oh, and one of the members of our newly formed team just quit today and didn't come with us.

Other than that, I am alive and planning to sit in my room and read. Which means I'll probably end up channel surfing all night long.

Unless this POS hotel computer has Instant Messaging on it, in which case I'll be spending my entire evening Instant Messaging people.

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A Trip Down South

I'm off to the HQ for a little training in one of the applications I'm now supporting and apparently to also receive a quick overview of another application they're shifting to our group in Memphrica.

Whee.

If I have any access to the internet I'll try to keep things updated. If I don't then you'll be seeing Mr. Knob Lick for awhile. Ain't he purty? He looks just like one of my neighbors. If you saw my neighbor you'd say, "he looks just like Mr. Knob Lick!"

And I'd say, "See, I told you!"

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