I don't care about your personal political rantings and prejudices, especially when you apply them to the network description of a movie that I am trying to decide whether I wish to watch or not. I note the hypocrisy in your hostile treatment of male characters versus female characters who behave far worse (Legend of Billie Jean - seriously??) And I briefly consider canceling my subscription to Starz because you so greatly annoy me.

And also because there is never shit to watch on Starz. Not a damn thing.

So I've settled on the History Channel. In fact, not just the History Channel, but the History International Channel, whatever the fuck that means. They both seem to cover history, but I suppose History International probably doesn't ever talk about America. I'm just guessing, but considering how self-loathing has become a national past-time, especially for white males, as encouraged by Jewish males of the Marxist persuasion, it seems likely.

Prior to this I was watching a show about the history of freight trains. I have no idea what channel that was on. I had a cat pinning me down to the couch, preventing me from getting up and going to work on the kitchen sink. I faded in and out of consciousness. I distinctly recall a cat walking up my chest and biting me on the nose. I don't recall if that cat is still alive or not. They do have 9 lives, though, so it's possible.

At this moment I am watching a program about Wallace Braveheart. No, not the movie, but a History Channel program. I note that women in Edinborough don't wear bras and it occurs to me that I should like to visit there one day. Somewhere in there are relatives of mine. I have no idea who they are. It's an odd thing about America that so many of us have no knowledge of our ancestry prior to America. I have family in Scotland and apparently Ireland and recently we learned about our bloodlines from the English. And then there are the not-so-distant relatives on the Cherokee reservation in Oklahoma. The Cherokee Nation is home to some of my living relatives, but I haven't been there since I was maybe 6 years old. And I don't care. I'm hungry. I need to get up and go make some lunch. But I don't really feel like eating anything.

It's been an exhausting weekend. I'm not sure why. I can't recall what all we did yesterday, but whatever it was has left me sunburned and sore. We took my black minitruck into Memphis and brought home a truckload of plants, including a tree that I was forced to plant in a section of the yard where I don't want a tree, primarily because I don't want to have to mow around it. My objections aside, there the tree now stands. I myself planted it.

I'm exhausted in a number of ways, not the least of which is from physical labor. I've found much to my dismay that working out with a personal trainer 3 days a week simply isn't giving me the results I desire. My body seems bound and determined to look more like Winnie the Pooh than a fitness model and so I added 2 days of pure cardio to my 3 days of weights. The advantage to the 2 days of cardio is that it is just me alone huffing along while staring up at the TV sets showing "Biggest Loser" or "30 Rock." There is no sound, but the frequently mistyped subtitles are themselves entertaining enough for me.

I'm otherwise exhausted from the stress of my endless list of work assignments, constant travel, various emotional dramas which no longer involve anyone in Australia, and a general feeling of needing a change.

I may or may not be buying a partnership in a 27,000 square foot gym depending on the outcome of a thorough investigation into their current financials. If I do, this will likely mean no 2011 trip to Australia and no 2011 Mustang GT for me, a car I had only recently began to think seriously about purchasing.

Our nation is on a determined plunge into Marxist ruin. There are various ways a person can choose to cope with this. I could pull in everything and begin stuffing cash into the mattresses of our beds while buying up as much ammunition as I could. I could pour my financial resources into pure gold, as the Europeans and George Soros are doing. I could seriously investigate the possibility of moving north to Canada or south to Argentina. Many wealthy Americans have already moved to islands in the Caribbean. But for now I'm thinking of simply going into denial, investing in an American business, buying a new American musclecar, and partying as hard as I can for as long as I can. I've also talked with an associate about investing with them in apartment buildings, but they are financially on a whole different level than me, as their family has been involved in building and owning rental properties for generations, so this is unlikely to lead anywhere.

I'm in a tired funk. My thoughts are as random as if I were flipping channels in my brain. And now, I think, it is time to turn off the TV.

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