Loonies on the Path - LVI - Its A Full Moon

I'll kill you for your parking space!

Hey lady, you lady, in the Jeep SUV barreling straight at me on the wrong side of the road. Yeah, I see you. I'm turning into a parking space and you are flooring your gas pedal and coming straight at me with a clear threat of killing me in order to take my parking space by violent force. You're way over there and I'm right here, turning into it. But you have gunned it and come right at me. You skidded sideways and slid into the space, clearly trying to murder me over the space. And then you sit there in the Jeep and don't get out because you don't want to face me. More importantly, you don't want me to see your face. You are ashamed of what you just did, which is ironic considering the enthusiasm with which you did it. The thing is, you work with me. We work together on the same floor and sit in the same aisle at work. It's right up there in that building you just parked in front of. See it? That's our desks up there. And we work together. And I know your name. And now I know what a total shit you can be when you get behind the wheel.

I'll kill you to exit in front of you!

The work day is over now. It's 5 o'clock and already dark out. There is a full moon in the sky as I'm driving to the parking lot exit. I'm nearly there when a black woman with her head nearly shaved comes speeding across the parking lot from my left. There is another car in front of her, also speeding like hell. That car races to get in front of me as I reach the exit. He barely makes it, cutting directly in front of me. And then the black woman in the silver Lexus, glued to his rear bumper, comes skidding in, too. I have to hit the brakes to keep from being hit by her. I honk at her. Predictably, she stops short. Yeah, she stops short, as if my honking at her has offended her after she nearly killed me cutting in front of me as she skidded left while I was going straight. In no part of the United States does a car turning left have the right of way over a car going straight. Nowhere. But this is a black Memphis diva with her head shaved. It's all about her. Everything, everywhere is all about her. And don't you DARE honk at her, no matter what she's just done to you. Don't you DARE.

It's all about me

I used to work with a black man from Oakland, California who wasn't shy about speaking his mind. He used to say that the hardest part of being a black man was dealing with black women. And black women with ultra short hair or shaved heads were the worst of them all. They are the queens of hostile narcissism. They live in their own little kingdoms where no one else can coexist with them because there isn't room for another person besides themselves. And now, here is one skidding right in front of me, nearly killing me because she is going to get in front of me no matter what it takes and no matter who she has to run over. It might kill her even, were I to survive the collision, get out, and shoot her in the face as Memphis drivers often do. Not that she would have stuck around after the wreck or anything. That's another thing about Memphis drivers like this one - they'll hit you and then just speed off. They're much too important to stop and see if anyone is hurt or exchange information or any of that white people shit. They just hit you and run. They have places to be, people to kill, a kingdom to run.

I'll kill you to turn before you!

After I exit the parking lot and pull into traffic, bitch in the silver Lexus goes straight. I have to turn onto another road. As I do, another bald-headed black woman in a shit-brown Toyota gets in behind me. She's glued to my ass like a bumper sticker and immediately she starts weaving angrily, threatening to pass me by driving headlong into the steady stream of oncoming cars on the opposite side of the road. It's a fucking 2-lane road and there's a solid line of cars in front of me. It isn't as if I'm going slow. I'm going as fast as anyone can without hitting the car in front of them. But that's not good enough for Queen Latifah here. She's climbing up my trunk and trying to drive into my car with me just to let me know how impatient she is. We turn onto another street and as we near the intersection where we all have to turn left, she guns it to cut me off before I can get into the turn lane. She nearly hits my rear quarter as she cuts in on my left side and blocks me from getting over. Of course, its a solid 100 yards before anyone actually NEEDS to get into the turning lane, but by God she is going to be FIRST if she has to ram into every single car trying to get over. And of course she has no blinker on because blinkers are for stupid white people. Her shit brown Toyota is her royal chariot which she uses like a bald black Ben-Hur. You'd think she had wheel spikes mounted on every axle the way she's swerving in on people, clearly trying to threaten anyone who attempts to share the turning lane with her. And now I'm in right behind her, my blinker calmly flashing. And, predictably, she stops short. Yes, she's mad that I got into the turning lane behind her when I could have rammed her in the side and then demanded that she be ticketed for driving in the turning lane, which is illegal. Not that she would have stuck around for a police report or anything. She's MUCH too important for that. She's the Queen of Memphrica! She isn't going to stop for a wreck she caused. She's going to just speed on away. Because that's how it's done in Memphis.

I'll kill you just for fun

For the next 3 miles she and I are driving next to each other down this road we've both turned onto. She knows she fucked me over and she had hoped to just speed away and leave it all behind her. Narcissistic cunts usually do that, fuck you over and then speed away as if they are so important that they have to drive extra fast to be somewhere. In Redneckville where I used to live, Jeremy, the pickup truck fuckwad who ran over a classmate and left him in a wheelchair, ran me and my Mrs off the road on multiple occasions  and assaulted my wife twice, used to pretend he was a cop, speeding everywhere he went as if he was on an emergency call. He and his white trash friends in their white trash pickups would all pretend to be cops, parking in the center of the road blocking traffic with their trucks side-by-side, going in opposite directions, and hang out the window to talk, just like the police do. Except they weren't police. They were just white trash, meth-addicted, felonious rednecks who were vaguely connected to fire captain Reeves through his white trash son. But that was enough, they felt, to make them important. They could do anything they pleased, just like the police do, because when the police were called on them and their many crimes reported, they could just drop Captain Reeves name and say "I'm friends with Little Reeves Junior" and that would be enough to get them total immunity no matter what crime they had committed. That's how Jeremy escaped prosecution for intentionally running over a kid walking along the roadside and leaving him crippled. That's how he got away with a whole stream of criminal shit. That's how it worked back in Redneckville, which is why it was nothing but a low-class hateful little town and was never going to be anything more. At least, it WAS until someone managed to get the attention of the Department of Justice and had the whole system turned upside down. The mayor was 'invited' to retire rather than be prosecuted. The chief of police and his captain were fired. Replacements were chosen after a new mayor was elected, with the understanding from the DoJ that the old system of favors for redneck friends of firemen and police would no longer be tolerated. And things changed for the better for the first time in generations.

Ya'll ain't from 'roun' here, air ye?

But now here we are in the heart of Memphis and it isn't entitled little rednecks I'm dealing with. It's narcissistic black women with shaved heads and the same entitlement attitude as the KKK members back in Redneckville. So here we are, you and me, driving side-by-side down this road, mostly because I choose to sit right beside you and get a good look at your face. I want to make sure you see mine, too, because I know that anonymity is the preferred choice of people who drive like you do. People who imagine themselves suddenly powerful and entitled the instant they get behind the wheel of their cars almost never want a direct face-to-face confrontation with a real live human being. They don't want their faces seen. They don't want a conversation. And when I hang my hand out the window and extend my middle finger right to your face, right in the middle of rush hour traffic where everyone can see who is getting the bird for being a selfish bitch, you really don't like the embarrassment of that. It's like a temporary label slapped on your windshield that says "selfish cunt" in big flashing red letters. And it is entirely deserved.

Hi there!

So you quickly turned and went into Shelby Farms to escape the consequences of your actions. And I suppose you figured that was the last of it, eh? You figured you'd never have to face me? But the very next day, just this morning as you were pulling into the parking lot at work, there we both were, you going into the building where you work, and me going in the building right across from you to my work. And we'll be seeing each other every single workday for a very long time to come, won't we? I hope that makes you uncomfortable, because the way you drive you deserve to feel uncomfortable. Actually, what you deserve is for everyone in your office to know how you drive and to despise you for it. Too bad they don't read this blog. Otherwise, they might read this and say "Hey, I know who he's writing about! He's writing about YOU!"

And that would embarrass you.

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That's What I Think

Not as cool as you think - a photograph of you in which you are dancing up on a stage or platform in a hip club, where everyone else can be clearly seen behind you standing with their back turned toward you, ignoring you. Yes, I can see that you're dancing, and you're dressed in expensive and fashionable clothing, and you do look fabulous, but the fact that everyone has their back to you says something that you may not have considered. Yes, I saw this photo on Facebook and was going to post it here, but it occurred to me that you are the friend of several friends of mine and it might be mean of me to publicly shame you like that. You're welcome.

Geographically challenged - every time I look at a map, either of the world, or sometimes just the Americas, I discover that I am far more ignorant of geography than I ever realized. I had no idea that Quebec was over there, that the Bahamas were down there instead of out that way, and I constantly reverse Sydney and Melbourne in my brain. Don't even get me started on Norway, Finland, Sweden, and that whole area. I am retarded. I learned geography by playing the old boardgame Risk.

Not equipped - the past month has taught me something I never knew before. Apparently all luxury cars, including a certain Ferrari I passed yesterday, do not come equipped with blinkers of any kind. It's true! Lexuses, Mercedeses, BMWs, Range Rovers, Volvos and even the funkiest Ferrari I have ever seen, all come without turn signals. I know this because I have not seen any of these cars use turn signals in over a month, and it has been true 100 percent of the time. I prefer to assume that it is the car manufacturers who left this 'option' off these vehicles, because otherwise I would be forced to conclude that everyone who drives these types of vehicles is a narcissistic, self-absorbed, shithead.

Nobody home - why are people still friending me over on MySpace? Does my profile there not clearly show that I have not logged on since George W Bush was president? Is it not obvious that I am not active over there? Are these people simply looking to add random people without the slightest regard for who they are or whether or not they are even going to be around? Seriously, it's MySpace. I think that speaks for itself. It's dead. We should hold a funeral and bury it.

Twitter - I am constantly amazed at the wide assortment of people who follow me on Twitter. I have everyone from the Christian Coalition to NoH8, or whatever the hell their name is. And most recently, the Gay Men's Chorus of LA has followed me. Add this to the fact that GaySex is following my blog and I would seem to be popular with both the very straight and the alternate lifestyle crowd for reasons that escape me. I'm not complaining. I just find it curious. If Sarah Palin and Nancy Pelosi both follow me at the same time, would Twitter explode? We may one day find out.

Bucket List - my bucket list does not include running any marathons, ringing any stock exchange bells, jumping off anything high up that isn't designed to fly, or public displays of my own naked body. You should all thank me for that last one, by the way. And you're welcome. But while we're on the subject, I would like to one day visit Australia, New Zealand, British Columbia, Toronto (again) and maybe Norway or Sweden. I would also like to fly a helicopter and a jet, jump out of an airplane without blowing my knee on the landing, shoot a really big machine gun, drive a racecar at 200 mph around a banked track, compete in a triathlon, snowski in Switzerland or Austria, ride a decent wave at Bondi Beach with an actual surfboard, photograph a supermodel, and motorboat Kim Kardashian or Katy Perry.

Climate Change - the claim that mankind is causing the earth to heat up and cook is bullshit, but not all talk of 'climate changes' is crap. My dad was a master of climate change when I was a kid riding in the family van on the highway to Texas in summer heat along with the rest of my family, and he'd fart and then refuse to allow us to open any windows. It's a wonder any of us survived.

Television - Laura Vandervoort is the only reason the television show "V" remains on the air. "V" is a sci-fi show that appeals specifically to the egos of women (V is for vagina), but so are all the serial killer crime shows, all the Law and Orders, pretty much every cop and crime show, plus the dramas with lawyers and/or doctors, and they all do it without the science fiction element that most women don't care anything about. So you would think that few women would make time to watch a show like "V", but they do, and so do a lot of men. The reason is Laura Vandervoort. Laura Vandervoort's amazing face is so hypnotic, so hard to look away from, that audiences will sit mindlessly mesmerized for the entire time that she is on the screen, and then wait impatiently for her to come back during the commercials and brief scenes where she is not being shown. Pretty much the commercials and scenes without Laura Vandervoort are the same thing, a minor irritation. They should just make this show into a full hour of Laura walking around smiling and get rid of everything else. I'd watch that.

You just can't look away from her

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So This Is Christmas

It's Christmastime again, this time for the year 2010. We're expecting snow on Christmas Day, which would be cool, in more ways than one. I'm going to take some time off from work and try to rest, although God only knows what I'm actually going to end up doing. There's always a list of things to be done, whether at home or at work. I suspect when we all get up to Heaven someday, God will greet us with a list of things to do along with a requirement that we fill in estimates of when we think we'll have them done. The list will continually grow and we will spend our eternity doing this damn list. Yeah, and that's Heaven. Hell is no doubt even worse and probably involves project managers and perpetual 'scope creep', where your original task keeps growing with more and more requirements. Meanwhile, other things are added to the list and you're expected to somehow get them all done at the same time. Demons nag the shit out of you for being behind. And there's no internet in hell so you can't blog about it. And no days off. And no toilet paper in the bathrooms. And no coffee, except decaff, which you finally learn is just demons pissing in a dirty coffee pot, as you had always suspected.



I wish I was a real boy
Anyway, enough about that. What else is going on for Christmas this year? Oh yeah, President Obama is trying to push through a bunch of new appointees to our Justice Department and other top posts with great power. It's not being widely publicized (Wall Street Journal page A2, Dec 22), but I couldn't help noticing that every single one of them are Jewish women with heavy feminazi ties, and by feminazi I mean Ashkenazi, which is German for 'face like a rat.' And then I started researching a little (got lost in Googleland) and I discovered that the vast majority of Obama appointees are feminazi Jewish women. And living in Memphis as I do, I had to ask, where are all the high-ranking jobs for black men and women that he promised? Why are only a handful of his closest and highest-ranking appointees black men and black women? Why does he so often appear to be totally beholden to (owned and operated by) Jewish misandric feminist women specifically? These women didn't vote for him, not a single one. They voted for Hillary. And Hillary isn't dead (where's Dorothy with that bucket of water?) or even out of the running for the next presidential race. Yes, yes, I know that Obama is George Soros' houseboy and George Soros is a huge Ashkenazi feminazi communist momma's boy who gives millions to female supremacist hate groups around the world in the mistaken belief that one day, if he gives enough money, these man-hating Marxist mostly-lesbian womyn will magically love him and only him the way his momma never did. But even so, you would think, what with all the rap songs about "bros before hos" and shit, that Obama would take care of the brothas first, and pay back his master, Voldemort, second. But if you thought this, you would be wrong. Never underestimate the power of the Dark Side, and by 'Dark Side' I don't mean black people, because as I just said, he's not really paying back the black people very well, which was the whole point of that entire gigantic paragraph.



Barney Claus
Also happening just in time for Christmas, our Democrat-controlled Congress, with their dying breath, set free all the gay soldiers in the military (Democrats created Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell under Clinton and The very gay Press celebrated it), took over the internet so they could censor blogs like mine, sold our national security to the Russians with a Jimmy-Carter-like treaty straight out of the drug-fueled, disco 1970s, and swore to their goddess, Lilith, that they didn't mean to lie about Global Warming. And then those Death Eaters disapparated and returned to Voldemort's lair to plot their eventual return and revenge.



Pump till you puke
What else is going on? Oh yes, I have joined a new gym, where women in workout tights stand in front of a room wearing a Britney Spears-like headset and force entire groups of people to do torturous and agonizing things involving stretchy cables, dumbbells, plastic step-ups and foam mats. Meanwhile, just outside the torture room, visible through the glass windows, college girls in tiny tank-tops and shorts are sweating and exercising with weights for upcoming volleyball/basketball/softball/soccer matches against other colleges with teams of similarly sweaty girls. Alongside the sweaty college girls, old fat men are attempting to powerlift the same weight they did while they were younger while struggling not to stare too hard at the college girls. Elsewhere in the new gym, there is a tiny dark room filled with sweaty, panting people on bicycles that go nowhere. Another Britney-Spears-like person, this one a man, forces them to ride their bicycles to nowhere as fast as possible while he shouts at them and blares technopop music through giant speakers. Upstairs, people ride similar bicycles to nowhere, run treadmills to nowhere, and ellipticize on ellipticals to nowhere, all while watching big-screen TVs (checking each other out) and listening to iPods. Down below, a group of white men play basketball against one another (badly) and silently pray to God for the ability to slam dunk like Michael Jordan (never gonna happen.) And because I have joined in on all of this, I am now paying less money (I'm broke) while working out harder (vomiting) than I was before (no interruptions to listen to monologues about conspiracy theories), and as a result, I am today in severe pain unlike anything I ever experienced with the conspiracy master, LaRaza, who was my previous trainer.



Drugs? I ain't on no drugs. Whatchew tawkin' 'bout, boy?
Yesterday, as I was driving home from work, I got behind a white Toyota Celica going 40 in the passing lane on the highway. Traffic was just blowing past this turd until we came to a red light. When the light turned green, he just sat there for a minute until I had to tap my horn. Then he slooooowly accelerated up to a crawl. With all the traffic blowing past us, there was no way to get around him. When I flashed my brights, indicating to all who passed their driver's test that you are in the passing lane and clearly not passing anyone so move it or get over, he began tapping his brakes. Yeah, in a Celica. And I'm in a giant 4x4 with a steel grill-guard just right for pushing Japanese shit-piles into a ditch. He tapped his brakes and I didn't tap mine. My grill-guard went up over his rear bumper and hatch and was nearly tapping his rear window when it suddenly occurred to him that he'd better speed the fuck up or he might be visiting a bodyshop and/or hospital for Christmas. At this point, Bo Duke there stuck his fist out the window and began shaking it. Yes, seriously. And then, not satisfied with shaking his fist, he himself began to climb out of his window, turn around backwards, and scream at me. I have no idea who was steering his car at this point, but he was going so slowly anyway that it is entirely possible that no one was. The fist-shaking gentlemen had a long white beard and scraggly long hair, well matched to his sunken pale eyes, pale wrinkly skin, and bad teeth. He looked like someone who might have been kicked out of ZZ Top at some point. I had to laugh at this comical cunt going totally apeshit in front of me as a consequence of his own bad, and likely drunken, driving. But I did go ahead and sit on my horn while turning on my high beams to make absolutely certain he understood that I was not his sister and thus he should stop trying to fuck with me. I suppose he got the point. He slipped back into his seat and continued his agonizing crawl down the highway. I had reached my destination at this point and turned left to go home. At the rate he was traveling, I'll bet he's still driving right now, trying to get to wherever he was going. That is, unless someone has shot him by now.


Ahm gowna put a bullet in ye, boy!

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