I hate when people say "back in the good ol' days" as though society was better fifty years ago than it is today. And to be completely fair, I must admit that I wasn't alive fifty years ago to speak from experience, though I'm sure the obvious advancements made since then can speak for themselves. But I'm not going to compare the intellectual state of the average citizen today to how things were "back before bicycle helmets, car seats and that damned Internet" but I can say, without fear of being nostalgically biased, that people are stupid.

Yep. I said it. The average, middle class, blue-collar, hard working, plumber Joe American is a flipping idiot that doesn't know what the hell they're talking about unless it's football or Oprah. They're too busy feeding their faces with smutty magazines, tacky sit-coms, vampire books, chicken soups for the soul and video games to actually learn something about the world around them every so often.

A 2005 article in The New York Times states that one in five adult Americans thinks the sun revolves around the Earth.

Wait. Let me reiterate that one with the proper accents to really drive this home.

A 2005 article in the New York Times states that ONE IN FIVE adult Americans THINKS THE SUN REVOLVES AROUND THE EARTH.

There are really only two excuses one could give in defense of this scientific misunderstanding. They are as follows:

Excuse 1- "Of course I think the sun revolves around the earth, for I am a time traveler from the 14th century who has never heard of heliocentrism. What? Copernicus? Who's that?"

Excuse 2- "From the time I was born to this very moment, I have been kept under a very dark, heavy rock. My parents fed me earthworms and laffytaffy and prevented me from learning anything from anybody. I couldn't read any books, except for the Bible, of course."

If neither of these applies to you, and you are just learning of this late breaking, cosmic development, unfortunately you fall into the Plumber Joe category defined above. Go read a book. (not the Bible)

But why are Americans so dumb? Why do the majority of people in the US think Africa is a country? Why do so many Americans, after years of political discussion and analysis on the topic, think Saddam Hussein was the one who ordered planes flown into the WTC on September 11th? And why do 24% of our uber-patriotic citizens not know what country we fought in the revolutionary war? At first, I chalked it up to simple, genetic inability to process information. I felt sorry for these people because they were born stupid. But I soon realized this couldn't be the case when I heard several 'good ole boys' at work argue about the differential in the new Ford pickups, complete with in-depth descriptions of complex mechanical processes. The cognitive capacity is there. The interest is not.

Obviously, somewhere along the line, someone conveyed to all these people that this political, philosophical, scientific and mathematical knowledge wasn't as important as, say, the names and statistics of every athlete on the Chicago Bears or why Brad and Jennifer broke up again.

"So who cares?" you say. "If they want to be ignorant, let them." you sass. But here's the thing. I don't want to hear someone talk about shit they know nothing about but think they are an expert on. It makes me angry that these people get to vote and use taxpayer money when they couldn't care less who their senators or representatives are, or what they do for that matter. I don't like to discuss politics with someone who thinks Glenn Beck would make a great president and I don't like reading texts from people who don't know how to spell 'Merry Christmas!' (Marry Christmas).

If you choose to be uninformed, it's none of my business. If you have no desire to learn about life or seek answers to your questions or observe the planet and the cosmos bustling around you everywhere you look, it's fine by me. But if you don't know what you are talking about, please don't talk. You aren't that important. Because regardless of what one in five Americans think, the universe does not revolve around you.

The perfect war - revised

The singeing smell of burning trash and sewage permeated through every sour alley way and filmy window throughout the city. Black, sludgy puddles reflected the setting sun like pools of mercury as our convoy rolled past the market district of Musayyib. Shop owners frantically slung chains through welded loops and studs in order to make it home before the call to prayer. Within minutes, the once bustling streets were occupied only by mangy dogs searching for any remaining bits of falafel or kebab. I couldn't help but wonder if Iraqis had a secret ability to morph into canines, for they never made a simultaneous appearance. As soon as the arm waving, beard scratching men disappeared while your back was turned, the dogs emerged through ravines and gutters to scope out the situation and watch without persecution. The fact that the two mammals smell almost identical only fueled my suspicion.
We rounded the corner and continued down an alley bleeding with anti-American graffiti. All doors were shut and the radiant orange blanket of sunlight was fading into a dingy grey, foreshadowing the ominous coming of night. I stood in the turret and scanned the rooftops, thumbs resting on the split trigger of my .50 caliber machine gun in anticipation for that first snap of a round or reflection from a distant Dragunov scope. Scenes from popular war movies swirled through my head while images of bloody ambushes and fiery explosions coaxed me to stop pondering why I enlisted for this bullshit and pay attention to my surroundings.
We passed a small building with a roof of grass, mere inches off of our right side. The mirror almost scraped and I turned to ensure all of the bulky, unnecessary, (yet government mandated) equipment bolted to each side of the vehicle passed without harm. I had taken my hands off of my weapon.
I never heard the muzzle blast but the gunner in the vehicle behind me said it came from somewhere near the school. It didn't hurt, in fact, I didn't even know I had been shot until I felt the slick liquid soak my sleeve. I stared in disbelief. Florescent pink paint was everywhere. He must have been using extra large balls-the kind the Geneva convention wouldn't let American troops use because of the confusion it creates from not being able to identify the exact point of impact. Insurgents used them in lieu of marksmanship training-if there's paint everywhere, they thought, we would assume it was in a vital area. I didn't assume shit. I stripped my gear and meticulously fingered through the latex sludge, searching for any remnants of crispy shell.
The UN Impact Official scurried to our truck, fumbling with his camera and various clip boards to document and officiate the exact point of impact. The scene was chaotic and marines were scrambling to find the sniper. It was all a blur. I was still coping with the realization that I could be going home. I was careless and I let my guard down, let my Marines down, let my country down. I would be revered as a hero at my homecoming, but my conscience would always tell me otherwise.
I prayed for an arm shot as I climbed out of the turret to assume the Vitruvian position. I could deal with two months of combat disqualification, but going home was not an option, not until my year was up. The UNIO snapped a few quick photos and asked a slew of questions in a sharp Dutch accent, most of which I couldn't answer because it had all happened so quickly.
What were you doing at the time of impact?
Where on your body did you feel the impact?
Are you physically injured in any way?
He scribbled down my answers on his UN clip board and immediately accessed his bag for a small, black wand. With a flip of a switch it hummed into service emitting an eerie blue aura. It was a density light, designed by the UN to make locating the precise impact point easier. He slowly passed it over my paint spattered body, stopping occasionally to jot more notes and berate me for touching the paint before he arrived. Areas of thick paint coverage absorbed more of the light and showed up brighter with spatter and over spray absorbing little to no light at all. The brightest glow came from my flank, just below my arm pit. He sympathetically shook his head and lifted my arm to expose the jagged pieces of a shattered shell. I wanted to spit in his face and demand he do it again. I wanted to tear up his papers and throw his clip board into the shitty sludge flowing from the nearby drain, but I knew I was done. There was nothing I could do.
I handed my weapon over to my team leader and apologized. He lit a cigarette and said a few words about war being a bitch, all the while keeping a hurried lookout to the street lights and desolate alleys of the now darkened city. He was anxious to continue the mission, I knew, so I turned and reluctantly accepted defeat.
I climbed into the back of the UN van thinking of home. What would they think? Should I tell them the truth, or fabricate a heroic story of bullet barrages and valiant devotion? The air conditioner was cold. I reclined the seat and took a deep breath to steady my twitching hands and quivering lip. Outside, the convoy rolled on without me. It was hard to see them go, but at this point, it was beyond my control. The wheels of fate were turning, and now, I was just along for the ride.
I closed my eyes to rest and tried to think optimistically. "Well" I said aloud, while making myself comfortable, "I guess it could be worse."

Revolutionary and Space Age!

Why can I picture this guy as a boys swim instructor at the Y?

Quotes for the Bibliomaniac

There are only a few things in my life that trump the importance of books. Sometimes I am drawn to my bookshelves, as though I am looking for something specific, but I eventually walk away empty handed. An eerie sensation overcomes me while standing in front of my books, yet, for the longest time, I couldn't quite pinpoint it. It's not quite pride. Not quite desire. Then one day I realized what it was. I was drawn to my books to simply stare and admire. The thought of all that knowledge, entertainment, wisdom, character, and wit of my most beloved authors, both dead and alive, staring back at me often brings me to the brink of tears. If you embrace your bibliomaniacal ways as I do, enjoy the following quotes, pulled straight from - you guessed it - my very own books.

" A little library, growing larger every year, is an honorable part of a man's history. It is a man's duty to have books. A library is not a luxury, but one of the necessities of life." - Henry Ward Beecher

"The novel, in its best form, I regard as one of the most powerful engines of civilization ever invented." - Sir John Herschel

"The first time I read an excellent book, it is to me just as if I had gained a new friend; when I read over a book I have perused before, it resembles the meeting with an old one." - Oliver Goldsmith

"But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think." Lord Byron

"Give us a house furnished with books rather than with furniture. Both if you can, but books at any rate." Henry Ward Beecher

"We are as liable to be corrupted by books as by companions." Henry Fielding

The Books - Smells Like Content

I've always liked The Books, but their loose, audio-clip-injected style doesn't make for good playlist selection or Sunday morning listening. You've got to be in a specific mood for The Books in order to listen to The Books. But this song is one of the more fluid songs of theirs and it has a pretty simple, yet rad music video to compliment it.

I'm not sure what's going on here. A blatant statement of the obvious - as in planes were used to carry out 9-11? A tragic case of misspelling by an apparent six year old conspiracy theorist with a can of spray paint? Or, quite possibly, a witty double entendre, strategically placed under a Fort Madison bridge to spread more conspiracy propaganda against George Bush? I'm going with the latter. Damn you Glenn Beck!

Now that's dedication...or something.

I wrote a poem in honor of my hundredth blog post. I post a link to my blog every time I leave a comment on the internet. I nurture my blog and tend to it daily. But this has got me beat, and I must say, I gladly surrender.

Joke of the day

Q: How many lawyers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Such number as may be deemed to perform the stated task in a timely and efficient manner within the strictures of the following agreement:

Whereas the party of the first part, also known as “Lawyer,” and the party of the second part, also known as “Light Bulb,” do hereby and forthwith agree to a transaction wherein the party of the second part (Light Bulb) shall be removed from the current position as a result of failure to perform previously agreed-upon duties, i.e., the illumination of the area ranging from the front (north) door, through the entryway, terminating at an area just inside the primary living area, demarcated by the beginning of the carpet, any spillover illumination being at the option of the party of the second part (Light Bulb) and not required by the aforementioned agreement between the parties.

The aforementioned removal transaction shall include, but not be limited to, the following steps:

1.) The party of the first part (Lawyer) shall, with or without elevation, at his option, by means of a chair, stepstool, ladder, or any other means of elevation, grasp the party of the second part (Light Bulb) and rotate the party of the second part (Light Bulb) in a counterclockwise direction, said direction being non- negotiable. Said grasping and rotation of the party of the second part (Light Bulb) shall be undertaken by the party of the first part (Lawyer) with every reasonable caution by the party of the first part (Lawyer) to maintain the structural integrity of the party of the second part (Light Bulb), notwithstanding the aforementioned failure of the party of the second part (Light Bulb) to perform the aforementioned customary and agreed-upon duties. The foregoing notwithstanding, however, both parties stipulate that structural failure of the party of the second part (Light Bulb) may be incidental to the aforementioned failure to perform, and in such case the party of the first part (Lawyer) shall be held blameless for such structural failure insofar as this agreement is concerned so long as the non-negotiable directional codicil (counterclockwise) is observed by the party of the first part (Lawyer) throughout.

2.) Upon reaching a point where the party of the second part (Light Bulb) becomes separated from the party of the third part (”Receptacle”), the party of the first part (Lawyer) shall have the option of disposing of the party of the second part (Light Bulb) in a manner consistent with all applicable state, local, and federal statutes.

3.) Once separation and disposal have been achieved, the party of the first part (Lawyer) shall have the option of beginning installation of the party of the fourth part (”New Light Bulb”). This installation shall occur in a manner consistent with the reverse of the procedures described in Step 1 of this document, being careful to note that the rotation should occur in a clockwise direction, said direction also being non-negotiable.

NOTE: The above-described steps may be performed, at the option of the party of the first part (Lawyer), by said party of the first part (Lawyer), by his heirs and assigns, or by any and all persons authorized by him to do so, the objective being to produce a level of illumination in the immediate vicinity of the aforementioned front (north) door consistent with maximization of commerce and revenue for the party of the fifth part, also known as “The Firm.”

Bittersweet

My list: Snow. Working a double. Folk music. Driving by my old high school. Smoking a pack of cigarettes in one night. Bukowski poetry. Shaving. Your child's birthday party. Waking up at 2 pm. Getting married. Forrest Gump. Cutting a tree down. Eating any combo from Hardee's.

The way I see it, there are only a few steps one needs to know in order to master the banjo. I have achieved almost all of them. I know exactly how to hold the banjo. I know how to talk about my banjo. I really like bluegrass music. I move my fingers really fast. Now all I have to do is actually learn how to play the banjo. I'm almost there, and if this video is any indication as to how easy it really is then I'll be jamming in no time. Thanks Frank!

Post Holloween Blues

Good Winter - A music review on Bon Iver

Fluttering leaves from gnarly trees: check.
Shrieking neighbor kids on gray days: check.
Burning oak from billowing chimneys: check.

Yep, sure is that time of year again. And with the approach of the somber, bittersweet days of winter comes the quasi-religious devotion to my deities of folk. This means you Sufjan Stevens, Iron and Wine, Devendra Banhart, Fleet Foxes, Jose Gonzales, and Neko Case, to name a few. Yet, as the warmth of the sun slowly shifts to a different hemisphere, the warmth of the newly discovered voice of Justin Vernon fills my headphones, quickly sneaking his band, Bon Iver, into the ranks of my favorite folk musicians.
Bon Iver (pronounced Boney - vair) is loosely translated into "Good Winter" in French, perfectly reflecting the feel of Vernon's sobering falsetto vocals. If it is possible to contemplate life while tapping your toes, Bon Iver will inspire it.
Their album, "For Emma, Forever Ago" was written by Vernon during a reclusive stay in a cabin in Wisconsin. When asked why he chose Wisconsin, he stated "...I knew that I wanted to be where it was cold." The pain of an illness and a recent break-up with his girlfriend is apparent in his performance and lyrics, forcing us into a momentary depression of empathy. Yet I don't look at Bon Iver's music as a downer, as much as an emotional vacation, which, after all, is the real reason we all listen to music.
So as we head into the dark days of Autumn and Winter, let us bask in the gloom of some powerful folk, tip our hat to the solstice, and wish each other a "Bon Hiver."

Old Fort facelift

These guys were changing the wood on the fort in my hometown to make it more historically accurate. Thanks guys, historical accuracy is good.

Just in case...

Here is part of the speech President Nixon would have given if the Apollo 11 crew ended up stranded on the moon. (Enlarge to read.)

I heart Carl

The incredible, magnificently brilliant Carl Sagan is a hero of mine and has helped shape my beliefs on life and existance. (May he rest in peace.) Here is a video of him bustin' a rhyme.

My Town II

It's official

I finally decided to take the leap and become an official Bright. I can't change the world, but every step counts. What is a Bright? I'm glad you asked.

- A Bright is a person who has a naturalistic worldview.
- A bright's worldview is free of supernatural and mystical elements.
- The ethics and actions of a bright are based on a naturalistic worldview.

Brights is pretty much a community pushing for a metaphysical-free, deity-free, magic-free world with no supernatural mumbo-jumbo or non-science based beliefs...in a nut-shell.

If you think you may be interested, go to
the-brights.net
for more info.

Even personal ads were better in the 80's!

Dating Montage
by smithy00101

Love your Love

WTF mayor

I wish I could be tea bagged.

There's a whole lot of information out there. And when I say there's a whole lot of information out there, I mean there's a whole lot of liberal information out there. We need some level headed conservatives to sort through the B.S. and bring us the truth. Like the tea baggers! Their truth based protests expose the corrupt ways of the government and shine light on our wicked path to evil. Thank you tea baggers for being so informed (or shall I say infromed), for being so educated and most importantly, being so wise. (I'm sure the spelling errors were simple mistakes.)

gettin' down on some brown gravy

My Town

Prayers

Some prayers from the book You Are Worthless. They made me laugh.


"Please, Easter Bunny, bring me plenty of eggs this year. And if you see Jesus, tell him we've been waiting for two thousand years for him to come back, and we're wondering if maybe he lost track of time."

"Dear God, your most visible representatives here on Earth are all a bunch of kooks. Sorry."

"Dear God, I understand that if I fail to believe in you, I'll burn in hell for all of eternity. Thanks for being such a good sport about it."

Yahoo! Answers question eleven

I've already cut down on my noise pollution. What else can I do to help the environment?


I love being green, and I have dedicated myself to preserving our planet by reducing my contribution to noise pollution. I have put foam pads on the inside of my Hummer doors to make them quieter when they close, I have put baffles on my jet skis, my motorcycles, my four-wheelers and every time one of the kids yell, I tell them they just added one inch to the giant hole in the ozone layer.
I am currently looking for some quieter lawn sprinklers (since we run them all summer) and we turn the t.v on mute and use the closed captions options instead. Is there anything else you could recommend to help reduce our impact on global warming? Any suggestions are appreciated.

Antony and the Johnsons - Music Review

If you mixed Boy George, Elton John, the emotional crescendos of the worst Lifetime movies ever, a splash of orchestra, extreme vibrato and a whole lot of androgyny, you might come close to mimicking the tearful yet high-voltage sound of Antony and the Johnsons. While abrasive at first, Antony finds a way to pound into your frontal lobe and leave you laughing at the ridiculousness of his lyrics while humming the addictive chorus over and over.
His appearance is odd and alien to his own culture, but not unnerving. And when he sings, the spectator soon forgets Antony is wearing a shimmering, space nightgown, and falls into the trance of the peaks and valleys of his quivering vocals.
Maybe it's the carnal effect powerful orchestral sounds have on the emotions, or maybe its the feeling Antony puts into his performance, but I like to think it's his lack of shame, even pride, for who he is and what he represents. And rightly so, for what he does is truly amazing.

One of my favorite parts of one of my favorite movies.

Its funny 'cause it's true.

By the way, for those who don't know it already, I am a certified nutritionist. No, really.

Anagram Stretch

A 0.8-mile stretch of northbound Interstate 287 in New Jersey contains these signs:

WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS
NO TRUCKS IN LEFT LANE
LAFAYETTE AVE.
EXIT 20 MPH
BRIDGE FREEZES BEFORE ROAD SURFACE
INTERSTATE NEW JERSEY 287

To date this is the shortest reported stretch of U.S. highway whose permanent, official signs contain all 26 letters of the alphabet.

The Overly Enthusiastic Cat Lover Answer

I had no part in this question or answer. There is really someone out there who loves their cat THIS MUCH.

Q- i'm thinking of getting a cat, either a manx or a ragdoll.
what are the basic things you need to take care of a cat?
is there a bad side of getting a cat?
a good side?
also, what are the average prices of both cat breeds i'm interested in if i'm going to a breeder/pound?

plz add as much as you know about cat care in ur reply ;D


**** YEAH CATS ARE ******* COOL AS **** THEY ARE CUTE AND DAMN CUDDLY **** THEY ONLY NEED FOOD WATER TOYS AND CARE MOTHERFUCKER CATS ARE DAMN AWESOME.
Source(s):
MY OWN COOL *** CAT

Yahoo! Answers question Ten

I found this question on Yahoo! answers and couldn't resist.

I'm pregnant and I have never had sex.?
That's right just went to the doctor who confirmed it. I am 15 almost 16 and never in my life have I had sexual intercourse. But here I am 6 week pregnant! could someone PLEASE EXPLAIN this to me. Cause the doc sure couldn't!!!!



My Answer- Actually, there is a very, very rare medical condition called Burgenhoffer's disease where you don't actually have to be involved in any type of sexual activity in order to get pregnant. Here's how it happens.
When you are born, you have a certain amount of eggs in your ovaries waiting for you to hit puberty so you can start dropping. As you mature, your body releases chemicals, triggering their release. If you have Bergenhoffer's disease, your Y chromosomes have one peptide too many and when your glands start producing estrogen it is chemically imbalanced and causes your body to hoard your eggs instead of dropping them. The extra peptide causes a very volatile concoction in your reproductive organs that, in most cases, causes all eggs to die. But some scientists believe if your eggs survive, they will adapt to their hardships and start developing off of the DNA of the Y chromosomes only. This would trigger the development of the egg into an embryo without the use of sperm, therefore creating a sex free pregnancy.


Actually, I made all of that up. You have to have sex to get pregnant.

You should recognize one of these guys from your high school. Remember the kid who used to pick his nose and wipe it on the desk? Yeah, that's him in the green. And the gym teacher said he wouldn't amount to anything!

Thanks for the vid, Cary.

Yeasayer - Introduction and review

It's only seconds after the stage is surrendered that the four toe - tapping, loosely gyrating men break into an 80's - esque apocalyptic version of life in the future. The crew is an odd compilation of musical doppelgangers of the past, with uncannily familiar doubles of Buddy Holly on drums and Weird Al Yankovic on Bass.
"I can't sleep when I think about the times we're livin' in, I can't sleep when I think about the future I was born into." It's an eerie, representative theme that hangs on all of our minds, delivered by a staggering, violently convulsing lead singer.
While the stagecraft is pleasantly chaotic, the soothing, spiritual vocals and instrumentals take me to a place of order and rhythm, not to mention snap bracelets and hot pink trapper keepers.
In a desperate attempt to compartmentalize their music, Yeasayer is often compared to Brian Eno or The Talking Heads, but I realized after one experience, they are in a category all by themselves.

in admiration, yes, for he,ee

who is this ee cummings guy, who
thInks he is s o spec
ial that his name
need


not

be capitalized?
And have you read his poetry?

GOODNESS!

His punctuation skills

are a t r o c i o u s

Confessions of Sergeant Francois Bertrand

"When I was 7 or 8 years old, my parents noticed that I was inclined to a special maladjustment that drove me to go for walks in the darker spots of woods, where I stayed for entire days in absolute sadness.

On the 23rd or 25th of February 1847, a strange kind of fury seized me and made me do the things for which I was arrested. Here is how it happened. One day, I went for a walk in the country with one of my friends when we came by a cemetery; we entered it, to satisfy our curiousity. Someone had been buried the day before; the undertaker, surprised by rain, had not finished covering the grave and had left his tools on the ground. When I saw this, I was overcome with gloomy thoughts. I suffered from a violent headache; my heart got carried away and I couldn't control myself anymore. I gave my friend the excuse that I had to go back to town immediately and when I got rid of him, I went back to the graveyard. I picked up a shovel and I started to dig the grave. When I finally removed the corpse from its tomb, I started to hit it with the shovel, driven by a rage I cannot explain. But a worker suddenly appeared at the cemetery's gate. I stood up, but then I saw no one. The man had gone to alert the authorities. I climbed out of the grave, and after re-covering the corpse with dirt, I jumped over the graveyard's wall...

Four months had passed since this happened. In the meantime, I stayed quiet; we had come back to Paris, and I believed that my madness had disappeared completely when my friends invited me to come and visit the Pere-Lachaise cemetery.

I enjoyed the dark alleys of this graveyard quite a bit, and I decided to come back for a walk during the night. I entered into the cemetery at 9 PM by climbing the wall. I strolled around for half an hour, my mind filled with black thoughts, then I started to dig a grave with my bare hands; I tore the body into pieces, then I left. It happened in June.

Then came the February 1848 cases. At this period, the regiment started to go on the road, and we only came back in Paris in June. We were camping near a village in the suburbs of Amiens, so I only came back to Paris on the 17th of July. After a few days of rest, the sickness came back, more violent than ever. We were staying in the Ivry Camp; at night, the guards were posted very near and their instructions were very severe, but nothing could stop me. I climbed out of the camp every night, to go to the Montparnasse Cemetery, where I satisfied my lust.

The first victim of my fury was a young girl whose limbs I scattered after having mutilated her. This desecration took place on July 25, 1848 Ever since then, I only came back twice to that cemetery. The first time, at midnight, under a bright moon, I saw a guard walking down an alley, a pistol in his hand. I was perched on a tree, near the surrounding wall, ready to climb down into the graveyard; he walked by me, but did not see me. When he was far enough from me, I left without even trying to do a thing. The second time, I dug up the remains of an old woman and a child; I treated them the same way as my other victims. I cannot remember when this happened. The other cases happened in a cemetery where only suicide victims and people who died in hospitals are buried. The first individual that I dug up in this place was a drowned corpse that I disemboweled. It was on July 30. You must notice that I seldom mutilated men. I did not take pleasure from it, whereas I had a great time mutilating the corpses of women. I do not know why.

By November 6, 1848, I dug up and mutilated four bodies, two men and two women. The women were at least 60 years old. I cannot remember the exact dates of these exhumations, but they happened every two weeks.

On November 6, at 10 p.m., someone shot at me while I was climbing the graveyard's wall. I was not hit. This fact did not discourage me. I laid on the wet ground and slept for at least 2 hours in the winter cold. I then entered the graveyard, where I dug up the body of a drowned woman. I disemboweled her...

At first, I committed these excesses only after drinking a pint of wine, but I never did this again under the influence of alcohol. Simple annoyance was enough to drive me to such extremes.

You could believe that I was also prone to assault living persons, but on the contrary, I was extremely kind to everybody. I wouldn't hurt a child. So I am sure that I have no enemies. All the non-commissioned officers appreciated my frankness and my cheerfulness."

FYI

I haven't come to a final conclusion on where I stand when it comes to religion, but, as with all other topics, I'm always down for a great debate. That being said, there are some heated, semi-intellectual debates (and humorous childish rants) on this website. Check it out if you are feeling theologically frisky.

http://raycomfortfood.blogspot.com/

Feminism: Alive in the Workplace

I found this altered caution sign on the floor of the factory where I work. I thought I'd share it with you.

Starship Enterprise on My Knee

Coincidence? I think not.

Speechless

Nipped in the Bud - Craigslist poem

Its funny to me how you reacted.
I just was going about my day and YOU followed ME.
You're going through a battle, having to remind yourself constantly that it can't happen.
I hate to be the one who makes you falter.
So I say, dating is pointless and love isn't real.

Don't let her go for me.

I will break you.

I'm Back. For a while.

oh, this
conflictive
violent
savage
wreckless
strewn
life
of Iowa!
it's almost too much
for one man
to bear.