because it's THE LAW!

Leviticus is such a fun book to read. So many specific rules, and covering a plethora of topics too!

Leviticus 15.2,3 When any man has a discharge from his penis, the discharge is unclean, whether the penis runs with it, or is stopped by it.


-Leviticus 11.1-8 You may eat any land animal that has divided hoofs and that also chews the cud, but you must not eat camels, rock badgers, or rabbits. These must be considered unclean for they chew the cud but do not have divided hoofs. Do not eat pigs. They must be considered unclean for they have divided hoofs but do not chew the cud.

-Leviticus 11.9-12 You may eat any kind of fish that has fins and scales, but anything living in the water that does not have fins and scales must not be eaten. You must not eat them or even touch their dead bodies. You must not eat anything that lives in the water and does not have fins and scales.

Leviticus 11.13-19 You must not eat any of the following birds: eagles, owls, hawks, falcons, buzzards, vultures, crows, ostriches, seagulls, storks, herons, pelicans, cormorants, hoopoes, or bats.

Leviticus 11.20,21 All winged insects are unclean, except those that hop.


Leviticus 15.16 When a man has an emission of semen, he must bathe his whole body and remains unclean until evening.

Leviticus 15.19 When a woman has her monthly period, she remains unclean for seven days. Anyone who touches her will remain unclean until evening.

And my favorite Deuteronomy verses;
Deuteronomy 25.7-10 But if the dead man's brother does not want to marry her, she is to go before the town leaders and say "My husband's brother will not do his duty; he refuses to give his brother a descendant among the people of of Israel." Then the town leaders are to summon him and speak to him. If he still refuses to marry his brother's widow, she is to go up to him in the presence of the town leaders, take off one of his sandals, spit in his face and say "This is what happens to the man who refuses to give his brother a descendant." His family will be known in Israel as 'the family of the man who had his sandal pulled off.'

Deuteronomy 25.11-12 If two men are having a fight and the wife of one tries to help her husband by grabbing hold of the other man's genitals, show no mercy; cut off her hand.

SPAM haikus 1

I found this website dedicated to Spam Haikus. I was disappointed to see they have stopped taking submissions so, of course, I turned to the trusty blog.


If SPAM was a sport
I believe that it would be
sweeter than curling.

I wish they would call
all unwanted junk email
VIENNA SAUSAGE.

SPAM is good with eggs
oh wait, who am I kidding?
SPAM is just plain good.

If SPAM was a bird
its feathers would be bright, and
it would mate for life.

I try to avoid Piggly Wiggly as much as possible. The prices aren't any lower, and unless you're looking for pickled pigs' feet or cow pancreas, they don't have anything Food Lion doesn't. It smells like a basement and the floors are polished eight times a day to give it that sterile, capitol hill feel. However, Piggly Wiggly is always good for one thing. Great eavesdropping. For some reason (I'll spare you my personal opinion) the dedicated Piggly Wiggly shoppers seem to have a few less teeth, a few more stains on their tank tops, and mustaches. Lord, I hate mustaches.
Yesterday I was perusing the aisles for some emergency lemon jell-o, when I overheard two men talking politics. It was rather one-sided, with the older, grey haired man rambling on about how it don't matter if that Paladin lady was a mayor or whatever, she stands up for what I believe in and after all that Hussein Obama fella' swore in on a Muslim bible or whatever they call it and I aint votin' for some closet Muslim.
First I laughed (inside of course, he weighed a hundred pounds more than me). Then I got downright angry. I realized it is the ignorant voter that will ruin this election. It's the close-mindedness which will drag this country down even further into the cesspool of debt and recession. It will be people like this guy. I believe the above scenario will weed out a lot of stupid voters and save this country.
Think about it. They only get to choose one option.
"Martha! Don't forget, tonight's the free lottery ticket night. Member, jest like they did it a a few years ago? I think it's down at the middle school gymnasium where all the people vote and stuff. We'll take the Ford!"
"Which one? the F-150 or the Ranger?"
"The one with the Piggly Wiggly stickers on the back. I can feel it! We're gonna win big!!!"

They didn't die in vain after all.

I'm glad to see Burger King has a strong grasp on the meaning of patriotism. Bumper stickers are bad enough, but THIS? I'm glad they appraise the lost lives of service members at $1.29. It's all about little sacrifices, but this is ridiculous. I don't think this is what people mean when they use the term freedom fries.

in hamburg

an irish man showed me how to do it.
he grabbed the empty beer bottle from my hand
and smashed it on the ground.
That's what they do in Hamburg.
not a toss
but a violent, mighty downward sling.
i shatter the next bottle in a gutter
and it explodes into a trillion green shards.
i feel strong and free
and the more i smash the better i feel.
i smash a bottle at the feet of an old man in drag
and again in front of a skin head in leather and studs.
i smash bottles at hookers with crooked eyes
and stained faux fur.
i walk by apartments with closed venetian blinds
and can't help but wonder who is or has been inside
so i smash a bottle for them too.
i'm amazed at the chaos of wild-eyed drivers
honking and swerving and they're so good i wonder
if they have jobs or if they just do this all day.
i'm not finished with my bottle
but i smash it for them anyway.
it takes a lot of broken glass
but eventually i forget about the smell of piss
and sweaty vendors and
i finally see the beauty of hamburg
as the glass crunches under my feet.

Good Advice

I barrel through the house
in a fit of rage
My son watches me
pound my fists
swear
slam the door
as he sits in his high chair
I tell him it's pointless
there's no use in trying
we're going to hell
this whole world is insane
but he just stares at me
and drools.
I stop to take a breath
and realize
he has a point.

Richard’s Auto Body

I don’t know what draws me here. Every time I enter, I’m flooded with fear and guilt like the body shop itself rests on an ancient burial ground and my presence alone is enough to summon demons and bad karma. But I always stay until sunset, giving me just enough time to sprint home before my dad’s Audi putters into our driveway. I can’t read the clock, but I know I have plenty of time for conducting business.
I suppress the mental images of my father’s furrowing brow and angry beard scratching as I make my way through the body shop, toward his office. The flimsy sign on the door reads Employees Only. I push the door open and stand on my toes to hit the light switch, careful not to flip the one on the left which controls the air compressor. With a clink and a hum, the fluorescent bulbs flicker on, revealing the vast, comfortable mysteries of my dad’s business.
It isn’t so much an office as it is a walk-in closet tightly crammed with filing cabinets and a desk. Crooked, framed pictures of Dad smiling with nameless clients and their priceless cars clutter the walls. A stack of outdated NHRA calendars threatens to topple from a shelf above my head, but years of lacquer overspray have forged it into an indestructible tower. The tiny room is cluttered and unkempt, subtly harboring the secrets of being an adult, and more importantly, being my dad.
I climb to the padded seat of the swivel chair where, after a few silent, fluid spins, I get down to business. The surface of everything is covered in a thin layer of Bondo dust and empty paper coffee cups litter the desk. I’m careful not to disturb much as I open the top drawer of the nearest filing cabinet labeled BILLS. I search through tubes of insta-weld and putty knives before finding a suitable estimate book with plenty of carbon paper left.
A yellow phone sits on a stack of tri-county phonebooks. It is spattered with colorful blotches of paint and pink repair putty. After disconnecting the line, I pick it up and press it to my ear with a shoulder, allowing me to talk and write. I speak with a man about repairing his nineteen-something Ford. It’s always a rare car, irreplaceable to the customer- which is why they choose Richard’s Auto Body. I use words like quarter panel and after market parts, ambiguously describing the method I will use to repair their one-of-a-kind vehicle.
My cursive is no more than crooked, chaotic lines with violent, swooping tails dancing across the page in peaks and troughs. I stop every few seconds to lick the pen tip, though I don’t understand why. I inspect my work as I hang up the phone with another satisfied customer. It’s scribbled and illegible. I smile.
“Yup,” I say aloud, “Just like Dad’s.”