Supreme Court - A Name of Irony

Well, the U.S. Supreme Court was in fine form this week. They made a few decisions that have already disappeared from the headlines, but will have lasting impact on the nation. Normally, I try to steer clear of politics in this blog because of my great love of mankind, and my desire to ennoble humanity. But, I gotta comment...some of the decisions have a personal interest for me.

This week...the Supreme Court decided...

Bone-headed Decision 1: No death penalty for child molesters and rapists. Five of the "justices" voted against the death penalty.

I disagree with this decision. The death penalty is an excellent deterrent, excellent elimination of child-hurting vermin, and, reassures the victim that their tormentor will not be coming back to hurt them again...ever. It is also highly cost-effective compared to the cost of jailing, counseling, and tracking the sorry motherless bastards who commit these crimes.

The gene, brain damage, illness, environmental factors, or whatever that contribute to the making of a child molester can not be undone or cured. The only effective cures for molestation tendencies involve a life-sentence in general population (where real justice can get a chance) or the death penalty. To prevent recurrences of the crime, either jail them or keep them away from children forever, and as recent sad events have shown, these approaches don't always work.

To my thinking, the death penalty for child molesters just makes sense, and guarantees the perpetrator won't be doing it again any time soon.

Is the death penalty cruel and unusual punishment for this type of crime? Given the damage, destruction, and cruelty that the victim is often subjected to, I don't think so at all.


Bone-headed Decision 2: A $2 Billion Valentine for Exxon.
Remember the Exxon Valdez? And feeling the high price at the pump lately? And that Congressional monkey show of a "hearing" where they "fussed" at the oil company executives to demonstrate to the voting public that our U.S. politicians care...not so much? Then nothing happened. The executives giggled and kissed each other, gas prices stayed high, and our Congress just sort of mumbled "aw shucks" at the lobbyists who chucked them under the chin for their "bravery". Call me cynical, but my Honda tells me I didn't get much benefit from it.

Long story short recap, a few years ago, an Exxon boat driver got drunk, and ran into Alaska which would not get the hell out of the way, killed some critters, oiled the shore like it was getting ready to participate in a Greco-Roman wrestling match, put some fishermen out of business, and made things a little messy for some others.. Exxon was supposed to pay some monies to clean up and to say "I am sorry Captain Dimwit Drinks-A-Lot really f-d up the your state and critters and jobs and stuff. Here's some sincere money to fix things.".

This week, justice was served (hee hee) when the damages that Exxon had to pay were reduced from $2.5B to $500M. Yeah, $500M should be enough to buy some cheap towels for gasping sea otters. You know, maybe this decision makes sense...oil being so expensive now, what, really, does Alaska to complain about? They got at least 500 barrels of free oil...it is not Exxon's fault that they were too lazy and too busy complaining to get off their asses and soak it up.

Shut up, Alaska. Just pick up the free oil and be happy.


Bone-headed (?) Decision 3 - Handgun Ban Lifted for D.C.
Initially, I thought this was a bad decision...basically, it allows residents or visitors in Washington, D.C., where all the justices, politicians, and other fell creatures of a bestial nature congregate, to carry a handgun. Smart move. I would have thought this was a bad idea, but after thinking about it, I can see some benefits.

It'll make security for dignitaries from other countries easier since the protective detail can assume everyone is armed, and just adopt "shoot first, ask questions later" posture. Really would simplify things.

Alaska can get off its ass, arm itself, and shoot the next Captains Blotto BEFORE he hits the coast again. Imagine the combined sound of thousands of pissed off Alaskans firing a warning volley across the drunkard's bow with their legally permitted handguns.

So, not a boneheaded decision after...

Supreme Court? Why do I have this image in my head now?

The Artistic Side of SpinePuncher

As you may know from the blog, SpinePuncher is one who keeps me grounded and reminds me of what is important in life. In addition to being smart, she is a smart-aleck second to none. Her pithy comments such as "aww, blogging again, you cry-baby!!", and "are you gonna blog about earth-shaking events such as that mosquito that you just killed?" help me to reach my full potential as a human being.

Anyhoo, back to what's important in life. This week, it's Futurama...check the website, I can't continue to be a font of knowledge for you people. Note to SpinePuncher - where is the fricking official website for Futurama?!? All I could find was fan-sites put up by lame-o's still living in Mom's basement at the tender age of 45. Hello, discover girls much, fan-boy?

SpinePuncher loves this show more than life itself, and said once "I'll kill anyone who hurts the show or insults it." Somewhere, Fox executives involved in the decision to cancel the show go missing. She was totally jazzed this week because they released a new movie. So jazzed, she sat down and crafted a damn fine bag, as seen below.




Smart-alecky and creative...great combo, yeah, but does she have a cool blog?!? Since you love Futurama so much, why don't you marry it?

The Pain of BP and Pat Bentar

BP, a long time most excellent pard of mine whom I have known for a little over 18 years (dear gawd, has it been that long....so old!!) suffered a severe injury this weekend while volunteering at the Pat Bentar concert. Well, some people like Pat B., such as BP. PB and BP...that works, doesn't it?

I shouldn't judge because I have "Cheeky Girls" on my iPod.

BP, out of the magnanimity of her heart, was manning the beer tent. If you knew BP, you'll know that that was probably the best damn run beer tent at the concert. Things were going well...BP kept the beer flowing like water, while doing her part of diminish the supply, as only she can.

Came time to collapse the tent...with the visuals and sounds of Pat swimming in her head, the delight of cadging free beer, our BP wasn't paying attention...and her hand got caught in the thing that the tent folds on. I don't know what it's called officially, but focus, BP got injured. She was down. Below is an photographic representation of where she was injured and what she most likely said....I do not believe she said "goshers, major owie" as she claims.



She is currently recuperating....BP, get better soon. This song is for you because it is the only Pat Bentar song I know. Song to make your hand feel better.

You are in our thoughts during your time of suffering.

Town Suck Factor increased to 10.0

In my town, we are finally getting sewer and waterlines installed, ending our dependence on foreign-made port-o-johns. My little town is really "upscaling" itself, first electricity, the vaccinations, and now th is? You go, Little Town of Mine, you go!!

However, beauty and progress come with pain in the price tag. To that end, and to the detriment of the small businesses, the main street has been torn up, and will be so until August.

This means that I will not be able collect the empties for cash during the 4th of July parade which ironically contains several floats warning about the evils of the demon alcohol and admonishments against driving while intoxicated.




I was going to make a joke about how a tornado sucked the asphalt off the road-bed, but...eh.


Could be worse - I could live in Cleveland.

ADDHole, Mirrors, Gort, and Self-Induced Comas

I do have some sad news to report. ADDHole is now in a self-induced coma brought on by a mid-life wakening of long dormant maturity. Acknowledging that his 20's are a long-gone distant memory, and that his 30's are fast receding, he sought to ditch his fun persona in favor of a new and conservative maturity devoted to playing it safe and smart. Compounding that with a new and surprising desire to do well at work, ADDHole was unable to reconcile his conflicting goals to a life of fun and responsibility, and simply shut down.

He would have been fine except that he previously watched several "robot" movies in which malevolent androids were stopped by being presented with a corundum of logic, or being given a order of some sort. Below is a picture from his younger days with his "special" friend, Gort...this was the first appearance of the famous black kilt.


In the case of ADDHole, it was his most beloved asking him to mow the yard...she simply said "The grass is high. It must be mowed by someone. I am the woman. You are the man (sort of, hard to tell with you wearing that nasty black kilt all the time). You will mow the yard." According to informed sources, ADDHole fell on the sofa, positioned his head on his Holly Hobby pillow, got under his PowerPuff girls blanket, and has not stirred since.

Klaatu Barada Niktu, ADDHole!! Klaatu Barada Niktu!! Worth a shot...


This latest plight of ADDHole saddens me greatly, as I fear he will never again twitch his legs in glee over a falling leaf, or hoot in delight at the antics of a squirrel getting his nuts while being dressed down. Never again to dance in the rain because it cleanses him. Never again to point out interplay of light and shadow that look so much like a kitten in a flowered sundress going to Wal-Mart while you are in the middle of telling him about some trauma you have just suffered.

One favorite ADDHole memory I have is the time I ran over a cow with my 2002 Honda Accord AKA the Wuss-Mobile while driving in Kansas. Being a "vegetarian" and lover of animals, I was very upset. I met up with ADDHole at Planet Sub, best subs around, and in tears, proceeded to blubber about the cow I ran over. I was shaking, snot was running out of my nose, tears flowing, sobbing loudly. After placing my order for half-a-veggie, half-a-cream-crab, and large drink, putting the toilet seat down and peeing, washing my hands (after peeing, not at the same time), and sitting down across from ADDHole, I poured my heart out about how upset I was. So, there I was, snot, tears, sobbing, and unsweetened ice tea (Lipton, in case you were wondering).

ADDHole scratched himself hard where you should not scratch in a public place, and said in utmost seriousness "Hey, that kid over there has a Spider Man t-shirt!! I like the green purse that lady has, it matches her sho....potato chips, I want potato chips. Did you see Schindler's List this weekend? It was on CBS and they cut the commeri....is that Chim Chim over there? Speed Racer Go!! Can we go to the book store after this? I like cows and anyone who hurts a cow is a bas....baseball is on!! The Rams are playing the Bengals!!"

Our subs came and we ate, while I was treated to one ADDHole soliloquy after another. I found that the best way to maintain a "normal" conversation with ADDHole was to tape a small mirror on my forehead. The shininess of the mirror, coupled with the moving image of himself allowed ADDHole to maintain face to face contact . The only downside of this mirror trick was that if he was feeling aggressive, as he wont to be after his bi-weekly workout with 10-pound free weights, he would attack the "man in the mirror". During those times, if I did not remove the mirror quickly enough, I would soon have a concussion from his pecking at the "enemy dance man" as he called the image.

It hurts to write that ADDHole won't be writing anytime soon, let alone cooperatively shifting so that he can be cleansed and oiled against the advent of sofa-sores. Informed sources within the ADDHole home have stated that there is room for hope...the channel was mysteriously changed from CNN to CN yesterday...and the remote control lay just beneath his fingers.

I know you can not hear anything in your coma Deafness, but, ADDHole, as you explore your new maturity and career dedication with a seriousness and focus you have never had before, all of us wish you well. A speedy recovery, perhaps in the autumn, when the grass no longer needs mowing...

Another Carnival!!

Unexpected treat yesterday - a weird circus/carnival/Illinois cousin-matching thing came to town. Best of all - it had a messload of tractors. I talked SpinePuncher into coming along to, as she put it, "another lame-ass excuse to sweat, waste money, and get diarrhea." Well, she didn't say that exactly, I am paraphrasing a bit.

Anyhoo, we went in through the exit, so I think we got in for free...everyone else had on blue wristbands. We pretended to be Deaf Germans so no one bothered us about it.

There were lots of people there.



The games were lame, but enthralling in a lame-tastic way. Kind of like living in Illinois.


I like this one with the pogo-balls on the ground.



There were tractors lined up in a row, like sexy, eating-disorder plagued models waiting to be admired and judged.



Later, I ate some corn.


Eating so much corn did not end well.

Iron Man and the Big-Ass Skeeter

Had a hell of an exciting morning. SpinePuncher and I were enjoying our morning repast of Count Chocula and Raisin Bran, watching Magi-Nation (undoubtedly the cheapest, nastiest piece of anime I have ever seen). We were mocking all the subliminal and unintentional pornography in it.

Today's episode involved "bad guy" Agram wanted to get at some guy's "moonlands" by planting his "seed". Because Agram is under house arrest or something, he cast a spell over a "good guy" Orwin who then got on this motorized, wheeled phallus and proceeded to plant Agram's "seed" all over the moon. It went downhill from there. The low point came when I was given a prime opportunity to make a Viagra joke because of what happened to the motorized, wheeled phallus.

All of a sudden, SpinePuncher screams and ducks under the covers. At first, I was like "WTF", then from my La-Z-Boy recliner for encouraging obesity, I saw why. That big (censored) (censored) mosquito landed next to my arm. It was huge!! Like two inches, and he was looking to suck my blood, blood, I says!! There was only one name for him....Jean Claude Van Damme.



I looked around, and, of course, no books, no swatter, or shoes were present. I was in a panic, squealing like ADDHole at the Light and Fan convention, or BP at a whiskey and shoe sale, or Alienated at Roswell in June or Illinois cousins picking each other up at the bar for post-drunk inbreeding. Real squealing!!

I saw Iron Man, picked him up, and smacked Van Damme, causing him to fall to the floor. While he was dazed, I entered a fugue state, squealing hard, and smacking him with Iron Man...no, mama, no, not again...help me, Leonard Cohen, over and over again, until he was dead. Never suck my blood!! Never suck my blood!! Fugue, Van Damme, Fugue!!

Iron Man did consent to pose for a picture before I stuck him back on the table. While I don't agree with his conservative political beliefs, nonetheless, we were able to work together for a common cause...that is what America is all about!!


Come, all you blood-sucking bastards, to your deaths!! Gotta go, Spider Man is coming on and Venom's big tongue is an opportunity for an immature critique.

The Insprirational Tale of Kookie, the Unifingered

I know quite a few unusual people, and tend to gravitate towards those who are not "normal". I like people that fell out of the mold of normalcy, cracked, as they usually have a skewed view of the world or they possess unusual talents.

One such person is Kookie, who owns a local eatery that I frequent. Kookie is a personable, outgoing pseudo-Southerner stuck in the Midwest. You can tell she really belongs on a veranda sipping a mint julep in the deep South. She sets a nice table, and her customers love her, as everyone from the surrounding small villages comes in, and hugs and kisses her, then leave without actually eating there. Not sure what that is about.

Kookie is inspiring to me in that though she has full use of both hands and all fingers, she suffers terribly from her handicap that forces her to type with only one finger. It' s a study in patience to watch her work the cash register, her single, tired digit stumbling over the keys. Yet, somehow, she manages to do it. Her staff is encouraging, as are the patrons. We say things like "hurry up, you unifngered wonder!!" or "a puppy with a broken paw can do this faster!" Kookie shows great forbearance at such comments, rolling her eyes, and continuing to work that one finger to the bone.

I thought that I and ADDHole had it bad with our "disabilities", but at least we can type using more than one finger on one hand.

Thanks, Kookie, this is for you...

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Congrats to Count Dutchula

Congratulations, Count Dutchula and Morticia, on starting your journey together.

May the road be smooth enough to not trip you, steep enough to strengthen you, and wide enough so that you can travel it side by side.

Count Dutchula - quality will tell, and success is within your reach. You'll be missed in the south, and appreciated in the north.

Morticia, south or north, I look forward to meeting you someday.


Veel geluk!!

Lovely Tractors, pull me into the arms of love....not tonight, I have a Hemi.

I wanted to go to the local tractor pull tonight as a demonstration of irony. You know what I mean? Have you ever done that? Gone to an event just to be ironical. Well, actually, that was just my cover story. I really did want to see bigass tractors pull heavy stuff, and you know, kind of anthropomorphize them. I was going to disguise my love of such things by reporting the events in the form of a coherent romantic comedy about tractors finding love, losing love, and regaining love, just generally living their lives in an "emotionally healthy" way.

For once there was going to be a sprightly and uplifting entry on this blog.

Well, as with so many things in life, it just did not go as planned. With my thighs heavy with perspiration from walking across acres of fields in humid, moist weather, I arrived at the fairgrounds and I noticed the parking lot was empty....


Several big trucks were coming out of the fairground, some hauling tractors, others hauling disappointed crying children. I flagged down one such truck by adopting the traditional pose...I stuck my hand in the air and waved. The massive Hemi-infused truck growled to a halt, almost mashing my big toe.

"Is the tractor pull done be canceled?", I asked, speaking in the soothing patois that characterizes Midwestern speech.

The driver, clad in his Nascar finery, grunted. "It done be canceled."

"You done know why they done be canceled?", I nodded sagely.

"I don't done be know.". The anguish was apparent in his voice.

He drove on. I know how he felt. Drive on, my fine fellow connoisseur of events based on large machines pulling heavy crap and each other.

The pull had dwindled to just a few unhappy performers. I turned around, and headed for home...home...perhaps there, I could salve the anguish of my Friday night ruined. Would I ever find happiness amongst the smell of hot diesel fumes, the earth torn apart in a fit of raw tractorial passion, and the pheromones released for breeding purposes amongst the attendees? Not tonight. No, not tonight.


Jean Paul Sartre said it best "hell is a canceled tractor pull". For once, the French got something right.

SpinePuncher, Marat, Clowns, and Puppies -

Since I have started this blog, one of my most reliable and intense commentators has been SpinePuncher. True to her nickname, she aims right for my central nervous system with unerring accuracy.

SpinePuncher pointed out that some of my entries were the work of , and I am quoting "a whiny little emo blogging his feelings", and "instead of crying, why don't you blog" and "when you are moving out of the basement, Star Trek nerd?!?. A lot of it in that vein...very corrosive and funny. I admire SpinePuncher for her intelligence, for having the strength to be herself in a Old Navy and Gap world of manufactured human homogeneity, and for speaking her mind. Well done...keep punching, it only makes me stronger!!

By the way, SpinePuncher is one of the five people in the world who can make me laugh.

So, I went back and reviewed my entires, and she has a point. I am kind of whiny, and emo, usually on the depressed and dark side...and I think I am being light-hearted. The blog contains my "romantic comedy" stuff. Were I write my inner-most darkside stuff, I think alcoholism would rise among the readers of this blog. Or at least increase the sale of Leonard Cohen tunes.

SpinePuncher, the whole point of this blog is mostly an exercise in creative writing (sort of), and if that means that I write stuff like that of the red-headed bastard child of Sylvia Plath and Marat, so be it. The below self-portrait shows how I usually am when composing entries for the blog.


On the other hand, with the mood swings, I can rest easy in a "clownerific" fashion while pondering the thoughts about the world. Corteo from Cirque du Soleil best embodies that while at repose here.


Keep at it, Spinepuncher, though you need to go easy on C7 before I turn "L7".

Not all is doom and gloom in the world. As there are puppies and breadsticks at the Olive Garden, life is just fine.