[end transmission]

So this is it: the last Blogs Get Slaughtered post. (I considered providing a link to a suicide-counseling site as a courtesy to coping readers, but decided against it at the last second). The reason for the abrupt end to the blog has absolutely nothing to do with any sort of burn-out or boredom; on the contrary, I'm more full of uneducated, ethnocentric, bombastic rhetoric than ever before. I honestly doubt that I'll ever tire of griping about or over-analyzing all of the stuff in life that matters the least. No, my friends, the reason for the demise of BGS is multifaceted and complex. Unfortunately, I don't own a computer or have regular access to one (as I've mentioned before), and it's just getting harder and harder to get the internet access necessary to facilitate these philosophical bowel movements of mine. This difficulty, coupled with the fact that I'm in the process of relocating and trying to make prepararions for a wedding in a few months (I've decided to finally make an honest woman of my right hand), makes maintaining BGS even more difficult.
I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to write in this blog for the last 3 + years and actually have people read the only-sometimes tongue-in-cheek incoherencies that I've now posted from countless (read: more than 8) states, six countries (currently: Freiburg, Germany), and three continents (I once even penned a post for the Doo-Doo blog on the crapper). For those of you who will miss the ramblings of an over-educated (Ph.D., physics), under-paid (less than $17K last year), politically-moderate (read: American rarity), Protestant (!), American, teetolar (!!) (sp?) - I apologize. For those of you who discover this blog after it's already toe-up - there's plenty of material already here to dumber/stupider you.
Adios, amigos.
P.S. I will continue to post comments to other blog, and probably more often now that I'm no longer maintaining my own.

What Did They Use For Birth Control On Gilligan's Island?

It's a simple question. I mean - they had to use something. You can't tell me that 7 adults (4 men, 3 women) can spend three seasons on a deserted island without fornicating at least a few times. The cast of Big Brother can't even seem to go a half-episode without doing The Dirty. You would think that Mary Ann's perky milk balloons and pigtails would guarantee at least two or three illegitimate island-babies. And Ginger wasn't bad, either.
So do you think that Ginger or Mary Ann would bring along birth control pills for a three-hour tour (we'll leave Mrs. Howell out of this discussion, as she is married and old enough to queef dust)? Or did the professor have to get creative and invent a "morning-after" pill using only bamboo stalks and coconut milk?
I don't know the answer to these questions, but you can bet that I'm gonna do my damnedest to find out. I'm currently trying to raise money to conduct an archaeological dig on Gilligan's Island, to search for remnants of birth-control pill bottles, used condoms, or coat hangers covered in island-baby blood. Thus far, I've managed to raise nothing but a few eyebrows (Mom, Dad...) and somewhere around 70 or 80 cents (USD). But I'm not giving up...
Here's a few theories that I'm throwing around while I'm waiting to get some funding:
1. All 7 castaways were gay, and we all know that the stork refuses delivery service to gay people.
2. The men were all straight, but couldn't bump uglies with the girls, 'cause they were all gay. The guys would just have to sit there and watch as Ginger loving caressed Mary Ann's tight, eager...um, I should just pro'ly stop here.
3. The Planned Parenthood Employee Party Boat also wrecked on the island sometime early in the second season.
4. Aliens, man. Aliens...
5. The professor accidentally discovered that campy dialogue is a form of birth control.
6. Every time someone was about to have sex, Gilligan would stumble into the picture and mess up the whole plan.
7. Mr. Howell spent the bulk of his acquired wealth having regular shipments of condoms flown in to the island. It wasn't until sometime in the late '80s that the cast realized that they should probably ask the Prophylactic Plane to give them a lift home.
Anyone got any better theories?
[end transmission]

I Don't Want To Hold Your Baby

Please do not ask me if I want to hold your baby. I know that you expect me to say “yes”, and I know that you’ll think that you’ve heard wrong when I say “no” (after all, who wouldn’t want to hold the product of your sperm and egg omelet?), but I’d really rather not. You see – I’ve dropped a few babies in my time, and by “a few” I mean “exactly four”, and the last thing that I want is to get into a bunch of legal trouble because I drop some baby on his head and make him not-quite-right and all googly-eyed.
If you’ve got a puppy or maybe a baby chimp or something, I’d be more than happy to hold it, but I’ll pass on the human puppies.
“How in the hell have you managed to drop four babies, and why in the hell would anyone ask you to hold theirs?”
Exactly how I’ve managed to drop that many babies (none on their heads, for the record) is a mystery even to me. My mind is like a laser, and I’m usually very focused on what I’m doing. But when you put a baby in my arms, that laser gets kind of fuzzy and not as focused, and the next thing you know, your baby is on the ground with baby-juice oozing from his ear. Also, in my defense, babies can get kind of slippery with all of the drooling and pissing and whatnot.
As for why anyone would ask me to hold theirs, there’s a simple explanation. Everyone seems to think that their baby is the cutest, most adorable thing in the world, and they seem to (for some reason) be under the impression that everybody else feels the same way, and they feel that they’re doing you a favor by offering up their baby for your holding enjoyment. Unbeknownst to them, their baby is actually quite ugly (and probably stupid), and you’d probably rather watch the complete fifth season of Full House on DVD than have their baby in your arms.
Anyway, if you’ve got some puppies for me to hold (FYI: I sometimes refer to a woman’s breast as “puppies”), I’m game, but if you want me to cradle your little human with a sack of feces taped around its waist in my arms, I’m not going to be polite in my refusal.
[end transmission]

Guilty Pleasures

I'm betting most of you assumed that a post titled "Guilty Pleasures" would undoubtedly be some sort of confession of guilt to acts of statutory rape, but (unfortunately) the topic of this post is much less exciting than that.
Like everyone else in the world, Timmy loves him some guilty pleasures. "What's a guilty pleasure?" you ask. Well, have you ever listened to Ratt or Poison in your car on the way to work, being careful to turn down the volume at stop lights so that nobody will catch you? Well me neither, but there are some people out there who do crazy shit like that [*cough*].
But I do have a few guilty pleasures, and I've decided to come clean and 'fess up right here and now.
1. Huey Lewis and the News - I used to listen to this stuff when I was a kid, and I still crank up Hip To Be Square whenever I hear it on the radio (which is pretty much never).
2. Dr. Phil - I fucking hate Dr. Phil, but it's only a matter of time before I get caught stealing cable again, switch back to rabbit ears, and end up watching this dumbass dispense advice on getting how to get your 12-year-old daughter to stop selling her body for crack cocaine. If they wouldn't have cancelled the Scrubs reruns in the 9 o'clock slot, I wouldn't have to watch this crap.
3. Starship - I punch myself in the nuts every time I catch myself singing along to We Built This City, and I punch myself in the nuts a lot.
4. The Bachelor - God, I'm pathetic. See Dr. Phil excuse. [twenty punches to the nuts]
5. Radiohead/Metallica - Why do lump these two bands together? Because I like some music from both of them, but I hate to admit that I like 'em because I hate their fans. Radiohead fans are usually pretentious hipsters, and Metallica fans are usually...well, Metallica fans. Radiohead's sucked since '99 and Metallica's sucked since '88...
6. Wu-Tang Clan - Actually, I'm not that ashamed of this one. I just included them as proof of my eclectic taste in music.
7. Hawaii Five-O - I've seen all 278 episodes. Fo' real.
I've got so many more, but I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one day.
[end transmission]

Time To Take The Training Wheels Off The Bike

[Blogs Get Slaughtered: 3 years and counting...]

Random Musings (Vol. 52)

...not much happening in Ol' Timmy's world these days. No baseball on television (All-Star break), no good films out, no new rashes in the crotchal region. If things get any slower, they'll be moving backwards. So I've had no choice but to amuse myself (and for once, that's not just a euphemism for masturbation - my dead relatives in heaven are pro'ly getting pretty tired of having to see me do the ol' yanky panky).
"What do you think about in your spare time, Timmy?"
I'm glad you asked that, imaginary reader. Lately, I've been thinking about the following:
1. Why is it that every roommate I've ever had seems to love tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches? Is there anything more disgusting than taking the shittiest smelling fish meat in the world, and mixing it with an even-nastier concoction comprised of oil and egg yolks? The stuff makes the entire house smell like Bea Arthur's vagina.
2. A friend of mine has made a standing offer (not to the general public, only to friends and family) to pay for any kid's college if he/she is named SuperAwesomeRadicalDude (legally) at birth. The child must retain the name until after he/she graduates from college, at which time he/she can change it to something less...radical if they so choose. This is not a bad deal. If I ever make a baby, I may take him up on this. A little school-yard taunting is worth the $150K that a college education is going to cost by the year 2030.
3. Why is it that people who drive VW Jettas are the same people who like to put the little Apple computer stickers on their cars? The only cars I ever seem to see those stickers stuck to are Jettas. Do these people realize that they are walking/talking pretentious hipster cliches?
4. The Chinaman that I work with ("Not the preferred nomenclature, Dude") is going to die soon. Seriously...
[end transmission]

Selling Myself Into Slavery Could Only Improve My Life

Before all of you PC pansies start screaming "Racist! Racist!" at me and calling for an Al Sharpton press conference, let me preface this post by saying that I am in no way shape or form discussing slavery in terms of some perceived hierarchy of races. I'm simply writing about slavery as an economic system.
With that said, my life would undoubtedly be better if I were enslaved. The reasons why are as follows:
1. Most people with regular jobs (I don't know exactly how many, so I'll just start making up statistics based purely on convenience) don't have health insurance. In fact, nearly 84% of United States workers don't receive health insurance through their employers, and of the 16% that do, less than 1% can actually figure out the complicated mathematics involved in filing a claim. Slave masters, on the other hand, are forced to give their slaves medical care if they want them to keep on working. But if Billy Bob cuts off his fingers at the saw mill, Saw Mill Owner Sam just hires him a new worker...
2. My employer doesn't have to pay me enough to pay the rent (and usually doesn't). Slave housing is free.
3. As an underpaid worker, I barely make enough cash to buy food (and sometimes I don't). But as a slave, the slave-owner would have to provide me with enough food to keep up my strength so that I could continue picking cotton or whatever.
4. Currently, I'm too poor to afford to go out on a date (even for "50 cent Night" at the discount theater). But as we all know, slave owners routinely make babies in their slaves. I realize that I pro'ly wouldn't be lucky enough to get a female slave master, but as long as the dude's gentle, I don't really mind.
So you see, as a slave I would have access to the health care, housing, food, and love that I'm currently deprived of. Just a thought...
[end transmission]

Things That I've Never Owned / Bought

I'm bored. And we all know what ol' Timmy loves to do when he's bored...
(No, not that...Blow-Up Betty has a slow leak, and is completely deflated at the moment.) I'm talking about my other favorite pastime: making pointless, self-important lists, and posting them on the internet.
So here's a list of things that I've never owned or bought. Enjoy.
1. A computer - Believe it or not, all of these neurotic exercises in mental masturbation that I call "blog posts" are written entirely on computers owned either by friends or my employer. I've never owned a computer, and I'm not currently shopping for one.
2. A cell phone - I hate the little bastards, and there's no way in hell that I'm gonna buy one. Ever. Everyone else on Earth has one, so if I ever get into trouble, and need one for an emergency, I can just borrow one from the guy next to me. And because everyone else owns one and I don't, I can get a hold of anyone anytime I want, but people I don't want to talk to can't get a hold of me. It's a win/win deal. Also, I'm saving $60 a month, and $60 will buy a patch-kit for Blow-Up Betty.
3. Starbucks - I've never bought anything at Starbucks and I don't know that I ever will. 7-11 coffee is pretty damn good and a helluvalot cheaper, so I don't see any point in it. Parenthetically, though not in parentheses, I'd like to add that I did recently try a free cup of Starbucks coffee while in Canada, and I didn't think it was anything special.
4. An iPod, iPhone, iWhatever - My truck has a tape deck. What else do I need?
5. Guns - Everyone in Texas has 'em, but I've never bought one. I own a 30/30 Marlin hunting rifle that I've shot a few times (I've killed many a Coke can and beer bottle with the thing), but it was inherited, so I can rightly claim that I've never bought one. I also inherited a few cheap handguns, but I hate the damned things and sold 'em off to a shady pawn shop here in town so they can be sold back to local thugs at inflated prices.
That's pretty much all I've got right now. I think I'll run down to WalMart and see about buying a patch-kit...
[end transmission]

Happy 4th Of July

Happy 4th of July, America. You may not be the prom queen that you were fifty of sixty years ago, but any nation that's the home of both baseball and the $3.99 all-you-can-eat Pancho's Mexican buffet is alright by me.
I may not always agree with the decisions of my nation's business and political leaders, but there's no place on Earth that I'd rather live.
God bless America.
[*sound of fireworks*]
[end transmission]

The Stork Needs A Good Lawyer

Okay - it's a scientific fact that pretty much everything in a person's life is determined by heredity, environment/experience, and bourbon-intake. For years now, people have been arguing over whether or not someone can be born gay, and if you think ol' Timmy is gonna settle that one in a single post, your thought process is most strongly influenced by bourbon-intake. I don't have the time or space to even begin to debate the subject, but more importantly I don't really give a monkey's butthole about the whole thing.
However, there is one aspect of the argument that I do find somewhat interesting. Suppose that the homo-babies-are-born-that-way people are right; if that's the case, then heredity must be what determines an individual's sexual orientation. If heredity is what determines a homo-baby's gayness, then the dad or mom must also have a little bit of gay in them (which begs the question...). So my point is this: if gayness is hereditary, then sooner or later it'll be eliminated altogether because everybody knows that - despite numerous discrimination lawsuits - the stork refuses to deliver to homosexuals. And if the stork won't deliver babies to Adam and Steve, then they can't pass on their gay DNA to a baby, and their gayness will eventually die off on its own.
Of course, I'm not saying I've got this whole thing figured out, I'm just saying that either gay babies get gay because of their environment or bourbon, or that gayness will eventually meet its demise naturally.
Discuss.
[end transmission]

A Post Typed In Under Four Minutes With One Finger

Just a heads-up: you can expect more spelling and grammatical errors in my posts in the near future.
"Why is that, my dear Timmy? Have you discovered a new huff-worthy household cleaning product? Has the Blogs Get Slaughtered secretary quit?"
Actually, it's because I'm having to write new posts in under three or four minutes because there's this new Asian kid here at work who loves to (literally) look over my shoulder at least every other second. Ever tried writing an essay on how bad Asian people smell with a nerdy, 19-year-old Chinaman resting his chin on your shoulder? He's gone to the bathroom or to eat or whatever right now, and I'm typing as fast as I can.
The story: I had to pick the kid up from the airport a few weeks ago, and I couldn't remember his name to write it on a piece of paper whenever I went to pick him up. I did recall that it was an Asian name, and the people in my line of work usually are pretty nerdy, so I started scanning the crowd of people at the luggage pick-up for someone who was Chinese and looked like the type of guy who'd never seen a real live pair of boobies. I spotted him in less than 2 seconds.
"Hey, are you the [name of employer] pick-up?"
"Yeah, how'd you know what I looked like?"
[silence]
So then we hop on into my pick-'em-up truck, and I can tell that the kid is kind of socially awkward, so I try and make some small-talk to put him at ease . He then asks me how far of a walk it is from Fort Worth to Dallas (!), and I tell him that he'd be better off just renting a car if he wants to visit Dallas, 'cause it's kind of a long walk ("kind of" = 35 miles). He informs me (with some embarrassment) that he doesn't have a driver's license, and that he really enjoys walking, so it wouldn't be a big deal. I ignore his retardedness, and tell him that there aren't too many restaurants within walking-distance of [place of employment], and that he might consider buying a bicycle. He then informs me that he can't ride a bike, and that he really doesn't mind walking long distances.
[long, awkward silence]
"[blurting] I've lost 47 pounds in the last year! [end blurting] I just started walking everywhere, and now I've lost 47 pounds."
What the fuck is this kid's deal with walking?
So we finally arrive near [place of employment] and we start making the 1/4 mile trek to the office of his contact. Less than 100 yards later, he starts panting hard. Another 50 yards later, he stops (obviously embarrassed) and asks me to stop so he can rest a second.
You've gotta fucking be kidding me. This 140 lbs. kid who didn't think it would be a big deal to walk from Fort Worth to Dallas, can't even walk a city block without getting winded.
My question: if he can't drive a car, ride a bike, or walk a city block without gasping like an 80-year-old chain-smoker, how the hell does this kid plan on making it through life?
Later that day, I found out that he was going to be sharing an office with me. I didn't really mind this until I found out that this kid is one loc'd out Asian.
He's a whisperer.
He whispers creepy shit to himself non-stop. Shit like "How am I going to survive? I have to survive! There's no way out...", "Why am I so stupid? I'm so fucking stupid!", "I have to go to the bathroom. I have to go to the bathroom. I have to go to the bathroom...", and (my personal favorite) "My head is going to explode! The pressure is too much...too much...too much."
Creepy.fucking.shit.
Anyway, he must've really had to go to the bathroom pretty bad, 'cause he's not back yet. That, or his head finally exploded and he's not coming back.
[end transmission]

I Wonder If Noah Had Pets When He Was A Kid

I don't know if it's just a clever publicity campaign for the new Evan Almighty film or what, but it's been raining cats and dogs here in Texas for the last month straight. Yesterday, I almost stepped in a poodle (HA! 2nd-Grade Timmy would've loved that one). It's been raining so hard and for so long that it's getting difficult to remember what dry even feels like. But on the plus-side, I'm now able to save money on gasoline by commuting to work in a gondola.
The odd thing about the rain is that it starts to bring out all of the bugs from wherever it is that they hide when it's dry. I'm not sure if they just want to get out of the rain, or if they've gotten word that I'm stealing cable television again, but my house is crawling with critters. Unlike most people, though, I don't really mind the bugs so much. I just try to think of them as low-maintenance pets, and low-maintenance pets are the only type of pets that Ol' Timmy needs to have.
When I was a little kid, I went through gold fish faster than I went through imaginary girlfriends (both the fishes and the girlfriends were all named 'Hershey' for some reason). I would forget to feed them one day, and I'd make up for it the next by pouring an entire container of fish food in the tank. I figured that they had to be pretty damned hungry, so what the hell...
Later in my childhood, I had a dog who died when she choked while trying to eat my pet hamster (who also died). For some reason, I was over-looked for the Pet Owner Of The Year Award that year...
But somehow, I manage to take pretty good care of the bugs that move in when it starts to rain. I couldn't kill the li'l bastards if I tried. So until I get old enough to learn some 'sponsibility, I'm stuck with cockroaches and furry pet rocks (basset hounds). But one day, I'm gonna get a real dog, and I'll feed him on-time, and make sure he gets his shots, and take him for walks everyday. Unless it keeps raining...then I guess I'll have to take him for a swim everyday.
[end transmission]

I Hate Reggae / ReGay

Many people are unaware that astronomers monitor reggae album sales very closely. You see - reggae sucks. It sucks hard. So hard, that it has been known to actually alter the planets' orbits.
Don't get me wrong, I listen to a wide variety of music genres - death metal, speed metal, doom metal, heavy metal, and even just plain ol' metal, but I absolutely hate reggae.
I once tried to explain this to a friend who informed me that I don't "get" reggae because I don't smoke pot. While I'll admit that Waylon Jennings sounds a little bit better after a half-dozen bottles of Jim Beam, I seriously doubt that smoking marijuana would cause me to lap up the sonic vomit that is reggae music. Why is it that only potheads listen to reggae? Is it because all those pesky brain cells stop the rest of us from enjoying reggae? Is it because THC 'enlightens' them to the point that they can hear the genius behind the crappy guitar work? Or is it simply because potheads like to pretend that they're cultured academics when they're really just stinky no-job-havin' flakes? I have no idea, but it's the only type of music that seems to require that the listener be inebriated in order to enjoy it.
And another thing - there is only one reggae song.
"No, you're wrong about that. My Bob Marley album has more than a dozen tracks on it."
Skip through the tracks at random and see if you can correctly identify a single song without listening to the lyrics. Can't do it? I didn't think so. One song.
"But it's all about the vibe, dude. It's about peace and harmony and being one with Selva, the Earth God."
First of all - peace sucks and harmony is overrated (it's obvious that reggae-musicians have never even heard of harmony...just listen to the vocals). Secondly - do you have any idea how much crime there is in Jamaica? If all of these ganja-smokin' hipsters were really about peace, do you think they'd be slitting each other's throats (not to mention Whitey's)?
Peace can lick my balls, and harmony can lick my choad. I'll save the butthole for ol' Bob Marley.
[end transmission]

[Speechless]

I ran across this guy's myspace.com page by chance today. I don't think any commentary is necessary.
[end transmission]

Leave Paris Alone, You Meanies

It seems like you can't turn on the television these days without seeing either an ad for some new film starring a member of the cast of The Office, or some "news" story about some young Hollywood starlet getting into trouble.
And, of course, there's nothing that the media loves more than to crucify these girls on national television. Whether they're talking about Paris Hilton's jail term, Lindsay Lohan's rehab stint, Mel Gibson's DUI, or Britney Spears' melt-down, they love to bask in the sadistic glow of these young female actresses' indiscretions.
And it may surprise you to hear me say this, but I think that it's completely unfair. So what if Lindsay Lohan wants to get drunker 'n' hell and plow her car into a crowd of innocent school-children? That's her business. Since when is it a crime to have a few (dozen) drinks and drive on the sidewalk? What country do you think we live in, China?
But the media jus' cain't stay out of Lindsay or Paris' beeswax.
Many of you may not know this about me, but I was once a young Hollywood starlet, living life in the fast lane, myself. I spent many an evening getting gang-banged by the Rat Pack in the bathroom at The Sands, or trying to steal Cary Grant away from Randolph Scott, or snorting lines of coke out of Judy Garland's ass-crack. And it was no big deal - I was just doing what every other normal girl my age was doing at the time. But that was before the advent of shows like Hollywood Insider.
So my message to the media is this - just leave these poor young ladies alone and get back to doing what you do best: airing radically-biased coverage of political events.
[end transmission]

Choose Your Own Adventure (Part 2)

When I was younger, there was nothing that I loved more than those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books (except for maybe lighting things on fire and the smell of turpentine, but we'll save those stories for later). In case you're unfamiliar with the CYOA books, I'll quickly fill you in (and I hope y'all don't bitch about me filling y'all in too quickly, like my ex used to): basically they're stories where - when you get to a climactic point - you can choose one of several actions, and turn to a specified page (for that particular action) and keep reading.
Sometimes life is like a CYOA book. Actually, life is always like a CYOA book, but saying that "sometimes life is like a CYOA book" makes for a much better segway than the more-awkward "life is always like a CYOA book", so there you are. Anyway, I've decided that I'll take a slice out of a friend of mine's life (this is supposed to be one of those humorous things where I refer to the character as "a friend" but make it obvious that I'm actually talking about myself), and turn it in to a CYOA adventure. See if you can guess what I - I mean "my friend" - did to solve the situation.
So you find yourself commuting (45 minutes one-way) to work/school, and you're feeling a bit farty. You realize that if you don't rip one soon, you're going to explode and you'll miss that important business meeting/math test. Then you experience one of those "oh, fuck!" moments: you let 'er rip and feel...squirtiness.
The damage is pretty bad. You're praying that you don't stain the car seat.
You arrive at work/school five minutes before the big business meeting/math test is scheduled to begin. Sprinting into the nearest bathroom, you drop your drawers to assess the damage. Total.Fecal.Explosion. There's a stain on the outside of the backside of your pants.
Do you:
1. Say "fuck all" and go to the meeting/test anyway (page 24)
2. Try to wash your britches in the sink (soaking them), and then head over to the meeting/test (page 28)
3. Wear your shirt as a pair of pants (page 37)
4. Try sneaking out of work/school, heading home, and calling in sick (page 105)
Pick your page.
[Part 1]
[end transmission]

Let's Play The Good Idea / Bad Idea Game

Texas high school science and history courses are about to get a whole lot more interesting thanks to recent legislation passed into law by Governor Rick "Hair Helmet" Perry. "Under the new law, religious beliefs expressed in homework, artwork and other assignments are to be judged by traditional academic standards. Students can't be penalized or rewarded because of the religious content of their work." [source]
I'm a big fan of the 1st Amendment, and I understand that the law was written with the best of intentions, but I think that this thing is going to butt-fuck Texas' high school teachers.
"Why?" you conveniently ask. Because it's pretty difficult (and possibly unconstitutional) to define exactly what "religious content" is.
Example: Scientologists believe that 75 million years ago, some dude named Xenu had a population problem on the 76 planets that he ruled (including Earth), and dealt with it by sending billions of aliens to Earth, sticking them in volcanoes and blowing them up with hydrogen bombs. Their souls then started to start some serious shit here on Earth (and it continues to this day). "The now-disembodied victims' souls, which [Scientology founder] Hubbard called thetans, were blown into the air by the blast. They were captured by Xenu's forces using an 'electronic ribbon' and sucked into 'vacuum zones' around the world. The hundreds of billions of captured thetans were taken to a type of cinema, where they were forced to watch a 'three-D, super colossal motion picture' for thirty-six days. This implanted what Hubbard termed 'various misleading data' (collectively termed the R6 implant) into the memories of the hapless thetans, 'which has to do with God, the Devil, space opera, et cetera'. This included all world religions, with Hubbard specifically attributing Roman Catholicism and the image of the Crucifixion to the influence of Xenu."
Wow. You can just imagine how it would play out in a high school class when the teacher asks students to write an essay on who invented the hydrogen bomb or why the second World War began ("thetans be startin' dat Nazi shit up, yo").
And, despite the fact that Scientologists are crazier than a shit-house mouse, teachers will pro'ly face even crazier answers from students who place their faith in less "conventional" religions. Like ones where you can talk to energy, ones where you worship the King of America (see this post for details), or ones where you wear special holy underwear.
[class dismissed]

Shooting Himself In The Foot While Shooting His Mouth Off

I don't care where you stand on the whole gun-control issue, this is some pretty (unintentionally) funny stuff. While on a computer at my parents' house, I ran across an essay my brother had written while attending junior college (I'm not sure exactly in which of the 6 years he spent there it was written). For a little background information on my brother, you can check out either of these posts [1 2].
Unedited excerpts from an unintentionally pro-gun-control essay that my brother wrote in the form of a anti-gun-control essay:
"Many of us in our life have touched, seen or heard about guns. [Really?] But with many people there is the never ending issue of gun control. I am a republican due mostly for my moral beliefs don’t believe in gun control. I feel it is just another infringement on ones rights, and yet another division between church and state if that is so hard to believe, which I will elaborate in greater detail later in my paper. [Run-on sentences, anyone?] Most of the current gun laws in the U.S. don’t work period instead or protecting their killing. [He's obviously not pro-coherency] ...ninety-eight percent of the weapons obtained by a criminal are through a third party source. Which is the second party buys a firearm legally and then illegally sells it. [Well said.] [...] One of the biggest laws that did not get reinstated was the infamous and moronic Brady law, which was the sell of assault looking weapons. Most people think an assault weapon is a fully automatic rifle, well I have bad new for you an assault weapon by government definition a rifle with military distinction that fires and intermediate cartridge. Which actually a relatively small bullet you can twice the size with an ordinary deer rifle but they don’t put strict laws on deer rifles! Am I just preaching to the choir or is any on listening? [Uh, no. We're actually just busy trying to translate from Fucktard to English.] [...] Yet when [the 2nd Amendment] was written that’s when we had a firm foundation of God and was still being raised by a moral society. Until actually Darwin and his crazy evolution ideas brought in a revolution of amoral ideas which included such ideas as church and state, gun control and many several liberal issues. Our country would not be here if it weren’t for guts and glory. [Darwin was the guy who first introduced the concepts of church and state? Well I'll be damned...]"
My brother owns over a dozen firearms, and has a concealed handgun license.
[end transmission]

I'll Be Dead Soon...

So the other day, I happened to overhear a conversation that went something like this:
Guy #1: Asians smell like shit.
Guy #2: Dude, did you just say what I think you said? What a fucking racist!
"What a fucking racist, indeed!" I thought. No - not the guy who said that all Asians smell, he was dead-on. The guy who pulled the race card was the real racist.
Let me explain: First of all, what Guy #1 said was 100% accurate. It's a scientific fact that all Asians smell like a combination of burning butt-hair and Jenna
Jameson's girly bits after an all-day video shoot. If you don't believe me, head over to China and hop on the subway.
Secondly (and the point of this post), Guy #1 wasn't the racist ass, Guy #2 was the racist ass. Why? Because he just assumed that when Guy #1 says "Asians" he's talking about someone with yellow skin and slits for eyes. Asia is acontinent, jackass. Red, yellow, black, and white people all live there.
Is some honky Russian an Asian? Damn straight. But being the asshole bigot that he was, he bought into the stereotype that "Asian" means Oriental.
Another example: my Dear Old Dad. He was raised on the African continent, but if I were to say that Africans fathers raise uneducated, ethnocentric, insensitive children, you'd accuse me of being a Klansman or something. But that's 'cause you're a racist, and you think that - because he's an African - my not-black father is a not-not-black father. Way to stereotype people, Hitler.
Anyway, the next time someone says something to you like "Jewish people are tightwads", hold your tongue before accusing them of being anti-Semitic. They could just be talking about Rod Carew
[no hate mail, no death threats: tongue (somewhat) planted firmly in cheek]
[end transmission]

[Update On Lack Of Updates]

[I have very limited computer access at this time, so posts will be kind of sporadic for the next few days. In the meantime, hug a puppy.]