Thursday, December 24, 2009
After a direct hit by a 150-ton meteorite, Henry must learn to adapt to his new life of 91 CM displacement.
Skhizein
Posted by
Markoni
The Truth About Republicans
Posted by
Markoni
Classic Carlin, but not much has changed.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Classic Carlin, but not much has changed.
Posted by
Doodface
Sunday, November 29, 2009
General asshats
Circle I Limbo
Parents who bring squalling brats to R-rated movies
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind
The Pope
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow
George Bush
Circle IV Rolling Weights
Creationists
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled
River Styx
Scientologists
Circle VI Buried for Eternity
River Phlegyas
Jerry Falwell
Circle VII Burning Sands
Bernie Madoff
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement
Osama bin Laden
Circle IX Frozen in Ice
I hate Republicans
Posted by
Markoni
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Like most of the hard line right-winged Republicans, these 30 senators are not interested in the truth or in helping their country. The only language they speak is greed. They are slimy and loathsome shitheads akin to something you'd want to scrape off the bottom of your shoe.
Oh, and an extra special "fuck you" to Saxby Chambliss. Rot in hell.
Update: The Republicans for Rape site is now online. Click here.
Gamma Rays and Cosmic Russian Roulette
Posted by
Markoni
Friday, August 7, 2009
Electromagnetic radiation is a physical phenomenon in our universe that all of us interact with on a daily basis. The electromagnetic spectrum categorizes this radiation based on frequency. The visible light that you perceive with your eyes is only a tiny range of frequencies in this spectrum. Frequencies below visible light include infra red, microwaves, and radio/TV signals. Frequencies above visible light include ultra violet, x-rays, and gamma rays.
We know from our own experiences in the modern world that visible light is generally harmless. We evolved in a world bathed in visible light coming from our sun so it’s only natural that our eyes are specialized to respond to those frequencies. We know that infra red is mostly associated with heat. We’ve seen infra red camera footage and know that the heat lamps that keep the fries warm at the fast food place are just specialized light bulbs that radiate most of their energy at infra red wave lengths. Microwave ovens became ubiquitous in the 1980’s and work by pumping electromagnetic energy into food at a specific frequency that makes the water molecules vibrate and heat up. Below microwaves, radio and TV signals radiate from the tops of mountains and man-made towers to bring audio and video into our homes and vehicles. CB radios, baby monitors, Wi-Fi internet, Bluetooth headsets, and mobile phones all do their things down here.
Above visible light, ultra violet frequencies give us sunburn and, if we’re not careful, skin cancer. Light bulbs tuned for ultra violet (aka black lights) are used to sterilize water, instantly dry inks in printing processes, make your hippie posters fluoresce, and make the bowling pins glow during midnight madness. At even higher energies, x-rays pass through objects and allow us to see inside the human body and airport luggage. Excessive amounts of x-ray radiation can cause cancers in animals but can also be tightly focused to destroy tumors. Stars and nebulae often emit x-rays and because of their energy and their ability to pass through matter unimpeded, astronomers often use these frequencies in their research to see farther and in more detail than visible light allows.
Gamma rays are generally thought of as having higher energies than x-rays but the two classifications actually overlap quite a bit. Gamma rays have medical uses similar to x-rays and are employed in sterilization procedures similar to ultra violet. In astronomy, flashes of gamma rays from deep space were first detected accidentally in the 1960’s by cold war satellites monitoring nuclear weapon tests. These flashes were later dubbed “Gamma Ray Bursts” and seemed to originate from the explosions of dying stars.
Gamma Ray Bursts caused considerable controversy amongst astronomers and astrophysicists when they were first identified because they were simply too powerful to exist according to known physical laws. The problem was straightforward. An explosion in space radiates matter and energy in all directions more or less equally. If you detect a gamma ray burst, measure its intensity, and then swing your visible light telescopes around to the same coordinates, you typically (although not always) see the remnants of a novae -- a star that has exploded at the end of its death throes. You can then use various tricks to calculate the distance to that novae and, along with the gamma ray intensity that you measured, determine how powerful the initial explosion had to be based on how much of that energy managed to reach you. All of the gamma ray bursts were determined to be outside of our own galaxy, billions of light years away, and therefore the energy from a symmetrical explosion would have to be the equivalent of all of the energy released by a sun like ours over its entire lifetime based on the level of energy that still managed to reach us from so far away.
Observations later revealed that these calculations were based on a false premise. The gamma ray bursts were NOT symmetrical and in fact were focused into two opposing beams spreading out between 2 and 20 degrees.
If you were observing from a vantage point that was not directly within this focused beam of gamma rays, you may only see a brief flash of visible light or perhaps nothing at all. Effectively these types of novae and super novae explosions producing gamma ray bursts are happening all of the time in our observable universe but we only see them if we happen to be looking ‘down the barrel’ of the gamma ray ‘gun’. Even so, they are not of much concern to us because on average these types of explosions only happen in each galaxy every 100,000 to 1,000,000 years.
Then there’s this thing:
WR104 is a massive star in the constellation of Sagittarius and is in its death throes, ejecting massive amounts of plasma and debris as it tries to balance its crushing mass with its internal fusion processes. It has an O-type binary companion star, and the interactions of their gravity fields produce the swirling pattern that you see in the image above.
Which is eerily reminiscent of the image below:
Yep, you guess it. We’re looking right down the gun barrel of a potential gamma ray burst event. The problem is that WR104 isn’t billions of light years away safely doing its thing in another galaxy. WR104 is only 8000 light years away, well within our own galaxy, and it could go pop at pretty much any time.
Perhaps it already has.
Maybe it went pop 7997 years ago and a high-energy gamma ray bullet traveling in excess of 99.995% the speed of light is well on its way to an encounter with Earth where it will dissolve our atmosphere and boil away our oceans in seconds -- just in time for the end of the Mayan calendar and the swearing in of Sarah Palin.
It’s like a game of Russian roulette on a cosmic scale. The earth is moving around the sun and the sun is orbiting around in the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Milky Way galaxy. WR104 is closer in towards the galactic center than we are, orbiting at a different speed, and the dance that it does with its companion star twirls the pair and their potential gamma ray rifle barrel around like some kind of drunken marksman. The observations all point to WR104 going out with a bang instead of a whimper. All that remains to be seen is in what direction the barrel will be pointing on the day the trigger is pulled.
Scientists also suspect that this kind of ultimate laser tag game might have influenced life on our planet in the distant past. Much has been said about asteroid and comet impacts and the nuclear winter-type aftereffects that could result. At least one of the ‘Big Five’ mass extinctions, the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event 65 million years ago which ended the reign of the dinosaurs, is thought to be the result of such an impact. However, evidence suggests that the Ordovician–Silurian extinction event, 444 million years ago, may have been the result of a gamma ray burst originating within our galaxy.
I suppose the ultra paranoid amongst us could invest in some of that SPF 2,000,000 sun block and some lead undies and try to ride it out. Good luck with that.
I am an arrogant prick!
Posted by
Doodface
Monday, June 1, 2009
The people that know me well just read that title and thought "yeah, that pretty much sums it up!"
I know I have character flaws.. I am arrogant, I can be pretty fucking harsh, I have an elitist attitude sometimes. I realize I have these issues, and I REALLY am trying to work on them. I don't WANT to offend people, or hurt their feelings, or make them feel like a lesser human being when I am around. I really don't.
One of the causes of these issues is that I have above-average intelligence. On top of that, everyone I work with (well, almost everyone) has genius IQs as well. Now this is no accomplishment of mine, I did not work to become more intelligent. In fact, being more intelligent made me lazy in school.
But due to the fact that I have a genius IQ, and everyone that I work with does as well, I am used to higher level of understanding. I can have some serious conversation about some deep subjects, and no one ever has to go "wait, what the hell did you just say?".
So, when I am talking to people that are average or below average intelligence, it is sometimes VERY hard for me to get points across. In my younger years, that would mean ultimate frustration followed by an insult of some kind. I know - asshole. I really do try these days to explain things, and in a helpful way - not condescending.
Well the other night, I had religious debate with a very close friend of mine. I completely fell of off the "be nice" bandwagon. At first, I really tried to stay civil, and not insult him. But after about 2 hours of hearing the most ridiculous analogies, and arguments of magic and faith, I could contain myself no more. I turned right back to my judgmental prickish ways. I mocked his analogies, I called his arguments ridiculous, etc. At the end of the night, all it did was make 2 friends angry at each other. I felt bad about it for days.
Another point of arrogance in my life has been jobs and money. I got into the technical world at a pretty young age. I was making more than most of my friends, and somehow thought this made me "Better" than them. I stopped hanging out with my old friends that were still working at fast food or stereo shops. I looked down on blue-collar people. Well the joke is on me. While I have stayed at the same job, and made the same thing for the past 10 years, these "blue collar" people have slowly passed me in wages. They have either been promoted or moved in to sales jobs. Here I am with my same title, and same pay, and no chance of moving up. NOW who is looking down on who?
Technical departments look down on the sales people - I think that's the same at every company. The techs think that because they can fix computers, they are better. I have always felt that way. I don't even like computers.. I don't like troubleshooting them, and when I get off work, computers are not my hobby. BUT - because I could do the work, I have.
Lately, my wife and I have been putting a lot focus on getting out of debt. So, in the afternoons, I have started to sell roofs for a local roofing company. Come to find out, I AM a salesman! All these years thinking I was "Better" than that, and here I am LOVING it! Plus, if I focused all of my attention on that job, I could easily double my "elite" technical job's pay.
As much as I feel like I have learned lessons lately about what an arrogant prick I have been, it is hard to shake a lot of those habits. The other day, I was in my roofing shirt, and was going to pick up my daughter from daycare. I immediately had a feeling of shame about it. Like they were going to judge me for being a lowly roofer. *sigh*
The first step to becoming a better person is to realize your flaws. I have a lot of them. I HOPE that I have identified my major character flaws, and I really am trying to fix them.
So for the people reading this that are close to me: If you notice me displaying these assholish traits, PLEASE don't hesitate to point it out to me!
What up, E?!?!
Posted by
Doodface
Thursday, May 14, 2009
So you say Omni's back, huh? Well I don't see SHIT from you!
I think it works like this - you come out of retirement with some weak ass shit about child abuse. Yeah I chuckled - but that's all bitch, a CHUCKLE. No mu' fucking laughing! YOUR SHIT'S WEAK!
Then me and my crew, we drops some mad words on dat ass.. Freaked your shit out with The empty cocoon, then came right back with some straight-up politicianal shit! That's right, no matter what you got, we destroys it.
"Oh, I got a boo boo kid!!! I don't have time!!"
Bullshit! You got called out in the skreet, and can't handle the heat. Oh, and me and the crew will take you on in a dance OR drum comptetion any time bitch. Anything you do, we'll do better.
I need you to write something soon - we're almost out of toilet paper!
Your move bitch.
What the hell do I know?
Posted by
Doodface
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I may be naive, uninformed or just plain stupid, but it seems to me that there are certain things in this country that need to be done. Don't get me wrong, I think that Obama is doing a great job moving us in the right direction. I just think that there are some real obvious problems that just do not get addressed - ever.
I read an article today that Gov. Schwarzenegger is open to hearing the debate on legalizing marijuana. To me, this is a no-brainer. And I don't smoke pot. Lets break this down to the basic Pro / Con list:
Pros:
- 10's of billions of dollars in tax revenue every year
- Decreased crime
- Police focus switched to IMPORTANT law breakers
- Lowered prison population
- Government regulation assures "clean" product (no lacing)
- Government regulation assists reducing minor usage
- More jobs created to meet the demand
- Non-addictive
- Minimal medical risk
- People use marijuana as their end-of-day relaxing time, instead of alcohol - which is addictive and causes liver damage.
- Increased output of hemp - a "green" super-material
- Weed is from da erf! God put dis here for me - and YOU!
Cons
- Harder to regulate / test for DUI
- ???
I may be missing something here, but it seems kind of obvious. Legalization and heavy taxation of marijuana would be a very good thing for this country.
Speaking of obvious, why the hell does the IRS still exist? Oh right, because the people that need to change tax laws are the same ones that benefit from the dirty tax system. The lawmakers cater to lobbyists to assure tax loopholes, and receive bribes in exchange. So why would they ever want to get rid of this system?? If they truly had the country's best interest at heart. Yeah, I know. Good luck with that, right?
So we all know that the IRS is severely flawed. I don't think anyone is debating that. So then what is the alternative? The answer to that question is The FAIR TAX if you're asking me.
What is the Fair Tax? Here it is in a nutshell (blatantly stolen from www.fairtax.org):
The FairTax plan is a comprehensive proposal that replaces all federal income and payroll based taxes with an integrated approach including a progressive national retail sales tax, a prebate to ensure no American pays federal taxes on spending up to the poverty level, dollar-for-dollar federal revenue neutrality, and, through companion legislation, the repeal of the 16th Amendment.
The FairTax Act (HR 25, S 296) is nonpartisan legislation. It abolishes all federal personal and corporate income taxes, gift, estate, capital gains, alternative minimum, Social Security, Medicare, and self-employment taxes and replaces them with one simple, visible, federal retail sales tax administered primarily by existing state sales tax authorities.
The FairTax taxes us only on what we choose to spend on new goods or services, not on what we earn. The FairTax is a fair, efficient, transparent, and intelligent solution to the frustration and inequity of our current tax system.
The FairTax:
* Enables workers to keep their entire paychecks
* Enables retirees to keep their entire pensions
* Refunds in advance the tax on purchases of basic necessities
* Allows American products to compete fairly
* Brings transparency and accountability to tax policy
* Ensures Social Security and Medicare funding
* Closes all loopholes and brings fairness to taxation
* Abolishes the IRS
Imagine receiving your ENTIRE paycheck.
Imagine Drug dealers and illegal immigrants being required to pay taxes.
Imagine the cost savings without the lumbering behemoth IRS draining our economy.
Imagine there's no heaven.
Sorry.. Got a little preachy there.
On to another hot topic in the country - the economy. Everyone seems to be grasping for a way to jump-start the economy. OK, so we all know (or should know) what caused this. It boils down to a lot of irresponsible management of money - by both consumers and banks. The consumers over-extended themselves, and relied on credit to pay for things they could not afford. The banks knew this, but still made the loans anyways. They sold the loans as higher-quality than they were. The economy was running on fake money, and eventually it was going to pop. The major cause for the pop was the high-risk mortgages that increased interest rates (and minimum payments) at a later date. This allowed consumers to buy houses that they could not afford at a very low up-front monthly cost. Once the rates and minimum payments increased, these people could no longer afford their payments, and defaulted. And so the chain reaction started.
OK - so how do we fix it?
- Support the US economy
- Create government jobs
- Teach Americans to practice responsible money management
As you all know, the government has spent hundreds of billions of dollars trying to rectify the situation. They have sent us checks, they have bailed out banks, and bailed out automakers. Good, great, fantastic. It needed to be done - unfortunately. BUT it could have been done better.
Banks should have had requirements:
- Keep interest rates below a specific number (to support the american taxpayer)
- Create regulations on how high-risk debt is handled in the future
- Requirements for future on-hand reserves.
- Quarterly detailed reports to the government
Automakers should have had requirements:
- Immediately dump any brands or models that are not profitable
- Suspend pet projects / concept vehicles that are not scheduled to be released by 2011 (unless project results in a major fuel efficient vehicle)
- Provide major incentives to US consumers (such as the cover your payment plans they are doing now)
- Renegotiate union contracts to avoid further job loss
- Use temporary factory shut downs to lower overall production cost, while reducing outright firing employees
- Renegotiate supplier contracts (we're all in this together, if we fail / you fail)
Stimulus checks should have had stipulations:
- They should have been in the form of gift cards (so that people could not just stick it in savings)
- These gift cards should have only been usable at top US retailers and car dealers (for new cars only)
- Purchases should have been only allowed for "made in the USA" items.
The president and his staff should be preaching the tactics needed to resolve this (fiscal responsibility, buy American, etc.). The American citizen helped create this recession, and we need to be involved in the recovery.
OK.. I will step of the soap box now. I don't claim to know what the hell I am talking about, but in my head, these things seem obvious.
The Empty Coccoon - Part 3
Posted by
Doodface
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Apologies for taking so long to finish this (as if anyone was eagerly awaiting the conclusion).
To read part 1, click here
To read part 2, click here
As I sat staring blankly at the knife coated in my family's blood, I fought back the nausea once again. Every fiber of my being screamed "KILL HIM!!", but I had to resist the urge. If i could just last through his psychotic ramblings, I may be able to save Sarah and the girls....
"...Very impressive, Mr. D.A.! I know that it must be very difficult to calmly sit on that couch while the killer of.." He put his hand abruptly to his mouth. "Oh no! Did I just give away the ending?" He smiled a smile of pure evil self-satisfaction.
Everything faded to black..
I woke up to him slapping me in the face.
"Wake Up Mr. D.A.! Surely a man that has condemned multiple men to their deaths can handle a little story time, no? Now where was I?" He rubbed his chin for a brief moment. His face suddenly lit up. "Ah yes! So once I have had my viewing time, I allow them to sleep.. Well.. The chloroform does!" He laughed out loud.
All I could do was picture plunging that knife in to him repeatedly. He watched as I studied the knife again and again. He pushed it closer.
"Would you like to pick this up? I noticed that you are very interested in it."
Again, I restrained.
"No? OK, then I will continue." He leaned back in to the couch and closed his eyes. "Once they are sleeping peacefully, I like to slowly consummate the new relationship. Nothing forceful or violent - lovingly."
He had a smile on his face now.
"The younger they are, the more fun this part is. I did not realize this until tonight! I mean 12 year olds were fantastic, but not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined how amazing TWO 4 year olds would be!"
I lunged for the knife and jumped on top of him, knife at his throat.
"THAT IS ENOUGH! Tell me where my family in RIGHT FUCKING NOW. I will torture you for weeks if that's what it takes!" I pressed the blade in harder, balanced at the limit before breaking through the skin.
He calmly looked in to my eyes, and grabbed my arm. He pulled my arm so that the knife broke skin. I pulled back.
"You would rather take your own life than tell me where my family is?"
"Yes. Gladly. My existence now is one that I loathe. Though I have been freed, and am able to finally partake in my fantasies, I know that what I am doing is monstrous." The anger in his face returned. "But your deeds are no less monstrous. You have killed, or ruined nearly 20 men. That is far beyond what I have done."
"Please Mr. Colmes. I will do anything! Just tell me what.." He abruptly raised his hand.
"Save it! Your precious little family is dead by now. All 3 were bleeding out as I left them. The little ones had 20 minutes, tops. All of your pointless interruptions dragged this process well beyond that."
Overcome with rage, I plunged the knife in to his chest. He smiled.
"Finally!" He wheezed with excitement. "Release your rage on me!"
I plunged the knife in again. He didn't even wince. He reached into his pocket for an envelope.
"Thank you, Mr. D.A., you played along nicely. You will now get what is coming to you." He handed me the envelope with that same self-satisfied evil smile.
I sat back to open the envelope. Inside was a letter.
Hello Mr. D.A.,
If you are reading this letter, you have played along perfectly. You have finally brought REAL justice in to the world. I am at this point either dead or dying - and this is a good thing. Everything I told you about my fantasies was true. However, I never once fulfilled my desires. Even after you made me in to a murderer in the public's eye, I restrained my needs. Even on your family.
Yes that's right, your family is just fine. I have a cloned cell phone that allows me to make calls or send messages from your number. I sent a text message to your wife telling her to bring the kids, and meet at a hotel for a weekend getaway. I expect that they are waiting at the hotel for you now.
Thank God. My family is alive!
While your family is fine and well, I do not expect that you will be seeing much of them. I have paid a gentleman to hack your e-mail account. Apparently, you invited me over this evening to apologize for accusing me of a crime I did not commit. I have a webcam set up in corner - yes that's right, look for yourself. You have just put on quite a show for the 100 or so people you work with that received the link in their e-mail. Police, judges, court clerks - they all just saw you kill me. Conveniently there was no audio on this video.
There is the webcam. Silently watching the entire evening.
If you're wondering how the rest of my plan worked, I will summarize for you. I chloroformed you when you arrived home and put you in your bed. I then spread around some pig's blood and cadaver fingers. Quite simple really.
The goal of this process was to show the world what you really are. A murderer. While you may have never plunged the knife in to flesh before tonight, you essentially have destroyed 19 innocent men.
Enjoy your time in the federal prison - surrounded by the men that you falsely convicted.
Sincerely,
Stephen Colmes
As I was reading the letter, he had quietly died. I could hear the sirens in the distance..
Parent's Corner
Posted by
E
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Howdy folks. Long time no see.
If you've been coming here recently (and honestly, I SEVERELY doubt you have), you'll likely have noticed that things rather abruptly came to a halt here a month or so ago. Markoni popped in to give you the jist of it last week.
I have reproduced.
A horrifying prospect, I agree, not just from my own "HOLY HELL, I'M A DAD" perspective, but a fear also for the future of humanity. I'm not saying that my child was born of a jackal with cloven hooves and a 666 birthmark, but I'm not not saying it either...
Of course, the ultimate question is, "What will this mean for Omni?" Will I change the format to a more family friendly style, perhaps offering parenting advice and whimsical stories of my adorable child shitting her pants?
Let me put everybody's fears to rest right now. It's going to happen.
That's right, Omni will soon be nothing more than an amalgamation of humorous tales of child-rearing, replete with advisory tips and recipes for raising healthy and happy children. I'm hoping to get some guest columnists as well. (I wonder if Dr. Phil is available.)
Please note that we will not stay www.omniphobic.com forever and soon this will be nothing more than a redirect to www.happychildrenhappyhomes.com to reflect my newfound inner peace and contentment.
Granted, my time as a dad has been somewhat limited as of this juncture, but I still feel that it's only right that I indignantly and condescendingly tell you all how to live your lives better and how best to raise your children.
Any good parent will tell you that an underlying philosophy is beneficial when dealing with your child. A child craves consistency, and the only way you as a parent will be able to truly reach and connect with them is by finding a parenting style that represents who you are as a person mixed with the discipline a child needs in order to become a productive and happy member of society.
My parenting style is summed up by the following three letters: V-C-M
That's right, with three simple letters I am able to build a methodology for teaching my child about the ways of the world while still asserting parental authority.
VCM, of course, stands for Violent, Continuous, Merciless, the cornerstone of my child raising foundation.
The key to proper VCM is to make certain that you never back down. For example, when the baby first crowned, I slipped off my belt and began whipping her repeatedly across the head, not slowing down until the soft cranial shell was exposed via the split skin.
Had I loosened up and not stayed true, the labor would have doubtless lasted several more hours. But again, because I was willing to Violently, Continuously, and Mercilessly beat my child, I was able to teach her an early lesson. Namely, no dawdling.
And the tough love didn't abate after the birthing itself. If she urinates in her diaper I will beat her senseless with whatever is on hand. If my arm starts getting tired, it's time to put on my kickin' boots. As of the time of this writing, my innocent little angel is 766 hours old. I estimate I have beat her no less than 500 of those hours, raising countless welts, spreading innumerable bruises, and necessitating no less than 27 return visits to the hospital. (Although, I believe they're getting suspicious about her proclivity for falling down the stairs.)
And don't get me wrong, beating your child isn't all about belts and boots; there's nothing wrong with the fists. After all, babies crave skin on skin contact, even if that skin is plummeting towards their face at 60 mph.
Well, that's it for this installment of Parent's Corner. Check back next time when I'll be discussing piercing a child's wrists and legs so that you can install clips to pin them to the wall at changing time.
Don't Make Me Destroy You!
Posted by
Markoni
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
So what the hell is going on?
Well we've been making babies, exploring alternative careers, being moody and anti-social, and just plain fucking off. That's about it.
I am assured by 'E' himself that new content will be appearing soon. Hang in there.
Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss
Posted by
E
Monday, March 2, 2009
Mere moments had passed since my morning respite, and I, feeling quite refreshed and eager to face the day’s challenges had nestled myself snugly into my favorite chair, perchance to rest just a bit longer.
Suddenly, I heard the sound. It was that of boot on cobblestone, ratcheting the air and befouling my repose with its blasphemous clatter. I clasped my hands to my ears, ratiocinating under duress that mayhap if I could not hear the commotion approaching, then indeed this very act would cease its infernal racket. But unfortunately, it was not to be, for out in the distance, on the horizon, a figure appeared, bathed in shadow its name and meaning a beguiling mystery to me.
The dark figure neared, and as it approached I became keenly aware of a placard being held aloft by the mysterious figure. My mind awash with curiosity, I had no choice but to stare at the unholy visage as it passed.
The sign was simple, and bore but three words. “Samuel I am”, and as quickly as he had appeared, the stranger once again disappeared into shadow.
“What manner of imp is this,” I wondered aloud, “which takes such pleasure in disrupting the serenity of others on such a fine day!”
I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, and upon reopening them discovered that the vile creature had returned, yet this time his bill was turned and the image of his new message burned itself into my consciousness.
I hesitate to reveal to you, dear reader, the words so emblazoned in my psyche, but for the benefit of your edification I have no choice but to make these words clear.
“I am Samuel”.
Whence from this beast came, I cannot say, but suffice to say my animosity towards this creature was ever growing.
“That Samuel! That Samuel! I truly fear this beast from Hell!”
Unbeknownst to me, dear reader, this vile monster heard every word uttered forth from my gullet, and with a mischievous grin turned to face me, holding a platter of mysterious foodstuffs, and ushered forth the following discourse.
“What say you to ham and eggs of green?”
Rage swelled within me. What right did this beast have to question me on culinary matters? Was he so numb to the audacity of the situation that he believed himself justified to treat me as such? I had no choice but to reply.
“Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel”
I would like to say to you, my literary compatriot, that this tirade of mine rid me of the hideous curse of Samuel’s companionship, but alas, the good lord saw fit to continue my trials alongside this insidious fiend.
“Would you prefer them hence or whence?”
“I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
And with this said, Samuel grabbed me bodily and pulled me from my chair, forcibly pushing your humble narrator down the road until we approached the residence of my neighbor. I stifled the urge to cry for help, knowing full well that not a soul apart from vermin was stirring within this home.
“How about against this wall
To sup along a beast which crawls?”
“Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
Samuel spun me round and faced me towards a crate which lay on the ground.
“Would you consider in a crate
With perchance, a fox as mate?”
“This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
And again under his control, I was led forth to a horse and buggy hitched alongside the road.
“Wouldst you say nay if t’were in a carriage?
Could you do so without such umbrage?”
“Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
But Samuel’s resolve was unshaken, and pointing to the nearest tree continued his attempt to sway my opinion.
“Your words to me seek to deceive
You might enjoy amongst the leaves.”
“Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
“Perhaps surrounded by a group of men?”
“No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
And with this, he forced me into my neighbor’s home, and moving quickly drew back the curtains to drown out all of this glorious day’s sun.
“What about right in here?
For if it is the sight you fear
Then eating here in room of black
Would help you to enjoy this snack”
“It is not the food I fear
It is your unsightly leer
I do not care to try such food
Especially from one so rude
No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
“You do not like my food so well?”
“I don’t like YOU, foul Samuel!”
At once Sam burst through the door. For a moment I felt elated, the beast now fully dissipated, his mind must now be deflated, because this creature I have berated.
It must be apparent to you by now that the time I had spent with Samuel had taken its toll on me. I was finding myself now thinking in rhyme, a trait which can only be attributed to the scourge knownst to you as Samuel.
Just as I was collecting myself and making preparations for the cessation of my day, the door burst open and in came Sam with a beast of burden. Looking me coldly in the eyes he continued his tirade.
“Would you dine now with this goat?
Not here, of course, but on a boat?”
My rage bubbled to the surface.
“Why is it that you cannot see
That your games do not tempt me
It may just be, I cannot tell
That you are a beast from Hell
Leave me now, and let me be!
You foul accursed entity!
It is not the food I fear
It is your unsightly leer
I do not care to try such food
Especially from one so rude
No, no, no, I say again!
Your manners are so full of sin
Have I not made myself clear?
With you I will not sup this year
Oh why, oh why must you persist?
Your presence is a pestilence
Again I speak without delay
Why cannot you leave this day?
This thought of yours I truly hate
And so again I shall berate
Hear Samuel and heed my call
I do not like this choice at all
I would not like it either way
Now hear my words and go away
Of ham and eggs of green
I do admit I am not keen
You are naught but a ne’er do well
Begone from me, foul Samuel!”
And spaketh Samuel:
“You claim to hate them, so you say
But these you have not tried this day
Perhaps with just one simple bite
Your inner spirit will alight
One taste for you, it will delight
And then I will bade you good night”
Finding myself unable to bear this torment any further, I sought to placate the insatiable desires of my most loathsome acquaintance.
“If I had a single wish
T’would be your head upon this dish
But since this wish cannot come true
I’ll do my best to placate you
After all your endless taunts
I find it is your meal I want
If this can make you go away
This food I will eat everyday!”
And so, with trembling hands full of trepidation, I did, in fact, eat every bite of food proffered to me. I would not go so far as to say I did this with glee, but I did not hesitate for fear that Samuel would not leave. To my great surprise, I found his dish to be a culinary masterpiece, resplendent with flavor and of a perfect texture and consistency. To Samuel I then turned.
“Truth be told, dear Samuel
I mistook you for a beast from Hell
I ate your food, you got your wish
I would even have another dish
With your means I can’t agree
All you did was trouble me
But your point now has been made
My debt to you has now been paid
I do like them, as you say
And would eat them everyday
I would eat them with your goat
Even perched upon a boat
I would eat in room of black
Upon your food I would then snack
I would eat this meal again
Even amongst a group of men
Though appearances may deceive
I would eat within a group of leaves
I’d still eat them, don’t disparage
Even if offered to me in a carriage
I thought, perhaps, this food I’d hate
But now I find I cannot wait
To sup within a wooden crate
With, perchance, a fox as mate
And with a beast, though it may crawl
I would dine right here against this wall
I would have them hence or whence
I would have them anywhere, since
As you have made abundantly clear
This food to me, it does endear
And though my mind was clouded then
This meal of yours I’ll eat again
And so I say without delay
I’ll dine with you another day
To sit and eat, and talk as well
With you, my dear friend Samuel.”
And Samuel, his task being completed, made quick with the gathering of his things and left me to myself, to ponder the meaning of our strange acquaintance. And to you, dear reader, I say only this, that food was an eternal bliss, and though I did not judge him well, I truly love that Samuel.
They're ALL E's
Posted by
E
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Edwin: Ahhhh, E, thank you so much for joining us for this meeting. I presume you know why we've called on you?
E: Well, I assume it has to do with the new candy that I've proposed.
Edwin: Right, right, "E&E's", I believe you call them?
E: Right.
Edwin: Well, specifically, we'd like to talk to you about some issues we've discovered with them.
E: Issues?
Edwin: Yes, there are two points of contention here. We'll deal with them in turn.
E: Alright.
Mortimer: Right, E, this is Mortimer. We're dealing with the first problem here, and I'm afraid it's a bit of a showstopper. We may have to completely shut down production on the candy until we can resolve this.
E: Okay, what exactly is the problem?
Mortimer: Well, first off, we're a bit confused by the printing.
E: The printing?
Edwin: He means the printing on the candy itself.
E: What about it?
Edwin: Well, the candy you proposed to us was intended to have a little E stamped on each and every one.
E: /pause/ Yes. And they do.
Edwin: We can definitely see something printed there, but we find it a tad nebulous.
E: Nebuolous? What do you mean?
Mortimer: If I may interject here, Edwin. E, first off, I'm looking at one of these candies right now and it has a W stamped on it.
E: A W? Like, the letter W?
Mortimer: Precisely.
E: That's not a W, that's an E. You've got the candy turned.
Mortimer: No, no. This is definitely a W. I'm looking at it right now.
E: I think you'll find that's an E. Turn the candy 90 degrees to the right.
Mortimer: Do what?
E: Turn it nin...
Edwin: I don't think our customers are going to want to turn the candies, E. Surely you can see the problem here.
E: Honestly, I don't. Just turn the candy. It's an E, you're just holding it wrong.
Edwin: Are you telling us that we're to blame, here?
E: This isn't about blame. It's very simple. If you turn an E 90 degrees to the left, it becomes a W.
Winston: E, this is Winston, I'm the manager of confectionary production here at Harshly's, and I must say I don't appreciate the tone you're taking here.
E: Tone? Excuse me?
Winston: The way I see it, you've provided us with a defective product. It is incumbent on you to fix this.
E: There's nothing to fix! It's not broken!
Winston: Then why am I looking at a W?
E: It's NOT a W! It's an E. Turn the candy to the right.
Winston: /pause/ Oh, I see.
/to others/ If you turn it to the right, it becomes an E.
Mortimer: But I'm not sure that addresses the base issue here.
E: What issue?
Mortimer: The fact that you promised us a candy emblazoned with E's, and we've obviously got some that are defective.
E: What's defective?
Edwin: Look here, E. This one is most definitely a W!
E: You need to turn yours as well.
Edwin: Excuse me?
E: Your candy. Turn it.
Edwin: /pause/ What do you mean turn it?
E: Turn it 90 degrees to the right.
Edwin: /pause/ Oh yes, I see.
E: See, it's really an E.
Mortimer: Uh oh, we have another problem.
E: What now?
Mortimer: This one's an M.
E: No, no. It's not an M. It's still an E. You've just turned it to far.
Winston: Now listen here! I do not appreciate you marching into my establishment and laying blame on my employees.
E: I'm not laying blame.
Winston: I think perhaps I should tell your superiors what game you're at, here.
E: What game?
Winston: You're attempting to pass off defective goods here!
E: They're NOT defective. Look, an E, an M, and a W are all the same letter, just turned differently.
Edwin: The same? Are you saying that Mortimer and I are the same person? After all, he starts with an M and I start with an E.
Mortimer: This is an outrage!
E: You're taking this the wrong way.
Winston: Then I believe it's incumbent on you to explain this properly.
E: /sighing/ Does everybody have paper and a pen in front of them?
/all murmur in agreement/
E: Okay, draw a small line going up and down on the paper.
Edwin: All the way up and down?
E: No, just a small line.
Mortimer: Is three inches sufficient?
E: Three inches is fine. Or smaller. It really doesn't matter.
Winston: WHAT DO YOU WANT US TO DO?!?
E: Draw a line. Up and down the page, just an inch or so.
E: Now that you've done that, draw three lines moving to the right from that line, at equal positions.
Edwin: Crossing the first line?
E: No, starting at the line. Just start at that line and then draw another line to the right.
Winston: This is all very confusing. I'm really not certain what you're driving at.
E: Right, this isn't getting us anywhere. Flip your paper over to the other side and let's try this again.
Mortimer: Does it matter if I flip it longways or shortways?
E: What? Just flip the paper.
Mortimer: Flip it how? This is very confusing.
E: Just turn to the other side. Where you haven't written yet.
/pause/
Winston: There's writing on the other side of my paper. This is very frustrating and I don't see...
E: Grab a new sheet. Please, just do this. It will make a lot more sense soon.
Winston: Okay, fine. I have a new sheet. You'd better start making sense soon.
E: Alright. I want everybody to write a capital E on their paper.
Edwin: A capital E? I didn't know we would be quizzed on geography. I really don't s...
E: Just write a big E. Like the first letter of a name. Not a little E.
/general murmur of understanding/
E: Okay, now take that paper and turn it to the left.
All: Ohhhh.
Mortimer: It's a W!
Winston: Good show! It's like an E, but now it's turned into another letter. This is delightful.
Edwin: Mine's not a W. I don't know what it is.
E: What's wrong with it?
Edwin: It looks like a line with three bars moving off to the left.
E: You've turned it too far.
Edwin: You TOLD me to turn it! If you can't give proper directions...
E: No, Edwin. I'm not faulting you. The paper's just been turned to far. If you turn it a little to the right.
Edwin: But you said to turn it to the left! I'm very confused.
E: It's not that hard, really.
Winston: E, we really appreciate the show you're giving us here, but we still haven't addressed the underlying issue.
E: WHAT ISSUE?
Winston: You've given us defective candies!
E: No, I haven't. Look, Winston, remember when you turned the paper with that E?
Winston: Yes.
E: What happened?
Winston: It became a W.
E: Right. So see, they're one and the same.
Mortimer: E, this is Mortimer again. Look, I appreciate what you're saying, but...
E: But?
Mortimer: But we here at Harshly's don't want to confuse our customers.
E: Confuse your customers?
Mortimer: What if one of our customers buys a bag of "E&E's" and gets a W?
Edwin: Or an M.
Winston: Or even worse, that confusing backwards symbol. That's not even a letter! What will people think?
E: I doubt they'll even notice, frankly.
Winston: NOT EVEN NOTICE?
Edwin: E, you must understand, our customers hold Harshly's to the highest level of scrutiny. They simply would not stand for this.
Mortimer: The scandal! Our customers expect better of us!
E: I think the average person would look at the W and realize that it's just an E that's been turned.
Winston: I really don't think our customers are looking for such a cerebral experience. They really just want a nice choccy.
E: I fail to see how it's a "cerebral experience".
Mortimer: Maybe we're just not making ourselves clear here. Our customers want to simply reach into the bag and grab a handful of E's without needing a Rosetta stone or a membership with Mensa to understand what's written there.
E: It's just an E!
Mortimer: Mine was a W!
E: I've already explained this. It's not a W. It's an E that's been turned.
Winston: So you keep claiming, yet any number of letters and symbols seem to be making their way out of this bag.
E: I can't make this any clearer. They're ALL E's. Some of them get turned around in the bag. People will look at this and realize it without a thought. Besides, it's really the candy they're after, not the E.
Edwin: Well, this brings us to the second thing we needed to discuss.
E: Oh?
Edwin: Yes, we have a problem with the colors.
E: What of them?
Edwin: Well, there's too many.
E: Too many?
Mortimer: I think what Edwin's trying to say is that the variety of colors can be confusing.
E: Confusing?
Mortimer: You have green ones and red ones and blue ones.
E: That's kind of the idea. The colors make them fun.
Winston: Fun? How so?
E: Well, maybe not fun. Interesting? It gives them variety.
Winston: You said they were fun.
E: Well, yes, but apparently it was the wrong choice of words. The colors just keep it interesting. It gives the consumer variety.
Mortimer: But they don't want variety. They want E&E's.
E: They're GETTING E&E's. But they come in different colors.
Edwin: And flavors?
E: No. Not flavors. Just colors.
Edwin: Then why have a red one. Red means cinammon.
E: No, it doesn't. It's just a red candy shell.
Edwin: But it's red!
E: It's just a color.
Edwin: If I bought a box of red hots, what color would they be?
E: Red, but...
Edwin: Precisely! And what do they taste like?
E: Cinammon.
Edwin: So surely you see the problem here.
E: No. Look, it's just a red shell. It doesn't really have a flavor.
Mortimer: I have a green one with an M on it. Does that mean it's mint?
E: NO! There are NO mints! There are no flavors! They're all chocolate.
Mortimer: Except for the mint?
E: There is NO mint! It's chocolate! With a green shell!
Mortimer: And an M.
E: sigh
Winston: Well, E, I think we've gone as far as we can with this meeting. Let me just summarize this.
E: Ok.
Winston: You have proposed to us to market a product you call E&E's. Each E&E comes stamped with an E.
E: Right.
Winston: Due to a manufacturing mistake, we have an issue with W's, M's, and an unnamed character appearing alongside the E's.
E: They're ALL E's.
Winston: Second to this is the color scheme, which we're not sold on, as it may confuse our customers.
E: Right. There are colors. And E's.
Mortimer: I think we have things in order here, E. The W's and M's should not be much of a problem.
Edwin: We can probably live with the other symbol as well.
Winston: E, we'd like to thank you for your time and for helping us to understand things more clearly.
E: My pleasure.
Two hours later I was called into another meeting to discuss the "other letters".
Three bodies were later found floating in the Thames, each with a strange symbol carved into their respective foreheads.
Hustle and Flow
Posted by
E
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Alright, confession time. It's not entirely a confession of my own. It's partly calling somebody out confessionally, but hey, it's only a means to an end. What am I driving at? Simple, my roommate subscribes to nudie magazines.
Now don't get me wrong, this isn't the rough and tumble shit like Nugget or Swank International, he favors the more high class joints. The big three, if you will, Playboy, Penthouse and Hustler.
This doesn't bother me. They're just magazines. And trust me, if you've been reading my stuff for awhile, you probably assume (and rightly so) that I'm not the puritanical, easy to offend type.
So whatever. Naked chicks. Woo hoo.
In my own twisted way, I have to admit I kind of like it. I will occasionally find one sitting on the counter in the bathroom. If I'm making an excursion that will last for more than a few seconds, I have zero issue with picking one of those babies up and flipping through it.
You'll probably call me a liar, but scout's honor, I don't really care about looking at the ladies. This is the 21st century. Finding naked chicks to ogle at in this day and age is similar to trying to find sand in a desert. The fact is, they're everywhere. And from what the advertisements tell me, all of them, from the hottest and dirtiest to oldest and most handicapped, ALL OF THEM want ME.
But truth be told, there's something nice about the tangibility of a magazine. If nothing else, it's a trip into my nostalgiac past. The first magazine of the sort I ever saw was a Playboy. The first I ever bought as a teen was a Hustler. In reality, I have a long and storied past with the things, though my interest waned somewhere around 15 years ago.
The fun for me comes from just looking at the magazines objectively.
Take Playboy. That's the classy one. You flip through a Playboy and those ladies are airbrushed to the nth degree. You'll find interviews with big name celebrities and an air of social acceptance all around. Big name companies pick up advertising. The writing, while sometimes a tad risque, tends to stray from too much controversy. You get the feeling that Playboy is a career stepping stone for many people.
Next you've got Penthouse. The ladies in Penthouse...well, they're generally second tier. Maybe not perfect, but never ugly. They're either really trying to make their way or they're at the beginning of their career's long descent. And they love showing you their vag. They spread it just a bit so you can get a good shot of what they're packing. Penthouse is more willing to tackle topical interests and is not afraid to push a little dirt in your face to make a point. Some of the bigger advertisers are there, but you start to move into the smuttier advertisements by the time you're through.
And then there's Hustler. That's where the ladies with the glazed eyes show up. The ones that look like they're doing this photo spread for $50 bucks and a bottle of bourbon. These women will spread their cavernous genitals in a disturbing impression of the grand canyon, all the time staring at you with a vacant glare. Frankly, many of them frighten me.
But that's the beauty of Hustler. Larry Flynt knows he's peddling trash and he's not afraid to point it out at every conceivable moment. The entire magazine is incredibly low-brow, from the sex comics to the monthly Beaver Hunt. But the saving grace? The writing. Flynt is an ardent defender of first amendment rights, and his writers are encouraged to push boundaries, to say what people aren't saying and to fly straight into the face of decency.
Truth be told, as an aspiring writer, of the three I've listed above, Hustler would by far be my first choice for peddling my wares. If for no other reason than to know that I would never have to compromise my ideas for the sake of the advertisers.
All that notwithstanding, I really don't care for any of the above magazines. It's just something that crossed my mind...
The Impact of One Second
Posted by
E
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Sometimes the tiniest decisions can become the most monumental and pivotal moments of our lives. Without question, we will fail to recognize it at the time. Instead we spend years lamenting a simple choice that was made.
Every one of us has had at least one such moment. This is the tale of the split second where I made a decision I am doomed to regret for the remainder of my days.
My relationship with my father could easily be labeled as strained. From my earliest memories forward I always felt as if I stood in the shadow of a greatness I could never achieve.
Jim was larger than life, outgoing, and possessed of a mind so razor sharp that nothing could possibly elude him. You name a topic, he was an expert in it.
A woodworker, a carpenter, a mechanic, speaker of multiple languages, an electrical engineer, a salesman, and an expert in history and literature. This was not a man you could try to bullshit and expect to get away with it.
And there was I, who as a lad stood in stark contrast. Reserved, contemplative, shy, and lacking interest in the majority of his pursuits. This is not to say that I was a dullard or lacking in ability, it's just that my own desires ran perpendicular to his.
My interests from an early age lay in the dawning of the computer age. Engines and mechanisms were anathema to me. I desired naught but cold and impersonal calculation.
Computers served as a good companion for a lad with poor social skills and a natural insomnia that forced me onto a schedule that was inherently my own.
At the time he frowned at my obsession, even stating in one of his few moments of improper prediction that "There would never be any money in computers."
Were that the only barrier to mutual understanding, I suspect that we would done just fine.
But it was compounded by my clumsy nature, my lack of any shred of ability in the realm of sports, and my burgeoning interest with the morbid and dark.
More than anything, my dalliances with the realm of darkness and death seemed to strain our relationship. He was outgoing and well spoken, and here is his son, a mealy little introvert with a mind forever wandering towards things that did not appeal to him.
It never occurred to me in my younger years that my leanings were the burgeoning of my artistic bent, the beginnings of my desire to speak loudly and freely, only in a medium I found more personal. The irony that my father ran a book business and ultimately had a son who would later desire to write books is not lost on me.
As I moved into my teenage years and the horrific throes of pubescent hormones overtook my mind, I found myself drifting further and further away.
Frustration would linger on the edge of my mind almost daily, as I recognized that him and I saw the world through the same eyes, we just filtered the input differently. As I aged I was able to more fully construct my thoughts and better explain how I saw things. He was a realist, and this is a characteristic that is as deeply seated a trait as my macabre sense of humor.
As I further progressed, I was able to find common ground, a perspective of the world shared by us both. Though our moments of synergy were infrequent, they were tangible and each meant more to me than I am capable of imparting.
The mutual ground may have been found, but a neutral and stable meeting ground was never established. We would share our occasional moments, but time wore on and I found myself face to face with him less and less.
This distance could have been mitigated by communication, but alas, I am poor at social relationships. I may be able to prattle on for hours and hours when I write my little passages, but engage me in an actual conversation or email thread and you will generally find me terse and to the point.
Of course I spoke to him shortly after he was diagnosed with cancer. It was melanoma, first noticed by a growth on his back that had begun bleeding. He had it removed and ultimately had surgery to remove some of his lymph nodes. The cancer was gone and all returned to normal.
About a year later, problems arose once more. He again had surgery to remove some items. It was just a week or two later when I got the call.
He had lapsed into a coma brought on by extreme calcium levels. He had been brought back out of the coma and was resting in hospital. I was at my home with a friend of mine who happened to be a nurse, and we researched and discussed what the underlying cause of this could be. I was nauseously kicked in the gut when I saw that a common cause of this is bone cancer. This was made all the more troubling by the fact that none of the other causatives seemed relevant to his condition.
I went and visited him that evening and spoke with him and my mother. He seemed optimistic and not overly worried about the situation. I left that night nervous but hopeful. I spoke with Terry that evening and we decided to head down there the next day to pay him another visit.
We arrived at the room shortly after 7, and Terry and I sat and spoke with both my mom and my dad for awhile. After an hour or so my mom decided to go home and get some rest. Terry and I opted to stay behind and spend some quality time with my father.
We spoke of the impending war in Iraq, my father's dislike of President Bush, and shared reminiscences of Terry and mine's younger days. He asked for clarification on a number of incidents that we were complicit in. (For further information on these truths, see this and this.)
We spoke for what felt like hours, even going so far as to help him hack his bedside computer so that he could bypass the hospital filters and see the full internet. Finally, the time came to say our goodbye for the evening.
Like I said, dad and I always had a troubled past, but there was never a lack of caring, just an inability to express it properly. And so, as I neared his bed, I made the beginnings of a motion to hug him and tell him I loved him, and instead opted to put my hand on his shoulder and say, "Hang in there, old man." He smiled as we walked away from the bed and made our way home.
It was the last time I would ever see him conscious.
Four days later he lapsed into another coma, once again brought on by calcium, and he languished in that state for another twenty something days before finally succumbing to the cancer that had eaten away at his bones.
I was in that room with him every single day of that coma. I would stop by whenever time would permit. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Terry, sometimes with the rest of my family.
I watched as he slowly slipped away from me, and every single day my thoughts would haunt me over the words I had been too afraid to say to him. I choked on that regret every single day, the foul and bitter taste of letdown burning my tongue with a coppery twinge.
I spoke the words to his coma riddled body more times than I can recall. I did my best to let him know of my regrets. My moments alone or with just Terry and I were spent howling my regrets until my throat was hoarse.
When at last he was taken, I found myself in a bleak world. Anyone who has lost a parent knows the emptiness that comes with it. And for years I bore the pain and internalized anger of my moment's inability.
It's been some years now and I have ultimately made my peace with my decision. Right or wrong, it was the choice I made. I can lament it for the rest of my days, or I can just accept that deep down he knew how I felt. But I'll never hear the words returned, and that's a pain that will haunt my days forever.
Let this be a reminder to anyone. Not just about imparting your feelings or making your peace with others. No, just let this be a reminder that every decision we make, no matter how minute it may seem, has the potential to alter our lives, and we should be ever mindful of each and every one of them.
A Cheap Cop-Out, But a Cop-Out Nonetheless
Posted by
E
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Yeah, I know it's kind of a cheat. But give me a break, please. We're in one of those crazy cycles at work that will be lasting until the middle of next week. These are the kinds of days where you work 11-12 hours, go home, take a shower, go to bed and do it all again.
Trust me, I'm not short on ideas at the moment. I've got loads of stuff lined up. Stories about my grandmother's Xmas presents, the graphic true story of a spurned lover's revenge, the kidnapping of Macauley Culkin...Seriously, I've got loads of stuff coming very soon.
For now, patience. I'd love to sit and write every night, but sometimes you've just gotta set your priorities.
For now, I give you Gandalf, a skit from The Whitest Kids U Know. You can thank Lara for this one...
Bringin' Up the Past
Posted by
E
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
If you're a dedicated reader, you might as well pass this one by. This is a repeat of an oldie, but a goodie. Due to the slight influx of new readers of late, I thought it might be nice to trot out one of my personal favorites. It's not new, nor has it been changed in any way. Hell, the original link is still in the sidebar. Still, it's worth it to the newbs. For the uber-newbs, I should point out that this is from the blog I started at: thembonez.blogspot.com. 
Look, I'll be honest. I'm a big chicken. A wuss. I'm terrified of my own shadow. I may write all my entries on here about death and morbidity, but the truth of the matter is that three days ago I sat in my room, burning up, because I was too scared to go downstairs and change the thermostat. (True story!) Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I have anxiety and nervousness issues. On the whole, I don't mind. They're just part of what makes me E. But why am I bringing this up? What possible benefit is there to me tearing asunder the facade I've so meticulously constructed here at Bonez? The easy answer is, because I'm able to laugh at myself. And it was this ability that led me to this post.
I found myself feeling rather nostalgic this afternoon, so I wandered teh intarwebs looking up whatever little tidbits of my childhood happened to wander across my mind. It all began innocently enough, with the search for a board game that I remembered getting for Christmas at the age of 6. The game in question was "Monster Mansion", and my research informed me that this was a board game based on the classic Universal monsters. Apparently it wasn't in production for very long. From here I began to look up more of the games and toys I had as a child. Then I was hit by a shocking revelation....The toys that I had were at least partly responsible for how terrified I am of of the world! Good lord, some of these things were HORRIFYING to a young lad.
Let's start out light, shall we? This first game was very similar to the game Operation in many regards, with one main difference. When you messed up in Operation (so the commercials would have me believe) your friends would laugh at you and lightheartedly refer to you as a "butter finger". Not so with Beware of the Spider. One mistake in that game and a giant fucking spider LUNGES at you! Do you think I'm kidding? LOOK AT THE BOX! That black widow is the size of that kid's head! It wouldn't just bite you and inject you, that thing's fangs would PIERCE THROUGH YOUR SKULL. It would literally chew THROUGH your eyeballs and then liquify your brain. It must have enough venom to DESTROY A SMALL EUROPEAN NATION. The kid on the right is merely stunned with horror. You can see that his sister/girlfriend/neighbor is a tad more ghoulish. She looks like she's rather excited about all this. Perhaps she has a thing for watching her friends convulse while their ethmoidal and maxillial bones are crushed by the powerful mandibles of a spider so enormous you would need a gun to finish it off. What a bitch. And WHY were they doing this anyways? It says BEWARE in HUGE LETTERS! Right there on the box! I have enough sense to stay away from that. Look at the web. That spider caught a bat. A FUCKING BAT! In its web! I don't know about you, but if I'm wandering through the woods and come upon a spider web that has ENSNARED MAMMALS, I'm getting the hell out of there! I'm certainly not going to poke and prod about, hoping to save the poor helpless SCORPION that's in the web! I've noticed something about scorpions, let me share it with you. THEY STING! And it hurts. A lot. Again, to hell with the scorpion and the bat. But that's just me....
My next nightmare is a delightful little game called "Curse of the Cobras". There is, rather unsurprisingly, little information about this game available online. I say unsurprisingly because I'm pretty certain this game can induce heart attacks. I don't fully recall, but I'm pretty certain the one time I played this game properly, I cried. You can see from the cover that apparently Indiana Jones (ironically played here by Tom Selleck) has wandered upon some form of ancient game. Again, in my prudence, I can state that I've seen the Indiana Jones films. Nothing good EVER comes from messing with things you find in tombs. NOTHING GOOD. Well, anyways, to play this wonderful game, you have to slide your wrist between two cobras. Now, I'll grant you, these cobras are kind of laying back, chilling, if you will. They don't seem all THAT menacing at a glance. Once comfortably ensconced within the grasp of the DEADLY VENOMOUS SNAKES, you begin MESSING WITH THE SARCOPHOGUS of some unknown dead Myan or Incan or Aztec. I suppose the nationality is irrelevant. You have a series of 8 ankhs which must be placed into the sarcophogus. There are 9 holes, though, so you have to be careful where these pieces are placed, as ONE of those holes will trigger the unrelenting and unendurable horror that is "Curse of the Cobras". The kicker? It's random. There is no logic that one can apply. So, with shaking, sweaty hands you slowly slide each ankh into place, praying to all that is holy that you have chosen wisely. But put it in the wrong hole and RAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!! The coffin springs open and the cadaverous, half rotted form of whatever ancient horror lies within makes itself known. Your normal reaction to this horrific undead vision would be to recoil in terror, but you can't because the cobras have LOCKED AROUND YOUR WRIST! When I said I think this game made me cry, I mean it. My main memory of this game is being too afraid of it to go near. Especially those damn cobras. Much like our earlier discussion of giant spiders, if I'm ever deep within the hallowed burial grounds of some ancient civilization and I find a stone coffin and some puzzle pieces surrounded by bloody snakes, I am NOT going to engage any further curiousity in it. Again. COBRAS. The main bad guy in GI Joe was Cobra. Think that's a coincidence? How many NICE cobras can you name? I bet you can count them on one finger...
Fingers. I've got them. I'm assuming you do as well. (If not, I intend no offense!) I'm rather fond of them. I use them for playing Guitar Hero, for pointing out which spider webs to NOT poke and occasionally for demonstrating to other drivers just how I feel. In other words, I like my fingers just fine. And apparently so do some other people. Say hello to "I Vant to Bite Your Finger". (Yes, the pseudo-Transylvanian pronunciation is correct.) This game makes no bones about what it's after. Blood. YOUR BLOOD. It doesn't want to play. It's not "I Vant to Pet a Pony" or "I Vant to Be Your Friend", no, this game is flat out telling you IT WANTS TO BITE YOU. It wants to taste your warm lifeforce. Yet another game to send me cowering into a corner as a wee boy. The gameplay was simple. Make your way around this board until you are instructed to fiddle with the clock in the back. As you can see in the photo here, this clock is guarded by a vampire. An enormous vampire. Now, in normal gameplay, his cloak would be closed and except for his eyes, there would not be much to see. So you would be given instructions to turn the clock a certain number of ticks. Anywhere from 1-5. If Jesus loved you, then your clicks would go by without incident. But if you've been a naughty unlovable child, then the vampire would fling his cape open, jaw agape, demanding an immediate FLESH SACRIFICE. You're probably thinking to yourself, "Oh, big deal. It's just a game. It won't ACTUALLY hurt me." Let me put it to you this way. You're walking down the street one day and you're approached by me. I'm an average looking guy, not particularly menacing. But out of the blue I produce a box and ask you to put your hand in it, where SOMETHING would BITE you, but it 'wouldn't hurt'. Would you put your hand in that box? HELL NO. Would you put your finger in the mouth of a crazed looking vampire that WANTS TO BITE YOU!?!? You can see that he would probably go into a frenzy driven by his insatiable lust for human blood. Would he stop with just one bite? Just one finger? I'm not putting that to the test!
The sad thing, folks, is that these aren't the only games I had that would scare-ify the vast majority of right thinking people. You can easily see why I wasn't the most popular kid in school. "Should we go over to Jimmy's house and play Life? Or maybe Ted's to play Connect Four? No, I've got it, let's go to E's and play games where our very lives are at stake at the fangs of spiders, cobras and vampires!" Yeah, that conversation was never had. And it shows in the bitter, spiteful man I've become. sigh
The Red Riding Hood of Death
Posted by
E
Thursday, February 12, 2009
I made my way through the very dark, thick and tree filled forest on my way to grandmother's house. It was a peaceful day and a warm feeling of happiness filled my chest as I made my way. Today was going to be a very special day for me and my grandmother, because today I was going to spend the day heading to her house for the day. Grandmother would be so surprised and happy when I arrived, especially once she saw the basket full of reasonably priced fruits and vegetables that I brought for her to eat. My basket was stuffed fuller than the mouth of a downs retard after winning second place in a race and being taken to mcdonald's for fries.
Sweat rolled down my back and into the crack of my ass as I neared my grannys house. I only hoped that the fucking bitch was still home so I could show her how much I cared with my basket. I couldnt help noticing though that the door to grandmas was slightly opened and I made my way uneasily into her house out of fear of something terrible happening to my poor grandma. There was no reason to fear though because I made my way into her house and through the living room until I got to her bedroom and opened the door and went inside.
Granny was passed out in her bed, probably from being piss drunk or some shit.
I very politely kicked grandmas bed and asked if she was awake before I got pissed and sat down and pulled out the flask of rum from my pants and had a taste. I slammed the drink back as fast as I could and the alcohol burned my throat as it made its way into my stomach. Finally I started shaking the bed, screaming "wake up, bitch" until grandma's eyes opened and looked over at me with a curious look like she wondered what the fuck I was doing here or something.
"Happy birthday grandma" I said as I pulled out the basket from behind my back and showed it to her. "I brought you food and stuff and we can have a little party".
Grandma just stared at me with dark eyes looking me up and down, causing me to feel very uneasy.
"What's your problem, grandma?" I asked as I looked around nervously, wishing that she'd stop staring so deeply into my eyes. She let out a unearthly growl and I shivered with fear while hoping that I didn't piss my pants like a faggot or some other gay shit like that.
That's when I noticed how dark and animal grandma's eyes looked.
"Hey grandma, you've got big fuckin eyes" I said to my grandmother.
"All the better to see you with" she said eerily.
Looking further down her face I noticed that her nose was flat and cold and wet and rather dark.
"What the fuck's up with your nose?" I asked politely.
"It's better for smelling you with" she said, her eyes never leaving mine.
I was starting to feel really not right about this whole situation. But then I saw grandma's hands pulling down the covers. As it went down past her waist I couldn't but notice that he had the biggest dink I'd ever seen.
"Whoa, grandma, you've got a huge pete! That thing's like four of mine put togeth"
I didn't even get a chance to finish my sentence before grandma leaped from the bed and ripped off all his clothes before screaming, "ALL THE BETTER TO RAPE THE FUCKING SHIT OUT OF YOU, FAGGOT!!!", before jumping towards me and pinning me against the wall.
His enormous veiny pete swung between her legs as I cried out for help. But it was no use, and grandma soon jumped up and started furiously fucking my face with such intensity that she literally pinned my head into place. His feet clung to the wall four feet above the ground by his claws as he continued bashing deep into my throat. I gagged and sputtered the entire time I endured his attack. His hirsute frame emitted a musky and sensuous scent that caused my own pete to get hard.
Before I knew it grandma was forcing her enormous rod down my esophagus while simultaneously jerking my pete in the most satisfying way I'd ever felt. I begged and begged for it to stop, but the immensely pleasureful touching just kept going.
Finally I choked as grandma shot a gallon of hot snizz down my throat. I gargled and gagged from the intense pressure while at the same time I felt my own body release and I orgasmed all over my grandmother.
Sated, we both fell back onto the carpet, gasping for breath. I lay there on the floor, tears filling my eyes from the horrific ordeal I had just endured. Without saying a word, I reached into the basket and pulled out my uzi, perforating grandma's warm body with bullets before turning the muzzle on myself and splashing my brains on the wall.
Tom Watts' Cavalcade of Crap
Posted by
E
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Sometimes life teaches you lessons the hard way. It's not always ideal, it's not always what we want, but let's face the facts, sometimes you've just got to peek under the veneer to see how unfair it all can be.
For a couple years as a wee lad in my pre-Stumblebum days, I took a liking to the Cub Scouts and joined their ranks. My tenure with the Scouts was short lived, as they realized I was a heathen while I was working towards my Webelos (pronounced WE BLOW) and was asked to leave their organization.
But this isn't a story about a poor atheist boy being driven from the mean old Scouts. No, this is the tale of cold, hard reality slapping my face. This is the tale of an innocence lost, stripped away by the machinations of fate. This was one of my first moments of awareness.
At the time, my family lived near the top of a rather large hill. Not just any hill, mind you. This puppy was large enough that I managed to get my Huffy past sixty miles an hour before wiping out and extending the side of my mouth another 2-3 inches.
And we weren't even at the top.
One day the word comes from our den leader that fundraising time is drawing close. Nowadays we think of fundraisers as being cookies, candy bars, something light and airy that everybody can get behind. Not in this case.
We were smack dab in the economic boom of the Reagan years, and you can rest assured that the venerable scouting organization wanted us to suck every last penny out of Joe Sixpack that we possibly could. The method? The Tom Watts quality assortment.
Tom Watts...the name still sends cold shivers of terror down my spine.
This was no minor fundraising event, this was a full fledged money making operation. The Tom Watts assortment was a veritable smorgasbord of useless crap. Oven mitts, spinning tops, toolkits...you name it, it was likely in that cardboard briefcase. The order form alone was four pages of checkboxes and prices. To a kid of nine, this was some crazy complicated stuff. I lugged the thing home, opened it up and began familiarizing myself with it.
The upside to this whole affair was that we would receive a prize at the end of the fundraiser relevant to the money we brought in for the Scouts. I lay awake at night dreaming of the movie accurate Darth Vader suit, or Ferrari, or whatever else the big prize might be. But my dreams were not to last.
My father informed me in no uncertain terms that he was not going to help. No order forms would be taken to his office. No rides would be given. If I wanted the prize, I would have to earn it. In retrospect, this was a great lesson. At the time, though, I stared daggers through him.
Resigned to having to do this all on my own, I spent an entire weekend hauling this forty pound monstrosity around, feebly attempting to put on my salesman hat as I espoused the greatness of some worthless crap that I had no belief in.
Mind you, this was summer time in Alabama. It was scorchingly hot, the damn suitcase would NEVER close right after you opened it for the first time, and did I mention it weighed nearly as much as I did? This abomination was so unwieldly that I ended up using a dolly to cart it around our hill.
Up and down the roads I weaved, facing constant disappointment when I realized just how many other Scouts there were. Everybody was already buying from a friend's kid or a cousin or something else. Nobody wanted my low quality goods at high, high prices.
All said and done I managed about $200 in sales from my efforts. My Herculean efforts. I staggered back home each night after whoring myself to the neighborhood, appeased only by my dreams of grandeur.
The big day finally arrived and we sat in eager anticipation as our troop leader called us up to award us our prizes.
I won a magnifying glass.
Not a big Sherlock Holmes looking thing, but a pathetically tiny little plastic beast in a faux leather pouch. Even as a nine year old I recognized it as cheap crap. All that hard work and I was rewarded with a token prize. It was "Everybody gets a trophy day" at the Scouts that night.
The kid who won the big prize? Yeah, he was from my neighborhood. He sold more than $1,000 worth of Tom Watts wares. And how did he accomplish this grand feat? Easy.
His mom took the order form to her work and his dad took the order form to his work.
That kid didn't do one single thing. I busted ass and worked my fingers to the bone and I got a pat on the head. The winner didn't do a damn thing and reaped the reward.
To this day I have never once purchased an item from a fundraiser sheet that's ended up at my workplace. I have a hard, fast rule. Hand me the form yourself and convince me to buy it or no sale.
Thanks, Tom Watts.
Posts
